"Is this really your destiny?"
Twilight Sparkle walked up to the balcony, flanked by the Royal Sisters, to see a cheering multitude fill the streets of Canterlot. Songs and confetti filled the air; the crowd's enthusiasm was palpable and rolled off their cries of joy. The new princess tentatively waved to the people —my subjects, she reminded herself— still overwhelmed by the day's events. She was a princess now: Princess Twilight Sparkle. Like Celestia, Luna and Cadance she had a duty to uphold for the good of the citizens of Equestria.
The scholar gave a timid grin to the public, unsure of what she needed to do. "Say something, princess," Celestia whispered, coming to her aid.
"Oh," Twilight said sheepishly, turning to the crowd again. She hesitated for a moment before clearing her throat.
"A little while ago," she said, "my teacher and mentor, Princess Celestia, sent me to live in Ponyville. She sent me to study friendship"—she stole a backwards glance towards her best friends behind the threshold of the hall—"which is something that I really didn't care about.
"But now on a day like today"—she beckoned her Ponyville friends—"I can honestly say that I wouldn't be standing here today if it weren't for the friendships I've made with all of you." Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Applejack, and Rarity all tearfully looked on their fortunate friend—pride and unadulterated joy of varying degrees were displayed on the faces of these Ponyvillians.
"Each one of you has taught me something about friendship, and for that I will always be grateful," Twilight said, punctuating her respect with a graceful bow. Once more she turned to the crowd of listeners before her. "Today, I consider myself the luckiest pony in Equestria.
"Thank you, friends," she heartily told to her fellow bearers. "Thank you, everypony."
To this the chromatic throngs erupted into deafening cheers, with stallions stomping their applause and mares waving their support. They cried in the air, to the shine of the brilliant sun. Today is a good day, Twilight decided.
A distance away, the sounds of the celebrations could be made out in the Royal Gardens. It was void of any passersby as everyone was attending the coronation ceremony; who in their right mind would miss the feast?
As such, not a soul was aware of one particular statue that had begun to glow. It was nothing that would have immediately caught anyone's eye and it didn't last long enough to get a good look at it.
The event went by unnoticed and everything returned to normal.
Hoof falls resounded in the long halls of the palace, as Twilight and Celestia walked along in the candlelight. They were no longer wearing the pompous ceremonial dresses, opting for a more informal wardrobe. Celestia had her usual tiara and chestpiece while only a tiara adorned Twilight’s head.
They walked at a slow pace, taking care not to upset their stomachs which were full from the incredibly lavish dinner. They had only just then finished, and were on their way to their respective sleeping chambers: Luna would have to attend her Midnight Court, while Cadance needed to be prepared for her departure with Shining Armor the next day.
As for Twilight’s friends, they would stay for another day, just to stay together before they all had to return back to their respective jobs. She smiled at her prospects for tomorrow; her mind was still abuzz with new plans that she wanted to share with the others. There would be so much to do!
Celestia picked up on the smile. “You seem enthusiastic about tomorrow. Care to fill me in with the details, Twilight?”
“Oh no, princess,” she said with a sly grin, shaking her head. “I want to keep the big reveal a surprise. You’re gonna love it all the more when tomorrow comes along.”
Celestia’s eyes wandered while she gave a small nod. “I understand,” she said. “This is your day, Twilight, so I’ll let you have fun with your little schemes. Just make the surprise a good one,” she winked knowingly.
“Oh, I will.” Twilight let out a small chuckle, imagining her mentor’s pleasant reaction for tomorrow’s revelation.
A yawn escaped from her lips, reminding her of the destination. At a small fork, there laid in wait three grandiose doors, each guarded by a pair of the Royal Guard. One of these doors, the one in the middle, did not exist until recently. This was where Celestia and Twilight would part for the night.
Celestia nuzzled her student. “Sleep well, princess.”
“Good night to you too, princess,” Twilight said.
The guards (her own personal guard!) gave their newest subject an affirmative salute, one of them reminding her that if there was anything that she required, they would gladly comply. She voiced her thanks and entered the room, closing the door behind her.
Twilight breathed a satisfied sigh and closed her eyes, still incredulous with the recent events. She could hardly believe how things had all led to this.
