The Moon Also Rises

Chapters

One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Fifty-Eight
Fifty-Nine
Sixty
Epilogue
Prologue
Thirteen
Twenty-Four

One

The Moon Also RisesPart One

Often, I wonder how others see me.

Do they see their princess, struggling against fate to save them from peril? Do they see her turning tail, fleeing from a threat they cannot understand?

What would they say, if they saw me as I am; another pony, no more or less. I did not ask to be set apart, to be saddled with this responsibility.

When they look at me, do they see me as I see myself? Maybe, in their hearts, they wonder—just as I do.

One

LUNA STEPPED FORWARD, carefully navigating the tangled plants obstructing her way. She could have flown, of course, but there was something compelling about the sound of the wind, rustling leafy branches as it moved through the ravine.

She hadn’t known what to expect, leaving Equestria. It certainly wasn’t this; a rocky mountain range, cutting off all access on ground. The wind wove gently through, whispering to her.It gave the mountains a low hum, a sound not unlike the background tremor of life.

Carefully standing on the border, following her sister’s instructions carefully, Luna hadn’t been able to see anything. A great red plain, barren and endless, stretched out to the horizon, carrying the dry air and scent of dust. Little surprise nopony had ever tried to cross it.

Yet when she stepped forward, over some intangible boundary, the landscape changed. Great mountains appeared before her, barely a mile away. A cloud of mist hung over the land, obscuring her view, but the peaks were clearly visible, rising high above the clouds. Perhaps too high for a pegasus.

The Drac’s foreboding words hammered at Luna’s mind, spinning around and around. They haunted her dreams, chased her through every day. They whispered in her ear, hinting at dark truths and secrets, kept even from a goddess.

The titles he’d ascribed her, the Dreamer, the Guiding Light – her names from a time long past. He honoured her with them, though she had no right to them now. These she remembered.

Yet the ‘Veil’, that was something new, something that had occurred in the last thousand years, during her . . . exile. It wasn't something Luna was prepared to ignore. Celestia hadn't known anything about it.

So she’d left, crossing the border, leaving Equestria. Seeking what she’d lost.

Climbing to the crest of the ravine, she got her first glimpse of the land beyond. But where the mountains had breathed life, the scene before her resembled nothing so much as death.

The Wastes stretched out, like a carpet of sand laid across the land. She could see for miles, a great barren plain reaching out from under her hoof to grasp at the edges of the world.

Here and there, scattered amidst the sand and grey dust, Luna noticed ruins. Rubble, scarred stone and charred wood lay in great heaps amidst broken cobblestone, even marble. Her mind quickly resurrected the scene before her, imagining buildings, houses, roads and cities. The scope was humbling; the bones of an entire civilisation.

What happened here?

***

Celestia’s sun shone down on another perfect day in Equestria. Its light, rising over the eastern horizon in a brilliant blaze of red and orange, spread warmth everywhere it went, touching walls, roofs and streets. It stole through the gap between curtains, illuminating a sliver of a pony’s bedroom. It crept under the door, leaving a becoming, promising gleam of radiance. It caressed the sleeping citizen’s cheeks, bidding them wake, rise, and enjoy the day.

Indeed, many ponies were already about their business, even with dawn just now leaving the horizon behind. Trixie yawned. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, saddled with the last watch. Not that there had been much to watch; they had given no reason for suspicion, and there were very few ponies wandering near the Canterlot slums in the middle of the night.

Instead, Trixie watched the light, catching impurities in the glass, throwing colour on the world before her. It danced, weaving softly around the wind-stirred blades of grass. It held the ponies walking the streets, claimed each as they stepped out of the cold darkness. Steps became stronger, more confident. They trusted its assurance. That if the sun rose the next day, you knew not everything had gone wrong. There was still somepony out there, looking out for you.

She shivered. The basement they were staying in consisted of more than several rooms, connected by a central chamber. The watch-post she was stationed in was just one of a series of small cells, with high windows that let you look out at street level. The entire place was designed for security; riddled with bolt-holes and hiding places, it would be near impossible to catch anypony holed up in here. Unfortunately, that meant it was cold and windy on the best of days.

It also carried sound exceedingly well. Trixie heard soft hoof steps coming up behind her, turning moments before the door swung open. A head poked in, eyes alighting on her.

“Ah, Trixie, there you are. Ready?” Boundless asked.

“Always,” she replied, meeting his gaze squarely, letting a small grin appear at the upper corner of her mouth. It wasn’t a sneer, not quite.

Boundless gave her a large smile in return, mirth twinkling in his eyes. “Well, then, shall we?”

“We shall.”

Trixie hopped down from the balcony she’s been perched on. She missed the old observatory; but, it had been too conspicuous for prolonged use. They’d taken up residency here, instead, in a burned out old house, harbouring a large basement. It had been abandoned for years, ever since the fire.

And what a fire it was.

Trixie clenched her eyes shut; Brash’s voice; reminiscing.

She trotted after Boundless, stepping outside for the first time in days. Not since the last time. It was her first rule; be careful. Don’t draw attention. Lie low for a while after a job. Trixie blinked her eyes several times, squeezing them shut against the light, overbearing after her time inside.

Not that Boundless would follow that. Trixie had lost count of the number of times they’d nearly been caught thanks to his recklessness. Brash liked him for it, Cumulus hated it.

You should leave.

And there he was, right on schedule. Trixie sighed quietly, as the two voices in her head began bickering.

Why would we do that? This is a nice little niche we’ve got here. Brash said

He’s insane. He’s going to be taken down eventually – don’t get caught up in his wake. You’re better than that. Cumulus replied

Trixie shook her head, trying to clear the voices away. She couldn’t afford to indulge herself today. Not now. Glancing around herself, she slunk to the street, following Boundless down the road. Here and there, she saw passing ponies, going about their mornings. Some even gave her a smile, and a wave, which she returned, not wanting to draw attention.

Not yet, Cumulus warned

Eventually, they arrived on a small shopping street. Despite the early hour, there were lines of ponies snaking down the street, waiting a chance to enter several of the fancy jewellery stores lining the road.

Trotting to the head of the line, Boundless shoved himself into a tall stallion next to the doors, sending him crashing into the wall of the store. Ignoring the cries of shock and alarm around him, he pressed into the stallion, pinning his throat with a foreleg. Leaning over, he spoke next to the stallion’s ear, loudly enough for everypony near to hear.

“Good morning, Equestria! I’m afraid we’ve some bad news for you all today, but listen and act carefully, and you might even escape without any broken bones!”

Trixie tore her gaze from the scene, focusing on her task. It still sickened her, what they were doing, however she justified it to herself. So long as she felt that way, felt that deep unease in her gut that set her legs to trembling, she thought she was okay.

The stallion shifted his weight, either trying to get a decent breath of air, or preparing himself to buck Boundless off. Trixie couldn’t tell which, but she didn’t think Boundless much cared. He simply raised a hind leg, planting his hoof squarely in the stallion’s stomach, driving him to the ground. Boundless didn’t remove his hoof. Trixie distinctly heard several ribs crack, the sound amplified by a loudspeaker spell emanating from Boundless’ horn. She winced, though careful to keep her face clear of emotion.

“And that is why we don’t try anything. Now, if you’d be a dear,” Boundless said, gesturing to Trixie. He had the sense not to use her name, thank Celestia.

Even if he did just make a scene for no discernible reason. Cumulus said

Does he really need a reason? Trixie replied dryly, though the crack resonated in her ears, to Brash’s enthusiastic agreement. He had a tendency to be overeager, sometimes. It made him easily led.

She entered the store with a confident grin. There was no room for hesitation here; theft was highly uncommon, but not entirely unheard of. There would be some sort of security.

Ah, yes. All the jewellery locked away tightly, spell-coated metal sheets sliding out to cover the display cases. The staff was behind the counter, trying to look calm and collected. Trixie slid her eyes around the room, taking in every detail. There were cameras in the corner, probably an alarm panel under the counter; best not to stay too long.

“Hey, you there, with the hat. What’s the meaning of this?” a cashier called out.

Ignoring her, Trixie stepped forward, spying the manager. No coincidence he was in the store now, they’d planned this out quite carefully, to ensure Trixie had a target. She approached the counter, leaning over it to capture his gaze, heart pounding. So much rested on this moment, it needed to be perfect.

Now.

They made eye contact. Trixie slipped gently into his mind, like a leaf falling to the ground. As always, she immediately felt hollow, like she’d lost something precious, and was reaching out, grasping futilely after it as it fell away. She ignored it, blocked it into a corner of her awareness along with Brash and Cumulus. They couldn’t help here.

“What’s the combination?” she whispered, bringing her mouth up to his ear. Appearances, always appearances; she made a show for the camera, making sure it caught her whispering. Abruptly released from her hypnotic gaze, he recoiled from her closeness.

“Go to Tartarus, you ruffian,” the manager replied.

Trixie smiled. She was getting better; subtler—he hadn’t even noticed her steal all the various combinations that arose in his mind. Some ponies would feel her, a slight pressure, or sudden headache. She withdrew, reclaiming that part of her awareness that maintained the connection, and, turned to the door, where Boundless had just entered. She gave him a brief nod.

He’s not even covering his face from the camera

“What’s going on? I demand an explanation!” the manager exclaimed. Already cowed by Trixie’s behaviour, the staff visibly wilted at Boundless’ glare. Trixie thought she heard a quiet ‘eep’ from one of them.

With a grin, Boundless jauntily trotted over to the office at the back. Breaking through the lock with his magic, Boundless quickly found the safe, gesturing to Trixie. With a sniff, she entered the combination, unlocking it to uncover a sizable stack of bits, enough money to provide for them for months, even with her exorbitant expenses. Trixie quickly tucked it away in her saddlebags, turning to leave.

Boundless had other ideas. Eyeing the wall that they knew faced onto an alley; a viridian aura surrounded his horn.

Show-off. Cumulus and Brash said at the same time. Trixie found herself agreeing with them.

His horn flared, doubling over itself. The aura slowly spread over the wall, covering what would be a comfortable hole. Then the plasterboard, bricks and mortar shattered, rapidly disintegrating into a grey cloud of dust. The magic disappeared, allowing the dust to billow out into the alley, and into the office.

Coughing, Trixie made her way out the hole in the wall, rejoining Boundless on the other side as they began to gallop away.

“How did you do that?” Trixie asked as they ran. “Turn the wall to dust, I mean. I’ve never heard of a spell like that.”

Boundless raised an eyebrow, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Just came naturally. I’ve a flair for destruction.”

And melodrama

“How do you learn the combinations?” Seeing Trixie’s blank face, he rolled his eyes. “Oh, come now, fair’s fair.”

Careful, now

The trouble was, Trixie herself didn’t know. It was just something she could do, a talent she’d stumbled upon accidentally. There was no record of a spell like it—every one she’d found had required physical contact. She couldn’t explain how it worked, or why she seemed to be the only pony that could do it. Nor did she know its limits.

But there was no need to let Boundless in on that. She knew better than to give up such an advantage. Sometimes, she was sure it was all that kept him from turning on her.

Trixie shook her head, smiling. “Sorry.”

Trixie and Boundless approached the safe-house, quietly slipping inside under the protection of an invisibility spell. Passing under the wooden doorframe, Trixie clearly smelt the charcoal, that acrid, smoky smell that clogged her nostrils. Even after all these years, the house remembered. It remembered her.

“So, how much did we get?” Boundless asked, resting his eyes on Trixie’s saddlebags. She tossed them onto the table in the centre of the room, scattering the bits over it haphazardly. They clinked softly against each other, the soft tinkle of metal resonating in Trixie’s mind against that harsh snap of breaking bone.

Trixie ignored it, filling her mind with dreams of what she could do with the money. A few more simply jobs like this, and she’d be able to buy access to the Royal Archives; a contact in the palace administration had let slip that he was . . . willing to negotiate.

Once in there, perhaps she could finally learn more about her condition. Mind-reading, and voices in her head; voices of friends long gone, they were symptoms of something. She was sure of it, some explanation as to why she was so different.

Manehattan had failed her; the year spent getting into private libraries, legally or illegally, wasted. Baltimare had fallen through within four months, then it was an arduous trip to Dodge City, and a few weeks terrorising the small town. Trixie had brought back her travelling stage show, though under a different name, allowing Boundless free reign while she performed, holding the ponies’ attention.

Las Pegasus had been no better, though Boundless had managed to lose all their saved money several times over at the casinos. It had taken a considerable amount of effort for them to evade capture there. Who knew private security would be so much more zealous than the police?

She’d even been up to Cloudsdale, the pegasus city in the clouds. There were a few unicorns, all making use of expensive amulets enchanted to allow them to walk on clouds. Trixie had found the spell back in Baltimare.

Still, it had been exciting. Four years, now, spent running all over Equestria with Boundless. She wasn’t sure what to think of him, even after all this time. Not quite a friend, nor did they share any real trust. But their partnership worked, and so long as it continued to work, they’d remain together.

The Royal Archives of Canterlot. The largest repository of knowledge in Equestria, it had always been Trixie’s best hope, and the furthest from reach. It would be difficult to ask entry without revealing her purpose, particularly to the princess. After all, she thought Trixie dead, perished in a fire ten years ago, the fire that also left dead her two childhood friends.

Brash and Cumulus, the earth pony and pegasus that Trixie had grown up with. Not related, though they spent more time together than some siblings they knew, they had been best friends until graduating from the public school. Trixie had wanted to travel, see the world while showing off the incredible feats of illusion that had made her so popular. Brash had wanted to settle down, focus on his trade—metalworking, in the city smithies. Cumulus, on the other hoof, had wanted to attend the University in Cloudsdale, learning all he could about weather production and management.

“There’s over three hundred here, at the least. Enough for quite some time, then,” Trixie said, estimating the size of the pile before her.

“A few days, anyway,” Boundless muttered, closing his eyes. His mouth moved silently, counting.

“I need my cut for bribes and food,” Trixie warned. “Don’t even think about taking it for one of your schemes.” He gave her a wounded look.

“Would I do that?”

Yes, yes you would. Sometimes, I wonder if there’s anything you wouldn’t do

Trixie merely sighed, exasperated. Boundless slammed his hoof onto the table, sending the bits jumping into the air. Some rolled off the table.

“What I need, when I need it,” he warned, giving her what he thought was a stern look. Trixie stifled a laugh at the expression, utterly unfazed by the show of force. It still surprised her, how boyish he was, despite everything. Just a foal, just a mere sixteen years to his name.

The trouble was, he meant every word. It was easy to get caught up in that innocence. She’d seen it happen to others, and every time he used them up and discarded them, useless husks of what they were.

Picking up a coin, Boundless gave it a careful stare, placing it back on the table amongst the others.

“Remember that,” he said, not noticing her temporary lapse. She sighed inwardly, though keeping a straight face.

“That goes both ways,” she replied, sliding a portion back into her bags. “Boundless?”

“Fine, whatever” He replied, still staring at the money, a distant look on his face.

Trixie turned her back, holding her neck stiff as she quickly left the room, returning to her corner of the basement, breathing heavily. Depositing her saddlebags in the corner, she huddled under the window, trying desperately to calm herself. Trying to convince herself she was okay.

But you aren’t, are you? Brash said sadly.

No matter how she tried, the foal still managed to intimidate her. She knew the tricks, the little movements and posturing’s that made one appear threatening, yet she was allowing them to put her off balance. It was dangerous, so dangerous. One hint that she was afraid and he’d have her.

She had no reason to be afraid. Despite his freakish ability to break out of telekinetic containment, he hadn’t manifested anything abnormal. She’d be able to beat him, should it come to a fight, easily. He couldn’t stop her from teleporting, or throwing tables around; his magic was far weaker than hers. He couldn’t perceive her illusions. So why was she so afraid?

Because he can do anything, Cumulus said. We fear his potential.

Everypony has potential, and anypony can do anything, Trixie snapped.

No, listen. Not everypony can—in fact, most can’t. Could you, for example, kill somepony? Not for any reason, just because I told you to?

The voices in my head are telling me to kill. Great, now I do need to see a shrink.

He could, Brash said, cutting in. Absolutely, no problem. Without a second thought, so long as it helped him in some way.

Even Brash sees it, Cumulus sneered. Potential, Trixie. That foal is utterly amoral. You fear that potential.

He had a point. Trixie thought back to that awful snap, the way he completely removed the dozens of ponies outside the store from the robbery so effortlessly. That many witnesses, and so many of them unicorns, should have easily restrained the two thieves. Instead, they’d stood like sheep, too shocked and frightened to move.

Trixie had been watching Boundless’ face. He hadn’t displayed squeamishness, or reluctance. There was no hesitation in his actions. Equally, his eyes hadn’t lit up in delight, mouth hadn’t curled slightly as he dominated the stallion before him. No malice, just simple, clear, efficient action.

“What I need, when I need it,” he’d said, holding her eyes.

Four years and you never realised? I’m disappointed, Trixie.

I . . . I can beat him. I -

You can’t stop him from cutting your throat in your sleep.

Even then, as a single sob escaped her, Trixie couldn’t even imagine what that would be like. The thought was just so foreign, so completely contradictory to everything Equestria stood for. There was crime, sure, born of desperation, there was some violence and hate and social oppression. But for a thousand years, there had been no murder. No rape, adultery or kidnapping. Some things were sacred; everypony grew up believing that in their bones.

Stay strong, Brash advised. Don’t show him weakness.

Can’t leave, Cumulus agreed. He needs you for something. That’s why we’re still here.

T-thanks, guys, Trixie managed, before the enormity of the revelation encompassed her once again. She lay on the wooden surface, the high noon sunlight streaming in the window and over her face, as she watched stallion be knocked down, and heard the sharp snap over and over again.

“You still haven’t told me how you knew about this place,” Boundless said when Trixie re-emerged from her room.

“Spent some time here as a foal,” Trixie replied. “Nothing important.”

Nothing important?

“Was it burnt then too?”

“No, that happened . . . after.” Trixie shook her head, staring at the floor. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The fire . . .

“Oh? What happened here,” Boundless pressed, face lighting up.

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” Trixie rebuffed, turning away. She didn’t have the energy to deal with him, not right now. Trotting to the door, she pulled it open and left before she could change her mind.

Risky . . . but perhaps a walk will clear my head

Perhaps. Perhaps it will get you caught. There were dozens of witnesses, even through your disguise. Cumulus told her, ever cautious. She could almost see him, face serious and stern, gesturing with a hoof.

I know, I know.

Back off, Cumulus, give her some space. One thing at a time, Brash said, interjecting. Dear, dear, Brash, he was always standing up for her.

The evening air was crisp and cool, a refreshing breeze playing over her face. The sun’s radiance died in the distance, heralding the emerging stars, glimmering overhead. Trixie turned a corner, headed through town.

Where are we going?

I don’t know

They would have been with her for five years in a few weeks. Five years, spent as voices in another’s head. She still entertained thoughts that the experience had simply driven her mad; hiding the truth under a veil of comfort. But they’d disproved that long ago.

She knew, now, what it felt like to be burned alive. To choke on the smoke until you fell to the ground, unable to move, intense heat climbing over your body. She could see the bodies, sprawled on the floor as she quailed nearby.

She shuddered.

She had reached forward, grasping her friend’s limbs, nearly unconscious herself. There was no escape; the heat bore down with a physical weight, pressed her down against the searing wooden floor. But she dragged herself forward, some lonely fear driving her, and held them close.

And the fear drained away, peaking with an intensity rivalling the raging fire before disappearing, sucked away somewhere. She’d passed out.

Why choose that place to stay? Was it nostalgia, or some foolish hope of coming full circle? She had never really recovered, and could never forget. Not with their constant presence reminding her. Empowering her.

It had been a strange thing, waking up in the hospital. She’d been told they were dead, to a furious declamation in her mind. That shock had almost broken her, unable to deal with a war between reality and her unwilling mind. But somehow, she’d persevered.

The doctor told her she had protected herself somehow, shielded the flames. Trixie did not know how to do that, hadn’t ever learned such a spell, and couldn’t remember casting it. Yet she’d come out of the experience barely singed, impossible, considering.

Then Brash had proven himself, throwing around terms of his trade, rules to observe around a forge, and Cumulus the advanced properties of weather, cloud physics, lightning and snow. Disconcerting, to suddenly acquire knowledge she had no right to.

Ah. I see. We’re here.

Trixie looked up, spotting the gilded gates in front of her. Inscribed in an arch across them, she read with the quiet dismay of her own betrayal.

Noble Deed’s Orphanage

Her old home; a tiny room in a mansion full of tiny rooms, it was where she’d met them, for the first time. Where they’d grown together, and fallen apart. Where they’d discovered themselves, who they were and what they wanted. They’d planned their lives, a grand weaving, insignificant and precious.

The Orphanage was for foals, each asked to leave when they got their cutie mark. It was a sign that you were ready for the world, prepared to make your own way, pursue your dreams. For Trixie, that day, the happiest day of her life, had been the end of an era. It marked the last period she spent with them, alive and well.

Trixie stared through the bars, gazing at the mansion. It had changed, though without aging a day, fresh paint and construction marking it out from her memory. Scaffolding was still set up around the eastern wing, where the unicorns stayed.

There was supposed to be no racism at the Orphanage. That had been another lie, though a justified one. After all, Canterlot was primarily a unicorn city.

Despite that, she had happy memories here. Warm memories, the comforting knowledge of home assuring her, being surrounded by ponies her age and status. Orphans were pitied in society. In a way, that made life harder, a constant reminder that she had missed out. They drew in to each other, and became their own family.

She forced her gaze away from the place, deliberately turning her back and trotting away, back to the hideout. There was no room for reminiscing, no time for nostalgia. She had her friends with her still. That would be enough, would have to be enough.

Boundless still terrified her, but as long as she didn’t know what he wanted, there was no point trying to guess. For all that potential, as Cumulus put it, he carried the bluntness of youth. She could beat him, could stay ahead of him, and slowly lose relevance to his plans without becoming a threat.

A meagre plan, though . . .

We’re not going anywhere

***

There was no obvious source for the wind. It blew from the south, a heavy wind, unchanging and unceasing. Luna followed it, tracing a lonely path through the desolate plains. The wind whispered to her, a desperate plea for release that she heard with no hope of answering. It was mindless, a wild, animal thing.

The wind was not responsible for the death of this land, couldn’t have reduced an entire civilisation to dust. Luna heard it, and knew it to be helpless, impotent and trapped. What, then, had done this? What was Celestia trying to protect Equestria from? What had the Drac sent her here to find?

Luna followed a dry riverbed, hard, cracked clay visible under the shifting sands. It wound its way through these Wastes, slowly meandering south. It had been hot, coming down from the mountains, like the peak of summer, but that heat was abating now, the air growing colder.

There remained no moisture in the air, nor was there cloud cover, sheltering her from the sun. No, it had simply grown softer, a mild heat, as if the seasons rolled past as she walked.

The wind was stronger here. It did not gust, didn’t blow sand in her face or tousle her mane. It made the air thicker, closed off and opposing her, as if Luna was pressing herself through water. It did not matter, she would not be dissuaded.

She did not know how long she’d been walking. It seemed blasphemous to fly, or teleport. She forced herself to search each fallen building, each ruined hut, or pile of rubble, though she didn’t know what she was looking for. Some sign of the creatures who had lived here.

It didn’t matter how long it took. At high noon, one day, she saw something new. A dark smirk on the horizon, a fingerprint, was just barely visible under the haze of the sun’s heat.

Eventually, she came to the centre. A large dome, the only structure she’d encountered still standing in the Wastes. Beginning to circle, it seemed the wind emanated from here, blowing out from openings in each side. The riverbed Luna was standing in ran straight through the northern opening and appeared to continue south, emerging on the other side.

The dome itself was solid, a mountain of rock easily a mile across. Completing her circuit, Luna faced the northern entrance once more, stepping lightly inside. Perhaps here were the answers she searched for.

“Good den, Princess of the Night,” an ancient voice rasped. She hadn't heard anything, no sound reverberated around the long tunnel. It had spoken to her mind, yet she heard the weight of years in it.

Luna paused briefly, before continuing.

“Greetings, Moon’s Veil,” it continued, dripping with malice.

Luna snorted, nostrils flaring. She struggled to press forward, now, the wind almost immovable, a vast force pressing down upon her.

There was no doubt in her mind now; this was the threat Celestia guarded against. It was probably what had reduced the land outside to the barren waste she had crossed.

“Greetings, Luna, and welcome home.”

Alarmed, Luna turned to look for the exit. The voice began to laugh, a horrible, cackling sound that raised her hackles and set her ears back flat against her skull. Rising into the air, Luna shot forward, wings catching the incredible pressure the wind provided. She covered the distance in less than a second.

But the exit wasn’t there. She flew on, well past the limits of the dome. The wind behind her was unfaltering, and the blackness seemed to go on forever.

Two

I have always considered myself to be a pony of loyalty. But then, what pony doesn’t? Even the betrayer considers himself loyal to his own best interests.

Perhaps another, reading of my life, would name me a deserter. He could call me an arrogant fool. What is to make his opinion any less valid than my own?

In the end, I must act as I see fit. Is that not why I was chosen?

Two

Ten Years Ago

FOR ONCE, Luna wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. She was used to being direct, forthright about what bothered her. Celestia called it ‘refreshing’—having spent a millennia dealing with the dirty secrets and subtle machinations of state politics.

Others called her blunt. She tended to take that as a compliment, but she suspected such an approach wouldn’t lend her Celestia’s favour here.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have the right. Luna felt, had always felt, that Equestria was a diarchy, the sister’s sharing power equally. But her absence left Celestia with secrets, and a thousand years of holding them tight had allowed them to fade, just ripples on the surface of her mind.

She hadn’t told her sister about her encounter with the Drac. At first, the negotiations with the Griffon Chancellor had taken most of her mind, but even back in Canterlot, she had reservations about sharing his words.

More than anything, she feared damaging her relationship with her sister. It was tenuous, still. Celestia had been gravely hurt by Luna’s betrayal, and subsequent absence, just as Luna was still recovering from her ordeal. She wasn’t sure she’d ever recover that part of herself, the part that felt hate, or if it had entirely burnt up, consumed in her fall.

She didn’t want anything to risk the slowly healing bond between them. Yet the prophetic words continued to plague her mind, teasing, tempting her. They hinted at secrets long forgotten and future conflict.

The Guiding Light. How that name galled her now, standing on her balcony, gazing out at the horizon. Cynosura sat above the horizon, just where she’d left it, all those years ago. So long as it remained aligned, everypony everywhere would be able to find their way.

Luna herself had guided hers to nothing but ruin. It was a name from a better time, a time before Equestria. She had no right to it.

“Go Beyond the Veil”

She signed. Perhaps she should just tell ‘Tia. A quick trip, a few weeks, and she could return, wiser, and without these nagging words in her head.

The Veil was probably just one of those things ‘Tia had set up over the years and forgotten. She’d probably give a little laugh and point Luna to some dusty old books in a dusty old room. But something about it stuck with Luna, wouldn’t let her shrug it off. It persisted.

So she’d have to find out what the Veil was, and the only pony who would know was ‘Tia. Things were simpler when she knew where she stood, could act without fear of overstepping herself. Now, though . . .

Still, it was of her own doing. If she truly wanted to step into her role as one of Equestria’s rulers, she’d need to have her sister’s trust, and she’d need to trust her sister.

So she’d approach her. She’d raise the subject, bringing Twilight’s report on her own experience with the creature. She’d relate everything it had said, without deceit. She’d request a period of leave, to investigate for herself. Perhaps then, she’d be able to put the encounter behind her.

She reached forward, following herself through time. Foresight was a curious magic, powered through fear or hope. She had plenty of both.

And . . . nothing. She could feel portent, in the same manner the Drac could. She could even predict events as they’d unfold, accurately reading the path of the world. But she couldn’t see the choices made that changed that path, the pebble under the wheel of the cart, knocking it out of the rut. Nopony could.

Luna turned, leaving the balcony. Behind her, Cynosura glimmered on the horizon, standing eternal vigil against wayward souls.

***

Dear Princess Celestia

This letter contains my yearly report on the Bearers, as well as an update on my current inquiry into the whereabouts of Princess Luna.

I, as you already know, reside in Ponyville with my partner Rainbow Dash. The Agency is doing well—there have been close calls, but nothing I could not handle. It continues to serve its purpose; we learn more about Coromancy every day, and I am able to provide magical consultation for Equestria. It’s much better than being closeted away in the University.

Rainbow made Captain of the Wonderbolts last year, and she hasn’t stopped smiling, or boasting, since. We thought there might have been a problem, with the busy schedule and all, but we’ve found that for somepony who can fly Ponyville to Canterlot in less than a minute, it’s fairly simple to, for the most part, live away from the city. I can always visit Canterlot myself. In fact, we’ve set up a second office there.

Rarity chose to remain in Ponyville, despite the nation-wide success of her clothing lines. She designs for a series of outlets in each city across Equestria, and seems positively radiant. I’ve had to call in her help a few times, now. She is exceptionally good at finding things—and ponies. I will admit to some jealousy. What I wouldn’t give to See, as she does . . .

Pinkie Pie runs Sugarcube Corner with the Cake twins. She seems happy, and although she might not be sharing in our accomplishments as much, she’s spent the better part of her life actively spreading joy to everypony she meets. I think that, in the end, that’s enough.

Applejack is still working the fields of her farm, with a little more help from her family, now that Applebloom is all grown up. That precocious little filly invented all manner of things over the years, making Sweet Apple Acres one of the more productive farms in the region. If anything, it’s even harder to drag her away, now that Granny Smith’s passed.

Finally, Fluttershy is living on the nature preserve P.E.T.A founded. She’s found an old house, abandoned, and moved in to be closer to the wildlife. She’s become quite the ranger, too, spending a great deal of time roaming the hills and forests of what’s essentially become her domain. At a stretch, she is able to make the flight back here in a few hours, though it usually takes up to half a day.

I regret to inform you that as yet, I have been unable to locate any trace of Princess Luna beyond her last sighting near the southern border. I of course share your concern, and will not stop looking, though after nearly ten years, I am forced to conclude, either she does not wish to be found, or she cannot be found by conventional means—particularly in the knowledge that even Sight takes us no closer to any clues.

Yours, faithfully,

Twilight Sparkle

Twilight nodded, curling the scroll and, wrapping it in a red ribbon, placed it in her saddlebag. Turning, she glanced down the narrow hallway to spy Rainbow lounging in Twilight’s office. The pegasus, still in her Wonderbolt uniform, held a book in her hooves, although it was apparent she was only half-heartedly reading.

“Dashie! I’m just heading out to deliver a letter. I’ll be back soon,” Twilight called. The sound carried, amplified by the hallway. Rainbow raised a hoof absent-mindedly, briefly waving it around in the air before returning it to the spine of her book.

“Yeah, alright Twi’, see you soon.”

Twilight smiled, just a little, at the corner of her mouth, shaking her head, as she headed out the door. She stopped for a moment on the doorstep, observing the world around her.

It was peaceful. Ponyville had always had a calm atmosphere, notwithstanding the frequent disasters that befell the town. She could see several ponies she knew, mixed among the passer-by’s.

Twilight nodded to each as they passed, friends, if only by association with Old Ponyville. The influx of newcomers had created rapid expansion in the town, its population exploding. Those who’d lived here before had begun referring to it as the New Ponyville.

She admired the plate sitting above the door before starting out. Despite the years of sun and rain, the burnished metal shone brightly, showing not a single mark or blemish. The spells she had cast on it were holding well.

Arch-Magus Twilight Sparkle’s Agency

A Consultancy Service

Twilight headed up the street, heading towards the Golden Oak library in the centre of the town. Returning the greetings of those she passed, she again stopped, this time spotting Applejack at her apple stand.

“Howdy, Twi’,” Applejack said, greeting her with a wave.

“Hello, Applejack,” Twilight said, dropping a bit into the barrel nearby, she took and bit into her fruit. Sweet and tangy, it was everything she’d come to expect of the farmer’ produce. It seemed Applejack’s passion for her farm was paying dividends.

“What brings you down here, Twi’?” Applejack said, returning Twilight’s smile with a grin.

“Just delivering a letter to the princess, then I’m heading out to the fields. Rainbow’s gotten a couple of days off.”

“Ah see. Well, if you two feel like it, pop by the farm sometime. Ah’d love to catch up,” Applejack said.

“Sure,” Twilight replied, beginning to move away.

“See ya soon,” Applejack called before turning her attention to the queue that had formed in front of her.

Perhaps she could find some time in her schedule for a visit. Twilight knew Rainbow would love to catch up with Applejack. Since becoming Captain of the Wonderbolts, she’d had much less time to spend back at home. Twilight took another bite of the apple, savouring the texture. Maybe there’d be some sweet, warm, apple pies she could buy.

Finished with the fruit, Twilight tossed the core into the air and incinerated it with an absent thought.

Coming to the library, she stopped, knocking sharply on the door before opening it.

“Daerev!” she called, glancing around the room. “I’ve got a letter to send.

“’Kay,” Daerev said, appearing at the top of the stairs. He was as big as Twilight, now, with long spikes graced his back and there was the barest hint of wings beginning to protrude from his sides. “I’ve some mail for you as well, from Shining Armour.”

“Shiny sent a letter?” Twilight said, clasping her hooves together. It wasn’t often she heard from her brother, since he’d moved to the Crystal Empire in the far north.

“Yep. Here you go,” Daerev said, tossing a bound scroll to Twilight. Snatching it from the air in a telekinetic field, Twilight reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a scroll of her own.

“Send that to Celestia. I’ll read this while I wait for a response.”

“You sure she’s going to reply that quickly?”

“Just send the letter,” Twilight said, heading into the kitchen and taking a seat. She pulled Shining Armour’s letter out, and, as Daerev incinerated her letter in a stream of green fire, began to read.

Twily!

It’s been a while since we’ve heard from you, so I thought I’d let you know that I’ll be visiting Canterlot in three days’ time. Perhaps we could meet? I’ve got a lot to catch up with you.

For instance, I heard you made Arch-Magus. That’s fantastic, congratulations little sister! We always knew you were special, although I did have to find out myself, when Princess Celestia invited us to the ceremony. Maybe you’ll stop giving me a hard time about the invitation to my wedding now.

Unfortunately, neither of us could come. It’s been a great deal of work here, making sure that everything is running smoothly. Even now, the Crystal ponies seem to be traumatised. A lingering effect of King Sombra’s reign, I suppose. In effect, every little thing that goes wrong half convinces them that it’s the end of the Empire. It’s even crazier than your stories made Ponyville sound!

But enough of that. I’m sure we can talk at length in Canterlot. I’ll be coming in on the morning train, but I’m only staying for a few days.

Hoping to hear from you soon,

Shining Armour

Daerev’s head rose from the book he was reading, carefully positioning his snout above the cover, and belched a long trail of green fire. The flame coalesced into a tightly sealed scroll, which fell from the air into his hands. He looked at the seal, then across the room at Twilight, who was composing a reply to her brother.

“Looks like you were right, Twilight,” Daerev said. “Here, catch.”

He tosses the scroll across to Twilight, who set her work aside and unfurled it, eyes scanning the lines.

My most faithful Twilight Sparkle,

As much as I welcome news of you and each of your friends, and celebrate your good fortune with you, I must confess I found your continued lack of progress regarding my sister to be troubling, although not unexpected.

Luna’s absence has left an indelible mark in Equestria’s governance; a hole created ten years ago when you returned her to us. Her brief period in the Court leaves us in the peculiar position of returning to an Equestria that no longer exists.

When I tasked you with finding my sister, I imagined it the work of, at most, months. I understand how complex such an investigation can be, but, bearing in mind the particular abilities of your group, I had hoped for some progress. To date, we know only that she disappeared near the southern border.

This is not to say that I find your efforts lacking, Twilight. I know you share my concern for Luna, and are doing everything in your power to help return my sister to her rightful place.

I myself have attempted to See her, to no avail. Please pass this on to Rarity, with the assurance that she has not failed. Luna is simply beyond our Sight. I cannot imagine that such a place exists within Equestria’s confines.

You concluded that either she could not be found, or did not wish to be found. While we may hope that she maintains her independence, after such a long time, I am forced to accept the apparent fact that she has been waylaid, somehow caught and held. I have never heard of a being with sufficient power to hold an alicorn against her will, but surely Luna would have contacted us by now, were she voluntarily remaining beyond our reach.

Beyond Equestria. The thought is as foreign to me, after such a long time, as it would be to you. Truthfully, I cannot remember anypony ever actually leaving, though some have expressed the desire to.

Has Fluttershy been able to Dream of anything relating? I understand that it is an imprecise art, but at this point, I am desperate for any clue as to my sister’s fate. My own Dreams have not touched on her.

As for you, Twilight, I would be most appreciative if you were to include this search as an Agency matter. Please, consider me your client. You will have access to the royal treasury for the duration of your search.

I know that there is little you can do but wait. Continue to develop Rarity and Fluttershy’s abilities, as well as your own. In the end, all we have left is hope.

***

There’s nothing here.

Trixie stifled a yawn. She had to agree, albeit reluctantly; her thirteen hour search through the Archives had, so far, yielded nothing useful. Still, the Archives were huge, and she wouldn’t give up till she’d gone through every scroll.

It was her last chance, after all. Her last opportunity to discover what had happened for herself, without seeking outside help. She’d always been an independent pony, comfortable in her own company. She was never alone, not anymore.

Of course, there were plenty of ponies who could have offered their opinions. The Princesses would probably know, even offer her aid. Yet, she couldn’t trust them, not completely. Everything they did would be benevolent, of that she was certain. It wouldn’t change the fact that she’d amount to an experiment, a test subject bearing inexplicable symptoms.

She needed to know what had happened, without spending the years being passed between experts and examined by doctors. That was why she searched, why she’d spent four years travelling with that monster.

This is getting old. We can come back tomorrow, right?

Brash was right, in his own way. More productive to search after a night’s rest, when her eyes no longer strained to make out the blurry words, her eyelids no longer dragged her head towards the ground and her mouth made yawn after yawn.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely right. She could come back tomorrow, and potentially be turned away. The palace employed a large staff, most of whom weren’t open to bribes. Trixie’s bits had only gone so far; if Starlight, the only dirty librarian in the whole bunch, wasn’t on duty, she’d be stuck.

So she stayed, moving through the mental manipulation fields of magic. The amount of information was astounding, shelves and shelves of scrolls stretching away from her in every direction. Even with the filing systems, it had taken Trixie an hour just to find the relevant sections.

She passed over the Soulgaze, the memory transfer and the various probes. She barely glanced at the Domination spells, despite Cumulus’ protests. She didn’t know why those even existed, nopony had ever used them, as far as she knew. The field had been restricted immediately, and for good reason. The thought of having another invade your mind and take control? It was enough to make her shiver.

Still could be worth looking at. Cumulus argued. He did have a point; after all, she had two minds in her head. The linking magic could hold a clue.

Think of how that would look. I bribe a librarian, sneak in, and spend hours poring over the Domination spells. I don’t think that would go down well.

Only if you get caught.

Maybe as a last resort, then; there was plenty of material left. She could keep going for another few hours, more if she turned her magic on herself. Illusion magic was surprisingly versatile; tricking her mind into thinking it rested was a handy trick, though it wasn’t healthy.

She picked up another scroll, glancing at the title.

On Mental Magic and the Soul

She almost moved on, dismissing the grandiose notion before stopping. Filed here suggested some level of competency, and it did seem to pertain to her situation. Unfurling a little, she saw the author’s name: Twilight Sparkle.

Her again . . .

Curiosity piqued, Trixie carefully scanned the document. It was a treatise on mental magic, of all forms, and what it revealed about a soul. Twilight had some interesting ideas, certainly, but nothing stood out as relevant. Except . . .

There!

Something about emotional surges-an overflow in the Spiritual nexus, leading to a magical outburst that connected two minds briefly. Twilight suggested it was an empathic connection between the two minds, linking as equals very briefly.

And if their bodies died while in that state?

Unfortunately, that theory would require both parties to be unicorns. Trixie couldn’t have pulled her friend’s into her head; without reciprocal magic, they would have been unable to connect at all.

It had merit, certainly was something worth bearing in mind. Trixie just couldn’t see it applying here, or in how she was able to read the minds of those she made eye contact with. The ability was useful, yes, but her complete lack of understanding over its functioning left her discomfited, and she was sure it was related to her friends inhabiting her head.

Trixie carefully copied the relevant parts of the scroll, including the theoretical spell matrices into her notebook. Perhaps she would go find Twilight Sparkle, see if she had any further thoughts. Trixie tucked her notebook away, replacing Twilight’s scroll and moving on.

Of everypony we know, Twilight Sparkle would be the most qualified to help. Cumulus said.

I know, but that doesn’t change our history. Trixie replied. Asking her would be tantamount to asking the Princess, anyway. Even if I could persuade them to keep silent, I’d be in the public eye. I’d be their subject.

So, instead we’re sneaking through the Archives hoping to get lucky?

An excellent point. Trixie could see the logic behind appealing to the Princesses. After all, she’d be able to generate considerable sympathy with her story, and they knew more about magic than any other being alive. Even with that, however, she was reluctant. She had a feeling that once she made that contact, she could never go back, never reclaim her anonymity. It wasn’t an option.

Even if it means time with Boundless?

Trixie knew it was a bad idea, continuing to work with him. Yet, even with his unpredictability and tendency for extremes, the fact remained that over the last four years, he hadn’t laid a hoof on her. And they had gotten results, successfully evading capture; travelling across Equestria . . . the partnership had worked. There was no reason it couldn’t continue to do so.

And if he continued to hurt ponies, she could be there to rein him in. There was security in their history; he wouldn’t turn on her that easily. After all, he had kept her around. He needed her as much as she needed him.

Trixie rounded the shelf, intending to continue on the other side, to come face-to-face with Boundless, standing motionless against the stack. Jumping, she yelped, tired eyes fully open and alert, heart racing. Recovering, she gave him a glare that spoke volumes, choosing to ignore the slight smirk that played at the edge of his mouth.

Speak of the devil . . .

”Trixie, there you are,” Boundless said, voice a hushed whisper. “I’ve found something I think you’ll want to see.”

Trixie didn’t know why Boundless had insisted on following her in here, though she had no real objection. She’d been careful to keep what she was looking for from him; there was no need to share the fact that she heard the voices of her dead friends, had their minds locked in hers, but equally she had no idea what he was searching for.

“How long were you waiting there?” Trixie accused as she followed him down the aisle.

“About ten minutes. It was worth it, though.”

“I’m sure. What did you find?”

Boundless led her down the aisle, weaving his way through the Archives. Leaving the Magic section, they moved down the hallway, arriving at the History section.

“In here,” Boundless said.

Trixie couldn’t help but wonder what they were looking for. She’d never pegged Boundless as interested in history. Something must have caught his eye.

“Why were you in here in the first place?” she whispered, following him down an aisle. They passed by modern history, skipped the records of the Celestia’s reign during Luna’s banishment, eventually left Equestrian history behind altogether.

“I was looking for something, something that was around during the founding of Equestria.”

“That was before even Celestia and Luna.”

“Yes, it was. Here, look at this.” Boundless finally entered the stacks, confidently leading Trixie to a shelf. He took hold of the scroll sticking halfway out of the shelf, levitating it over to Trixie. Taking it in her own grip, she unfurled it and began to read.

The Foundation and Maintenance of the Crystal Empire

In all my travels I have never come across a group as emphatically separate and yet closely related to Equestria as the Crystal Empire. They acknowledge their roots in Equestrian culture and our shared genetic background, but they distance themselves from us, and hold their secrets close.

It has become abundantly clear that the Crystal ponies of the north were not always so different. Indeed, I propose that they are in fact of the same race as us, albeit a group long affected by exposure to their namesake magic.

On my own journey through the Crystal Empire, I was fortunate enough to witness the Crystal fair, an event celebrating the unique features of their lifestyle. While such a celebration is worth its own record, here I intend to detail the situation that lead to the formation and the maintenance of the Crystal Empire. Please refer to my colleagues work for details of their current culture and situation.

We know that their magic revolves around the Crystal Heart, an artefact not even the Crystal ponies know the origins of. It seems to function as a lens, spreading the prevailing emotion across the Empire. Thus, strong national pride, evoked through events such as the fair, protects the Empire from dissolution. Their unity becomes their strength.

When I witnessed this event personally, the Heart emitted a wave of magic that left my coat a translucent crystal. While the effect faded shortly afterward, it seems clear to me that not only does the Heart use the emotions it is fed, but it is capable of enforcing those on others. My presence and participation, for a brief time, turned me into a Crystal pony.

The Empire rests on the Heart, of this there is no doubt. Nevertheless, the artefact itself is inherently neither good nor evil. It is capable of reflecting whatever it is fed, and enforcing that on those around it. It is the tool of a tyrant, even in spreading joy and fulfilment.

These are my claims;

Firstly, the Foundation of the Crystal Empire is the result of extended use of the Heart as a means of control.

Secondly, while such abuse, in all likelihood, arose from the desire to protect and unify, it is an abuse, and removes, in part, the individual’s right of choice.

Thirdly; such a breach in our ethical code is part of their national identity. The Crystal Empire exists as a unified being, and will continue to exist as such. It is not our prerogative to judge, but to acknowledge and understand. This in large part enforces the separation of our cultures.

Finally; the Maintenance of the Empire relies on the continued use of the Heart. Thus, the safety of the Heart is vital for two reasons; the continued protection of our cousins in the north, and our own protection from their magic. For if the Heart ever came south, I fear we would have little ability to resist its influence.

The document continued, the author offering his own experiences as evidence, and attempting to spark a lot of fear. Trixie recognised the exaggerations, word choice carefully placed to provoke a response. This pony, whoever he had been, hadn’t trusted the Crystal Empire.

What was Boundless looking for? There hadn’t been anything useful in the entire thing. Trixie considered, turning over what she knew. Boundless was reckless, independent, amoral and wild. He sought . . . Trixie would have said excitement-she’d thought that for a while, but it didn’t fit, somehow. He had a design, a goal, tucked away somewhere. He was driven, then, but by what?

Don’t focus on what he wants.

He hated control. He hated it so much that he refused to accept Boundless as his name, though it was listed as such. He’d told her repeatedly, ”You may call me that. But do not mistake it for a name.”

The document had been about control, specifically how the Crystal Empire controlled its populace, and how that ensured their safety.

Oh.

Yes, I think so.

What?

He’s going after the Crystal Heart, Brash.

Ah.

Trixie shook her head slowly, raising her eyes to meet Boundless’ squarely. “Why did you show this to me?”

“You know why, Trixie.”

“It’s a bad idea, Boundless,” she said, emphasising the name. He arched an eyebrow, staring down at her. When had he gotten so tall? “Setting aside the obvious fact that you’d be caught, do you even know where it is?”

“In the Crystal Empire, obviously,” he replied.

“Even if you somehow get it, what are you going to do with it?”

“Study it.”

Trixie snorted. He hadn’t studied anything seriously in his life.

“Is something funny?” he said, eyebrows furrowing. Trixie nearly wilted under the glare. “Before we go further, consider this. I have not found a single mention of the Crystal Heart anywhere else in these Archives, the most complete repository of knowledge in all Equestria. References to it have been pruned away. Why would somepony do that?”

“I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care.”

“You should, because the same may have happened to you.”

That brought Trixie up short. “Okay, so what now?”

“Now, we need to find somepony who knows about this, somepony with a connection to the Crystal Empire. You can spend weeks in here without finding answers to your question, Trixie. Find the right pony, and you could rip them from their mind in seconds.”

He has a point.

“Very well, then, who?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, records regarding this seem to have vanished.”

“They just conveniently missed that one?” Trixie said, pointing a hoof at the discarded scroll. Boundless gave a helpless shrug. “Then they may have missed more. We could search through the recent histories; see if anypony interacted with the Heart. The Empire returned, what, thirteen years ago?”

“Something like that.” Boundless nodded. Just as they turned to go, a light whistle reached their ears. A jaunting, merry tune that carried through the hallways, bouncing off walls and shelves, it was the morning patrol.

“We need to go, now,” Trixie whispered, clenching her eyes shut. A lead, all she wanted was a lead! She’d have to come back, perhaps break in now that she knew the staff routines. That thought comforted her. She’d been so close to the answers.

“Yes, we do. Meet back at the hideout in two hours,” Boundless said. His voice, pitched low, seemed to resonate through the room, though Trixie knew that was just the fear building inside her. Information would have to wait; they couldn’t afford to be caught here. She nodded.

They split up, each heading opposite directions to the end of the stacks. Trixie knew of four exits to the Archives, and she knew more probably existed. Even then, she knew of no building that had been able to contain Boundless, not even the prison, that one time in Manehattan.

She trotted quickly to the outer hallway, quickly casting a spell to block the sound from her hoof-steps. The Archives consisted of a great round building, about the size of a hoof-ball field. The outer and inner hallways were loops, connecting through the various sections, and protecting the innermost, restricted, section from the public.

She could see the guard light approaching, casting a shadow on the wall in front of Trixie as he moved along the hallway.

Blast. She turned, galloping back to the inner hallway.

In three, two, one . . .

She turned left abruptly, diving into the shelves, pressing herself up against the nearest stack, breathing heavily. She wasn’t used to galloping, even short distances left her somewhat out of breath. She should really get around to exercising properly, one of these days.

Behind her, the cone of light flickered past, briefly darting into the aisle before returning to roaming the hallway. Trixie poked her head around the corner to catch a glimpse of the guard’s flank disappearing from view. She waited a minute or so before slinking out, escaping without incident.

Spread before her lay Canterlot, in the act of awakening. She moved away from the Archives, though no alarm had been raised, heading to the markets. After all, she’d been up all night. She could use some breakfast.

Three

I fear I shall not find what I search for. Certainly, should I prove wrong, and all my efforts in vain, I will have wasted our best chance of saving this world.

And should I find it, what then? What if, in taking up the power to defeat a god, I become the enemy we face?

Three

“THE VEIL? I’ve never heard of it,” Celestia said, giving Luna a curious glance. “Where in Equestria did you hear that?”

“You remember Twilight and Rainbow’s incident in the Everfree, with Lethe?” Luna asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“While I was searching for them, I encountered a creature—some form of dragon, living in the river. It called itself the Drac.”

“Twilight told me about that. She said it taught her the basics of Coromancy; how to harness emotions, which saved her life, judging by their encounter with Lupus later.”

“Taught her Coromancy?” Luna said, eyes widening. “It must be from before, sister. It referred to me as the Guiding Light.”

Celestia smiled. “Now that’s an old name.”

“Harmony will not allow you to fail again, Luna. They will need the Guiding Light. So, friend, my guidance to you; seek yourself; not in memory, but in time. Go beyond the Veil,” Luna quoted, eyes closed and head raised, as if staring out into the sky.

“That’s what he told me. To ‘seek myself’, out there somewhere, past this Veil, wherever and whatever that is. You don’t know anything about this, sister?” Luna said, turning a hard stare towards Celestia.

“No, of course not,” Celestia replied, wings rising, just slightly, off her back. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Luna said, bowing her head. “I am . . . unsure. I had hoped you would know.”

“This has been with you a while, hasn’t it,” Celestia said, laying a hoof on Luna’s shoulder, to her mute affirmation. “Why don’t you take some time away, find out for yourself.”

“How can I do that, when neither of us knows where to start?”

“Have you Seen, or Dreamt?” Celestia asked. Luna shook her head. “Then start with the Drac. Perhaps he can point you in the right direction.”

“Won’t I be needed here?”

“We’ll manage well enough, I expect. Sister, you’ve been distant ever since Lethe. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’m glad you’ve told me what’s been bothering you—now I’m giving you the opportunity to deal with it,” Celestia said, reaching around Luna with her other hoof, pulling her sister into a hug. Luna sighed, her muzzle resting on Celestia’s shoulder.

“Very well. I’ll not be gone more than a few weeks, though,” Luna said. Celestia gave a quiet laugh, tightening her grip.

“I’d miss you were it any longer,” Celestia said quietly, then let go, breaking the embrace.

As Luna departed, she glanced over her shoulder.

“Sister . . . thank you.”

***

Why the interest in the Crystal Heart?

Trixie was sitting at a café, sipping a coffee while she watched the passing ponies. Sometimes it felt that she spent her whole life watching; from her foalhood to now. At first, she’d been watching fillies and colts, playing, learning, growing under their parents. Later, it had been Equestria—the nation’s sights and the crowd’s dissenters. Watching her friends die . . .

Now, she watched for safety, because she didn’t know how else to live, how to fit in with the crowds, become one of them. For a master of illusion, that had always been the one trick that eluded her.

The only difference between now and then was that where she once envied, now she sneered.

She took another sip of the coffee, pushing back her empty plate, few traces remaining of her garden salad. I don’t know. He mentioned study—did he mean its magic?

Emotional manipulation; an artefact used to influence an entire people for generations. The idea terrified her, and the thought of it in the hooves of Boundless . . .

How did he even know where to look? Cumulus asked. Of course. He’d been browsing through ancient history—no, searching, specifically, for this one thing. He’d concluded somepony had been hiding information, but even before she followed that line of thought, such an assertion implied that he already knew about the Heart.

Before this morning, Trixie had never heard of the Crystal Heart. Thirteen years ago, the Empire had returned, appearing in the frozen north. Equestria had noticed, certainly, but there hadn’t been any huge change. There had been no explanation for what had sealed it away, all those years, nor why it had suddenly returned. There had been no mention of any artefact.

Boundless had never expressed interest in her studies before, declining to join her in her search. He’d been content to live, taking what happened as it came. Then, last night, he turned around and asked to accompany her to the Archives. He’d wanted to check something, as she recalled, though he wouldn’t tell her what it was.

Somepony told him. That or he’s been looking, secretly, all this time. Maybe not the Heart, specifically, but something like it. Cumulus said. Even for a voice in her mind, Trixie could hear the tremor.

Why?

I don’t know, he whispered.

A nearby pony gave Trixie an odd look, glancing over the rim of his cup at her. Pretending to ignore it, she cocked her head to the side, considering Cumulus’s words.

There had been no particular reason to show that scroll to her, she didn’t have anything new to offer. So he wanted to include her, somehow. Even finding the Heart wouldn’t be a huge problem, though they would need to work on it. But studying it, learning how it worked, and what, exactly, it did, that was a different story. That would require expertise.

Unfortunately, it didn’t have anything to do with her own plans. Trixie needed to get back inside the Archives and keep looking. There was nothing else for her to do, nowhere else to go. Her final hope for finding answers, for herself by herself.

You know, I’ve always said it’d be easier to ask somepony.

Trixie remembered Brash quite clearly, urging her to do just that. From the moment she woke up in the hospital, a nurse’s face leaning over her, he had always advocated truth. Boldness gets results, he’d said, as if waking up in his childhood friend’s mind was an everyday occurrence.

In a way, that was classic Brash. He always had taken events in stride, without much regard for the past. Combine that with faith in his fellow ponies and an easy-going attitude, and it was simple to see where his open policies originated. Cumulus, on the other hand, had been more cautious.

At first, Trixie had thought only Brash survived with her. As the days rolled by, and slowly, she came to terms with their deaths and the voice in her head, he slowly began to make noise, to alert her of his presence. Brash’s relative success, in coexisting and in convincing her he was real had eventually encouraged him enough to step forward, though it was some time before he let go of his past life.

Still, that caution was a trait Trixie empathised with. Her experiences as a performer had taught her boldness, had demanded it, but her life had taught her its place. Should she find nothing, she could ask. Equally, she could give up on answers, and simply live. Either way, it could wait, foregoing the risks involved in confessing her secret.

I don’t know what scares you so much about it.

Let it go, Brash.

So, a return to the Archives tonight, and every night thereafter until she found what she needed, or exhausted their collection. Her search would be extended by her reliance on her contact’s schedule; she would only be able to get in some nights. In the meantime . . . she could follow up on Boundless’ Crystal Heart.

We have another lead, Trixie. Cumulus said, bringing up an image of Twilight’s paper in her mind. Trixie nodded, it was a good thought. Twilight would be the pony who knew about her condition, after all. Poetic justice, of a sort.

Returning to Ponyville, after all these years . . . Trixie still hadn’t forgotten the travesty of her last visit there. It had been before the fire, back when she still believed in the Great and Powerful persona. She’d been too afraid to return to the town, even to make amends, since. She knew she wouldn’t be welcome there.

But she needed to speak with Twilight, Arch-Magus of Equestria. She needed to coax what details she could out of her, without giving away the source of her interest. That could prove difficult; from the little Trixie knew of Twilight, she was extremely proficient in magic, and hyper-intelligent. Some preparation would be in order.

Fortunately, this type of research didn’t require the Archives. Trixie would be best served speaking with the ponies that knew Twilight, slowly feeling out an outline for the pony she’d face.

Trixie rose, leaving a small tip on the table. Across from her, the nearby pony buried his face in a newspaper, obviously not reading. Trixie sighed, shaking her head, and trotted off, ducking into the first alley off the street.

She didn’t have to wait long. The pony slipped in after her, cautiously looking around. Before he could react, Trixie reached out, seizing him in a magical grip and stepping forward to bring her face-to-face with her pursuer.

“Who are you?” she demanded, pressing her nose into him. Held fast by the telekinetic field, he struggled briefly before relaxing into a slump.

“Nopony. It doesn’t matter,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut.

Trixie backed up, allowing his head to fall forward. She circled him, taking in the short cream mane, darker coat and jewel-encrusted ring cutie mark. It was the manager of the store she’d robbed last week.

“You! How’d you find me?” Trixie demanded, shaking him lightly. One thing she’d learned from Boundless; extremes got results. There was little to be gained by being gentle.

“I-I just saw you there, at the café. I couldn’t believe it,” he said, stammering over his words. Small flecks of spittle spat from his mouth, flying past Trixie. He tossed his head, eyes rolling back as he tried to rear, held down by her spell. “P-P-Please d-don’t hurt me!”

Not good enough, Trixie.

But be gentle.

Trixie nodded, moving back in front of the pony, capturing his eyes with a hard stare. This time, she made no attempt to hide her presence, though she was careful not to hurt him. Holding the contact, she felt his terror and violation. Primal responses, they were potent enough to send adrenaline pumping through her veins. It was partly why she preferred subtlety.

“How did you find me?” she pressed. She could feel the words enter his mind, several responses being thrown up immediately. The truth was nearly buried under his fear, but she plucked it out of the sea, and left his mind, shedding the emotion. It left her feeling somewhat dirty.

Not good, indeed.

He hadn’t just found her today. He’d followed a scent; a magical tracker the store’s security had placed on them, right back to the hideout. But he hadn’t told anyone.

She knew what Boundless would do, given the situation, knew it beyond logic, with a cold, sinking feeling in her chest. He would expect the same of her.

“What do you want?” Trixie said, voice dropping into a stage whisper. He gave a little whimper.

“Ju-Just don’t hurt me, okay,” he said.

“Nopony is going to hurt you, ” Trixie said. “But you know something you shouldn’t.”

He didn’t try to deny it, frantically nodding as he spoke. “Yes, yes I do, oh yes I do. I know where you live, you and the o-” Trixie stuffed a hoof in his mouth, cutting him off.

“Why were you following me, little pony?” she asked.

“I was g-going to blackmail you. I thought, the store is insured against theft. If I tell them we lost the scent . . .”

“You could keep the payoff,” Trixie finished. “Not a great plan, as they go. You followed me here, alone, fully intending a confrontation, then immediately collapse?”

“I . . . I left a letter at the post office, to be sent to the police in a few hours. Everything is written there.” The shock was beginning to wear off, thankfully stopping the stammering. Trixie watched as realisation dawned over his face.

“You can’t touch me, or I won’t stop that letter!” he declared triumphantly. Trixie sighed. The trouble was, even if she could afford to buy him off, he was a liability. The sensible thing to do would be to simply blow him off and move shop. Boundless would have thrashed him, and then found somewhere to hole up for a few weeks. Instead, Trixie found herself reaching for her saddlebags, grasping them telekinetically and bringing them round in front of her.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she began, counting bits out before her. “I’m going to give you half of these.” She indicated a large pile in front of her. “You’re going to go fetch that letter, and bring it back here, where I’ll buy it from you for the other half. And then we’re never going to hear from you again. Understand?”

He nodded eagerly, avidly watching the pile in front of her. The dimwit hadn’t noticed her horn glow briefly, his eyes fixed on the few bits she moved with her hooves in front of him. He hadn’t seen the pile grow several times over, as she levitated her bags in front of him.

Distraction and subterfuge, arts Trixie had mastered years ago. She released her hold on him, allowing him to trot away, eagerly clasping a bag filled to bulging with illusory money. Trixie rubbed her head. Giving her illusions physical properties strained her, and maintaining them at this distance would be tiring.

Even so, an elegant solution, Cumulus congratulated her.

When the store-manager returned, half an hour later, Trixie informed him in no unclear terms that she was holding the letter as collateral against his silence. Attempts to turn her in would only result in the publication of proof of his blackmail. The letter firmly in her grasp, she trotted away, letting the illusions dissolve, a satisfied smirk playing across her mouth.

A bell tinkled over the door as Trixie pushed it open, stepping forward into Pony Joe’s doughnut shop. She’d spent the day digging up information on Twilight, looking for somepony she could have an informal chat with. Records of Twilight’s life did her little good—she needed to know the pony.

She was unable to turn to Twilight’s immediate family, as she very well may have told them about her. Trixie wasn’t willing to let word reach Twilight before she was ready. It seemed odd, coming to a baker, but from what she’d gathered; Twilight had lad a solitary life, not interacting with very many ponies. She’d eventually settled on Joe; having interacted enough to have a reasonable conception of Twilight, and removed enough that her inquiry wouldn’t spread.

“What can I do you for, miss?” Joe said from behind the counter. Trixie took note of the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, set over a warm smile. He was getting on in years.

“Chocolate-frosted, no jam,” Trixie said, “Though I wouldn’t look amiss at some sprinkles.” She sank into a soft seat next to the counter, smiling back at the baker.

“Certainly,” Joe said, handing her a plate. The doughnut was warm, freshly baked, despite the time of day. Trixie savoured its sweetness, the thick dough and sticky chocolate mixing together in her mouth. Travellers couldn’t often enjoy such luxuries.

Eventually, she finished, brushing a few crumbs from her hooves. She caught Joe’s eye from across the store, where he was attending to another customer. As he bustled around, gathering the order, she requested another doughnut, with compliments.

“Need something to wash that down?” Joe asked, leaning forward. Trixie found herself nodding, eyes closed. The doughnuts were divine.

Okay, okay, remember what we came here for.

“Mmm,” Trixie groaned, finishing the second pastry. She was exaggerating, of course, but even so . . . well, she’d remember Pony Joe’s doughnut shop. “Say, Joe—I can call you Joe?” she began. He nodded, bringing over a cup of coffee. “I’ve never had a doughnut that good before, and believe you me, I know doughnuts.”

“Thanks, miss . . .?”

“Aurora,” Trixie said.

“Aurora,” he repeated. “Thank you, Aurora. But they’re just Joe’s old doughnuts, same as ever.”

“Really? How long have you been here in Canterlot?”

“My whole life, of course. Opened up the shop, say, thirty years ago?”

“Thirty years! Why, you wouldn’t happen to know Twilight Sparkle, would you?” Trixie asked excitedly.

“Yeah, sure. What’s it to you?” Joe said, suddenly on guard. Trixie winced, knowing she’d been too abrupt.

“I’ve . . . business with her,” Trixie said, offering.

Joe took the bait. “Business?”

“It’s my brother. He’s got a . . . problem. With his magic, I mean. We think there’s something wrong with his horn.”

“Oh. Have you had doctors look at it?”

“Of course! They said it was a . . . a dissonance in one of the leylines. But there wasn’t anything they could do! I remembered Twilight had been made an Arch-Magus recently, so I thought she might be able to help. I knew her from school, see.”

“Ah,” Joe said, nodding, his hostile air dissipating. “So why are you in Canterlot?”

“She isn’t here?”

“Nope, been in Ponyville the last sixteen years.”

“Oh. I’d have thought an Arch-Magus . . . well, no matter. I’ll head down there tomorrow.” Trixie took a sip of her coffee, leaning over the counter. “Has she changed at all?”

“What’d you mean?”

“She was always a bit . . . intimidating, when I knew her."

Joe laughed. "I know what you mean. She always was a bright one. Loved to lecture, came in here with her brother carrying her books, trying to tell me how to optimise the baking process.”

Trixie stifled a laugh at the image.

“Didn’t have Spike at that point though. Once she took up with the princess, she became more of a recluse, I didn’t see her as often. From what I’d heard, Ponyville opened her up some. Just ask at the Agency.”

“Anything else?” Trixie pressed. Joe raised an eyebrow.

“What do you want to hear? Just go talk to her, Aurora, especially if it’s for your brother.” Joe’s expression was disapproving. A sister running to an acquaintance for aid wouldn't typically stop in a pastry shop for information, after all.

“Mmm, alright, I will. Thanks for your time—I’m just nervous.” Trixie stood up, pushing her plate across the counter.

“Relax; she’ll have time for you. She may have been a shut-in, but Twilight’s one of the best ponies I know.” Joe said. Trixie reached into her bags, pulling out several bits to pay for her meal. She left quickly, with a smile and a goodbye. Joe hadn’t spilled much—her story had been weak—but there was one bit she could use.

Twilight loved to lecture. Together with a reclusive nature, that likely made her a typical scholar—though that had been years ago. If she could get Twilight talking, lead her into the topic and let her ramble, she could learn a lot before she ran out of steam.

That wouldn’t hide her interest though. From her experience, Twilight wouldn’t be used to ponies actually listening. Nor would there be much point in trying to slip an illusion past an Arch-Magus. Trixie could still remember the feats she’d seen Twilight pull off, the last time they'd met.

There wouldn’t be anypony in Ponyville who could hold a candle to Twilight, certainly not match her magical prowess. Perhaps she could offer a like-minded mind, so to speak. Somepony she could talk shop with. She’d be an intellectual appeal—from which she could lead the discussion to mental magic. Perfect.

Though first she’d have to overcome the general stigma she’d attached to herself over her last visits. Trixie wasn’t particularly proud of the way she’d acted, but she’d been young, and foolish. Life had shown her perspective, and she was confident in her ability to convince Ponyville that she’d reformed.

More than enough, Trixie Cumulus said fondly. but have you changed?

She’s a fair ways from the Great and Powerful sideshow now. Brash said.

In some ways, perhaps. In others I still see the filly convinced of her capability to handle anything the world threw at her, convinced in her mastery, her security and safety. You must acknowledge this, Trixie, and be careful. Some things are beyond you.

Trixie’s mind flashed back to the Ursa. She’d performed her show so many times she’d almost dared to believe it, almost succumbed to the allure she created for her audience. She’d forgotten it had been, had always been, an illusion.

That had only made her act better. Even then she’d been proficient at selling herself, but with conviction, true belief in herself, she could step onto the stage without fear. There was no illusion, no tricks or showmareship. It was just her, and she amazed them. She’d fooled herself.

Even after the Ursa, after she saw true power and her own folly, she’d refused to accept her failings. The Great and Powerful had transcended the original gimmick, had become her dream, her identity.

So she’d worked for it. Studied magic in ways she’d never considered before, stepping outside of her calling in life. Learnt power, the way Twilight had. She’d lost sight of her purpose, forgotten her old life, grew consumed by this threat suddenly posed to her.

What was your purpose? Brash said, pondering. He’d never been one to figure out the puzzle for himself.

Simply? Trixie sighed. I don’t know.

Initially it had been to travel Equestria. Growing up in the Canterlot Orphanage had instilled in her a wanderlust of sorts, a desire to explore beyond the boundaries of her foalhood. That had morphed, somewhere, into a quest for mastery.

She hadn’t set out to be the best. Hadn’t expected fame, wasn’t prepared for the adulation of her fans, the doting attention she received. It went to her head, certainly, carrying her away to a place of plenty. A far cry from her humble beginnings, a reality spun from the dreams of an orphan.

To escape, Brash, Trixie said. Even in her head, she sounded faint, a whisper in the dark. To leave you all behind, everything that reminded me of that time. The Great and Powerful Trixie wasn’t restricted by her foalhood. She was limitless.

***

“No, youngling, not like that. Here, watch closely,” the Drac said, leaning forward. Spike could see glimmering, sharp teeth as the Drac opened his mouth, tongue lolling out, set against the gaping red maw. Hot breath washed over him, engulfing him in the stench of old meat and fire. It was a sight of primal ferocity, an apex predator in a dangerous world. Once upon a time, it would have terrified him.

Not anymore. The years had been generous to the dragon; no longer a baby, he now nor stood shoulder to shoulder, head to head with Twilight. His teeth had grown, fangs lengthening and sharpening, and the whispering green fire of his youth replaced with the beginnings of a roar.

Not to say that he was even close to the Drac’s stature. Dragons grew, he now knew, their entire lives, and while Spike had nearly eighteen years under his belt, the Drac had over a thousand. Spike remembered Razorfang, that old dragon they’d kicked off Smokey Mountain for covering Equestria in smoke. He’d been planning on a hundred year nap. Dragons were virtually immortal, but still . . . the immensity of time swelled before him, cresting with the realisation of others’ mortality.

He’d moved past those feelings years ago, promising himself to take their memory forward, into the future, to cherish their time together now. So he threw himself into life, living each moment to the full. Experiencing the now, without regard for the inevitable future. It was a glorious, decadent lifestyle.

Spike narrowed his eyes, pupils dilating to take in the ultraviolet spectrum. He could just make out a flickering flame, the barest hint of purple entering it, dancing on the Drac’s tongue. Such fine control of his own flame was still far beyond the young dragon, though he was learning.

“Can you see it?” the Drac rumbled, all the while maintaining the flame.

“Yes,” Spike replied, leaning forward. “Just barely, but yes.”

The Drac closed his mouth. “Good. Now you,” he said, gesturing.

Spike swallowed, bringing his flame to mind. It was a tenuous link, still, a fledging thing, like the silence between two young lovers. So tiny, so fragile he was afraid to touch it, lest it tear asunder.

It was always the case, he had been told. Infants often have more control over the flame than a child, simply because the infant can control it on an instinctive level, a subconscious connection, coming without practice or patience. Dragons demand a higher degree from their brethren, and that connection faded as the child developed, growing into a conscious, empathetic link. It demanded understanding, and it rewarded diligence.

Spike’s flame came forth, a dancing green blaze resting steadily on his tongue. He’d finally mastered holding it there, after months of work. Now, the Drac wanted him to move it between colours, even off the visible spectrum entirely. Such a feat required an understanding of physics, the wavelength and frequencies of fire and light, the energies he put into it. It also required an understanding of the heart, emotional manipulation and guidance.

“What to ask and how to ask. You must learn both,” the Drac’s words rang in his mind. Carefully, Spike plucked at the link, drew on the flame in his mind. Tentatively, he spoke with it, beseeched it to heed him. Then, boldly, he nudged it to change.

Green shifted through a chromatic gradient; a fading yellow and a deep orange, glowing, cherry-red and shimmering wave of heat, beyond the visible spectrum. It flickered there, at the edge of perception, dancing in and out of Spike’s vision. Then it collapsed, dying down at a few embers resting on his trembling tongue.

“Better,” the Drac rumbled. Glancing upwards, Spike saw a brief moment of approval, written plainly on his mentor’s face. It was quickly replaced with bored indifference, a wisp of smoke curling around his fangs and rising into the evening sky.

“That is enough for now, youngling. Continue to practice control. A dragon is ruled by neither heart nor mind.” The Drac grinned. “Eat red meat or nothing at all. You may hunt in the forest, should you desire, but be prepared to deal with what you find.”

It was not an uncommon restriction, though recent. Spike had always refused, preferring a week-long fast to killing for his dinner. It nonetheless was an effective lesson in restraint. He’d ignored the restrictions the first few times he’d seen the Drac; circumstance or temptation proving too strong. He hadn’t repeated that mistake again.

“It is time to break free, youngling. You must learn to take, not only give. It is a part of life, as surely as breathing.”

Spike wasn’t so sure. Even now, his body slowly growing stronger, faster, more lethal, he felt the inherent immorality of such an act, resisted his growing urge to feast. Gemstones and vegetables, roots, leaves and flowers were his diet and he liked them. He had no need of murder to satiate himself.

“You must accept this, youngling. It is part of the Cycle, a chaotic harmony. Imagine your vastness, a life incomprehensible to the ponies around you. That is how the world sees you, and it will not miss a few rabbits, a cow here and there, or even predators from the forest. It will not miss your friends, and it will not miss you, when you pass away. There is no higher morality to appeal to. We are dragons, and what we want, we take; be that the land or flesh of another, or strength from their happiness.”

“Huh?”

“We are not evil, youngling. We obey our desires, for they show us who we are. We do not oppress ourselves. We do not set the mind at war with the body. Should we desire to help another, to coexist in friendship, then that is as necessary to us as our fire, as nourishing as our meals. You must learn not to subjugate your body in preference to the mind.”

“I don’t follow,” Spike admitted, lowering his head.

“Think on it.” The Drac turned, swiftly disappearing upstream. Spike shook his head sadly, beginning the trek home, thoughts full of blood and fire.

Four

My sister gave me a gift before I left. A locket, engraved with a dawning sun. It is encouraging to have her with me, if only in spirit.

I fear I would have backed down long ago were it not for her. My one wish is that she could be here, with me.

Perhaps she has already fallen.

Four

THERE WAS NOTHING IN THE BLACKNESS. It stretched on to infinity, lacking any sense of direction, space or time. Not even the voice remained, having given up taunting her an age ago. Luna was completely, hopelessly, lost, grounded only by the one saving constant in her hellish prison.

Even now, the wind blew. No matter which way she turned, it blew against her, pressed into her as if trying to grasp her, define her. She didn’t belong here. Even the wind knew that much.

So she followed it, followed the path it laid out for her. She walked into it, for therein lay the centre, and therein lay her captor. She was sure of it. The owner of that horrid voice had to be there, for where else was there?

She wasn’t walking forward, not exactly. Forward had no meaning here, no definition. There was nothing to approach, nothing to back away from. She’d could turn, walk to the side a ways, and be approaching her goal just as fast as she was now. Every direction was one, and none.

She didn’t move. There was nowhere to move to, nowhere to move from. She existed, certainly, but not in any particular place. Here, there, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the centre, and escape.

Time stood still, or perhaps sped past, days flying by in every step she took. She could not tell, her mind’s eye could pierce the blackness no better than the two resting in her face. She left them closed, they served no purpose here. She could even have been sleeping, were she not walking, endlessly walking, the pressure of the wind struggling to hold her back.

Even inwardly, she felt lost. She’d come here to discover the Drac’s hidden meanings. The little nuggets of prophecy buried in amidst the web. The connections under the names, identities and truths lost to time. The barrier across the Equestrian border, the Veil . . . what it was and who had made it.

“The last thousand years, time spent stalling. Events have been set in motion, now. You cannot hold it back anymore.”

“Cannot you feel the portent in the air, the whispers on the wind and water? Harmony calls to me, Luna.”

“Only you and your sister know that. No one else remembers past the Veil.”

“Harmony will not allow you to fail again, Luna. They will need the Guiding Light. So, friend, my guidance to you; seek yourself; not in memory, but in time. Go beyond the Veil.”

She hadn’t been the Guiding Light since she took up the mantle of her Nightmare. She was supposed to light the path, not lead into darkness. The Dreamer had passed at the same time; a prophet and a judge, no longer fit to teach. But perhaps she could be those ponies again, could reclaim her life. That tempted her sorely. That was what had lead her into this trap.

She wondered briefly who set it. Had this been mere poor luck, a bad choice and a twist of fate? Or did the closing jaws have teeth, a perpetrator, smiling, driving the blade home; The Drac, planting the seed, Celestia, prompting her with little warning.

No. She wasn’t going to tread that path again. Celestia trusted her to take care of herself. Luna wasn’t a baby, wasn’t her little sister, to be protected at every turn. There was little point assigning blame here; it was a poison she wouldn’t again indulge.

She wasn’t getting anywhere. Luna cast her eyes around, searching in vain for some spark of light, something to latch onto, some last hope. She didn’t stop though.

She had been told to seek herself, not in memory, but in time. She knew who she had been, knew it in her bones, though she was much removed from those days. She knew what had led to her fall, a pride in her strength and a false certainty. Folly, she knew herself to be weak, and here she proved herself right once again.

She was weak, after all. Too weak to resist the temptations offered her. Too weak to avoid despair, too weak to discard hope. She’d never been content to let it go; no compromise or acknowledgement. Was that was this proved? Coming here a final concession to her failure?

But Luna knew the trap laid out before her, knew it as if it were her own. She had spent a thousand years atoning for the transgression of despair, and would not risk it again. Reaching inward, she clutched at a sliver of hope, painstakingly recovered. Raising her head, she stared forward, eyes penetrating the gloom with a spark, burning faintly on the tip of her horn.

She knew that light. It had been within her ever since her Cleansing at the hooves of the Bearers. It was a child’s light, a foolish dream of transcendence. Hope, its barest gleam already pushing away at the black expanse around her, rose up inside her.

It was hope for change. That she could surpass her legacy as the Nightmare, become a liked ruler, cherished and adored, as her sister was. That Equestria could grow, flourish under her reformed guidance. That everything could get better. It guided her, as surely as Cynosura had, for all the long eons spent firmly fixed upon the north.

She’d learned from her mistakes, grown a little older, a little wiser. She didn’t resent Celestia’s burning star, rising high over Equestria, rather took comfort in the reflected glory shining down from her moon. She understood her place now, and did not covet another’s.

Would fate have her return to that bitter, hollow creature she’d begun? Begin anew a cycle that led only to darkness? To give up all her hard-won progress, for the sake of an unnamed threat, safely locked away?

There was no point in looking back anymore. She’d taken what lessons she could from her past, learnt them and moved on. The past held nothing for her, identities tied up in choices, locked away in memories best left alone, ignored, forgotten.

Focusing on that hope, Luna closed her eyes, and Dreamt.

***

Twilight stretched, letting out a long yawn. Beside her, Rainbow Dash was also awakening, sunlight spreading through her cyan hair, splaying down her toned torso. Twilight smiled at the sight.

She’d once asked Rainbow why she was able to take so much time off. Indeed, while Spitfire had never commented on her frequent breaks from practice to help Twilight, or simply spend time with her and their friends, once Rainbow had made Captain, the others hadn’t held back.

So Rainbow had challenged them.

“Alright, listen up. I’m going to take the week off. I expect you all to be working according to the schedule. When I get back, we’re going to have a competition-speed, agility, and coordination, especially with teammates. If any of you beat me, I’ll practice with you more.”

“What’ll you be doin’?”

“Sleeping.”

Rainbow had steadfastly refused to do anything physical that week, even reneging on her health foods to binge at one of Pinkie’s parties. She hadn’t lost—far from it; she’d blown them out of the sky. Twilight hadn’t been surprised, of course. She’d been the one to teach Rainbow how to channel her emotions into her flying, and there was almost nothing Rainbow felt more strongly about than the Wonderbolts, and napping. Put them together, on the line, and, well . . . She was unbeatable.

Rainbow flopped over on her side, eyes firmly shut. Twilight gave up, rising from their bed and heading into the bathroom. There was nothing like a morning shower to get rid of drowsiness, not to mention her bed mane.

She stayed in the shower exactly five minutes, according to a timer on the wall. Not that there was anything wrong with taking longer, but she knew she’d be getting hungry soon, and she wanted food available.

Checking the shower off in her head, she headed into the kitchen, turning on the small stove and bringing a packet of waffles from the fridge, as well as oats for Rainbow. The pegasus was particular about breakfast, insisting on healthier food. She hadn’t hid her displeasure from Twilight when she’d learnt her culinary routine.

There was just something about waffles in the morning that had stuck with Twilight. She knew, intellectually, that Rainbow was right, but she could never resist the temptation. Besides, her work chewed through calories quickly-she’d never seen an overweight mage of any proficiency-and she wasn’t looking to put on muscle.

Twilight shook her head. There was no need to justify waffles in the morning. It was something nearly everypony ate. She should just stop thinking about it; stop the train circling in her head. Nor was the internal debate, a daily affair, going to change anything. But it felt right, it felt routine; breakfast; waffles and remonstration.

As Twilight set the food out on the table, levitating the spread in a purple haze, Rainbow appeared at her shoulder. Her mane was still tangled from sleep, blurring the colour gradient she normally wore so proudly. Few realised the extent Rainbow went to in order to preserve the integrity of the rainbow, each colour separated just so. It was just another little thing Twilight loved about her.

“Hey, Twi’. Sleep well?” Rainbow said, slipping into a chair beside Twilight. She grabbed a nearby glass of water, greedily sucking it down before burying her face in her oats.

“Fine, fine,” Twilight said absently. “You’re heading back to Canterlot this morning, aren’t you?”

Rainbow raised her head, oats clinging to her muzzle, as Twilight bit into a waffle.

“Yeah, I gotta check on the team, make sure we’re ready for next month. Show season’s coming up, so I’ll have less time off. You can’t wing coordination, no matter how good the Captain.”

“Mmm,” Twilight agreed, chuckling at Rainbow’s unintentional pun. “Could you give me a lift?”

Rainbow raised an eyebrow. “Of course. What are you doing in Canterlot?”

“Just visiting my brother. I thought it’d be nice to catch up,” Twilight said. She’d neglected to mention it to Rainbow, though not for any particular reason. In the absence of a ride into the city, she’d be able to teleport there, but she knew Rainbow’s schedule, and the dates had coincided perfectly.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” Rainbow said. “Alright, just let me finish this and we’ll get going.”

“Sure.” Twilight’s attention wandered from her marefriend’s breakfast, drifting around the room. The kitchen held the morning light well, streaming it through a wide window over the bench, to pool around the legs of the table. The flowers in the middle gave the air a fresh fragrance, sweet without becoming cloying. Twilight took a deep breath, relaxing into the scene, just another player on the stage.

Their house-and her offices- was small, yes, but she hadn’t wanted a mansion. Twilight had grown up in a castle, and then spent years living in a tree. Luxury didn’t appeal to her the same way it did Rarity; she had sought the simpler pleasures. She was comfortable, here.

Rainbow sucked up the last of her oats with a loud slurp, disrupting the moment. Twilight made a face.

“Ready, Dashie?” she asked, telekinetically grabbing her saddlebags. She’d packed the night before, of course.

Rainbow left her bowl on the table, walking over to the door. Stepping outside, she stretched, arching her back into the air.

“Sure,” she said, looking back at Twilight. “Hop on.”

Rainbow spread her wings as Twilight clambered onto her back, reaching her hooves around Rainbow’s midsection. Pushing off the ground with her hooves, Rainbow gave a beat of her wings and they were gone, soaring through the air.

Over the years, Twilight had grown to love flying, though never as much as Rainbow, nor in the same way. For her, there was little as special as the take-off, the moment of release from the claw of gravity. It was a split second of transcendence, before physics took hold and Rainbow began the stead-y rhythm of wing strokes that kept them aloft.

The old train to Canterlot was still in use, of course. But Twilight wouldn’t have missed this, even if it wasn’t faster. She felt the wind moving through her mane, tousling it beyond all order. She saw the expanse below and above, its immensity. She moved through it with youthful ignorance, an exuberance that defied insignificance. Flight became a connection, however transparent, to the world around her.

All too soon, Rainbow slowed, approaching the Wonderbolts headquarters in the city. Touching down gently, she lowered a shoulder, allowing Twilight to regain her footing on the ground. Around them, several bystanders turned to look, excitedly gesturing. Twilight grimaced, though Rainbow smiled, nodding back.

“Thanks, Dashie,” Twilight said, nuzzling Rainbow’s shoulder. The onlookers didn’t bother her as much as they once would have; if nothing else, time had acclimatised her to their scrutiny.

“No problem, Twi’,” Rainbow said. “I’ll see you later?”

“How about dinner?”

“Sounds great. I’ll finish here around six-come by after you’ve seen Shining Armour.”

“Okay,” Twilight said, beginning to turn and walk away.

“And give him my regards,” Rainbow called after her, before turning herself, and entering the Wonderbolts headquarters. There was a great deal to do; her time off had seen to that. Even if it didn’t affect her personal performance, it would impact on the squad-cohesion came from camaraderie, as Spitfire had taught her. Rainbow’s regular absences, while something she wasn’t willing to give up, created a rift between her and her team. It would take time before she could fly perfectly synchronised with them.

It was to Rainbow’s endless relief that while her job entailed a great deal of paperwork, it came with several subordinates to scribe for her.

Twilight trotted through the Canterlot streets. She hadn’t found the opportunity to see her brother in some time, nor Cadance, despite their correspondence. She was eager to hear about the developments in the Crystal Empire. Trade agreements between Equestria and the nation had flourished under the guidance of the three princesses, particularly with the extension of the train-line into the heart of the Empire.

After their adventure in the Crystal Empire, Cadance in particular had wanted to lend a more active hoof to the reintegration of their society into the modern world. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it had been Luna who took charge of the process, but as time rolled on, Cadance had found herself spending more and more time in the frozen north. Eventually, she'd moved there completely, causing Shining Armour to resign from his position as Captain of the Royal Guard in order to follow his wife. He'd found a similar role there, serving his wife and princess in the Crystal Court.

Twilight hadn't seen her brother in almost a full year now, their spare time seemingly never coinciding. So when she heard he was visiting Canterlot for the week, she made sure to schedule time to meet. From their correspondence, Twilight knew Cadance had been experimenting with the Crystal Heart, but she knew tantalisingly little, and the magic of the Heart was similar to her own findings in Coromancy. Plus, it was a good excuse to see her brother.

Of all of Equestria’s cities, Canterlot had changed the least from Twilight’s youth. The same stores were open, the same ponies hawked goods in side-streets and alcoves. The same cafes, museums and offices rested gingerly on the mountain, old bones creaking in a choked maze of intersecting alleys. Stepping into the main square was like stepping into a memory. She smelt the aroma of warm bread, heard the tinkling of the fountain, felt the brush of chilled air across her muzzle.

It was colder up here, up high. Perhaps that was why the unicorns-living in proximity to the Royal Court-had developed a sense of fashion. They were more prone to wear clothes, after all; pegasi being naturally resilient to the cold, and earth ponies preferring to live closer to the ground. Twilight tucked the thought away, for later deliberation. Maybe she’d ask Rarity.

Twilight took a deep breath, feeling it relax her throat and lungs. Ponyville was her home, now, but she’d always have a special place for Canterlot in her heart. Making to move through the square, she paused as she glimpsed a figure beckoning her from the corner of her eye, Joe, from the old doughnut shop. It had always been Spike’s favourite, and despite Twilight’s reluctance at the time, Joe’s friendly manner and impeccable pastries had grown on her. Stepping over, she raised a hoof in greeting.

“Hello, Joe! How have you been?”

“Twilight Sparkle. Celestia, it’s good to see you again, kid,” Joe said, causing Twilight to snort.

“I’m over thirty, you old windbag,” she retorted. Joe chuckled, his smile lighting up his face.

“Of course you are. And what does a thirty-something unicorn do with her time, besides visit old doughnut makers?” Joe said, leading Twilight back into his store. The sound of the bell over the door sent a wave of nostalgia over Twilight. She closed her eyes for a second, breathing in the sweet scent of the pastries.

“I was visiting my brother, actually. But most of my time is spent doing fieldwork.” Twilight said, opening her eyes and taking a seat at the counter. Joe had returned to his station opposite her, taking out a rag and beginning to wipe the counter down.

“Shining Armour, eh? We’ve been missing him around here, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Sure.” Joe reached into the display case, taking out a doughnut and placing it on a plate in front of Twilight. “On the house, by the way.”

“Oh, Joe, you don’t have to-,” Twilight began.

“No, no,” Joe said, waving a hoof. “Maybe it’ll make you visit more often. Bring Spike along next time, there’s one in it for him, too.”

“I’m sure he’d love to,” Twilight said, taking a bite of the doughnut, lips turning upwards as crumbs fell from the corners of her mouth. Joe returned the smile, and then leaned forward.

“Say, Twilight, do you know an Aurora by any chance? Old school-friend, perhaps?”

“No, not that I recall,” Twilight said, frowning.

“Because there was somepony here yesterday, claiming to know you. Called herself Aurora, said she went to school with you. Asked a whole lot of questions.”

“Interesting. What did she look like?”

“Blue coat, silverish hair, about your age. Cutie mark was a wand, spraying sparkles.”

“That sounds like . . . Trixie,” Twilight said slowly. “Now what is she up to?”

“You do know her?”

“Yes, at least I think I do. There was a travelling showpony by that description, came through Ponyville twice, years ago. First time she just stirred up some trouble. Second time, though, she came in with the Alicorn Amulet. We never did find out where she’d gotten her hooves on that thing.”

“Alicorn Amulet?”

“Just some old artefact; it grants immense magical power to the bearer. Of course, the longer you have it, the more it corrupts you.”

“That seems . . . remarkably dangerous.”

“Yes, yes it is.” Twilight shook her head. “But that’s all years ago. Why would Trixie suddenly have an interest in me? She’s never sought me out before.”

“”She mentioned a brother, in need of medical help. Something magical, the doctor’s couldn’t help. Said she remembered you, and was hoping you’d be able to do something.”

“If the doctor’s couldn’t help, Celestia herself would want to take a look.”

“Princess Celestia,” Joe said reprovingly.

“Mmm,” Twilight murmured, lost in thought.

She must want something . . . some favour, maybe, or another duel. She couldn’t hope to go up against an Arch-Magus, though . . . maybe she really does have a sick brother . . . brother.

Twilight sat straight up.

“Oh gosh, I forgot the time! Joe, it’s been really nice catching up, we’ll have to do it again sometime, but I have to go now, thank you for the doughnut!” she said, bolting out from the store.

Collecting herself, Twilight envisioned the train station. Shining should be arriving any minute now, and while it was only about ten minutes away at a trot, she wanted to be there to greet him.

Gathering energy in her horn, Twilight reached out, and drew herself through space, along the Canterlot ley-lines. The nexus she's installed in Ponyville had been modelled after Canterlot's, a means of circumventing some of the flaws in teleportation.

One couldn't teleport somewhere they'd never been, unless there was a ley-line connecting the two places, and even though Twilight had been to the station, using the ley-line made the task easier, requiring less energy. On top of that, ley-lines connected to safe zones, where ponies would know to leave clear. While the user could feel any obstruction in the field and cancel the spell, it made for less congestion, particularly when there were strings of unicorns waiting to use the network.

She came out near the station, trotting the rest of the way. The train had already arrived, and as she watched, Twilight saw the train’s doors open, the few passengers beginning to disembark and workers start to lift off the cargo, brought down from the north.

“Twily!” a voice called from behind her. Turning, Twilight caught a glimpse of her brother, running through the crowd.

“Shiny!” she called back, running forward to meet him. They met in a fierce hug, revelling in their reunion, before parting.

“I’ve missed you, kid,” he said, pulling back to regard her.

“How was the trip?” Twilight asked.

“Fine, fine,” he said, turning to collect his luggage.

“And Cadance?” She followed Shining’s lead as he began to walk towards the exit.

“She’s fine, Twily. We’ve been keeping pretty busy. But come now, I want to hear about you! What’s my little Arch-Magus doing to keep herself busy?” he said. Twilight blushed.

“Oh, you know, research, mostly. Fieldwork.”

“Oh?” Shining said, smiling. “When did you give up on reading every book in Equestria?”

“Ten years ago, when I did,” Twilight said. Shining Armour stopped, giving Twilight a wide-eyed stare.

“You’re not serious!”

“No, of course not, Shiny. Nopony could read that much, not even me,” Twilight said. “Besides, I had to specialise eventually, and there aren’t any books in this field to read.”

“Really? What are you working on? Surely there’d be books on everything.”

“Not on this there aren’t. Believe me, I’ve looked. Consider it pioneering, if you like.”

Shining Armour chuckled. “Okay, little sister. Pioneering new fields of magic, huh. Guess you aren’t so little anymore.”

“Maybe not, but you’ll always be my big brother.”

“Guess that means I can call you whatever I want, eh?” Shining said, smiling.

“Guess it does,” Twilight replied.

They walked side-by-side through the Canterlot streets, enjoying each other’s company. The conversation continued, drifting from between trivial matters and secret confessions, thriving on intimacy as they reaffirmed and renewed their bond.

The reunion, however, was cut short as the approached the palace.

“Hey, kid,” Shining said, placing emphasis on the kid with a grin. “Sorry to cut this short, but as much as I want to catch up, I need to put my things away, and report to the Princess. I’ll meet you in, say, a few hours?”

“Oh . . . I guess so, sure,” Twilight said, pouting.

“Thanks, Twily. I appreciate coming down to the station for me, but some of this is private. You understand?”

“Of course. Go on, then,” Twilight said, making a shooing motion. She did understand, as much as it rankled; she couldn’t have told him much about her work either. Some things were better left private.

“I’ll see you soon!” Shining called as he headed up into the castle. Twilight hadn’t even noticed where they’d been headed; she’d been so caught up in the reunion.

While her brother’s hasty departure was annoying, it left her an hour in Canterlot. Joe had said that Trixie had been asking about her just yesterday; she was probably still here, and now she had the time to chase her down. Twilight strode purposefully away from the castle, heading down the hill towards the marketplace. Somepony had to have seen her. Who knows, maybe Trixie really did have a sibling in need of help.

“So you don’t recognise this picture? Nopony you’ve seen around here recently?” Twilight asked, levitating a portrait she’d conjured in front of the shopkeepers face.

“Look, miss, are you going to buy something?”

“Well . . . no.”

“I haven’t seen her. Now please, get out of my shop. You’re holding everypony up.”

Twilight looked around at the vacant store, and then shook her head, holding her hoof to her face. “Fine, fine, I’ll go,” she said, turning to leave.

Twilight had spent the better part of her time moving around the various hubs in the city, asking after Trixie. It was frustrating work, not only did it seem that nopony had even heard of the mare, but they grew . . . irritable after the realisation that she wasn’t interested in buying anything.

Sighing, she turned to head back to the castle. She’d have to ask Rarity to pinpoint Trixie for her, after she got back to Ponyville. Twilight, turning a corner, trotted down a street, spying a jewellery store on her left. One more couldn’t hurt.

Twilight skipped the queue, pushing in front of the ponies waiting their chance to inspect the wares. She’d never had much patience for such frivolous waste, and certainly couldn’t afford to obey the sensibilities of the onlookers at the moment. Still, her actions earned her more than a few hard stares and cries from those nearer the back.

There were a few ponies staffing the counter, with one standing behind the register, wearing a vest and bowtie to accompany a stiff back and slight sneer. Twilight sighed inwardly, almost turning around then and there. They had adopted the peculiar tactic of pretending she didn’t exist, nopony even glancing in her direction. A not-so-subtle indictment of cutting in line.

Instead, approaching the counter, she smiled, flashing him the whites of her teeth before she began.

“Excuse me, I was hoping you could tell me if you recognise this pony,” Twilight said, hovering the photo forward onto the counter.

Almost despite himself, the manager glanced downwards, eyes immediately widening.

“Her! You’re looking for that . . . that . . .!” he cried, backing off and throwing his hooves in the air. Twilight felt herself grinning, this time genuinely.

“You know her?” she pressed, leaning onto the counter.

“Know her?” he said. “Know her?!” Spinning around, he stormed into the back room, ranting loudly. Twilight watched, shocked. She’d been fishing for a response, certainly, but that was just excessive.

One of the staff members leaned over, quietly whispering to her.

“She came in here about a week ago, made off with half a thousand bits,” he said.

“Trixie stole from here?!”Twilight exclaimed.

“So that’s her name,” the pony said. “Yeah, her and that partner of hers. None of us are really clear on the details, though. We’ve already spoken with police. You could check with them.”

Twilight heard a loud noise from the back room. It sounded remarkably like somepony putting their hoof through the wall.

“I see. Ah, perhaps I should go,” Twilight said.

“That might be best, yes,” the pony agreed.

“Thanks for your help,” Twilight said, hurriedly leaving the store. Outside, the ponies waiting in line continued to shoot her glances, though nopony said anything.

Trixie had been shoplifting, with a partner. To be honest, that didn’t come as much of a surprise; even though in Twilight’s experience the showmare had mostly stuck to legitimate means of earning her living. Her attitude had spoken of a lonely soul, somepony who protected herself from the cold nights and empty roads that made up her life through an utter conviction in her superiority.

It wasn’t a large leap from there to petty theft, particularly in desperate situations. What was it Trixie had said? Twilight struggled to remember, but even with her vaunted memory, it had been a long time ago, and even then she hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to it.

It had been something about . . . a farm. Twilight frowned. That sounded right, but . . . working on a farm was a decent job, especially for a unicorn. Not just any farm, then . . . a rock farm!

Working there, perhaps? Twilight winced. Even setting aside the work, that must have been a huge blow to her ego. For somepony who took such pride in her magical prowess, reduced to menial labour . . . it wasn’t so much that the work was beneath her, though Twilight could see Trixie believing that. It was just that it implied a separation from her element. Trixie, as a unicorn, if nothing else, was tied to magic. Being unable to support herself through that talent . . .

Perhaps Twilight hadn’t been as understanding as she could have been. Ponyville, certainly, had been accepting; content to simply watch Trixie’s show, even if it did humiliate some of their own. Harmless laughs, for the most part. Even the Ursa’s appearance was mere happenstance, an honest mistake arising from Trixie’s own grandiose appearance.

What worried Twilight was the sudden thought that her own behaviour had been lacking. Even then, still so new to friendship, she’d understood the basics of social interaction. But none of them, not Applejack, or Rarity, or Rainbow or even Fluttershy or Twilight herself had tried to befriend her. Despite everything Pinkie had said about Gilda just the week before, she’d made no attempt to know Trixie, to understand her story. Perhaps that was why she’d come back.

The Alicorn Amulet corrupted those who wore it, Twilight knew. Trixie’s actions while under her influence were not her own, and she had apologised before leaving. She was accountable, yes. But still, Twilight had merely confronted her. Even then, after all her time studying friendship, she’d treated Trixie’s appearance as the return of a rival, of an enemy. Why? How much of the blame lay in Twilight’s assumptions? Perhaps she’d simply been reacting in kind, presenting those she found with what they were looking for.

And then, after Twilight had defeated her-using friendship, no less, she’d had the gall to stand above her, victorious and accept her apology with no more of an explanation than the rock farm. Small wonder she was now stealing.

Past failures aside, though, for some reason Trixie now needed her help; both with the sick brother, and now with this crime. Perhaps it was understandable, that she’d fallen so far, and Celestia had always said that understanding bred empathy. But even so, she’d broken the law.

Twilight stopped walking, having arrived in front of the castle. She was in luck; her brother was just coming down the steps, luggage absent. Smiling she began to walk forward to meet him.

In the back of her mind, she was making a list. Trixie had just become a priority. Even if she wasn’t in need, Twilight felt compelled to seek her out, try to make amends. It would have to make up for the opportunities she’d missed, all those years ago.

Five

I arrived in the northlands today. The countryside is beautiful, fertile green pastures dotted with small forests and mountain ranges. I took rest on the peak of one such mountain, watching the black clouds slowly growing.

I am running out of time.

Five

LUNA STEPPED FORWARD out of the shadows of the wide doors, flanking and enshrining her advance into the hall. Ahead, her sister was already moving to greet her, expression sorrowful.

Celestia shone like the sun itself, radiant and bright. She exuded magic, an aura hanging around her, charging the air with power. Luna ignored its touch, raising the hairs on her neck. She would no longer be blinded by that false light, nor reflect its glory from the shadows.

“Doth thou now come to comfort me, sister?” Luna said, spitting the words out from between clenched teeth. “Now, at the end of things, thou seeks to repent?”

“Nay, sister,” Celestia replied. “I know why thou hath come. I hath Seen the path thou takes to this moment. We art set in motion, and for the entire world we could not step aside.”

“We desired not the world,” Luna said. “Thou should know, now, how simply thou might have resolved this matter.”

“It is the path not taken, Luna. We cannot change the past.”

“And now we are set ‘gainst one another. I shall not falter, sister. Even the sun must set.”

“I am sorry, Luna. That it came to this.”

“Art thou? Truly?” Luna asked, pulling in shadows from around the room. Coalescing around her body, they resisted the rays of light shining from Celestia, drawing them into an eternal blackness where they dwindled; fading through time and space. “Then thou wouldst repent, and allow us our allotted kingdom.”

“’Tis not mine to give,” Celestia said, summoning to her side a spear of light. Horn bright, she narrowed her eyes, staring at Luna’s incorporeal, shimmering form, seeking to perceive her body amidst the shifting shadows.

“Even now, thou persists,” Luna spat, eyes glowing. “It has been yours, sister, since we took these forms.” Luna blinked, just once, and when her eyes opened, they revealed fanged slits, set against a luminescent blue. She could feel the hate, boiling just under the surface, a hatred born of jealousy, and, perhaps, fear. It was just a sliver, but there nonetheless; a fear of irrelevance, impotence and immortality.

Hatred reached around her torso, clasping her in moonshine silver, an armour of sorts, locking her in place. Slowly, she surrendered to its rage, a burning river that would sweep over all in its path. Her coat changed, subtly turning darker every moment, until it was the black of deep night, no longer warm, but so very cold in the absence of the sun’s warmth.

Celestia flinched. Out of the blackness before her emerged a metamorphosed creature, standing taller than her sister. Neighing loudly, it struck a hoof forward in challenge, igniting its horn.

“Prepare yourself, Celestia, for the day hath come to an end!” the creature said, sending wisps of shadow to block the sunlight filtering down from the high windows of the hall. Plunged into sudden darkness, the creature let out a triumphant laugh, sound echoing around. Celestia couldn’t see where it was, heard it everywhere, all around her.

“Luna . . . what . . . what have thou done?” Celestia whispered, standing still. “Thou gave yourself to this?”

“Luna is gone, sister,” the creature said, from behind Celestia. Instantly, the spear of light plunged into the darkness, seeking it. And although it pierced the shadows, throwing them away in disarray, it found nothing but empty air and the hard stone of the floor.

“So blind,” it whispered, this time in front of her. Again, her light found nothing. “So helpless. What art thou, lacking the sun thou so depends on? Pray, what happens to light when the darkness chooses not to give way before it, but to envelop?”

Celestia dispelled her spear, taking in the light that formed it. Body glowing, she expelled it in a single wave, emanating in all directions. For a moment, she saw. Saw by the light, again flowing to her, the creature, standing alone at the end of the hall. It quickly recovered, again throwing the blackness around the room like a shield.

“What hath thou done with it, Celestia?” it asked. “Where hath thou left it?”

“It is all around us, fiend. It is in the air and the water, the earth and the stone. It is in the bodies of our ponies, and their minds, and their hearts.”

“Nay, not ours, yours. But no longer.”

Celestia felt a sudden burning on her flank. Spinning around, she shook loose the tendril of shadow that had latched onto her. She winced, magic already repairing the wound. But the creature laughed, a roiling, rolling sound, deafening and horrid.

“Enough,” Celestia said, drawing herself up. “Wilt thou return my sister to me?”

“Thou defeat is inevitable, Celestia. Thou cannot hope to stand against the night.”

“Then I am sorry. Do you hear me, Luna?” Celestia said. “I am sorry.”

For the third time, the creature laughed, with mirth alive in its voice. It was a laugh afraid of nothing, confident and complete, reminding Celestia of what might have been.

“Thou knows my name, creature of night,” Celestia said, “but what shalt I call thee in posterity?”

The creature paused, then spoke. “I am thy nightmare. I am thy fear, under the midnight moon. I am the blackness of thy heart and the whispers in the darkest of nights. Call me Nightmare Moon, sister, for that is my nature and my soul!”

Celestia reached out. The blackness wasn’t there, not really. It existed only in the mind, only as a manifestation of this creature’s power. She reached past it, and it ceased to matter.

She reached into the sky, into the mirth of the wind and the joy of flight. She reached into the land, amidst rock, dirt and the ever-flowing embrace of life. She reached into the stone, constant and solid, ever-vigilant and enduring. She reached into her subjects, into the bodies of the ponies who toiled under the sun. She reached into their minds, the hidden places of their lives, where they knew others, and held them together. She reached into their hearts, where they knew themselves, and became individuals as one.

From these places she gathered power, a denial and an affirmation. Nature, in its purest form, distilled from the world around her, a Harmony of sorts. She turned that power on Nightmare Moon, shadows withering under the ball of light on the end of Celestia’s horn. In the instant before it vanished completely, she saw the widening of its eyes, saw the realisation of its vulnerability. In isolation it fell, and was bound to the moon for a thousand years.

I am sorry, sister.

I know.

***

“Rarity? It’s me, Twilight! Are you home?”

Rarity groaned and rolled over, throwing the covers off her. Twilight never had learnt the proper hours for visiting. It simply wasn’t right for a lady to be awake so early in the morning.

Quickly checking the clock on the wall, she confirmed her fears. It had just barely hit six, perhaps half an hour following the dawn.

Still, Rarity wasn’t about to tell her to come back later. No matter how early it was, she would conduct herself with decorum, if only in the hope that somepony would learn from her example.

Rarity leaned out of her window, gazing down at Twilight. Sure enough, the mare was bright-eyed and all smiles, with packed saddlebags and no hint that she understood that this was a time for sleeping.

“Goodness, Twilight, whatever is the matter?” Rarity called down to her.

“Just needed some help finding somepony,” Twilight replied.

“Can’t it wait?” Rarity said.

“I hope so.”

Rarity sighed. “I’ll be down in a minute, darling,” she called. “Why don’t you come inside and make yourself comfortable?”

Pulling back from the window, Rarity rubbed her eyes, trying to work out the last of her drowsiness. Yawning, she stepped over to the vanity, absently fixing the few hairs out of place from her rest. What could Twilight need so urgently? Such a cryptic reply, too. Rarity had hoped that that part of the princess wouldn’t rub off on her. She hoped it could wait . . . then Twilight didn’t even know if this was urgent!

Rarity stepped over the stairs, stepping down them while tugging on her robe. It was chilly, in the morning, and she still remembered the warmth of her bed. The clothing and a warm cup of tea would be an admirable substitute, though she wouldn’t be going back to sleep afterwards.

Twilight was already sitting in the kitchen, horn alight, concentrating on Rarity’s kettle.

“Oh, darling, you don’t have to do that,” Rarity said, walking over to help.

“Nonsense, Rarity, it’s the least I could do. I thought this would be better over tea, anyway, especially considering the hour,” Twilight said, gesturing towards the table. “Why don’t you get the cups?”

Rarity smiled, collecting the porcelain from various places in the kitchen, setting them out on the table. Twilight carried the kettle over, pouring the boiling water into the teapot. Soon, aromatic steam was rising, filling the room with its warmth.

Rarity curled her fore hooves around her cup, delicately blowing steam off the surface of the liquid before taking a sip.

“Now then, Twilight, who did you want to find,” she said, leaning forward.

“You’re not going to like this,” Twilight said, taking a deep breath. “It’s Trixie.”

Rarity paused in the act of sipping her tea, carefully placing the cup back on the table and enveloping it in a telekinetic field. Her beverage safe, she proceeded to fix her eyes on Twilight and, rising, thumped her hoof down on the table.

“Trixie? Of all the egotistical, arrogant showboats, you want me to find Trixie!?”

Twilight winced. “I know, I know, Rarity, but it’s important.”

“Important? Important! Was it important to you that that . . . that . . . that ruffian exiled you from the town, Twilight? Was it important that she tried to cause Rainbow agony? She made me bleed!” Rarity said, placing her foreleg against her head and falling backwards. Twilight caught her before she hit the ground, helping Rarity regain her balance.

“Heh . . . thanks.”

“That was a long time ago, Rarity,” Twilight said. “I think she’s in trouble.”

“Good!” Rarity cried. “She’d got it coming to her.”

“Rarity, please,” Twilight said. “It’s partially our fault she’s like this, and . . .”

“Our fault?” Rarity cried. “How is it our fault?”

“We never reached out to her,” Twilight said. “If I’d only asked, at some point . . . She needed us, even then, Rarity, and we failed her. I have to try, now, somehow make it up to her. Please, Rarity. Do it for me.”

“You do understand what you’re asking, Twilight?”

“Yes. And I’m asking.”

“Humph. Very well. But only for you, dear,” Rarity said, placing her empty cup on the table. “Shall we?”

Twilight nodded. “At the Agency, though"

“Well, in that case, I’m going to need some time to get ready.”

“Of course,” Twilight said. “I’ll meet you there in an hour?”

“Two. And you’re buying breakfast,” Rarity said.

“Deal,” Twilight said, smiling. She stood, moving the porcelain to the counter, her own teacup emptied into the sink. Trixie . . . why did Twilight have to bring that mare back into their lives. Rarity sighed, reheating the kettle. It was far too early for this.

***

Trixie walked off the early morning train with her head held high, stepping off the platform and making for the centre of Ponyville. Despite the years, she recognised enough of the landmarks around the town; fountains, parks, and buildings to navigate.

Ponyville had changed a lot, since she’d last visited. They’d removed the statues, for one, though Trixie was glad to see those go. Mementos of a time she would rather forget. Beyond that, the town seemed larger, more populous. She found she was glad to see that they were doing so well. It was a comfort, to realise she’d truly left that part of her life behind.

Yes, yes, touching. But where is Twilight?

She lived in the treehouse when we were here last. I guess we start there.

Trixie could just make out the top of the tree in the distance, right in the middle of town. She moved confidently, but quickly, trying to balance not drawing attention with a hasty pace. Of course, it was unlikely anypony would recognise her at a glance, given how long it had been. But it never hurt to be cautious.

She noticed some ponies giving her hard looks anyway. Trixie tried to ignore them. She did deserve their enmity, after all.

Finally arriving at the treehouse, Trixie gave several short raps on the door. Several steps sounded inside the house, though they were thumps, as if supporting a heavy weight, rather than the rap of a metal horseshoe against wood. She could be bare-hoofed, of course, but still . . . that was a lot of weight.

The door opened, a reptilian claw gripping the frame and a scaled head poked around, mouth already opened to speak.

The dragon. Of course.

“Yes? Can I help you . . .” his voice trailed off as he saw her, eyes taking in the silvery mane and wand on her flank. “Trixie,” he said flatly. “What are you doing back here?”

“I just wanted to talk,” Trixie said. “To Twilight.”

“Ahuh,” the dragon said. “And is that all you want?” He opened the door fully, allowing Trixie to see his bulk. Standing about the height of a pony, he was obviously still immature, but menacing all the same, with thick shoulders and wickedly sharp spines running down his back. He crossed his arms in front of him, standing in the doorway. “So what’s stopping you?”

“She lives here, doesn’t she?” Trixie said. The dragon didn’t move. “Look, I’m sorry we started on the wrong hoof. But I . . . I’ve had some time, away, to think about it, and I wanted to say sorry.”

“To say sorry,” the dragon said. “To Twilight.”

“Well, yes.”

“But not to anyone else?”

“Oh! Uhm, well, what’s your name?” Trixie said, offering him a small smile. The dragon appeared somewhat mollified; relaxing his stance though still hostile, tendrils of smoke curling from each nostril.

“My name? I don’t know. You may call me Daerev.”

“Well then, Daerev, I am sorry. I apologise to you, and to all of Ponyville. My actions were reprehensible, and I deeply regret them,” Trixie said.

“Okay. But Twilight doesn’t live here anymore,” Daerev said.

Trixie frowned. “Where is she, then?”

“Here, I’ll show you,” Daerev said, with a gesture as he turned, leading Trixie inside. “But only because I know that Twilight would annihilate you if you tried anything.”

Heh. Yeah, right.

Daerev pulled a map out from a shelf, unrolling it and spreading it over the table. “Twilight lives over here now, on the east side of town. Big building, you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you, Daerev,” Trixie said. This time, he returned her smile.

Trixie stepped out of the library with a light step. If she could win over the dragon—someone who actually remembered her, and had held something akin to a grudge, perhaps she could make amends.

That’s nice, but remember why we’re here.

Isn’t that part of it, Cumulus; moving on. This place . . . feels important, and I’ve certainly never been here, Brash said.

Trixie ignored them, focusing on the directions she’d gathered from Daerev's map. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far, though it was back across the market. She arrived at Twilight’s home without further incident, though she saw some more faces that she . . . not recognised, not exactly, felt a vague familiarity with. It was still early, and Ponyville was waking up.

Trixie looked up at Twilight’s door, reading the plaque there. A consulting agency, then. She chuckled. She could have hired Twilight to help her, still could, if things didn’t pan out. Composing herself, she stretched a hoof out and rapped on the door, then slowly opened it with her magic.

Inside, she heard two voices, quickly hushing, then hoof-steps, a pony this time, approaching her. The entrance was a dim corridor. What little light there was filtered in from the adjacent rooms, each with curtains pulled shut over the windows. It created an admirable air of mystique, though Trixie was largely unimpressed.

A purple face poked out from the room on the right, framed by a dark mane with pink highlights. Twilight wore it just as Trixie remembered. It was a face burned into her memory, even if other details had faded.

Twilight didn’t seem surprised to see her standing there. Trixie watched as she calmly trotted up to her. She looked . . . secure; older, more balanced, with a wealth of knowledge and experience backing her up. Not the confidence that came with youth, but that which followed age.

“Trixie! A pleasure to see you. What brings you here this day?” Twilight said brightly, reaching forward to shake Trixie’s hoof. She took it, shaking back; taking comfort in the familiarity of the ritual to ease the shock. She’d expected to have to convince Twilight to even hear her out.

“Well, uh, that is . . .” Trixie said. “You see, I was heading through, and I thought I’d visit. You know, stop in for a chat, see how you were . . .”

Twilight giggled. “No, you weren’t. You’ve been in Canterlot. Joe told me all about your little chat with him.”

“W-What? But that was just two days ago? How . . .”

“Coincidence. So, this brother of yours, how is he?”

Trixie paused. Twilight already knew her movements the last few days, and possibly more. “I don’t have a brother. I only said that to make Joe more comfortable talking,” she said, hanging her head.

“I see –“ Twilight began, before another pony stepped out from the room. White coat, purple mane and diamonds for a cutie mark, Trixie vaguely recalled seeing her in magazines across Equestria, some kind of fashion designer. Her name was Rarity, and for some reason she was completely soaked, as if she’d just stepped out of the shower. All except her head, anyway.

“If that’s all, Twilight?” Rarity asked, her mane dripping all over the floor.

“Actually, if you don't mind, you could finish up for the week. Since you’re here, and everything,” Twilight said.

“I suppose, darling. I’ll be another hour, then,” Rarity said, moving back into the room she’d come from.

Twilight focused her attention on Trixie.

“Come in, come in,” she said, leading Trixie into the room on the left. It was an office of sorts, complete with a dark, mahogany desk and large cushy chairs. Twilight pulled the curtains open, throwing light across the carpeted floor, chasing away the shadows.

“So, why are you here?” she began, taking a seat behind the desk. Trixie took her queue to sit in front of it.

“To try to make amends,” Trixie said. Twilight shook her head.

“I don’t buy it,” she said. “You could have done that years ago. “Why now?”

“Because . . .” Trixie said, grasping for a reason. She couldn’t tell the truth. Not all of it, anyway. “Because I read your paper.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“On Mental Magic and the Soul,” Trixie said, quoting from memory. She’d given her notes another look-over on the train down.

Twilight’s eyes seemed far away, gazing at some point in the distance. “That was a long time ago. I thought the only copies were in the Canterlot Archives.”

“Well, they are.”

“Doing some breaking and entering, are we?”

“Just bribes, actually,” Trixie said.

“So that’s why you robbed that store,” Twilight murmured, still lost in thought. Trixie did a double-take, half-raising a hoof.

“You . . . you know about that?”

“Hmm? Oh yes, and your partner, too."

“Wha-“

“But what I’m still confused about,” Twilight said, eyes snapping from their private vista to Trixie, pinning her. “Is why you felt it necessary to get into the Archives and read my paper. What were you looking for?”

“I’m . . . interested, in mental magic. Telepathy, empathic communication, transfer of consciousness. That sort of thing.”

“Well, the first thing you should know is that that paper is rubbish.”

“What?”

“Not worth the scroll it was written on, actually,” Twilight said.

“But . . . but,” Trixie said.

“I know. Annoying, isn’t it? To build theories, then find out your assumptions were false.” Twilight bobbed her head, holding Trixie’s gaze. “But what did you need it for, anyway?”

No turning back, now. She played you, quite thoroughly, too.

Unfortunately, Cumulus was right. Trixie had been off-balance from the start, had already given up too much to give hide anything else. But Twilight hadn’t turned her in for the theft, even though she knew. Surely that meant something, despite the trembling in her legs and pounding of her heart. Trixie had kept this secret tightly, never daring to confide. Trixie took a deep breath, steadying herself, then began.

“Okay. uhm, so, this all happened five years ago, I went home, for the first time in over a decade. I thought it would be . . . nice to catch up with some ponies from my past. There were three of us, me, Brash and Cumulus. We used to cause all sorts of trouble, together at Noble Deed’s Orphanage.”

“You’re an orphan,” Twilight said, leaning forward.

“Yeah,” Trixie replied.

“I’m sorry.”

Trixie frowned. “Don’t be. I’m better off as it is. Anyway, I’m meeting Brash and Cumulus in my old house, and, somehow, a fire breaks out. Next thing I know, they’re on the floor, and I’m trying not to breath in too much smoke. I think a falling beam might have clipped them.”

“So I struggle over to them, nearly unconscious myself, and essentially drape myself over their bodies. Understand, there was no resisting that heat. It was like a giant hoof, pressing down on me,” Trixie said. Twilight nodded slowly, face growing darker with each word.. “I pass out like that. When I wake, I’m in the hospital, and they’re dead.”

Twilight clasped her hooves to her mouth, recoiling from the desk. “Oh Celestia, I remember hearing about that fire! I’m so sorry, Trixie. That must have been awful.”

Trixie shook her head. “No, that’s not it. The doctors told me Brash and Cumulus were dead. Bodies charred almost beyond recognition. But I’m lying there, on the bed, with voices screaming in my head—well, one voice, actually—that no, I wasn’t dead, I was right here, can’t you see me, I’m here, oh why can’t you see me?”

Trixie saw it in Twilight’s eyes, understanding dawning, followed by horror. The purple unicorn trembled, hooves clutching at the desk as she tried to steady herself. “Oh, those poor souls. Oh, Celestia!”

“I worked out what had happened, of course, but I stayed quiet. I have no desire to spend my life as their guinea pig.”

“Actually, the princess is very rigid about our adherence to ethical standards in the treatments of patients. I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad,” Twilight said, seizing on the detail.

Trixie smiled inwardly. Now who was off-balance? An unintended effect, but useful nonetheless, now she could press. She could be open.

“I’ve come to you because your paper suggested something to me. I thought perhaps you’d know something about this, something about how my friends got in my head, why they’re there, how to get them out.”

“I, ah . . . I’m not sure, maybe?” Twilight said. “You say you hear their voices. How can you be sure they aren’t a hallucination, of sorts?”

“They know things I don’t. They speak in their own voice, built from their own experiences. They can share knowledge, memories, or withhold them from me. They are individuals, as much as we are.”

“Three minds in one body,” Twilight murmured. “I’ve no experience with anything like this. I’m sorry, Trixie, but if you want my help, you’ll need to stay around here for a while.”

Trixie grimaced. “I can’t. I’m . . . busy.”

“Something with your partner in crime?” Twilight guessed.

“Yeah,” Trixie said. “Something like that.”

“Listen, Trixie . . . you don’t need to involve yourself in that,” Twilight said. “You could stay here, cut ties. Live a normal, happy life.” Twilight reached out, grasping Trixie’s fore hoof.

“Look, I’ve been thinking. About the last time you came here, how I acted. And I’m ashamed. I assumed you were a rival, an enemy, and I never tried to get to know you. I never asked why.

“So that’s what I’m doing now, extending the hoof, so to speak. Stay here, in Ponyville, as a friend. We’ll work out what happened in your head; fix it, whatever you want. But you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Well, that’s new, Cumulus said.

What a nice mare, Brash offered.

Trixie didn’t know what to think. The offer appealed to a side of her that she hadn’t known since the incident. She still remembered the loneliness of the road; cold nights spent shivering in the dark. But it wasn’t her anymore, she now spent her time in constant company, whether she liked it or not.

But there was Boundless to think of. She’d debated leaving endlessly, back and forth with Cumulus and Brash, only to conclude that her best course of action was to remain with him. He had been useful, and the longer she spent with him, the less choice she’d felt. It was just a feeling, a nagging presence in her mind. She did not know what he would do if she left.

“I . . . I can’t. I’m sorry too, Twilight, for what I did, and I’m . . . thankful for your understanding. But I can’t, at least, not long-term,” Trixie said.

“Why not?” Twilight asked, frowning.

“It’s not that simple. I just can’t,” Trixie said. “But, Twilight, I hope you’ll consider me a friend all the same.”

That got Twilight to smile. “Of course I do, Trixie. I’m glad you came.”

“So am I,” Trixie said, returning her grin.

***

“Fire lives in our hearts. It is at the centre of what we do, it is our very soul, our passion and our life. You wish to learn who you are, youngling, your body and mind, nature and heritage. Such questions cannot be answered by me alone, or in just a few years. But in essence, we are fire.”

The Drac opened his mouth, bathing Spike in blue flame. The fire licked at his body, but never caught grip, reaching around him without grasping. It fell away leaving not a singe.

“We are fire, and we are more than fire. We feel its passion, but we do not succumb to it. We burn it, but we are not burnt by it. We understand fire, youngling. You must learn to understand it as you do yourself, an extension of your body, a claw, or arm.”

“And how do I do that,” Spike said, already knowing the answer. The Drac grinned evilly.

“Practice, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Spike said.

“More than that, you must learn fire. How it burns through the world, without pause for empathy. The paths it takes, through air, or across water. The nature of fire,” the Drac said. “That, youngling, will take study. This week, you will begin to learn all you can about fire.”

Spike nodded. At least he wouldn’t go hungry again, and study was a simple task. He’d spent enough time with Twilight to be efficient, and it didn’t present any ethical dilemma.

“For now, show me your progress,” the Drac said.

Spike focused on his flame. Daily contact had strengthened his contact with it, made it less tentative. He bathed his mind in it, a roiling sea of green that engulfed his senses. The crack and roar in his ears, acrid smoke in his nostrils. It brought him to life, gave sharp clarity to the world around him. He snapped his eyes open, and filled his mouth with flame, holding it just inside. A few sparks fell from his lips, drifting down to the ground where he quickly stamped them out.

The Drac noticed, gesturing Spike’s mouth shut. “It no longer dissipates when you release it?”

“No,” Spike confirmed. “It first happened last week, a day after our session.”

“Excellent. And you’ve managed to not burn anything since then.”

“I was careful.”

“You must know the ways of fire, if only to avoid unpleasant accidents. You understand this?”

“Yes, yes of course,” Spike said. He knew from experience how dangerous he could be, living in a library in a treehouse. Dragonfire wasn’t the same as an ordinary, natural flame, instead of a simple chemical reaction; dragonfire was alive. It burnt hot, quickly and cleanly, left to itself it would spread exponentially. Twilight had calculated the difference, when they’d first noticed the difference. Where fire consumed its kingdom, spilling over the borders when it reached them, dragonfire invaded. Twilight referred to it as an active phenomenon, opposed to the passivity of nature. Dragonfire had a mind.

Practically, that meant dragons could control the rate at which their fire spread. They could excite it, send up a great expanse all at once, and they could dampen it, even extinguish it. That made it more than a tool, that made it part of them. Spike still struggled with it, controlling his fire. It wanted to grow, to burn and consume until nothing was left.

The Drac continued the lesson, showing Spike the way fire spread, embers carried by the wind, the differences between residential fires and forest fires, even the way ash spread through the soil, mixing with the dirt and fertilising the land.

“Fire is life, youngling. If you control one, you control the other.”

Six

I don’t even understand what I’m supposed to do. The prophecies say I will know when the time comes, but that is small comfort.

At least I now know I have not been misled. I can . . . feel something, in the mountains. It pulses in my mind, as much a beacon as a warm campfire on a winter’s night.

Six

LUNA'S EYES FLICKERED OPEN, registering nothing. Blackness spread all around her, a vast expanse of nothing. She hadn’t expected anything different, exactly.

Her Dream had shown her a scene from the past, a scene almost physically painful for Luna. She’d replayed that moment countless times on her return to Equestria, exploring every inch of her failure until she knew it better than she knew herself.

Dreams were prophetic. Was she destined to repeat the past, then? Had she no choice but to return to the Nightmare? The mind has no control over its dreams, scenes from its subconscious playing out regardless of their impact. Did she have as little control over her fate?

She had been drawn, curiosity and hope driving her, into his web like a moth to flame. Well, her curiosity had been sated. The Wastes had convinced her; even trapped here, his presence left them a desolate, barren land. Whatever civilisation had fallen before him, so long ago would not see their sacrifice be in vain.

All that remained was to escape, to return to Equestria, her duties and her sister, to ask for forgiveness; for her doubt and her haste. She needed to do it without hatred, without jealousy or anguish. This prison would not break her.

Luna resumed walking forward. There was nowhere else to go. Focusing on the light from her horn, she began to project, casting her mind out, seeking a flaw in the prison. Every spell had a knot, the source and the keystone of the weave. If she found the knot, she could unravel the spell.

Through her mind’s eye, the blackness took on another meaning. All around her swirled a storm of magic, a veritable torrent of power writhing in a mad dance. At first Luna thought she could discern some pattern, order amidst the storm, but every time she caught something, a repeated movement or mirrored symbol, it changed, diverting the flow elsewhere. It was Chaos incarnate, a spell transcending Nature.

“Thou cannot hope to escape,” he said, words echoing across Luna’s mind. “Thy place is here, for now.”

“Fiend! We shalt escape thee, and when we do, thou shalt tremble before the might of the moon!” Luna said, spitting words into the blackness.

“Thou wouldst best me? How, when thou doth not even know thyself.”

“You are truly lost.”-the Drac's words, from an age ago.

No. She had not lost her way, not this time. She’d learned better, learned not to isolate herself, not to covet power and cultivate fear. She’d gotten past her jealousy, made peace with the quiet of the night. A ripple on Equestria’s surface, and a powerful current underneath, hidden from view.

“I know my strengths and my flaws, the twists of my mind and the inner workings of my heart. I earnt that knowledge, by my failures and triumphs, across time immemorial.”

“Thou are ruled by thy failure. Thou art defined by it.”

His words struck at Luna like a hammer. Was this shadow destined to follow her the rest of her days? Luna had tried so hard to move on, to forget about it, to lessen it to a bad dream in the night.

But she hadn’t, couldn’t just continue as if it hadn’t happened. She’d struggled with the guilt, spent time debating her folly, and learnt. She truly believed that, that the experience could make her, in the end, a better princess, a better leader; a better pony.

Did that define her? Was the Nightmare’s shadow marked so indelibly on her life that even now, he saw its influence on her? A corruptive touch, devastating not directly, as it had been before, but through fear. She didn’t trust herself anymore, not as she had. What good was a guide that feared its own light? That hesitated to step down the path it knew right?

Knew, or thought right. No, she couldn’t trust herself. She’d proven that, all those years ago. Given power, given strength, she selfishly abused it. She forgot her purpose.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Luna said. He had timed his appearance well, just as the fresh anger of her entrapment had finally cooled to a sullen despair. There was potential, there, for escape. Anger would burn her out, without pause for consequence or repercussion. But she wouldn’t take that power again.

She’d Dreamt, and she’d Seen; concessions to need that life had forced from her. But they had been spurred by fear and hope, in balance. There had been no disruption, no danger. To burn anger, to feel the rush of molten metal through her veins and the exhilarating thrill of destruction; that would end her. Maybe not now, but years ahead, when finally she could no longer resist its siren call, she would fall to the darkness once more.

“You fear yourself, Luna of the Moon. You fear your light.”

Luna returned to her body, shaking her head to shake off the dizzying after effects of her altered vision. He was right, of course. Ultimately, the thing she feared the most was herself. Her potential for evil, her Nightmare . . . Fear of falling to that trap had informed every action, every decision she’d taken upon her return to Equestria. It had stopped her from reclaiming her place as a ruler, as Celestia’s sister.

Her light had once shone across Equestria, as surely as the sun’s morning rise, a dawn of blazing glory. But where Celestia had taught, Luna had observed, carefully watching over her subjects. Instead of becoming an exemplar, a shining pillar, she had become a leader, shrouded in shadows, those same shadows that had betrayed her; blinded her to her folly.

What became of that now? She had become a recluse, the past years disappearing with scant appearances and brief visits from a trusted few. Luna did not fear the public’s eye, nor shy from her duties. But too scared to take back the responsibilities, to tread that path again, what was left for her?

She was no leader, not now. She had forsaken that path when she spurned her sister’s grace, ignored the pleas of those she’d sworn to serve. What, then, was she, in this new Equestria? Where was her place? Was it simply to serve as a warning; a symbol of failure for all those contemplating the darkness?

“No,” Luna said. “No, I do not fear my light. I fear my shadow, lengthening in the dusk. I fear the twilight of my years, the waning of my influence and waxing of my impotence. I fear your touch, and what havoc you would wreak across me and mine. That fear drives me, and it shall see to your end!”

Her words rang hollow in the darkness, echoing around her, out into the black nothingness. Though she listened patiently, there was no reply.

***

“Tell me, Trixie, do you share emotions with them?” Twilight asked, pulling her mind away from Trixie’s. It was difficult to hear, close to her, over the noise Brash and Cumulus were making. “You can tell them to stop, by the way.”

“They can hear you, Twilight,” Trixie said, “and no, we don’t share emotions.”

“Right,” Twilight said. “But they can hear your thoughts?”

“Yes, though they don’t always comment. It isn’t a two-way link.”

“Okay. That rules out the Spiritual nexus as the focus of your connection. It requires equality, or one mind would simply come to dominate the others. Personality, history, everything would bleed over, through the link.”

“Then what is the connection? Your paper . . .”

“I’ve already told you that paper was rubbish. I wrote that . . . before.”

“But what was wrong with it? I mean, I couldn’t stop any glaring errors,” Trixie insisted.

“Trust me. You’ve no experience with the subject. The relationship between the soul and the mind is incredibly complex. Magic doesn’t even come close to explaining it. More like the other way around, actually.”

“You mean we . . . what, source magic from the interplay between logic and emotion?”

“No, not really,” Twilight said, shaking her head. “But if you can understand it that way, it will suffice.”

“I think I’m qualified for the full explanation,” Trixie said, stiffening.

“Trust me, Trixie, you’re not,” Twilight said, giving her an apologetic smile. “But the point is, I think that the connection between you all, the link that drew their minds to yours as they died, is founded on emotion.”

“How is that even possible?” Trixie asked. Nothing Twilight said was even remotely close to what she’d been taught about magic. Unicorns drew power from themselves, channelled it through the horn through a spell matrix to achieve some effect. What Twilight was saying didn’t even try to take into account the body’s natural channels of power, nor the mind’s leylines. To focus a spell elsewhere would be quite impossible, beyond the reach of even the princess. Slippage would kill the pony, if nothing else.

“I can’t explain that, Trixie,” Twilight said. “But it does mean that I can do something about this.”

“That easily, huh?” Trixie said.

“No, with extreme difficulty, and over a large period of time.” Twilight beckoned Trixie closer, reached her hooves towards her head. Trixie obliged, allowing Twilight clasp her, and reach into her mind.

Like this. Can you hear me? Twilight called.

Yes. The response came, three voices chorusing together.

Do you see me?

No.

Ah. Here it is, Twilight muttered. Trixie couldn’t feel anything, just a slight pressure on the sides of her head as Twilight clamped her between her hooves. Looking at Twilight, eyes closed, head bent in concentration . . . wait . . . was that a tear track, faintly marked against her fur? Then Trixie felt something change, something fundamental, that pushed it from her mind.

“There,” Twilight said, pulling away from Trixie. She took several deep breaths, recovering before sitting back up in her chair. “Feel different?” Twilight asked.

Trixie nodded mutely. Ever since the incident, she’d had company, voices in her head. Silence had lost its meaning, each moment invariably filled with chatter. What else were they to do, locked away in her mind?

But now Trixie could hear nothing, punctuated only by her own thoughts. Tentatively, she called out.

Brash? Cumulus? You guys still with me?

There was no response.

Trixie fixed her gaze on Twilight. “What did you do,” she said in a low voice, tensing.

“I blocked the channels between you. They’re still there, you just can’t hear them, or feel them in any way,” Twilight said.

“Undo it. Now,” Trixie said, holding her gaze on Twilight.

“Uh . . . okay, sorry,” Twilight said. “Come here.”

Twilight lit her horn, leaning forward again, this time simply pressing a hoof into Trixie’s forehead. Then, there they were, like an explosion of colour behind her eyes. Trixie sighed, relaxing into her chair. She’d forgotten what it was like, to be alone in your mind. She took a deep breath.

“Thank you, Twilight,” Trixie said. “I just . . . I don’t want them gone.”

Twilight cocked her head to the side. “I thought that was the whole point.”

“No,” Trixie said, struggling to find the right words. “I guess I want-we want-to understand. But to remove them? Twilight, they’re all I have left of my friends. I can’t just let them die.”

“So, what? You want to move them to new bodies?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Trixie said, glancing down at her hooves, crossed helplessly in her lap. “Why did this happen to me? They should be dead, instead they’re living in my head. What does that mean?”

“It means you cared for them, deeply. It means you’re a very special pony, and that they were lucky to have known you.”

“Look, can we set this aside. I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Trixie said.

“Sure,” Twilight said. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” Trixie said, casting about for some topic of conversation, still shaken from the experience. “Do you happen to know anything about the Crystal Heart?”

Trixie!

Twilight arched an eyebrow. “The Archives?” she asked.

“Yeah, I noticed it while I was searching for, well, you know,” Trixie said. “But I couldn’t find anything recent. Like somepony had cut out any references to it.”

“I don’t know about that. But the Heart isn’t classified, exactly,” Twilight said, frowning. “We just don’t speak about it much.”

“Safety through obscurity,” Trixie said.

“Sort of, though there’s no danger. Anypony who wanted to control it would need to have control over the Crystal ponies. Nopony has been able to do anything substantial with it since King Sombra.”

“King Sombra?” Trixie asked.

“He was an evil unicorn, from way back. He was corrupted by black magic-like you were by the Alicorn amulet-and took over the Crystal Empire through the Heart.”

“And when it appeared in the north . . .”

“Yeah. We were sent up there to stop him.”

“That was you?”

“Well, me and my friends, and my brother, Shining Armour and his wife, Cadence-Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.”

“Princess Cadence? Isn’t she still up there?”

“Yes, with my brother. They’re sort of running things in the Crystal Empire at the moment. When we took down King Sombra, we left them without a leader, or governing body. Luna was setting that up, but even before she vanished, Cadence was taking more and more of the responsibility.”

Shining Armour, he was Captain of the Royal Guard during the changeling invasion, remember?

And suddenly, she did remember. Trixie had been on the Pie rock farm at the time, but Brash had been in Canterlot, attending the wedding with the rest of the city. He had passed the memory to Trixie, and in it, she saw the Captain and the Princess, faces to put to the names Twilight had given her.

“Anyway, Cadence acts in a similar manner to Celestia, while my brother guards the Court-although he’s on vacation for a few days at the moment, in Canterlot.”

Trixie raised an eyebrow. “And you’re here, in Ponyville? Wouldn’t you rather be spending time with him?”

“I am,” Twilight said. “I only came down this morning, to speak to Rarity; I’m going back up just as soon as we finish here.”

“Hold on, I was on the morning train, and you weren’t. How’d you get down?”

“Teleported,” Twilight said, shrugging with an air of nonchalance, though Trixie caught the edges of a grin, tugging at Twilight’s mouth. “I know, I know, impossible, right? Well, that’s what it takes to become an Arch-Magus, Trixie. The impossible.”

Maybe she could beat us, Cumulus mused.

Maybe!? Without breaking a sweat! Trixie exclaimed. Do you have any idea how much power that would take?

“Trixie?” Twilight asked, reaching out to touch her on the shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“What?”

“You spaced out on me for a second there,” Twilight said.

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe you teleported here from Canterlot,” Trixie said, shaking her head. “There’s no way.”

Twilight stood up, moving over to the door. “Follow me,” Twilight said, glancing over her shoulder.

Trixie rose, trailing after Twilight down the hallway. She stopped to peer into the room on the left, where Rarity had gone. Twilight had said . . . looking for Luna.

The white unicorn was lying in a bath, submerged to the neck, her fore-hooves draped over the side. Her head was back, horn alight and eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell evenly, as if in a deep sleep. Trixie watched, noting the movement under her eyelids, and her lips, mouthing words.

She was surrounded by equipment, monitoring heart-rate, and brain activity. Trixie made to step into the room, fascinated, but was stopped by Twilight, calling from down the hallway.

“Come, Trixie, leave her to her work.”

Turning, she walked after Twilight, but not without a backwards glance. What in Equestria was going on in that room, and how did it relate to Luna? They entered another room, this one completely empty, with not even a painting on the wall, or carpet over the floor. Trixie stepped forward, jarring her foreleg as she fell into the centre of the room. For some reason, the floor was lower here, a spherical section cut downwards. She’d missed the slight step.