“The luckiest pony alive, right?”
“That’s right,” she replied casually, before realizing that someone had actually asked that question.
With a slight start, the princess opened her eyes, not to admire her admittedly majestical chambers, but to search for the source of that voice, straight ahead.
Sitting on the queen-sized bed cross-armed was the most curious-looking creature that Twilight had ever seen. If she had to compare it, the creature looked most similar with an orangutan, albeit more hairless and slender in anatomy. The ape-like creature wore simple clothes: a marble white suit and trousers that went along with the suit. They covered its tannish skin, with the only noticeable hair being on the top of its head, a charcoal black mess, complementing its dark eyes well. Its face was notably flat, with only the nose protruding outwards. On its lips a grim look made it clear of this creature’s current emotions.
The young princess stumbled back at the appearance of the intruder. Where had it come from? She was sure that it wasn’t there when she first came in. And, more importantly, what was this creature?
“W-what are you?” she asked, collecting herself and mustering as much authority as she could. “How did you get in here?”
“I am a human, dear Sparkle,” it —no, he— answered. “Homo sapiens, if you want to be overly formal about it.”
Twilight stumbled for a response: Humans? They don’t exist! “Human?” she slowly said in disbelief, to which he nodded. “But that makes you a mythological creature! You shouldn’t be sitting there, talking to me right now!”
Much to her surprise the human didn’t seem to take offense to that remark. “I don’t blame you for thinking that,” he calmly said with a sense of nostalgic longing in his eyes. “It has been a long time since another human besides myself that has walked in this world. I could very well be the last of my kind.” He chuckled. “And I’m technically not alive. You have Celestia to thank for that.”
Twilight eyed him with suspicion, wondering what he meant by that. “Who are you?” she asked.
“You wound me, Twilight,” the human exclaimed with mock pain, placing his hand on his chest. “We’ve already met once before.” He then thoughtfully scratched his chin. “Although to be fair, I wasn’t really in a position to greet you a few years ago in the gardens.”
In the gardens? Twilight wondered, suddenly realizing that she did in fact see a human before. But that...
Her mind went back to that particular day: young and impressionable, the filly back then stood staring curiously at the biped’s odd pose, sitting on a pedestal with the chin resting on an arm as if he were in deep, sober thought. The white stone had masked the human’s true colors but now that she looked back on it, there was no denying it.
Twilight's eyes widened with recognition. “You’re Reason! Princess Celestia showed me your statue when I was still a filly!”
The suited man bowed his head in gratitude. “My plaque reads Reason and Logic, but Reason suffices. It’s a pleasure to finally speak to you, Twilight Sparkle.”
“You’re real?” Twilight asked, her mind still reeling from the revelation.
“Well, I’m not actually here, if that’s what you’re asking,” Reason replied. “My body is still where it’s always been. What you’re talking to right now is a projection of myself. No one else can see or hear me.” He looked furtively to the side. “Well, no one except for the princesses.”
Twilight's mouth dropped open slightly, thinking of the next appropriate question. “Why are you here, Reason?”
His expression grew somber. “Duty,” he said flatly, “I’ve sworn to Celestia a long while back that I would advise her and her fellow princesses.” Reason turned to face Twilight. “And right now, you are in need of my advice.”
She shook her head. “What do you mean by advice? The princess is a wise pony—she’s probably the last one to ask somepony for advice.”
Reason’s visage turned sour with a frown. “She’s wise.” He nodded. “But that does not mean that she is infallible, Twilight. To use my people’s terminology, I am the little angel on her shoulder: her conscience in semi-physical form.”
Twilight’s pupils shrunk at the human’s implicating tone. Celestia wouldn’t know from right and wrong? But that can’t be! She’s a force of good!
“Oh, she’s far from being an evil pony,” Reason clarified, having picked up on her widened eyes. “But as I’ve implied, her decisions and actions have not always been as saintly as many of your kind are so quick to assume.
“But!” he suddenly exclaimed, clapping once with his hands. “Celestia’s not the crux of the issue—as culpable as she is for this mess. You are, Twilight.”