“What was that, back there?” she asked Twilight, ignoring her fall.

“Don’t concern yourself with that,” Twilight said, her tone hard. “We leave Rarity alone while she’s here, unless something goes wrong. That’s what the equipment is for. Understood?”

Trixie didn’t like it, but she sensed this was not something to press.

“Understood, Twilight,” she said, earning a smile.

“Very well. Now, to Canterlot,” Twilight said, as if it was as easy, as simple, as that. She lit her horn, lowered her head and sent a wave of magic coruscating outward over herself and Trixie.

The light outside the windows flashed once. Then buildings appeared, around the room.

“Well,” Twilight said, dropping the bubble of magic. “Here we are, Canterlot.”

“Oh, Celestia,” Trixie whispered, overcome. She trotted to the front door-the building layout was the same-and opened it, jaw falling. It was Canterlot, no doubt about it, she could see the castle, in the distance. Closing the door, she turned to the room on the left, seeing the same bath, the same equipment, but no pony.

“How did you do that?” she said, marching up to Twilight. “The amount of energy that would have taken would kill a pony!

“Told you,” Twilight said. “Arch-Magus.”

“And I’d bought a return trip, too,” Trixie said, crossing her forelegs. “Wasn’t cheap, either.”

“Oh, poor soul, wasted some of the money she stole,” Twilight replied, sighing. “Listen, Trixie . . . I feel bad about how I’ve treated you in the past, and I want to help you. But I can’t condone theft. I expect you to pay that store back, at some point.”

“Okay,” Trixie nodded, her mouth turning to ash.

“You need to cut loose from this accomplice of yours. He will be caught, Trixie. Don’t go down with him.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m taking a chance with you, Trixie. Please understand that.”

And she did. Twilight didn’t need to befriend Trixie, didn’t have to help her, and by doing so, she was putting herself at risk. But that knowledge did nothing to fill the sudden void in her chest, stop the trembling of her legs. She shouldn’t have trusted Twilight after all, she was just the same. She understood, but at the same time, she didn’t.

Twilight closed the door, bidding Trixie farewell. Turning, Trixie made for the hideout. She had found her link to the Crystal Heart, and he was right here in Canterlot.

***

Rarity lay back in her bath. Even though it was in Twilight’s home, her offices, and surrounded by her equipment, she thought of it as her bath. Everypony did.

It wasn’t needed for Sight, no more than any of the machinery. But there was little as relaxing to Rarity as a long, warm soak. She absently reached out, uncapping one of the bottles lining the tub, an aromatic soap, and squirting it into the water. Soon, the room began to fill with the scent of lilacs.

She’d already spent half an hour in here today, but thankfully the machinery kept the water warm. That wasn’t all it did, of course, also keeping tabs on Rarity’s health. Sight required a deep trance, and while the bath was helpful in getting her there, it could prove deadly should she slip under the water during a session.

Soon, she was drifting, lulled towards sleep. Here was the crucial step. Just before she lost consciousness, right on the edge, she brought forward thoughts of Luna’s disappearance, of Trixie’s appearance, and what could mean, of Spike’s growing wildness, and his lessons with the strange creature in the forest. She thought of letting Twilight down, being unable to summon the magic.

Fear sent her forward, pushing through time to observe what she willed. Her awareness grew, expanding rapidly. She mustn’t allow it to grow too large, or she could lose herself to the world, mind broken under the vastness of life.

Equestria spread beneath her, a giant expanse of land mostly shrouded in mist. It was always like this. Sight allowed Rarity to observe over great distances, and even through time, but only ponies she knew, ponies she had interacted with, even only briefly, stood out amidst the shroud.

Ponyville was easy to find, a beacon of light and colour, and Canterlot, nearby, held nearly as much light. But that wasn’t where she wanted to be.

Quickly, she brought her focus down to the southern border. She watched again as Luna, a speck amidst a sea of nothing, stepped across, causing Rarity to lose her trail. She could not see across, couldn’t penetrate the border, though she did not know why.

She waited there, watching, awareness hovering over the entire border as the years flickered by. No spark of light flew across her vision. There was no change in the swirling mists, no sign.

Eventually, Rarity turned away.

Instead, she focused on Canterlot. She had found Trixie just as she was arriving here, in time to wake herself and inform Twilight. To find her accomplice, all she had to do was follow Trixie backwards, into the past. Twilight had mentioned a jewellery store. She would find him there.

Trixie herself was outlined clearly, her colours bright in Rarity’s mind, Luna’s had been. Her accomplice, though, was a dark shape, obscured to her vision by the haze of uncertainty.

She would not be able to See him at all, save for Trixie’s presence. They left the store via a large hole blown in the wall, Rarity following them back to a burned-out basement. She watched them speak heatedly, the dark shape gesturing vaguely, and split the money, but when Trixie left, she dove into the past, tracing back Trixie’s life to their meeting.

***

“I am called Trixie. Who are you?” the azure mare asked, carefully maintaining the magical wall holding the police back. The stallion before her gave an unnerving smile, curling his upper lip over his teeth and lowering his head slightly. He looked her straight in the eyes, standing unnaturally still as he uttered, “I am the wind and the water, the breath of air through your mane in the morning, the kiss of dusk on your neck at night. I am your every dream and desire, and I am your hatred and loathing.”

Oh, for Celestia’s sake . . .

Trixie snorted, putting his melodrama out of mind. While such showmanship might have intimidated a foal, barely out of school, it had little effect on the worldly mare. A performer herself, she recognised the tricks of the trade- a lowered head to cast the alley’s shadows over his face, exposing the teeth to catch the radiance from her horn, eyes tilted upwards to reflect her image.

“Very well, and what shall I call you?” Trixie retorted.

“Boundless,” he offered, dropping the act. He cut a surprisingly boyish figure, now that she could see him properly. Green eyes, brown coat, he couldn’t have been older than twelve; just around the time most ponies began to mature, to seek independence. Young, but perhaps not that surprising, to be in trouble with the police, and a complete mess-dishevelled, fur and mane ruffled and stinking. Tired, and likely hungry.

Thrown out on his ear after one too many fights?

It never would have happened, even here in Manehattan. No, I’d say he’s used to running around by himself-probably stays at an orphanage. No family would let him get like this.

Still, it wasn’t her problem. Turning away, she began to leave, hooves ringing out against the cobblestone ground. Boundless bounded after her, matching pace as she turned a corner, leaving the police behind. There would be a reckoning for this, she assumed. Her cutie mark was fairly well-known around here, after all.

“Say, Boundless. You’re, what, twelve?” she asked, glancing back at his flank. As she’d glimpsed before, it was blank.

“I suppose,” he responded, not offering anything else.

“That’s a little old to be without a cutie mark. Don’t you have any idea what your special talent is?”

“Mmm,” came the absent reply. Boundless was gazing intently at the ground, kicking at the odd loose pebble as they walked.

Don’t bother. He’s been by himself for a long time, I’d say.

Trixie sighed. She had no reason to lend this foal her aid. She needed to be out, looking for someplace to stay before she was forced to spend a night in the gutter. She absolutely hated what that did to her mane.

Yeah, leaves it kinda like that green mess of garbage you so like to pull out at shows. Where’d you model that from, again?

Boundless stopped, causing Trixie to halt as well. Looking away, she cleared her throat.

“Well, it was pleasant meeting you . . .” she began.

“Listen, Trixie,” he cut in, “I’m planning a few errands tomorrow, but if you’re still in Manehattan the day after, come see me at the old observatory. I’ve a feeling you’d be both interested and useful in what I’m doing here,” he said quickly, not quite trusting himself enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze.

Trixie grabbed him in her magic before he could leave, reaching out and wrapping an azure glow around his torso and legs. Walking up to him, she glared at him, pinning him under her gaze.

“Now, listen here. I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I’m not interested in anything of that nature.”

Boundless chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no, nothing like that. I was actually thinking of some armed robbery. But Trixie, if you do decide to come,” he said, stretching his limbs slowly through the azure haze, “don’t try to restrain me.” The bubble burst, Trixie’s magic releasing and dropping Boundless to the ground. “It doesn’t work.”

Wow.

Trotting out to the main street, he threw a glance and a smile at her over his shoulder before disappearing into the steady stream of traffic; ponies and carts heading every which way.

The day after tomorrow. Well, she didn’t really have anything better to do. Manehattan was already turning into a complete waste of time. The money she’d saved from the last few shows was running dry, and the public libraries once again proved to have nothing relevant at all.

She needed to get into the private collections. Surely there would be something there, mixed in with the antiquities and relics, a real treasure. An old text of Starswirl’s, maybe, or even his pupil, Clover, something blasphemous enough to be consigned to obscurity, might have information about her condition, about the voices in her head.

We’re as real as you are.

Access to those collections required both influence and money, though Trixie had neither. Her shows, while a reliable source of money, didn’t attract the sorts of crowds she needed to build a reputation, and travelling Equestria was expensive. Losing her cart, all those years ago . . . It had been, and still was, a considerable blow. Without it, she’d been forced to spend money on accommodation, drawing further from her meagre savings. As it was, she could choose between a wet, cold night, and an empty stomach. There wasn’t any grass to graze from in Manehattan anymore.

But Boundless . . . the colt had promised something, and Trixie didn’t think him the type to make offers lightly. She had something he needed desperately. She could exploit that, even if only for food and shelter.

It was a comforting thought. For once, she had something to look forward to, some small hope for the future.

Exciting!

-If he doesn’t backstab you first.

Yet she wasn’t defenceless either. She had her magic, her knowledge and years of experience dealing with the shadier side of life. She’d only met one unicorn with enough raw power to overcome her, and that had been before the accident. She was sure she could best even Twilight Sparkle now.

Could it be? The return of the Great and Powerful Trixie?

Trixie gave a soft laugh. That tired, old persona, a remnant from her days before, had been long gone from her life. Ironic, that the event that made it true also took her belief in it. She had found it difficult to refer to herself in the third person with two additional personalities residing in her head.

First things first. A place to stay, work of some kind, and perhaps she could talk her way into some libraries. Appearance counted for a great deal, and she was a master of illusion. After all, it was her special talent.

Trixie summoned her magic, creating a blue hat, and a cape adorned with stars. Settling it over her back, she trotted out to after Boundless, joining and blending into the crowd, mask intact.

***

Rarity woke with a start, a purple hoof on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Twilight leaning over her, a concerned look on her face.

“You startled me, dear,” Rarity admonished. “That’s no way to wake somepony, you know.”

“Sorry,” Twilight said with a grin. “Find anything?”

Rarity did not move to step out of the tub, instead lying back in the still-steaming water. Twilight wrinkled her nose. The scent of lilacs had long since gone, leaving the room smelling only of wet fur.

Rarity closed her eyes, and moved her limbs into the tub, visibly releasing tension.

“Nothing about Luna,” Rarity began, confirming what both had expected. “About her accomplice, though . . . I think I did.”

“Yes?”

“Well, his name is Boundless,” Rarity said, grimacing. “He’s young—about sixteen years old, I should think.”

Twilight nodded. Rarity opened her eyes, turning her head to look at Twilight.

“And he can negate a telekinetic hold,” Rarity said, quickly relating the event to Twilight. “I’ve no idea how, that’s your department, dear. If you’ll excuse me . . .?”

“Didn’t you have work to do?”

“Later, dear, later.”

Closing her eyes, Rarity drifted off as Twilight quietly turned away, leaving the room.

Seven

The mountains are cold; bitter, frozen peaks and valleys. I can no longer fly, harsh winds sending icy rocks tumbling down slopes and through the air. On hoof, my progress is agonisingly slow.

I fear the world itself is turning on me, even as I near its salvation. Each second I delay shrinks what remains to us. There is an urgency I have not felt before, as if something external spurs me to action.

Seven

LUNA WAS USED TO THE NIGHT. It was her domain, a place of safety where cold air and warm dreams sheltered her from the world. Hid her and let her shine. She lived her life in the dark, but the blackness surrounding her surpassed the absence of the sun and the light of the moon.

She had lost count of the number of times she’d slept, falling to the ground and laying her head on her outstretched forelegs. It was the only way she had on keeping track of time, however rudimentary, but the blackness, pervasive and unceasing, slowly eroded her senses until all she knew was the gentle thuds of her hooves on the hard ground at the edges of her consciousness.

The voice, the threat that had locked her away here, had directed her attention to the Nightmare. Her Dream had reminded her of its influence, of how it seized on her fears of irrelevance and dreams of love. But the Nightmare had no bearing on why she’d come here. It did not affect her purpose.

She couldn’t quite remember. What? There was something, on the tip of her tongue, something nagging. Luna shook her head violently, trying to clear it, but she couldn’t tell if it helped.

Was there something obscuring her thoughts? She couldn’t detect any outside influence, no fog clouding her mind. There was nothing there, just like the nothing that made up her existence. No wonder she’d Dreamt. It was all she had left of the outside world.

Except that wasn’t right. She couldn’t experience it anymore, but that didn’t mean she was lost to it. She carried her life with her, carried her hopes and dreams and the friendships of those she knew. She had a purpose, something particularly in mind.

Why had she come here? She’d been accepted back into Equestria, back into her sister’s life. She’d worked so hard for that chance, had been doing so well. She’d been happy, as far as that went.

Was it the Drac’s prophecy? Certainly it had pushed her, had led her to this path. But could she really say that it was her impetus for starting down it? The Drac had advised her to find herself. He had planted a seed of hope, festering in her mind like some poison, eating away at her peace. Hope for a return to a time when she had ruled, not advised; spent her time alongside her sister, not stalking through filly’s dreams.

Lust for power had always been her weakness. But it was not a need for control, but a hubris born in the belief that she could do better. From the outside, she saw her sister’s failures, and she knew she could fix them. She desired equality, a justice of sorts. That was what had tempted her, hidden in his words; the notion that she had lost something, somewhere.

Had she come to find it? Was she merely following the hope that there was more to her, more she could bring to Equestria. Something she could find here, in nowhere, something that would bring her love.

Love. Why did she crave it? A simple desire, buried deep but still there, pulling her through failures and successes alike. At her core, it was why she’d turned to the Nightmare in the first place; a desire share her love, her night, with her subjects, and to have them love her for it.

Was she here for that? She did not believe she had lost anything, just as she couldn’t feel anything blocking her mind. Just a fleeting thought, the barest hint of an itch, driving her subconsciously.

No, she didn’t believe that. She could acknowledge her flaws and desires; could deliberate on her motivations, but she didn’t believe the Drac. Her return had been salvation, of the purest form. It was a chance at a second chance.

But why had she thrown that away, to come here, on a fool’s errand? Even had she found something, some threat that could justify the barrier she’d crossed, what did she plan to do about it? Arming herself with knowledge meant nothing, for there was nothing to change, nothing to fix.

What was her purpose here, in the blackness? She thought had been a journey of discovery, of herself and of the world. Was she truly so desperate?

Luna’s eyes wandered around, registering nothing. There was nothing to register. She sat on her haunches, concentrating. It was somewhat difficult, after so long spent suppressing it, but she brought up her anger, blew on the embers and felt it race across the surface of her mind, a spark given fuel.

It was an old anger, born in jealousy and fear, and it cut through her mind like a bolt of lightning slicing through the air. It cleared away the fog, and she knew.

Control was always something Luna had valued. How could it not be, given her history? Everypony saw her Nightmare as an alicorn of night, with draconic eyes and a mane of shadow. To Luna, her Nightmare was a loss of control, a complete surrender to her emotions. Raw expression gave it power and purpose.

She had felt control, in Equestria. She’d locked herself away, suppressed the desires and feelings that had led to her fall, and the result was a soul in tortured harmony. She regretted her actions, certainly, fiercely rebuked herself for succumbing.

But she hadn’t ever sought to explore the reasons for those emotions. Her anger and jealousy had ruled her, and that had been enough to resent them. But they were a part of her, as natural and as right as the stars in the night sky. She welcomed them, and felt their joy as they tore at the shroud that hung over her.

She knew why she’d come here, what the Drac had claimed she’d lost. She’d found it, quite by accident, in just the same way. A friend long presumed to be an enemy.

Luna knew what she was doing here, now. All other aims had become immaterial the moment of her entrapment. She was here to escape.

***

Twilight trotted along the Canterlot street, carefully following the directions Rarity had given her. Her Sight was an incredibly useful tool, and Twilight found herself calling on it more and more. It was a pity she couldn’t use it herself, a fact Twilight found increasingly annoying as Rarity grew more proficient in pinpointing positions, times, even witnessing events as they took place.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t how it worked. Twilight’s talents, insofar Coromantic ability, lay in less abstract fields. It had taken Twilight some time to really understand the difference between what they did. It was the same as the difference between Applejack and Pinkie Pie, or Rainbow and Fluttershy. Where Twilight focused on events external to herself, Rarity directed her magic inwards.

Twilight wasn’t entirely sure why she was unable to do the same, but when she’d tried there simply wasn’t anything there.

Still, perhaps it was a blessing. Rarity’s Sight was a huge weight on her shoulders, and using it wasn’t entirely pleasant, particularly with some of the clients Twilight had attracted. She winced, remembering one incident—Rarity wouldn’t tell them, but she had bolted out of her tub, cheeks aflame and tore down the street. It had taken a week for her to emerge from the Carousel Boutique.

Twilight rounded a corner, silently counting blocks off in her head. She was nearly there . . . there it was, the charred wood a clear giveaway. She was shocked it was still standing after five years, even if the authorities hadn’t bothered with it, weather alone should have knocked it down by now.

Curious, Twilight stepped up close, sniffing at the planks, and vertical support beams. If the fire had eaten through them, as Trixie’s story had indicated, they should be brittle, should crumble under her hooves. A fire that hot would eat right through this wood.

Except the beam was solid. Brushing ash and charcoal off, Twilight could see whole wood, untarnished. That explained why the house was still standing then, though it didn’t excuse it being left alone for so long.

The fire must have swept through too quickly to set teeth into the house. Twilight traced a circle around the house, using her magic to knock the debris clinging to the walls to the ground. The fire Trixie had described had been intense, a raging inferno, surrounding her from all sides. But if it hadn’t had time to spread, had appeared around them before they could react, wouldn’t that indicate multiple sources? Not to mention what had put the fire out.

Twilight frowned, completing her circuit. There were no obvious marks beyond the uniform scarring. But if it had come from inside, why was the outside of the house marked at all? Twilight stopped moving, thinking. Trixie had presented the incident as an accident. She didn’t know how it had happened.

Perhaps it was a lightning strike. That, combined with a storm, could have led to the situation Twilight saw in the house’s remains. But how had it gotten so bad, so fast? Twilight was beginning to think that it wasn’t an accident. What she knew just didn’t fit. Maybe she could get Rarity to take a look, maybe uncover some more details.

For now, she could set it aside. Twilight, remembering what Rarity had told her, quickly found the basement stairs. She gave the rest of the house a glance, but it was clear that neither Trixie nor her partner had used it. Trotting down the basement stairs, she saw the large central table, dominating the space, with several passages leading off from it, to small side rooms.

Twilight took her time, moving around the basement, trying to get a feel for it. Where ponies had moved, how they’d spent their time. She found the small space under the window that Rarity had said Trixie spent most of her time in. It would fit a pony, just, and allow the sunlight in in the morning, straight down onto the pony sleeping there.

The table had more than a few documents, spread out across it haphazardly. There were more than a few bits accompanying them, seemingly piled in regards to their intended purpose. Twilight leafed through several, though she was careful to leave them just as she’d found them. One was a sheet of notes, summarising some of Trixie’s findings and research about her condition.

The corners of Twilight’s mouth curled slightly, reading it. Trixie had extrapolated a great deal from her work, bringing in other ponies research as well to form several reasonable theories. Twilight dismissed them all, quickly seeing the flaws. One failed to account for her friend’s lack of magic. Another required a Spiritual link that operated logically, in a fashion similar to a Mental link, though Trixie didn’t know those names.

There were other sheets there, too, ones written in a different hoof to Trixie’s. They could only be the work of her mystery partner, Boundless. Twilight took more care reading those, going over each line for the subtle hints to his character.

He seemed to have built quite the network of contacts, reports coming in from multiple cities across Equestria. Twilight even recognised some of the names; knowledge garnered through her years of what was essentially detective work, in alleys and slums. What was worrying was the way they seemed to defer to him, at least in tone. Twilight knew those ponies, knew they were not easily intimidated. It was impressive a colt so young had managed to inspire such loyalty.

Or was it loyalty? The notes didn’t treat him with respect, at least not the respect of a beloved leader. Sun and Moon, Twilight had read enough of Celestia’s mail to recognise that type of fawning.

Frowning, she picked up another, scanning the words.

Boundless,

A place has been prepared in Manehattan, should you choose to use it. Cleft was unable to procure the exact specifications, though it will work. There has been no mention of the relic.

Clodhoof

It was brief, professional, and unquestionably subservient. Twilight hadn’t run into Clodhoof, or Cleft, before, but there was something in the language and pre-emptive shifting of blame that spoke of fear.

Twilight needed to see this colt. Trixie had seemed scared of him, afraid to leave or to disappoint. Rarity had mentioned he was able to negate telekinesis. Twilight had never heard of him before, though she felt like she should, a sixteen-year-old still lacking a cutie mark.

She completed another circuit of the basement before retreating upstairs. He had no reason to believe their hideout compromised, and would eventually return here. All she had to do was wait.

Twilight found a nice spot, tucked away on the second story under a window. She’d be able to see the street from here, with minimal danger of being spotted herself, and could follow him down to the basement, effectively trapping him in with her.

As she settled down to wait, she caught herself thinking of past jobs; clients asking her to retrieve stolen items, usually, or break up unruly gangs that had sprouted in the cities. Some of those names, on Boundless’ documents, should have still been locked away, serving time for their crimes. Had he sprung them free? Had that earned their loyalty?

Each time she’d had the advantage of her Coromancy. It was a fickle magic, not nearly as reliable as the standard unicorn spells she’d spent her youth learning, but made up for that in its scale. The more invested Twilight became, the more emotionally-charged, the more powerful she grew. It had made her unstoppable.

Even if it was common knowledge, there would be almost no other pony who could use it. Twilight didn’t know why she and her friends had been so blessed, or how they’d ended up together, but it was the only reason they’d been able to bind to the Elements in the first place. Without Coromancy, there would have been no link.

Initially, Twilight had resented Celestia and Luna’s secrecy. She hadn’t experienced life then, not as she had now. She’d been naïve. Ponies weren’t ready to openly wield that kind of power, perhaps would never be. It was the power to level cities in a blow, or to halt the sun and the moon in the sky: the power of an alicorn.

Twilight didn’t know how the fire that had caught Trixie had started, or what exactly had happened during the blaze. But her escape, barely injured while her friends, lying next to her died, told Twilight something. From her hiding spot, secure, she trusted her body to the planks supporting her and projected her mind below. Carefully feeling in the wood, she found tiny fragments, mixed in the wood. Twilight raised one of them to her lips, tasting it.

The emotion jolted through her body, causing her shoulders to slump and her head to droop down to the ground. Twilight hadn’t encountered it before, but she was knew enough to recognise the situation before her. Someone had doused the flames with Despair.

***

“I found somepony,” Trixie said. She was trotting alongside Boundless, making their way back to the safehouse. Boundless raised an eyebrow, tilting his head towards her. “Somepony who will know more about the Crystal Heart,” she said, glancing down.

“Oh?” Boundless said, perking up. “Who might this pony be, I wonder?”

“Shining Armour,” Trixie said. Boundless snorted.

“No. He’s out of reach, even for us,” he said. “A shame, I’ll admit, but we must be practical.”

“Actually, he’s not,” Trixie said, a vague feeling of nausea rising in her gut. She ignored it. “He’s right here, in Canterlot. Will be for a few days.”

Boundless frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been talking with his sister,” she said, “Twilight Sparkle.”

“The Arch-Magus?” he asked. Trixie nodded mutely. “You didn’t . . .?” He left the question hanging. Trixie knew perfectly well what he was asking. It would have been the height of folly to cast mental magic on someone as powerful as Twilight.

“Of course not,” Trixie said, flicking her tail at him. “I’m the responsible one, remember.”

He grinned at her. She thought she saw mirth in those eyes, mixed among the wildness. She wilted anyway.

“Good,” he said. “That’s good.”

They rounded a corner, coming onto a larger street. Trixie slipped behind Boundless as they trotted single-file past a wagon that was blocking the way. Clearing the obstacle, she moved back up alongside him. He glanced at her briefly, head bobbing with each step.

“Why were you speaking with Twilight Sparkle?” he asked.

Careful now

“I found a reference to her in the Archives, thought I’d follow a lead. Just good fortune that turned it into two,” Trixie said carefully.

Boundless narrowed his eyes.

“You’re letting others help with your research,” he said slowly. “Why now?”

“I don’t have to discuss this with you,” Trixie said, looking anywhere but at him.

He stopped moving, just halted so suddenly that Trixie continued a metre. Looking over her shoulder, she caught sight of that mask, settling into place over his features. No emotion showed there, no hint of feeling. Like a robot of some kind, with unknown ends.

“Oh, I think you do,” he said calmly, still not moving, just staring at her, perfectly still.

“It doesn’t pertain to you,” Trixie said. She would not be intimidated, not again.

“Everything pertains to me,” he said, now tilting his head, “Everything that could affect me, anyway. You’re hiding something.”

You’ll have to tell him something. You can’t just keep denying this.

“Because I gave up,” Trixie said, hanging her head. It was easy for ponies to believe that, to believe that she had just given into apathy. After four years of searching, many would have.

“No, no you didn’t. You couldn’t, not you,” he said. “That’s what I admire about you, Trixie; persistence.”

“I . . . followed a lead. That’s all. I thought I could get away without telling her too much,” she said.

“Well?”

“She offered me a position, of sorts. To stay with her in Ponyville, while we research,” Trixie said.

“I thought that was exactly what you were trying to avoid,” Boundless said.

“It . . . isn’t what I thought it would be. It’s like friends, helping each other, opposed to the scientist and her experiment. I might take her up on it.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Oh? I don’t recall you having a say in my life, Boundless,” Trixie said. She tried not show her weakness; slight panting, wild eye movements, ears laid flat back against her skull. Her stage training served her well, helping her shut off that visceral part of her mind, preventing it from controlling her.

“Don’t I?” Boundless asked, stepping over to her. Trixie found it impossible to move, legs frozen as he came up next to her. So close she almost shied away, forcing her response down as it rose, trembling, in her throat.

“N-No,” she stammered. “You don’t.”

“I say otherwise,” he said, coming around to behind her and out of her line of view. Panic rose again in her as Trixie desperately tried to stay in control.

“I say you are mine, for as long as I need you,” he said, continuing his circuit. Trixie broke her paralysis, jumping away from him, and turning to meet his gaze.

“Because if I don’t need you . . .” Boundless said, a smile coming to his face. It wasn’t a happy grin, full of laughter, or a rictus carved from madness. It was the simple, sad smile of the inevitable.

“. . . if I have no further use for you . . .” he said, horn igniting. Trixie followed suit, but somehow her light, typically so much stronger, more experienced, seemed smaller, a candle against wildfire.

“. . . then you must be put down, if only to prevent disruption to my plans.”

Last chance, Trixie! Come on, you can do it!

We’re right here with you. Kick his flank!

Her friends’ voices were small against Boundless’ echoing words, screaming through her mind. The threat there was finally explicit, finally more than her imagination. From any other pony, Trixie would have ignored it, knowing it to be just that, a threat, no more. From Boundless, it was a promise. He wouldn’t bluff, ever. He didn’t need to.

Still, her friends’ voices were there. She heard them cut through the noise, give her a hold on herself, focus her on her goal. Stabilised, she drew more power, sending her horn into over-glow, and lowered herself into a combat stance.

“You can’t beat me, Boundless. You know you can’t,” Trixie said. Sun and Stars, she prayed, let that be true.

Boundless chuckled. “Not directly, no. So you’d beat me,” he said, stepping forward to press his forehead against hers.

“What then, Trixie?” he asked intently, eyes staring at her. “What would you do then? Leave? Run to your friends in Ponyville?”

Trixie said nothing, did nothing.

“I will not stop. I can’t be stopped. And one day, a few weeks down the road, you’ll stumble on the stairs, or you’ll slip on a balcony, or you’ll fall into a lake. Such a tragedy, really.”

“You can end it, now, once and for all, you know,” Boundless said, stepping back. He squared himself, rolling both shoulders, and extinguished his horn. “You have the strength. All it takes is going a little too far. Can you do it?”

Oh, Celestia . . . that’s brilliant.

It’s sick is what it is.

Could she kill him? Trixie had studied anatomy; she knew where to apply her magic. Just a slight tug and his life would end, tumbling onto the pavement. It wouldn’t even require a spell, just a telekinetic field inside his body, severing an artery or stopping the heart.

Kill a pony. She thought back to the discussion with Cumulus and Brash in the hideout, about Boundless. He could do it, Trixie realised. She hadn’t really stopped and considered, made it true in her image of him. That capability . . . justified her terror.

“Well, Trixie?” Boundless said. “I haven’t got all day.”

There was crime in Equestria, certainly, but over the last thousand years, to the best of her knowledge, there had been no murder. Not one case of a pony deliberately maiming another, even. Such an act was unconscionable, an evil greater than anything she could imagine. That evil stood in front of her.

“Do it!” Boundless said, taking a step forward.

He wasn’t evil, not in and of himself. Just . . . indifferent to the chaos he caused, to the suffering around him. She could stop him, not only for herself but for all the others he might hurt, just for crossing his path. She could . . .

Yet she couldn’t. Despite everything, she couldn’t do it. That was what separated somepony like her, somepony who’d rob a store, lie and steal to get what she needed, from Boundless. It was the boundary, and she could not cross it, not without becoming him. Trixie had always despised the heroes of the stories, who always let the bad guy get away, only to come back with a new plan, hurting more and more people.

She hadn’t understood, but she did now. She couldn’t escape, not as she was. She extinguished her horn, dropped to the pavement, and quietly began to weep.

I’m so sorry. We both are.

“You can’t do it,” Boundless said, continuing forward.

“I choose not to,” Trixie said, forcing the words out between gentle sobs.

“No, you can’t,” Boundless said, stepping up to her. “That’s what I’m here for. That’s what we’re going to fix. Come, Trixie.” He turned, resumed their trip to the safehouse.

Blindly, Trixie stood and followed the sound of his hooves striking the pavement.

***

“It is time for you to choose a name, youngling.”

“I have a name,” Spike muttered. “Perhaps you could use it, once in a while.

“Spike is a pony-name, youngling,” the Drac rumbled. “It is not you. It does not describe you.”

Dragons, according to the Drac, chose their own names, save for their birth-name. Similar to ponies, a name was a description of the most important aspects of that dragon’s character. It could refer to ambitions, desires or talents, even lineage and status. A dragon might change their name several times over their lifetime, to reflect fundamental changes in themselves.

The Drac had held five names in his life. He referred to them as old friends, though they were to be considered dead. Dragons do not speak of the dead.

Still, knowing the names of a dragon could tell you his entire life. Spike only had a rough mastery of the language, but even so he was able to grasp the gist of the story embedded in that sequence. The Drac had gone from Deregh Ethar; the fire-breathing hatchling, to Endor; the Companion, then an adult, Ingeir Iyliam; Devoted to the Lost.

Nevertheless, he had gone on to become an influential elder, Morn; the Ruler. Now, though, he was simply Agyrt Vaeros; Eldest Flame.

Spike was a hatchling name, chosen for him by Twilight, but it no longer fit. He was growing beyond her, beyond the life ponies could provide. He knew that, though he mourned the passing of his youth.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. Spike had been delaying, insisting he wasn’t ready. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he wanted to discard the name, toss it away like an old scale. It was one of the few things he had left of his childhood and a personal link back to Twilight, to those ponies important to him.

Even though he saw them virtually every day, kept them in his life as best he could, he felt a vague sense of nostalgia for days gone by. Eventually, though, they would grow old, slow down. Ponyville would change around him, a rock in the sea of time. Everything had to end, so he kept his name. It was a silent tribute to the inevitable future.

Spike shook his head, clearing it of the morbid, unnecessarily poetic thoughts. He never had been very good at composing verse, anyway.

Spike wasn’t his name, as far as it described him. But it carried with it an identity that he was loath to give up.

“You know your name, youngling. You can feel it, in your bones. Wearing another’s label is not an affirmation of the bond you share. Your name, your true name, speaks louder than any gesture.”

“I don’t want to move on,” Spike said.

“Fighting inevitability is never wise. Burying yourself won’t bring back the past,” the Drac said, leaning down to Spike’s eye level. “Be true to yourself. Your name is a mirror, youngling. It sees all of you, reflects not just the parts that deal with your friends. Those relationships are not the entirety of your being.”

“Twilight gave me my name. It is precious to me.”

“You are more than her, no matter how important. I will not accept a dragon subjugating himself to a pony out of a childish wish for the past. What is your name, youngling?”

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Spike could feel it. It didn’t beckon, calling to him from far away, partially shrouded, nor was it ever-present, as an ache deep down. But when the Drac asked him his name, his mind didn’t reply with Spike. Somewhere, buried in his mind under layers of fear, he already knew it, had known it for some time.

“I’m . . . afraid. Of letting go,” Spike said, trembling.

“What is your name?” the Drac said, eyes glinting.

“I . . .”

“Your name!” he roared, hot air slamming into Spike.

“Daerev Quitu,” he whispered.

“Louder!” the Drac said, standing tall, his shadow spreading over the glade.

“Daerev Quitu!” he said, raising his head, as if in challenge.

The Drac – Agyrt – nodded approvingly. “It is a good name, Daerev.”

He simply nodded, not speaking.

“Go now; tell your friends who you are. There is no other assignment this week.”

Who he was. As he silently turned his back on his mentor, leaving the glade behind, he pondered those words. He had come here Spike, the youngling just beginning to understand the depths of his heritage, just grasping the edges of what lay before him. Leaving, he wasn’t sure who he was. Not Spike, certainly, not anymore. That soul had passed away, had metamorphosed.

Spike was still a part of him, still accounted for the paths of his mind and desires of his soul. But he was more than Spike, was entering an entirely new world. Despite his blood, his draconic form and abilities, Spike had been a pony at heart. He thought like a pony, felt like a pony. He had no business with dragons.

Daerev, however, was a dragon. He was living in a pony town, with pony friends, and an entire life outside of this new world, yes, but he was still a dragon. He did not reject Spike, he transcended him.

Daerev Quitu—the Young Eternal—trudged through the forest, heading home to a library and a motherly sister. Briefly, the notion that they would not accept his change came to his mind, filling him with trepidation, but he dismissed it. He knew that they would support him, wherever he went, and he knew that even should they falter, he would go on. It was who he was.

Eight

I am resting outside. I have arrived; I can feel it burning in my mind. But it is not the right time.

How ironic; that for all my worry and haste, pushing myself past reason, I have arrived early. Still, no matter now; I am here, and that is all that matters.

Tomorrow, in the morning, I shall look upon what I have travelled so far, given up so much to find. I only pray that, outside this tomb of ice, there is a world left to save.

Eight

LUNA HAD FELT ANGER BEFORE. In the early days of her return; it had been directed at herself, for her fall and everything she’d done or tried to do. For what she’d felt, the way she’d thought and believed during that time of madness. Half a year later, overcoming that and emerging for Nightmare Night, she’d thought herself recovered. Ready to step back into an active role in the world, ready to face those she’d tried to hurt.

When they’d turned away in fear, the product of a miscommunication across a barrier of a thousand years, she’d again felt the hot flame, spurring her to action, to rash decisions and hasty judgements. It had taken Twilight Sparkle to save her from herself.

That moment had stuck with Luna. Even after all she’d been through, she hadn’t been prepared, wasn’t ready to face the world. It had been a small fall, but it was a fall nonetheless. Again, anger led her to darkness, again she succumbed to it. She had sworn to purge herself of it, an oath that had meant nothing in the face of fear.

She’d been so scared! All those faces, turning away from her, quivering, prostrate in the dirt. They respected her, yes, but it was a respect born of terror, not love. They’d thought her an enemy, and in doing so had made her one.

Luna hadn’t moved from her spot in what seemed an Age. She had the clues she needed to escape, she could feel freedom calling to her; the sweet night air, the light of the Moon and the Stars. She’d burnt off the haze over her mind, but while that helped her think, it didn’t tell her anything.

Except . . . the wind had stopped. She couldn’t recall when—it had become an ever-present companion, the only sensation past her hooves on the floor in the dark. She’d become so used to it she hadn’t even noticed its sudden absence, wrapped as she was in her thoughts.

What did that mean? That she was standing on its source, in the eye of the storm? That something had happened to disturb whatever being controlled it? Luna knew, somehow, that for as long as it had been imprisoned here, that wind had never stopped. Not once lessened in power or purpose.

She pushed it out of her mind. While probably significant, it meant nothing to her here, not until she escaped. Luna stretched her fore-hooves out, absently drawing a circle on the floor. She’d been angry, again, and this time, it had freed her, had cleared her mind. She’d needed that, though she’d quickly pushed it away after it served its purpose.

Control served her, as emotion never had. She’d suppressed her anger, but that had been a poor form of control. It protected her, but it limited her, denied her emotion. But then, that was the choice she faced. To attempt to control herself, to use emotion without falling to it, or to hide it away, becoming a creature of logic to preserve herself.

Luna smiled. That had been the danger she had presented Twilight, in her brief instruction on Coromancy. One must always exercise caution, lest the emotional tides sweep you away.

The Drac believed Luna had lost something, was missing some part of herself. This thing that had trapped her shared that belief, and included with it subservience to her Nightmare. Luna had spent so long with that manifestation riding her, so long under it that the thought—the knowledge—of its legacy hanging over her was almost too much to bear. Even in defeat, it haunted her.

But she didn't have to run from it. She couldn't bury it away, pretend it had never happened. To do so would deny the changes she’d undergone, open herself up for the same mistake. She wasn't whole unless she was vulnerable.

What was the single thing she’d lost, the one difference, separating her from the Luna of over a thousand years ago? Not her anger, or even her jealousy, she had kept those locked away, but with her still. No, but she had cast away their grip over her, shed the Nightmare in a rainbow of power. Perhaps that was what she was missing.

The Drac had called himself a friend. If he had sent her after the Nightmare, Luna didn't know what she’d do, on her return. Such a deception . . . Luna closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. She mustn’t let the anger control her. It ran through her, burnt itself out, and departed an old friend, leaving for the night. She took a deep breath.

To harness anger, she had to open herself to it. She had to trust herself, not only with the power it provided, but to not fall under its influence. That was another thing she’d lost over the years in exile, confidence, the courage to simply shrug off the danger and act. She had trusted to wisdom to show her where that was necessary, trusted herself beyond fear of failure.

Could she do that here? Perhaps she could break free, given the right power, in the right place. And where better to do that than here, where the wind had finally ceased, the centre of his influence, the eye of his storm. It was a place where he was simultaneously strongest, and most vulnerable, just as she was.

And yet it was hard, so hard, to let go of the boundaries she’d placed around herself. Luna had buried those feelings deep, below self-loathing, below regret and grief and duty. They spoke of a time when she had been free, riding the night sky like a goddess. They acknowledged her, not as a goddess, or a ruler, but as a pony, an individual, whose feelings were justified simply by being felt.

Luna trembled, ears flat against her skull, face buried in a starlit mane, and curled her tail around her prostrate form, trying to summon from memories of her past the courage to step into the future.

***

Trixie followed Boundless without a word all the way back to the safehouse. Cumulus and Brash were silent in her head, either reeling, as she was, from that catastrophic confrontation, or simply giving her the space to recover. She wasn’t sure she appreciated that sentiment. Despite their presence, she felt so alone, so lost. Was it any wonder she didn’t have the courage to turn from the path he laid before her?

Boundless turned to her before he entered the house, his manner back to its usual carefree patterns. He beckoned her, and like a lamb she came, standing closer to hear his quiet words.

“Find Shining Armour, Trixie,” Boundless said. “You have done well so far, but we must learn what he knows. You say he has only a few days left in Canterlot. That is your deadline. Find him, and get him back here.”

Trixie just nodded, turning without a word. She had nothing to say to him, not any more.

And yet, as she walked away, the thought of kidnapping a pony jolted her out of her haze. Boundless hadn’t said that, not explicitly, but Trixie understood his meaning. Get Shining Armour, at any cost. If he comes willingly, that’s great. But if not, if you have to force him, then so be it.

Trixie had never kidnapped another, never even considered it. It was a lesser evil, as far as she could tell, than the idea of murder Boundless had forced her to confront earlier. She had not been able to bring herself to that, but perhaps she could bend enough for this. She wouldn’t hurt him, not really. Just take him to Boundless, tie him up, and take what she needed from his mind. She had done that, minus the tying up, many times before. Was it really so much worse?

No, of course it wasn’t. Satisfied, Trixie increased her pace to a trot. She needed to review what she knew about the target, and there was no place better than at a table with a hot cup of coffee.

She’d grown to love the stuff, helping her through endless hours of study—at first learning and perfecting her magic, then her research on Cumulus and Brash. That had evolved into a particular fondness for coffee shops, the little cafes tucked away amidst shopping districts and displayed on street corners. She thought clearest there, comforted by the familiarity of her surroundings. Fortunately, there was just the place a few streets up ahead.

Think about what you’re doing, Trixie, Brash said. His voice, though quiet, reverberated in her mind, echoing against itself. You’ve never done something like this. It’s wrong.

Is it wrong to protect herself, Brash? Cumulus replied, taking Trixie’s side. We have no choice.

There is always a choice, Brash said, his voice echoing, as if it came to her across some great distance. Trixie didn’t bother to respond.

It wasn’t long before she arrived; a small place, named the Daily Grind. Taking a seat, Trixie absently placed an order, not really paying attention.

Okay, so what do we know?

Shining Armour was the Captain of the Royal Guard. He helped to save Canterlot following the Changeling Invasion alongside his wedding to Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. Once the Crystal Empire reappeared, he and his wife became heavily involved in the reintegration process, eventually moving there. He is now employed by the Crystal Court, and is the Captain of the Guard there, both of his wife, the Princess, and the Crystal Heart, though most see his role as ceremonial. He also serves as a member of the nobility.

Currently, Shining Armour is staying in Canterlot, presumably in a suite at the castle. He will be leaving, via train, in a few days. His position makes him the best candidate for offering useful information regarding the Heart.

I need to know when exactly he’s leaving, Trixie thought, sipping at the cup that had appeared before her. That means I’ll need a contact at the castle. This thought caused her to grimace. It was notoriously difficult to find somepony on the Princess’s staff that was willing to take a bribe. Most would simply report her to the Guard.

If he won’t help us voluntarily—which I doubt—I’ll need to incapacitate him. I should find out what spells he knows. Cumulus, you were here for the invasion, right? Trixie asked.

Yes, Cumulus said.

How did he hold them off?

At first, he created a barrier around the entire city.

The entire city!? Trixie exclaimed, snuffing some of her coffee. She spluttered as the hot liquid spilled from her muzzle, to be sheepishly wiped up with a napkin.

I’m afraid so. He is Twilight’s brother, you know. Older, too.

I guess . . . force-fields, then?

They’re his specialty. Cumulus confirmed.

Great. That’s just great. Trixie said, slumping. It would be extremely difficult to do anything to somepony with that particular set of talents. Surprise, then? she asked.

Only way it’ll work, Cumulus agreed.

We can’t do it in the castle; there’d be no way to get out, not even with teleportation.

Then the best place would be on the train. I imagine Twilight will want to see him off, probably walk with him all the way from the castle.

And I’m not going up against her if I can help it.

So we’re back to the train. We need to know when it leaves. Cumulus said, echoing Trixie’s earlier thought.

Once I know that, I can set up some kind of trap. A sleep spell on his carriage would work; a simple enough illusion. Then it’s in and out. We’d have till the train arrives in the Crystal Empire before they start looking for him.

That’ll be almost an entire day—plenty of time.

Alright then.

Trixie stood, throwing the remainder of her coffee down her throat. It was unlikely she could coax the information she needed out of the palace staff, and she was hesitant to use magic. She didn’t want to draw any attention. She couldn’t talk to Shining Armour directly for the same reason. Perhaps Twilight could tell her—but only indirectly, in passing.

For now, though, she could scout out the track, find a good place to stop the train and make a getaway. Trixie tossed a few bits onto the table, and, bringing Cumulus and Brash to mind, lit her horn, disappearing in a flash of azure light.

***

Twilight stirred. She’d been hiding upstairs for some time, enough for the light outside to begin to dim. She’d drifted off to sleep—an amateur mistake, as she chided herself. Still, a slight noise had alerted her, the sound of somepony returning home to their nice, secure hideout. Twilight, however, needed to be stealthy, at least until she’d confirmed that it was indeed Boundless who’d awoken her, and not Trixie.

Casting a generic sound-muffling spell, she stepped onto the stairs, poking her head out. There was nopony in sight; whoever it was must already be in the basement. She knew she couldn’t get down there without being spotted, as the stairs were completely exposed. Twilight scowled. This was exactly the sort of situation where she’d love to have Rarity’s talent.

She could hope that they simply wouldn’t be paying attention, and thus be able to identify them before she gave herself away. Better still, she could go invisible, and take her time. Twilight didn’t like invisibility spells, as a rule, but sometimes there was no avoiding them.

Concentrating, she veiled herself in shadow, carefully weaving magic to pass light around her body. Magic, as unicorns understood it, still operated in the physical world, and had to obey the rules of physics. Most spells could be visualised as an adaptation of telekinesis—an extension of power to do work at a distance, or in a way hooves couldn’t.

The invisibility field set up, Twilight carefully walked down the stairs, heading straight to the basement entrance. Her ears twitched, picking up the faint sound of rustling paper. She reached out with a hoof, pushing on the door. It swung open silently, her magic blocking out the sound of the hinges.

Twilight moved down the stairs. Facing her across the room was a brown unicorn, a stallion, head bent over the table as he sorted through the notes scattered there. Twilight smiled. This must be Boundless, Trixie’s partner in crime, and the only thing holding her to that life.

She walked over to the table, circling it to stand behind him. Peering over his shoulder, Twilight quietly observed, watching him read reports, write replies and shuffle the information around on the table, completely unaware of her presence. After some time, it became apparent that she wasn’t going to learn anything knew, so she moved away, hiding in a hallway before dropping her invisibility. It was never wise to let your opponent know the extent of your abilities, after all.

Now visible, Twilight dramatically stepped around the corner, into plain sight.

At first Boundless didn’t notice her, focused on his work. Twilight waited, patiently. The effect would be worth it. Ah, yes. She dropped the silence spell muffling her movements as well.

His ear twitched, catching the faint sound of her breathing, standing out in the near-silent basement, then the corner of his mouth curled slightly as he turned to face Twilight.

“So, here you are,” he said.

Twilight had expected more of a reaction. Fortunately, though it was slight, Boundless’ nonchalance sent a shiver of shock running through her. Twilight focused on it, held it within her. The world around her grew clearer, more immediate, everything in sharp relief. Each heartbeat was a drum pounding in her chest. She could hear Boundless breathing, and see the tremor in his legs, partly concealed by the table.

He was surprised to see her, didn’t know why she was here. He was good at hiding it, certainly, but nopony could hide from senses improved with Shock.

The emotion passed, its strength used up, and Twilight felt calm descend, a tranquil peace of disassociation. She fought through that haze, focusing on the present despite her mind’s protests. She’d gotten what she needed from the burst of clarity Shock provided.

“Here I am,” Twilight confirmed. The entire process had taken under a second, from feeling and capturing the emotion to burning it off, though she’d be feeling the effects for a little while longer.

Boundless studied her carefully, eyes taking in every detail. He was no fool; he could see his charade hadn’t affected her. Dropping the act, he stepped out from behind the table.

“You must be Twilight Sparkle,” Boundless said, nodding. “Trixie mentioned you.”

“So you do know her,” Twilight said. Boundless didn’t react, but Twilight ploughed forward anyway. She had to keep momentum, had to keep him off-balance. “What are the two of you planning?”

“Just me, actually; Trixie is merely helping, in return for certain allowances.”

“Such as?” Twilight asked.

“Our partnership is convenient for both of us, and none of your business, Sparkle,” Boundless said.

“She came to see me, you know. She wants out,” Twilight said, feeling defensive. That was bad, she needed to stay offensive. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a great deal to pin him on.

“Yes, I know. She spoke to me about the same thing, actually,” he said, smiling. “We came to an . . . understanding.”

“Why does she stay with you?”

“Because she chooses to,” Boundless said. Twilight could see the edges of his teeth, lips curling back in a smile.

"What are you holding over her?" Twilight demanded. Boundless didn't reply, instead stalking another step forward. "She wouldn't choose this. Not without duress."

"And yet, with me she remains."

Twilight lit her horn, causing Boundless’ grin to widen.

“What are you planning?” she said, pumping more power into her horn. The glow doubled, and then tripled, emitting enough light to blind him.

“Come, you’ve been through my notes by now. Must I spell it out?” Boundless asked, holding a hoof in front of his eyes.

“I want to hear it,” Twilight insisted.

“Fine,” he said, shrugging, as if it didn’t really matter. “I want to know why.”

“Yes,” Twilight said, leaning her head forwards.

“Why I can see, where others are blind. Why they speak of honour, friendship, and love, and I hear nothing but the echo of silence. Why I find myself alone in this world, and watch the puppets around me take solace in the kinship of their strings. What made me like this, Sparkle? Do you know?”

Twilight was at a loss. Unconsciously, her jaw dropped a touch, parting her lips. She trembled, half-reaching forward with her foreleg. She didn't know what she was reaching for.

“You shouldn’t let your guard down, Sparkle,” Boundless growled, charging her with his horn alight, his eyes fixed on her. Twilight felt his magic form around her, a bubble designed to imprison.

Unfortunately for him, Twilight wasn’t any ordinary unicorn. With her emotions in flux, thrown about by Boundless' rapid shifts in demeanour, Coromancy became dangerous, unpredictable. But she still had magic. She was an Arch-Magus of Equestria, raised to the highest rank of magicians by Celestia herself after years of intensive study and training. She had countless hours of fieldwork to her name, and an absurd list of achievements. What unicorn could hope to match one who’d faced down the alicorn of night at the tender age of sixteen, and emerged victorious?

Bursting his bubble with a small surge, Twilight vanished into a cloud of smoke, reappearing instantly as twelve Twilights, spaced evenly around the room.

“Stop,” the Twilight’s commanded, voices reverberating through the room. “Stop before I make you.”

She hoped that that had been sufficiently impressive. The effort of chaining so many spells together so quickly had left her out of breath, and she’d like a moment to recover.

Boundless paused, now in the middle of the room. He spun around, as if trying to decide which of the clones the real Twilight was. Naturally, she’d placed herself between him and the stairs, cutting off his escape.

Boundless growled again, deeper this time, with an edge in it.

“Do not press me, Sparkle. I will tear you to pieces,” he said. Twilight laughed, her clones copying every movement. Their amusement echoed through the room, causing Boundless’ cheeks to heat. From where she stood, looking at his flank, his threats seemed the empty posturing of a child, out of his depth.

Twilight took the opportunity to check his cutie mark. Just as Rarity said, there was nothing there. But to be a blank-flank at this age was unheard of.

“Tell me a story,” Twilight said, all twelve sets of lips moving in unison as her voice reverberated around the room, making it impossible to locate where it had come from. “Tell me about the time you got your cutie mark.”

Boundless gritted his teeth. “I can’t. I don’t remember! I was just a foal, less than a day old for Celestia’s sake!”

Less than a day old! That’s . . . that’s got to be impossible. No way, he would have barely been conscious.

“Cutie Marks appear when one realises their special talent. How could a foal that young be aware of something so profound?”

“I don’t know!” Boundless was visibly agitated, eyes rolling around the Twilights.

“What is your special talent?” Twilight took a step forward, closing the circle around Boundless.

This time, he grinned. “Transcendence,” he said, finally settling on a direction. He charged the circle, heading for the stairs. Fortunately, that was precisely where Twilight had positioned herself, in order to cut off his escape. She dropped the illusions; they’d served their purpose, and seized hold of Boundless, trapping him in her telekinesis.

Last thing before I go, then. Let’s see this talent of yours.

Rarity had described Boundless breaking free of Trixie’s hold from the scene she’d Sighted. His horn hadn’t been the only thing to glow then, and although the details were, again, obscured by Twilight’s magical field, she could just detect a shimmer in his eyes. She would never have noticed had she not been looking for it.

It was like all the magic in him suddenly rose to the skin, took on a life of its own, seeking to break free. It took hold, spreading his limbs wide, and shattered the bubble around him, then faded, back into the background. Twilight doubted he’d notice.

In truth, it reminded her of when she’d earnt her cutie mark, and the times after that, when she’d wielded the Elements of Harmony. Twilight hadn’t needed to enter that state many times in her life, but the theory behind it was sound. Fully embodying one’s special talent could enable them to enter a Passion; a state of being where they, for lack of a better description, became that talent. The embodiment of magic, for Twilight, or transcendence for Boundless, though this was on a much smaller scale.

Boundless dropped to the ground, the last vestiges of magic dissipating on the floor around him.

“Surprised?” he asked, a sneer playing over his lips. “That doesn’t work on me.”

“No?” Twilight replied, fighting to hide a smile.

“No. Get out of my way,” he said.

Twilight gave in, letting her grin spread across her face. Boundless’ scowl deepened, and he stormed past, brushed against Twilight as she stepped out of his way. She did nothing to stop him from leaving. Really, what could she do, short of injuring him. Twilight wasn’t ready to give up, but she wouldn’t cross that line, not unless she had to.

Besides, she had learnt plenty from the encounter. Boundless’ vendetta against society was rooted in confusion and fear, the personal crusade of the outsider. It was deep, powerful, yet straightforward; a search for answers. That made him dangerous, yes, but it also gave Twilight hope for resolution. The right words, from the right pony, at the right time, could change the course of his life.

She’d also witnessed his transcendent Passion at work. He had let slip that he had a cutie mark—confirmed by the presence of a Passion. A blank cutie mark, then. Again, unheard of, but Twilight wasn’t unduly worried about it. Cutie Marks were representative, and a blank picture could represent quite a lot.

Twilight turned, following Boundless out of the basement after a five minute wait, smiling. It had been a profitable trip, but she wasn’t ready to turn what she knew over to the police yet. Not without trying to help Boundless—and Trixie—herself.

***

Trixie didn’t place herself within sight of the station. The last thing she needed was somepony witnessing an azure unicorn sniffing around the scene of what could become a crime. Instead, she appeared a few miles further north, along the line that ran to the Crystal Empire—the line Shining Armour would be departing when he left Canterlot in two days’ time. Fortunately, the line itself branched out further ahead, tracks leading both north and out west, to Vanhoover. Trixie had been on that train multiple times, and knew it well enough to teleport along its length.

She hadn’t come here immediately following her discussion with Cumulus at the coffee shop. While scouting and setting out the details of her trap was fine, it would be useless without the date and time of Shining’s departure. Cumulus hadn’t been sure on how to obtain that information, but as she went to leave, charging the teleportation spell that would take her here, to the tracks, Trixie had had a thought.

She’d quickly switched destinations, instead heading to the home of a pony she’d never met. A guardspony who would’ve served closely under Shining Armour during his tenure as Captain of the Royal Guard; somepony who would catching up with him, if only for the sake of a past relationship. Somepony who’d worked closely with the city blacksmiths, including Brash.

It was Brash's memory that had appeared in her mind. Of that, she had no doubt. It seemed a peace offering, though she could still sense his displeasure with her actions—as if she had a choice in the matter, as if she wanted this. However she’d gotten it, though, suddenly she’d known about Deft Touch’s connections in the military, even where he had lived. Brash had carried deliveries there many times. Trixie just hoped he hadn’t moved.

Perhaps it meant they were getting closer; spilling knowledge between them without intention. Was that good, or bad? Would they become a single, mass consciousness, with shared memory and personality? Or would each of them fight for control over her body, slowly tearing her apart? Trixie wanted to understand them, yes, the magic involved in their appearance, but she didn’t want to get rid of them, her last link to her childhood, and all she had left of her friends.

Thankfully, Deft Touch had been home, promptly answering her knock. Some smooth talking bought her his friendship; Trixie dropping names from her past, and Brash's, to ease any misgivings he might have had. From there, it had been simple to lead the discussion to the good Captain, all the great things he’d done for Canterlot and Equestria, and how he continued to serve up north.

Deft Touch had a lot of respect for Shining Armour. Somehow, Cumulus’ memories hadn’t captured quite the same pony. Deft described a pony of majesty, somepony you could follow without reservation. To Deft, he was a pony of honour; a different light to Cumulus’ reserved analysis. It made her task all the more difficult. Trixie would’ve preferred the coldness behind her original impression. Powerful, certainly, but at the same time, he’d been just a picture on the wall.

Still, she was able to learn what she needed. Deft hadn’t just served with Shining, he’d been a close friend, and, as she’d correctly guessed, he’d made time to see him during his visit. He had been willing and able to tell her that Shining was leaving on the afternoon train, two days from now.

Following that, she’d come here, to prepare the trap. Trixie had never been to the Crystal Empire, but she knew the journey took more than a few hours. By the time the train arrived, and they realised Shining Armour was missing, it would be too late to send word back to Canterlot. Trixie would have till the next morning to hide him.

She stepped close to the tracks, trotting alongside them for a few minutes. While Canterlot itself was on a mountain, most of the land between it and the Empire was flatland, stretching into the distance. If she could find the right place; a distance close enough for her to teleport back with Shining, and far enough to escape detection by a city full of unicorns, then she could place an enchantment on the track.

Basic spell theory taught that every unicorn had a tiny sliver of magic power in them at all times. Most unicorns referred to it as their life-force, a classification Trixie didn’t agree with. She thought it was more a link to magic than life, a thread connection the unicorn back to the font of all power, though she had no clue what that was. Nevertheless, just as each unicorn’s magic was unique, not only in usage, but also in flavour, texture, so was their thread.

Trixie could attune a ward to that thread. When Shining Armour passed over the section of track, he would trigger the spell, targeting him and nopony else. Trixie was hopeful that he’d be alone—he was royalty, after all—but just in case, the spell would lull everypony to sleep in a six-foot radius centred on her target.

He himself would be out of action for around four hours. Long enough that he wouldn’t be waking while she transferred him, but short enough that they could get what they needed quickly. Trixie wasn’t inclined to try hiding from Twilight, especially after their last encounter.

That's a lot of guesswork, Trixie, Brash said. Never a good idea, you know. Leads to shoddy quality.

I can’t help it, she snapped back. I’ve never done this before

So why are you doing it now?

Trixie didn’t have an answer. The trouble was, as much as she debated the morality of her actions, weighing logic and reasoning against the sick, sinking feeling in her gut, she'd given herself over to Boundless the moment she’d forced the confrontation. The choices before her had crystallised from a murky bayou of endless possibility to two distinct paths. She could obey, take responsibility for what he did with her life, and try to mitigate some of the harm he spread. Or she could leave, and in doing so sign her own death warrant.

There was no escape, not while she lacked the strength to damn herself.

And really, that’s no escape at all.

Trixie found a serviceable spot in the track, coming round a bend in the mountains and out of any tunnel that would obscure vision. She set the ward, then left, teleporting back to the hideout in Canterlot.

Nine

Our enemy is not unknown to us, though his methods came as a surprise. My sister and I spent years preparing, honing our talents, raising armies and searching out the few clues that remained. Years, wasted in useless pursuits. But we couldn’t have known how he would come.

Nine

SIGHT HAD ALWAYS SEEMED PERHAPS THE MOST USEFUL OF HER ABILITIES To See, to direct oneself through time, observe ones past and future at a whim. Powered by the counterparts fear and hope, it kept a balanced emotional state, though its use was limited by the depth of ones feeling.

It could tell Luna of her escape, were her Sight not obscured. She’d tried several times, beginning in the past. She Saw herself free at last from her exile, accustoming to life in modern Equestria. Saw herself taking more interest in the personal lives of her subjects, going out of her way to help them through their trials. Saw herself trekking here, to her prison, an extension of the public service she took on in repentance. But she could not See herself breaking free, her vision clouded by by the darkness still surrounding her. Sight was not omniscience.

It was ironic, how she seemed to attract imprisonment. But whereas before, Luna spent a thousand years wallowing in her hatred, waiting to break free, here she retained her mind. She could think, could reflect.

She’d spent a great deal of time alone, on her return. She’d thought it strange, that after so long by herself, she wouldn’t run to others, embrace their company as a prisoner does when released from the drab colours of solitude into a field of green grass. But she wasn’t ready for them, she couldn’t deal with the noise all around her. Silence afforded her the time to change, to acknowledge her failings and grow from them.

She could do the same here. Perspective could change her imprisonment into an opportunity. A subtle shift, but it made the darkness a little bit more bright. Her sister would approve.

Luna had always struggled with control. Anger and hatred would break her free from here. Of that, she had no doubt—there was precious little that could stop an alicorn infused with the will to burn the world. Yet she feared the potential for corruption inherent in that magic. She searched for another way, a path that held no risk, though she did not think to find it.

She had to be careful. The more she tried to See, the more she burned away her will, used up the fear and hope that drove her. It made her apathetic, for a while, until she remembered, recovered. She knew, better than anypony, what an abuse of Coromancy could do.

She could manipulate herself, with it. She could burn away her fear, leaving only hope, to burn all the brighter in its opposite’s absence. She’d be able to embrace her heritage, reclaim her power. But she had already seen what that would do to her, how it would remove, slowly, her ability to control herself, corrupt her actions until she was a slave to her base emotions.

That was the duality inherent in power. All she had to do was reach out, embrace it, and she could reach heights unheard of. Enough to destroy this creature, and his trap, enough to bring life back into the Wastes, and unite the land under the Equestrian banner, enough to halt the sun itself, and bring night eternal to the world. All that, and all she had to do was subjugate herself to it. It was not her power, nor her ruling.

What choice did she have? There was no particular rush to return to Equestria, no pressing matters she had to see to. Her sister had managed for a thousand years without her; she could manage for as long as it took to escape. But waiting would not change the task that lay before her. As difficult as it would be to face her fears, to torch her way out and then reject the fire as it burned in her veins, there was no point delaying the inevitable.

Luna hesitated. She could feel the anger, just under the surface. It seared her, a resentment to rival the sun. She’d only been able to control herself by pushing it away, holding it from her conscious mind to torture her in her sleep. Would she really be able to set it aside, once she gave into it? If she couldn’t she’d return to the Nightmare, as if the Elements had done nothing at all.

Luna remembered that touch like it had happened yesterday. It hadn’t been gentle, but it had felt good, in a way, like a coarse scrub cleaning dirt out of her coat. It had stripped her of feeling, of magic, left her mind with only reason and logic. She’d seen her folly almost immediately. It was almost unbelievable, that she could have been so blinded by emotion as to attempt what she had.

Could she try the same thing? Use up all the anger she had in her in one, explosive blast? Luna had no way of knowing how much of an impact that would have on the surrounding area, though it would protect her, for now.

Coromancy was not an emotional outlet. Releasing her anger was a temporary solution; it would return, stronger for her use of it, her acknowledgement. She needed to deal with it permanently; if nothing else, this trip had made her realise just how crippled she had allowed herself to become.

Suppressing her emotions was no better than giving in to them completely. Either way, they controlled her, defined her actions and choices. She could see that from in here, away from her life. But what else could she do? She was no mortal, with a life too short to hold a grudge. An immortal operated on a different level.

Celestia had never seemed to have a problem. Perhaps she could ask her, go to her sister for help. Perhaps she should have done that a long time ago. Looking back, Luna could see the pride that had stopped her, though she could not see its source.

Nonetheless, that was for the future. The present demanded her attention, left her with no choice but to act, to choose. It was no choice, not really. She would not spend a second longer imprisoned than she had to.

Satisfied, Luna rose to her hooves. She closed her eyes; she did not need to see for this. Reaching inwards, she touched the surface of her rage. It was like a pool inside her, a liquid fire, fuel to her magic and senses. It burned her, seared its way through her flesh and bone as she brought it to the surface. Coursing with energy, and enveloped in fury, she turned her power outwards against the cage that held her.

She heard a deafening roar, a storm of noise that surrounded her. The wind rose against it, adding a high-pitched scream to the cacophony. But Luna’s fire was not the heated orange or red of a natural blaze, not the radiant white light of her sister’s sun. It rose as a hurricane; a brilliant, solid argent, glowing silver in the darkness.

Luna reached out, touching the threads of Chaotic magic. They solidified under her, were brought to form by her will. Grasping them, she gave herself to its fire, turned her flaring might against them, struggling to break them apart.

The darkness flickered around her, pushing back. It moved with the wind, a swaying, twirling dance that struck at her with furious force in a mindless reflex to destroy her rather than be destroyed, galing around to match the blazing bonfire. Argent light flashed and detonated, filling her ears with its thunder.

And then, with an earth-shattering crack, the dome of nothing exploded outwards, splintering above her head into fragments of shining silver light that fell to the ground around her.

The light of Luna’s fires showed her mere emptiness, a vast space filled only with water. And still the Wind roared, surged forward against her, pillaring up against her strained will, a pinnacle tall enough to pierce the heavens, a roaring, raging fury that torrented upwards, brushing past the thick stone at speeds no mountain could resist.

The bowels of the Earth were flung away in a rain of granite chunks, exposing the pit to the air for the first time in an Age. It surged inward, joined the wind in its furious, mindless reflex to destroy her rather than be destroyed. It galed, struck, twirled and detonated against the argent pillar, a matching tempest that rose against her. Dark lightning danced in an empty sky.

Luna paused. But just as the rage in her chest began to fade, the argent storm above her flickering, falling, she felt a presence below the horizon. With a savage cry, inaudible and exultant, she reached to it, caressed it. The Moon’s power filled her, replaced her anger with hope, and she surged forward, stepping into the pool before her.

Argent light flashed upwards, cutting through the darkness. And in twilight’s fading sunlight, Luna looked upwards with glory written on her face, rapture in her eyes, and glee across her lips. The black-white tempest split the sky asunder.

But the white dominated and prevailed.

***

Trixie shut the door behind her, pressing the charred wood firmly into the frame, causing tiny pieces of ash to fall to the ground. Looking out onto Canterlot at noon, she paused to take a breath, and then started down the street.

With everything in place for tomorrow, Trixie found herself with some free time, and not a whole lot to do. Boundless required nothing from her, and they had plenty of money set aside for any eventuality. Boundless had actually done a fairly good job of squirreling away small amounts here and there in every city they’d gone too. No matter where they went, they’d have some cash at hand.

Instead, Trixie went to find Twilight. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and she hoped she could repair the sudden rift that Twilight’s knowledge of her lifestyle had created. There was still so much she could learn from the unicorn, so much that Trixie had been forced to give up, surviving on the streets.

If nothing else, Twilight could grant her access to the Archives. Whereas before, Trixie had been forced to sneak about, restricted to the night for her study, having the Arch-Magus Twilight Sparkle vouch for her would allow her the freedom to more fully explore all that the Archives had to offer. Perhaps that would soak up some time.

Trixie also hoped that Twilight could shed some more light on her condition. The progress she’d made in just one session had astounded Trixie – it was more information than she’d been able to accumulate in four years of searching. Even if it was just guesswork, Twilight brought a familiarity and comprehensive understanding of magic to the table that Trixie couldn’t find elsewhere.

Where would Twilight be, at this time of day? Shining Armour was still in Canterlot – though he was leaving on the morrow. Perhaps she was with him. Trixie hoped not. She couldn’t afford to reveal her face to Shining, not yet.

She should start back at Twilight’s Canterlot branch. What was it called? Trixie hadn’t paid much attention to the plaque the last time she’d been there, beyond confirming that it was indeed Twilight’s place. The . . . Agency? It sounded rather melodramatic, even to Trixie’s admittedly desensitised ears.

Still, she remembered where it was, just on the border between the richer, noble parts of town and the slightly poorer parts, where the open markets and vendors hawked their wares on the streets. Trixie supposed its position had something to do with catering to both crowds. That sounded like something Twilight would take into consideration.

The hideout was well within those poorer streets, even heading toward what would be slums in any other city. Canterlot slums still managed to be a step above parts of other cities, though. Even its undesirables could be snobs.

So Trixie headed towards the castle in the distance. That was always a good way of navigating the city, arranged as rings around the Princess’s. The closer you got, the more expensive everything got, in money and blood.

It wasn’t long before she could see the change. As she climbed the hill, the street grew steadily wider. Gutters lost the considerable volume of trash, litter left out in the street to be collected. Potholes were filled in, and chipped parts of paving repaired, whereas down below that would be left for probably years.

It wasn’t the rich parts, not quite, but it was a considerable step above where Trixie was living when she found the Agency’s quarters, nestled comfortably in between a coffee shop and a bookstore. Trixie had been in too much of a fluster after their last parting to really take in her surroundings, but now she smiled. The scene was perfect.

With an eager step, she climbed the steps and knocked, three times, on the solid wooden door. From within, she could hear movement; clearly somepony was in. Trixie turned her attention to the plaque on the door, mirroring the one in Ponyville.

Arch-Magus Twilight Sparkle’s Agency

A Consultancy Service

Consultancy service, huh. If only she’d come here sooner, years ago. Before she become a part of Boundless’s plans, before she’d even met him. Life would have been so much simpler, had only she trusted. If only she’d looked on that name in hope and without fear, not self-recrimination and doubt.

It had been a lapse in judgement, to be sure, but one that had required direct experience to disprove. There had been no way she could have known Twilight would have treated her so well. In her visions, Trixie had seen the mare, working with faceless mages, scientists, and doctors, dragging her before the Princess, in the hopes that one of them would know what ailed her. She’d seen herself, going to her and learning that what she’d done was a crime, beyond all imagining, that she’d taken from her friends their deaths, and that now she must pay with her own.

Those theories seemed wild to her now, but back then, they’d resonated in her. They’d whispered, why hurry to your doom? And, truth be told, there had never been any rush. Trixie was, for better or worse, content with her situation. Why tempt fate? She could always seek aid should her task prove impossible, but once she’d revealed herself, there would be no going back.

It’s okay. The words reverberated in her mind, though she could not tell who had spoken them. It’s been four years; gone, but not wasted.

The door swung open, revealing a cyan-blue pegasus sporting an irritated frown.

“Yeah? What do you want . . . do I know you?” Rainbow asked. The azure mare took a deep breath. “Hey, yeah, yeah I do! What are you doing here, Trixie?!” Rainbow exclaimed. Her surprise wasn’t enough to jolt her out of a deep yawn. Apparently, she’d been napping.

“I was looking for Twilight, actually. Is she here?”

“What do you want with Twi’, huh?”

“You’re . . . Rainbow Dash. Captain of the Wonderbolts.”

“Yeah, I am. Still think you can fly better?” Rainbow said, prodding Trixie on the chest with a hoof. She hadn’t moved from the doorway, blocking Trixie’s entrance.

“No,” Trixie said, smiling. “You’re with Twilight, aren’t you?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Trixie said. “Is she in?”

“No. Why?”

“I just want to talk,” Trixie said.

“Talking, huh? What about?”

“I met with her in Ponyville yesterday. We have some unfinished business. Magic related.”

As expected, Rainbow made a face. Trixie could only imagine what living with an academic like her would be like, but she suspected that certain subjects – magic, in this case – would quickly grow tiresome.

“Gimme a sec,” Rainbow said, swinging the door shut behind her. It was pretty clear to Trixie that the pegasus still didn’t trust her. Not that she expected to be instantly forgiven by everypony she ran into from her past. Trixie was still somewhat surprised at Twilight’s reaction to her appearance.

But Rainbow hadn’t immediately thrown her out. That had to count for something, right? And if she could get Rainbow to give her another chance, maybe she could repair things. She’d like that.

Rainbow pulled the door open.

“Come in, Trixie,” she said, stepping back to allow Trixie inside. “Twilight’s upstairs.”

“In after all?”

“You can thank Twilight,” Rainbow groused. “She might think you’ve changed, but I’m not convinced. So you just watch it, okay.”

“Relax, Rainbow. I don’t have any amulets or artefacts this time,” Trixie said, stepping past her. “Besides, don’t you think Twilight could take me?”

“You have no idea,” Rainbow chuckled. “Tell her I’m heading out.”

Trixie nodded. She could see stairs at the end of the hall, but before she headed up, she snuck another glance into the side room. Nopony was in there, but she saw the same bath, the same equipment set up beside it.

“Hey! Don’t push it, Trixie,” Rainbow warned her. Trixie shot a backwards glance at the pegasus. “Up the stairs. Go on. Off you go.”

Trixie stuck her tongue out, but turned back and quickly climbed the stairs. She heard the door close behind her as she reached the top.

“Trixie! How have you been?” Twilight said, stepping out of a nearby room. Trixie spied a desk as Twilight shut the door behind her.

“Fine, fine. Actually, I hadn’t expected to find you here. I thought you lived down in Ponyville.”

“Oh, I do. I’m just staying in Canterlot while my brother’s in the city,” Twilight said. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure,” Trixie said, following Twilight past the office to a small kitchen. Looking around, it seemed to be all living quarters upstairs, though Trixie was still curious as to the equipment downstairs. Twilight turned back to her, gesturing to a seat and floating a glass of water over to the table. Trixie sat down, holding the glass in her hooves before her.

“Ah, thanks. Look, Twilight, I wanted to . . . apologise. For the stealing, I mean.”

Twilight smiled. “Well, that’s a start. But why apologise to me?”

“I suppose that doesn’t really make sense,” Trixie confessed.

“No, not really.”

“It’s just, you understand, don’t you? Why I had to do it?”

“No, I don’t,” Twilight said. “Not really.”

Trixie hung her head. It was not something she was proud of, but there had been an importance to those actions, beyond the consequences for those she stole from.

“I was . . . I was just trying to do something for myself, without relying on aid. I needed that, Twilight,” Trixie said, looking up at Twilight, searching for comprehension. “I needed to be capable. To be able to handle it.”

“You don’t fulfil that by committing crimes in every city in Equestria,” Twilight said, softly. “Trixie . . .”

“Forget it,” Trixie said. That hadn’t gone how she’d hoped. “Let’s just . . . have you had any more thoughts about my condition?”

Twilight frowned, pausing for just a second. “Actually, yes. Come here, I want to try something.”

I’m not sure I like this, Trixie, Brash said.

You never were particularly comfortable with magic, Brash, Trixie replied. But come. You know why we have to trust her.

There were no more protests, the reminder silencing his misgivings.

I wonder what she’s up to. Cumulus, on the other hand, was eager. He was, after all, a student of magic himself.

“I was thinking about the link between you and your friends,” Twilight began, stepping closer to Trixie. “I believe it to be founded on emotions – your reaction to the extreme situation caused a magical burst that bound you together. When they . . . expired, their souls, if you will, were caught in you.” Twilight lit her horn, grasping Trixie’s head in her hooves and closing her eyes.

“I’m going to observe, nothing more,” Twilight said. “I want to know if their magic carried over as well.

No, Brash said flatly. Absolutely not.

“I need you to focus, Trixie. Draw their attention, grasp them as completely as you can, and try to cast a spell with their energy. Nothing major, just light your horn.”

“Uhh, Twilight.” Trixie said. “I’d really rather not.”

“What?” Twilight said, opening her eyes. “What’s the matter? It should be relatively easy.”

“Oh, it is. We’ve, ah, we’ve done that before. It’s not . . . pleasant for them.”

“Really? So they do retain their magic.”

“Yes,” Trixie confirmed.

“Interesting. I’ll have to think about this, but, Trixie, if casting is uncomfortable for them, it sounds like they’re tied to your life-force.”

“You’ve lost me,” Trixie said. She understood what Twilight was saying, to an extent. Life-force was a term given to the seed of magic that ran through everypony, no matter their race. Losing your life-force resulted in death – uncommon, but sometimes, a unicorn would extend themselves slightly too far. Other races had died too, but it was more commonly a problem for magic-users.

But she had no idea how anything could bind another to her life-force. Twilight made it sound like they’d conjoined their souls.

“That would mean . . . you know what. Let me work on it,” Twilight said, removing her hooves from Trixie’s head and stepping back.

“Oh, no. You owe me an explanation, Twilight,” Trixie said.

“Look, I’m sorry. This is a lot to take in at once. The implications alone . . . Later, I promise.”

“Fine,” Trixie said. She wasn’t accustomed to being so outclassed, but as much as Twilight’s attitude rankled, it provided some small comfort as well, that Twilight might actually be able to understand what happened. She was content to let Twilight work as she pleased, but it wouldn’t stop Trixie from learning what she could in the meantime. She had a lot of catching up to do.

“Setting that aside, then,” Trixie said, draining and levitating her glass over to the nearby sink. “Can you get me into the Archives?”

“I’d be happy to,” Twilight said, standing. “After that, though, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take my leave. I’m meeting with my brother.”

“Say no more,” Trixie said, as Twilight moved past her to head outside. At least books wouldn’t try to hide information from her, though Trixie wasn’t enthused about the idea of spending yet more hours poring over dusty old tomes when there was a living unicorn who had the answers she needed.

***

Twilight knocked gently on the wooden door, swinging it open after she heard a faint “Come in” echoing from inside to reveal her brother sitting tall behind a desk. There were several reports neatly arranged in front of him, ranked in order of importance, detailing situations on the border, the specifics of trade between the two nations and the more general relations between the two peoples.

“Twily!” Shining Armour said, rising from his chair as he saw her enter. “How are you?”

“Fine, Shiny,” Twilight said, returning his hug. “You look busy.”

“Nothing terribly important. We’ve caught wind of a smuggling operation across the border, running through Hornwall. With the taxes on Crystal goods rising, there’s a big market for this stuff.”

“Need any help?”

“No, I got this,” Shining Armour said. “Thanks anyway.”

"Well, maybe you can help me,” Twilight said, stepping over to the desk and taking a seat in front of it.

“Oh? What’s wrong?” Shining Armour asked, turning around to face his sister. Twilight was fiddling with her hooves, studiously looking away from him.

“I need to know everything you and Cadence have learned about the Crystal Heart,” she said quickly.

Shining Armour smiled. “I’ll set up a time for you to study it. I’ll wager you’ll know more than we do in half an hour.”

“No time,” Twilight said, turning to meet Shining Armour’s eyes and shaking her head. “How well protected is it?”

That caused him a slight pause. “How well protected are the Elements?”

“Good answer,” Twilight said, grinning. “The Elements are better protected than a dragon’s horde. After what Discord did with them, Celestia and Luna upgraded their protective enchantments. Canterlot Castle could be reduced to rubble and that tower wouldn’t even be singed.”

“Well, we might not have access to that much power, but believe me, Twilight, the Heart is safe. We don’t need to keep it accessible at a moment’s notice, after all.”

“True. But you do have to bring it out every year, for the Faire, right?”

“Yes,” Shining Armour confirmed. “But the entire Guard is on call during the Faire, not to mention myself and Cadance next to it pretty much the whole time.”

“It’s still the weakest point,” Twilight said, rubbing her chin with a hoof. “Unless somepony knew where it was kept . . .”

“Alright, Twilight, what’s this about?” Shining Armour asked. “What do you know?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Twilight said.

“If there’s been a threat, Twilight, I need to know about it.”

“I’ve . . . noted an expression of interest from some unsavoury ponies. I wouldn’t call it a threat, exactly.”

“So . . . ?”

“So I wanted to let you know, just in case. Do you mind if I take a look at your security?”

“It’s safe, Twilight. You can come have a look if you want, but trust me, there’s no need.”

Twilight sighed, holding her head in her hooves. “I know. I don’t mean to question your ability, Shiny. I can’t think of anypony I’d trust more to protect it. I’m just worried.”

“Okay, what’s happened, Twily?”

“It’s Trixie. This pony I know from years back. She’s turned up again, out of the blue, and she’s involved in some pretty shady stuff—criminal even. I’m trying to help her.”

“So you don’t want the law involved?”

“Not yet. I can handle it, Shiny,” Twilight said with a small frown. “I’ll keep you posted, though.”

“That’s my Twily,” Shining Armour said, ruffling her mane. “You’re always reaching out to help others. That’s why you’re special, you know?”

“Thanks, Shiny,” Twilight said, warmth suffusing her cheeks.

“Oh, please. Now then, how about we go get some dinner? It’s getting kind of late.”

“I’d like that.” Twilight stood. With Shining Armour following her, she headed out the door. The royal kitchens would be serving soon, judging from the position of the sun outside, and she happened to know that they’d be serving a delightful garden salad this evening. It did pay to have connections.

***

“Daerev?” Rainbow asked, lifting her sunglasses off her face and turning up to face him. “Pretty cool, I guess. What’s it mean?”

“Daerev Quitu,” Daerev said, eyes closed as if reciting, “The Young Eternal. Young, in recognition of his humble roots, and the vastness of life he has yet to experience. Eternal, in recognition of his heritage, of his dragon blood and fire.”

“Huh,” Rainbow said, dropping back onto the grass. “Finally outgrew Spike, did you?”

“Yeah,” Daerev said.

They were in the Ponyville park; ostensibly waiting for Twilight. She’d gone into Canterlot earlier, but when Daerev had gone to her house, intending to tell her about his new name, he’d found just a note, saying that she’d be back later today. When Rainbow had arrived, flying down after the day’s practice, they’d decided to wait outside, leaving a note of their own. It had been too long since they’d had the chance to do this, even if it was just the two of them.

“Well, I think it’s cool, Spi—Daerev. That’s going to take some getting used to, eh?”

“Mhmm,” Daerev said in agreement. But even though he’d only worn it for a day, he never thought of himself as Spike any more. It was if his mind had known about his change for some time. The shift had turned out to be easy, as natural as breathing. He simply shifted. “Say, Rainbow,” he started.

“What’s up?”

“What was it like? Losing your memory?” Daerev asked.

“I’ve already told you—told everypony, with Twilight. It was horrible.” Rainbow said. “Why do you ask? Is everything alright?”

“I think so. It’s just . . . this all feels so right. So natural for me. I mean, I just up and throw away my old self, take on a new name and a new self. I guess I’m just wondering how that felt, for you. Wasn’t that what you said, that you seemed to be an entirely new pony, similar, sure, but with differences?“ Daerev said.

“I’m not sure it’s the same thing. When I drank from that river, I lost everything. You still have Spike in there, don’t you? Memories, values, friendships?” Rainbow asked.

Daerev nodded. Spike was still a part of him, a core part of what made up Daerev.

“I didn’t have that. I was lost; suddenly and horribly blind. I didn’t know where I fit in. Even with everypony’s memories of me, I didn’t understand myself, couldn’t see what motivated me. It just all seemed so shallow without the experiences to give it meaning.

“It was like not knowing anything brought out me—Rainbow Dash—in a very real way. It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to hide; it was that I didn’t have anything hiding me. The mask stripped away.”

Daerev smiled. “Deep,” he said.

“Don’t laugh,” Rainbow chided. “It was a traumatic period, but one that made me think. Memories inform us. I used to believe that I had to hide myself, to build an identity that was unassailable. It came before everything until, eventually, I had been pretending to be that pony for so long, I became that pony. Never for long, but now and then, for brief moments, I would forget.

“Rainbow Dash became more than a name. It was the face I showed everypony. It was me, but it wasn’t the whole me.”

“You’re saying that I’ve always been Daerev Quitu,” Daerev said, pondering Rainbow’s words. Part of him still couldn’t believe the speedster was giving him such a detailed lecture, but then, that was what prolonged exposure to Twilight could do to a pony.

“Somewhat, yes. And you’ll always be somewhat Spike. But don’t mistake a name for who you are.”

“I see—I think.”

Rainbow smiled. “When I recovered my memories from Lethe, I couldn’t believe how much of an idiot I’d been. The things I’d said or done, all to preserve this image I had of myself. I’d tried to mould myself into a Wonderbolt, tried to hide myself because I knew—I just knew—that the world wouldn’t accept me. I was wrong, of course.”

“You don’t seem to be all that different, honestly. Still with the flying, the ridiculous stunts and showing-off.”

“Maybe. That’s a part of who I am, but only a part. Before, it was everything.”

“So you don’t regret it. Despite everything; all the pain, the hardship and doubt?”

“Heck no. Best thing that ever happened to me,” Rainbow said. “Lethe made me. I wouldn’t have made the Wonderbolts without it, let alone Captain. They weren’t looking for somepony who’d made flying their life, it was too much. Somepony like that would burn out, and there goes all that work; training, promoting, organising, all gone. If you can believe it, I was too fast for them.

“We’d never have known Coromancy either. That hasn’t just been good to me; it’s been good to all of us. AJ’s farm is bigger and better than ever, Fluttershy’s got her nature preserve, Pinkie’s got the whole town dancing to her tune, and Twilight found her calling.

“I found out that I wasn’t as slow and shallow as I’d thought. I remember thinking that Rarity’s obsession with fashion was ludicrous. I mean, can you get any more stereotypical? I was so good at convincing myself that I missed the comparison. What, flying fast is somehow better than looking stylish? I’d much rather be me than persist like that. Ignorance might be bliss, but it’s still ignorance.

“And I found Twilight. If anything, that alone makes it worth it. I never would have even considered it, if we hadn’t been thrown together like that.”

“How did it happen?” Daerev asked. “I mean, the two of you just came out and that was it.”

“We were both in the river, together. And in there, there’s no hiding. No holding back. I know everything there is to know about Twilight, understand every decision and thought that she’d ever had, up to that point. Do you understand, Daerev? I knew her, I was her, and she was me.”

Ten

He seems unstoppable. But then, that is why I am here. My sister chose to stay, to protect our people as best she can. If she hasn’t halted his advance, by now he will have covered our homes. I pray she succeeds, even if that act damns me. I pray for the survival of our species.

Ten

THE FADING LIGHT OF HER RAGE WAS A BITTERSWEET RELIEF TO LUNA, its ruddy red brilliance, mixing with the flaring argence in the heavens and searing her eyes, so long in the darkness. Squinting, she was able to make out the shapes surrounding her; a vast bowl, dug into the land, and two curving paths, leading upward, leading out.

Luna had seen the ocean before, of course. Equestria’s east and west borders were both on the coastline, and there were many smaller villages and towns that made a living on what the seas provided, not to mention the larger cities. She was no stranger to the great depths and currents, the tranquillity of the sea at rest and the fury of it whipped into storm.

She was, after all, responsible for maintaining the tides.

She could understand the ocean. But this . . . this defied logic. The pool stretched beyond the limits of her sight, beyond the reach of the light of her horn. It sat in a cavern, what felt miles below the surface, and it boiled. The mass of water, enough to drown a city, seethed, moving in a chaotic pattern. Yet there was no wind here, nothing to stir it to such heights.

A wave, as tall as the towers of Canterlot, crashed down onto Luna, laying her mane flat against her neck. As she blinked the water out of her eyes, struggling to understand, to see what drove the waters so, she realised something astounding.

She was not angry. There was no pool of rage within her, fit to match the storm before her. It had been drained, completely and utterly in her attack on her captor.

Luna reached out, into the waters and the air above them. Holding her magic steady despite the battering she received, she could feel something of the entity before her. It had been trapped here for longer than she’d been exiled on the moon, longer than Equestria had existed. She knew it, understood at least a part of it.

The pool, though in storm, reminded her of something from not that long ago. She hadn’t gone down herself, to meet Rainbow and Twilight at the source of Lethe, but she’d heard their report on the incident. She remembered how they’d described it; as a vast underground lake beneath the ruins of her old castle.

Could this be similar? There was no river here, though Luna had followed a riverbed south to find this place. But where Lethe had been tranquil, a river of peace and harmony, the waters here were in an absolute frenzy. It struck Luna nothing as much as the old stories of Discord. Memories of fighting him, fighting alongside her sister in the name of Harmony, fighting against corruption and Chaos, returned to her. She could see his manic face as if it were just last year they’d fought.

But Discord was an enemy of Equestria. He could not be the evil Celestia had trapped out here, outside the boundaries, in the middle of the Wastes. What did that leave this to be?

Do not presume to name me, Luna. The voice sneered, echoing around the cavern. I suppose I should congratulate thou. Throwing off the shackles of the past is not simple. It only took thou ten years.

“What?” Luna exclaimed. “Speak sense. I’ve been absent months at most.”

Thou sleep well, Princess of the Night, and thou sleep long. In truth, it has been some months more than ten years.

“I escaped your trap, fiend.”

Thou hath escaped nothing. Why didst thou come here, Luna?

Luna paused. There was an intensity to his voice that had been absent before. Something had changed; something important.

“What stops me now? Shall I simply walk away, and leave you to your doom?”

Why did thou come here?

“To silence my doubts and my fears, to satiate my curiosity and prophecy, I came here.”

You slipped through my web with little more than the anger of imprisonment. Canst thou imagine my rage? Dost it not resonate?

“I find little sympathy for a creature that would turn a nation to dust.”

Thou dost not remember. Even now, even here, thou are shackled. Why do thou subject thyself so?

“I remember well.”

Thou dost not even feel its touch. Begone, Luna. Perhaps in time, thou will awaken fully. There is naught more that I can do for thou.

Luna didn’t question the sudden change of heart. Hope and joy swelling in her, she simply turned and bolted. She felt light, with giddiness in her stomach and a rush in her ears. She lifted her wings, flapping them once, hard, sending her up the side of the bowl at the speed of sound.

She burst onto the plain with a scream of delight, soaring up into the sky and savouring its blue brilliance. The vast expanse of the Wastes stretched around her, in every direction. There was nothing to indicate the direction she’d come from.

Nothing save the sun—and the moon below the horizon. Luna turned around to greet her sister’s fire, the majestic orb hanging low in the sky. It was getting late, Luna could feel it. She felt another surge of excitement at the thought of raising her moon – her moon! – again. The sun set in the west, therefore Equestria lay . . . that way. Luna sped north, quickly finding the riverbed that had led her here.

Luna still had no idea who the voice had belonged to, but its words drew some disturbing parallels to the Drac. She would need to take the time to think this through. She could bring it to Celestia. Surely her sister would know what it was, would help her follow the pattern through. Luna was, admittedly, still somewhat lost in this new world. She’d come to know and love the modern Equestria, but her knowledge of the world outside was somewhat lacking.

But mostly, she longed for the company of one who could understand her pain, and comfort her through her trials.

***

The day of Shining Armour’s departure from Canterlot, Trixie spent nervously waiting in the Canterlot Archives, filling in time with half-hearted research on mental magic. Despite the interest consuming four years of her life without interruption, for the first time she felt listless, lacking any real investment in the magic.

She thought that maybe Twilight’s experimentation had robbed it of its mystery. There had been a charm to her search, a gritty sense of exploration and investigation. She’d felt an importance normally associated only with characters from a story, ponies, saddled by fate to save the day, all on their own.

But she’d never really considered what she planned to do once she understood it. Oh, there had been debates, shouting matches with the voices in her head, and calmer talks, where they agreed on what was best. But each was the instant resolution of a five-minute discussion, made in the spur of the moment, on the back of some realisation. They did not carry weight.

When she’d first awoken with them, she’d decided to reverse the spell. It was unnatural, a corruption of the cycle of life. Somehow, it lessened them, lessened the weight of the tragedy that had befallen them. Trixie was still reeling, off-balance and in shock. The pain of their passing hadn’t quite set in, the world swimming around her as if in dream.

Trixie hadn’t believed the doctors and nurses who had told her it would pass. All wounds fade, they’d said, in that comforting, condescending tone of a pony that lived around death. She was a visitor, a pony coming to them for their wisdom. She responded to their kindness with vitriol, somehow placing her pain on a pedestal, elevated above their comprehension.

Naturally, they had been right, the expression, so common as to be cliché, proven true. She had known that, on a logical level, in the same way that she’d moved past her childhood abandonment. The thought of her parents hadn’t stung here for years. She would move on.

Past that, past the shock and disbelief, she’d reconsidered. Why would she reverse the spell—a miracle, to be sure? Why refuse such a gift? They were with her beyond death, would be with her all her life. Removing them would be no better than killing them herself, for all purposes ending their lives. She hadn’t understood their presence, and so had feared them. Fear had driven her to the intention of murder.

Understanding them had become her goal. The phenomenon, the spell that had allowed this, that would be her gift to the world, her legacy. She’d spent four years wandering, searching for answers. Now, finally, that was within her reach, thanks to another.

That was the rub. She could see it now, looking back; the same mistake, for different reasons. Before, Trixie had rejected sympathy in the belief that it lessened her grief, now she found assistance to reduce the importance of her aims. She had raised herself up, placed herself on some dais, and she could not stand that which reminded her of her normality. It was arrogance, once again rearing its head to bring about her downfall. At least the Great and Powerful Trixie had been honest, embracing her flaw as her greatest strength.

Of course she was apathetic, now so close. She should have been excited, would have been, were it hers to claim. But Twilight had claimed that, taken that from her by offering her expertise. She had stolen something, unwittingly, perhaps, but stolen nonetheless. It wasn’t hers to discover.

So her studies lagged, Trixie finding herself reading and rereading lines as her mind wandered.

But time waited for nopony. Twilight had introduced her to the Archive staff when she’d come to grant Trixie access, and they’d agreed to notify her in four hours—enough time to get down to the station before Shining Armour’s train arrived. By the time they tapped her on the shoulder, she hadn’t learnt anything useful, although she had picked up a vaguely interesting way to transmute fruit.

The fresh air outside served admirably in waking her up. Trixie rubbed her eyes as she started down the hill. It wouldn’t do to be drowsy here; she’d need to keep her wits about her. It never hurt to be careful, and something could always go wrong.

Not that it should, of course. She’d prepared well for this, spending the previous day shopping around Canterlot. Trixie had managed to procure a conductress’s uniform, complete with a navy blue cap sporting a red band and golden buckles, and matching dress. She didn’t normally wear clothes beyond her old cape, but the disguise would give her unrestricted access to the train. For that, she could accommodate the discomfort for a little while.

Trixie moved off the path as she approached the station, instead heading down an alley. Quickly donning the uniform, she wove a glamour around herself, a thread that would disguise her sudden appearance. Those around her would simply see another conductress about her duties.

Trixie walked out confidently, striding along the platform, looking for Shining Armour’s carriage. There was nothing to distinguish one from any other, but as she moved through the ponies gathered there, seeing loved ones off or heading north themselves, she kept her eyes open for Twilight, her brother, or any other pony affiliated with the royal family.

Sure enough, she could see two tall plumes—signifying the royal guard, flanking a door to a carriage. The train would be leaving very soon, so Shining would either be already on board, or giving a last farewell somewhere on the station.

Trixie kept walking forward, without trying to hide. Just before she reached the guards, she turned, stepping onto the train one carriage behind. When they hit her ward, it would be a simple matter to step through the doors, gather up his body and teleport back to Canterlot.

She didn’t have to wait very long till the train departed, whistles blowing and steam beginning to chug out of the chimney at the front. Thankfully, the carriage she was in was deserted, being used to transport goods. Trixie could see boxes upon boxes of apples, carrots, flower seeds and other produce. It was difficult to grow large volumes of food in the north, due to the cold, and since the influx of Equestrian citizens into the Crystal Empire, for trade, politics, or simply seeking a new start, they’d been buying more and more food from Canterlot.

Trixie huddled down against one of the boxes, removing her disguise and stashing it in a nearby crate of potatoes. The train wouldn’t take long to reach her ward, five minutes at the most. Trixie passed the time in silence, not really thinking of anything in particular. The silence was familiar to her, a baited, tense void that welcomed her. She was nervous, but no more so than before any other job, another other show.

As the train turned another corner, somewhere in the mountains, Trixie felt her ward activate. Just in front of her, there was a split-second magical flash—invisible to the naked eye—and then it was gone, leaving no trace of her presence. That was a feature she’d spent years refining. Most spells, having achieved their aim, simply dissolved into loose threads of magical power, which would dissipate in the air, or sink into the ground. Those threads could be used to identify the unicorn that had cast the spell, provided they were located quickly enough.

Instead, Trixie had imbued her ward with a second function. The only type of spell that didn’t follow the above rule, as she’d been taught, was the school involved in Growth. When the train—with Shining Armour inside—had triggered her ward, it had put everypony in the carriage ahead of her into a deep, trance-like sleep, and then spent itself encouraging growth of the nearby moss and fungi lining the tunnel.

This was it. Trixie stood, moving over to the door that connected the carriages. She opened it slowly, peeking her head around to assess the situation. The few guards that were accompanying Shining were snoring on the ground, arrayed around him. They’d fallen were they’d stood.

Shining Armour himself stood tall, horn alight and the glimmer of a protective bubble flickering around him. Trixie gulped, and then opened the door fully, stepping out to meet him.

It didn’t work? Brash asked, surprised.

Apparently not, Cumulus said. But how could he have known? There’s no way he could have gotten that shield up fast enough to block the spell once it was triggered.

“Who are you?” Shining Armour demanded. Trixie said nothing, studying him. The shield was strong, one of the best she’d ever seen. There were no obvious flaws, no holes or weaknesses to exploit. She could feel the intensity of his magic charging the air around them, causing his fur to stand on end.

“How did you know?” Trixie asked, stepping forward. She was fully in the carriage now, facing him just a few feet apart.

“Cadance told me, before I left. She is an alicorn you know,” Shining said. He gestured to the guards around him. “Are they . . .?”

“Sleeping. They’ll wake in a few hours,” Trixie said. Shining Armour relaxed, his face losing its tightness. “If the Empress told you about this, then you should already know who I am.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Shining Armour said. “She told me to beware the train. Nothing else. That’s why I didn’t protect those accompanying me.”

“That seems a bit cold,” Trixie observed. “Holding them out, what, as trials? To see what I was going to do?”

“To see how far you’d go.”

“I see,” Trixie said, grinning. “Well, now that you know I’m not going to hurt them, or you, why don’t you put down that shield?”

“Not a chance,” Shining Armour said. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk,” Trixie said, taking another step forward. She tried to put as much confidence into her words as she could, despite her misgivings. There was no way she was getting through that shield by normal means, and she had no desire to use . . . that. Not here, out in the open where she’d be vulnerable.

But if she could get him to lower it himself, just for a second, then she’d be able to strike.

You promised you wouldn’t. Not that, not ever, Brash said. Trixie didn’t need the reminder.

Only if I must, she said. Brash made a strangled sound, though it sounded strange in her head.

“Then talk,” Shining Armour said, holding his ground. This was a pony trained for combat, Trixie thought, experienced and capable. She wasn’t going to be intimidating him any time soon. Nor would he be trusting her any time soon, what with the comatose soldiers around him.

“Come with me,” Trixie said. “It would have been easier if you were asleep, but this doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“You blew that the second you set that ward. Who are you?”

“Nopony you know,” she said. I’m sorry, guys. “Must we be unpleasant, then?”

“I think so.”

“Very well,” Trixie said, igniting her horn. Shining Armour narrowed his eyes.

“You can’t touch me through this shield. Not even my sister can break it.”

“Oh, is that what she’s told you?” Trixie asked absently, most of her attention focused on the magic. “Don’t take it personally. I’m sure she just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Here was the tricky part. The spell she’d been charging, as Shining Armour watched, confident in his shield, was a form of teleportation she’d discovered a year ago. Standard theory on teleportation involved an exchange—you moved your molecules to the target destination, and the molecules that had occupied that space to where you were. The process prevented major displacement from occurring.

The author had combined that with the knowledge that an active spell took more energy the farther it was away from the caster to arrive at the idea of teleporting somepony’s spell away from them, instantly increasing the energy expenditure and displacing the effects of their magic. Needless to say, knowledge of the process was instantly buried—a slight miscalculation could leave them dead, completely drained of power.

Even so, it took an immense effort to wrest control of another’s magic from them. Trixie took another step forward, holding Shining Armour’s eyes. She sunk into his mind, immediately encountering a barrier, holding her back from his swirling thoughts. No matter, the link was established.

Brash and Cumulus simultaneously winced as Trixie drew from them. What she had discovered, not too long after the fire, was that it wasn’t only their minds that had survived. Their magic had followed them, stayed with them, and although the magic of an earth pony or a pegasus had no outlet from Trixie’s body, she could link her strength to theirs, drawing on their communal reserves. All it took a sense of unity and a goal she could direct them towards.

It was not easy. For both Brash and Cumulus, the process caused . . . not pain; they couldn’t feel pain save through Trixie. It was like a sudden fall, the stomach plunging into an abyss; their life draining away. For Trixie, it not only demanded extreme concentration, coercing three minds into acting as one, but left her drained.

Here, though, there was no choice. Trixie focused on the link between her and Shining Armour. She could use that as a means of latching onto his magic. With a great surge, she seized control of the shield and immediately sent it far away, to bubble around empty air on the Canterlot mountainside.

Shining Armour collapsed, the light on his horn flickering, then sputtering out. Trixie sighed in relief as she let go of Brash and Cumulus. They scurried away, hiding in the dark corners of her mind to lick their wounds. She was sorry for what that had cost them; fuelling magic with their lifeblood, but they’d recover.

Trixie herself fell down, crashing to the ground. The immensity of the situation dawned on her, a great bleak wave that left no room for escape. She’d been listless earlier, now she was completely apathetic. There was no point in trying anymore. How could she hope to escape from this? Why fight the inevitable?

The thought of sitting here, waiting to be captured by guards in the north, who would find her slumped over in the midst of awakening guards and an incapacitated Prince Consort terrified her. From there, she knew, Boundless would find her, and he would kill her.

She couldn’t escape that fate. It was done, as surely as if the blade had slipped across her throat already.

Except . . . that wasn’t right. She could change that, by completing her task. Everything was going according to plan, right? No need to be so grim. Trixie shook herself, grappling with her emotions. Despair had hit her like a sledgehammer. She was still reeling.

She stood sluggishly, mind slowly reawakening. This was the vulnerability. Trixie didn’t understand it, but she couldn’t unify their minds for long, and the effort had always sent her into a spiral of hopelessness and gloom. It took some time for her to reassert control.

Trixie stumbled to her feet, swaying like a drunken pony. She raised her head, bringing her eyes to where Shining Armour lay. The effort of maintaining a shield at that distance, even for just the instant it took to break the spell, would have drained his reserves. He had nothing with which to fight her.

A large body slammed into Trixie from the side, knocking her into the wall of the carriage. She didn’t have time to turn before it met her again, pressing her up against the wall.

“That,” Shining Armour said, “was a nasty little trick.”

He shouldn’t be able to move!

Trixie only grunted in reply.

“In the Guard, see,” Shining Armour said. “They teach you how to fight in three ways.” He readjusted his hold on Trixie, placing a foreleg under her throat while holding her own forelegs down with his other. He kept his eyes on her horn. “The first is with magic, as befits your own talents. The second is with your mind.”

He’s still out of magic. He can’t match you.

Trixie lit her horn. Shining Armour reacted instantly, crushing into her throat while swinging a hoof around to box her ear, breaking her concentration. She tried to pry her way free with her now released forelegs, but he was too strong. After a few seconds, she released the magic, and he released some of the pressure, allowing her to breath.

“The third is with your body. Did you really expect me to be helpless, denied my magic? Did you think you could take me?”

Trixie opened her mouth, struggling to make sound. Grudgingly, Shining Armour moved back another inch.

“Y-yes,” she said, rotating her head to meet his eyes. Shining Armour wouldn’t meet her gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on her horn. She wouldn’t be catching him with that again.

He shook his head ever so slightly. “Arrogant child . . .“

Whatever he had meant to say was lost in the blast as Trixie threw him off of her with a huge burst of telekinetic force, sending him crashing into the opposite wall. Before Shining Armour could regain his senses, she wove a Sleep spell around him, and watched as the stallion toppled over to join his comrades on the floor.

“You talk too much,” she said, sniffing. The confrontation had already taken too long, the train moving the whole time. Especially after what shed expended just subduing him, Trixie doubted she’d have the energy to teleport back to Canterlot at once.

Instead, she gathered up his body and teleported them both to the entrance of the tunnel she’d warded. It would serve as a resting place, just for a few hours, until she’d regained the strength to move back to the city.

He’d called her arrogant, there at the end. Trixie smiled. She’d always known of the potential in illusion magic and showmareship, but she had only ever played the one role. She was beginning to understand the power in presenting weakness. He hadn’t even considered that she might have simply masked the glow on her horn—a simple enough spell—in favour of the blow disrupting her channel.

Tonight, she’d meet Boundless to discuss what he wanted Shining Armour for, but for now, she’d have a nap. She set a spell to dose Shining Armour with Sleep regularly, before she lay down herself, quickly drifting into dreamless slumber.

***

“Twilight! What a pleasant surprise, what brings you all the way up here?”

“Hello, Cadance. It’s been too long,” Twilight said, facing the Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, the Crystal Princess and leader of the Empire. She had teleported all the way from Canterlot in order to catch her brother at the station, and let them know about Boundless. She wasn’t ready to hand him over to the police just yet, but Trixie had mentioned the Crystal Heart, and she’d seen numerous references to artefacts in Boundless’ notes.

“Yes. I trust that Equestria is safe?” Cadance said in a playful tone.

“I should think so,” Twilight replied. “’Course, one can never be sure.”

“No, I guess not,” Cadance chuckled. Turning, she led Twilight into the castle.

Twilight stopped in the doorway, letting out a short gasp. Cadence and Shining Armour had done a wonderful job redecorating since Twilight had last visited. The place glowed, cherry-red fires in hearth’s warming ponies, lining either side of the entrance hall. In the middle, tables groaned, decked with food in celebration. Twilight remembered why Shining Armour had to get back so soon, cutting his visit short. It was the anniversary of the Crystal Empire’ appearance in the north. On the morrow would be the celebration of King Sombra’s defeat.

Above the hearth’s, the hall was lined with tapestry’s, depicting scenes from Crystal pony legend. Twilight spied a copy of the stained-glass window that adorned Celestia’s throne room, the one of Spike offering up their deliverance.

Amidst the chill of the north outside, it made for a merry scene; a refuge against the sharp wind and cold snow full of song and chatter. Twilight couldn’t help but smile.

Cadence noticed her expression, sharing her enjoyment.

“I modelled it after that old book you had me read ten thousand times,” she said, nudging Twilight with a wing.

Now that she’d mentioned it, Twilight could see the resemblance; the carpet lining the stone floor, the draft of wind high above in the rafters, the warmth of company spreading through the room.. It was just as she’d imagined, years ago, reading novels of romanticised history and fantasy.

“Is that . . .?” Twilight asked, gesturing at the hearths.

“Yes, Twilight,” Cadance said. “The fire’s take in joy from all the ponies gathered here, and burn it for warmth. The happier everypony is, the warmer the hall stays.”

Twilight frowned. “That seems . . . awfully manipulative. What happens if they’re sad?”

“Why would they be sad? Besides, we keep supplies of firewood, just in case.”

“Ah. Yes, I see it.” There were piles of wood, already cut, stacked neatly next to each hearth. Still, Cadence had a point. None of the fires Twilight could see had any fuel in them. What cause for sorrow could these ponies possibly have, particularly in light of their recent history?

Sombra had been one of the more odd threats Twilight had faced over the years. Though he had quite clearly scared the Crystal ponies out of their minds with his mere presence, she’d never had the opportunity to interact with him directly. Even after all these years, she felt a twinge of curiosity as to his story.

It wasn’t motivated by pity, certainly. Twilight understood the plight he’d placed his subjects in, and had felt the touch of the dark magic he employed. She had no sympathy for the monster. But there was something intriguing about ponies like him. Ponies that would turn to darkness to achieve their ends, that would place their desires above the happiness of others. A morbid curiosity, perhaps, but it was as much as anything else a fascination with the unknown.

What could so twist somepony? Twilight had exposed herself to the underbelly of Equestria, and even there there existed a code of sorts, an honour among thieves. Robbery was fine, so long as you didn’t steal from those around you. Indentured servitude was fine, so long as it didn’t fall to slavery. The slums policed themselves, and they were policed with a fervour greater than any city guard.

There had been just six cases of kidnapping in the past century, each motivated by the utter extremes of desperation, pride or passion. But if that was the extent of the criminal’s capacity for evil, how did a pony become a creature that would halt the moon in the sky, dooming the world? A creature that would rule over a nation of slaves?

Cadence had seated herself at the head of the table, in a large, golden chair. It could easily have been a throne, save for the actual thing sitting prominently at the end of the throne room, set apart from the entrance hall with large double doors inlaid with silver and gold.

Cadence gestured to her left, bidding Twilight take a seat.

“Now, Twilight, as good as it is to see you, I imagine you came up here for a reason?” Cadence asked once Twilight had seated herself.

“Yes, actually. Two days ago, I encountered a possible threat to the Crystal Heart,” Twilight said in a hushed voice. She quickly glanced around the room, running her eyes over the nearby ponies. Thankfully, none of them seemed to have overheard. It wouldn’t do to send the nation into a panic.

Turning back, Twilight saw Cadence’s expression darken.

“And why did it take two days to bring this news to my attention?”

“I’ve already mentioned it to Shining Armour. I’m only here because I wanted to take a look for myself. To be honest, I don’t think that it’s pressing-”

Twilight was interrupted by a servant coming forward, with a deferential bow for the Princess and a nod of his head for Twilight.

“Pardon the interruption, your Highness, but you asked to be informed when the train from Canterlot had arrived.” The steward said.

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Cadence replied. “Come, Twilight. Let us greet your brother. Then we may talk about . . . other matters.”

But when they threw the unresponsive doors of the carriage open, climbing aboard to find out why nopony was emerging, all Twilight saw was the four guards assigned to her brother splayed out on the floor, snoring. Shining Armour had been taken.

Eleven

Tomorrow, my journey ends. I have seen my goal, now, the source of our power and salvation. I entered its abode, witnessed the world amassing its might against our foe. If nothing changes, it will be ready tomorrow.

The Well—I can call it nothing else—appears as a giant pool, glowing as it grows. A vortex of power extends to the sky, almost too faint to see. It is drawn here, to match our doom in the south. Perhaps that is why we have been so ineffectual combating it.

Eleven

LUNA WATCHED WITH BAITED BREATH, not daring to move lest she spoil the vista before her. Each passing moment seemed to pause and hold an eternity unto itself, as it slowly dragged at an orb on the horizon, pulling it closer and closer to oblivion, and the cold, still, darkness of night.

The sun sent out a magnificent array of colours, painting the sky around her with vivid red and vibrant orange. It was washing the air, a final cleansing before its rest. But it was not the final gasps of the day that had so captivated Luna’s attention. Nay, the Princess of the Night had spun, what seemed to be years ago, staring with a fierce intensity at the east.

For each sliver of light that passed beyond knowledge in the west, each last gasp of colour splashing across the mountainous horizon, another glimmer of light appeared in the west, heralding the coming of a moon too long denied the world, and herself.

Luna had been waiting for this moment from the instant she broke free of her prison. In there, she had been unable to reach out to her moon, unable to even feel its presence. That had made her isolation that much worse.

Luna reached out the moment she saw the first glimpse of the pale orb, rising over the mountains. She could feel it, definitely, as well as her sister’s magic controlling it. Luna suppressed the brief surge of jealous rage. It was only logical that Celestia would handle the moon in her absence.

Luna touched her awareness to her sister’s, focusing on the joy of their reunion. Though not in her presence, Luna could feel the relief radiating from Celestia. She truly had been worried about her.

Celestia relinquished her hold over the moon, returning her magic to Canterlot with a brief caress as parting. She would be anticipating her return later this night, but first, Luna would fulfil that most fundamental aspect of her being. The moon was a part of her, as much as her hooves, and she would not go without it more than she had to.

Luna’s magic touched the moon lightly, a gentle breeze rising across its surface as she began to lift it from its tracks. Celestia tended to use a set pattern to guide it across the sky. Luna preferred spontaneity. Each night it traced a different angle, made a different pattern amidst the clouds and stars. It was her signature, emblazed high above the world.

It had slowed slightly, where Celestia had released it, but Luna had caught it before it had begun to dip back down. She took her time, charting a course through the heavens and instilling it with the will to follow. She wanted to savour it, to rejoice in her return, at last, to the world.

But eventually, there was nothing left to do. Regretfully, Luna cut her connection, returning her awareness to her body. She had been standing motionless for over an hour, and although her eyes were sore and mouth dry, she felt rejuvenated. Energy coursed through her as she took a deep breath, and let out a sigh. She was at peace.

Night had fallen over the Wastes, but it was not the tranquillity of night she’d known in Equestria. As Luna opened her eyes, she was assaulted by flying sand and grit, propelled by the ever-present wind. It made a soft whine as it blew around her, warping the air as if it was whispering to her. Dust had worked its way into her coat, staining her deep, midnight blue a faded grey, and lending her a grimy feeling.

But it was night nonetheless. Luna stepped forward, continuing in her path. She’d stopped for the moonrise just a few miles from the dome, but if she hurried, she could still make it to the border before morning.

The trouble was,. Luna didn’t especially feel like hurrying. She’d spent herself in her escape, consuming all the rage that had been building in her since her cleansing. She didn’t know, exactly, where it had come from. But that was secondary; she had a more pressing concern.

Anger was constituted, in large part, by will. While its absence left her joy to fill her with near-insane happiness and dull her fear to a mere trepidation in the light of her success, she was without the will to continue. She knew she should run to her sister, confess everything, take precautions. She simply did not want to.

When that will returned to her, that nagging voice of fear convinced her to raise her wings, step into shadow and move, it would come accompanied by the fire that had destroyed her prison.

Luna cast her gaze around the desert surrounding her. Scattered here and there were small piles of debris. Everything she saw seemed to be large chunks, beams buried in the sand. Anything smaller had already been blown away.

Whatever had happened here, so long ago? Luna felt its impact, a deep sympathetic pang as she considered the atrocity represented in the callousness of the empty desert. The voice in the dome, that entity with the gall to imprison her, and then acknowledge her escape with vague disappointment, as if she’d failed, somehow. Had the culture here failed it as well? What had it done to bring such destruction upon it.

That was what rankled, really. It wasn’t the knowledge of their deaths, the horrible last few days that had taken the lives of so many. Luna understood the world, and wasted no time lamenting the fate of mortals. No, what troubled her so was the way the wind covered all evidence of their existence, spreading thin sand and dust around to obscure their history.

Luna shook her head, increasing her speed to a trot. She didn’t want to dwell on her surroundings; it would only encourage the return of her anger. Perhaps later, when she trusted herself to remain under control, she could return and dig around. First, though, she had find a way to move on. Mortals could acknowledge and ignore their emotions, letting go. Luna suspected immortals didn’t have that option.

She suspected the only way to free herself was to forget.

***

“I don’t know! He was on the train when I left! I saw him get on at the station!” Twilight exclaimed, meeting her sister-in-law’s gaze squarely. “I don’t know why he’d get off the train during its journey. The driver insists he didn’t stop anywhere, and there are only two reliable ways off when the train is in motion.”

“Teleportation,” Cadence said.

“And an air-lift, via pegasi,” Twilight finished. “None of the other passengers noticed anything. Not even the guards do—one minute everything was fine, the next they’re waking up here.”

“So, what happened?”

“Mm,” Twilight said. “And perhaps more importantly, when.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Shiny had no reason to be dishonest with us, right?” Twilight asked. At Cadence’s nod, she continued. “Then he wouldn’t have gotten off the train by himself, not voluntarily. Especially with what happened to the guards . . . I can’t say for sure, but it sounds like they were knocked out, maybe by a spell?”

“Check them,” Cadence ordered. Twilight had only been musing out loud, following the facts to their logical conclusion, but Cadence wasn’t dumb. She could connect the dots just as well as Twilight could, and that conclusion was making her worried.

Twilight turned, trotting to the guards. They were still on the station, resting inside where the local doctor was checking them over while Twilight and Cadence spoke. Twilight exchanged a glance with the doctor, moving to his side.

“How are they doing?” she asked, peering at his clipboard. He snatched it away from her, clutching it to his chest, then sighed.

“So far, they’re fine. I can’t find anything wrong with them, save perhaps some trauma from falling over.”

“Spell residue?”

“Nothing so far,” the doctor replied. Twilight frowned. That didn’t make sense, it had to have been a spell. Whoever had been with Shining Armour—there had to be somepony interfering, else he would never have gotten off the train—would have also incapacitated his guards. Not only did that imply premeditation, it also meant that they had had foreknowledge, and would have planned appropriately. There wasn’t any other way to take down a group like that, not without marks or memories.

“Mind if I take a look?” Twilight asked. The doctor sighed again.

“Not at all. But please, be careful,” he said.

Twilight lit her horn, approaching the nearest guard. Usually, a spell would leave traces of power behind, which would slowly dissipate into the world. Residue could last anywhere between three or four hours to whole weeks, depending on the spell used. Something like this would stick around for days—certainly long enough for Twilight to see it now. The train ride only took three hours.

But as she started to extend her senses toward the guard, running her gaze over him in search of that tell-tale prickle of power, she could already sense she wouldn’t find what she was looking for.

Twilight pulled back, stepping away from the guard. She left the shelter, walking back out to Cadence on the platform. She was speaking with the driver herself, horn alight. That was a good idea. Twilight hadn’t even considered a spell tampering with the driver’s memory.

Cadence finished, extinguishing her glow and turning to face Twilight.

“No trace of anything on the guards,” Twilight reported. Cadence grimaced.

“Nothing on the driver, either.”

“I still think it was a spell. Nothing else would be able to take Shiny down.”

“Though precious few unicorns that could manage it,” Cadence muttered. “You’re probably right. There are ways of hiding any trace.”

“A skilled unicorn, then, and powerful,” Twilight said.

“Or a group,” Cadence said, closing her eyes. Twilight nodded.

“Or a group.”

“Come with me, Twilight,” Cadence said, turning and trotting to the exit. “I need to tell you about my Dream.”

***

Trixie woke slowly, coming to awareness as if walking out of the ocean, a wave of sleep pulling her back each time she stirred. Then all at once realisation crashed over her, jolting her awake. Bolting to her hooves, she lit her horn, casting gloomy shadows over everything in the vicinity of her dim light.

Shining Armour was still slumped beside her, out cold. Trixie sighed in relief, placing a hoof on his chest, feeling a strong heartbeat. Her spell was holding, for now, and without suppressing his vitals.

Trixie took a deep breath, gathering magic in her horn. She was still sore from her exertions on the train, but she thought she’d recovered enough to make it to Canterlot. She’d need to get to the safe house in one jump; she couldn’t allow Shining to be spotted inside the city.

The magic coalesced around her, crackling in the air. The growing glow provided more illumination, giving Trixie a better view of the tunnel she’d picked to recover. She’d been sleeping next to the tracks. If it hadn’t been the last train of the day . . . she would have died, along with Shining Armour.

She hadn’t planned well enough, hadn’t been careful enough. If it hadn’t been for Brash and Cumulus, for her strange ability to invade other’s minds, she wouldn’t have succeeded at all.

She’d taken those strengths for granted assumed that even if something went wrong, she’d be able to deal with it. It was arrogance, yet again rearing its head. How many times would it take her to learn that lesson?

Adaptability was important. The fact that she was, in fact, able to handle complications as they arose proved that there was some basis in truth for her overconfidence. Still, she should have had a backup plan. She should have gone in expecting to find Shining Armour awake and ready.

The magic came together in a brilliant ball, encompassing both Trixie and Shining’s prostrate body. In a flash, the ball imploded, sending them far away to the basement of a burned out house.

Boundless was waiting for her. As she appeared to the side of the table, Shining Armour thudding down onto it from a small height, he rose, trotting around beside her.

“You’re late,” he observed. “Something go wrong?”

“I handled it,” Trixie said. Boundless grunted, turning to the pony lying prostrate on the table.

“We have a problem, Trixie. That one’s sister,” he said, gesturing at Shining Armour, “found me here two days ago.”

“Twilight was here?!” Trixie exclaimed. “What happened?”

Boundless grimaced. “I got away.”

“How could she know where this place was?”

“I thought maybe you’d know that,” Boundless said. Trixie cringed, but he only turned away with a sigh. “Perhaps she followed you. No matter, it is done. We’ll have to move.”

“Where?”

“We can find someplace in the underground. Come on,” Boundless said, moving to the stairs. “Can you cover him?”

“Of course,” Trixie said, casting an invisibility spell over Shining Armour’s body. It would hold reasonably well, though maintaining it would tire her out. Nevertheless, she picked him up in a telekinetic field and followed after Boundless.

“I already know an entrance. It’s not far,” Boundless said.

“The underground?”

“There’s a network of tunnels under the slums of the city. Most houses here have basements, and when somepony realised that they were essentially adjacent, they started knocking holes through the walls down there. All the slums are joined together underground, now.”

“Won’t they be full of ponies then?”

“Yes,” Boundless said, showing his teeth. “So what?”

“No reason,” Trixie murmured. Maybe they’d find a spot without running into anypony, though she doubted it. The slums were notoriously packed, each house fitting a surprising number of ponies. But then, if the entire area was interconnected like Boundless said, there was a lot more room there than most realised.

Boundless led her down the street, trying not to look anxious. It really was amazing, Trixie decided, watching him from her position a few step behind, Shining Armour’s body floating, invisible, beside her. Here, in the open, his inexperience and youth were so obvious, so plain to see that despite everything he suddenly didn’t seem to be such a threat. Was this what she was so terrified of, this nervous colt, too anxious to do more than shuffle past those they saw. For all of his audacity, his presence and utter conviction, under the sun he was no more than a child.

That was a dangerous mistake to make, Trixie knew. He had found a niche nopony else would step into, a choice that had elevated him from just another pony to one of the most notorious ponies in the Equestrian underground. There had been times, in the past, when they had been challenged, stepping into another’s territory, or stealing from somewhere under another’s protection. He’d always assured her he’d talked them out of it, played them by appearing weak. He’d said that they’d agreed to allow them to leave in peace.

Had she really believed that? Trixie knew how effective such an appearance could be, but it struck her now that Boundless was not the sort to play the submissive side. He had no need of it, not when he could overpower entire groups of adult ponies through the sheer, inconceivable violence of his approach.

Trixie still hadn’t been able to shake the idea of murder from her mind. It flirted with her, dancing on the edges of her consciousness like some scrap of knowledge forbidden to her, tauntingly close and maddeningly vague. It was, as she’d found just days ago, her boundary, the limit beyond which she could not seem to step.

She did not know why, logically. She had experience enough of the world to accept damnation, should it come to her. She should have been able to kill him, to thrust a blade of magic through his chest, severing skin and sinew, crushing through bone and splitting apart his heart. Just the thought nearly caused her to retch, but she should have been able to do it, and worry about the consequences later.

Something had held her back. Some unknown force, that had bound her to her few morals, prevented her from betraying what little she held to be true. Trixie didn’t know if she should thank it or resent it. Boundless certainly seemed to view it as a restriction. If she’d been able to . . . but that wasn’t an escape either, was it? Even then, he would loom over her, haunt her for the rest of her days.

Trixie shook her head angrily. There wasn’t any point to this debate, it just circled around and around in her head. The truth was, there was no way out, not anymore.

Just in front of her, Boundless slowed, gesturing to a house on the side of the street.

“Come, Trixie, in here.”

Good thing, too. Trixie could feel her magical reserves, still somewhat depleted from her fight with Shining Armour, straining to maintain the spells on his body. She’d need to recast the Sleep spell soon as well.

Boundless led her into an alley beside the building, stopping around the back of the house. Turning the corner herself, Trixie saw him pound his hoof into the wooden doors, angled between the wall and the ground. Stepping back, she watched them swing open, and a blue unicorn stick his head out.

“Hurry up, Boundless,” he said, disappearing back into the basement.

Trixie had never seen this pony before, he must be one of Boundless’ contacts. Once again, she was reminded that despite his inexperience, Boundless was a resourceful pony. It had taken him less than a week to establish contacts—in all probability, a whole network—in the city.

Trixie quickly found herself lost in the maze of tunnels under the city. The citizens of the slums had apparently taken to the idea so much that they’d actually built tunnels connecting to rooms separated by more than a wall, to create what was almost a city in its own right.

Trixie trotted past Boundless, coming up alongside the unicorn leading them.

“Excuse me . . .” she asked.

“Deep Blue,” he replied shortly, not even glancing at her.

“Right. I was wondering, about this,” Trixie said, gesturing with a hoof. “How far does it extend?”

“Whole of lower Canterlot,” Deep Blue said. Apparently Boundless had been right. Trixie dropped back to her position at the rear of the party, considering dropping the invisibility.

They walked for what seemed an age, Trixie sure she wasn’t going to make it. But eventually, Deep Blue indicated down a passage and turned away, trotting off somewhere. Boundless watched him go, and then turned to Trixie.

“Drop the spell. We’re here.”

She let the invisibility go with a sigh of relief. Levitating his body suddenly seemed easy, despite her drained reserves. She moved Shining Armour into the room at the end of the passage, depositing him on the table, and dropped to the floor, massaging her head.

***

“My last scheduled session was three nights before Shining Armour left for Canterlot. It was no different from any other night, save for the contents of that particular Dream,” Cadence said. She was standing at the window in her rooms, gazing out at her city. Twilight stood beside her, listening carefully.

Dreaming was a tricky business, in a similar manner to Sight. But where Sight fell under the purview of the unicorns, Dreaming was a pegasus art. But where Rarity would fall into a trance, and See in a semi-conscious state, Dreamers like Cadence would approach from the other side. That put the subconscious in control, making the experience far more vivid, and often less coherent.

Cadence sighed. “Normally my Dreams are reassuring, Twilight. Before our wedding—before the invasion—they were foreboding, and again just before the Empire returned to us. But apart from those times, they have been happy, full of joy, and contentment.”

“What did you Dream, Empress?”

“Don’t call me that, Twilight,” Cadence said absently. Her eyes were distant, focusing on the crystal ponies scattered far below, going about their daily business. Routine as usual; they hadn’t informed the public as to Shining Armour’s disappearance. There was no sense in worrying them prematurely, though Twilight had to do some fast-talking to convince those at the feast that her brother had chosen to remain in Canterlot a while longer.

“It . . . It was horrible. I’ve never felt anything like that, Twilight, not even Sombra’s presence came close. It was like a weight, pressing down, this sense that something just awful was going to happen, and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it.”

“What was it, Cadence?” Twilight asked quietly.

“I was . . . me. Standing on the side of the train track, deep in the Canterlot mountains. I don’t know how I knew where I was. It was pitch black. I couldn’t feel anything around me, physically or magically, like I was floating in a void.”

“what happened?”

“The train rushed past. It was so fast, it just came roaring through, all fire and light and noise. And, emanating from it, this dark energy, like it was evil. Corrupt, to its core. It spread like Sombra’s touch, but it was blacker. Not crueler, but . . . it had less boundaries.”

Twilight frowned. “There wasn’t a great deal Sombra wouldn’t have done.”

“No,” Cadence shook her head vehemently. “Understand me, Twilight. Even in the depths of his hate and the height of his power, he would not have dreamed of the feats this was capable of. It was nature; implacable and without mercy, but bent and twisted to its own ends.”

“So the train came past,” Twilight prompted, taking the rebuke silently.

“It blew past me. I knew he was inside it, I could feel how evil it was, and how utterly incapable I was of stopping it. It was gone before I could lift a hoof.”

“And . . .” Twilight said. Cadence turned to look at her, the faint whisper of a tear shining at the corner of her eye.

“And then I woke up.”

***

“Today, we shall discuss boundaries,” the Drac rumbled, his breath in danger of igniting the grass Daerev stood on. “These are, loosely, the guidelines that govern your actions and decisions.”

“Like a code,” Daerev said.

“In a way. But it is important to realise that something like a code will inform you of what you must do.” The Drac shook his head. “I—for this is a personal preference—believe that we should not structure our lives around what we can and should do, but instead, focus on what we cannot.”

“Ah,” Daerev said. “Because while there is an infinity of things we can do, there are only some things we will not.”

“Yes, exactly. Boundaries inform us that we may not, under any circumstances, perform a given action.”

“Surely there are things you would try to refrain from unless you had to.”

“There are extenuating circumstances, yes. It is important to know these, define them along with your limits.”

“I will not kill for food, unless my life, or the life of another, depends on it,” Daerev said, nose twitching.

“Very good. That is your decision to make, and I will not offer an opinion. Knowing how far you will go is more important than a code that tells you what you should do.”

“That leaves most choices to be spontaneous,” Daerev observed.

“Is that not preferable? Should a dragon not live in the moment, deciding only what course he prefers as it is presented?”

“It seems . . . unstructured.”

“Not when you yourself bring to each choice the experience and knowledge of a lifetime. Learn yourself; who you are. That is more valuable than any code, and your boundaries are part of that definition.”

Daerev didn’t reply, nodding slightly while lost in thought. His old code—the Noble Dragon code that he’d created to separate Spike from the Equestrian dragons that had so horrified him—fit what his mentor described. It had told him how to act, without granting him the choice, in the moment, where he knew the subtleties at play. A simple acknowledgement that he wouldn’t allow the debt to go unpaid would have served him better.

The Drac broke Daerev from his reverie, reaching behind him to seize something. Pulling it around, he tossed it onto the ground in front of Daerev. The deer’s carcass slid a few metres as it landed, leaving watery blood spattered in a trail on the ground as it spun, coming to face him with vacant, unmoving eyes. Daerev inhaled sharply, spines on his back stiffening and claws on his hands extending. A small cloud of dust rose around the body.

“W-What?” Daerev said, eyes wide. “What is this?”

“It’s a deer,” the Drac said, smoke gusting from his nostrils as he chuckled.

“No, I mean . . . why is there a deer here?!” Daerev exclaimed, unable to tear his eyes from the carcass. Blood had begun to well up from under its torso, turning the verdant grass a sickly, shiny red.

“Lunch,” the Drac said simply. “Perhaps I was wrong to push you to this as Spike, but Daerev Quitu must understand the way of the world.” He lifted a claw, prodding at the deer to roll it over.

“This, this is not wrong. This is not evil. We have done nothing but act within nature.”

“You killed it! You stole its life away, for what? A full stomach?”

“Not mine,” the Drac said, pointing at Daerev. “Yours.”

Daerev’s eyes widened as realisation hit him. Tearing his eyes from the corpse, he shuddered, crossing his arms across his body.

“Oh, no. Didn’t you hear me? I will not,” he said defiantly, staring at his mentor. There was no way he was going to cross that boundary. It was unthinkable.

“I remember. Do you, Daerev? You told me you would not take life, lest life itself depended on it.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, here you do not have to take life. The deer is dead, and none of your misplaced morals will bring it back.”

“Irrelevant. I will not demean this creature!”

“Demean it?” the Drac said incredulously. “How does your consumption of its flesh relate to anything in its life?”

“It reduces everything it’s done to a simple meal. Life is more than meat!”

“You’re scared,” the Drac said. “I think I understand, Daerev. But we are not our bodies. Flesh and bone, that is not who we are, nor does it comprise our whole existence. You will eat.”

“I will not,” Daerev replied, baring his teeth. A small ball of green fire ignited in the back of his throat, spilling out of his mouth as liquid overflowing to run down and sizzle on the ground.

The Drac strode out of the river, coming forward to stand at his full height, towering over Daerev. The young dragon gulped, his defiance suddenly quelled by the display of sheer strength. The Drac leaned down, opening his eye—as big as Daerev’s entire head—and locking his gaze with Daerev’s.

“You will,” the Drac began, breath silky soft and quiet, so quiet that Daerev could almost hear the storm it contained, buried under layers upon layers of control. “You will, or you will die.”

Daerev couldn’t say anything. He had no response, no way to reconcile the scene before him with his conception of his mentor. The change had happened so fast, switching from the familiar calm, collected visage of the Drac that had taught him so much, guided him into his adolescence and heritage, passed on hard-earned wisdom and life lessons, with the carefully controlled beast that was breathing hot smoke into his face, holding his gaze with intense, piercing eyes.

Slowly, Daerev broke under the Drac’s will, bending himself in the utter belief that failing to do so would result in his death. He reached down, snagging part of the carcass in one hand. His talons tore through the flesh easily, as if they’d always been meant to. Lifting, he hesitated as the stench of the meat—death and decay, odours of defilement—reached his nostrils.

“You will eat, Daerev, or not only you will perish, but also the residents of the pathetic town you call your home.”

Trembling, Daerev took the meat—part of the deer’s forelimb—in his mouth, and chewed. To his surprise, his stomach did not rebel against him though his mind screamed. He did not abhor the taste, the texture of it parting against his sharp teeth, or the blood running down his chin. It was natural, and, as he forgot all about the Drac, towering above with fiery eyes and a wide grin, perhaps something he had been missing all along.

Twelve

It is done. We—I have stopped him, broken the back of the storm-front that tore through my kingdom. There are many smaller pockets of resistance left, but for the first time since it appeared, it has halted its advance.

I rode the light like a goddess, arriving back in my home not a day before it would have been covered. The storm is not kind, leaving very little in its wake. Recovery will be a long, hard road for an already battered and weary people.

Twelve

STARING OUT AT THE PLAIN BEFORE HER, Luna breathed a sigh of relief. Equestria was in sight. She would be home soon.

She had very nearly fell to anger. It had surged back, a tide of emotion that swept over her, leaving no room for coherent thought. She had wanted nothing more than to lash out, to strike back at the vile thing that had imprisoned her, and demolished her surroundings.

But that anger had been accompanied by will, a sudden realisation of her danger motivating her to focus, to resist. Fear had, eventually, triumphed, coaxing her rage into submission. She wasn’t as open to her emotions anymore. All that worry, and yet Luna still did not believe she had mastered herself. Matured, certainly, grown to realise the terrible impact her choices could have, and understand the corruptive nature of her impulses.

Once, before all of this, Luna would have shut the issue from her mind, preferring not to dwell on it. Now, though, now she knew better. She had been able to utilise her anger in her escape without falling to the Nightmare, through a combination of knowledge and fear. For all the pain it had brought her, it was still just a tool. She couldn’t blame it for her failings.

No, her problem wasn’t her anger. Before her fall, she had given in to her emotions; feeling jealous of the adoration of her sister, and the dominance of the day. Jealousy had, in time turned to hate, and it had consumed her, devouring reason and logic. Luna had always prided herself on her sharp mind. That she had fallen so easily stung. But the fault lay, nonetheless, in bottling herself up. She had never brought those emotions forward, never spoken with Celestia, or encouraged her subjects.

Returning, she’d blamed herself, but for the wrong flaws. She’d thought the problem had lain in succumbing, that she could refuse to acknowledge how she felt. So she’d blocked all thought of her suppressed anger, denied the resentment bubbling inside her. That had hamstrung her, leaving her with nothing but fear of being overwhelmed, and of falling, again, to the Nightmare.

What she’d experienced, forced into the use of that anger, was altogether different. She’d been afraid of her capacity for evil, but she’d never considered the use of anger for good. And she’d found that although it was harder to deny it, harder to force herself back into passivity, she hadn’t been as furious. She’d accomplished something, found validation in herself and justified in her hate. She felt empowered, and suddenly, that hate was once again her tool.

In truth, it had never been anything else. Luna had used her emotions as an excuse, claiming, if only to herself, that they destroyed her capacity for control; turned her to evil like some character from a fairy tale. And there was some truth in that. Certainly, the heights of emotion lead to a loss of composure, an erosion of control. But ultimately, she was responsible. Coming to terms with that allowed her to go back to her power, to try again.

Luna opened her wings, gliding down the mountainside. The Southern Equestrian desert, known as the Badlands, lay spread out before her, stretching out into the distance. After what she’d seen of the Wastes, as she called the desert behind her, that name was misleading. The Badlands was far gentler, a veritable oasis in comparison. There was still a fog, hovering low over the ground for about a mile from the mountain range, but Luna was high enough to see over it, spying a few dragons, circling in the distance.

That was the other reason nopony had even tried to leave Equestria via the southern border; they’d have to cut across dragon territory. For an alicorn, though, it was a non-issue.

As she glided, Luna began to feel a strange tingling sensation, spreading from her head down, over her torso and wings, right out to the tips of her primaries, and down her legs and tail. She shivered, suddenly uncomfortable.

The wind had cut off the moment she’d entered the mountains, a welcome relief after all her time in it. Perhaps it was her flight, naturally generating its own wind. It felt nothing like the wind from the Wastes; instead a cool breeze, refreshing instead of oppressive. If anything it soothed the chills running over her body.

Luna frowned, pressing her ears flat back against her skull. This . . . this felt like magic.

She flared her wings, halting her forward movement and diving to the ground. Pressing her own magic in front of her, she landed in an explosion of dust and fog, throwing a giant cloud of fresh air around her as her magic forced a tunnel through the fog bank. Standing, Luna carefully pressed her senses forward towards Equestria.

She could just barely detect the edges of a barrier. It was faint, far subtler than anything any unicorn could manage, and as far as she could tell, extended across the entire southern border. There were no edges, no locus points in the weave. She never would have found it at all were it not for all the time she’d spent examining her prison.

Nor could she tell what purpose it served. Luna remembered back to her departure, how the desert had seemed to extend as far as she could see. The reality, revealed simply by crossing over that illusion, of an entire mountain range spoke of a highly sophisticated spell. Was she simply looking at its back?

Tentatively, Luna approached the barrier, pressing a hoof against it. Nothing happened.

But she had learned caution. Reaching inwards, Luna pulled on her fears and hopes, holding them close and extending her senses around her hoof and through the hole in the spell it had created. As her will trickled away, consumed by the magic, she felt a vague sense of apprehension. But neither Sight nor Sense told her anything of use.