“Me?” Twilight stuttered, wondering where he was going with this.
He nodded once more. “Yes, Twilight. I’m afraid that you’re in the spotlight now. I want you to answer me one single question”—he brought up a finger—“just one. And I want for you to answer it honestly. Understood?”
“Alright.” Twilight steeled herself. “What’s the question?”
“Is this really your destiny?”
Twilight, in spite of herself, couldn’t help but stare at Reason in confusion. “My destiny?”
“Yes, Twilight”—he nodded—“is this destiny, being a new leader of Equestria, yours?”
She hesitated with the response. This seemed a no-brainer in her mind, but something about Reason’s demeanor told her that it wasn’t as simple as she thought. Regardless, she answered with a straight face. “Yes,” Twilight stated with finality, “this is my destiny.”
To that Reason’s lips twitched. He looked away for a second before settling his eyes on Twilight again.
“Alright, Twilight,” he said, carefully controlling his tone. “Let’s look at this.” He rose up from the bed and brought up a finger. “What is a princess’ responsibility?”
“To serve the interest of her people,” she answered promptly.
“Yes, good,” he said. “But are you capable to take on that responsibility?”
Reason had her there, and for once, she wasn’t sure about her answer. “I think so?” Twilight said uncertainly, knowing that that was not the proper answer.
“You think so?” he parroted, and when Twilight nodded, his expression turned sour once more. “Tell me Twilight, what makes you think that you’re the pony for the job?”
This was something that Twilight took offense to: how dare he think her unworthy of the position! She had helped save her family, her friends, Ponyville, and even Equestria multiple times in the past. Surely that was more than enough to earn her status.
But Reason seemed to have other ideas. “I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupted, stopping her short. “And I can tell you right now that those are not the reasons that allow you to wear that little tiara of yours.”
“Are you serious?!” she exclaimed, her eyes narrowed and brow creased. “Saving Equestria is not a good enough reason to become a leader?”
“Oh, it’s a good enough reason,” he admitted, folding his arms. “But then why weren’t you made princess before when you first defeated Nightmare Moon?”
Twilight was on the verge of responding when she let Reason’s words sink in. He had a point. Her words fell and her aggressive stance deflated. But the man wasn’t done yet: “Or when you imprisoned Discord? Or when you managed to expose Chrysalis’ plot? Because all of those actions would very well be enough for one pony to become regent of Equestria forever.
“But it wasn’t just you, was it?” Reason eyed Twilight with a cocked eyebrow, only to see her shrink at his question. “You’ve said it yourself earlier today—to everypony at your coronation no less.”
“My friends,” she mumbled feebly, realizing where he was going with this. Reason clicked his tongue at her statement.
“That’s exactly right Twilight; if it weren’t for your friends you would have achieved none of that.” He paced around the immobile pony. “You were the catalyst for resolving many of those crises, but the fact remains: they were as instrumental as you were in saving so many lives. And yet”—he turned on his heels to face Twilight directly—“no one but you was coronated as princess.”
“But that’s ridiculous!” she interjected, “Equestria can’t have so many princesses, it’s a ludicrous idea!”
“But three of them running the country is too few?” Reason asked, making his point clear with a dead-set stare and raised eyebrow. “Think about it: Equestria really only needs one ruler for it to function well, and Celestia has proven this for a millennium. When Luna returned, she wanted her younger sister to understand that neither one of them was superior to the other.”
He resumed his pacing. “So, Celestia allowed her sibling to be the ruler of the night.” Reason shrugged. “A sensible move on paper, but do you know how little Luna does during her Midnight Court? Ponies are diurnal creatures, and as much as Celestia wishes that wasn’t the case so that people would visit both courts in equal measure, it doesn’t happen; she’s powerless in that respect. Receiving more than ten ponies during Midnight Court is considered a busy night.”
Twilight slowly caught on. “So...”
Reason nodded. “So, to be perfectly frank, Princess Luna’s Midnight Court is nothing more than a big money sink. What it manages to accomplish pales in comparison to those of Celestia’s own court hearings, and does not justify its existence.”