Luna sighed. It was probably just the illusion. Slowly, she pushed her head through the spell, opening her eyes on the other side. Everything looked different, and everything was well.

***

Trixie lowered her hooves to see Boundless standing over Shining Armour’s unconscious body. He looked worried, though Trixie wasn’t sure what about.

“The train left at three, Trixie,” he said, not looking away from the body. “It’s a three hour trip out to the Crystal Empire, and it’s past six. They’ll know he’s missing.”

“So?” Trixie asked, still tired from all her spell-casting. Chaining together so much, for so long would have taxed her even at her best, and she’d hardly been that, a few short hours after coming out of a fight with Shining Armour—a highly capable mage in his own right. “They can’t find us. Not here.”

“You don’t know that,” Boundless hissed. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know more than you do.”

“They’ll be here, and soon. So stop questioning me, Trixie, and check on our . . . guest.”

“Guest?” Trixie said, snorting. Still, she bowed her head, giving Shining Armour a glance.

“Wake him,” Boundless ordered. “But keep him pinned, and without magic.”

Trixie wasn’t supposed to know that spell. But then, Boundless wasn’t supposed to know that Trixie knew that spell, to know that she had found it years ago, buried away on a dusty bookshelf in Fillydelphia’s Magus Library. What was one more dirty secret in a life of shadow?

She didn’t waste time denying it, instead approaching Shining Armour. Lighting her horn, Trixie prepared the spell, weaving strands of azure power into a carefully-staged process. As she laid it on him, the blanket of magic covering his body, and cut the power to her horn, she watched it take effect.

First, it countered the Sleep spell. Strands of the power reached upwards, snaking into his eyes and ears, down his throat and through his nostrils. Disappearing inside, it woke him up, stimulating the mind and spirit to restlessness. Second, it bound him, the blanket anchoring itself on either side of him, locking him down onto the table. Finally, it coalesced around his horn. Cutting into that physical conduit, placing a barrier there, would block the expression of his power, and therefore his power itself.

Shining Armour woke with a start, surging upwards against his bonds with his chest heaving, panting with exertion and sweat dripping from his coat in lather. She should refine that spell. Maybe she’d sunk too much energy into waking him up.

You’ve gotten stronger.

Cumulus! Trixie exclaimed silently. Welcome back.

Humph, he grumbled. I’m not sure if I’m ready to forgive you for that. You almost killed Brash.

He’s okay, though?

“Trixie,” Boundless said, calling for her attention.

Yes. He’s recovering.

Oh, thank Celestia. I didn’t want to do it, you know.

I guess not. But you don’t know what it’s like.

“Trixie!” Trixie snapped back to reality, realising she’d been standing still, staring into place. She glanced down at Shining Armour on the table. He was looking at her askance, as if slightly creeped-out. A slight blush crept onto her face.

“Sorry, sorry,” Trixie said, focusing on Boundless. “What now?”

“Now, you find out what we need to know.” Boundless gestured at Shining Armour. “Do your thing. We’re looking for the Crystal Heart.”

“Not even going to ask him first?” Trixie asked. Boundless arched an eyebrow.

“You’re the one who decided to kidnap him. I should think that we’ve blown any chance we had of getting cooperation.”

He’s got you there.

Cumulus . . . I had no choice, Trixie said. You know that, right?

“Okay.” Trixie took a deep breath. Instead of trying to go through Boundless, Trixie walked around the table to the opposite side, coming to a halt above Shining Armour’s head. Leaning over him, she locked gazes with the furious, helpless unicorn.

“You’ll never get away with this,” he said, eliciting a laugh from Boundless.

“Please,” he said, “Spare us the clichés. Will you give me what I want?”

“No,” Shining Armour said, turning to face Boundless. Puckering his mouth, he spat a glob of saliva. It missed, spattering on the floor.

“Fair enough,” Boundless said, shrugging. “Trixie?”

“Yes?”

Boundless nodded towards Shining Armour.

“Oh. Yes, yes, of course. Right away.”

Trixie reached out with her magic, grabbing Shining Armour’s head, and forcing him to meet her gaze. Through that connection, she dove into his mind, seeking with tendrils of her awareness and her power, for some hold on him.

Instead, she fell backwards, clutching at her head. Where most ponies’ minds were open to her, had points for her to latch onto and absorb their thoughts, like some kind of parasite, Shining Armour was a wall. She hadn’t only failed at gaining any access to his mind, she’d been struck at for trying, an acerbic lash of power striking out and searing her. It left the impression of rage; an intense and present anger at the injustice of his situation.

Could he . . .? No, that was ridiculous. Trixie hadn’t encountered anypony able to do that in all of Equestria. It was probably just her imagination.

“Well,” Boundless said. He sounded like he was laughing. For all his talk of their time limit, he didn’t seem particularly stressed, now that Trixie thought about it. More . . . strung out. It was tense nerves and nervous energy, leading to manic behaviour. Why was that?

“He’s shielded. I can’t read his thoughts,” Trixie said, moving back to the table.

“So that’s what you were doing on the train,” Shining Armour said. “Do you know how invasive that is?! Do you care?!”

***

Twilight paced nervously as she waited for Cadence to come out of her trance. The Alicorn of Love wasn’t as accomplished as Celestia or Luna—like Rarity, she required a particular state of mind in order to See. Nonetheless, she was an alicorn, and one powered by a particular sense of urgency.

Cadence couldn’t See who had taken Shining Armour, but she could See where he was. Once they knew that, Twilight and Cadence could teleport to him. For a normal unicorn, a jump like that would be considered near suicide, if they could even make the distance. Twilight wasn’t a normal unicorn.

Strangely, she didn’t feel overly worried for her brother’s health. She’d been through enough to know how to focus on a situation, but even so, she would have expected to feel more frantic.

What was more concerning was the simple question of who had taken him. The ability to hide the presence of your magic didn’t require power, as such, but it did demand an incredible amount of control. The mage would have to be an accomplished spell-caster. One with knowledge and motive.

Why would anypony kidnap Shiny? It didn’t make sense to Twilight. An ex-Captain of Celestia’s Royal Guard, the Defender of Canterlot and now the Prince—Consort of the Crystal Empire—that was a powerful name. They couldn’t expect him to take his capture lightly, nor prove a tractable captive. Twilight was almost surprised he hadn’t broken free already.

They could be looking for a ransom. He’d certainly be worth an awful lot of bits. But there had been just six cases of kidnapping in the last millennium, and none of them had been about money. There were other, more profitable and less harmful ways of garnering income in the Equestrian underground. Twilight knew those ponies. This would have been far too great of a risk.

They could be looking for knowledge. Shiny would certainly know a great deal—guard patrols, the locations and security systems protecting various artefacts, the secret ways in and out of a city. Twilight nodded, liking that theory more.

Still, it was all conjecture until they found him. Twilight turned back to the alicorn on the bed, eyes closed. Cadence had already been under for a few minutes, and while Rarity might take a few hours to gain anything useful, Cadence was at another level entirely.

The alicorn’s eyes snapped open, filled with fire. Twilight took an unconscious step backwards, before steeling herself; that fire was not hers, nor for her.

“Cadence? Where is he?” Twilight asked. Cadence fixed her eyes on Twilight’s, near searing her with their intensity.

“I’ll show you,” she whispered, horn alight and power threading through the air towards Twilight.

The spell was a simple illusion, designed to create a hologram in the air before her. Twilight scanned the image quickly, her own eyes widening.

The scene was something out of a horror story. Her brother lay, strapped to a wooden table with magic in the middle of a dark, dank room. His horn was covered in a shield of the same azure light as his bonds. Twilight knew that light.

There were two ponies with him. One was Boundless, the colt Twilight had confronted.

The other was Trixie, her power filling the room as she leant over Twilight’s helpless brother.

***

In truth, Trixie did care. She hated that she hurt her friends to preserve her life. She hated that she could fall so low, become capable of so much. When she’d first discovered what she could do, first lashed out at another, after the fire . . . she’d struggled. It wasn’t just something she could do, some badge of ability that marked her out of the crowd. She’d grown past that egotistical, shallow pony.

The real world wasn’t that simple. It had never given her that one last time, the break she needed. Over time, as she’d been lead, again and again, into abusing her abilities, she’d grown accustomed to it. She’d begun to block out the self-loathing, to hide away from the reality of her actions. She had been the victim.

But that didn’t excuse her. She had always had a choice, no matter what she told herself. It had been her pride, her need for self-sufficiency that had prevented her from asking for help. Somehow, she’d twisted life to where hurting others had been the lesser evil.

How had she done that? How had everything gone so wrong, to end here, hidden somewhere under Canterlot in a dirty, small basement. She’d never had anything be so clear, or felt so trapped.

”Can you get through?” Boundless asked. His voice was low, silky smooth and confident.

“Not a chance,” Shining Armour growled. Boundless casually reached over, slapping him with a hoof across his muzzle. Trixie winced at the violence, and the reminder of everything he was capable of. Again, she heard the crack of breaking bone in her head.

Shining Armour spat out a glob of blood to the side. He remained defiant, but there was a spark now, in his eyes. Trixie knew that feeling, the fear, slowly building. She could feel it right now, the situation, rapidly falling out of control, beginning to overwhelm her.

Layers within layers, Cumulus whispered. Do you see the pattern?

No, Trixie replied. His analysis often exceeded hers, and she was grateful for his assistance. Brash was still pouting, hiding away from her in the recesses of her mind.

I’m so sorry, Trixie. I wish I’d seen it earlier. Cumulus began, only to be interrupted.

“Trixie,” Boundless said, almost purring. “If he won’t lower his defences himself, we’ll just have to bring them down.”

“You’ve always had a flair for that,” she replied dryly. But for all her posturing, inside she was trembling just as much as Shining Armour. She could sense it, everything piling in, here, to this tiny room hidden underneath Canterlot. It was the culmination of the last four years. Did she dare hope that Boundless would be done with her after this? Could there be a way out after all?

Boundless just smiled. “Not this time. Unfortunately, I can’t get into ponies’ heads, Trixie.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Trixie snapped with false bravado. Her heart was racing in her chest, pounding against her ribs almost audibly.

Boundless stepped close, looming over her and igniting his horn. Leaning down, he whispered gently, softly, into her ear. “How does one go about breaking through an unbreakable spell? For make no mistake, in there, in that most intimate domain of magic, he is utterly unbreakable.”

“You can’t,” Trixie said, but she didn’t believe it. Boundless was leading her somewhere, somewhere dark. The shadows there turned her away, concealing his purpose. She knew, but she wished not to know, on a level beyond conscious choice, and so she did not see.

“Kill him, Trixie,” Boundless continued. “Stare into his eyes, press yourself against his walls, and draw a blade across his throat. Watch his life and power drain away, and as he fades, break through, break into his mind and take what we need.”

Trixie stumbled back as he spoke, not registering the last of his words. Kill?! What?! How . . . How can I . . . I . . .

Do you see it? Cumulus said, his voice drowning amidst the noise of Trixie’s panic. Was he ever after the Heart?

But she couldn’t listen. Trixie couldn’t focus, still reeling from his order. She backed up, her rump hitting the wall, and sat down with a thump, hyperventilating.

She had confronted murder before, when she was contemplating going against Boundless. But she hadn’t been able to do it then. What made him think she could do it now?

He had broken her. She could not turn against him, not against that. Boundless stood over her, an avatar of darkness. Shadows flickered over his frame, breaking the lines of his back and legs, giving him an ethereal appearance. Intense eyes fixed their glare on her, conveying the ultimate expression of will. She would do this, or he would unleash his considerable wrath upon her.

And there was no resistance. She had been broken down systematically, brought low by the slow induction into her fear. Oh, he had been careful, yes. To teach her enough that she would be helpless, now, and yet not enough to scare her away, taking her chances with authority.

Trixie concentrated on her breathing, slowing it down. In and out, in and out, and slowly, the panic receded. It left in its wake only terror—a stark, sharp fear. But there was no paralysis, and no hesitation.

Trixie stood, lighting her horn and summoning a blade of azure light. The magic condensed in her hoof, taking a material form she could clutch. It became a symbol of security, of control. There was nothing else to hold.

“Hey! What’s going on?” Shining Armour called.

On the table, he had begun to struggle with his bonds once again. Trixie ignored his cries—the knowledge of his fate was written plainly across his face. He knew, already. It was in the wildness of his eyes, bulging in their sockets and rolling around the room. It was in the tenseness of his cheeks, pulling the skin and fur tight across his muzzle. It was in the stiffness of his ears, laid flat against his skull, as if glued there.

***

“Where are they?” Twilight asked, looking up at Cadance as the effigy dissipated into the air.

“Underneath Canterlot,” Cadence replied. A map of the city appeared in the air, hanging between the two. On it, Twilight could see the pale blue of her brother’s magic, shining over a small hovel in the slums of the city.

“In a basement?” she asked.

Cadence nodded. “There’s a huge network of tunnels connecting all the houses down there. We call it the Canterlot Underground.”

“I’m going,” Twilight said, wasting no more time. She began to pull magic in to her horn, the familiar purple hues gathering around her as she readied her teleportation spell. She would fuel it with joy—the joy she found in a sunny day, or a cool night, a good book and good company, the joy of family; a partner, a sister, and a brother.

On the map, a pink line began to move back from Shining Armour’s current position. It traced a circuitous route through the slums, before rising to street level and terminating at Trixie’s hideout. Twilight gestured to the building.

“I know that spot. I can get there in five minutes,” she said, charging the spell.

“I’ll be a touch longer,” Cadence said, nodding as her own aura began building around her.

Twilight had never rued that particular limitation on teleportation as much as she did now. But it was not a matter of strength, or even luck. One simply could not teleport somewhere one had not been before. That left Cadence to move into the city proper, and fly down. Twilight, who had already visited the slums on occasion, would be faster despite being limited to the ground.

The spell came together easily, the warmth of her memories flowing through Twilight. Magic engulfed her vision in purple, and she disappeared in a flash, to appear on the street outside Trixie’s burnt house.

She had the route fixed in her mind, of course, and as she galloped down the street, heading for the entrance to the Underground Trixie and Boundless had used, she ran through possibilities in her mind.

Why would they have taken Shining Armour? Trixie hadn’t struck Twilight as a particularly bad pony—while she had been shoplifting, and generally terrorising multiple cities, she hadn’t had the desperation it took to kidnap somepony. Boundless, on the other hand . . . there was no question there.

They had been after the Crystal Heart. That, Twilight could assume, from Trixie’s slip and Boundless’ notes. Why they wanted it, she had no idea, but if they’d kidnapped Shining Armour just for information, they must need it, badly.

Twilight shook her head. Motivations were secondary now; she had to focus on the situation at hoof. Sprinting now, she found the cellar door they’d passed through and blew it inwards, a simple telekinetic spell empowered with her panic. Calm, she needed calm right now, to think clearly and act rationally. Panic served her best as a bludgeon.

The door didn’t just splinter inwards, it was torn clean off its hinges, flying across the room and carrying a pony with it. Crashing against the far wall, the pony slumped down, unconscious, but largely unharmed. Twilight didn’t spare him more than a glance as she sped past.

***

To Trixie, it seemed such a simple thing, so pure and beautiful. A telekinetic field—the truest expression of a unicorn’s power—providing light as it gently hummed in Trixie’s hoof. Not hot, or trembling with energy, instead it was as if she was holding a leaf, floating in the wind, or a sunbeam playing across her muzzle on a warm summer’s day.

In a very real sense, at that moment, the blade of light was her, and she it. All that Trixie was was contained in the gleam along its edge, the radiance and barely-contained power, shimmering down its length in waves of azure. She stood above her captive, her victim, and pressed its edge gently into his throat, leaning over him to force eye contact.

Touching his mind was easy now, here, in the twilight. Trixie felt calm, somehow, the fear and doubt melting away. It was so clear to her, the decision simple. She walked the blade’s edge, and yet, no matter which way she fell, she would fall.

Shining Armour was anything but calm. Foam pressed against his mouth, lips pressed together tightly in the clamp of Trixie’s magic. And still she couldn’t see in, couldn’t grasp hold of the mind that contained her salvation. It was incoherent, a jumble of fear and shock, hidden behind strong walls. Trixie couldn’t gaze long on those walls, though. They were barely-contained themselves, all the emotion, repressed behind a thin veneer of control. They glimmered, reminiscent of her blade.

Trixie took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to be tense, not here, not now. She could afford no distractions, not if she wanted to be precise. She would fall, but she would fall well, cleanly and without pain. She did not begrudge nor blame him for holding out. He had as little choice as her.

“Do it, Trixie,” Boundless whispered, standing next to her. Even here, in this place of calm he sent a shiver through her, causing her world to tremble. The iridescent blade flashed, shaking. Trixie couldn’t tell if it followed her hoof’s movements, or its own, frantic, motions.

Her hoof spasmed, just slightly, causing a thin line of blood to appear on the upper edge of her blade. It coloured the light, turning it a murky brown as it shone through the blood. Under her, Shining Armour gave a gasp, redoubling his struggles. But it made no difference, his muscle not even coming close to disrupting Trixie’s magical hold.

“What are you waiting for?” Boundless said, his voice sounding breathless in her ear. Why was she waiting? Was she waiting?

Her ears flicked as she heard a loud crash. Drawing herself back, she eased up, and brought her eyes up to the room around her.

The door had been thrown clear across the room, to reveal a panting unicorn standing in the doorway. Twilight was clearly exhausted, lather covering her sides and frost appearing from her muzzle with each short, sharp breath. But the violence of her entrance and the fire in her eyes left Trixie with little doubt as to her capability.

She met Twilight’s eyes, the intensity nearly shattering her from her trance.

Trixie! Cumulus shouted, his voice coming from far away.

“I’m sorry,” Trixie whispered, before lowering herself back to her task.

***

Twilight burst into the room feeling like death itself. The path she’d taken had seemed much longer than the map had indicated, and while she wasn’t unhealthy, she wasn’t the fittest pony. Cadence would have caught up a lot of ground—she could be here any moment.

But Twilight had made it first, and the scene that had awaited her blocked out all other thought. Her brother lay, strapped to a table with an azure knife resting against his throat, held in the hoof of one of her friends. Twilight couldn’t believe what she was seeing; Trixie hadn’t been this bad, this evil, before, had she? Had she fooled her, lead her to believe she could be redeemed, all the while planning this?

Beside her stood Boundless, eyes wide from Twilight’s unexpected appearance. He looked . . . confident; a slight, smug, smile playing around the corners of his mouth as he met her eyes squarely. It infuriated her.

Twilight screamed, throwing her magic across the room, carrying with it all the pain and fear and anger she’d experienced from the moment she’d discovered her brother’s absence. It materialised as a spear of lavender light, its blunted end forming into a ball of pure power the size of a pony’s head, tearing through the room with the force of a hurricane, absorbing and refracting the glow of Trixie’s blade to cast the room in blue and purple hues.

Under that surreal light, Twilight saw Boundless step forward to meet her attack. His own horn crackled, though its light was washed out by Twilight’s puissance, and Trixie’s agonised indecision. With a sweep of magic, he attempted to deflect her attack, to redirect it to crash against the side wall. But Twilight would not be denied, and though he strove, his efforts yielded little more than a deafening detonation and a rush of air.

The crushing bludgeon took Boundless in the chest, cracking his ribs with an audible snap. He was thrown backwards, striking the wall with the crunch of splintering wood and sailing through into the adjacent room. Twilight, recovering from his small explosion quickly, stepped forward with her eyes smouldering. He didn’t move.

***

Trixie, reeling from the sudden violence beside her, had managed, though only just, to keep her knife from slipping into his throat. Slowly, she regained her balance, shaking the excess force of Boundless’ magical explosion from her. Could he be dead? Had Twilight done that; stopped him, given her an escape? Trixie felt hope begin to rise in her chest, an almost transcendent emotion of freedom.

But the fear rose alongside it. And though she dared to hope, she could not believe that Boundless would stop from something as trivial as that. She didn’t believe he could be stopped; he was a force of nature. He was not something that could be fought.

Fear forced its way into her heart, and, her whole body trembling, she established a connection with Shining Armour, and prepared herself.

***

Twilight spared him only a glance; Boundless hadn’t twitched from where he lay in a heap, resting on top of the shattered planks of the wall behind him. Twilight didn’t think he was seriously hurt—certainly some broken ribs and a bruised back, but nothing he couldn’t recover from. It was enough, then, enough to take him out of the fight.

She turned her attention to Trixie. Boundless’ diversion of her attack had given her pause, Shining Armour still lying on the table with Trixie’s magic hovering at his neck. Twilight reached out, seizing Trixie’s hoof in her magic.

“Hey now,” Twilight began, still breathing heavily. “Trixie, it’s me. It’s over.”

Trixie didn’t respond. Instead, eyes fixed and face resolute; she pushed her hoof against Twilight’s hold, suddenly and forcefully, breaking her grip with a surge of unrelenting, absolute terror and a belief, a fundamental belief in him. Somehow, across that magical connection, Twilight could feel Boundless; feel his touch against hers, instead of Trixie’s, as if the mare was merely a vehicle for his intent.

Freed, she drew the blade across Shining Armour’s throat, her eyes widening, and her body falling backwards to the floor. Twilight screamed in sudden shock and denial and the blood welled up to pool on the table and drip to the floor, as the blade slid out with a thick, squelching noise.

The End of Part One

Fourteen

I leave this message for you, Luna, in the hope that it will remain unopened, unneeded. But where I have been locked away, she has planned, and planned again. I do not think my triumph likely.

I do not fear my demise. Indeed, my only fear lies with this record. For with your welcome back into the world, I do not know how you are to find it.

Fourteen

TRIXIE WOKE WITH A START, coming to consciousness from a sleep so deep it was beyond dreams, beyond awareness; a sleep where she could forget, just for a little bit, all the troubles in the world. Around her, a storm raged, invisible against the night sky, pouring rain creating a sheet of water over the mouth of the cave she shared with Boundless. She rolled over, away from the fire between them, and stood up. She wouldn’t be able to sleep again, not tonight.

She had been lucky, oh so very lucky, though she did not feel it. She’d passed out, staring Twilight in the eye as she killed her brother, driving a blade of magic, sharper than any metal could ever achieve through his neck. She’d pulled his head back, cutting deep, through arteries, cartilage and bone, but it hadn’t been the spray of blood that had shocked her, or the conflicting emotions that had driven her to it.

She didn’t know why she’d fainted, but, awakening, she felt . . . good. Better than she had any right to be. There was some guilt, yes, for Twilight’s pain and Shining Armour’s final moments. Some anger for Boundless’ manipulation, for inspiring in her the kind of fear that would drive her to murder.

She looked over at him. Twilight had injured him badly, giving him several broken ribs and a nasty concussion, though he would not admit it. Trixie couldn’t use the sleep spell, not with that head injury, but she could pin him down. The first few times, Boundless had simply shrugged the bonds off, but each time, he had winced, and eventually he had simply stopped trying, accepting Trixie’s treatment.

They had moved from Canterlot to the plains below the mountain, finding a smallish cave in which to spend the night. From there, Trixie had moved them every few hours, teleporting to maintain distance between any pursuits.

She could not conceive that they would not be pursued. The implications of her actions were only just beginning to hit home; she had murdered another pony. That had never happened before, not in a thousand years. News would spread, no matter how they tried to hide it, and whether from anger or fear, they would come for her.

Shining Armour hadn’t just been another regular pony, though even that would have drawn Celestia herself out of Canterlot, seeking them and bringing with her swift retribution. No, he had been the husband of an alicorn and the brother of an Arch-Magus, the Element of Magic. This deed would follow her all her life.

How had Twilight found them, in the Underground? Boundless had been convinced she would, despite the measures they’d taken against discovery. Trixie knew of spells that could track a pony’s movements, but she would have detected something like that. No matter how much power Twilight had, she couldn’t slip an illusion past Trixie.

Behind her, the Canterlot Mountain shook. She winced again, the rumbling sound of her enemies inflicting woe on the rock itself bringing her, just for a moment, to a panic and terror comparable to that which Boundless had inspired in her.

No more. She was done with that fear, now; cast it aside like the feeble constraint it was. Everything he had presented, she had now surpassed, and should she ever find herself desiring to leave his company, she could do so without worry. She would leave him in a pool of his own blood, to trouble the world no more.

Right now, Trixie would stay with him. She’d nurse him back to life, tell him what she’d learned in that single, precious moment she’d had with Shining Armour. All the information that she’d gleaned, the insight into Equestrian affairs, the knowledge of spells, old, and powerful magics, even details of smuggling rings they could use during the journey north.

Trixie had never been a fugitive before, never drawn so much attention to herself. Even so, she knew to stay away from the train lines and other modes of transport. There would be less chance of being found out here, in the wilderness, especially if she continued breaking their trail with teleportation. At least, she hoped it would.

Trixie turned away, coming to a stop at the cave’s entrance. In truth, she knew of only one place they could hide without fear of discovery. It was a place where the weather worked on its own, where plants and animals lived and died by their own code. A place of nature, of wilderness and history, a place whispered about between friends on a stormy night, or by elders, holding sway over their small kingdom at a bar. The Everfree Forest.

Trixie shuddered. Testament to how strongly those stories were ingrained in her that she almost preferred the idea of facing Celestia’s judgement. Facing Twilight, Cadence . . . it was better than that. They offered her stability, certainty—there was no doubt about what fate awaited her. They would not kill her, couldn't kill her, the same way she’d been unable to kill Boundless.

No, she wouldn’t die. She would be imprisoned, locked away for the rest of her life. Her name would be reviled, her image scorned. Even should she be released, there would be no solace in her freedom, no warmth in the light of the sun or guidance from the moon. She would be forever lost, stranded alone amidst the crowds.

Would isolation in the Forest be so terrible, in comparison to that? She had little doubt in her abilities, no hesitation in her assertions of strength. She would be in no danger from the denizens, the flora and fauna that would share her home. But even her powers faded in comparison with the size of the Forest, the web of life that spread across it. An incomprehensible vastness that dwarfed her, it exuded malice. She could have as much power as she wanted, for all the good it would do her there.

Trixie sighed, sitting down to await the morning. Boundless was fast asleep, suffering through what rudimentary spells Trixie had devised for his recovery, and there was little point planning ahead until she knew his plans. She watched the rain cascade over the world, and waited, secure in her tiny bubble of calm amidst the raging storm.

***

Twilight stood still, the world around her frozen. She couldn’t move, could barely think. She saw without perceiving, heard without feeling. There was no understanding the scene before her, no way of processing it. It couldn’t be real, shouldn’t be real.

There was a humming in her ears, a faint sound she could only just barely make out. It reverberated, its volume oscillating, as she tried to focus. Then, suddenly, it vanished, replaced by a sudden movement, her world lifting, and dropping. She almost expected the emptiness in her chest to dissipate, though it didn’t. Why did she expect that?

She was breathing. Of course she was. She was heaving great gasps of air, punctuating the silence with each inhalation. Was she panting? No, she didn’t feel tired. That wasn’t it.

The humming returned, though this time it was different. It wasn’t accompanied by the gradual, drawn-out roar of her chest, or the stillness of the world. It was a sharp rush, bringing with it noise and pain and colour.

So much colour! Splashed across her vision as the furious glory of the sunrise, or the quiet tranquillity of the moonlit glade, colour came, and deadened all in its wake.

There, the remains of a wall, blown away by her magic, the power of her rage. It was as an afterthought, the absent touch of her capacity. She remembered . . . a body, of a pony. Lying there, motionless, amidst the rubble, he became no threat, yet his shadow lay across the room still, blotting out the light.

The light. Where was that coming from? It poured into the room, stripping the darkness away, though it did not touch the pony’s shade. It was coming from . . . behind her? No, it was not constrained by the doorway around her. The light shone from herm, from her body, from her mane, and from her eyes.

To her right, a table, her brother, a crimson line arcing over his neck, stretched over it. Another—Trixie, that was her name—stood over him, directly in the shade. Her eyes sparked, mouth twitching and hoof clasping an azure knife. Magic, so puny, so simple, wove through the blade, in some sort of elaborate pattern. She could have shattered that spell in a sliver of an instant, and yet it was more than enough.

Her vision jumped. Her brother shifted, a tiny speck of blood appearing on the table beside with him. Trixie was there, above him, eyes rolling back as she threw her head back. The last specks of her light rose from the gash in Shining Armour’s neck, sparkling in Twilight’s fury.

Twilight focused on those sparks of light, her vision contracting. The world drained into them, consumed in their tiny flames and perished as they vanished, dissipating in the air. They were the remnants of his life, the moment she had held, and lost. So blind, so trusting.

She saw them in colour, and as they faded snapped into motion, hurtling herself across the room. Across the table, Trixie hit the ground with a thump, out cold, while to the side Boundless groaned, slowly waking.

But Twilight’s attention was given solely to her brother, lying limply on the wooden table. She took Trixie’s place at the head of the table, staring down in horror at what her friend—her friend!—had wrought.

Shining Armour’s eyes were closed, unconscious from shock, or a spell, or blood loss. There was so much blood. It spilled out from under Twilight’s hooves as she tried to staunch its flow, tried to hold him together against his heart’s unknowing betrayal.

Blood. Twilight had seen the like of this wound only once before in her life. Unbidden, the scene arose in her mind; a giant headless corpse slumping to the ground, flesh, bone and blood spattering her and the ground beneath her hooves. Soaking into the dirt as chunks of the wolf’s head fell all around her, and the blazingly brilliant rainbow trail that arose from its neck.

Twilight had witnessed that act, Rainbow’s final, desperate ploy. She had read the panic and the focus on her face, watching helplessly as the jaws swung shut around her. She hadn’t mourned the wolf, despite her tears. She’d mourned the death of innocence.

“I’m sorry”

What good was sorry, when Shining Armour lay dying here? Twilight lowered her brow, pressing her face against his and closing her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, brother,” she said quietly. She found she could talk, now that the tears had stopped. They had been tears of shock, of terror. She knew they would return, minutes, hours, days, weeks, even years from now.

“I should have gotten here faster. I should have listened to her.”

Oh, Celestia, Cadence!

“We didn’t think, brother . . .” Twilight choked back a sob. “Who would have though anypony could do this?!”

Twilight raised her head, opening her eyes.

“It isn’t fair!” she screamed, spinning around. Behind her the wound on Shining Armour’s neck began to bubble, his eyes fluttering open.

“It isn’t right!” She searched the room for Trixie, for Boundless. They would pay for this, this affront to nature itself! She looked for them, expecting to find them lying where they had fallen, but she found only dirt, wood and stone. There was no sign of the two.

Instead, there was only a faint glittering of azure magic, hanging in the air where Boundless had lain. They were gone, teleporting away from her grasp, and her terrible retribution.

Twilight screamed, tossing her head back and letting out her grief. A mixture of confusion, anger, and bitter remorse, it tore through the ceiling, breaking apart the home that lay above them in a cone of noise. The whirlwind collected debris, bits and pieces of walls and ceilings, shabby furniture and even the odd item of clothing, or food. Twilight stared in shock as her cry carried everything in its wake with it, ripping through the roof of the house above, and throwing, to her horror, two ponies, limbs flailing, with it. Their mouths were stretched wide open, though she couldn’t hear their screams below her own barrage of noise.

The last sunlight of the day poured down into the room where Twilight stood, stunned. She found she could think more clearly now, without the turmoil of emotion pressing at her. It had risen, swelling, like an inexorable tide; to break down her control and pour forth, but in doing so had left her empty.

Twilight looked down at the body lying under her hooves. Shining Armour’s eyes were open, staring at her in a mixture of horror and sorrow.

“Shiny!” Twilight cried. Shining Armour opened his mouth, trying to speak, but no sound came out. Twilight could feel the pressure of his lungs under her hooves. She pulled back, watching in horror as the last of his air spilled out of the wound. The blood flow had slowed, though the pool under her continued to spread.

The bonds holding him down had dissipated, and he took full advantage of that, thrashing his limbs in sudden panic. Twilight winced, holding him close and whispering in his ear.

“I’m so sorry, Shiny,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t go. I can’t lose you, not yet.”

His eyes focused on her, softening. He raised a foreleg, holding his hoof to hers as she embraced him. His back legs ceased kicking, lying still on the table, and he relaxed, leaning back. Twilight held his gaze as, with inexorable stillness, the light faded from his eyes and he fell limp, head rolling to the side.

Twilight screamed again. The vortex, constructed of pain and despair, an anguish that seeped into her bones and persisted, tore through the woodwork beneath her, tunnelling into the ground. It was denser here, the dirt thicker than the structure above, and her scream could not penetrate the packed dirt, compressed through centuries of life.

Dust rose from the small hole as the wind rebounded, arcing skywards, leaving cracked clay and loosened soil in its wake. But Twilight felt no change, no lessening in her sorrow despite the strength she fed her voice, despite the exhaustion that crept up upon her. She stumbled backwards, still clutching Shining Armour’s body, away from the hole.

She directed pain to her muscles, lifting his body and carrying him to the side of the room. It seemed inappropriate to use magic now, as if it would somehow defile him. Magic had ended his life, magic had failed him. She would not bring that power back here.

Collapsing against the wall, Twilight cradled her brother’s body, finally releasing the flood of tears that had been building within her. And for a moment, she stopped thinking, stopped analysing, and just felt.

But she couldn’t contain herself, not here, at the end. It was too much to handle, too much, all at once. Twilight pulsed, emotions surging forward, and then receding. But even there, Twilight felt their influence, a gaping hole in her chest, a need, drawing her under their sway, as the tide pulls one back, sucking everything back into its grasp.

She couldn’t risk anymore lives. Those two she’d thrown had, thank Celestia, been pegasi, and were in all likelihood uninjured. In some ways, Twilight resented them that, that they could have been so close to Shining Armour’s death and suffered not a whit, survived without feeling, without sharing in the event.

Her anger, her guilt and pain surged forwards, catching her unawares. Twilight trembled, her horn igniting, and she flared, lashing out in every direction. The bubble expanded at the speed of light, flashing through everything nearby. It wasn’t a physical force, designed to crush and throw, more of an emotional connection. Those it touched would find themselves stricken down, lost in Twilight’s turmoil.

As the tide receded, Twilight shook her head, desperately trying to focus. She had to have control. She couldn’t put any more lives in danger, simply because her brother was dead.

That sparked another surge, her grief welling up. She understood, intellectually, the finality of the sentiment. Shining Armour was gone, and no amount of magic, no amount of pain could ever change that. But emotionally, she struggled, attempting to reconcile herself with this new world, a world a shade darker than the one she’d left. It was a world without, a world lacking.

Twilight again expelled her grief, though this time she found she could channel it. It surged out of her, focused downwards, into the depths of the mountain. Canterlot itself would rue the death of its staunchest defender, the mountain trembling in the wake of her power.

Cadence wouldn’t be far away, now, but Twilight barely had the strength left to care. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, from the effort of holding herself back, the terror she felt for the devastation she’d cause if she lost control completely. She was so tired of trying. Twilight slumped, closing her eyes.

She let go. Anger remained—it is not so easy to deny—but she no longer felt the need it brought, no longer succumbed to its call to action, its demand for movement, for expression. It ceased to matter, had no hold over her. Not here, not in this moment and place. This was a place for her and her brother, sacred and sacrosanct, and she would not taint it with justice, retribution or understanding.

But anger had its uses, and as exhausted as she was, she had no desire for sleep. How could she rest, soaked in tears and her brothers blood, with dust settling all around her? How could she fade, when he was gone, and there was nothing else to cling to? Twilight reached inward, grasping at the tendrils of her anger. She’d never felt such a reservoir, an ocean so vast it could blot out the sun. The power to level cities, remake civilisations, a power born from death and the terrible need to shape a world that had broken, somewhere in its endless machinations.

She channelled it into her muscles, into her mind; a restless energy that brought with it sharp clarity and focus. Just a trickle from the sea, an unending resource, it was a perfect moment, all alone with him, alone to mourn.

***

The storm had passed by the time Boundless woke. Trixie had already prepared for the journey, darting into Canterlot briefly for supplies. She’d made up two sets of saddlebags, containing food and shelter, along with a map. They couldn’t risk something as simple as following the train line, and while Trixie had no issue finding a general direction to follow, details of their environment would prove invaluable.

She released the bonds holding Boundless down. He hadn’t healed yet, but he should be able to move, and talk. He would have to do, as they had to keep moving. Trixie wouldn’t rely on teleportation more than she had to. If she was truly going to go up against Twilight Sparkle, let alone the Princesses, she would need to be at her strongest.

Not that she had any illusions. If they were found, she would fight, and she would lose. She needed a better way of dealing with them, some kind of diversion or bluff to keep them at bay. Trixie had considered the same threat Boundless had used on her, but she had no way of backing it up. Even if Boundless escaped, refusing to be held down, how was he supposed to slay a goddess?

The pair stepped out of the cave into the morning sunlight. Trixie took a deep breath, drawing in the fresh scent of the soaked plains; wet grass and churned plains. The storm had softened the ground, making it unpleasant to walk on. But the wind softly tousled her mane, and the sun’s warmth gave light to the ground in front of them.

Trixie set out, taking the lead as Boundless followed. She was careful to step where it seemed firmest, trying to avoid the puddles that lay scattered around them.

“How do you feel, Trixie?” Boundless asked. He sounded . . . guarded, almost frightened. Why would he be frightened?

“Fine,” Trixie said noncommittally, hoping to forestall the conversation.

“Really?” Boundless pressed. His tone had changed, lightening.

“Yes. Why?”

“You just killed a pony, Trixie.”

Ah. Not frightened, then, confused. Wondering why she had remained, why she seemed so normal. Trixie almost agreed with him, it was an odd response to her actions. But she couldn’t feel the guilt, or the horror that she’d assumed would accompany such an act. There was no sorrow, no rage, just a quiet acceptance that calmed her, allowed her to focus on what was important.

“Yes, I did,” Trixie said. Naturally, Boundless took no note of her tone.

“It worked!” he crowed, beginning to rise to his hind legs before wincing and lowering himself gently.

“What worked?”

“Everything! It’s proof, at last.” Boundless stopped walking, causing Trixie to turn around. He bowed to her, despite the flicker of pain across his face. “Welcome, Trixie. Welcome to the real world.”

What had Cumulus said? Do you see the pattern? Was he ever after the Heart?! Too late, far too late, Cumulus had stitched it together. There were holes in Boundless’ reasoning. He’d focused on the Crystal Heart so suddenly, without warning or build-up. He’d begun to dominate her, crushing her down and terrorising her into obedience. He’d found an opportunity.

With dread, Trixie locked her gaze with Boundless’. “Why did you have me kill him?”

“Because we needed to know what he knew,” Boundless replied. “Speaking of, -“

“No.”

“What?”

“That isn’t it. That doesn’t fit, Boundless. Why did you have me kill him?”

Boundless’ cocked his head, considering. “To see if you could do it.”

Trixie closed her eyes. A test. She felt . . . not sickened. Not even betrayed. Used, dirtied, made to be somepony else’s tool. She sighed, even her own reactions seemed strange. Something was going on here, something she hadn’t quite grasped yet.

“Why?”

“To understand what held you back.”

“Why?” Trixie gritted her teeth.

“To watch you break free.”

“To break free? Of what? Common decency?!” Trixie was nearly shouting, her cries scattering nearby birds. They flew up, into the clear sky, running from the confrontation below them.

“No, not that,” Boundless said, almost sneering. “From what was holding you back. From what holds us all back, everypony that you see around you. Everypony except me.”

“What?”

“When I broke you, Trixie . . . there was a moment, there, when you could have stopped me. You could have slain me, as easily as you did him. But you didn’t, you couldn’t, despite everything you believed. Or, perhaps, because of it. What held you back? It wasn’t decency, was it?”

“I . . . No, no it wasn’t.” Trixie frowned, thinking. “I knew it to be wrong, but that wasn’t what held me.”

“What was it, Trixie?”

“I . . . I don’t know. Somehow, I just . . . just knew I couldn’t.”

“Did you feel that while driving your knife through his neck?”

“No . . . yes . . . I don’t know. It was buried.”

Boundless nodded approvingly. “Fear covered it, brought the world into sharp relief. Everything is simpler, clearer—you kill him, or you die.”

“But I had more options. I could have turned the knife on you.”

“Yes, you could have. But you didn’t, Trixie. I’ll admit, I broke you for that reason, took away your mind. But it was necessary.”

“Why? Why was it necessary that an innocent die?”

“Why do you care? Intellectually? Do you think you should feel something?”

“Yes! Of course I do!”

“But you don’t,” Boundless pointed out. Trixie nodded.

“Am I a monster?”

“Am I?”

“Of course you are.”

“Then so are you; both of us, monsters, free to do what we please. Freedom, Trixie! From society, and the laws that define us. From ourselves and the lies we tell ourselves. I broke your mind because it preys on your thoughts, convinces you of its truths.”

“What does?” Trixie asked. She felt numb, revelation after revelation slowly eating away at her calm. It was too much, too suddenly. But she’d never before been presented with such openness from Boundless. It was an opportunity, a window to his soul, and she wasn’t going to pass it up, not after the price she’d paid for it.

“I don’t know. This force, this constraint that stopped you from ending my life, it touches all of us. You’ve felt it, though I never did. I only saw it, in the lives of those around me.”

And Trixie understood. Even if she hadn’t felt what he described, she knew the pressures that would bend ponies to their will. The desire to be good and to do well, the belief in decency, in a supportive, caring community, it was a societal pressure that restricted. Beyond that, there was a force. It had stayed her hoof, until he had drowned it out in fear and demands, in a situation she’d had no time to prepare for nor ability to comprehend.

And now she was free. She looked at Boundless, and knew how easily she could end his life. All the different ways she had of ruining him, let alone escaping. He was in no condition for a long hike, and could not cast advanced magic. All she had to do was teleport away.

She could kick him in the chest; crack apart the ribs that were just now beginning to heal. She could drive a wedge of magic, splitting him wide open for the sun to bake, spilling him out onto the ground. She could reach with just a tendril, just a sliver of her power, and halt his heart in its motions.

Suddenly her power terrified her. Who was she, to hold such capacity over others? She had never thought of it before, but it didn’t take power, ability or familiarity to kill, no, just the will, and nothing else. The simplest of spells, cast by an infant, held the capacity for such destructive ends.

Was that freedom? The ability to choose—not the ordinary choices she made every day, what to wear, where to eat—but the real choices, the important ones. How to live. Who to be.

Boundless hadn’t just freed her; he’d opened her up to an entirely new world. A new perspective, where anything was possible, where you could be whoever you wanted, it was at once both wonderful and horrifying. No path to follow, no guidelines to assure you. No safety-nets and no assurances. She could be so much more than what she was, or so much less.

There was nopony who could tell her how.

“But what of Shining Armour,” Trixie said. “Why him, why not some other pony? Any other pony?”

“I told you. We needed to know, Trixie. I’m going after the Crystal Heart.”

“After all this? Why, Boundless? What are you looking for?”

“I was born in shadow, Trixie, in the deepest part of the night. I never knew my parents, I don’t even remember their faces, but I remember the moon, that night, it’s unblemished face igniting the landscape with argent light. My whole life I have known freedom, felt within me the capacity for anything.

“I was named Boundless by those who found me. It has always seemed to me a joke, an attempt to label something that transcends labelling. I have no name, and that is right.

“Did you know that I earned my cutie mark the night of my birth? I was told when I was young, and though others had a difficult time believing me, I knew it to be true.”

Trixie glanced at his flank, as conspicuously blank as ever. “How . . .?”

“My cutie mark is nothing. It symbolises my talent, Trixie, as does everypony’s. I can be anything.

“Would you not try to spread that gift? I have searched for a way to extend my influence, to grow and carry with me my freedom to others. I will be whatever I need to be to achieve that.”

“The Crystal Heart,” Trixie began, the threads falling into place. “Its magic controls the emotions of the Empire. Not cleanly, not simply, but if we held the Heart, and knew how to use it . . .”

Boundless nodded. “We could free Equestria. Imagine that, Trixie. Imagine an Equestria where everypony was free to choose for themselves. Free to be the villain or the hero. Free to make up all the shades of grey of life, but to do it for themselves. Not because some force, some unknown, unnamed thing forces them to it. Defines their morality, controls their thoughts.

“It is a world infinitely worse than this one. A world of theft, blackmail, kidnapping and murder. A world of crime, or fear and darkness. A world where every colour is that much brighter, every taste that much sweeter. A world where we can shine.

“I will make it happen, Trixie. This is why you killed Shining Armour, why you picked his mind in his last moments of life. If I must become a monster to bring this world about, I will. I will do so without hesitation, for what I do is right. Others may see it differently, but I am me, and I will not deny that. I will burn and main and kill for my beliefs. Would you?”

Fifteen

I am your fears and your hopes. I am your dreams and your nightmares. I am the best of you, and the worst.

For it is only in the extremes that we can survive the heights of our passion. We persevered within my protection, under my shroud of night. When you had burnt away your fears, and lost the will to act, consumed your hope and succumbed to despair, I was there.

Fifteen

“WHAT'S GOING ON, RARE'?” Applejack asked, looking at the mountain beside her. The trembling had stopped, thankfully, though it left them with questions.

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“Twilight’s not back yet,” Pinkie observed solemnly.

“Is this . . .”

“Oh, Celestia, I hope not. I really do.” Rarity turned to Pinkie with a strained smile. “Dear, do you think you could fetch us some hot drinks. I’m afraid Twilight won’t be joining us.”

Applejack nodded, heading back inside, as Pinkie moved to the kitchen. Rarity remained for a moment, staring up at Canterlot. If Luna was up there . . .

“I guess Rainbow won’t be coming either,” Fluttershy said. She was standing next to Rarity, face upturned. Rarity had rarely seen her so intense, wearing a kind of quiet focus that enveloped the pegasus, and held her still. Rarity shivered in the breeze, then turned, moving back into the warmth of Sugarcube Corner.

Pinkie had already returned from the kitchen with five mugs balanced on her tail. Rarity could see marshmallows poking out over the rims, bobbing with each movement of Pinkie’s tail. She grasped a mug in magic, bringing it before her and taking a long gulp of the hot chocolate. Its fire spread through her body quickly, warming her, reassuring her.

“Ahem,” she began, gathering her friend’s attention. Pinkie had already finished her first mug, though Applejack had pushed hers away. “I . . . I don’t know why Canterlot is shaking. Whatever it is that’s doing that, it must be powerful.”

“The Princess is up there, Rares. Ah don’t think we need to worry about it.”

“Both of them are,” Rarity whispered. “That’s the problem.”

“What did you See, Rarity?” Fluttershy asked softly.

“I Saw Luna, crossing back over the Equestrian border. I Saw Celestia there, waiting for her.”

“What’s wrong?” Pinkie Pie, this time, leaning towards her with a worried face.

In truth, Luna’s return should have been cause for celebration, not this sort of clandestine meeting. But Rarity was out of her depth. She hadn’t the experience or inclination to handle something like this. She’d been counting on Twilight to take it off her hooves.

“Are you sure? This will become your burden as well,” Rarity said, looking at each of them in turn. There was no hesitation, each one of them nodding.

“Tell us.”

“This morning, I . . . found enough motivation to check for Luna. Twilight’s asked me to do what I can, keeping an eye out against her eventual return, and while I wasn’t really thinking to find anything, I kept looking anyway.

“How can I describe Sight? It is like searching through a bank of fog, thick and heavy, so that you cannot easily find your way. All around you pass shrouded figures. No matter how you look at them, they remain indistinct, blurred, somehow. They are all the ponies, past, present, and future, that have or will have moved through the place I am standing.

“Then there are the ones I know. Those I have a personal connection to, some knowledge of. They stand out, clearer, shining with some sort of light. They become as beacons for me to follow through the mist. The better I know somepony, the clearer their vision becomes, and the further I may follow it, through time and space.

“When I moved to the border, I expected to find nothing, just like every other time. Instead, there was a blinding light, like the sun itself, resplendent and powerful; Celestia, standing before the blank face of the Equestrian border. Nopony ever crosses it.

“And then, as I waited, there was a disturbance, a ripple, through the air, like a hole in the fabric of space. Through it I Saw Luna.”

***

Luna pushed her way through the barrier quickly, uncomfortable by the tingle it left over her. Once through, it disappeared quickly, but during, it was a deep itch, an uncomfortable feeling, like rough cloth being pulled across her hide. It permeated her, leaving her out of breath, just for a moment.

Awaiting her was her sister, standing tall on the plain. Celestia was radiant, her coat glowing in the morning sun, mane billowing in an endless wave. But where Luna had once looked to find support, a caring, loving visage, instead she found shock. She could see it, written plainly across Celestia’s face, in the flattened ears and slightly open mouth, in the tightness of her cheeks and the slight, every-so-slight widening of her eyes.

Even after all these years, Luna could read her sister. And Celestia was not happy to see her.

“’Tia!” Luna cried, reaching out to embrace her. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Luna?” Celestia asked, stressing the name as she apprehensively returned Luna’s hold.

“Of course ‘tis I. Who else might I be?”

“Luna.” Now she could hear the warmth of the sun creeping back into her voice, a relief that was mingled with sorrow. She felt the strength of Celestia’s hold intensify, felt herself pulled forward as her sister clutched her tightly. “Wherever have you been?!”

“Hmm? Yonder, over there,” Luna said. “It was but a small matter, sister. What has thou so concerned? The evidence of it ‘tis plainly written on thine face.”

“Your speech . . . Luna, what do you remember of the last ten years?”

“Years? Sister, I have been absent for but three weeks. Surely ‘tis been no longer.”

“Ten years, Luna. Ten years, believing . . . I don’t even know what.” Celestia buried her face in Luna’s mane. The touch seemed oddly submissive, reversed from what she remembered of her cleansing. Luna tucked her chin down, nuzzling her distraught sister.

“Hey. Hey, now. Calm thyself, sister. I am here, now, though t’would seem mine recollection serves me differently.”

Celestia snapped her head upwards. “What were you doing, Luna?! What took so long?!”

“I was . . . I . . . I do not know. ‘Tis strange, for it seems that I should know, but mine memory dances on the side, and I cannot grasp it firmly.”

“You don’t remember?!”

“’Tis worrying, yes.”

Celestia glanced over her shoulder, shaking her head, before turning her attention back to Luna.

“What about before? Before you left?”

Luna cocked her head, gazing at Celestia. “I fear I do not understand the thrust of thine questioning. I recall all, save for the last, small, while. It is still 1006, is it not?”

“No, Luna, it isn’t. It’s been sixteen years since you came back, sixteen years since the Elements of Harmony cleansed you. Ten years ago you left, crossing the border and vanishing. Nopony knew where you’d gone, Luna, or what you were doing! Now I find that . . . something has corrupted you!”

“’Tia . . . ‘tis I. I return to you not tainted, but pure. Thou helped me throw aside the shackles of jealousy. Dost thou not recall that?”

“Untainted?! What do you call that?!”

What? For the first time, Luna glanced down at herself. Her mane appeared correct, its star-specked hue billowing in an ethereal wind. Her body felt right, felt normal, but where once she had stood nearly Celestia’s equal, now she reached a height above that of her sister. And, adorning her chest like it had always belonged there, was armour. It wrapped around her, encasing her in its protection, in its cage. Luna flicked her ears, feeling the cold metal against her fur. There was no denying it, it was the regalia of Nightmare Moon.

***

“Do you remember Nightmare Moon’s eyes? The thin slits—draconian, I believe, though I’m not the expert. And her mane, tendrils twisting and spiralling around her body? Luna had none of that. She didn’t stand as Nightmare Moon did, did not look down on Celestia, or speak maliciously.

“But she remembers nothing of her absence, and she wore the armour. Girls . . . I’ve never seen Celestia so upset. It was frightening.”

There was a long silence following the end of Rarity’s account, as each pony thought about what they’d heard.

“Ah think we need Twilight.”

“Yes, that was my thought as well, dear. Of course, there isn’t much point in going up to Canterlot after her; she’s more likely to return here when she gets that letter.”

“Ah still think Twilight was involved in that tremor we felt earlier.

“Probably Luna, too,” Pinkie offered. Despite Rarity’s story, she wore a wide smile. “Between the two of them, it’ll be cleared up in no time!”

“Would Luna have had enough time to get back to the city?”

“If she was rushing back, certainly,” Rarity said. “I don’t know what to do here. That tremor . . . I could have waited too long already.”

“That isn't your fault.” Fluttershy’s voice was firm, quashing any objections Rarity might have raised. “It took time to gather us all together, and only together we can be of use.”

“That’s as may be, dear, but I’m no longer sure we’ll be needed at all. Pinkie’s right. Twilight’s up there, and she can handle anything.”

“Even Nightmare Moon?” Applejack said.

“Who would you fancy? Her, against Celestia and Twilight together?”

“. . . Point.”

“Then this doesn’t change anything. We know Luna’s back. Until we hear from the city, that's enough for me” Pinkie said. Fluttershy smiled at her friend, always so optimistic. Still Pinkie had a point. What sense was there is getting all worked up, when it was just as likely cause for celebration?

“Yes, though I'd rather refrain from looking myself. Fluttershy?” Rarity asked, drawing Fluttershy's attention

She nodded. “I’ll check tonight.”

“Then we should meet back here in the morning,” Rarity concluded, taking a deep breath, and rolling her shoulders.

Fluttershy could see the tension melting off her friend. Meeting Pinkie's eyes as Rarity bid them farewell, she exchanged a small smile, glad to have helped assuage Rarity's fears. Even the semblance of a plan could do wonders for ones peace of mind.

Bidding goodnight to Pinkie, she watching her move upstairs to her room over the shop. As she made to leave, following Rarity out the door, Applejack caught her, walking alongside as they headed into the night.

“Listen, Fluttershy . . . did ya mean it?”

“Mean what?’

“What ya said about coming ta Appleloosa with me. Having a pegasus would mean a great deal.”

“Of course,” Fluttershy said, smiling warmly.

“It’s just . . . Ah don’t think Rainbow’s gonna to be available. She’s up there, with Twi’ . . .”

“I understand.”

“Look, Ah might have . . . understated the problem a bit. Rarity already seemed stressed out enough, though Ah’m not quite seeing what the fuss is about.”

At that, Fluttershy frowned. “She’s scared, Applejack. You heard what that barrier did to Luna. On top of which, she’s brought Nightmare Moon’s armour back with her.”

“We've beaten Nightmare Moon before.”

“Have you ever seen Celestia upset?”

Applejack paused, thinking for a second. “She was worried, when Discord was released.”

“I disagree. She was serious, just as she was when Chrysalis attacked. Rarity saw her scared, Applejack—Celestia, scared. It’s one thing to hear about that second-hand . . .”

“And another entirely to see yourself,” Applejack finished. She nodded, Fluttershy’s words seeming to get through. In truth, Fluttershy herself was scared. Deep inside, where she’s learned to hide it, she quailed at the thought of confronting something that had given pause to the Princess herself. But she would suppress it, control it, for Rarity.

“Where are you staying?” Applejack asked suddenly. Fluttershy paused, realising that without meaning to, her hooves had taken her in the direction of her old cottage. Applejack saw her face, saw where she was looking.

“It’s closed up, Flutters. Years back, now. Come on, you can stay with me. We’ll need to leave, in the morning, unless something changes.”

“Okay.”

Fluttershy followed Applejack docilely, content to let her lead. It had, after all, been a tiring trip, and she was looking forward to some sleep.

There was no special process Fluttershy went through to prepare herself for Dreaming. She had never been taught explicitly how to use her powers, despite Twilight’s attempts at understanding, so instead she relied on instinct, simply following the flow wherever it took her.

For Twilight, or Rarity, that would have been impossible. Unicorns required direct control, an intent to accompany their magic. For Fluttershy, magic lead her, coming as naturally as her emotions it used.

That said, she didn’t want to Dream every night. Over the years, Fluttershy had found that she could encourage her visions by focusing on her fears and her hopes before she went to sleep. She could find worry for the future, and comfort in its approach, and in doing so, direct her efforts somewhat. But there was no telling what vision she would have, save that it was her future, or her past.

Sometimes she would Dream without wishing to. Often, she found she could not Dream despite all her efforts. But tonight, she fell into sleep easily, and within moments awoke in the future.

Fluttershy opened her eyes to a vision of ruin. Before her lay a town, Appleloosa, laid out almost exactly as she had seen it before. The train station, there, and over there the post office. Fluttershy began to walk, moving past the general store and sheriff’s lockup. She didn’t have a destination, but when she looked in front of herself, she saw the town hall.

Something was wrong. No ponies had greeted her during her arrival, in fact there was no movement around the town at all. Fluttershy peered through several windows, trying to find those living here, but she couldn’t see anypony. Further, their personal belongings were scattered, food left on the table, slowly rotting and gathering flies.

Returning to the street, Fluttershy cast a more critical eye over her surroundings. The evidence, all around her; rotten wood and rusted metal, houses barely standing and a curious sense of doom, hanging over the town like a small bank of storm-clouds, ready to unleash their wrath. Appleloosa had been hollowed out, the empty shell of a town remaining broken into pieces once the inhabitants had fled. Fluttershy hadn’t missed it before, because it hadn’t been there, before. Everywhere she turned, she saw the destruction of the town, so pristine when she’d first arrived, accelerate.

Was this the outcome of their visit to Appleloosa? Were they doomed to fail, then, or in their aid doom the town? Perhaps they were already too late, and they would arrive to find themselves lost, here, in this ghost of a town. Applejack had said the problem was worse than she’d told them.

There were far too many interpretations. Rarity had told her that the future was malleable, that it could be stitched together, woven, by skilled hooves, with the right touch, at the right time. That was why she could never see far into the future, for the myriad of paths they might take obscured her vision.

When Fluttershy Dreamt, she saw but one possibility. Saw it, nay, experienced it with a clarity that made it seem real. But it was not fate, and just the knowledge of what could happen here gave her the strength to fight it.

Beside her, she found Applejack. The earth pony was staring around the town in horror, still taking in the broken shell. She looked older, much older—she had lines on her face and a stumble in her step.

“Come, Applejack,” Fluttershy said, leading her back the way they’d come. “This is not Appleloosa, not anymore. We must find them.”

They walked for what seemed hours, though Fluttershy knew, somewhere in her mind, that it had been but moments. She had found tracks in the desert, tracks that faded from view the second she saw them, sand blown over them by the growing wind.

Abruptly, they were in a settlement, a roving group of ponies, nomadic in nature. They looked weary beyond belief as they unhitched themselves from their wagons, a few smaller ponies clambering out and helping to set up the camp.

Meagre supplies of food were brought out; a few dried apples and potatoes, distributed sparsely among the small population. Others began half-heartedly digging at the ground for water. With how hard the ground had become, baked and split clay, like rock, Fluttershy doubted they would have any success.

Applejack was sitting in an old chair, staring out at the dying sun. She looked old, now, very old. Several ponies came to her, offering her thin potato soup. Fluttershy could hear the tiny crick of in her jaw as she ate, gumming through the hard chunks.

Looking around, Fluttershy saw a small one, talking excitedly with another, and gesturing at Applejack. He was an earth pony of the same colouration as Braeburn, a soft yellow coat accentuated by rich orange hair and sparkling green eyes.

These were the remnants of the Appleloosans, Fluttershy realised. Cast out of their town, they had chosen to wander the wilderness and the desert. She approached the small foal, who turned to face her with wide eyes, apprehensive under his enthusiasm.

Except he wasn’t turning to her; he couldn’t see her. Nopony could—she wasn’t here, not really. It was just a Dream.

“Macoun!” a voice called from behind her. Approaching hoof-steps signalled the arrival of an adult. The foal’s—Macoun’s—friend scampered off, raising a clatter of noise and earning himself shouts from other groups of ponies.

The adult was stocky, though gaunt, with a deep brown coat and the same vibrant eyes. Fluttershy choked back a sob at the sight; to her, he resembled the entire, desperate situation. That stance, so full of sorrow, and his eyes, mournful in the sight of innocence, spoke more to her than anything else she’d seen.

“Macoun, there ya are. Come, son, we must help the others.”

“Do we gotta?”

“Ya know we do. An Apple’s work ain’t ever done.”

“But Dad . . .”

“No buts! Come, Macoun. Look to ya name with pride, for you are the last to wear it. Ah will not live ta see our matron all disapproving or our name in tatters, even if we are ta be the only ones ta see it!”

Fluttershy woke in a cold sweat, the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Quietly, she rose, moving to the window and looking out at the first glimmers of the sun poking over the horizon.

***

Applejack woke early, just before the rising of the sun, as was normal for her. Fluttershy probably wouldn’t wake for hours to come, so instead of disturbing the pegasus, she made her way to the kitchen.

Whistling idly, Applejack set about making some breakfast; a healthy helping of pancakes, specked with apples, toast, some turnovers from yesterday and apple juice. She made sure to leave plenty out for Applebloom and Big Macintosh, and on second thought, Fluttershy as well.

After eating, she stepped out into the yard, stretching her limbs to wake them up. She’d be leaving today, but there were still a few things she could do to help the farm run smoothly in her absence.

Applejack headed over to the barn. She’d been putting off cleaning it for some time now, but it needed doing, and was a small enough task that she could have it handled by the time Fluttershy woke. Applejack figured that was about the right time to head into town.

Opening the door, she made a face at the mess. They’d brought the pigs inside a few days ago, sheltering them from the storm, and they’d left more than a few tokens of appreciation. The entire bed of hay would need replacing, most of the tools needed to be dismantled and cleaned, hell, the entire barn could use a wash.

Gritting her teeth, Applejack walked in, careful to watch her step. Reaching the back wall, she felt along its surface, searching for a particular spot . . . there. She picked up the hose in her mouth and twisted, turning the water on.

It had been designed and built by Applebloom during a sulk about how boring cleaning it out had been. Instead of requiring a laborious process of emptying everything, washing and cleaning, then restocking, Applebloom had placed a tap at the back of the barn, attaching it to . . . something. Applejack didn’t pretend to understand how it worked, but she was more than happy to use it.

Water shot out of the nozzle with a strength that would have knocked anypony save her and her brother flat on their backs. That was the main reason this wasn’t more widespread—Applebloom had said that the high pressure required to efficiently clean the walls and push everything loose towards the doors—which now swung open so that the barn had, in effect, three walls—would be too strong for most.

In the end, while it no longer took hours to perform the chore, it could no longer be done by Applebloom with anywhere near the same efficiency, which was, Applejack reflected, probably what she’d been going for.

She was in the loft, kicking the last of the bundles of hay down to spread over the floor when Fluttershy poked her head in.

“Uhm, Applejack?” she inquired, calling from where she stood.

“How’d you sleep?”

Fluttershy shook her head. “We need to go, now.”

“What’s the matter,” Applejack said, pausing. The bale hit the ground with a thump.

“I . . . had a Dream. It was about Appleloosa. I think something terrible is going to happen.

Applejack frowned, jumping down from the loft and landing with a thump beside the hay bale. “How bad was it?”

Fluttershy just shook her head again.

“Okay . . . we’ll have to tell Rarity, and the others,” she began, heading to the door. As she approached, Fluttershy suddenly flung herself forward, enveloping Applejack in a hug.

“Whoa there.”

“I’m sorry,” Fluttershy choked out, between sobs. When had she started crying? “I’m so sorry.”

“That bad, huh?” she said, patting Fluttershy on the back.

“Mhmm.”

“Save your tears, Fluttershy,” Applejack untangled herself, setting Fluttershy back on the ground. “And let’s go do something about it.”

But they didn’t find Rarity in her house, or at Sugarcube Corner, and they knew better than to check Twilight’s house. Even if she was there, they couldn’t disturb her. Leaving a message, and a farewell with Pinkie, they made their way to the station, quickly purchasing two tickets.

The next train left in an hour, so they settled in to wait. As they sat down, Applejack turned to Fluttershy. The mare was still quiet, though she seemed to be past the shock and sorrow. She sat with a kind of silent determination; back straight and eyes intent.

“Do ya wanna tell me about it?”

And as Applejack listened, Fluttershy began.

***

Pinkie knocked three times on the door to the library. She wasn’t sure why she chose to knock three times. It wasn’t as if three knocks was a kind of signature, a calling card that it was, in fact, Pinkie Pie knocking. Perhaps it should be.

No. She shuddered, imagining all those doors in town, growing so bored of the repetitive three knocks. She imagined the mark it would leave on her, relegated from spontaneity to predictability. Everypony would know she was coming. How could she surprise anypony that way?

She considered the wooden door before it. Had it learned from her three knocks? Was it, even now, silently judging her for her conformity? Pinkie had seen many ponies knock three times before. Did the door believe her to be merely another of the myriad of ponies that knocked on it?

Perhaps she should knock again. Not a fourth knock, but another, new knock. She reached out, rapping her hoof on the door, just once. That would show it. Indeed, the door looked to be confused now. Pinkie tilted her head, studying the door with an intense, scrutinising gaze.

Unfortunately, before she could glean any new information from the viewpoint, she felt the door open. Indeed, three seconds later it did just that, revealing Spike behind it. He seemed . . . confused. Pinkie righted her head in time to catch him shrugging.

“Pinkie. What can I do for you?” Spike said, letting her in to the library.

“Hi Spike!” Pinkie began. Spike lifted a claw to his face, groaning.

“Not this again. Pinkie, my name is Daerev!”

“You’ll always be Spike to me!” Pinkie replied in a sing-song voice.

“Look, Pinkie, I appreciate the sentiment. I really do. But this is getting ridiculous.”

“Good,” Pinkie asserted, before sobering. “Daerev . . . I don’t like it. It’s dragoney.”

“That’s the point.”

“No, silly, that’s the point.” Pinkie gestured to Spike’s tail. It’s tip, once blunted, was now sharp enough to cut. He chuckled.

“Okay, okay,” he said, retreating to a table and checking a ledger. “Now, what did you need? I’m afraid the set of cookbooks you ordered haven’t arrived yet.”

“Have you heard from Twilight?” Pinkie asked. Even to her ears, her voice had fallen, lost its chirpiness. She noticed she wasn’t bouncing, either, as she stepped forward to press the dragon. “Recently?”

“How recent?” Spike asked with a frown.

“Yesterday, or today.”

“No, not a word, although . . . this is about Canterlot, last night, isn’t it?”

Pinkie nodded mutely.

“I’m sure she’ll send me something soon enough.”

“Yeah, I guess so . . . okie-dokie, thanks Spike!”

Daerev watched her go, bouncing out the door without a worry on her mind. He shook his head slightly, wishing he could deal with his problems that easily. To just accept that something would shake out eventually, and set it aside until it did . . . that took some serious mental gymnastics.

As much as he would have liked to find out more about what was happening up in Canterlot, he had to trust Twilight. By the time he got up there, it would probably be over anyway.

He made his own way out of the library, locking the door behind him. He couldn’t do anything about it himself, nor could he learn anything more on his own. But perhaps there was another who could.

While his weekly schedule with Agyrt had been strict, it was never set in stone. He was often required to come at odd times, even the dead of night. Still, last week, Agyrt had requested his presence today, in just an hour’s time. Having a Seer for a teacher was, at times, extremely useful.

At others, it sucked. Still, Daerev couldn’t complain about Agyrt’s interest in him. Over the last ten years he’d learnt so much, been introduced to a whole new world. He’d just begun to scratch the surface, but for the first time in his life, he felt at home.

Not at home, as in where he belonged. He would always be grateful to Twilight and her role in raising him. She had given him a gift more precious than any gem; perspective. And he had never been shunned, or considered out of place.

It was just . . . with Agyrt, with the world of dragons—real dragons—opening up before him, he had realised what he was. He had answered the call in his blood, the cries he had been neglecting. The taste of meat, the cry of nature, the roar of flame and the richness of life . . . at once both exhilarating and fulfilling.

Daerev followed the path through the Forest to Agyrt’s river. At first, Twilight had hovered over him, keeping a watchful eye. But as the path grew more beaten, animals, predator and prey alike, learned to stay away. And now, as he grew, he no longer found the Forest to be frightening.

Arriving at Lethe, Daerev found Agyrt waiting for him. The dragon had moved up onto the bank, resting under the climbing sun.

The physiological differences between himself and his mentor had initially been odd to Daerev, though Agyrt paid them no mind. When he did raise the topic, Agyrt had merely arched an eyebrow—or the area where an eyebrow would have been—and inquired “Am I not a dragon?” He hadn’t had an answer.

Still, Daerev would never be as at home in the water, just as Agyrt could never match him on land.

“I expect you’re here to inquire as to the disturbance last night,” Agyrt said without opening his eyes.

“Yes.”

“The situation has already been resolved. You’ll learn the details when you return to your little village.”

“Very well.”

As difficult as it was, Daerev had learned not to press Agyrt. Any information he was given Agyrt viewed as a gift, not an obligation. If he asked after Twilight, it would be seen as arrogant, presumptuous, and would only serve to convince Agyrt not to share anything more.

Agyrt opened one eye, regarding Daerev. Standing not ten feet away, it was almost as large as his entire body.

“You are worried about Sparkle. Do not fear for her. She will recover.”

“Oh, come on!”

Agyrt rose, slowly, to his feet, towering over Daerev. By the time he reached his full height, he blocked the sun out, casting Daerev and a considerable portion of the Forest into shadow.

“Hard times are coming, Daerev Quitu. Are you ready to face them?”

Daerev swallowed. “I am.”

“You do not look ready,” Agyrt hissed. “I will give you this much; you have a good heart. One day, you will be a fine dragon.”

“Uhh . . . thanks.”

“You may not have the time.” Agyrt turned, moving back into the river. Lazily, he rolled over, exposing his underside to the sun as he floated. “Heed my warning, Daerev, and prepare. Your Princess of the Night has returned, to find a noble leader murdered and blood running in the streets of Canterlot. Comfort your sister, for in the end, all any of us may do is what we feel to be right. This . . . this is just the beginning."

Sixteen

I came in your darkest night. I alone understood its secrets, its veiled thoughts and buried secrets. At its peak, the longest moment of our longest reign, I came to you and I whispered truth.

Do not blame me for what befell us. We can only pick up the pieces and move on. For, whether it is as intense as the call for vengeance or as innocent as learning from mistakes, the past will bog you down. And if we do not move quickly, we will lose this war.

Sixteen

“SISTER . . . What doth this mean?”

“I’m not sure yet. You . . . you are correct. You are not the Nightmare.”

“Most certainly not!”

“Thank goodness for that.”

Luna stood with her sister, staring at the pieces of armour on the ground before them. Nightmare Moon’s first manifestation had created them with magic, and after her defeat they had dissolved, the spells breaking without her power to hold them together.

“That it found me seems less troubling.”

“Yes. There is that. Luna . . . truly you cannot remember?”

“Assuredly, I cannot. It seems but weeks past we stood together.”

“What about the prophecy?”

“. . . Sister?”

“The Drac, who spoke to you while you were searching for Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash in the Everfree Forest?”

“Ah.”

“Well?”

“I have no memory of which you speak.”

Luna watched, concerned, as Celestia tossed her head in frustration.

“What happened to you, out there?” she cried. Luna levelled a hard gaze at her sister.

They both turned back to the armour.

“I cannot explain myself, but I feel a connection here. ‘Tis important.”

“I agree. That this should appear now . . . it is an omen, at the least.”

“In stature also. Did I not stand beneath you, sister, ‘ere I departed?”

“Nightmare Moon was taller than me,” Celestia murmured. “Just a bit, but still . . .”

Both sisters sank once again into a contemplative silence. Luna, glancing at her sister, shook her head gently. T’was . . . odd for ‘Tia to be so troubled, even over such as this. From Luna’s vague memories, she had handled Nightmare Moon’s first return with aplomb, As long as the Elements of Harmony remained, that mare was no threat.

Yet still she stared, intently, at the armour before them. Nightmare Moon’s . . . her old regalia, relics of a time before all this. It carried with it history, and brought forward feelings Luna had thought long since buried.

Something had done this. A broken spell did not suddenly reform, nor would anything she knew be able to recreate the spell matrices that had bound it. What troubled Luna wasn’t this simple truth—she held no fear for whatever would stand ‘gainst her. Rather, it was her buoyant emotions; a serenity that had engulfed her the moment she’d seen her sister that provided cause for alarm.

She should be frantic at this sign, the return of her nemesis and failure. If nothing else, she should be matching Celestia’s intensity, studying the armour in an attempt to divine its meaning. But she found herself lacking the will, the drive, to care, instead floating, as a leaf on the wind.

Where had her anger gone? Her worries, her dreams, her sorrows and joys, all lost somewhere. Luna raised her head, gazing out at the vista before her. Out there, beyond Equestria, something had happened, something that left her empty.

No, not quite empty. Of the six, she was left only with love. Affection for her sister, for the land she had returned to, threatened to overwhelm her. Before, the Nightmare had been constructed of rage, born in the absence of love. Perhaps that rage, returned to her after her cleansing, was now locked away, incarnated in the very memoirs lying before her.

Luna sighed. There were any number of theories that could answer what lay before them, and no way of distinguishing the truth. She could have performed some feat, over there, burning all feeling from her. It could be just an after-effect of her apparent memory loss. She saw no reason to distrust her sister, after all. She would make a point of catching up with this ‘Drac’ soon.

“We should return to Canterlot,” Celestia said, turning to look at her. “We’ve missed you, Luna. We all have.”

Smiling, Luna gathered the armour in her magic, floating it in front of her. Concentrating, she drew on the warmth Celestia inspired in her, the tranquil calm, and sent the pieces of armour to her chambers in the castle. They melted away, fading into the shadows.

Celestia let out a sigh. “I’d almost forgotten . . .”

“Hmm?”

“The way you have, with magic. So soft, like the touch of silk in a world of wool.”

“‘Tis nothing but teleportation. Any other could manage such a thing.”

“No, not anypony. Even my own style is harsh, blindingly so.”

That was true, in its own way, though Luna thought her sister was being overly critical of herself. Where she moved silently, slinking through shadows, Celestia became as light, arcing over the land to strike her destination. It was a spectacle not only in power, but also grace, lending her a fluidity of movement that Luna considered breathtaking.

To hear admiration, from one who made it seem so effortless, was . . . gratifying, to say the least.

“I think I shall walk, ‘Tia, or at most fly. I wish to see the land again, feel the breeze on my face and hear the shrill sounds of life around me. Would you care to accompany me?”

This brought Celestia to smile, bobbing her head in acknowledgement. “I would like that.”

Luna led the way, gliding low over Equestria. Overhead, the sun was soon to reach its zenith, and though she could not see Canterlot in the distance, she was confident that she would be home by nightfall.

Relaxing, she closed her eyes, rejoicing in the serenity of the world. They passed over the desert, listening to the dull rush of the wind over the sand. They passed small creeks, and larger rivers, watching the water foam around rocks, curling with eddies and currents. They flew over small towns, smelling the sweet scents arising from bakeries and coffee shops, as the ponies ran, shouting and pointing as their Princesses passed overhead.

It was late evening when they saw the Canterlot mountain on the horizon, and Luna felt . . . home. Not just at peace, but content in the way one feels when they are wholly accepted. It struck her that she had never thought of Equestria as home, before, never felt the same ease within her rooms, her cities, or her borders. Somewhere, that had changed.

The mountain shuddered, a tremor running through it. Distantly, Luna could feel the sudden pulse of magic, exploding outwards. It had been powerful enough to visibly shake it.

Luna halted in mid-air, shocked. Beside her, Celestia shot forward, heading straight into that vortex of power. It took but a moment for Luna to follow, tearing after her sister.

***

For Rainbow, trying her best to comfort Twilight and Cadence at the bottom of the crater they had created in the side of the city, it seemed to take Celestia an age to appear. Even had she not sensed the magical energies ripping through the area—which Rainbow didn’t believe for a second—she should have felt the mountain shaking, and been there.

Nevertheless, when the Princess finally did swoop down, landing gently in front of the trio and regarding Shining Armour’s body with wide eyes, Rainbow felt a sudden sense of relief. Not only was she here, ready to fix everything, ready to make it better, but behind her was Luna, returned at last.

That must have been the subject of Rarity’s letter, she realised as Luna landed beside her sister.

Rainbow watched as the Princesses took the scene in. She watched as their jaws unhinged, dropping just slightly. She watched as their mouths tightened, eyes closing, pressing shut just briefly before opening again. She watched as they squared their shoulders, facing Twilight with a mixture of resolve and sorrow.

As Luna stepped forward, reaching out, Rainbow noticed something curious. Where before Luna had been nearly Celestia’s equal in height, now she was taller, if only slightly.

Twilight took a few moments to recognise their presence. Lifting her head, she gazed at her mentor with a slack expression. Rainbow tightened her forelegs around her, nuzzling her gently. She didn’t even know how she felt, yet. Twilight took up her entire awareness; she spared no thought beyond her comfort. In some ways, that was a relief.

“Please, Princess . . .” Rainbow whispered, as Twilight, recognising the two before her, broke down once again. “Please . . .”

Her words broke the floodgates. Rushing forward, Celestia embraced Twilight, pressing her head against her cheek, murmuring to her. Next to them, Luna did the same for Cadence.

Rainbow could barely make out their words; meaningless apologies, condolences and sympathies. More important was the tone of voice, a soothing, calming tone that worked its way, gradually, gently, through Rainbow’s mind. She watched as lines of tension lost their rigidity, Twilight’s body slackening.

As it did, the light still emanating from both Twilight and Cadence began to dim. Without it, the evidence of their grief and anguished might, the crater was left in near total darkness.

Rainbow saw Celestia approach her, felt the Princess place a hoof on her shoulder. Celestia indicated Twilight, and Rainbow gathered her in her hooves once again. Twilight melted into her embrace.

“She needs to rest, Rainbow Dash,” Celestia said, looking down on Twilight. “Take her home. We will take care of this.”

“t-Thank you, Princess, Princesses,” Rainbow stammered. Luna did not turn from where she lay, carefully speaking to Cadance.

Rainbow took the skies, kicking up a small cloud of dust with her take-off. Just for an instant, the dust chased her skywards, rising around her rear legs, the wind buffeting and caressing her hooves and tail, before she shot out, tracing a gentle arc over the city.

Twilight made no movement to signify awareness. She hung limply in Rainbow’s forelegs, overcome. Rainbow supposed she was asleep, utterly spent, and in shock. There was, after all, only so much a pony could take.

The Princesses would take care of the . . . of the body. Even in her mind, Rainbow stumbled over the word. The aftermath of their fight with the wolf had been dreadful, but at least she’d known how to comfort Twilight. At least, there, she had been able to shoulder responsibility. Here, now, she had arrived too late, merely an observer of the tragedy. That left her stranded, alone, in her own peculiar way. She had no idea how to act.

The horror of the scene had paled in her mind next to Twilight’s mute expression. The face she had made, seeing them at the remains of the door, was burned into Rainbow’s memory. But she had had no way to comfort her, no way to take the blame and the guilt away. No way to reassure her, or contrast the horror with wonder.

Around her, Canterlot was slowly waking. The tremors running through the city had been severe, not to mention unprecedented. Houses lit up even as she flew over them, street lights, wardens, and the Royal Guards pouring onto the streets to try to quell the crowds, all clamouring for a look, for a statement, for some sense of security.

Rainbow ignored them, ignored the distant cries they made as they saw her trail and the flashes of light that flickered in the corners of her vision. Homeward she sped, to Twilight’s house in Canterlot, to a warm bed and a locked door, company and solace from the lights and the dark of night.

She still had no idea what had happened back there, though she could speculate. Shining Armour . . . dead. Killed—murdered by somepony. Rainbow couldn’t imagine a reason sufficient, any situation warranting such a deed. She could barely bring herself to think of the act itself, despite the time spent she’d spent, soaking in his blood.

Indeed, she’d barely had time to think on the matter. Death, it seemed unreal, something that just couldn’t have happened. Not in a thousand years could anypony have been murdered. Every time she thought she’d accepted it, thought that the full weight of the situation had finally sunk onto her, she caught herself disbelieving. As if she was just waiting to wake up in the morning, the victim of a hot bed and an overactive imagination.

Rainbow preferred not to think about it. Indeed, the majority of her sorrow was directed not towards Shining Armour himself, or spent railing against the fate that had decreed his death. Rather, she found her thoughts full of Twilight, of Cadence, the wife, and the parents he had left behind. It was sympathy, not understanding, unable to relate or empathise. It was a shared sorrow, a pity of sorts that brought with it guilt.

What she did know, however, was that whoever had done it needed to be found, and, of all the ponies in Equestria, Rainbow knew who she’d trust above all else with finding another. She would see Twilight in bed before she left, but Rainbow herself felt no need of sleep, and by the morning, there would be another pony in Canterlot, one who could help them find the perpetrator. She was going to get Rarity.

***

Rarity was fast asleep when she heard a sharp knock on her window. Rapping three times, it jolted her awake, causing her to abruptly rise, sitting upwards in her bed with a hoof on her chest. Calming down, she briefly searched for the remnants of her dream, before giving it up for lost.

The knocks came again, harder now, followed by a muffled voice. Stumbling to her hooves, Rarity moved across the room, opening the window to see who could possibly be calling on her at this hour.

Impatiently awaiting her was a blue pegasus, hovering in the air.

“Rainbow Dash! What in Equestria are you doing here!?”

“Ah! No questions, Rarity, hop on!” Rainbow said, shoving a hoof into Rarity’s mouth and lowering a shoulder towards her.

Rarity tore Rainbow’s hoof away. “What!?”

“Rarity, could you just trust me, just this once? I promise, I’ll explain on the way, but right now Twilight needs you, so just get on my damn back!” She’d jammed herself into the window, left wing stretched onto the floor of Rarity’s bedroom while the right beat frantically to keep her level. She held Rarity’s gaze with an intensity that caused the unicorn to take a step back, away from those magenta orbs.

“Please.”

Rarity swallowed, taken aback. “Rainbow . . . Canterlot itself was shaking.”

“Rarity,” Rainbow spat. “Later.”

Rarity nodded. Reaching forward, she clasped Rainbow’s outstretched wing, gingerly clambering over her shoulder and settling herself onto her back. Rainbow didn’t wait for Rarity to find a comfortable perch before taking off, hurtling back towards Canterlot. Rarity let out a squeal. It was a few minutes before she trusted herself to speak.

“So, Rainbow, what’s happened to Twilight?”

“She’d want to tell you herself,” Rainbow said through gritted teeth.

“Are you quite alright?” Rarity asked. Rainbow didn’t just sound strained from the effort she was putting into her flight. They were moving at a remarkable speed, enough to blur the landscape and strip tears from her eyes and words from her mouth, throwing them backwards into the vortex of their passage.

“What?” Rainbow called.

Rarity pressed herself closer to Rainbow, hugging her torso and pulling her head up to rest alongside Rainbow’s ear. The position almost felt intimate, would have, if not for the tightness of her grip, and the resolute tension thrumming through Rainbow’s body.

“I asked, are you quite alright?” she repeated. She could no longer see Rainbow’s face, but she could feel it, in a way. The pegasus’ emotions were bleeding off her, running through her body language and charging the air around them.

Rarity’s mind flashed back to Twilight’s lessons, back, in the Ponyville library. She’d gathered them all, believing that an understanding, no matter how basic, of another’s abilities could help each refine their own. There was, Rarity supposed, some truth in that, after all. She’d been able to share a great deal of what she did with Fluttershy, and to a lesser extent Pinkie.

A pegasi’s flight drew on subconscious magic, altering the density of the air around them in order to generate lift and thrust far in excess of what their muscles and wingspans should be able to provide.

Rarity could almost taste the sorrow and the anger on the air, in the wind rushing past her face. Rainbow must be burning off an awfully large amount for her to feel the effects around them. So, while Rarity wasn’t able to read Rainbow like she normally would, she wasn’t particularly surprised by her answer.

“No, I’m not.”

But Rainbow didn’t offer anything else. Rarity pressed her eyes shut, forcibly relaxing her face.

“Listen here, Rainbow Dash! While you may beat yourself up about whatever you like in the privacy of your own quarters, when you bring it to my house in the middle of the night and take me away to Canterlot, you make me a part of it! And I demand to know what in Equestria is going on!”

Rainbow didn’t respond immediately. Rarity felt her chest press against Rainbow’s back as she trembled, forcing down the indignation that had burst out. She’d always found patience difficult when deprived sleep.

“Did you know that Luna’s back?” Rainbow said. Rarity paused, thrown off-balance.

“Yes,” she said, guardedly.

Rainbow nodded. “I thought that was what your letter was about.”

“So you did get it! Why didn’t the two of you come down?”

“We had . . . pressing matters.”

“Such as?”

“You saw the mountain shaking? Yeah, that was Twi’. She’s sleeping it off right now, and I went to get you, but if I’m not there when she wakes . . . I’m going to be seriously pissed. So please, enough with the talking, and let me fly!”

Rarity quieted down at that. But where curiosity and the exhilarating terror of her immediate situation called to her, sleep demanded her. The others didn’t—couldn’t, in fact—appreciate how draining Sight could be, and her recent exercise of it had strained her. It was a wonder she’d awoken to Rainbow’s knocking at all.

But then, who was to say that the pegasus hadn’t been there for more than a few minutes, trying to get her attention?

As much as she struggled to focus, Rarity felt her eyelids begin to droop. The initial adrenaline was fading, and with it her will began to abandon her. Really, what harm could it cause? She would be awoken when they reached their destination anyway.

Clinging tight to her friend, Rarity felt the helplessness in the wind rushing past her, closed her eyes and saw despair in the darkness that enveloped her world. She allowed sleep to overtake her, and, encased within Rainbow’s cocoon of air, did not dream at all.

***

Cousin,

Ah know we don’t keep in all that close contact, but Ah’m afraid Ah haven’t any place left to turn. We’re reliant on water sent out from Cloudsdale; see; only of late the clouds ain’t been reachin’ us.

All we folk seem ta be out at sea, but Ah remembered ya knew a couple o’ pegasuses that oughta sort it all out lickety-split.

Ya’ll probably busy this time o’ year, but Ah wouldn’t be asking if we didn’t need ya.

Braeburn

Applejack folded the letter, stowing it back in her saddlebags. She’d brought it out to show Fluttershy once the pegasus had finished relating her Dream. It certainly seemed the problems Appleloosa was facing were worse than Applejack had thought—much worse than she’d indicated to the others.

Still, there was no reason they couldn’t handle it. Though the fact that the few pegasi in Appleloosa had, apparently, no idea what was going on wasn’t promising. Applejack sighed. They were nearly there, and she was growing tired. At the very least, they would have a look in the morning.

The train pulled into the station just as the sun sent the last glimmers of light over the horizon, granting Applejack a rapidly fading vision of Appleloosa. The town had grown since she’d last seen it, a sprawling mess of small houses and roughshod construction. Puffs of wind swept clumps of dry, dead grass across the dusty ground, painting the scenery with drab browns and yellows. Inhaling, Applejack could taste the grit in the air, testament to the toil that continued all around her.

It still seemed an odd place for a town, to her, out here, in the desert, in the middle of nowhere. The nearest settlement was Dodge Junction, nearly a half day away by hoof. The orchard was situated in arable land, but . . . why come out here in the first place?

The water problem they were having certainly supported her doubts. As Braeburn had mentioned, Appleloosa relied on shipments from Cloudsdale—which were sent as clouds. It seemed somewhere along the way, they were dumping their water, though Applejack couldn’t imagine why. The rest of Equestria had never had a problem before.

Applejack headed down the too-wide main street. Braeburn hadn’t met her at the station. She couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

“Come on, Fluttershy. We’d better see the sheriff, tell him we’re here,” she said, beckoning. “Then we can hit the hay.”

Beside her, Fluttershy nodded, following. “Actually, Applejack . . . where are we going to stay?”

“Well, I’d assume with mah cousin. ‘Course, there’s always the hotel.”

Fluttershy didn’t offer any reply to that beyond a quiet sound of acknowledgement.

Braeburn had showed them all around the town the last time they’d come, and despite the time since then, Applejack found the town easy enough to navigate. Particularly helpful was the sounds of raised voices over the still of the evening.

“Ah’m telling you, it’s not enough!”

“It’s all we’ve got right now! So ya’ll are just gonna have ta make do!”

“There’s plenty o’ water!”

“Ah’ve told you, Braeburn, just like I told the rest of the town. That ain’t ours, and we ain’t taking it.”

“Pah. If Silver Star were still here . . .”

“Well he ain’t! So you’d better fall in line, bucko, ‘cause there’s a new sheriff in town.”

New sheriff?

Applejack walked up to the office, slamming the door back into the wall to draw attention. She strode into the room, glaring daggers at her cousin and the sheriff both.

Braeburn was that same stallion, excitable and full of energy, though he looked older, and stood awkwardly, favouring his forelegs. It made him seem stilted, and as he turned to face her, she saw him spin himself around without lifting his back hooves off the ground.

The sheriff, on the other hand, was younger, with a long, tangled, golden blonde mane. Sharp blue eyes were set above a sweeping nose and a protruding upper lip, though there was something about his stance, the set of his jaw and firmness of his gaze that made it clear to Applejack who was in charge here.

“Applejack!” Braeburn exclaimed, hobbling forward. Swallowing, Applejack stepped forward into his rough embrace. “You came!”

“Of c-“

“This here’s our new sheriff, ol’ Bill. Duck Bill, we call ‘im round here. Sure was a shame when Silver Star left, on account o’ family problems back in Dodge City.”

“Brae-”

“I wrote a little ‘bout the water problems we’ve been havin’, though we hadn’t found the reservoir back then. Ah’m sure it’d have enough for all of us, but we ain’t the only ones in the midst o’ a drought.”

“Braeburn!” Applejack hollered. Age hadn’t changed him one bit, but, finally noticing her impatience, cleared his throat sheepishly.

The sheriff stepped forward, shaking hooves with Applejack and Fluttershy in turn.

“Hello, Applejack, was it? It’s always a pleasure ta meet a member of this one’s . . . colourful family. Ah trust you’ll keep him in check?”

“As much as ah can, Sheriff,” Applejack replied, earning a chuckle.

“And this one. Who’s your friend, Applejack?”

“I’m . . . Fluttershy.”

“Flutters here’s one of my closest friends. Ah brought her on account of the weather problems and such. We thought a pegasi would be best suited to fixin’ the problem.”

“That just so happens to be our thinking as well,” Bill replied with a grimace. “Sadly, it’s proven quite insufficient.”

“That was what Ah’m curious about. Appleloosa’s got to have more’n a couple o’ pegasi flying around. Why can’t any of them see to it?”

Bill shook his head. “Most o’ our pegasi are tied up dealing with the sandstorms. We can’t really spare any more, even if this be our water. Those storms would rip through our town, our orchards . . . everything.”

“The others?”

“A couple headed out to Cloudsdale a few days back. They thought it might’a been something down that end.” Braeburn chimed in.

“Damn fools,” Bill said. “There ain’t nothing wrong with Cloudsdale.”

“They were just checking!”

“They’ve left us without anypony to actually help out. Chasing after that city . . . Everypony knows it ain’t Cloudsdale!”

“You cain’t know that, Duck!”

“Ya can feel it, on the wind. Somethin’s wrong, here, it ain’t nowhere else.”

By now, Braeburn and Bill were facing each other, completely forgetting about the two mares in the room with them. Applejack could see the tension rising, bouncing back and forth between the two. Each was convinced that he was right and neither willing to back down.

“Now, listen here. Ah know those two folks personally, and Ah’m not about to stand here and listen ta you slander them what’s just trying ta help!”

“If they wanted ta help, they’d’ve stayed and helped!”

Applejack opened her mouth, but Fluttershy placed a hoof on her shoulder, drawing her back, and gently interjecting herself into the conversation.

“Excuse me, everypony, but is there a place we can sleep? I think we’d all be thinking better after a good night’s rest.”

And just like that, the tension vanished. Braeburn hung his head, and Bill sighed.

“. . . She’s right. Ah’ll speak with you here, in the morning. Braeburn, Applejack, Miss Fluttershy,” Bill said, tipping his hat to each pony before heading out the back door.

“Come with me, Ah’ll get you set up,” Braeburn said, pulling himself towards the door. Applejack and Fluttershy followed him out onto the street.

“By the by, cousin, what happened to ya leg?”

“Sprained it, kicking a tree. Couple o’ years back, I’d a been right as rain with some bed rest. Now . . . I ain’t healing so easy.”

“I’ll take a look at it, if you’d like,” Fluttershy said from a few paces back.

“Fluttershy here’s one o’ the best nurses a pony could ask for. I’m sure she’ll fix you up in a jiffy.”

“Well . . . if ya’ll are sure . . . that’d be grand. But come now, AJ. How am I ever gonna repay you for all this?”

“Ah don’t wanna hear a word about it, Braeburn. We’re family, and that’s all there is to it.”

Braeburn led them slowly through the streets, eventually halting out the front of a large farmhouse. Reminiscent of Applejack’s home, the wooden building was situated near the path down to the orchard.

“This here be my home,” Braeburn said. “I’d be honoured ta have the two of you stayin’ with me while you’re here.”

Applejack nodded, smiling, and headed inside. If she was right, and it was modelled after the Apple family’s traditional houses, there would be guest rooms on the third story, on the left.

Fluttershy, however, lingered below, quickly taking stock of her surroundings. As she made her way through the kitchen cupboards, putting some water on to boil and searching for bandages and other first-aid supplies, she struck up conversation with her host. They hadn’t spoken much last time she’d been here, and she didn’t really know her patient all that well.

“Braeburn, do you live with anypony? This is an awfully big house.”

“Naww, I just keep it this way on account of this here’s an Apple house. Ponies move through, now and then, and Ah always need more room in harvest season.”

“I see.” And more than perhaps any other, Fluttershy did understand. She lived in near-perpetual isolation herself, with only her animals and Dreams for company. She’d felt the bitterness of loneliness, and the secret joys of one’s own company. They were akin in that.

It wasn’t that she tried to keep to herself, away from others. She’d been guilty of that, in her youth, but she liked to think she was beyond it, had moved past some of those insecurities. Her situation arose more from the way she was so comfortable alone. She rarely longed for company, felt pangs for others only from time to time. When they came, she would make some excuse to visit the town, for supplies, or a few luxuries around the house.

But by and large she was content, and she could see that same easiness in Braeburn. It mattered less to him what others thought, because he was comfortable in himself. Secure, with this place of refuge to retreat to, with only the orchard to shape his days.

From just those few words, Fluttershy realised what he’d meant, inviting them into his house. Despite what Applejack had said, her words about family, he could have simply placed them in rooms at the hotel. There was no prerogative for their stay here, not in his house, in his castle.

But he had brought them here nonetheless, presented them with no other choices. It was more than just a roof over their heads and food in the mornings, it was an invitation to stay with him, to see Braeburn as he truly was.

Smiling, Fluttershy brought the kettle and bandages she’d found stashed at the back of a cupboard with her as she approached him.

“Now, let’s have a look at that leg. Just lie still, this won’t hurt a bit.”

Seventeen

If you are reading this, then I have failed. And while I am not fool enough to pass quietly, leaving our fates to chance and the goodwill of our sister, I cannot See everything. I cannot know what will happen to me, if she brings her tools against me.

Perhaps I will survive. Perhaps I may bring about the long night, the night of sleep. A welcome respite from the dominance of the sun, and a chance, at long last, to recuperate; a chance too long denied our people.

Seventeen

TWILIGHT TOOK SOME TIME TO REALISE THAT SHE WAS AWAKE, clinging to sleep with a vague, bleary sense that she really didn’t want to leave the comfort of oblivion just yet. Slowly though, as sunlight filtered under her eyelids, she succumbed to reality, lifting herself from the bed and shielding her eyes from the light with a hoof.

Last night stood vivid in her mind, stark and unrelenting, and sleep would not cleanse it from her. Though she still felt weary, could still feel the strain of her exertions in her stiff limbs and slow, ponderous spirit, she forced herself to rise, sitting upright and clambering towards the edge of the bed.

As she moved, she disturbed another prone form, still asleep amidst the tangle of bed-sheets. Rainbow’s mouth was just slightly ajar, her tongue peeking out at Twilight. She was an image, dishevelled and carefree, lost in the many colours surrounding her.

It seemed incongruous that everything could so simply continue. That the beauty before her—beautiful in its unconscious grace—could remain unstained. It seemed to Twilight that all the world had darkened around her, had its vibrancy covered over in shadow, and yet there Rainbow lay.

Her stirring had disturbed Rainbow’s sleep. As the pegasus shifted, dragging one eye open, Twilight could see the evidence of her own struggle with what had happened in the bloodshot streaks across her eyes. Not untouched, then, the monstrosity of last night had spread even here.

“Twi’,” Rainbow began, pulling herself upright. “Twilight!”

“Dashie,” Twilight said simply, softly.

In an instant Rainbow was beside her, pressing into her, and holding her tightly in an embrace. “How are you feeling?”

“As well as might be expected," Twilight said, spitting the words out ahead of a rising lump in her throat. Despite all her efforts at holding it down, it quickly burst from her, wracking her torso as she clung to Rainbow. “I’ll be fine.”

She remained like that for a few more moments, just sitting, holding onto Rainbow.

Twilight heard a creak from the corner of the room. Pulling back, she turned to see Rarity poke her head in, concern written across her face. Snapping her head around, she glared at Rainbow.

“Why is Rarity here, Dash?” Twilight hissed.

“I, uh, I thought she could find the pony that . . . that . . .”

“How did you know she’d be able to See?”

Rainbow shrugged. “Rarity can find anypony, can’t she?”

“Only those she’s met before.”

“Oh.”

“Ah, if you’ll excuse the intrusion, might I offer the two of you some brunch? I took it upon myself to do a bit of cooking.” Rarity said. Twilight glanced back at her.

“Brunch?” Twilight asked.

“You’ve slept the morning away, I’m afraid.”

With a sigh, Twilight rose from the bed. Her legs still felt stiff, and her hooves twinged when they hit the floor. She still hadn’t recuperated from last night.

She wasn’t accustomed to handling such volumes of power. The amount she’d spent, teleporting to the Crystal Empire and back, on top of her Coromancy . . . Twilight wasn’t surprised she’d been sleeping so long. Her body, though stiff, hadn’t needed the rest, but her mind . . . her mind wasn’t even close to recovering, and while she'd managed to retain control, she could still feel the anger, hot and frenzied, bubbling under the surface.

Making her way to the kitchen, Twilight found a seat. Rarity had arranged a wonderful spread of food—breads and jams, oats, even a few flowers in the centre. Twilight poured herself a glass of water as Rainbow and Rarity joined her. But where Rainbow threw herself into the food, Rarity ignored it, leaning forward to capture Twilight’s attention.

“Now, darling, might I inquire as to my purpose here? What exactly happened last night?”

“It’s none of your business,” Twilight said, inwardly wincing at her tone.

“I beg to differ.” Rarity turned her head quizzically. “It became my business the second Rainbow here woke me up in the middle of the night, for you.”

Twilight sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it, Rarity.”

“Then I suggest you be quick.”

“Be quick?! Be quick?! He’s dead, and you want me to be quick?!”

Rarity flinched, rocking back. “Who’s dead, Twilight?” she asked, quietly.

Twilight couldn’t say it, as if somehow acknowledging it out loud would make it real. She felt disconnected, numb, her mouth working without sound.

“Her brother,” Rainbow said. “Shining Armour is dead.”

Comprehension dawned on Rarity’s face. Twilight watched the horror spread, widening her eyes and dropping her jaw, pressing her right hoof to her chest.

“Oh, Twilight! I had no . . . I mean . . . Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“S’ok,” Twilight forced out, around a mouthful of bread. It tasted like ash.

“The mountain?”

“Twilight and Cadence,” Rainbow confirmed.

“Oh, my stars.”

“That’s why I brought you here, Rarity.”

“Oh?”

“It wasn’t an accident. He was murdered.”

“What?”

Twilight just nodded blankly. She didn’t trust herself to speak, not yet. Instead, she observed, watching and analysing, removing herself from the conversation by filling her mouth with food, eating mechanically.

“Murdered? By who?”

Twilight saw Rainbow swivel to look at her. Rarity followed her lead, turning the question over to her. She swallowed, hard, wincing as the bulk of bread pushed its way down her throat.

“Trixie,” she whispered.

Rainbow leaned forward, as if she hadn’t quite heard her correctly. Rarity, however, gasped, comprehension flooding her for the second time this morning. Twilight could see the gears turning in her head, pieces falling into place.

“It was Trixie.”

Rainbow froze for a second, before turning to Rarity.

“Can you find her?”

“I will most certainly try.”

“She is going to pay for this,” Rainbow hissed. Twilight could almost see the fire in her, leaping up, clamouring for action. Rainbow needed somepony to blame, needed somepony to punish. A murder . . . something like that, like this, demanded an answer.

But for Twilight, vengeance was far from her thoughts. Rather than chase Trixie, chase the foolish, naïve hope that catching her would somehow fix everything, she stayed with her brother, cradling his body in the crater of her world.;

A crater she had made.

She had felt guilt before, endured its sickening tendrils in the aftermath of their destructive fight with the wolf. That had been nothing like this, lacked in the way this permeated her, altered her. Her choices had tainted her, and through them her entire life.

What had she done? She’d learnt, over and over again, that friendship could triumph over anything. That the goodness in ponies’ hearts would win out over evil. She’d extended her hoof to Trixie in friendship with an arrogance that defied belief.

She hadn’t been smug, hadn’t thought herself superior to Trixie. She hadn’t imposed herself, she had been genuine. She’d offered, as somepony whose life had allowed her the security to learn. Somepony who could help, could give back to others. She’d been sincere in her offer and in herself.

Life had thrown that back in her face. She had had the opportunity to turn Trixie in, to lock her away with Boundless, or tie her up in legal proceedings. She could have stopped this, if she’d taken Boundless more seriously. If she’d had the foresight to mistrust a pony that spent her days robbing jewellery stores and breaking into libraries, perhaps her brother would be alive.

She’d had a choice, except that there was no choice. Everything Twilight was had led her to that trust. She couldn’t have foreseen Trixie’s intentions, couldn’t have understood. That made this, made everything, her fault.

That was a truth that lay still, gently nestled against her heart. For perhaps the first time, she had failed. She hadn’t made a mistake, and yet she had failed.

“If you’ll recall, Rainbow, yesterday I found Luna.” Rarity’s voice just barely registered at the edge of Twilight’s awareness. Her attention was focused entirely inward, chasing the threads of her conscience.

What was she now? Was she Twilight Sparkle, Arch-Magus of Equestria, Coromancer, Bearer of the Element of Magic and protégé of Celestia? Her names, they were all false, all meaningless.

But she hadn’t created that knife. She hadn’t drawn its blade across her brother’s throat, hadn’t sunk it into his lifeblood. No matter the guilt she felt, she was not responsible for another’s crimes.

She had been taught to forgive. Taught that everypony deserved a second chance, that anypony could be redeemed. But nothing she’d ever faced had gotten this far, and Twilight couldn’t find forgiveness in her. Not yet, and possibly not ever.

“Rarity, I don’t think that’s important right now.”

She didn’t understand, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She couldn’t comprehend what would drive somepony to this. It was beyond her, outside the scope of her world. Murder . . . something only talked about, something fictional, that existed only in stories. It had no place here, in Equestria.

She hadn’t seemed unstable, or cruel. She had been friendly, been open with Twilight. Had she been hiding this the whole time, somehow concealing the capacity for darkness the whole time? Or had Twilight simply refused to see it, refused to acknowledge that she was beyond saving.

Was it Boundless? Had he driven Trixie to this? He’d had an agenda, certainly, had some involvement in what had happened. But Twilight had taken him out the instant she’d entered the room. Trixie had seen it, knew he was no threat. She’d done it anyway, pushed through Twilight’s grip—weak, from shock or horror or a misplaced trust.

How dare she? How could she so easily rip the world away? Twilight had assumed herself to have the answers, to be in the position of knowledge. Ponies came to her for help, Trixie had come to her!

The sanctity of life. Twilight hadn’t thought much on it before, hadn’t considered all the ways lives intersected, and how just one winking out could change everything in an instant. Nopony deserved death. She fervently believed that, even more so now.

Trixie’s responsibility, and her fault.

“Twilight? Are you listening?”

Twilight snapped her head up, the use of her name jolting her back into the conversation. “Yes, yes, what is it?”

“I found Luna, Twilight,” Rarity said, leaning forward. “Celestia met her at the southern border.”

“She was with us last night, Rarity,” Rainbow interjected. Rarity waved her hoof at her, leaning forward.

“Luna was wearing Nightmare Moon’s armour, Twilight.”

Twilight shook her head, trying to bring her focus to what Rarity was saying. “What?”

“Remember her regalia?”

“Luna looked fine to me,” Rainbow said dubiously.

“She was—is—fine. But she was wearing the armour, and she stood taller than Celestia.”

“Rarity, this isn’t the time.”

“No, I guess not. I just . . . never mind.” Rarity stood up, beginning to move away with a plate of food suspended before her. “I’ll see what I can dig up, then, though I haven’t much left to spend.”

Rainbow nodded, turning to her food. But Twilight found no pleasure in eating, and took no comfort in the warmth of a full stomach. Instead, she fanned the fire slowly growing inside her, threw herself on its embers in an attempt to stave off the chill around her. It had been Trixie that had stripped her innocence away, Trixie that had shattered her illusions, and Trixie that had stolen his life.

Twilight was done trying to help her. She was no friend of Trixie’s, and would never again extend that offer to her. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t do to Trixie what she’d done to Shining Armour, but she would find Trixie, and make her pay. The most terrible justice Twilight could imagine, a harsh sentence without chance of mercy or repentance, she would make Trixie understand.

That thought warmed her as nothing else was able to. Twilight seized hold of the idea, clutching to it like it was the last vestige of her past self. Looking across the table, at Rainbow, with her muzzle buried in a bowl, she smiled.

“We’re going to get her,” she whispered.

***

Celestia watched Twilight, unconscious in the hooves of Rainbow Dash, be flown away from the hell she had found here. Looking around, Celestia could see the remnants of Twilight’s grief. Between her and Cadence, they had destroyed a building, scattering it across the surrounding city block. Left behind was a crater, dug deep into the earth and rock of the mountain.

Luna was still with Cadence, and it didn’t look like they would be moving anytime soon. Twilight had run herself dry here, the residual power lingering in the air told Celestia that much. But an alicorn was hardier, and Cadence could handle a lot more before she collapsed.

Thankfully, Luna had gotten the outpouring under control. This mess would already be hard enough to deal with—just one look at the ponies gathering on the ridge above confirmed her fears. Beyond that, the repercussions of this would be lasting. Celestia didn’t even want to think about how the Crystal Empire would deal with the news.

Above all, she worried about Twilight. This experience had very nearly broken the poor mare, and she’d be fragile for days. She might never recover. Losing a loved one was an experience Celestia knew well—had been reminded of just this morning.

But there would be time for consoling her old student later, right now she had to be a Princess. Celestia cleared her throat, catching Luna’s attention and gesturing towards the body—his body. With a brief nod, Luna leaned back to Cadence, whispering in her ear. Still sobbing, Cadence released his body to fold into Luna’s embrace, burying her face against Luna’s shoulder.

Celestia wrapped the body in her magic. Just for a second, before she transported it to the castle, she felt the wound in his neck, felt the imprint of pain left hanging over him. It made her sick.

She’d thought her subjects better than this. She’d thought that somewhere, somehow, they’d grown up, grown past the passions and tempers of youth, past the capacity for such violence.

Why Shining Armour? He had never given cause for such retribution, he’d been a figure beloved by all. There was no reason to target somepony so high-profile, all it would do is bring attention to this.

Maybe that’s what they wanted. To create a spectacle, reduce Shining Armour to a demonstration. A statement—if they could get to him, one of the foremost defensive experts in Equestria, they could get to anypony.

It was certainly a public enough place. Celestia rose into the sky, pouring magic into her horn to provide illumination. Hovering above the crater, she looked out at the gathering crowd, all pointing, whispering amongst themselves. They didn’t know what to make of what they saw, and couldn’t make out detail at this distance, though some pegasi were moving closer. Thankfully, the Royal Guard were making themselves useful, holding the civilians back.

“Everypony!” Celestia called, her voice resounding, carried out to the crowd on waves of power and light. “Please, remain calm. Everything is under control.”

“What happened here?”

“What about my home?!”

“Who is that, down there?”

“Is that blood?!”

Celestia couldn’t make out much in the cacophony of noise that arose from the crowd of ponies. With a sigh, she allowed a pulse of light to explode out of her, carrying a radiant glow behind it. It shot out in every direction, washing over the crowd and leaving a silence interrupted only by the distant sound of Cadence’s sobs.

“Please, everypony, return to your homes. If anypony is injured, a guard will escort you to a hospital. We will issue a statement tomorrow. You can direct all inquiries to the staff at the castle.”

Not her most inspiring speech, perhaps, but at least her words had their desired effect. The crowd began to disperse, still disgruntled, but willing to accept her word, and the reassurance of her attention in the morning.

But not everypony left. As they filtered away, the departing lines revealed three pegasi on the ground, staring into the crater. Celestia flew down, landing gently behind them as she signalled a few of the guards.

“Is everything alright?” she asked. On closer inspection, the three bore some injuries; a superficial cut down one’s flank, and what looked like a nasty break in another’s wing. “My guards will get you medical aid.”

The first guard that reached them stepped forward, raising a hoof to place on the closest pegasi’s shoulder. While two complied, following the guard meekly, the third shook his hoof off her, meeting and holding Celestia’s gaze.

“And our home?”

Ah. They lived here. That would explain the injuries.

“Stay the night with your friends,” Celestia said. “You all need some care.”

“My sisters,” the pegasus corrected.

Celestia smiled. “As for tomorrow? Come to the castle in the morning, and I will set aside room for you and your sisters, until we can rebuild.”

The pegasus’ eyes widened, a small smile appearing on her face. She licked her lips before replying, head down and facing the ground. It was odd, how anger could give one such strength, and kindness could take it away.

“Thank you, Princess,” she whispered, backing off. Celestia watched as a guard led her away, taking her to the hospital. They would be taken care of.

There was no mistaking where their injuries had come from. They must have been inside the building when Twilight lost control, must have been caught in the blast that scattered their home across the city. It was a miracle they hadn’t suffered anything worse.

Even so, it was a lesson Celestia had thought Twilight had learnt. The kind of power she could bring to bear demanded control. When that failed, ponies got hurt.

This was exactly the kind of situation she’d feared when Luna had revealed Coromancy to them. Even lacking the versatility and sheer strength of an alicorn, when held, entranced, by emotion, they were forces of nature. They became unstoppable.

Her brother had been murdered. From just her brief touch, she could tell that much. She could feel the intent in the wound, the traces of magic, and, oddly, fear. Whoever had done it had been terrified.

She couldn’t blame Twilight for losing control, not after this. It was a situation that would have broken anypony. Even Cadence hadn’t been able to restrain herself, and Celestia doubted Canterlot would remain standing if it had been Luna lying there. But while her sympathies lay with her old student, she couldn’t deny the twinge of disappointment that accompanied the halting gait of the pegasus, leaving with the guard.

***

Boundless liked the silence. It was calm, a cool, comforting stillness that gave him room to think. Time away from those talking without speaking, from those hearing without listening. It became an escape from the world, where he could forget everything and simply feel the sound creeping around him, a tranquillity of sorts.

Trixie hadn’t spoken since they’d started out. Perhaps she was thinking as well. God knows, that was something she could do more of. It hadn’t taken much to break her, in the end. He’d shown her darkness, taught her how it could be light. Curious, that, how his dark light could be just as blinding.

Beyond everything, he hoped that those he touched would think. He found more solace in his mind than any physical comfort or reward; he had no interest in fine foods, clothing or amenities, nor did he find himself attracted to the comforts of the spirit; friends, partners, relationships and communities. There was nothing to be gained by pampering oneself.

No, he preferred solitude, simple food and shelter, the dreary thrill of the open road. It was an endless stretch of imagination, where he could lose himself in his mind, and finally be free.

He’d spent most of the morning doing just that. They hadn’t been able to cover much ground, due to his injuries, but the pain would pass. Like most things in life, it was transitory, something that claimed to have power over him through sheer intensity. It could not hold him back. Pain had power only over those who submitted to it—to Boundless, there were far more important things to worry about.

They were heading north, towards the Crystal Empire. There would be guards at the border, of course, and they’d certainly be looking for them. That would have been fine, by itself, but . . . how had Twilight found them so quickly? He’d told Trixie that she was coming, lied to her to force her hoof. She hadn’t been supposed to arrive until they’d escaped.

If Twilight had been able to do that, there was no way of telling how quickly she’d find them out here. They could be as careful as they wanted, something told him, some nagging feeling of doom that she would be coming.

Perhaps the smugglers at the border would be able to hide them. Boundless wasn’t worried about bringing Twilight’s wrath down on them. Once he was through, they would cease to matter.

Boundless found it amusing, really, how much importance ponies attributed to life. Perhaps a dragon or similarly long-lived creature might take offence at a threat to its existence. But the life of a pony? It was as insignificant as that of an insect, a mere blink against the vastness of the world.

No, a life was fleeting, as meaningless as pain. It was almost sad, how little most accomplished with theirs. He’d have thought that with such a short time to leave something behind, ponies would be more primal, a species obsessed with life. Instead, he saw ponies devote themselves to the latest trends, spend their lives chasing money, or prestige.

Could they not see as he did? Was it not clear how pointless their lives had become? Or did they choose to wallow in nothing, finding it easier than creation?

There were very few exceptional ponies. Lives that had accomplished something, made some mark on the world. Boundless had named Twilight Sparkle in that list, and after last night, he added Trixie. She was unimpressive, but for one fact.

When he’d been taken down, his presence removed and his pressure no longer forcing Trixie to his will, she had followed through. She’d killed Shining Armour on her own terms, broken through the force that had held her back. That was her accomplishment, not his, and it would echo through history. It was, after all, the first murder in the last thousand years.

Not that that was strictly true. But Boundless had learned that there was a great deal of difference between the public, widely accepted truth, and what actually happened.

Boundless winced, the pain in chest flaring. No matter. He kept walking, focusing on the road in front of him. The silent road, deep and wide as a rolling river, it would take him to his goal, and for that he thanked it.

Soon, though, he began to hear something he hadn’t expected. A dull roar, the cascade and endless cacophony of noise, it was unmistakeable here, all alone in the world. A river, where none should have been, appeared in the distance, winding its way from the mountain through the flatlands.

Glancing back at Trixie, he gestured at the river. She shook her head, denying any knowledge of its existence.

Boundless shrugged. But the silence had been broken, shattered by the river and punctuated with their communication.

“What did you learn, Trixie?” he asked as they made their way to the river.

“A lot of things,” came the reply.

“Smugglers?”

“Yes. They were close to coming down on the entire ring.”

“Shining Armour was,” Boundless corrected. “ And the Heart?”

Trixie paused briefly before answering. “It isn’t guarded at all. It’s kept out on display, in the plaza under the castle.”

“Really?”

“Who would steal it?”

Nonchalance. These rulers assumed so much. It made them weak.

“Of course, we’ve shown ourselves. It’ll be much harder to reach now.”

“I know. But the Heart wasn’t the point.”

“No. You just wanted to share your disease.”

“Oh?” This was new. She’d been thinking, then, reflecting. Perhaps she has learned something, after all.

“Do you not? It is the motivation of a parasite, to spread, expand, infect.”

“I act as I see fit. What more can any of us do?”

Behind him, Trixie sighed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Boundless nodded in silent agreement. And though it was fractured, the silence persisted the rest of the way to the river.

Pausing in front of the river, Boundless had begun to bend down to take a drink when the air in front of him warped. With a crack, a purple light solidified, hanging above the river, coalescing into the form of a unicorn.

Twilight Sparkle fell from her teleportation directly towards the river. Before she could hit, though, she vanished, appearing behind Trixie. Boundless spun in time to see a wave of light rush towards him, catching both of them in its hold and throwing them backwards. Trixie hit the ground hard, skidding along the rough dirt, but Boundless landed in the river, sending a column of water rising to the sky.

Shockingly, he didn’t sink. Instead, buoyed by some unseen current, he quickly rose to the surface of the river, floating there as he regained his breath. Even trying to roll over caused his chest to flare up—Twilight had probably shattered his ribs well and truly. He was lucky the bone fragments hadn’t pierced anything vital.

Not that he was sure they hadn’t. Still, there was nothing he could do about that. Held up by the river, somehow not moving despite the current, he tried to remain still, and watched.

Trixie had recovered quickly, standing and facing Twilight. The azure glow surrounding her horn seemed pitiful next to Twilight’s form. The unicorn herself was glowing, an inner lavender fire rising through her body. It leaked from her mouth and eyes, spilling onto the ground and sizzling, burning the grass and scorching the earth. It rose from her mane and tail, igniting the air around her and charging it with power. She stirred something in Boundless he hadn’t felt in a long time, a spark of fear that heightened everything around him, drew on her avatar of hate and rendered it in exquisite, terrifying detail.

Twilight opened her mouth, speaking slowly, carefully.

“Why’d you do it, Trixie?”

Trixie shrugged. “Because I was afraid. Because I was weak.”

“Afraid?!”

“Yes. I’m not scared anymore, though.”

Twilight’s power intensified, spreading around her, enshrining her as an avatar of hate. “You should be.”

Trixie snorted. “What, of you? You’re weak, Twilight, just as I was.”

Boundless couldn’t make out much of what followed. The spell-work came in a blaze of light, bludgeons of crushing force and tiny slivers of magic, designed to slice and sever flickered between the two combatants. But Trixie was clearly overmatched; her horn a star next to Twilight’s blazing sun, and within seconds Twilight had forced her to the ground, all but extinguishing the faint light of her horn.

“Is this your revenge, then?” Trixie spat out, her voice muffled against the dirt.

“This? No, nothing so crude. Here, Trixie, follow,” Twilight said. A thin bolt of power streaked from her horn, colliding with Trixie’s and linking the two unicorns. Boundless saw Trixie’s body tense, saw the lavender fire penetrate and permeate her. Trixie screamed, once, suddenly, then went limp.

Twilight leaned down to her, whispering something, before she cut the connection between the two of them. Taking a step backwards, she slowly dimmed, her light losing its vibrancy and sinking back into her flesh. Enveloping Trixie in her grip, she lifted her, and encircled the two of them in the same field that had brought her here.

Trixie hung limply in Twilight’s grip for just a moment before awakening. She shook her head violently, as if trying to clear it of distractions, flinging tears around her. “That’s not enough!” she yelled, surging against her bonds. “That’s not the whole story!

“Why didn’t you stop me, Twilight?” she screamed. “You could have, you know.”

“I . . . I couldn’t.” Twilight stopped what she was doing, looking at Trixie. The fire in her eyes was gone, now, leaving orbs full not of hate, but of hurt. Lost, in the world he had shown them.

“I know. So easy, and yet so hard, just out of reach.”

“An idea only. But my principles do not make me weak.”

“No, they don’t.” Trixie was openly weeping, now, yelling at Twilight with an intensity to rival her earlier anger. “And yet you are weak.” Boundless could see azure light creeping underneath Twilight’s grip, slowly but surely beginning to break through the lavender field. With a shout, Trixie shattered it, slumping to the ground. Twilight recoiled, shying away from the explosion of azure power, though it dissipated before reaching her.

Trixie looked up from where she lay on the ground. “Weaker than me,” she whispered, her horn sparking fitfully. The air before her coalesced, a sudden azure glow surrounding a pale blade of magic—the same knife that had taken Shining Armour’s life. Faint lines tracing its shape danced as Trixie fought for control, fought to feed it the last vestiges of her power.

Twilight’s eyes narrowed, and she tensed, but Trixie did not attack. Instead, she sent the blade in a slashing motion, drawing it back and towards her own throat.

“No!” Twilight cried, springing forward. With a pulse, she knocked the blade aside, her own telekinetic field seizing hold of Trixie’s. In an instant, she had crushed the blade to nothing. Trixie jerked, and then fell over, unconscious.

Twilight looked down at her adversary with a mixture of hatred and contemplation. Whatever she’d been expecting, Trixie had shown her something completely different. Something new.

With a final burst of light, the two ponies vanished, leaving Boundless where he lay in the river. The sun, high overhead, resumed its duties, but its illumination seemed lacklustre, a far cry from the passion of their fight. He remained motionless for some time, floating in the grip of the water. Its gentle motions were soothing, dulling the pain in his chest.

Eventually, he managed to reach the far shore, pulling himself onto the bank. As he lay there, gasping, a shadow fell over him, blocking the midday sun. Twisting carefully, he found himself lying underneath a great serpent, towering out of the river.

He couldn’t make out many details, but it gazed at him with a cold acknowledgement, and his reaction was puzzling. For instead of flinching away from its draconian appearance, he found himself calm. For in the serpent’s slitted eyes he found peace.

“Hello, little nameless creature,” the serpent said, its voice deep and guttural. “How are you feeling?”

Eighteen

But that is not my purpose here. To you, Luna, I bequeath the knowledge earned over an exile of a thousand years. The last time we confronted her, we did not expect the full extent to which she had spread herself. I will not underestimate her again. I must not.

But the Veil wore her thin. And where she thinks it keeps her safe, locks her away from the world and all its pain, it is not even a shield. It is a double-edged sword, holding our enemies at bay and blinding us to their movements.

Eighteen

BOUNDLESS WAS ON FIRE. All over his body, orange flame licked at him, climbing over him, around him. Engulfing him in its heated embrace, scorching his fur and burning his flesh, it sank as it spread, with the shiver of a chill wind dove into his veins and ate through his body.

A dull roar in his ears, he watched as the serpent above him closed its jaws, ceasing the torrent of fire that had cascaded over him. Embers flickered, taking with them the last remnants of his coat, leaving only charcoal behind.

The heat was indescribable. It filled him, seared its way through his every pore. Through the harsh roar and sharp crackling of the blaze, he thought he heard his blood begin to boil. He opened his mouth, jaw straining, but the fire consumed even his scream, gushing out of his throat as he fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

He could feel it, concentrating in his chest. He’d never felt anything like it, a sensation similar to the agony still spreading through his body, and entirely different. He felt his ribs find their broken ends, begin to knit together. He felt his lungs, bruised and battered, work out their sores. He felt himself heal.

Gasping, he lay on the ground, energy abruptly departing his limbs. A cold shiver ran through his body, in stark contrast to the intolerable heat that had suffused him moments before.

“Now then, little pony,” the serpent hissed.

“What . . .“ Boundless gasped, kneeling on the ground and clutching at his chest with one hoof. “What just happened?”

“I healed you, little pony.”

“Healed?! You set me on fire!”

The serpent’s mouth twisted in a snarl, faint tendrils of that same flame dripping from the crook of its lips. “Do not presume to judge my magic,” it spat, words brimming with brimstone. The hot, harsh scent of sulphur filled the air. “I gave you the gift of time, little pony. I expect compensation.”

“Time?” Boundless asked, frowning. Some strength returning, he clumsily rose to his hooves, standing tall on the bank. Even at his full height, though, the serpent still towered over him, casting a shadow that left Boundless completely shrouded.

“Weeks, spent healing at your body’s pace,” the serpent said. “Weeks you don’t have to spare. Not if you want to stay ahead of Twilight.”

“You . . . know her?”

“I taught her,” it hissed. “She can no longer trace your movements, but Sight is not the only method she has of finding you, and if she catches you again, you will not escape her wrath.”

Boundless didn’t reply for a long moment, trying to assimilate all the information he had just been presented with.

“Sight?” he eventually asked, seizing on that unfamiliar term. An innocuous enough word, but the tone made its capitalisation clear.

“Yes, Sight. They have been tracking you with it—more precisely, your companion.”

“Then they can’t find me,” Boundless said. He let out a deep breath, feeling tension run from his limbs. “They never could.”

This . . . this was crucial. Twilight’s uncanny ability to appear everywhere he went, seemingly three steps ahead of him the entire time, had posed more of a threat to his plans than anything else. Most ponies overestimated power. Celestia, Luna, and Cadence—and even Twilight herself, they were only the most prominent of the many, many ponies capable of overpowering him. He worked best in the shadows, through subtlety and misdirection, where he could avoid direct confrontation.

Most assumed that sheer strength was power. Boundless disagreed. Power itself was only a tool, a means to an end. It was the results that mattered, what you accomplished. For all their might, only he held the knowledge that would matter. So long as he remained unknown, only he held power.

“Oh yes they can,” the serpent said, a low, guttural chuckle rumbling from deep within its chest. “But it will take time; time enough for you to run, to hide.”

Boundless nodded slowly. Twilight had taken Trixie with her, and he couldn’t count on her loyalty. Setting her free hadn’t only proven his theory—his point—but it also removed his hold on her. There were no more ties between them. It was unfortunate, perhaps, but necessary.

“They’ll know about the Heart, then,” Boundless mused. “I can’t go north, not yet.”

The serpent smiled. “I have business in the south, little pony. But I shall hide you away, at the heart of the world. You will be safe there.”

“I don’t think so.” Boundless shook his head, taking a step backwards. “I can hide myself.”

“Call it the first part of my payment, then,” the serpent spat. “It is not yet time to unleash your particular brand of meaning on them.”

“They won’t change on their own,” Boundless shot back, narrowing his eyes. “There is no better time than now.”

“You are a child,” the serpent said. With a surge, it rose out of the river, taking steps forward to again tower above Boundless. As its torso breached the water in full, Boundless spied the folds of leathery flesh spread over his back, covering the hard, glittering scales.

“What are you?” he whispered, gazing at the creature with wide eyes.

It wasn’t a serpent at all—it was a dragon, though of a type Boundless had never heard of. Short legs with webbed toes and claws extended from a long, sinuous body. It seemed capable of flight, though it obviously preferred to the water.

“I am the Drac, the last of the river dragons,” it said proudly, extending its neck upwards and rolling its shoulders back. “Come with me, little pony.”

With that, it surged forwards, a swift motion that carried it to Boundless, wrapping him in the long, wickedly sharp claws of its hand. Boundless flinched away, trying to escape, but its talons did not cut him. Instead, with him ensnared, the dragon plunged back into the river and swam, with a speed that defied belief, to the south, through valleys and farmland, to Ponyville and the dark depths of the Everfree Forest.

***

The mattresses at Braeburn’s house weren’t as comfortable as her own worn bed back in Ponyville, and though Applejack slept soundly, she woke even earlier than she was accustomed to. Still, she never had been able to stay in bed once awake, so she rose, treading softly through the house to avoid awakening anypony else.

She hadn’t stayed here before, but he’d built the place according to Apple tradition, and she knew the layout. Quietly creeping down the stairs—a task easier said than done, what with the old wood, groaning in protest at her weight—she made her way into the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil, shivering.

Braeburn didn’t have a lot of food in his kitchen. Applejack found a dirty cup, giving it a thorough rinse at the sink, before crushing some tea leaves into it. The hot water, splashing down, filled the room with hot, scented steam. Applejack took a deep breath, breathing it in, the contrast with the frozen morning shaking the last of her drowsiness from her.

For now, she was content to sit at the kitchen table, hot mug of tea in her hoof, and wait for the others to join her. But before she sat down, she walked out onto the porch, closing the front door behind her, and, nursing the mug, stared out at Appleloosa.

Braeburn’s house was the furthest from town, and the closest to the orchard. Applejack could almost smell the apple trees from here, over a small rise in the road to the left, then down the hill and around the bend. The scent brought a faint smile to her lips. She’d need to visit Bloomburg while she was here. She spent a moment observing her crystalline breath, freezing in the air as she exhaled. There was little light to catch it, the barest sliver of red poking its way above the horizon.

To her right, she saw the town, just beginning to wake. The day started early on the frontier—many ponies going about pre-dawn duties. But there was a certain lethargy to the actions of the few she could see that Applejack didn’t think due to the hour.

It was in their stance, the way they half-heartedly went about their work. Chores attended to sloppily, or left uncompleted as something else pulled their attention away. It was in their walk, the way they shambled around the town. It was in their eyes, a blankness and an understanding; knowledge that caused Applejack to prick her ears. Apparently, Braeburn had been understating the problem.

She heard the creak of the door, and turned to see her cousin step out to join her on the pouch. Braeburn moved slowly, carrying a similar mug with some care. But though he sat down in the chair next to Applejack gingerly, she noticed he walked without a limp, and wore a small smile on his face.

“Still sore?” she asked him after a moment of silence.

Braeburn chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah’ll be right as rain in a few days. Just gotta let the swellin’ go down, not push myself too hard.” He gave Applejack a sudden, fierce grin. “Doctor’s orders.”

Applejack nodded sagely. Fluttershy could be firm enough, when it came to healing.

But it was more than that. Braeburn had more than just energy in his step, he sat in the chair with a straight back, squared shoulders. Where everypony else she’d seen—including him, last night—seemed to carry a colossal weight with them, he had a glint in his eye and a small smile on his face. Fluttershy had given him more than relief, she’d given him hope.

“We’re going to fix this,” Applejack said, trying to force conviction into her voice. It came out strained, but firm, and she held Braeburn’s gaze until he turned away with a sigh.

“I know, cousin. But . . .”

“You want to help?” Applejack guessed. She knew that were she in his position, she’d be tearing her mane out in frustration.

“Yes. No. I . . . we’d given up, AJ, or near to it. I never would have suggested taking their water otherwise.”

And suddenly Applejack understood. The Appleloosans prided themselves on their hardiness. They were settlers, well used to privation and shortages. They expected to be isolated from the rest of Equestria, and to face the many problems that befell them on their own. They’d grown to value self-reliance and a strong sense of community.

That they’d found something they couldn’t handle rankled. It had tested them, their tolerance and endurance. Braeburn to suggest what he had—taking the buffalo’s water in order to survive—wasn’t just a concession of his own impotence. It was a surrender.

“Chin up, cousin,” Applejack said. “We’ll get through this.”

Braeburn nodded, taking a long draught from his mug. “Yeah. Nothing an’ nopony can hold us Appleloosans down for long,” he said, voice trembling.

From inside, Applejack heard the stairs creak. Fluttershy wasn’t as used to creeping around on old wooden boards. It wasn’t a matter of weight, as many would have thought, rather, it was about how you moved, shifted your weight from hoof to hoof in a rolling gait.

Applejack rose, draining her mug. “C’mon, cousin,” she said quietly. “Fluttershy’s up and about.”

Braeburn nodded, taking the rest of his tea with him as he headed into the kitchen. He forced a wide smile onto his face, and, though Applejack thought it tense, he did seem to be walking a little taller.

“Miss Fluttershy!” Braeburn called, drawing her attention to him as Applejack followed him in. “A good morning to you! Now, how’s about some breakfast, eh?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose- . . .” Fluttershy began to reply. Applejack caught her gaze, giving her the tiniest of nods. “Ah, uhm, that would be lovely, thank you.”

“Not at all,” Braeburn said. “Now, what do we have ‘round here? Little o’ this, some o’ that . . .”

Within minutes, the table was covered with a simple spread—bread and jam, a few apples and carrots, even some juice. Applejack tucked in with relish. It might be a far cry from her staple diet back home, but the simple food was still delicious, and she’d need her strength later.

Between the three of them, the food was cleaned up in short order. Braeburn began carrying dishes back over to the sink, and Applejack stood to help, clearing her throat.

“Ah reckon now’s a good a time as any for you to explain what’s goin’ on around here, cousin,” she prompted, grabbing a nearby cloth.

“You already know,” Braeburn replied, looking vaguely confused.

Applejack sighed. “Specifics.”

“Oh. Well, uh, about three weeks ago, our rain stopped comin’ in from Cloudsdale. Our own stores are dangerously close to running out, and without water we cain’t grow food—heck, we cain’t even live here ourselves.”

Braeburn left the dishes next to the sink, turning back to the table. With a start, Applejack realised how stupid it would be to wash them. She looked guiltily at her mug, now sitting empty next to the plates.

“We never had many pegasuses here to start with—Dust Dancer lead most o’ them up to Cloudsdale to see what was goin’ on. But they haven’t come back, an’ Breeze an’ Flash have got their hooves full handling the weather on their own. If we lose them, we’ll all bake under the sun.

“It ain’t natural. Even with no rain, we ought ta have had plenty o’ water for jus’ this here situation—but it’s gone an’ vanished on us. Right under our noses, an’ it’s all drained away!”

Applejack cocked her head, puzzled.

“We’ve been keeping a close eye on whose using it,” Braeburn confided. “An everyday, more and more goes missing that nopony took! Like its being sucked straight into the ground.” He shook his head. “It ain’t natural, Ah tells ya.”

“When did this start?” Fluttershy asked, her meek voice somehow carrying through the room.

“Since about the rain stopped. We coulda dealt with one, or t’ other, but not both.”

“Righto,” Applejack said, drying plates as Braeburn handed them to her. But before she could continue, Fluttershy interrupted with a quiet murmur.

“Has the town been doing anything else?”

“Nothin’ much we can do,” Braeburn muttered, with a dark edge to his tone.

“That’s not true,” Fluttershy said, standing. “You could be digging for water, beneath the ground. You could be instituting regulations of water use within the town, to help your stores last. You could be harvesting cacti from the desert, and other plants. They store water—that’s how they’re able to survive out there.”

Braeburn pressed his eyes closed. “We’ve been doing some o’ that already. But no matter how hard we try, we ain’t gonna be able to replace what we’re losing. The orchard alone needs more than we could bring in on the train, and that ain’t even counting the other crops.

“It’s this simple. We gotta get this sorted out, or we won’t last to next harvest.”

The finality of that sentiment settled over them, killing any further conversation. Applejack walked back to the table, facing Fluttershy. Her friend’s eyes were wide, brimming with unshed tears.

“Well,” Applejack said, thumping her hoof onto the table. Fluttershy jumped, turning a shocked expression at her, “we sure as hell ain’t gonna leave y’all to die!” She cast a glance sideways, at the pegasus. “Are we?”

Fluttershy stared at her, and then slowly shook her head.

With a fierce grin, she continued. “Here’s the plan. We ain’t got much time left here, and it might take a little while to clear this up. So I’m gonna head out to the buffalo tribe and work out some way of sharing their water with the town. Ah reckon Ah wouldn’t be much help to you anyways.”

“We’ve tried talking to them,” Braeburn interrupted. “They don’t want to help.”

“You just let me handle them,” Applejack said, then turned back to Fluttershy. “Meanwhile, you follow the cloud-line back to Cloudsdale, an’ figure out what’s happening up there. None of this ain’t gonna mean anything if we cain’t fix the problem at its source, and you’re the only pony we got that can do that. You up to it, Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy’s response was faster this time, more definite. She gave a sharp nod, eyes alight.

“You got a map around here?” Applejack asked. Braeburn stood mutely, returning in a moment with a scroll. Unfolding it on the table, Applejack could see the various water catchments scattered around the town. All of them had been marked off as empty—all save one. That must be where the buffalo were.

“Alright, then. Braeburn, you’ll need to coordinate with the sheriff and the town. I don’t know what Ah’ll have to promise, but Ah’m gonna get you that water. I promise.”

“Okay, fine” Braeburn said. He exhaled softly, leaning back against the counter, and looking at Applejack with something akin to pride in his eyes. “An’ be careful.”

“Always,” Applejack said, her grin disappearing. She moved to the door, holding it open for Fluttershy, then tipped her hat at her cousin. “Ah’ll see you later, Braeburn.”

“Yeah. See you, AJ.” His whisper seemed to follow her through the wooden door, follow her down the street as she walked towards the desert with Fluttershy.

They were quiet until they reached the turn in the road, the path leading down into the orchard--the small plots of arable land they’d found in the desert. To the left, Applejack saw only dry, dusty plains, stretching out as far as the eye could see.

“Are you . . . ?” Fluttershy didn’t need to elaborate. Applejack nodded as she joined her friend.

“Ah’ll see what Ah can do. Trees can’t live forever without water though,” Applejack replied, taking a step towards the orchard.

“This isn’t going to be easy, is it?” the pegasus said quietly, staring out at the expanse of hot sand and dry air. What courage Applejack had managed to inspire in her seemed to have faded, seeping out amongst the dreariness of the landscape and its inhabitants.

“No, it ain’t,” Applejack admitted. “But we’ve at least gotta try.”

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” Fluttershy said, glancing at Applejack. “You should have brought Rainbow.”

“Not another word, sugarcube. Even if that were true—and it ain’t—you’re the one whose here. Your one o’ the most capable and talented pegasi Ah ever laid eyes on, and Ah know you ain’t gonna let these folks down.”

“No,” Fluttershy said, eyes turned forward. “No, I won’t.”

With that, she darted forward, leaping into the air with strong strokes. Within minutes, she was just a speck on the horizon.

Applejack turned to her own task. The townsfolk might moan about it later, but they needed that water, and Applejack was going to get it for them—no matter the cost. She couldn’t imagine any reason the buffalo would have had for withholding their aid, but one thing was sure. When Applejack returned, it would be with water.

***

Fluttershy flew north. The sheriff—Bill—had mentioned something last night, something that had stuck with her. Where Braeburn had insisted the pegasi that had left for Cloudsdale had done so with the best intentions, Bill argued that they had abandoned the town. He’d said that there was something on the wind, something tangible.

Applejack and Braeburn hadn’t paid much attention to him. They were headstrong—arrogant in their own way, a confidence brought on by years of isolation and self-reliance. They wanted to take the problem into their own hooves, wanted to do something about it, any way they could.