The man pouted pensively for a moment before resuming, throwing his arms out in defeat. “But Celestia can afford the cost, and she is giving Luna a chance to relive the ‘glory’ days as she calls it. So it’s all well and good since there is a strong thread of logic to this.”
He chuckled slightly, shaking his head. “And to think that I didn’t fully agree with Celestia’s plan at first. But she did make it work, so that made me happy for the two of them.
“Then comes along Cadance,” Reason said, taking a moment to ruminate. “She’s a real mystery that one; oh come on Twilight,” he added disappointingly at the mare’s blank stare. “I’m not omniscient—everything I know is from observation and the knowledge of others, anything they’re willing to share, that is.”
“What about Cadance?” Twilight objected. “Everypony knows about he—”
“Do not lie to me!” the man barked, taking a menacing step towards her, jabbing at her with an accusing finger. “You know as well as I do that she was kept out of the public’s eye until the sudden announcement of that wedding. You might have known Cadance since she was your foalsitter, but only you and select few knew about her existence! Her appearance even surprised me, and very little can escape my keen eyes. The news should’ve caused a real ruckus, but for some reason everyone but you just accepted with the fact that there was a new princess.” He shook his head with a sigh. “You ponies can be so affectionate, and yet, so conforming to Celestia’s rule. All of that potential... it’s a shame.”
Twilight had half-a-mind to tell him off for bad mouthing her former teacher, but Reason had provided very compelling arguments; she, in all honesty, agreed with him that the public reaction over Cadance’s wedding was suspiciously positive: Twilight at the time waved it off as her just overthinking it. But now she wasn’t so sure if it was just her; Reason’s propositions fueled the doubt.
And she hated having doubts.
“Are you saying that Celestia’s...?”
“She’s definitely doing things that are holding back the masses,” Reason said. “And I understand the intentions behind those actions. See, the thing about you ponies”—he leaned against a nearby wall—“you are a very lucky species: unlike every other species, you’ve had a figure that could guide your entire kind and act as its protector. Most other races are lucky to find a leader who can achieve that for a few years, let alone for millennia. They had to fend for themselves, often making mistakes that have been proven tragic at times. But from those mistakes, lessons were learned, and that new knowledge promoted innovation.”
Reason pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean, for goodness’ sake, your kind has not made much progress beyond airships and chariots for air travel! Do you know how harmful that stagnation can be? You could be achieving so much more if you aimed higher than what you can do right now!” He looked out the windowed balcony at the starry night. “Your kind might even reach the stars, one day.”
“But there’s no need to improve, we are happy with how things are!” Twilight rebutted.
“Tell that to the Royal Guard and their thousand-years-old technological standstill after your brother’s wedding,” Reason said sharply. “That debacle had heads rolling in the commanding brass when they were ordered by Celestia herself to not redirect any of their small budget towards research and development.”
Twilight didn’t need to ask Reason for clarification. Even without having any real bearing in the subject of military theory, it was clear enough that the Royal Guard had been woefully unprepared and outmatched by the changeling swarm in that all out attack. She despised the thought of ponies coming up with better ways of fighting others, but it made sense: be able to... subdue the other before he could do that or worse to you. And the only way to have a clear advantage over your foe was to have better tactics, better armor and better weapons. Sometimes what was good enough for some would not be enough to help them out in the future.
Reason observed her expression. “I see that you understand the issue of technological stagnation,” he said. “But again, this is not what I’m really concerned with. Going back to Cadance, we have no real inkling as to where she came from, which is absurd, considering how recently she was ‘discovered’. Trying to find Celestia’s or Luna’s origins is one thing, seeing how in those times there were very few records, and those records are less than reliable.
“So doesn’t Cadance’s status strike you as odd?” he asked, resuming his pacing. “She really hasn’t done anything to merit her title. In fact, for a good few months she had a title which was of little use until the Crystal Empire popped up.”
The human paused in front of Twilight, his dark eyes piercing into hers. “What do you think that you’ll have to do?”
She hesitated in her answer. “I’m... I’m not sure.”
“Knowing Celestia, she’ll probably relegate you to external territories,” Reason muttered. “Perhaps those in the Neighpon region.”
Twilight recoiled visibly at the idea. “What?!” she cried. “But that’s so far away! Even farther away than the Crystal Empire!”