That was the source of Braeburn’s fixation with the buffalo. He couldn’t understand why the town's water source had disappeared, could no more find and fix the problem than he could fly. So he sought an alternate solution to the problem, ignoring what made him impotent.

But Fluttershy could fly. She could feel the disease that rode the wind, a faint scent of corruption. She’d followed that scent, that feeling, back through the sky towards Cloudsdale. Thankfully, the pegasi had taken the train—they wouldn’t be in any danger.

She couldn’t quite drive her Dream from her head. Appleloosa, destroyed— its ponies scattered across the desert, the storms raging to the south, annihilating everything in their path. That was the future, here, unless she could change it. That was where this corruption led.

Fluttershy slowed her flight as the scent slowly grew stronger. She couldn’t see anything in front of her; the sky was a bright, clear blue, without a cloud in sight. Was that . . . a slight haze, on the horizon? Or was she just imagining that, a trick of the mind, playing on her fear?

Fluttershy gave her head a brief shake, but she could still make it out, just barely. She rolled to the side, gliding down and around until she eventually landed on the hot sand of the desert. There was no scent down here, closer to the earth. She pawed the ground, mulling the situation over in her head.

Part of the problem was her relative naivety with this sort of work. She’d tried to stay away from Twilight’s investigations as much as she could; it typically involved far too much confrontation for her liking. Besides, studying strange magic—and there was no question about it, this was magic—wasn’t her favourite pastime.

Still, Fluttershy was an excellent observer. That came with the territory of the recluse, forever watching those around her. She didn’t study magic, but she did study ponies, society, and applied what she knew to her animals. She’d been surprised at the similarities between ponies and animals at first, but on a deeper level, instinctive, subconscious, she’d always known that they existed.

The spell was somewhere above her, in the air. Fluttershy began trotting north, back along the line she’d been following. The first step would be to ascertain how dangerous it was; whether or not it would affect live beings, where its limits were exactly.

The desert rolled; mounds of sand heaping on the floor in every direction. Soon, her throat was dry, her coat crusted with grit. Fluttershy kept her eyes half-closed, though there was little wind to stir the sand into the air, and focused on moving, two hooves at a time.

It couldn’t have been long before she came across the first carcass. A bird, nearly completely covered by the desert, lay unmoving just over the crest of a dune. Fluttershy let out a soft cry when she saw it, immediately rushing to its side and digging it out of the sand.

Turning the body over, she let out another muted cry, backing off and pressing her hooves to her face. The bird wasn’t just dead—Fluttershy was well used to death. Her job, and hobby before that, had exposed her to more of life than she’d cared to experience. She’d seen animals die of old age, had buried her friends and even disposed of the mauled remains predators had left behind. Blood, gore, mortality; these concepts bothered Fluttershy a lot less than most ponies.

But this bird was different. She could handle death as it occurred within Nature—just barely accept the necessity of death as it existed between predator and prey. But this was no simple death. The bird had had most of its feathers stripped, its flesh dissolved. Its eyes had melted in their sockets; even the skull and bones had lost their integrity. What little remained of its skin was holding the brownish-red soup together. Fluttershy had spied organs—a lung, some section of liver—through the translucent membrane.

It was a depravity beyond anything she knew. And, looking up, Fluttershy again spied that haze, a slight flickering in the air that seemed to signify the spell’s influence. The poor bird must have flown into it, unknowing. The spell had dissolved the creature, broken it down at a molecular level.

Fluttershy frowned, trying not to think about the bird. A spell like that wouldn’t cause the water from Cloudsdale to fall to the ground, clouds prematurely dumping their contents into the desert. Indeed, there was no evidence of water on the ground anywhere around her.

Perhaps it was breaking down the bonds within the water molecules—hydrogen and oxygen, released into the atmosphere in a gaseous state. Would that be possible? She tried to concentrate, but the classrooms back at Cloudsdale seemed so far away, and she couldn’t quite ignore the stink of death rising from the bird’s carcass nearby.

With a grimace, Fluttershy began to kick dirt over the body. She wished she could care for it properly, but there was little else she could do for it, in the middle of nowhere. As she did, her hoof contacted another object, buried just below the surface. Fluttershy stood still for a second, her body trembling as she swept her eyes over the desert.

There must be countless bodies here. Creatures, not realising the danger, flying into the spell above her; their carcasses would form a giant circle on the ground, stretching around the spell’s perimeter. Fluttershy leapt away, back into the sky, flying at near her top speed. She had to get away from that graveyard, subsisting just below the shifting sands.

She focused on the spell. There must be something she could do, some way she could break it down. Pegasi were supposed to understand weather magic, right? She’d certainly been in enough classes. She’d passed the tests, if just barely. She began to circle its border, trying to gain some insight into it.

This was why Applejack had brought her. She’d wanted Rainbow Dash, assuming correctly that she’d know more about weather patterns than Fluttershy. Rainbow probably would have fixed it by now, and be heading back to Appleloosa with happy news. For a second, Fluttershy wished she was here, to show her the source of the problem, explain it with a bored shrug and a wave, and clear it up a few seconds later.

Except . . . Applejack had brought her. She was the only pegasi within half a day’s travel. There was nopony else around that had any hope of understanding what was happening. She owed it to the ponies back at Appleloosa. To the creatures that had died here.

Fluttershy didn’t notice the extra strength that seeped into her wing-beats. She didn’t notice the slight increase in the beating of her heart and pace of her breaths. She didn’t feel the wind pick up against her as she began to move faster. Her attention was focused firmly on the haze beside her, the spell that had brought her here, and spelled doom for her friends.

Rounding the other side of the haze, she paused, confused. Through the spell, she could just make out . . . wait, what was that? There, in the distance . . . that was a cloud. A speck of white, floating above the horizon, it was silhouetted against the blue and yellow that surrounded her. Fluttershy didn’t spare a thought for what couldn’t be, instead leaping through the air, darting back around the spell’s deadly influence before the cloud could blunder into it, as the bird had before it.

But as she approached, she began to recognise it. Only pegasi realised the individuality between different clouds. For the most part, the abundance of unique shapes and sizes served to blend each into a singular whole, and while each cloud would assume its own exotic form, they were transient at best. Rainbow had once had a favourite cloud—one whose form the pegasus had maintained for over a month.

Fluttershy didn’t take much notice, usually. But this . . . this was the cloud she’d encountered back at her home. The one that had shot out from underneath her, that had dropped her without any wind to push it.

Approaching, she slowed, giving it no reason to flee her again. She didn’t know how—or why—it had followed her out here, but there seemed to be no other explanation for its presence. It was following her.

This time, she was able to give it closer scrutiny. That the tufts and wisps of cloud, arranged so carefully, were of the same entity she’d met back home, she had no doubt. But now they took on another form, completed and whole.

The white vapour made, of all things, a face. Gentle curves characterised its appearance, a small, soft muzzle and sloping neck gave it the appearance of a female, while slight shadows greyed the white pits of its eyes. She could only just make out the faint wisps coiling over its head and running down, into the cloud’s body as a mane.

Fluttershy’s wing-beat faltered, and, eyes wide, she dropped a few feet in the air before recovering. If she had had any doubts before, this confirmed her suspicions. The cloud was alive.

She’d never heard of anything like this before. Not even in legends, the fabled histories—of Hurricane and Typhoon, of the Gryphons, and the Dragons, and the untamed skies of a pre-Dawn Equestria—taught only in Cloudsdale, was anything like this mentioned—and the pegasi prided themselves on their knowledge of the skies.

And yet, here it was, floating lazily through the sky towards her. Fluttershy hesitated, not really knowing what she should do. It had come after her, apparently, following her down the train-line and then up into the desert.

Before she could move, its mouth opened, and a sound drifted out. A high-pitched whistle, akin to sharp wind, running around her porch and through the narrow cracks of her door, it pierced her, transfixed her, and held her still as the cloud approached her, slipped nearly past her, and then stopped, looking into the space behind her.

“You are the Conduit,” it whispered, the words hushed. Its voice was as a breath of air next to Fluttershy’s ear. “You watch. You protect.”

“Wh-who are you?” Fluttershy asked, quivering. The cloud grew closer still, until mere millimetres separated it from her skin. She could feel its moisture against the hairs of her coat, sticking up as a strange current continued to run through her.

Then it touched her with a jolt like lightning, again speaking. Fluttershy saw the lips on that face move in a pale mimicry of her own voice, movements not matching with the words issuing forth.

“Who? I?” The cloud paused in the air. Fluttershy thought she saw its brow crease in thought. Then it nodded once, firmly. “I am Nephele.”

Nephele turned her head towards Fluttershy, wearing a slight smile. “Who are you?” she repeated, mirroring Fluttershy’s tone exactly.

Fluttershy returned her smile warmly. “I’m Fluttershy,” she said, leaning forward into the cloud’s soft embrace.

She didn’t realise that she’d stopped flapping until, Nephele pulling away, she found the ground rushing up at her at an alarming pace.

Nineteen

With my passing, I endeavour to protect you. Mayhap you will feel my touch, in that climactic moment, and know that I cared for you. Know that, in my final moments of life, I shielded you from the terror of watching our world burn.

But I fear that any such comfort will be stripped from you. Memory is a fickle beast, and she knows it well. I can only advise that you hold tight to yourself, and do not trust the words of those you meet. We have been moulded into an evil, and though I must play that role, of it I will set you free.

Nineteen

TRIXIE woke to find herself tucked into an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. From where she lay, she could make out a door on the left side of the room, opposite a vanity and a chest of drawers. There was a simple mirror set above it. The waning sunlight filtered through the venetian blinds to cast a striped pattern of faded luminescence across the bed.

Trixie rose, throwing the covers back, and then made her way to the window. With one hoof, she poked a small gap between the venetian blinds and looked down at the street below. From her vantage point on the second floor, she could make out stone buildings, and a wide, cobblestone road.

That sealed it. She was at the Agency—in Canterlot, no less.

There was nowhere else she could be. Twilight must have taken her after she’d fallen unconscious, taken her back here. But why the room, the bed and quilt, when she’d expected a dungeon?

Welcome back, Cumulus whispered. And though the sound was carried to her across a void, only the barest edges of its echo reaching her, to tickle at her awareness, it filled her with joy. She wasn’t alone, not anymore. The silence she’d been subjected to the last two days was finally over.

Cumulus! she replied, trying to project the thought as loudly as she could. Where have you been?

I’ve been with Brash. He isn’t feeling very well, Trixie.

What? What’s wrong with him?

You are. And though he was just a voice in her head, Trixie got the distinct sensation that he was frowning at her, with that professional sense of disappointment that had followed him his entire life.

Trixie didn’t try to say anything further. He clearly didn’t want to speak to her, despite the reassuring greeting. They’d return when they’re ready, and pressing Cumulus would do her no favours.

Instead, she made for the door, only to find it locked. She rattled the doorknob for a second, before falling back to the bed. She furrowed her brow, and lit her horn, enveloping the doorknob in an azure glow. The lock slipped back into the doorframe with a soft click.

Stepping out onto a landing, Trixie glanced around. It was dark, nearly too dark to see, but after a minute her eyes adjusted, and the shadows morphed into shapes. In front of her were stairs, leading down to a long hallway—the entrance hall, she realised. That placed her at the back of the building. Underneath would be the kitchen, and living areas, and to her right . . . more guest rooms? Trixie poked her snout into several, quietly confirming her suspicions. Though why Twilight needed to be able to house ten ponies was beyond her.

Faint voices drifted up the stairs. Trixie paused, but she couldn’t quite make sense of it, individual words, muffled by the wooden floor, mixed, and became a simple stream of background murmur. Trixie turned, trotting down the stairs and towards the noise. Her hooves made gentle thumps against the steps.

She came to the kitchen door. Warm, orange light spilled through the crack between the frame and the door, accompanied by a loud cracking. Trixie could hear the voices more clearly now. One was clearly Twilight, another Rainbow. Trixie narrowed her eyes. Another, a third—it was that unicorn from Ponyville, the one in the bath. Rarity, her name was Rarity.

She half-expected the conversation to be about her. About the murder of Shining Armour, and her dramatic capture. She had no idea how Twilight had managed to find her. She seemed to have a knack for showing up at just the worst moments.

But instead, what came to Trixie from that room was not bitter. There was an underlying sadness, yes, the knowledge that everything had changed, irrevocably, and for the worse, but in the timbre and pitch of their voices, cadences rising and falling and dancing with a slow, smooth tempo, she heard comfort.

Trixie shivered. Pressing an eye to the crack, she could feel the warmth of the fire inside, could see their frames; seated at the table, Twilight’s back to the fire and her face bent towards Rainbow, to her right. A peal of laughter rose, undulating, from the white unicorn. Within moments, both Twilight and Rainbow were laughing themselves, and though when Twilight seemed to shudder, clenching her eyes shut firmly, the cyan hoof on her shoulder held her close, held her steady. Trixie bit her lip, a hoof rising of its own accord to press against the hard wood of the door.

She caught herself, arrested the movement and stumbled back. She had no right to that fire. Instead, Trixie slowly moved back to the stairs, walked up to her room, and sank down on the bed, stomach growling. She’d been sleeping since the afternoon, and it wasn’t likely she’d be eating tonight.

Trixie tried not to think on it, but the image of Twilight, with Rainbow and Rarity, seated around that table in the flickering firelight, and smiling would not leave. It was incongruous, beyond any simple explanation she could think of. Twilight couldn’t have healed, not yet. Not so quickly.

Trixie had felt her pain. No, when Twilight had thrust her magic on her, torn apart her defences as a child would tear tissue paper, and pressed her memories upon her, Trixie had done more than feel it. She’d lived it, every excruciating moment of shocked disbelief, hollow anguish and earth-shattering rage.

She couldn’t rationalise Twilight’s appearance. She’d been calm, almost happy, if not for that simple shudder, for the cyan hoof on her shoulder. Trixie had wanted to go to her, to prostrate herself and beg forgiveness. She’d wanted, just for a second, to take a seat in that circle, to laugh, and to smile.

With resignation, she wrapped herself in the blanket and settled down in front of the window, once again staring out into the night. Perhaps this wasn’t so different, after all.

***

Boundless wasn’t aware of exactly when he awoke. He drifted in and out in a haze, struggling to clear the fog over his mind. What made it worse was the near-absolute blackness around him; peppered only with motes of coloured light, hanging in the air. It made it impossible to tell the difference between sleep and awareness.

Eventually, though, the rough stone under his body grew irritating, and the dust in the air caused him to sneeze. With a jolt, he came to his hooves, snorting and coughing. Loose grit fell from his side, and, wincing, he kicked at a small pebble that had sunken an aching hole into his flank.

Stretching, he heard—and felt—a series of unpleasant cracks and pops run down his body. Nonetheless, it was better than the searing fire than had covered him before the dragon’s intervention. The spell seemed to have used his own energy, given how tired he’d been—and how hungry he was now—and though he wasn’t going to argue with the results, he’d never heard of a spell like that before.

Still, of late he’d found that there was a great deal he didn’t know. He’d thought himself ready, with everything set in motion and under control. He’d been wrong. Even if Trixie had performed admirably, Twilight had repeatedly broken the boundaries everypony else obeyed. She’d shown him how little he actually knew.

Boundless lit his horn. He might not be as proficient with magic as Twilight, or Trixie, but he knew the basics; more than enough to illuminate his surroundings. Brownish light spread from him, reaching into every nook and cranny, lit up every mite of dust and loose rock. The little lights dimmed next to his radiance.

He was in some sort of cave. Stone walls curved around, meeting smoothly in front of him. Oddly enough, there were holes—regularly shaped, like windows, carved into the stone. He could see dirt, packed tightly into those holes, with networks of tiny roots running throughout. Gems were inset in the walls, glowing faintly.

The rest of the wall, indeed, nearly its entire surface, was covered in tapestry. Boundless stepped closer to one, wincing a little as his leg complained. The pain, however, was quickly forgotten as he stared at the image.

It depicted a snow-white pony, an alicorn, riding on curling waves of light into a dark tempest. She glowed, the golden strands of fabric emanating from her form were somehow glowing themselves, doing more than reflecting in Boundless’ own luminescence. He reached forwards, softly stroking her with the tip of his hoof. She was . . . radiant, a beacon of hope.

Below her, the land lay in ashes. Ruined villages, towns, even cities, devastated under a dark influence. It seemed to wrap itself around something, some shrouded figure that stood on air. It radiated menace, and ponies lay prostrate under it, huddled together with their faces pressed to the ground.

In the air, opposing the figure, a second alicorn flew on navy-blue wings, wearing a silver headdress and armour. She wielded a lance of glowing argence, plunging it forward deep into the black shadows of the storm. It was a picture unlike anything he’d ever heard of, something of untold value—clearly Celestia and Luna, depicted fighting an evil that none knew existed.

Boundless stepped back, casting his gaze around the room. There were dozens of these tapestries, scattered around the walls of the cave. But there was no other sign of opulence in the room, no carpets or furniture to make it more habitable.

Turning, Boundless could see the cave extending, sloping downwards. His light only reached so far into the blackness. He grimaced, staring down into the unknown. He didn’t really want to go down there, but it seemed that there was nothing else to do.

He started forward, at first moving slowly, practically dragging his left leg. But walking soon loosened his muscles, and within minutes his limp had vanished.

Then his outstretched hoof hit a wall with a small chink, the sound echoing in the tunnel around him. With a start, Boundless stopped, staring at the wall in front of him for a second before realisation dawned. He hadn’t hit a dead end—rather, the tunnel was curved. It descended like a spiral staircase, looping around, and around. Unaware, he’d been slowly walking closer to the side of the tunnel. With a shake of his head, he adjusted his step, and expanded the circle of light emanating from his horn.

He hadn’t been in a cave, he realised. He’d been in a tower.

The floor’s slope was noticeable, though not unmanageable, and soon Boundless grew worried. He had no idea where he was, but he didn’t think going down would be the way out. But the tunnel just extended, seemingly without end, diving further and further into the murky blackness.

At times, during the interminable trek, he fancied he could hear something beyond the sound of his hooves on the stone and gravel. It was the distant roar of a waterfall, streaming into the darkness alongside him. It made sense that the dragon would have taken him down the river. He’d just never imagined that this could have been where it would end.

Still, there was comfort in the notion. If nothing else, it implied that there’d be something at the end of the tunnel.

Boundless soon lost track of how long he’d been walking. He didn’t know the time beyond some vague sense of the hours since his awakening. His awareness seemed to contract into the darkness around his little patch of light, and the repetitive sound of his steps on the path. Eventually, though, the slope levelled out, and the box of light surrounding him expanded to a sphere as the walls dropped away. Before him, against the sea of black that extended outwards, he could see those motes of light spread out—stars, as if he was standing above the night sky itself.

Boundless sent a flare of power surging through his horn, sinking as much magic as he could muster into the light. It rose up around him like a miniature sun, washed outwards in a great burst, and for just a moment, he could see.

He stood on a high ledge, separated from the drop by an elaborate wooden balcony, carved with small serpents breathing tongues of fire. On either side, the ledge dropped away into long staircases, snaking around to meet at the front, and then leading down into . . . into a city.

It extended out underneath him for miles, stretching on and on into the distance, a vast network of stone and wood, buildings and streets interconnecting in an incomprehensible maze. It reminded him of Canterlot, in a way. There was a pattern to it, in the layout of the parks and hubs, in the low hills and sweeping valleys.

And it was destroyed. Boundless stood still, slowly sorting out the information he’d garnered in that one flash of light. He’d seen buildings, rubble, smashed streets and broken roofs, materials scattered here and there, covering the whole city. Something had happened, something had come in here, and ruined it, turned it into something new; created a desolate wasteland out of a thriving metropolis.

There was no life here anymore. Boundless glanced upwards, focusing his ligh. But where there should have been a sky, glimmering with starlight in the dead of night or glowing itself with the sun’s glory, there was only a ceiling of dirt, trailing roots and small strands of vegetation.

His eyes widened, sweeping the beam of light back down across the remnants below him. It was a buried city, completely covered over, on a scale that staggered him. How could something like this have happened? It was beyond belief, beyond anything he’d ever imagined. He’d thought the dragon had taken him to the end of the river—but that . . . that would place this city squarely underneath the Everfree Forest.

How could this be? It was a staggering discovery, well beyond anything else in Equestrian history. The implications alone . . . for all of his self-assurance, Boundless couldn’t deny some deep-seated sense of awe. His could still see his brief vision of the city, superimposed on the darkness below.

He let out a slight shudder, shaking his head and exhaling sharply, then turned, and headed for the staircase. His light waved back and forth, from the left to the right and back again, as he trotted down the stairs, effortlessly remaining in the centre of the path.

Halfway down the steps, he paused, cocking his head. There it was again, that faint roar of water, falling down onto rock and sand. It was stronger now, here, though only slightly. He was closer—closer to the river.

That river would lead him out. Boundless doubled his pace, taking the stairs three at a time. But while the rest of the staircase passed without issue, and he was able to cross the wide courtyard at its base in short order, once he’d moved into the city proper, he was forced to slow down.

Having the sound to navigate by was extremely helpful, but though he was able to keep his orientation straight, he was continually frustrated by fallen beams, and rubble, blocking his path. The city’s destruction wasn’t absolute, but it was enough to slow his progress considerably.

The little that remained standing was remarkable only in its similarity to modern Equestrian buildings. But the materials themselves hadn’t decayed—the wooden beams were solid, the squared stone unmarked, and carvings still standing in clear relief. Nor were there any plants growing amongst the ruins; no moss on the stone, or vines crawling along the wood. The lights, gems, again set in stone, marking the walls wherever he went.

Boundless filed the observations away, steadily making his way onward. Clambering over a rock, he ducked into a nearby building. Though its neighbours had all collapsed, leaving debris scattered all around him, it still had three walls standing, just barely supporting a sagging ceiling.

Unfortunately, the windows on the other side were blocked, a wall of dirt and grit filling into the centre of the building. Looking around, Boundless spotted a small staircase leading up to a second story. From up there, he might be able to get over the obstruction.

When he reached the landing, the clear windows, looking down on the pile of dirt weren’t what caught his eye. The beam of light from his horn passed over the wooden floor, and up the neighbouring wall. There, on a shelf and nestled amongst books, of all things, he spied a dash of colour amidst the monotone grey of the ruined city. A dash of blue—it was a feather, resting gently in plain sight.

Boundless approached it slowly, tentatively reaching out to touch it, his hoof quivering. It was just a feather, and though the splash of life awoke something inside him, brought a small smile to his face and lent lightness to his step, it wasn’t the colour that concerned him. He hadn’t been the first pony brought here. For all he knew, he wasn’t alone at all.

His hoof paused, next to the feather, as he noticed the text running down the side of the book. It wasn’t Equestrian—wasn’t in any language he recognised. Idly, he pulled it from the shelf, turning it over in his hooves. Dust shook from its pages, flaking away from an embellished design. Boundless started, nearly dropped the book. The symbol was that of the Crystal Heart.

He licked his lips. What was . . . it didn’t matter. There was so much going on here that he had no idea where to start. He couldn’t piece it together by himself. But this book . . . maybe if he could find the pony that had dropped that feather; he or she could translate it.

Boundless began to run. Grasping both the book and the feather in his magic, he sprinted through the window, blown open at some distant point in the past, and down the mountain of dirt outside. The street ahead was mostly clear, and he moved with the urgency of sudden desire. He needed to get out of this place. Its wonder had faded, somewhere during the hours of walking, clambering, and climbing, leaving only an eerie stillness, and dusty, stale air.

Slowly, steadily, the ground began to rise. Mouth twitching, he forced a smile in between heavy pants, laboured breaths bringing small pockets of clear air amid the dust cloud his hooves kicked up. The incline made it harder to maintain his gait, but it also meant he was getting closer.

The sound of the river continued to grow, the roar eventually reaching a crescendo of roaring noise that filled his ears. He could practically smell the water, a sweet scent made all the better by the dust and grime that clung to his coat, mixing with the sweat and lather of his run.

The city ended abruptly, buildings pressing right up against a solid wall. Boundless moved his light over it, marvelling at its size. It was rock, and packed dirt, extending all the way up to the ceiling high above. Though he couldn’t see it, he surmised that it would circle around the city, enclosing it under the ground. A giant cavern, on a scale he couldn’t quite grasp.

Stepping forward, Boundless found a small gap—a fissure, in the wall. It seemed barely wide enough to squeeze through, but it was where the sound had lead him, and as he examined it closer, he found a dull smear on the rock; a tuft of matted cyan fur and the dull carmine of blood, long since dried.

The pegasus must have passed through here. Boundless carefully moved into the fissure, holding his body away from the jagged edge that had caught his predecessor. It was an awkward fit, stone pressing close on both sides as he shimmied forward, but he managed it with no more than a slight crick in his back leg, and even more dirt coating him, rubbing into his fur.

Despite his enthusiasm, the other side of the fissure proved to be far less exciting than the city he’d left behind. As Boundless began to climb through the caves he found there—regular, standard caves, so far removed from the wonders of the city it was as if he’d stepped into another world—he noticed water running over the ground, wetting the undersides of his hooves.

He had to slow down to avoid slipping, but even so, the water filled him with hope. Then, reaching a vantage point, he turned a corner to see it, mouth dropping open and eyes widening, dancing, and shining. The river cascaded down in front of him, a glorious spray of water that dropped from a tiny speck of daylight far above into a black abyss. A wall of mist hit him in the face, turning the grit to mud.

He stood there, for a minute, holding a hoof under the waterfall before he began the climb. And though it took over an hour of struggle, carefully positioning his steps and testing his weight, hauling himself up boulders and across crevices, he eventually gained the summit—emerged out to find himself on the bank of a river in the ruins of the old castle in the Everfree Forest, under a dying sun and a gathering tempest—with no more than a few abrasions, minor cuts and scrapes across his flanks and torso.

“Good evening,” the dragon rumbled, without looking at him.

“To you as well,” Boundless murmured, stepping forward to stand beside it, and following its gaze.

The dragon was staring at the heavens, his arms outstretched and mouth ajar. Rows of glistening teeth glimmered in Boundless’ magic. Above them, high in the sky, there was a whirlpool of air, crackling with energy. Silver bolts of lightning flashed through the growing clouds, shaking the sky and the ground with a shattering boom. Even as he watched, water coalesced in the air before him, forming bubbles, droplets that hung before the dragon. Affixed, they gathered into a stream that sped upwards, to join the gathering storm. It grew, and with it grew the promise it contained, of power and a furious need to destroy.

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing,” the dragon grunted, though it seemed to cost him. His shoulders shifted, as if bearing some enormous weight. “The Conduit and the Warden are not ready yet.”

“Who?”

The dragon glanced, eyes sliding from the tempest above, rolling down to stare at Boundless. With a snarl, he wrenched his arms down, and the water suspended before him abruptly shattered into tiny sparks of light, then fell to join the river. He gave the storm a final, dismissive glance, and with a gigantic roll of thunder, it began to move, heading south.

“It is no concern of yours, pony,” the dragon said. Boundless paused, waiting for him to continue, but he simply sat there, in the river, with water rushing around him.

“Very well, then. Why did you bring me here?”

“I saved your life, pony. More, I saved your vision.”

Boundless narrowed his eyes. “Thank you, I suppose. Why, drake? What interest could you have with me?”

“You may refer to me as the Drac,” the dragon said, eyes glinting.

“That’s not your name.”

“No. But it is a title, and it serves me well enough. Regardless, your gift is more important than you realise. Understand that I cannot protect you once you leave this river.”

“What, so all this, it was just a coincidence?”

“Not at all. Rather, a curious chain of events. Twilight could only have come to you at the river, pony, just as I could only have saved you from these waters.”

“How did she . . . she keeps appearing where she shouldn’t. Every time I think I know something, she shatters my expectations.”

“She learned well,” the dragon said, somehow working a rolling hint of laughter into his guttural speech. “It matters not. They have lost your trail, pony.”

“Why down there?” Boundless asked, gesturing back at the entrance to the caves.

“You awoke in what was once the highest point in this land. It overlooked more ground than Equestria itself. It was to show you the meaning of consequence. It was to give you context. Make of it what you will.”

“And this?” Boundless brought the book forward. His magic had shielded it well enough from the dirt and water, and the heart detailed onto the cover was in clear relief in the light-brown light. “This book I found in the city—next to this feather.”

“A remnant of the cities last guest,” the Drac said, dismissing the feather. “The book, however . . . that is more curious.”

“Can you read it?” Boundless asked, trying to keep the desperation from his words. To be so long without knowledge, to find so many clues, hints at the whole picture, sat poorly with him. It irritated, nagged, made him think and question, go over every last detail. He wanted to know.

The Drac took several moments, just staring at the cover. “Yes,” he said, finally. “Yes, I believe I can.”

“Well?”

The Drac cracked a smile, though Boundless saw more menace than mirth in the brief flash of white. “It will take time, pony. When you bring the artefact back to me, I will know more.”

And that was that. Boundless nodded, beginning to head upstream. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, the Drac had taken an interest in him, And while Boundless might be able to find somepony else to translate the book, he didn’t think he’d be able to wrest it back from the Drac’s grasp. Indeed, it could easily prove impossible to stay out of his grasp.

And it was a plan. For so long, he’d been making moves in a game he couldn’t see, a game he didn’t even understand the rules to, or the prize. To have the Drac force his way in, assume control with such confidence, and such knowledge was . . . comforting, in its own way. He had more of the picture, now.

“And, pony?” the Drac called. Boundless turned, glancing over his shoulder.

“Don’t drink the water.”

***

Trixie woke to the sound of heavy knocks at the front door. Groaning, she rolled over on the bed, then cracked her eyes open only to immediately press them shut again against the morning light. The air was frosty, and she pulled the covers tight around her, trying to hold the warmth of rest, to stay with it for just a moment more.

The knocks sounded again, more forcefully this time, closely followed by an annoyed yell. Muffled thumps came, hoof striking wood on the landing outside her door, then the faint swish of wings beating the air. It seemed Rainbow had gone to answer the door—a suspicion confirmed when the pegasus shouted back down the hall;

“Twilight!”

Trixie could have sworn she heard more than exasperation in her tone, though. There was a note of apprehension, a fear conveyed in the lifting pitch, and the way the shout carried back through the building, hanging in the air. Something wasn’t right.

Well, she was awake. Trixie rose, somewhat unsteadily, trying not to shiver, and clambered off the bed. Stepping over to the door, she heard more hoof-steps—Twilight, presumably—heading down the stairs. Trixie was planning to wait, see if she could hear any of the conversation, perhaps with her magic, but when Twilight let out a soft cry, a cry of pain and shock and disbelief, she’d gone through the door before she realised what she was doing.

She wasn’t the only pony on the landing. Beside her, Rarity gave her a glance—full of contempt, and disgust—then turned back to the scene before them. But while Trixie was aware of the sudden hostility, her attention was drawn to something else.

The knock at the door hadn’t been any regular pony. Standing before them, locking gazes with the approaching Twilight, Princess Luna waited, a dark, shaped plate of metal clenched tightly in her magic.

That was a piece of armour. In fact, it matched the descriptions Trixie had read of Nightmare Moon’s armour, matched the pictures drawn of that single night she’d reigned. And from their reaction; Rainbow’s choked call, and Twilight’s gasp, they knew exactly what the Princess was holding before them.

“Twilight,” Luna began, stepping forward. Twilight hurtled into her, clutching the alicorn around the neck in a fierce hug.

“Luna,” she said, smiling. “Welcome home.”

That brought a similar grin to Luna’s face, and for a moment, the scene froze, each pony revelling in the sudden peace. But it couldn’t last, and when Twilight stepped back, she turned her attention to the artefact.

“Is this . . .?”

“’Tis the armour of mine enemy, yes,” Luna replied. “Alas, I am unaware of how I came to be wearing it.”

“Rarity says you crossed the border with it. Do you remember anything?”

“I do . . . but mine sister assures me that those memories do not serve me faithfully. Has it truly been ten years since I last laid eyes on thou?”

“Ten years,” Twilight murmured. “You disappeared just a few months after the Lethe, Luna. Where did you go?”

“In truth, Twilight, I have come to ask of thou a boon. Please, grant me thine expertise. I find myself convinced that mine lost time hath a greater significance—and that ‘tis wrapped in this.” Luna proffered the armour to Twilight, extending it towards her.

She’s reverted, Cumulus said. It’s an offer of partnership . . . but, Trixie, listen to the speech patterns. She’d gone back to the old ways. Why?

“Can’t you do that yourself?” Twilight asked, cocking her head.

Luna took a step forward. “Perhaps . . . but I fear its influence. Should the armour take me, thou wouldst be hard-pressed indeed to stop me.”

Twilight nodded, swallowing as she considered the object floating in front of her. Slowly, the dark-blue field enveloping it receded, replacedby the softer lavender. “Alright, Luna. I’m yours to command.”

And as the Princess of the Night bowed, eyes twinkling, Trixie couldn’t help but feel the weight of the world settle around them, some small portent that slipped between them, fluttering away into the night's wind.

Twenty

It is difficult, trying to piece together the words to break you from your stupor. As I write this, I pose each phrase to you, feeling out your reactions from the stirrings of emotion within me. Yet how may I prove this to you, to one taught that everything I am is nothing but a lie?

I am more than a promise of power. I am more than a jealous sibling’s attempt at stealing the spotlight. I do not wish control over Equestria, nor to see Celestia cast down from her throne. I am your deepest passions, Luna. I was born in the shadows of your heart, and I exist to serve your desires, for good or ill, in day or night. I am your power, and together, we will break this world.

And in its shattered pieces, find salvation.

Twenty

APPLEJACK crested the hill in the centre of the orchard, coming to a stop in the shadow of a giant apple tree. Where all the others had just the beginnings of apples, growing in small buds on the branches, the boughs above her were already laden with rich fruit, great crimson orbs hanging on thin strands. It brought a small smile to her face, to see her tree doing so well. But then, Bloomberg had always been a cut above—especially once she’d given him a little encouragement.

She’d always felt connected to the land around her. Before Coromancy, she’d attributed it to her heritage, as an earth pony. But it was more than that, more than the affinity her fellow farmers felt. Coromancy didn’t just give her strength, stamina, and an unnatural durability; it allowed her to speak to the land, to send part of herself out, through the roots of trees and thick seams of rock, through the mineral veins and rivulets of water, through the Earth itself.

She did so now, placing a hoof on Bloomberg’s trunk and, filling herself with pride, sent it through him to the ground around them. She spilled down the hill, tapping into the interconnected root systems in the orchard, trees that had spread to meet their neighbours, spread to catch every last drop of the precious lifeblood from the sky.

Howdy, Applejack sent, a thrum running down her leg. She could feel them, feel the hum of life. It gave her a sense of contentment, even as her smile slipped from her face.

Ah’m Applejack. Ah’m sure Bloomberg’s told y’all about me, but Ah wanna let you know that you can trust me. With this, she changed the nature of her connection, slipped in her faith, and her deep belief in the sanctity of truth. We’ve heard about the water problems here. So don’t you all fret, now, my friend Fluttershy and I are gonna get to the bottom of this. It ain’t gonna be another day or two.

But Ah can’t stay with you if Ah’m gonna fix it. You’ve all been so strong. Ah’m just asking you to stay strong a little longer. Just a little longer.

Applejack could feel her connection wavering. She tried to concentrate on everything the trees—her trees—had achieved, surviving here. But given the state of things around her, the dry, cracked ground, and the despair in town, it was a pride formed on sorrow. She fought to conceal herself, even as she was exposed. She tried to suffuse her voice with hope.

She managed to summon up one last surge of strength—a promise, of sorts, outpouring from her in a torrent of emotion, pouring into the ground. She watched, silently, as her message spread, small cracks in the ground smoothing together, the dusty grey turning to a dark, healthy brown. A few small tufts of grass sprouted amongst the trees.

Applejack turned, running away. As she accelerated, her gait quickening to a flat-out sprint, a single tear shook free of her eye, falling to the ground and soaking into the dirt.

She sniffed quietly as she left the orchard, heading into the desert. The buffalo would be at the last remaining waterhole. It had been on Braeburn’s map—about two hours out of town, at a run. She would make it in one.

Fear drove her forward. She’d left hope with the orchard, and despite her confidence, despite the knowledge, the firm belief that they’d solve it, there was little left to oppose her fear. She sent it to her hooves, and her heart. She burned it away, and it gave her speed.

Hate clouded her mind. What love she still felt for the world around her had been buried under hate's influence. She knew the buffalo weren’t responsible, that they weren’t holding back out of spite, though that knowledge did nothing to ease her heart. She sent hate to her legs, and her aching chest, and burned it away in exchange for strength.

Sorrow rested behind her eyes. It dripped, tears running down her face, and hung heavy as a dull ache in the barrel of her chest. She’d burnt joy away, sent it off as a gesture of faith, and a whisper of power. She did the same with her sorrow now, sending it to her skin. She had no use for the invulnerability it provided, save to protect her against the stinging sand. She just didn’t want to feel, right now.

Applejack thundered on, through the desert, a great cloud of sand forming around her as her hooves dug deep to find purchase. The magic pulled the grains together around her, moved with her to propel her forwards at a speed to rival a flying pegasus. It pulled the grit from the air in front of her, keeping her eyes clear as she ran.

She ran without thinking. Burning emotion was a curious sensation, a feeling of some intangible substance slowly being sucked away, draining away inside her, like the tiny whirlpool pulling water down the pipe. She ran without paying attention to the time, without paying attention to the dunes, rising and falling before her.

And as she ran, her mind began to clear. She slowed, beginning to reign in her magic as she neared equilibrium. Coromancy was, more than anything, a balancing act. She had had plenty of strength the whole time—it was just impossible to feel it, swamped by its opposite. But she did not want to fall into apathy. Nor would she be any better off trying to deal with the buffalo while lost in euphoria. Her abilities could be a dangerous drug.

She could smell water. Ahead, and just to the left, over the rise, the sweet, clear scent of the waterhole rose over the dunes. She could feel the sand growing firmer underneath her, beginning to give way to dirt and rock, and the hot air turning to a cool breeze against her flanks. She could hear the buffalo, the faint sounds of their voices, chanting, and tribal drums beating.

Applejack stopped for a moment, as she reached the peak of the dune overlooking the waterhole. From the vantage point, she could see a vast circle of land; dark, packed sand mixing with dirt around a small pocket of water in the centre. Plants, once growing on the edges, were now brown and stiff, lying broken on the ground. The buffalo themselves were camped a hundred feet back from the water’s edge, around tiny black campfires.

Was this all that was left? From the map, she’d imagined that the waterhole was a great reservoir, with more than enough water for them all. Granted, with it supplying the town, the orchards and farms, and the buffalo, it would have been emptied in a week, but that would’ve been time enough for them to find and fix the problem. It would have been an extension of life—a gamble for the buffalo, but hope itself for Appleloosa.

There wasn’t enough water here for a day, even supplying just the buffalo. It had disappeared so quickly, even appearing to shrink before her eyes. Suddenly, Applejack understood. Even with no rain, the town’s supplies should have lasted longer. The orchard shouldn’t have been that parched. Whether it was the land, soaking it in, or the sky, drinking it up, what water there was was disappearing.

Applejack moved down the dune quickly. The buffalo had spotted her, some standing, and moving to meet her. Her eyes moved across the growing crowd, more and more appearing as she neared, but she didn’t recognise any of the buffalo standing before her. That is, until a smaller hoof pushed its way through, followed swiftly by Little Strongheart’s head.

“Applejack?” she said softly, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the rumbling of a hundred throats. They were afraid of her, Applejack realised. There was knowledge, in their eyes, knowledge of the end. There was no escape, not for them or anything else.

“Little Strongheart,” Applejack said, stepping forward to embrace her. The buffalo had grown since last she’d seen her, her form bulkier, with lines creasing her face. “How’ve you been?”

“Actually, it’s just Strongheart, now,” she replied, returning Applejack’s brief hug. “We’re about as well as you might expect.”

Applejack nodded. “That’s why Ah’m here.”

“Yes, we thought as much. You’re not getting through, Applejack. We’ve got too many lives here to spare any for you.”

“You ain’t got enough for yourself,” Applejack said, gesturing at the pool behind them.

Strongheart didn’t reply, pressing her lips together into a thin line.

“Ah’m not here for that,” she pressed. “Ah’m not gonna take it from you.”

The rumbling from the crowd built as the buffalo exchanged glances. Some seemed convinced, though wary, but the vast majority were unsatisfied, mistrustful, and angry. They didn’t want her here.

“Ah’m here to help, Strongheart,” Applejack said, taking another step forward and locking gazes with her. “Appleloosa is dying, and the buffalo aren’t going to last much longer.” She swung her head to the left, then the right, meeting the eyes of as many in the crowd as she could. “The way Ah see it, you don’t have a choice.”

The tension only lasted an instant before Strongheart deflated, bowing her head. “Of course not,” she said bitterly, an edge of weariness creeping into her voice. “Come with me.”

She turned, walking back into the crowd, and the crowd parted around her with the quiet reverence of respect mixed with sorrow. The rumbling ceased, the buffalo falling silent save for one, single, high-pitched voice, belonging to a child, running out of the crowd with a smile on his face.

“Mama!” he cried, reaching out for Strongheart. “Look!”

“Yes, Ahanu, I see it,” Strongheart replied, placing a hoof behind his head and pulling him close to her chest. He sank into her for a second, and then sprang away, giggling, and proffered a small rock. Looking closer, Applejack could see it was carved into the shape of a snowflake, tiny, perfect twines extending across a concentric circle. It glimmered as he moved it, twinkling with light blue light.

Applejack had seen it before. Fifteen years ago, on the other side of Equestria—as far from here as you could get. She’d seen it, and countless like it, floating around during her time in the Crystal Empire. Somehow, impossibly, it was here, buried in the sands of the desert.

“Run along now, dear. I’ll see you later,” Strongheart said, not sparing the snowflake more than a glance. The child—Ahanu—turned, scampering away with it clutched in his teeth. Strongheart watching him leave, the barest hint of a smile crossing her face. Then, resolutely, she continued forward, heading across the camp. Applejack shook her head, and followed.

They didn’t get far, though, before three buffalo intersected their path, blocking them. Applejack glanced over her shoulder to see another two stepping close to them from behind, effectively circling them.

“Hassun,” Strongheart said. “Get out of my way.”

“It’s her fault, Achak. Get out of my way.”

“She says she’s here to help.”

“Help? She is here to gloat! And while their plots may prove deadly, I will at the least take my vengeance on this arrogant fool.”

“Strongheart,” Applejack said, pushing her back with a hoof. “Let me handle this.”

Hassun smiled the vicious smile of the bully, and Applejack saw in it a desperate anger, a need to control the world around him as it rapidly spun away. She felt sorry for him—or would have, had he not been standing in her way, in the way of his own survival. It was difficult to redeem that particular brand of idiocy.

“Applejack,” Strongheart said, with a sharp note of warning in her tone. “Hassun means stone.”

Applejack narrowed her eyes. “Ah don’t want to have ta hurt you boys,” she said, eyeing the ground in front of her. “Are ya gonna move?”

Hassun leaned forward, leering. “Make me.”

Applejack reared. In a flash, her hooves were pawing the air above her, close to Hassun’s face. He recoiled just slightly, on instinct, but he wasn’t her target. Instead, taking hold of the frustration that had been growing in her since the morning, the pain at her inability to see what was happening around her, to understand and fix it, she channelled it to her legs and slammed them down onto the rock underneath—an outcropping of hard granite, nearly buried in the packed sand.

The stone had withstood thousands of years of the desert’s erosion. It hadn’t noticed the buffalo, stampeding around it, nor the settler ponies, who’d come for water from time to time. But it had never experienced anything quite like the force behind that strike.

It split with a deafening crack, a cloud of tiny pebbles scattering all around them. With a grunt, Applejack heaved her front legs from the crevice she’d created, taking a step back to plant them on solid ground. Hassun just stared, his mouth ajar, at the break. She’d broken through nearly a foot of solid rock as if it was nothing.

One of the other buffalo swallowed, backing away. Without a word, the others followed, leaving Hassun facing Applejack alone, standing on either side of the split rock.

Applejack gave him a dangerous smile. “Think you’ll do any better?”

He stepped aside without a word, eyes still fixed on the rock. Applejack moved past him, with Strongheart coming alongside a few steps later, chuckling.

“He’ll be there for hours,” she said. “Stone always was a touch slow.”

Applejack grunted. “I’m more interested in that crystal rock your boy found.”

“That? Oh, we’ve been finding them all over the place. They’ve been showing up for weeks.”

“Ah’ve seen them before,” Applejack said, “up north. The carvin’s snow.”

“Snow?”

“It’s frozen water—like ice, only soft.”

“Ah.”

Strongheart slowed, turning aside from the makeshift path Applejack had been following and gestured at a nearby camp. It was empty, though there was evidence that it was in use—empty bowls scattered around the blackened sticks gathered in the centre, and crude shelters made from fabric strung up on wooden poles. Strongheart moved around the campfire, taking a seat on one of the logs lying there. Applejack followed suit, taking an opposing seat.

“Why are you here, Applejack?” Strongheart asked. Applejack took a second to think before replying. Strongheart had been exactly that—strong—until now. What reminded her, somewhat, of the despair spreading through Appleloosa, the quiet sense of the inevitable that permeated the town, was the sudden weariness which suffused Strongheart now, the heart-rending sorrow with which she planned out the last days of her life, and the life of her child.

And still, she was strong, strong enough to hide her weakness from the tribes, from Stone, and from her son. She was strong enough to understand Applejack’s purpose, to allow her presence to provide the glimmer of hope that brought life. She’d shouldered responsibility, it seemed, and under that weight persevered.

“What does Achak mean?” Applejack asked quietly. She saw Strongheart’s eyes widen, just a little, at the question.

“Loosely . . . spirit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Strongheart’s hoof moved, almost subconsciously, to her stomach as she stared at the grey coals. A wind stirred them, throwing little puffs of ash into the air in a swirling pattern.

“You’re pregnant,” Applejack whispered. “The father?”

“Gone. Applejack, please, if you know . . .”

“No. I don’t. I don’t know anything more than you do.”

“I guess it was too much to ask,” Strongheart said. She gave a long sigh, turning to look out at the small waterhole. The afternoon sun sparkled off the water, with small waves gently roaming its surface to lap at the sand surrounding it. The wind was growing stronger, rapidly picking up speed. Applejack frowned, turning to look at the horizon. Was that . . . a storm? A tiny speck of darkness, gathering in the distance, even as she watched, it grew, spreading out across the cloudless sky. She shivered. The sun didn’t feel so hot, suddenly, the wind carrying with it a chill that seeped into her bones.

“Strongheart,” Applejack cried, rising, and pointing. Then, spinning, she fixed her gaze on the buffalo leader, the mother, pinning her down with an intensity born of sudden, stark fear. “Take shelter!”

“What’s . . .” Strongheart trailed off, rising to stare with disbelief at the rapidly-approaching storm. Already it filled the sky, covered its sweet blue with a black tempest of flickering light and rolling thunder. A surge of wind hit Applejack on the side of her head, tugging at her, and tossing her mane around.

“Run!” Applejack cried, though she knew the futility of the demand. There was nowhere to run to, not out here, in the desert. The nearest shelter was half a day away, at their pace.

Rain swept across the camps, instantly soaking Applejack. It plastered her fur to her frame, her mane falling around her head, and tail slicking down her back legs. Strongheart backed away, slowly, one step, then a second, and then spun, dashing away with a frantic cry for her son.

There was no more time. The storm was upon them, moving with blinding speed, though it appeared lighter now, a dark shade of grey in lieu of the unending black. She didn’t understand what was happening—it was too fast, too incomprehensible. But in the split-second of time before the storm-wall reached her, the instant before she was lost in its tempest, she thought of the lives behind her and the single one somewhere out there, in the desert.

Fluttershy.

And it no longer mattered how the storm had gotten here. It no longer mattered why it was here. She could do nothing for her friend, lost and alone, but the buffalo behind her, stampeding in a panic, away from the face of Nature, Strongheart and her two children, stranded, alone in the middle of her kin?

With a roar, she stepped forward to meet the storm’s fury. It slammed into her with the force of a freight train, twenty trains, a hundred. She stepped forward, gritting her teeth, j aw aching and brow lowered, hooves digging into the sand, placing one hoof in front of the other, and accepted its weight. Full of the fires of determination and need, she stepped forward.

Maybe, protecting them, she could find absolution for her failure to protect Fluttershy.

***

She didn’t realise that she’d stopped flapping until, Nephele pulling away; she found the ground rushing up at her at an alarming pace.

With a soft shriek, Fluttershy spread her wings, sharply pulling up, and flapping hard to regain her altitude. She threw a glance over her shoulder to see Nephele’s face push out the other side of the cloud, wearing a faint smile.

“That’s not funny,” Fluttershy said, pouting.

“Is it not?” Nephele asked. “You fell from me as an earthen would.”

Fluttershy flew back to the cloud, this time slowing to a hover several feet away.

“Uhm . . . Nephele . . . I don’t want to be rude, but, well, what are you?”

Nephele’s brow creased in the same way it had before. Fluttershy allowed the sudden silence to hang over them, broken only by the faint whisper of air, rushing over her wings with each stroke. Eventually, though, with a look of simple relief, Nephele met Fluttershy’s eyes.

“I am a Nymph of the Sky,” she said, offering no more explanation.

“A Nymph?” Fluttershy whispered. She’d been wrong, she had heard their legends. They’d once been prominent, a strong race, diverse and populous. Wood Nymphs ran through the forests, Water Nymphs swam through the oceans and rivers, Sky Nymphs lazed in the air. They’d been the face of the world around them.

And then they’d disappeared. The legends never agreed on exactly what had caused their fall, or when it had occurred. It had been some time before Moon’s Fall—the arrival of Nightmare Moon, and Luna’s imprisonment in the moon.

“Are there any others?” Fluttershy asked, softly, carefully. “Other Nymphs, I mean?”

Nephele regarded her calmly. “I am.”

She sensed she wasn’t going to get any more from her, not about her kin. Fluttershy couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live as one of the last of a dying breed.

Fluttershy had always thought the Nymphs all but extinct, as did most pegasi. Though some few scholars had, referring to their strange connection to their chosen environments, claimed the world’s Harmony as proof of their continued existence, they had been laughed out of the universities.

“Why are you here, Nephele?”

“You are the Conduit. You watch. You protect,” the Nymph said again.

“The Conduit? What do you know about Conduits?” Fluttershy demanded. The term wasn’t foreign to her—far from it. Celestia had told them, in one of the sessions they’d had under her tutelage, of the various forms of Coromancy. Fluttershy didn’t understand the details, but she’d grasped the basic point. There were three distinct Aspects, as Twilight called them; and two Domains within each. Six in total; one for each of them. Applejack was a Warden, Pinkie an Anchor. Twilight was a Sage, Rarity a Seer. Rainbow was a Chaser, Fluttershy a Conduit.

“You watch. You protect.”

Fluttershy let out a small tsk. She needed a new tack, this was getting her nowhere.

“What do you need protection from, Nephele?”

"He stirs, below. He wakes, there,” she said, extending a wisp of cloud to the north, ”and rampages there.” Another wisp of cloud pointed south.

“Who?”

The Nymph looked at her with a bemused expression. “Who?” she echoed back at Fluttershy, cocking her head.

“Who is stirring, Nephele? Who wakes?”

“The Great One stirs. The Father of the Sky wakes and in waking sets sky to trembling. It is coming, Conduit. You watch. You protect.”

“What’s coming?“ Fluttershy said, her voice rising, stronger now, exasperated. Nephele shook her head, and then extended arms, of a soft, made of the same, soft cloud, grabbing Fluttershy with two hooves and spinning her to face the horizon. Fluttershy stiffened, but allowed herself to be moved, chocking back her wordless protest.

Her eyes settled on a dark splotch, growing swiftly. A sudden wind blew her mane back from her face, blew Nephele and her several feet back. It was accompanied by a distant roll of thunder, the sound seemingly carried on the air as it rushed by. Fluttershy could see flickers of lightning in the encroaching storm, a storm that even at this distance sent a thrill through her body, the sharp spike of fear running down her spine and tingling in her legs.

It was moving too fast. She was no specialist, but it had already tripled in size, in just the few moments she’d been staring at it. That was . . . that was nearly two miles a second. Impossible, by all standards she knew. Even if a cloud could reach that speed, it would disintegrate; blow apart in its own wind.

“We need to get to shelter,” Fluttershy said, desperately tossing her head. But they were stranded, in the middle of the desert. Of course there would be no shelter, just the endless expanse of sand, in all directions. “We need to get away!”

“No,” Nephele said. “Climb, Conduit.”

Fluttershy paused. She hadn’t considered trying to fly above the storm, to crest over it and watch it pass harmlessly below. And as far as she saw it, they didn’t have any other option.

“Up,” she said, nodding sharply, and thrust her wings down, straight down, leaping towards the sky while it remained blue. Nephele followed, with the same serene smile on her lips, unchanging, even in the direst of need.

She climbed until the air grew thin, and her wing strokes could barely support her weight, and Nephele’s form grew loose and vaporous. But still the storm appeared as a black wall, an oncoming shadow, its floor mere inches from the hazy orange ground and its roof a whisper from the world’s arch. Still it hurtled towards them.

Fluttershy flew, racing that shadow as she raced against her own heart, and the panic already taking hold there. In Ponyville, or the wooded lands she now called home, she’d always had her cottage—a line of retreat against a threatening world. She’d had her friends, always around to comfort her, and lend her their strength. This time, there was nothing. No escape from the hulking beast that approached, that cold sheet that absorbed the surrounding light, casting a black shadow in its wake. Nothing between her from the storm. Her breath caught, and a lump rose in her throat.

She climbed until she couldn’t climb anymore, until each rasping breath came with a frantic rhythm that failed to suffice. She’d outstripped Nephele, gone beyond the heights at which a cloud could survive. It wasn’t enough, inconceivably, the storm continued to bear down on her. Fluttershy let out a terrified whinny. Against the encroaching might, it was so soft and pathetic she barely heard it herself.

At the peak of her flight, the point where her frantic wing-beats, pumping with mindless frenzy, could no longer propel her, Fluttershy glanced down at the world spread out before her. For an instant, everything slowed as she hung there. She saw the stormwall, a living wall of water and sand, loose rocks, vines, and trees at the advent of the storm. She saw the darkness within the raging, churning winds. She saw the faint wisp of white that appeared at its edge. The Nymph appeared as a last beacon, cradled on the edge of oblivion, and despite everything going on around her, Fluttershy’s heart stilled.

Then time rushed back to her, bringing with it blurred vision, numbed senses, and a near-transcendent focus. Diving, Fluttershy raced the storm to Nephele, not thinking, panic vanishing, hardly feeling. She reached the Nymph mere inches first, and, wrapping her hooves around it, entered the inky blackness, tumbling, spinning, and falling through the air.

Immediately, the wind caught her, flung her left, and then yanked her right. It sent icy waves of water to crash against her, and sand—loose, and wet—to work its way through her coat, finding the sensitive skin beneath. Small rocks tore past her, some striking, though she couldn’t tell where. Her entire body was aflame, numbed by cold and surreally aware of its plight.

She couldn’t see—even in the searing flashes of light, her eyes were too blurred from the water and air rushing over her eyeballs for her to make anything out. She couldn’t hear her own screams echoing through the void—they were drowned out in the never-ending din of thunderous cracks and booms. She lost all sense of direction, of purpose.

And then, inconceivably, she heard a voice over the storm’s roar. A brash voice, full of confidence oft mistaken for arrogance, so often heard screaming over the wind and the rain and the sheer power of speed; a voice full of strength, full of hope—the simple clear belief in Fluttershy herself.

Relax, Fluttershy. Roll your shoulders, spread your wings. Close your eyes.

She complied, blocking out the nightmarish torrent, excluding it from her awareness. Wind caught her, rolled her, and threw her against ice and wood and rock.

Extend your senses. Feel the power around you, the currents of air and the eddies in the breeze. It’s all there, waiting, Fluttershy.

She could feel it. Dipping her left shoulder, she spun under a boulder, and then tucked her head against her breast, diving under a spinning tree trunk. She turned her fall into a dance, graceless and desperate, lit against the black by flashes of golden light.

You can do it, Fluttershy! Beat back that terror! You are strong enough--you’re only dead if you don’t fight!

So Fluttershy fought, eyes closed and mind alert, fought to control her fall, fought for power over the wind itself.

Slowly, inch by inch, she regained herself. She forced the terror back, sent her fear to her wings and burned it away in a single, clear burst of power. The shock of it ran through her, like lightning; there one instant, and then gone, leaving a singed smell and a faint, throbbing burn, and she could think once again.

But just as she began to steady herself, to alter her fall to a graceless dive, something slammed into her, sending her spinning anew. Pain flared at her side, and with growing horror, Fluttershy twisted her neck, rubbing at her eyes with a hoof as she clutched Nephele to her with the others. She bit back a sob at the sight of her wing, crumpled beyond recognition. Blood trailed from the injury, instantly torn away and lost in the storm’s fury.

Dimly, she could feel Nephele, still in her clutches. She could feel the Nymph’s own fear, the sickening sense of wrong that made up her world. Fluttershy opened herself up, absorbed the emotion, drew it in and cast it out. She affirmed the Nymph, bolstered her, and lashed her together with bonds of simple, fierce will.

Nephele had come to her for protection. And there was nothing in Equestria that was going to stop Fluttershy from giving her exactly that. She felt a giddy smile spread itself across her face, and she felt the water crash again and again against her eyelids, soaking into the fur and skin beneath.

Around her, lightning flashed. It was drawn to her wingtips, drawn to the embers of her power, striking again and again, cracking against her until, finally, they formed a dual tether to the clouds around them, a leash made of lightning. Fluttershy slowed her spin and stabilised in the air, ignoring the wind’s weight. It couldn’t move her any more.

She could feel the storm itself, the lightning’s furious lashes of power that surged through her body, and the indifferent clouds that produced it. She could feel the water in the air, dancing, grudgingly, at the wind’s behest.

She bent her will against it, turned all the power she’d gathered from the storm against itself, beating back against the wind with mighty strokes of her wings. She couldn’t tell is her crippled wing caused her pain; any signals it sent were lost in the sheer cacophony of electricity running through her veins—a storm inside herself, fighting to break free.

Again, she twisted her head, gazing behind herself in wonder. Her body extended back, tail flapping wildly to match the movements of her mane. Light cuts and scrapes covered her, and she’d be feeling more bruises than she could count by the morrow. But now, here, Fluttershy stared, and, insanely, began to laugh.

Golden light extended from her back as two colossal pillars, raised to the sun itself. Gathered lightning, radiant and terrible, enveloped her, casting light over her surroundings. It threw back the shadow, denied the storm its darkness. She twisted, easily avoiding a giant tree trunk as it ripped through the air towards her, then spun, striking downwards with one wing to bring the lance of might down onto an approaching boulder.

It hit with a deafening detonation, sending fragments of rock spinning through the air around her. Fluttershy felt some striking her flesh, shards of stone embedding themselves in her, but she didn’t care. Here, she was invincible.

Had she truly been so afraid? She could feel Nephele’s understanding through their link, of the wild freedom and intoxicating pulse, pounding through her veins like a drug. She tossed her head back and let loose a cry, a scream of jubilation, as the storm split before her to reveal a clear, day-lit sky.

The lightning dissipated around her, its charge released with one final, immense detonation. The humming of her wings slowed, ceasing, and her eyes fluttered shut. Without a sound, Fluttershy dropped.

But she did not fall alone. Nephele formed up around her, accepted her into her being, and bore her safely to the ground, a soft smile on her lips. She hovered above her unmoving form, turning to watch the storm progress, its movements slower, now, the clouds a midnight grey and the thunder the staccato sound of flint striking stone.

Twenty-One

Your sister believes the threat gone, bound away in a prison not even she could break. I do not know how she managed to halt him, after all you could do was slow his advance. Odd, how in the end, the weaker proved strongest.

Grace works in strange ways. And while everything around you is wrong, take comfort in this; you have found me before. I cannot be slain, cannot be contained. I exist within you even now, though I may not live to see the moon rise over the trees as a beacon of hope, and not dismay.

Twenty-One

DAEREV slid the door of the carriage open, exposing the insides of the cargo compartment he’d been riding in. It was, he decided, perhaps the worst part about growing up. Being forced to ride in the dark with nothing but crates of potatoes and carrots for company made him feel like a spectacle—or an outsider. But he was too big to fit anywhere else, and he needed the train to get up to Canterlot.

Agyrt said his wings would come, in time—and truth be told, he could feel them already, as masses of muscle and bone building just below each shoulder. It was like toothing, apparently, both painful and natural. They would burst free from his back, and he’d be free to move around the world, but until then, he was earthbound.

Canterlot was busy. He’d given the city a day to settle after the incident before he made his way up the mountain to see Twilight. He’d experienced panicked crowds before, and adding an adolescent dragon to the mix wouldn’t have been a good idea. He could have sparked a riot with his presence alone.

Of course, that was assuming there hadn’t been a riot anyway. Canterlot itself was . . . well, dishevelled was the closest term he could think of, though it didn’t seem appropriate. Daerev moved across the station, pushing aside gawking onlookers. Grey dust billowed around his feet as he walked upright, resolutely ignoring the crick in his back.

The tremors had been more violent than they’d appeared from Ponyville. Daerev could clearly see cracks in the stone buildings, and little piles of rubble, swept to the sides of the streets but not yet cleared away. Canterlot had survived, if barely, the city shaken.

Hopefully, nopony had been injured. The protective spells running through the stonework—spells he could barely see, at the edges of his vision—were not only there to strengthen the materials themselves, but for the protection of the ponies around. Many of those spells had broken, leaving empty stone behind, but many more were still active, and emitting a faint glow where they spanned cracks.

As he moved into the city proper, heading up into the town square, the streets widened, and a lot of the rubble disappeared. Buildings were sturdier here, the magic of the city stronger. That trend continued all the way up to the castle itself.

But while they may have been more intact, Daerev found the open spaces far more difficult to move through. They were crowded with ponies—instead of the busy bustle of the station, and the few workers helping restore the homes of those who lived there, here there were hundreds, thousands of ponies, all clamouring at the top of their voices, and jostling with each other.

Daerev grimaced. Up ahead would be one of the castle’s envoys, sent out to organise the restoration. He’d be collecting names, lists of properties and ownership, and details of the damage done. With that information, the staff could send relief to where it was needed first. That didn’t stop everypony from claiming that their particular home, or business, was absolutely vital to their wellbeing.

Fortunately, there were a few perks to his rapidly-growing size. Where before, he would have quickly become lost in the forest of legs before him, instead, Daerev dropped to all fours and bulled his way through three or four ranks of ponies, some falling back with wide eyes, others pushing back against him. He could see their blood, rising to their skin and pooling in their cheeks.

With a start, Daerev realised he was hungry. He snatched the traitorous thought from his head, resolutely ignoring the rumble the sight of the angered crowd brought. Rearing, he opened his jaws, allowing a small spark of fire to pool at the base of his throat. Then, with a roar that carried across the entire square, easily swamping the dull clamour of the crowd, he spoke. Fire rippled from his mouth with each word, casting an ethereal green hue around him.

“Are these the ones who cannot live but a day longer in squalor? Fie, Celestia herself gave these to me! Come, ponies, I shall hear your burdens and dispense aid, should I deem it pressing! Such was the command Her Royal Highness handed down but hours ago!”

The noise of the crowd cut off so suddenly it seemed as if somepony had flicked a switch.

Instead of dropping back to the ground, Daerev sank back onto his hind legs, holding the fire in his mouth as he had been taught, illuminating his teeth against the green light. He accompanied it with a hard glare, slowly swivelling through the crowd. None approached him, and as he began moving once again, the crowd parted for him, ponies melting out of his way with each step.

Before long, he had reached the envoy, sitting behind a hastily-erected desk with a huge stack of papers on either side. He looked up at Daerev with a wide smile, and greeted him with a chuckle.

“Thanks for that, Spike,” Paperweight said, leaning back in his seat. “It was getting a little hot in there.”

“Anytime,” Daerev replied, swallowing the fire in his mouth.

“You’re organising relief?”

Paperweight nodded. “I’m supposed to sort out the extent of the damage in the markets, all the way over to the University.”

“Ah,” Daerev said. “You’re the decoy.”

“I know.” Paperweight gave a glance at the crowd, once again beginning to press in around him. Daerev grimaced sympathetically. He’d been sent here, specifically, to draw attention. With everypony here spending all their time on bureaucratic nonsense in the hopes of restoring their business, the actual relief could be sent quickly and quietly to the residential districts, where it would be most helpful.

“But what are you here for anyway, Spike? I’d have thought you’d be with Twilight.”

“I’m looking for her, actually.”

“I think she’s down at the crater.”

“The crater?”

Paperweight lifted a hoof, pressing it against his mouth. “You don’t know? Something exploded, two nights ago, just before the earthquakes. Left a whole house demolished, just . . . completely gone. And Spike . . . Shining Armour . . . Oh, Luna above, you’d better get down there.”

A noble leader, murdered . . .

“Who, Paperweight?”

“Just go, Spike. I’ve got this in hoof. And . . . I’m sorry.”

She will recover.

By now the ponies were pressing in, again demanding attention. The initial shock of Daerev’s appearance had worn off, tension dissipating as he conversed quietly with Paperweight, and the background murmurs had quickly escalated into a dull roar. Daerev allowed himself to be washed away as the ponies swarmed around him.

Paperweight’s words were more ominous than revealing, and they brought a sick weight to his chest, pressing against him at each step. As he found his way out of the crowd, out of the square and towards the older parts of the city, he found his pace increasing, almost without thought. Before long, he was running.

He tried to ignore the growing pain that the awkward gait built in his legs and back. Dragons weren’t built for running—or even just moving about on the ground the way he had been. As an infant, his body was adapted to it, but as he grew into his heritage, into a form that could rule the skies, he became less capable of bearing the stresses of his weight through his legs.

What could have happened? A murder, and an explosion, an earthquake the likes of which Equestria had never before seen, rocking the entire mountain. Daerev knew of only a few powers capable of a feat like that, and as he put the pieces together, he felt the leaden weight settle, and a snarl twisting his lips.

Even running, it took him half an hour to reach the crater. It had been impossible to miss: following the trail of debris, scattered in concentric circles of ever-increasing devastation, inwards, he came across another crowd, though this one was more controlled. Royal Guards stood stoically on the streets leading in, holding back onlookers as a small group of ponies moved around the site. Daerev recognised one or two from the University, though the rest were unknown. Twilight was nowhere to be seen.

Daerev didn’t bother moving down into the crater. If Twilight wasn’t here, there was no point; he’d only get in the way. Instead, he turned back towards the city proper, though he kept to a slower walk this time. He’d try the Agency first—it was closer—then the Archives, and finally the castle itself. There weren’t really any other places he was likely to find her.

By the time Daerev reached the Agency, the pain in his legs and back had returned, but he barely noticed it under the horrible knowledge he carried. Knocking, he waited for an answer, a moment, then three, then ten. Finally, the door opened, a cyan hoof pulling it back to reveal the long hallway and the pegasus standing there.

Not her, thank Celestia.

“Daerev,” Rainbow said with an air of finality. “Come in.”

Rainbow looked as if she had barely slept—bags under her eyes and a wilting grace to her step betrayed her as she lead Daerev to the back of the building—but she wasn’t dead. She held herself with a strange tension; aa if a line was pulled taut through her torso, keeping her head up and back straight. Daerev followed slowly, fighting the some vague apprehension.

It didn’t change the knowledge that hung in his belly and ran through his veins like ice. But if he continued, somehow it would become real, transcend the fear he felt, gripped tightly in clenched fists. Somehow, he realised, it was hope that held him back. Hope, in some twisted form, that carried with it both strength and weakness.

Daerev followed Rainbow into the workshop at the back. While Twilight kept the front offices for the Agency, this room was for Twilight personally—a wide, open space, benches topped with lab equipment and racks of chemicals lining the walls, bookshelves, full of scientific learning, interspersed around the room, and a small groove, worn into the wooden floor. Daerev didn’t have to guess what had caused that particular feature.

In the centre of the room, Twilight stood, facing away from the door, bending her attention to something in front of her. Trixie stood opposite her, eyes bent forward and horn alight with azure magic.

The two of them jumped at Rainbow’s entrance. The pegasus moved to the side, allowing the doorway to frame Daerev. He had to dip a shoulder to make it into the room. Trixie seemed indifferent, turning her attention back to whatever was in front of her. Twilight, though, eyes wide and disbelieving, rushed over to catch him in a hard embrace.

“S-s-spike,” she said. “You came.”

“Of course, Twi’,” he replied, cupping her face in a claw. Twilight held him tightly for a second, before pushing him away and stepping back.

“Sorry, Daerev. Guess I still haven’t gotten used to that.”

“Relax, Twilight. It’s okay.”

“Yes, of course,” she sniffed.

“Twi’ . . . there’s a crater in the slums. We could see the tremors from Ponyville,” he said, simply. “What happened? Who died?”

“I . . . it was me,” Twilight said, in a small voice. From the side, Rainbow hissed in a flare of sudden anger.

“Don’t you dare, Twilight. Don’t you dare try to take responsibility for this.” Rainbow stepped forward, and swung a hoof at Trixie, who was spreading a cloth over whatever they’d been studying. Daerev could see a glimmer in her upturned eyes, though she pretended to be ignoring the scene in front of her.

“It was her, Daerev,” Rainbow spat. “Trixie and that creep she’s been living with. They killed Shining Armour.”

Oh no. Oh, Twilight, I’m so sorry.

There it was. Just like that, hope died, shattered. He expected to feel sorrow, or perhaps pain. He was prepared for that, braced against its strike. He wasn’t prepared for the emptiness.

Living in a library, he’d read more than his share of literature. Often, he’d come across the idea of a character, struck by a wave of emotion, or left helpless before a wall, rushing at them with sudden violence. The reality was altogether different. A hollow feeling, everything sucked out of him in an instant, as if the world itself had turned grey. The absence of hope left not fear, but distilled apathy.

“Killed?” Daerev asked, turning to Trixie. The mare made no secret of her interest now, head lifting to gaze at him. Despite himself, he was impressed. She met his eyes squarely, offering no excuses or explanations. There was strength in that calm acceptance of life. “Why?”

“Because I could,” Trixie said, earning herself a glare from Rainbow. Twilight pressed her eyes shut, liquid brimming under her eyelids. “Can you, at least, understand that, drake?”

Daerev growled, a low, guttural sound that vibrated, echoing around the enclosed space. “Yes.” He did understand, perhaps better than anypony else could. He had been pushed himself, been forced to choose, and having chosen, found himself in a different world. Something passed between them, some acknowledgement, flowing between Daerev and Trixie’s locked gaze. She had been broken, just as he had.

“Yes, I understand. But that doesn’t give you the right,” he said. Ah, yes. Now the anger came, came like a tidal wave to fill the void within. Perhaps this was what those books had described. “Better you had died, little pony.” He didn’t dare bring the fire back, to hide behind his smile and give threat to his words. He wasn’t sure he could control it, despite all the lessons in the glade beside the river. To the side, Rainbow grinned fiercely, nodding with her eyes fixed on Trixie.

“Is it?” Trixie demanded. She felt anger too. He could see it, in the set of her jaw and the stiffness of her back. “Is it better to for us to live blindly, truth obscured under a veil of lies, rather than damning one of us, to bring sorrow and seed misery in the hearts of the few?”

“You call yourself a messiah, pony,” Daerev said, taking a step forward. “But you are not the hero, here. If there is any truth to be found from this, it belongs to Shining Armour, not you.”

“I am that truth. It’s existence lies with me.”

“You are nothing. You are less than a pony, less even than an animal, running loose in the forest.”

“Daerev,” Twilight said, voice nearly a whisper.

“Where does it end, drake? Shall we persist like this, unable to choose?” Trixie asked.

“It ends here, murderer. Bear witness to the sin you take upon yourself—it makes you no more a martyr than I.”

Daerev took another step towards Trixie, around Twilight, and this time he allowed the fire, raging, burning, to alight his mouth in green flame. Curls of it trailed from the gaps between his fangs, twisting into crescent lines in the air. At the sight even Rainbow balked, her grim expression faltering. Even as he moved, relief spread through him; a calming wave that dulled the edges of his rage. She had not spread her poison to them. He could still protect them.

“No.” Twilight moved back in front of him, placing a hoof against his chest. “Don’t touch her, Daerev. She has been punished enough.”

“She lives,” Daerev said, as if that simple statement contradicted Twilight’s claim. Better to play the bloodthirsty villain, here. He did not know why Twilight had brough Trixie here, or why they had done nothing with her. But he could show them what murder looked like—and in doing so, take from them the choice.

“Yes.” Twilight sighed. “She does.” Twilight lowered her hoof back to the ground, taking a step back and looking up at Daerev. She was hurt, oh so terribly hurt. She hid it well, but he could read it in her face, the slight tremble of her lower lip, and searching eyes. “I became her, Daerev. I held her down, and took from her answers.”

Daerev nodded, not giving anything away. “And you left . . .?”

“All the pain,” Twilight whispered. “I left her my innocence, and the questions it brought.” She closed her eyes. “I too, understand.”

“In exchange, I feel,” Trixie said.

Daerev nodded slowly. How very like Twilight, a solution unique among the myriad life offered. It wasn’t redemption, not even close, but it had brought Trixie to her side. Twilight took on Trixie’s sin, and Trixie took on Twilight’s grief. They moved on together, united.

“It didn’t last. I was so angry. I . . . I pushed, and for a second, it all went away,” Twilight said, closing her eyes

“I felt no remorse for his murder, though I regretted it. I thought myself a monster, on a fixed path,” Trixie said.

“You are,” Rainbow said. She didn’t seem particularly happy with Twilight’s choice. She didn’t understand, not as he did. In this, it was her choice to make.

“I felt what holds us,” Twilight said. “I felt Boundless, and the way he broke that barrier down.”

“I live with myself,” Trixie whispered. She looked haunted, introspective. Turning her head to the side she clenched her jaw. “And with my demons. But Twilight showed me that I can still go on.”

“I see,” Daerev said.

“You can’t agree with this!” Rainbow burst out. “She needs to be punished!”

“She is being punished. How would you feel, were you to kill your own brother?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Rainbow shouted. “Are we to give every piece of scum a free pass for no reason but that it feels bad?!”

“This isn’t justice, Dashie. It’s necessity,” Twilight said. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she spoke.

Daerev sucked in a sharp breath. “You said . . . Boundless, right?” Trixie nodded. “Has Rarity met him?”

“No,” Twilight answered. “Only I.”

Of course. They couldn’t find him, not without Sight. Descriptions, circulated around Equestria, might turn up something, but it would be weeks, maybe months, before somepony recognised him.

Twilight fixed Daerev with a glare, giving him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. She’d know his thought patterns, know exactly where logic—instilled in him through years of life with her—would lead him.

“But that would mean . . .” Rainbow said slowly, putting it together. Twilight winced, turning to face her as Rainbow’s eyes shot wide open. “She’s a-“

“Yes,” Twilight interrupted. “Yes, she is. Dashie, I’m sorry.”

Rainbow didn’t say anything. Turning, she stalked from the room, disappearing into the hallway. Twilight gave Daerev a final, pleading glance, before she ran after her marefriend, leaving him alone with Trixie. The mare walked closer to him, an unspoken question hanging in the air before her.

“My mentor,” he replied. Trixie nodded.

“They’re both wrong, you know,” she said. “I’ve seen both sides of it. Twilight, the Princesses, Equestria itself—it can’t continue. Eventually, something has to change.”

“This isn’t the way to do it.”

“How do you choose?” she asked. “I can’t—I’m torn, between them. I can feel Twilight’s touch, still, pressing against me. It is . . . difficult, to disobey.”

“You wouldn’t be useful to us if you couldn’t. Make no mistake, pony. Had I my way, retribution would have a different form.” Leaning close, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “I am watching you.”

Then he turned, moving with as much grace as he could manage. Even if Rarity couldn’t find Boundless, Agyrt’s magic worked at a different level. Perhaps he could help them, wherever he hid.And once Boundless was gone, there would be nothing left to hold him back.

***

“Dashie!” Twilight called, rushing after the pegasus. “Dashie, wait!” Catching sight of her multihued tail, disappearing around a corner, Twilight followed her into the weather room as a sudden gust of wind caught her mane, blowing it around her face and slamming the door shut behind her, nearly catching her tail in between it and the frame.

“Rainbow Dash!”

“Sorry, Twi’,” a voice came from the centre of the room. Though muffled by the clouds surrounding Rainbow, Twilight could still hear the sheepishness that accompanied the apology. “I’m . . . a little mad.”

“I gathered that much,” Twilight said, stepping into the clouds. Little arcs of electricity jumped in the air, bouncing off Twilight’s skin and causing her fur to stand on end. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you, Dashie. I was waiting until I knew.”

“You brought her back here without knowing? What happened, Twi’? Wasn’t what you saw in her mind enough?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know, Dashie. I’m so confused . . . everything is so mixed up.”

“It seems pretty clear from where I’m standing, Twi’,” Rainbow said, moving out of the clouds to stand in front of Twilight. “She murdered your brother in front of you. Daerev was ready to kill her for it, right there and then! I don’t understand how you can just stand aside from this!”

“We need her, Dashie. And . . . I am angry. I’m furious, I think. I can’t stop thinking about that moment, Boundless unconscious in the rubble, Trixie standing over him with the knife against his throat.”

“Twi’ . . .”

“I grabbed her, Rainbow! I held her hoof in my grasp! And I let her slip through. Oh, Dash. It’s my fault.”

“I refuse to accept that, Twilight. You couldn’t have-“

“No! No platitudes, not from you. I held her!”

Rainbow shook her head, wearing, all of things, a small smile. She took Twilight’s head in her hooves, bringing their foreheads together so that Twilight’s horn parted her luminescent mane, sparkling with drops of water.

“You trusted her, Twi’. Of course you did. A Twilight that could have done anything differently is a very different pony to the one I see before me. And the Twilight that could do that, that could believe anything less than the best from us—that isn’t one I’d care to meet.

“I’m not good at this, Twi’. I’d never really slowed down enough to care about eloquence, before. But what I’m trying to say is . . . the Twilight I know—the Twilight I love—couldn’t have been responsible for what happened there.” Rainbow cracked a larger smile. “You’re still doing it, you know. I can’t think of a single pony, a single being that would be able to forgive her this quickly. I don’t have to agree with that; I don’t. But . . . I can respect it. I can love it.”

Twilight drew Rainbow in almost before she could finish speaking, locking their lips together for a long moment before drawing back, and burying her head against Rainbow’s shoulder.

“I . . . thank you,” she managed. Rainbow’s words had done more than restore her spirits. She’d felt lost, the last few days blurring together in her memory. Between Shiny’s murder, what she’d gleaned from the nightmare of Trixie’s mind, and Luna’s return, bearing a shard of Nightmare Moon’s armour, there was little surprise she was so mixed up.

Rainbow had somehow crystallised everything down to a single truth. She’d always been able to understand Twilight—to an extent, she was beginning to think, beyond Twilight herself. Taking a deep breath, Twilight gathered the guilt, the angry cries of loss echoing inside her mind, and let go, melting against Rainbow’s profile. The pegasus bore her weight without a word of protest, allowing sparks from the storm-clouds around them to dance through her fur, moving from body to body without pause.

“Thank you, Dashie,” Twilight said, a few moments later. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Hah! Still in a library, I bet, poring over some dusty old book.”

“No doubt,” Twilight said, smiling.

“I do trust you, you know,” Rainbow said a second later. Twilight replied with another kiss—a peck, really—and turned for the door. She knew what to do, now, and as much as she’d have liked to, it didn’t involve staying here. Rainbow let her go reluctantly, a hoof trailing in the air as Twilight pulled out of her embrace. Clouds billowed around her as she watched Twilight open the door, stepping through resolutely.

“I love you too,” she whispered back into the room as she swung the door shut. Rainbow would be content to stay there, for a while, bleeding herself out into the atmosphere she was creating.

Twilight made her way directly back to the workshop, where she’d left Daerev and Trixie. Daerev . . . his appearance had startled her more than she’d let on. He’d been so dominant, so ready to kill. He’d said he understood.

How? How could anypony understand that emptiness that Twilight had felt? It wasn’t as simple of sociopathic tendencies, or emotionless indifference. There had been empathy, the knowledge of emotional anguish and conflict. Trixie simply hadn’t felt it herself. She’d been left untouched by the devastation in her wake, and she’d hated herself for it.

Twilight pushed the door open to find Trixie in front of Nightmare Moon’s chestplate, studying it with an intense look. She glanced up at Twilight as she entered, then pulled her magic back, setting her work aside for a moment. Daerev was nowhere to be seen, though Twilight wasn’t really surprised to find him gone. He’d always preferred action to reaction, and as he grew, he had become more independent, more willing to set aside Twilight’s lessons. Twilight hoped he’d take the bait—she didn’t think the Drac likely to help her with this, but Daerev might have more luck.

“For a second, I thought you’d let him kill me,” Trixie said as Twilight walked in.

“I’m not you,” Twilight replied, quietly.

“Why did you bring me here, Twilight?” Trixie sighed, glancing up at her.

“I told you,” Twilight said. “I need you.”

“Not for this,” Trixie said, gesturing. “I can offer you nothing you don’t already have. Why, Twilight?”

Twilight stepped forward, joining Trixie in front of the armour. “I felt you, Trixie. When I was in your mind. . . it works both ways. I felt them.”

“Cumulus,” Trixie whispered, clarity breaking over her face.

“Yes,” Twilight nodded, “and Brash.”

“I haven’t heard from them in days,” Trixie said, swivelling to meet Twilight’s eyes. “Is he . . .”

“He’s fine, but angry—nearly as angry as I am.”

“How can you just stand there and do nothing?” Trixie asked, her voice a quiet shadow.

Twilight didn’t answer, instead bending down to the armour. Luna had left it with her just this morning, returning to the rest of the set at the castle, in the hopes that one of them would discover something. She suspected Luna had simply been swamped, caring for the city; it had taken Twilight just a few hours to understand it—or at least part of it.

She hoped Trixie would be able to feel it too.

“Look closer,” Twilight said, “Turn your mind to it.”

Trixie narrowed her eyes, turning back to the chestplate. With a sudden flare, her horn ignited, light springing up around her, and enveloping the armour. It rose a few inches from the pedestal Twilight had placed it on, glinting in the reflective glow.

She stood there, squinting at it, and turning it over in the air, before placing it back down, and shaking her head.

“You’re thinking, Trixie,” Twilight commented, her eyes closed. Unbidden, a small smile arose on her lips, though it was quickly twisted into something else. “Don’t think.”

“What does that even mean?” Trixie demanded, glancing at Twilight.

“Ssh . . . focus, Trixie. Focus on it, feel it.”

Trixie snorted, shaking her head. “What’s to feel?”

Twilight opened her eyes, her grimace disappearing. “Do you think you’re special?” Trixie opened her mouth to retort, but Twilight lifted a hoof, forestalling her. “No, think about it. You can read minds. You took into yourself the souls of your friends, just before they slipped away. Do you think anypony else could have done that?”

“Well . . . no,” Trixie said slowly.

“I could have,” Twilight admitted. “I recognise myself in you, as horrifying as that sounds. I know that curiosity, Trixie. I think everypony who seeks the higher truths does. I can see the question in your eyes. Ask it.”

“Earlier . . . by the river. It felt like you’d pressed your experiences into me, forced those memories onto the surface of my mind, and stolen away a taste of my own. Is that . . .?”

“You’ve been able to read minds ever since the fire that killed your friends,” Twilight said. “What I did is no more than that, and no less. It is the same ability that I used to burn myself in you, Trixie, burnt with the fire of my anger.”

“I know,” Trixie said. “I deserved it, Twilight. I felt it, finally.”

Twilight nodded towards the armour. “Feel this, Trixie. It is the only thing holding you back.”

She clearly didn’t understand. Twilight watched quietly as the mare fumbled, again running her magic over its surface. Her face was screwed up in concentration, eyes clenched shut. Several minutes passed that way, until finally Trixie broke off, releasing pent-up breath in frustration.

“There’s nothing to feel.”

“Ah, but there is. A world’s worth of pain, wrapped into a single piece of metal,” Twilight said, reaching forward with her mind. Her horn remained dark—she did not need magic for this. A morose calmness descending over her. She didn’t know where it had come from, or what it meant. But in that metal, forged from the stars themselves in the fires of Luna’s anguish, she touched the mind of a goddess, and plumbed its endless pits of hate.

Trixie could feel it too, though she was blind to it, just as Twilight had been blind, all those years ago. Trained to understand, rather than perceive. Trained to think, rather than feel. Anger built within her, spilling into her from the chest-plate. More and more, until she was just barely holding on, her mind scrabbling for control over the waves of passion flooding her.

It resonated with everything that had happened. The image of his blood pooling under his still body. Trixie’s cold indifference, the simple, unbelievably lack of feeling Twilight had stumbled into, rushing into her mind. The screaming, of the two minds trapped in there with her. Twilight’s own inability to act on her feelings. All of it came together at once, in a single roaring tide.

And under that ocean, she clung to a single thought. She would awaken Trixie to them. The mare had the gift, had proved her capacity repeatedly. Twilight grinned.

“Trixie,” she began, taking a deep breath. “I cannot tell you what makes you special.” She shimmied her hooves outwards, subtly widening her stance. “But I can show you.”

“Then show me,” Trixie said, after a beat.

Twilight burst into motion, rushing forward with a ball—a sun—of lavender power blossoming from her forehead. In the brief flash of light before she ducked her head, sending a blast of magic, intense, furious, and so hot it melted the stone around it, she caught a glimpse of Trixie’s terrified face, falling backwards into a reflexive teleportation.

Twilight watched her fury sizzle on the ground before her, the empty spot where Trixie had once stood. Reaching out, she took hold of the threads of magic there, instantly reading Trixie’s location. Her own spell formed around her, and as she disappeared, a fleeting thought made its way across her mind, bringing a genuine smile to her lips. This was going to be fun.

Twenty-Two

Is it not proof enough of her folly that everything you think is prescribed? Our thoughts, beliefs, reactions—everything we are is given to us, defined by a society mired in perfection. It is a trap, for what chance of bettering ourselves when we reflect the best in us? How are we to grow, to change, to learn?

For their sake, you must trust me. For your sake, you must trust me. For my sake, please. Trust me.

Twenty-Two

FLUTTERSHY took a deep gulp of the fresh air, still sweet in the storm’s aftermath. Still heavy with water, each step on the sand took more of the little strength she had remaining. Panting, she pushed herself onwards, buoyed a little by the support of the cloud beside her. Nephele hadn’t said a word since the storm, instead keeping a fixed gaze on the horizon.

She probably shouldn’t be moving at all. Her hooves, tucked gingerly under her belly, were still shaking. She was shivering, soaked to the bone, and covered in an assortment of cuts and bruises that would normally have caused her no end of worry. Remarkably, nothing major was broken save for her wing.

Her wing. It remained flat against her body, crumpled into a messy tangle of flesh and bone. Fluttershy avoided looking at it, avoided thinking about it, or the grit that was quickly working its way into the wound. It twinged, throbbing painfully, though the signal was nothing near the strength it should have been.

Slight dizziness, trembling limbs, general numbness.

She was in shock, she decided, though there was nothing she could do about it. Instead, she focused her efforts on each step, weak though it was. She’d beaten her way through the storm itself; a stretch of desert wasn’t going to break her.

Fluttershy glanced at the cloud nymph. It seemed . . . convenient, almost, that she’d appeared so suddenly, just before the storm’s onset. Had she known it was coming? Why, then, would she have stuck around—why follow her all the way from the reserve?

“You must rest, Conduit,” Nephele murmured. “You are not well.”

“Can’t rest yet,” Fluttershy said, turning her head back to her hooves. They dragged in the sand, moving with a halting gait. “We have to get to Applejack.”

“The Warden you travel with.”

“Applejack?”

“Yes.”

“How can you know those names?”

Nephele smiled. “You have made no secret of what you are capable of, Conduit. Neither has the Warden. This morning she spread herself thin indeed.”

Fluttershy frowned. Part of her still wasn’t convinced. But the image, rising unbidden in her mind like half a line from a song she heard a week ago, the image of the cloud, tiny and petrified before the darkness; that had conveyed something more than just the urge to shelter her. Buried in there was an assurance, a trust—foal-like in its simplicity—that they were on the same side.

“What I am capable of?” Fluttershy asked, more to herself than anything else.

“Yes, Conduit. You have flown through the heart of a storm of chaos. You have harnessed the wind and the rain and the lightning. These things . . . they are not natural.” Nephele paused, turning her head from its solemn gaze at the horizon to look down at her. “They are not normal.”

“Twilight said that everypony is a Coromancer,” Fluttershy said. “She said that was how mothers could lift carts or fallen buildings from their foals—how athletes could outperform themselves near the end of the race, or failing farms suddenly produce so much food.”

“Magic underlies everything,” Nephele whispered. “What, then, underlies magic?”

Fluttershy felt a chill at that, though a stumble, caused by the sands shifting under her hooves, sent a shock through her side and pushed the ominous words from her mind.

It was difficult to remember why she was moving at all. Even aside from the constant, throbbing ache that was all that remained of her wing, and the dull weariness permeating her whole body, her exertions in the storm had left her without reserves. She’d never felt apathy before—not the way Applejack had described it—but she could feel the purpose slipping from her mind.

Applejack was out here, in the desert. Alone, she had no protection against the wind and lightning, the cutting ice and crushing debris, not in the middle of a desert. That prospect, however, wasn’t what Fluttershy held onto as she walked.

She’d been going to the buffalo camp at the reservoir. If she’d been there when the storm hit, her priority wouldn’t be survival. Fluttershy couldn’t imagine having the power to save them, and doing nothing with it. But if Applejack drew the storm to herself, focused its fury away from the lives around her, she wouldn’t be walking away.

She just had to keep walking. The last vestiges of will remaining to her was barely sufficient, each step drew out a little more pain, a little more strength. Oddly, she found herself screaming in her mind, fully conscious of the situation, the words rippling over the surface of her mind. She simply couldn’t feel them, couldn’t feel the resonance growing, demanding attention.

Fluttershy turned her head back to Nephele. Concentrating on her movements wasn’t helping; all it did was draw more attention to her condition. Instead, in conversation, she found she was able to better ignore her limitations.

“How did you find me?” Fluttershy asked.

“We have been watching you,” Nephele said. “After the Awakening, we did not know where to turn. Drifting, as our brethren did—without feeling—it was no longer enough. We followed you. We found you.”

“The Awakening?”

“You know it as the Cleansing. When you brought the Moon back into this world, its light roused us from our slumber; not soft, or warm, but harsh, and cold, oh, so very cold.”

Fluttershy frowned. “Luna is far from harsh.”

“Your princess was not the one. She brought nothing new—is nothing new. She cannot save us.”

“Then . . .”

“You knew her as the Nightmare.”

“Nightmare Moon,” Fluttershy whispered. “She was going to bring about endless night. She was going to destroy us, Nephele.”

“She saved us; not evil, as you saw her, and not good, as we first thought, but a messiah.”

“I . . .” Nightmare Moon! Still, that enigma was throwing new puzzles at their feet. Fluttershy had felt only the aftermath of Lethe’s discovery, but even then, she’d never considered any further implications. They’d gained a princess, a friend. That had been enough.

“Why do you struggle?” Nephele asked, abruptly changing tack.

“What?”

“Why do you move, now? Your injuries are beyond the physical, though you cannot feel it.”

“I have to find Applejack. She’s out here, somewhere.” Fluttershy swept a hoof, gesturing at the barren wasteland around her, though the motion caused a spasm of pain.

“It changed you,” Nephele said. “It made you strong.”

“I don’t feel strong,” Fluttershy said, grimacing, though she felt . . . not better, exactly, but no worse. As if the bleeding had stopped, her wounds clotting and sealing over.

“When you came here, you questioned yourself. You didn’t hesitate to offer, and yet you still doubted your ability. But now you choose to act without concern for your own limitations.” Nephele shook her head. “It is in how you see yourself; triumphant, transcendent, greater than all that the world can throw at you.”

“I’m not . . .” Fluttershy said, quietly. Her mind continued to stray to the pain. She gritted her teeth, redoubling her efforts to listen.

“You make yourself.”

Fluttershy shook her head, snorting. Her mind felt like it was fuzzing over, the edges of her vision darkening and her legs beginning to buckle under her. “I can’t . . .”

Nephele turned to look at her. Floating down, the nymph extended a wisp, lightly touching Fluttershy on the shoulder. A shock ran through her—light, and vitalising, leaving her tingling. Fluttershy took a sudden deep breath, drawing herself up, then exhaled, closing her eyes.

The nymph had . . . given her something, imparted some kind of energy. Strength flooded her limbs, and the world around her crystallised, suddenly clear and crisp. Fluttershy grinned, opening her eyes and resuming her walk with renewed confidence.

As the wind once again picked up, throwing sand into her face, she began to notice something wrong with the picture around her. They had set out following in the storm’s trail—a huge channel of wet sand and debris that had turned the desert floor into a gritty slush.

“Where’s the water gone?”

“He calls it back.”

Fluttershy halted, shielding her face with a foreleg. “Then the storm . . . this isn’t over.”

“No, Conduit. Not yet.”

Fluttershy stood for a moment, before returning to her trek. How long had it taken, the first time? Two, three weeks, no longer, before another storm would be sailing through, bent on destruction.

Survival wasn’t enough. If it had hit Appleloosa, ponies would have died. They couldn’t channel the energies, as Fluttershy could, or endure them like Applejack. Fluttershy kept walking, mind spinning with implications, possibilities. So many lives . . . there was no protection sufficient against that maelstrom—not out here. She had to stop it. Strangely, that thought brought her no familiar apprehension. What little she could feel turned itself to stone, hardening in her resolve. She would save them.

First, though, she needed to find Applejack, regroup back in town, and heal. Clinging to that thought, Fluttershy walked, steadfastly ignoring her body’s aches. She walked, ignoring the futility of her search, through a desert unmarked by the storm’s passage. She walked until even that jolt of energy had given way.

She lost track of the time. It had been late afternoon, hadn’t it? Up there, in the sky, with the sun and the clouds, watching birds tear themselves apart. The sun was dipping below the horizon now, painting the desert sand in hues of soft orange. For so long, she’d been walking through that, trudging endlessly through a static landscape.

Fluttershy stumbled, her hoof sliding out from under her. With a jolt, she lifted her head, staring vaguely at the glassy ground under her. It took her a few seconds to understand the scene, to make sense of it, her eyes sliding over the details without registering their meaning. When she noticed the still form, still some distance away, but clearly unmoving, lying on the sandy glass, however, she let out a small gasp.

“Applejack!” she cried, haltingly dragging herself out onto the opaque surface.

Applejack’s orange coat was clear, contrasting with the opaque silver she lay on. As she approached, Fluttershy could see the damage the storm had wrought on her friend—even weakened, it had left Applejack bruised and battered, her entire body covered in scrapes. Small rivulets of blood had long since congealed against numerous scratches. But as Fluttershy threw herself onto Applejack’s body, frantically seeking a sign of life, she felt the pony shivering, and heard the dull thump of her slow heartbeat.

“Applejack!” Fluttershy cried again, fiercely hugging the pony to her breast. But she didn’t respond, head lolling back to the ground and drawing in another ragged breath. Fluttershy let out a sob. It seemed so hopeless, all of a sudden. The world crushed in around her, collapsed onto her with all the weight of reality. She could barely move herself. How could she possibly get out of the desert with her friend’s unconscious body in tow?

But no. That was just the apathy talking. Fluttershy took a deep breath, forcing herself to her hooves. She had beaten the storm. She’d entered a tempest beyond anything she’d ever seen before—beyond anything she’d ever contemplated. It had been perhaps the single most terrifying experience of her life—Nephele’s life had rested in her hooves, entrusted to her wholeheartedly and completely. And she had triumphed. She had ridden those winds like a god, with golden wings of electric power! What right had she to feel nothing now, so close to her friend’s salvation?!

Her own injuries forgotten, Fluttershy scanned the horizon. She’d been following the path of the storm—following Nephele—rather than heading towards the town. There was no telling how far she’d come, or how far away from Appleloosa they were. It could take her days to find it again.

That was no good. But Applejack had been coming from the buffalo encampment, near the last reservoir. Fluttershy closed her eyes, thinking, remembering how swiftly the storm had hit her—a mass of darkness arriving out of a clear blue sky, streaking towards her with something akin to malice. If it had hit Applejack as well . . . surely the buffalo would be nearby?

With them, she could find shelter, food, the time she needed to rest from her exertions. She could find care for Applejack. Fluttershy turned her head to Nephele, feeling the sudden motion cause a small crick. Its dull ache soon joined the rest of her pains, locked away and ignored.

“Nephele,” she began. The Nymph looked at her with a vacant expression. “You carried me to the ground.”

“You preserved us,” she said, nodding.

“Can you carry my friend?”

“We can.”

“Please,” Fluttershy said, stepping aside. Nephele drifted closer, reaching out to Applejack’s prone form, and enveloped it in cloud. Then, rising into the air with Applejack suspended inside her, Nephele turned herself to face the direction they’d been moving.

“This way,” Fluttershy whispered, again setting out. All around her, she could see the glass plain extending outward, in a circle two hundred feet wide.

“Had to . . .” Applejack said, stirring. Motes of light had gathered around her form, sparkling in the dying light. “I had to . . .”

“Applejack!” Fluttershy said, moving closer.

“S-s-sorry,” Applejack said, pressing her eyes shut. “I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t hold it. Fluttershy!”

“Hey there,” Fluttershy whispered, in the same comforting tone she used to calm injured animals. “Easy, AJ, easy now. Rest.”

“I couldn’t save them,” Applejack whispered, her voice slurring as she fell back into sleep.

Fluttershy looked around at the glass field again. She hadn’t stopped to consider it before, but now it seemed all too obvious what had happened.

Even weakened, a storm like that would have been crushing punishment for the earth pony. Surrounded by nothing but sand and dirt, without the energy of life around her, Applejack had nothing to draw on, nothing to bolster her efforts. Nonetheless, she’d tried to accept the storm’s might, draw it into herself, and away from the buffalo around her. She’d tried to take on their pain for them.

She couldn’t have taken it all. Not concentrated, directed at her; the weight would have crushed her, no matter how much will was behind her. When it had grown too much to bear, she must have staggered out here, as far away as she could, before releasing the pent-up power into the sand around her, instantly melting it down to form the glass Fluttershy now walked on.

Within minutes, they’d crossed from the glass back into the desert proper, and from there, just over a small sand dune, Fluttershy could see what was left of the buffalo’s camp. She could see what had once been ordered—scattered and half-buried wooden logs, and small tents, with gaping rents torn in the fabric, the buffalo themselves—strewn throughout the ruins and beyond. Still forms lay on the ground, here and there, already partially covered by wet sand.

She could see the reservoir itself, now flush with water. Remnants of tents, scraps of cloth and thin logs floated in its embrace, bobbing around near the shore. They must have camped too close—the storm had flooded over them. Horribly, that wasn’t the only thing she spotted in the water; a few bodies lay, unmoving, amongst the materials.

“Hurry,” Fluttershy whispered, as much to herself as to Nephele. “We can’t stop yet. Can’t rest yet.”

With a savage effort, a grunt escaping her lips, Fluttershy stumbled down the sand hill, narrowly avoiding falling down its side entirely. She called out for help, her voice soft, strained. Not all of the buffalo were unmoving, plenty were rushing here and there amongst the ruins of their camp, helping each other as best they could.

Two heard her, came running out to meet her. Nephele hovered at her side as Fluttershy allowed herself to sink into their embrace, worried words passing over and through her without meaning. She saw Applejack at her side, gently taken from Nephele’s grasp, before she finally passed into the sleep her body had been demanding, a small smile on her lips.

***

“Your injuries were mostly superficial, Kitchi. You’ll be fine in a few days,” the doctor said, looking over Applejack’s shoulder in the makeshift tent hastily erected on the side of the reservoir. “If you rest, of course,” he said, eyeing her, before moving to the next patient. They’d been able to treat most of the buffalo by now—many had been only slightly hurt. The piles outside, however—rows of bodies awaiting burial—were testament to those that had been beyond their aid.

The restoration was well under way. In the aftermath, there had been a frantic rush getting to survivors trapped under debris, but as everyone was slowly accounted for and reunited with their families, they’d settled down to rest. Applejack hadn’t awoken until the following afternoon. Fluttershy, her wing now set, splinted, and bandaged, was still unconscious, lying on the ground behind her. They expected her to wake soon.

Applejack didn’t say anything. Ever since waking up, she’d been working, helping to clear away debris, repair what she could, and salvage any useful supplies. She’d stayed away from Strongheart, losing herself in the labour. At least there, straining her muscles in that familiar way, it didn’t hurt so badly.

Everything around her was ruined. The storm had swept through, leaving utter devastation, without so much as a glance for all her efforts. She’d borne as much as she could, and it hadn’t been nearly close to enough. The many bodies she’d turned over to find gaping wounds, or simple stillness, had been testament to that.

Fluttershy had had to come to her rescue. She felt . . . disappointed, in herself; angry, even, and disgust for feeling that way. But she’d always prided herself on reliability. She’d always been the one saving the day. It felt wrong, somehow, to be the one in need.

It had taken Hassun to force her from her labour, mumbling something from a lowered head as he stubbornly pushed her to the healers. From them, she’d received nothing short of reverence, despite her protests. She’d even been given a name, though none would tell her its meaning. They’d said that they’d seen her; a beacon in the dark, a pillar of argent light streaming from the heavens into her, holding back the tides. It had only been when that light had guttered out—brief flashes showing her staggering away from them—that the storm’s fury had struck.

Perhaps, before, she’d have been glad to be so accepted into the tribes. But looking out over the bodies of those she’d failed, she couldn’t bring herself to smile.

Strongheart sat down heavily next to her. Applejack glanced at her, and then winced, looking away. Her face was sunken, lines etched into it as if carved in stone and weathered by years of wind and rain.

“Applejack . . .” she said.

“How is he?” Applejack asked. Ahanu—Achak’s son—had been one of the injured. He’d been found last night, his laughter silenced by screams, half-buried under broken wood and cloth.

“Asleep. When the storm tore him from me . . . I didn’t know what to do, Applejack. I had to go after him—and I couldn’t.”

Applejack nodded.

“Not that it mattered,” Achak continued, bitterness creeping into her voice. Applejack clenched her jaw. “It broke his leg. He has to stay still, stay down, for at least a month.”

“He’ll heal. There’s that. At least there’s that.”

“He hasn’t said a word.” Achak shuddered, hunching her shoulders. Applejack could feel the vibrations through the log they sat on. “I don’t know how to go on.”

They sat there for a moment longer, together and alone, until the silence grew so heavy Applejack couldn’t bear it any longer. A lump rose, unbidden, in her throat, swelling inexorably despite all she could do to suppress it.

“Ah’m so sorry, Achak,” Applejack whispered. Even to her, her voice sounded strangled. “Ah didn’t mean any of this.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself.”

“What point is there in blame?” She clenched her jaw. “Blame doesn’t change anything. Blame can’t save them.”

“You did more than anyone asked you to. More than anyone thought was possible.”

“It wasn’t enough. Not for them.” Applejack nodded at the dead. “Not for you.”

Finally, she turned, meeting Achak’s gaze. Honesty had seemed a simple trait, when she’d first heard of it. She’d never really stopped to consider the grief it carried in its wake. In Achak’s eyes, she was a sorrow unending, pain beyond the flesh and mind. She saw the simple hopelessness of a world uncaring, and the strength that hid that from view. She tried not to think of what Achak saw in her eyes; hollow orbs of truth. She had nothing to hide behind. She’d never needed it before.

“Ah wasn’t enough,” she forced out, voice choking to a halt on the last word.

“Look at the buffalo behind you,” Achak said. Applejack complied, turning away from the grisly scene to a view of the makeshift triage. “How many of them do you think would have died last night, Applejack?”

“I . . .”

“I saw what you did; rearing, sparks flying from your hooves, kicking out at that wall. Flashes of lightning showed me glimpses of boulders, trees, shards of ice and sand mixed into the swirling torrent—a mass of Nature gathered by the gods themselves. It struck you, and it stopped,” she whispered.

“And then a bolt split the heavens. It arced down to strike you. It coursed over you, webs of argence spreading over your body. Orange, split by white, lit up against night itself. And when it was spent, there was another to replace it, and another, and another, and I realised that it wasn’t moving, that you’d anchored it, tethered it somehow. As one, we turned and ran. We ran from your glory.”

Achak’s voice had changed as she spoke, rising from the gloom, gaining conviction, strength. It pulled in those around her—doctor’s, and patients, nearby workers, even foals too young to be helping. They gathered, a small crowd, no more than ten. All of them bore the marks of the storm, and all of them were smiling.

“So think, Kitchi, before you dare take their deaths on yourself. Think about all the life you preserved here. We’re more than glad you came.”

Those around her roared their approval. The sound washed over Applejack, a wave of sound that encompassed her, buoyed her against despair. Achak was right, in a way. What sense was there in wallowing in death?

But Applejack couldn’t quite bring a smile to her lips. She flinched from the crowd, shrinking down in her seat. She’d always been glad to accept praise, in the past. Then, though, it hadn’t rung false in her ears. She’d burnt away all the will she had; all the love, hope, and joy.

The truth bubbled behind her lips, gathered inside her until she thought she would burst.

“I’ve seen the plain you left out there, Kitchi. The glass circle, sunk into the ground.”

“Molten sand,” Applejack said, sharply, abruptly. She had to say something, anything to stop the building tension, the approval humming in the small crowd around them. “The energy from the storm . . . Ah sent it into the ground. Most of the sand evaporated instantly.”

Achak nodded, smiling, as the moment passed, floated away, as dust does when kicked up by a sudden wind.

Applejack sat with her in silence for a long time. Eventually rising, Achak winced, raising a hoof to her stomach. There were several gashes there, covered by long bandages and gauze. Applejack could see the edges of a massive purple bruise, peeking out from the wrappings.

“It was me,” Applejack whispered. The words spun through the air before her, and she sighed, releasing some tension she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “Oh, Celestia, Ah’m so sorry. It was me. It has to have been me!”

“What?”

“Ah’ve seen Fluttershy’s injuries. You think it’s chance that storm hit both of us?”

Achak turned, concern written on her face. Applejack didn’t give her any chance to respond.

“It can’t have been random. That line took it across just this one waterhole. It doesn’t make any sense!”

“What are you saying?” Achak said, raising her hoof to her mouth.

“It came here for me!” Applejack roared, tears spilling freely from her eyes. “It came for me, and for her, and for nopony else! If we’d stayed home, there wouldn’t be any bodies!”

“Applejack!”

“How can you smile at me? I killed them! I killed you!”

Achak slapped her across the face, hard. Applejack swung her head with the blow, feeling the harsh sting it left behind. When she looked up, she found the tableau of the dead again before her.

Applejack didn’t notice Achak stalk away, nor the small crowd slowly disperse—many casting glances back at her, small, weary frowns plastered over their lips. She was drifting, lost in their faces. Could she have saved him? He was strong, bulky. It had been sheer misfortune that the winds had tossed him onto the wooden shaft, its splintered tip piercing his gut. He’d still been alive when they’d found him. A second longer, and he might have lived.

What about her? She lay there, shoulders broken, limbs torn free, or twisted into unnatural shapes. She’d collided with a trunk in the air; thrown together at ludicrous speeds, without a bubble of air to protect her. Applejack could have taken that hit for her, taken it and dispersed it into the sand, if she’d been strong enough, if she’d cared enough.

Sorrow became her world. In her work, she’d been able to forget, if only for a time. She’d been able to lose herself in reparation, as meaningless as it was. Here, though, waiting for Fluttershy to stir, waiting for her own wounds to heal, she had nothing to separate herself from them.

A hoof fell on her shoulder. Applejack started, her head spinning around. Fluttershy was smiling; comforting and full of warmth for all its weakness.

Applejack fell into her embrace. Something passed between them, something intangible, an understanding, of sorts. A bond no other here could share. They’d passed through the storm as no other had; found its eye and stared it down, surpassing even Nature’s laws. Fluttershy had found it self-affirming, an acknowledgement of her capacities and strengths. Applejack had found it self-defeating, eating away at her confidence. They read the truth in each other’s hold, and understood.

“Your wing?” Applejack asked, pulling back.

“It was . . . unlikely that it would heal,” Fluttershy replied. “I took care of that, though it still needs time, though. I’d rather save myself for worse wounds.”

Applejack nodded. Before she could speak, however, another voice joined their conversation; as silky-smooth as molten chocolate.

“Can you feel it, Warden?”

Applejack turned disbelieving eyes on the patch of cloud that had drifted next to Fluttershy. Unbelievably, it had formed a face, of sorts, hovering at the head of that billowing mass; a brow, uncreased and serene, a soft noise and thin lips, parted with speech.

“Wha . . .”

“Applejack, this is Nephele, a Cloud Nymph I met. She brought you to town, after we found you,” Fluttershy said, gesturing at the cloud.

“A Nymph . . .?”

“Yes, Warden. We are beings of thought and spirit, affiliated with the physical. It is not surprising that you would not have heard of us.” The cloud moved forward, pressing itself closer to her as if entreating her. “Can you feel it?”

Applejack frowned, then nodded. “Nothin’ in particular. Am Ah supposed to?”

“Reach below. The storm has passed. Where is the water?”

Applejack’s eyes widened. The cloud—the Nymph—was right. Barely a day after that monster of a storm, there should have been more water in the ground, soaking into everything. Instead, the sand was loose and dry, reflecting the heat of the sun. She’d almost adjusted, forgotten the heat. With everything that had happened, that wasn’t surprising.

But even this sun wouldn’t have been able to bake that much water away, not this quickly. The reservoir was testament enough to that—its level had dropped only marginally since last night.

Applejack gathered herself together, a process leaving an acrid taste in her mouth. She’d refrained from blocking these emotions before. Sorrow seemed apt, somehow. But now she sent it away eagerly, burned it off and found underneath a kind of weary relief; still sore, but content to rest, and to wait.

Underground, she sent herself, and found water. Not droplets, trickling here and there, nor rivulets, seeking the shortest path down to the rock and dirt and salt, instead, she found a stream.

Tentatively, she touched it, extending her bitterness and regrets into the water as it passed her by—heading north, heading into Equestria. As she touched it, it touched her, and sent a tendril, spiking into her mind, causing her to reel back from the contact. It swept away her power, ruptured it in an instant, and dissolved it into nothing. For a moment, as she recoiled, falling backwards, all she perceived was a chaotic nothing; a torrential storm of power, endlessly seeking ruin.

Twenty-Three

I know you fear her. When we fought, we expected a simple tussle, an easy victory and a dressing down of a sibling who’d grown too big for her horseshoes. We were wrong; we fought over the future of the world, and in the place of our younger sister—the scholar; a pony more befitting the universities than the throne—stood a queen.

To be fair, she had saved us from an evil you could not defeat. But that was a fight only she could have won, and though He lent her strength once, He will not do so again.

Twenty-Three

TRIXIE screamed, hurling a hasty shield behind her as the force from Twilight’s attack spun her around. She gritted her teeth, jumping away as another blast tore past her, ripping through her shield without even noticing it was there. Breaking into a gallop, she ran for all she was worth away from the rampaging unicorn. Twilight’s spells were simple, vicious, and effective, giving her no real chance to return fire.

Blast after blast rained down on her, striking the ground all around her. If Twilight had wanted to strike her, she would have—Trixie had no doubts as to her accuracy. The thought brought a grimace to her lips. She was being toyed with.

Trixie reared, falling back as a wall of purple fire erupted in front of her. The flames licked at the air, reaching out towards her hungrily, and, concentrating, she summoned a small wind—not to put them out, but to open a path, blowing the fire back and allowing her to jump through.

“Too clever, Trixie!” Twilight called, from behind, a kind of satisfaction burning in her voice. Trixie shivered despite the crackling heat, Twilight’s tone sending a spike of sudden, sharp fear racing through her body.

Where was Twilight getting such strength? No unicorn—no mage—should have been able to summon so much, and waste it so blatantly. Trixie was no weakling. A lifetime of practice had done more than hone her abilities, it had given her reserves of power and a familiarity with pushing herself, drawing out every scrap she had. But the energy in those balls of light Twilight was throwing at her was more than Trixie had ever seen in one place. More than what she’d had, fighting next to the river. It was the kind of power needed to shake a mountain.

She didn’t believe Twilight would kill her. Not even after Shining Armour’s murder had she felt truly in danger. She was . . . pure wasn’t right. Incorruptible. Where Boundless had only a cynical belief in his own importance, Twilight believed in something greater. She shone with it.

“I don’t know what you mean!” Trixie screamed, feeling another blast of purple fire pick her up and fling her forward. Slowly, unsteadily, she clambered to her hooves, shaking herself off. The impact had left a crater in the ground, fully twenty feet wide, with wisps of power flickering, eating at the grass. It's heat had only singed her.

From the room in the Agency, Trixie had teleported back to her old home. Her range was limited, and to her, it was more than just a safe place. It felt like home. She’d felt Twilight coming, turned to face her with spells at the ready. Perhaps, on her home ground, surrounded with all the memories of three lives, she’d have a chance.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. Twilight had blown through seven layers of shields with a single thought, barely a frown creasing her face. Trixie’s attacks flashed off her fur, bouncing and shattering to play azure light around the room. Twilight had focused her gaze on Trixie, and, narrowing her eyes, flared the magic hovering at the tip of her horn, that brilliant, blazing ball of iricandescent puissance.

The house, the whole building, had erupted, debris scattering high into the sky. Where wooden shards, splintered beams and sharp stones blew outwards, they struck a dull shield, halting to hover in the air for just an instant, before falling to the ground. The air itself caught fire, a swirling torrent of hate screaming upwards as if to claim the sky itself.

All of which Trixie saw for less than a moment, before she found herself on the plains below the mountain. Staggering, she spun to look at Canterlot, in the distance behind her, the barest glimmer of lavender light reaching even here.

From there, Twilight had begun hunting her across the fields, never pausing, never stopping for long enough to allow Trixie to catch her breath. And still, through every trap she laid, every spell she shattered, she continued to lecture her.

“You don’t have to know,” Twilight said, approaching. Lavender spears arose around her, each with a deadly sharp tip pointed directly at Trixie’s heart.

“You won’t use those,” Trixie replied, frowning.

“I won’t kill you,” Twilight corrected her. A spear flashed forward, arcing to the side to graze her side. Warm blood pooled, running down her back leg. Trixie flinched away from the line of red-hot fire snaking down her flank, letting out a gasp.

“Twilight!” Tears rose, filling her eyes. “Stop it!”

Twilight appeared with a purple pop, directly beside Trixie. “I wonder if my brother said that,” she hissed. Her eyes bored into Trixie, a gaze almost soulless in its hate.

What had changed? She thought she'd known where she’d stood—after what Twilight had done by the river, she’d understood. Boundless had shown her his true self; the pony capable of anything, anything at all, in search of his goals. Trixie found herself respecting that, though she loathed the part of her that agreed with him, that small voice she kept at the edges of her mind, endlessly asking 'What more can I do?'

Twilight, on the other hoof, had shown her an unshakeable belief in good. It wasn’t something cast upon her, as much as Boundless might like to believe that. It wasn’t artificial, or compulsive, or a conscious effort. Twilight embodied an ideal. Trixie had seen her soul, and its light had rent her. It had cast her long shadow behind her, set her apart from its embrace.

And then Twilight had turned. From reaching out to her in trust, in some weary acceptance of Fate that had drawn her to Trixie, she’d allowed the anger, boiling, bubbling under the surface to consume her. Trixie hadn’t thought herself forgiven. Such a thing was, perhaps, beyond even Twilight Sparkle. At the same time, she hadn’t realised how thin Twilight’s control had been.

Another burst of light erupted from her horn, streaking directly towards Trixie’s already injured side. There was no time to dodge, barely time to react at all. She heaved all that she had behind a shield, erected so close that it pressed against her side, humming with barely-controlled might. Twilight’s attack struck it, ruptured it without even noticing it was there. As the recoil washed through Trixie’s mind, adding a painful cacophony of magical protest, the remnants of the shield activated.

It was a spell of her own design, one she’d become well practiced at over the years. It was meant for diversion, for escape; when the shield was broken, it exploded in a tremendous boom, and a wash of bright light, stronger than the sun itself, leaving everypony nearby disoriented and blind.

Twilight staggered back, the blast dissipating as she lost focus. Trixie fell backwards, the impact singing her fur and throwing her several feet across the ground. Pushing herself to her hooves, she felt at several gashes along her belly; scrapes from where she’d landed. There were several long green leaves of grass caught in the wound, already pooling red blood around them.

“Twilight!” Trixie screamed. That attack could have killed her, easily. Just an instant slower, and . . . But didn’t she deserve exactly that? Trixie had tried not to think about it, not to dwell on that moment, that instant where she’d felt the pain she’d caused. When she’d felt what she’d done, for the first time. It had been terrifyingly, horribly, excruciatingly wonderful. She’d finally felt normal, again, felt like a pony and not a monster.

But that moment had passed. Twilight, despite everything, despite the darkness she’d thrown around her, had stepped in and saved her life. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Trixie. She wouldn’t squander that gift, no matter how little she deserved it.

Trixie looked up from where she’d landed on the ground. Twilight was recovering, the flame surrounding her horn still expanding. It dripped down onto her coat, percolated through the air around her as a fine mist, and though it seemed sluggish, as if reacting to her movements a few seconds late, it clung to her. Trixie had never seen anything like it. Then again, that statement was becoming increasingly redundant.

“Can you feel it?!” Twilight screamed. Trixie saw madness in her eyes, in her twitching upper lip and stretched rictus. The sight was more frightening than anything she’d felt before, more frightening even than Boundless’ murderous gaze. He was merely an abomination. This . . . this was corruption.

“I . . . “

“Stop! Thinking! Trixie!” Twilight yelled, throwing yet more power at her. The blasts seemed less cohesive, somehow, as if the spells were fraying mid-flight. She was losing control of her spell-work, the attacks more and more resembling raw power. Trixie danced back and forth, dodging and deflecting those that came too close. She could feel each as it sped past her, practically igniting the air around them.

She couldn’t maintain this forever. Where Twilight seemed to be growing more and more powerful, building some kind of frenzy with each blast of magic, Trixie found her breath coming short, and lethargy creeping into her limbs. If she didn’t do something, change something, she’d be nothing more than ash on the wind.

Trixie gathered herself, drawing as much power into her as she could. The glow surrounding her horn, pale next to Twilight’s growing bonfire, doubled in size. She ducked under another bolt, and then surged forwards, sprinting towards the unicorn with a cry born of sheer desperation.

Twilight sneered, flaring her magic. Trixie halted, a telekinetic field flashing into being around her. Slowly, Twilight lifted her into the air, the bonds searing into Trixie’s flesh, as if Twilight was wielding fire itself. Trixie’s scream turned into one of anguish, the bonds pressing in, squeezing her tightly. Twilight could crush her in less than the time it took to blink.

Trixie launched her counterattack. Meeting Twilight’s gaze, she pressed herself forward, throwing her strange power against Twilight’s mind. Twilight started, surprised, and just for a second, Trixie broke through.

Trixie Immediately seized control of the telekinesis wrapping around her, teleporting it as far away as she could manage, to an empty room back in Ponyville, near the back of Twilight’s home. At this distance, a spell with that much power coursing through it would be a drain no other unicorn could have survived.

Twilight barely flinched. For a second, the fire coursing from her horn retreated, sinking back into a bare spark resting on the tip of her horn Then she shook her head, threw Trixie out of her mind, and her horn burst into flames once again, coursing down her mane to surround her head and neck with ethereal light.

Trixie fell to the ground, hitting heavily. She felt at her side, wincing as the burns sizzled, filling the air with the smell of burning hair. There was no time to worry about that, though.

“Is that how you beat my brother?” Twilight cried, stepping forward. “Did you take from him even his magic?!”

“What’s happening to you, Twilight?” Trixie said, panting. “This isn’t you!”

“You know me as well as I know myself,” Twilight spat. She coughed, gouts of flame erupting from her throat, and spilling out onto the ground before her. It was . . . terrifying; an avatar of hatred, personified rage, standing not two metres from her. “You know me as I know you, fiend.”

Trixie stumbled back, away from that glorious heat, beginning to sob as all her wounds crashed down of her, and Twilight expanded, filling her vision. With a savage effort, she remained on her hooves, forcing her head upright, forcing more magic through her horn. It hurt, oh Celestia it hurt. Hot tears ran down her cheeks.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Trixie cried.

Twilight’s face twisted. “Then you are of no use to me.”

The fire continued to grow. Encircling Twilight’s head, it sank to her skin, encasing her in its glow. A lavender blaze filled the field, burst from Twilight with savagery and a furious might. It tossed Trixie back several paces, sending spots to dance before her blurred eyes. Rubbing a hoof across her face, Trixie stared disbelievingly at the scene before her.

The fire had dissipated, mostly, though Twilight’s mane and tail still seemed ethereal—sweeping tongues of power that snaked around her body. In its place, however, Trixie saw cold metal, shining under the noon sun. A helm, of dark, dark purple.

“You took him from me!” Twilight screamed, rushing forward. Trixie tried to move, tried to teleport, but she was spent. There was nothing left to draw on, and with a small sigh, she collapsed onto the ground. Maybe this was right. Maybe the pain would stop, now.

Twilight planted a hoof on her shoulder, pinning her down, and causing Trixie to arch her back, a grimace flashing over her lips. Twilight leaned over, and Trixie’s pained expression receded, turned into a small smile. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. She twisted, languidly, moving to ease the pressure on her back.

Then Twilight met her eyes.

Trixie. The message reached her even under the cacophonous noise of her body’s complaints. A jolt ran through her body, causing her limbs to spasm. Trixie, snap out of it.

Dear Cumulus. Even here, at the end, he was looking out for her.

“Don’t worry,” Trixie sent him. “Everything’s going to be alright, now.”

Trixie, you idiot! Wake up!

And then Twilight was there, an avenging, blazing, angel. She entered Trixie’s mind with the fury of the righteous, cast her searing light into Trixie’s darkness. She could perceive them, now, standing together at the back of her mind. Brash was weak, still, his body crippled and small. Numerous cuts and burns were scattered all over him, and yet he stood, head held high, eyes stern.

Beside him, Cumulus, with wings held out and hoof in the air. He was large, easily twice Brash’s size, and he stood over his brother, sheltering him under the canopy of his wing. Trixie could see the same cuts, the same burns, bruises, and scrapes that covered Brash on him, though they did not seem as pressing.

Twilight turned away from them with barely a glance. The angel had eyes only for Trixie—eyes of fire, eyes spilling tears of flame forth with every slow blink. She screamed, hurling herself at Trixie, a lavender sword flashing into existence before her. There was nothing Trixie could do, had she even wanted to stop it. Instead, she observed Twilight calmly, watched her oncoming death with quiet resolve, and no small measure of relief.

“Trixie!” Cumulus called from where he stood. She glanced over at him, met his gaze. The sword rushed down at her neck, Twilight close behind it, mouth stretched wide. Trixie blinked, once, and when she opened her eyes, she stood beside Brash.

Cumulus met Twilight’s charge with azure lightning. From somewhere, from some unknown reserve, he had found power, drawn it out of her, and wrapped it around his wings. Sparks danced between his feathers.

The sword swept down, and his wing swept up. They met with a crash, an explosion that rocked the world. Trixie stumbled, falling into Brash. The earth pony accepted her weight without so much as a flicker of complaint, bore her to the ground.

“Hush, Trixie. Rest, we will watch over you,” he said. Weakly, Trixie turned her head back towards where she’d been standing.

Cumulus and Twilight stood, facing each other. Both were panting, chests rising and falling. Twilight’s flames had spread even further, solidifying into another piece of armour—a chestplate, circling around her neck to meet in a ridge of metal resting on her back. In its centre, an embossed symbol shone in glittering silver against imperial violet—a star, with five bright points scattered around it. It was Twilight’s cutie mark.

Slowly, Twilight nodded. “You. It was always you.”

“Yes. She wasn’t ready.”

“She is, now. And she is mine.”

“I can’t let you have her, Twilight. You know I can’t.”

“Do not stand against me, lost one. I will make you regret it.”

Cumulus, however, didn’t seem overly worried. He held his ground, looking at Twilight defiantly. “In here,” he said, raising his wings. ”In here, I am infinite.”

“She broke through, not you. Not me. Not even him, the one born apart,” Twilight said. As Trixie watched, her armour grew, fire steadily seeping down her torso, and leaving metal behind. The flames spilling from her horn, her mouth and eyes were still growing with every breath. The instant they parted from her, they disappeared, dissipated into the air. Even from here, Trixie could feel their warmth. It gave her strength, flooded her limbs with new life. Her breathing steadied, heart slowed, and vision cleared.

“She must be awoken,” Twilight said. “Even I must defer to that need. Even you.”

“We will show her, then. Not you.”

Trixie sensed it before she saw it. The slight narrowing of Twilight’s eyes, barely visible through the slits of her helm, the tension running through her torso, and the way Cumulus had lowered his wings to his side, the way he stood, relaxed, confident—it was wrong.

”Look out!” Trixie screamed, watching, helpless to interfere. Twilight leaped forward, her blade extending. Cumulus, however, didn't bother reacting. He watched her come stoically, unmoving as the lavender fire reached out to consume him.

And then Twilight disappeared. The world itself flickered, and Trixie opened her eyes to find herself lying on the field, Twilight’s prone body in a crater, next to her. She rolled, peering down into the hole in the ground, eyes widening.

Rainbow Dash stood over Twilight’s body, energy crackling in the air around her, running off her limbs and extended wings. She regarded her unconscious marefriend for a moment, then turned her gaze on Trixie, eyes hard.

***

“Applejack.”

Applejack. A curious word, that. It seemed as if it should have power, somehow. As if something inherent in the syllables, in the shape of the tongue and set of the jaw should produce significance. She turned the word over in her mind, feeling it out.

“Kitchi, wake. It is not yet time for rest.”

Kitchi. Another word, it sought to label her, to define her. It was a cage, in its own way, as surely as any other. She could no more refuse its siren call than she could deny the idea it carried, the image it held, except that there was no image associated with her, here. Here, words were powerless.

“Come on, wake up Applejack.”

Applejack heard them, somewhere in the darkness, though she didn’t intuit their meaning. Words, lacking the meaning behind them, were nothing more than white noise, colouring her empty existence. What else was there, but this endless floating?

She did not think this, so much as feel it. There was no rationalisation, no understanding. All that remained was sensation without memory, and perception without power.

Somepony poured water down her throat, up her nose, and into her eyes. It splashed over her, shocking her into clarity, and slipping into her lungs. Applejack—ah, yes, Applejack—sat up with a violent cough, hacking at the water in her chest. Fluttershy was behind her, thumping her on the back, wearing a mild frown.

“Wha-“

“Applejack, what happened?”

“She touched Him with pain” Nephele said, hovering nearby. Applejack wiped at the water on her face, clearing her eyes before opening them.

“How long was Ah out?” she asked, glancing around.

“Just a few minutes,” Fluttershy said. Applejack nodded. It was the same, after all; the same torn tents and splintered beams, the same dusty ground and sparkling lake. The same bodies, piled together as if to be a pyre.

“Applejack . . .” Fluttershy began, placing a hoof on her shoulder. “What happened to you?”

“She said it best,” Applejack said. “Ah reached down, into the ground. There’s . . . there’s a river down there, Fluttershy.” She turned, meeting her friend’s gaze. “That’s where the water’s going. Somepony—something—must be drawing it north.”

It made sense, now. They were taking all the water in the region, gathering it together. They’d used it to create the storm, hurled all that water back south, and now they were pulling it back. That was why the reservoirs, the stores, the plants themselves had been drained so quickly.

Applejack had half-expected to see wide eyes and trembling lips on Fluttershy. The notion that something was behind this, the notion that something had created this atrocity, was almost too much for her. It was a truth sunk deep into her gut, twisting at the core of her being.

But Fluttershy wore not a mask of fear, but one of resolute anger. Her mouth was set, locked into place. Her eyes bored a hole through Applejack, and passed to her an agreement, and an offer.

Applejack nodded sharply.

This knowledge brought with it not only pain, and furious anger, but a release. She was not responsible for this attack. She may have drawn the storm across the desert, but she did not unleash its might. And by Celestia herself, she was going to bring the perpetrator to justice.

“We will,” Applejack said, softly.

“We will,” Fluttershy agreed, pressing her forehead to Applejacks.

After a moment, they pulled apart. Fluttershy turned, scanning the makeshift ward they were in. There were still buffalo awaiting treatment, resting on pallets on the ground. More, with less serious injuries, were waiting outside.

Applejack watched as Fluttershy stood, her gaze fixed on a young buffalo in the corner. She stepped forward purposefully, reaching his side and settling herself on the ground next to him. Applejack could see some sort of warmth, emanating from Fluttershy’s wings. They began to glow, the soft yellow hue turning into a vibrant golden colour, like slices of the sun itself.

Applejack winced. She really shouldn’t be pushing herself so hard, so soon after her ordeal. But she had no right to tell Fluttershy that she couldn’t help these souls? Not when she’d have given almost anything to be able to do the same.

Still, if she didn’t have the talent to apply her emotions here, she could at least provide her mind. Braeburn had sent that letter, the one that had started all this, about a week ago—accounting two days for it to reach her, another two to get out of Ponyville, then one travelling, meeting Strongheart, and finally today. The settler ponies wouldn’t have turned to outside aid quickly, though. It would have been seen as weak.

That meant . . . they had about two weeks. Two weeks to gather the water together, to prepare another storm. Two weeks to find whoever was behind this, before the next storm killed more.

Hell, what if it wasn’t aimed at her? She’d never considered that—her appearance had seemed too much of a coincidence for it to be mere chance. If it wasn’t her or Fluttershy, if the buffalo or the Appleloosans were the targets, then the next storm could be aimed at the town. Without Fluttershy to slow it down, without her to take the brunt of its force, Appleloosa would be obliterated.

Lost in thought, Applejack didn’t notice the buffalo behind her until a hoof fell on her shoulder. She started, spinning to see Strongheart standing there, her expression flat.

“Applejack,” she said.

“Strongheart.”

“Are you in control of yourself?”

“Yes . . . yes. Ah’m sorry, Strongheart. Ah didn’t mean . . . “

“Forget it,” she said, mouth tight. “You’ve said enough.”

Applejack closed her eyes. “Ah’m going back to Appleloosa. Tonight.”

“I’ve arranged for a caravan of water. We’ve got plenty, now.”

The enormity of that simple statement swelled up in Applejack like some great bubble, pushing at the confines of her throat. She regarded the buffalo leader before her, standing tall in spite of all the chaos engulfing her people. Achak . . . it seemed fitting.

She considered the truth. It weighed on her, pressed her down. It could bring Achak to her, bring her to Appleloosa where she could protect them all. Equally, it could drive her away, cause her to withdraw herself in fear, and take her water with her.

Appleloosa needed that water. The storm hadn’t swept through there, and what little remained was still being sucked away. They’d be dying of thirst before the week was out. But here, the reservoir had been nearly completely filled. There was enough for both groups for months.

Except . . . it was being drained. They needed to get that water into storage, where it couldn’t be lost to the river. The buffalo didn’t have the kind of material. Applejack felt a small smile plaster itself on her face.

“Achak,” she said. “Ah’m gonna get you a whole lot of barrels. Ah need you to fill them all from the waterhole, and take ‘em back to the town. Hunker down there until this is all over.”

“Why?” Achak said, flatly.

“Because that storm ain’t gonna be the last. Something’s pulling the water through the ground, Achak. And Ah promise you this. Ah’m gonna stop it. Ah’m gonna stop it, and Ah’m gonna take the son of a bitch that did this down.”

***

“Agyrt,” Daerev said, standing before the empty river. His mentor had not been waiting for him when he’d arrived, and ten minutes later he still hadn’t shown up. Unusual, that—as a Seer, he had to have known Daerev would be coming, and he’d always had the courtesy of making an appearance, even if he didn’t have the time or inclination for a lengthy discussion.

Daerev let a small frown crawl over his face. The few times Agyrt had been absent in the past, it had been because of something big, something that required his direct attention. It inevitable ended up dragging Daerev into it, as well.

Those times, Daerev had simply left. If Agyrt didn’t want to be found, then Daerev wouldn’t be the one to find him. Then, there’d been nothing else he could do. It was irritating, but then, so were many things in life. Part of his lessons, throughout his time with Agyrt, had dealt with perspective—when he’d first confronted the differences between Agyrt’s outlook and that of Twilight, of those he knew in Ponyville, of Equestria itself, he’d been shocked.

Ponies looked at life as a gift, a right, even. It was magical, wondrous—sometimes tragic, but ofttimes joyful. Each day became a celebration, a splash of colour on an otherwise drab canvas. Life was what you made it, they said, knowingly nodding at each other. You couldn’t waste a second.

Agyrt had no qualms with expressing his derision for such ideals. When one had lived for thousands of years, and could expect to live for thousands more, life took on a different shade. To him, it was not special, not something grand and unknowable. Life was. Each day, each moment came, and passed, without meaning or rhythm.

Daerev had initially spurned his words. They stank of cynicism, a world-weary attitude hardened by years beyond number. He’d thought himself better than that, in the peculiar arrogance of innocence. Surely, each moment of life could be more than simple existence? Or was there no value—no vibrancy—to be found in the world?

He’d missed the point, of course. Agyrt hadn’t refuted the beauty of valour, or compassion, or love. Nor had he argued for cold logic, the soulless capacity to think without feeling, driven by nothing more than the base needs of propagation and proliferation. Rather, he took each day as it came. He did not bemoan the fate, merely used what he had been dealt.

So Daerev did not grow impatient. Agyrt would come in his own time, and Daerev’s feelings would make not one whit of difference. And yet, in this, he was unwilling to turn away. Boundless was more than a passing distraction, or a temporary vendetta. Twilight could not take vengeance on him without losing herself to his passion. Nor could anypony else step in, acting as her surrogate. Daerev, however, was a separate entity. He could kill, and, perhaps more importantly, he could do it for himself. For Shining Armour, and not for Twilight, and that distinction made all the difference in the world.

“Agyrt,” Daerev repeated, wiping the frown from his face. He’d arrived at the river hours earlier, under the pre-dawn light, sparkling through the glade. Lethe itself seemed lower than usual, faster, as if something was drawing the water downstream, though that pressure, whatever it had been, had ceased some forty minutes ago.

He didn’t really know why he was speaking at all. Nothing about Agyrt had ever suggested that he would respond to such a summons. Indeed, it seemed more likely to drive him away. But there was something hypnotic about the name, dancing on the little waves flowing through his river, as if it retained its power though nothing more than a whisper on the wind.

He thought little of it until it had returned to him. A subtle shifting, a tension, humming through the air, it resonated in him, straightening his back and clearing his throat. Daerev turned sharply, to the left, looking downriver. There, from around the bend, he saw Agyrt’s sleek body, churning the water as he swan swiftly towards Daerev.

“Agyrt,” he whispered, and saw the name reach his mentor, tighten the scales around his eyes and snap shut his jaw.

“Daerev,” Agyrt greeted him, his arrival sending a wave of water splashing up onto the bank and falling onto Daerev. It was shockingly cold, and Daerev drew on his inner flame to burn off the chill. Water dripped off him, soaking into the damp ground, and evaporated, hissing, in trails of steam that rose from his back, shrouding him.

“You know why I’ve come,” Daerev said, stepping forward. He tried to hold his fire, without showing it, tried to sink its heat into his voice. “I will not turn away, Agyrt. Not from this.”

“I cannot allow him to be harmed,” Agyrt said, his tongue flicking out to taste the air.

The fire in his chest leaped up at Agyrt’s words, seared his throat and demanded release, demanded expression. Daerev set his jaw. He needed to be persuasive, not aggressive. He needed to let Agyrt see his resolve, feel the heat of his passion. He couldn’t afford to grow angry. It would only make him seem a child.

“I must have him,” Daerev said. He rolled his shoulders, and then lifted his head, meeting Agyrt’s stern gaze. “It is not justice, or vengeance, or anything of the ilk. I must have him for me. I must stop him, before he hurts anyone else. Not because I think myself a hero. Not because it is noble. Because I could not live with myself, knowing that I had the opportunity to stop it.”

Agyrt nodded slowly. “You have learned well, Daerev Quitu.”

“Then you understand?”

“I understand.”

Daerev waited, gaze steady. One moment passed, then another. He realised he was holding his breath; chest growing tight, and throat constricting. Carefully, slowly, he loosened his muscles, relaxing, and opened his mouth. Air flooded him, fed the fire inside, and sent it rising, again, to his mouth. Daerev clenched his jaw, forcing it back down.

Agyrt sighed. “But I cannot give him to you.”

“But . . ..”

“I am sorry,” Agyrt said, shaking his head. “But he is more important than you, or I. There will be time for vengeance. There will be a time for principle. It is not now, not this time. Not before the coming storm.”

Twenty-Five