“So now you realize one of the problems I have with your coronation,” he said with a nod. “In order for your title to have any significant weight to it, you are being sent away to govern a small province where a prefect or a governor would have sufficed. Does that seem reasonable to you?”
“It doesn’t, but I have no choice!” Twilight snapped, her voice adopting an exasperated edge to it. “I was selected by the elements; they were what changed me, not the princess!”
To this Reason fell quiet, glancing at her with careful eyes. Through them, Twilight could almost sense the cogs spinning in the man’s head. It was only after a few long moments that he finally spoke:
“Did the elements also make you a princess?” His voice was startlingly neutral, and his face was perfectly deadpan. It was almost as if this was what he had been leading up to: the decisive question to strike at the chink in Twilight’s argumentative armor. It proved to be successful—her whole argument collapsed at the relatively simple query.
A shiver ran down her spine as realization hit her hard. Twilight suddenly felt cold, knowing full well that the actual room temperature had no part in causing that feeling.
And yet, a part of her still refused to relent to the man before her. “But I... I saved my friends,” she said meekly. “If it weren’t for me, the elements would no longer work and my friends would have never found their true selves. I was rewarded for that." She looked up hopefully to Reason. "Th-that must be the reason!”
Reason stared hard at Twilight. “And whose fault was it exactly, that had put them in that predicament in the first place? Don’t play dumb Sparkle, I know that you were responsible putting your friends’ lives at risk.”
Twilight felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. How could she have been so stupid? Just because she fixed a mistake that she caused didn’t mean that she ought to have been crowned princess. If anything, the fact that she violated several basic safety guidelines when she cast an unfinished spell indicated that she wasn’t princess material.
She tried a new approach: “What about the spell?” Twilight asked, sensing an opportunity. “If it weren’t for the incident, I might not have found the solution to it.” A glance at the human’s cocked eyebrow made her shrink. “You know, the fact that I created a new spell...?” she finished lamely.
“I understand what you mean,” Reason said, crossing his arms. “But again, if that were the case, why weren’t your friends also rewarded? They were as crucial as you were to finishing that spell.” He leaned on the wall. “And that’s not even taking Starswirl in consideration. Even if he wasn’t the one who completed this particular spell, what about all of his other spells? You know that he created well over two hundred of them.” He shrugged. “Two possibilities exist: either Celestia is misandrist, or the creation of spells is not enough to warrant a seat of power, and I know that the former is not true.”
Twilight’s mind whirred and stirred as she tried to find a reason as to why her mentor crowned her princess. She had told her student because she was destined to be so. But that was before the elements transformed her, so that was obviously not the case. So what had changed? Celestia could give anypony the title of prince, as well as any power associated with the title. So why didn’t she receive the position when she was still a unicorn?
It then hit her: had any alicorn ever been an everyday citizen? Not even a youthful Cadance was allowed a life outside of royalty. She came to a worrying conclusion.
“She-she had to,” Twilight said, voice wavering. “An alicorn has always been part of royalty.” She cast a downwards glance. “It-it must not be allowed,” she finished in a quiet voice.
Reason said nothing, instead opting to come up to the melancholic pony and kneeling down to bring his eyes to her level. Nimbly, he lifted her muzzle to have her face him. Twilight distantly noted how surprisingly real and reassuring his touch felt as she took in his eyes: those dark eyes that had pierced at her own angrily when frustrated; those dark eyes that shone with a spark when he recalled earlier memories; those dark eyes that had been so hard when he dismantled her reasoning with his own. It was of some surprise when those same dark eyes glistened with compassion and empathy. A knowing smile accompanied that sorrowful look.
“Who says that it isn’t?” he whispered.
As he had been the entire time, Reason was right. There was no law that bound Twilight to the crown; she had come across no such thing when she and Celestia had gone over numerous and old tomes of Equestrian law. She, for all intents and purposes, had every right to live her life as a normal citizen, regardless of her newfound powers and wings.
“But why?” she asked Reason, holding back a sob. “Why would she do this?”
“She has the best intentions, but not necessarily for you,” he said, running his hand through her mane. “Her first and foremost concern is her people: Celestia does everything that she can to ensure that ponies are happy and protected. The problem, I feel, is that she is too much like a fretful mother, unwilling to allow her children smallest of freedoms that carry any risks to their innocence and safety. I believe that’s why she rebuffed every motion put forth by her military advisors to advance in research as well as anything that could change the status quo.”
Reason’s eyes met with Twilight’s. “An alicorn is a powerful being,” he explained. “And anything that powerful can potentially change the peace that she established. You and Cadance were a foil to Celestia’s plans because you were unknown variables. She needs some way to have some control and keep an eye on the two of you.”
“But that’s—”
“It’s logical, yes,” he admitted with a sigh. “But it’s not exactly fair on you or Cadance.”
“Fair?!” Twilight almost shrieked, her eyes flaring up. “Try immoral! Celestia shouldn’t be manipulating ponies’ lives like this! We’re free to choose our destiny, just because she’s the princess doesn’t mean that she can force Cadance and I like this!”
Reason jumped, his eyes brimming with renewed vigor and clapping his hands again. “Yes!” he exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. “Now you see why I take issue with this whole mess? You are your own person, and you’d best believe that old saying: ‘you are destined to become the person you want to be’.” He leaned in by Twilight. “And what kind of person do you want to be?”
She noticed the first real smile from the man, and drew inspiration from it. Images from her memories of Ponyville and her best friends flashed in her mind—the answer to this was clear, and she had no doubts over its truth. “A good friend,” she replied, her words charged with resolution.
“Perfect!” Reason’s grin grew. “At last, some justice in the world! You have no idea how happy that makes me, Twilight!”
Twilight joined in his enthusiasm, beaming as well. But a second thought made that smile falter. “Wait,” she said, bringing a halt to Reason’s cheers. “If you’re supposed to advise us, then why is Cadance still...?”
Reason’s smile fell at the query. “As I’ve told you before, I can only advise,” he said. “I can tell you, order you, threaten you, or even beg you to do something. But at the end of the day, I’m powerless and the princesses are free to do as they wish. I can only speak my mind and offer my own suggestions.
“Your old babysitter...” He let his eyes wander, as if searching for the words. “She still hides things from me. I don’t know much about her or her origins, but I can tell you this:”—he brought up a finger—“she, to a lesser degree than Luna, believes that Celestia is ultimately right, and her plans are not to be questioned. That, and she really wanted to be a princess. I can’t tell her to do anything that renders her unhappy, and she is happy as the princess of the Crystal Empire. So...” He left his word hang.
“So you left her be,” Twilight finished for him, now understanding. “You just want us to be happy, right?”
“And for you to do what is right,” Reason said with a curt nod. “Celestia, in spite of her good intentions, is doing more harm than good by holding your kind back. You’ve seen what happened at the wedding; you ponies need to better yourselves. You need to begin to take risks if you want to avoid another Canterlot wedding.”
She met his gaze. “But even if we advance,” she began uncertainly. “Who’s to say that we’ll be prepared?”
Reason pursed his lips, rubbing his hands in thought. “I certainly can’t say so; I’m no soothsayer.” He kneeled once more to Twilight's. “Taking risks is better than standing still, though—that much I can say.”
She beamed at the idea, only to scowl at the image of a disapproving Celestia. “If we do, we’ll be disobeying Celestia.”
Reason smirked, a mischievous look forming on his face. “Celestia has done her job, and you’re ready in spite of what she thinks,” he said with absolute certainty. “Sooner or later, the bird has to leave the nest. It’s time for pony kind to spread its wings and become independent. Perhaps”—Reason closed in—“you can be the spark.” He gave her a knowing wink.
Twilight recoiled at the suggestion. “B-but, I’m not a leader, and I’m not a revolutionary!” she stammered. “I can’t go against Celestia!”
“You might be neither the former nor the latter,” Reason said with a small shrug. “But when you want to, you can be smart. Your head is full of ideas, right? What’s preventing you from sharing said ideas?”
Twilight’s mouth hung open, trying and failing to formulate an adequate response. How had she not thought of that previously? The man laughed affably at the face of the speechless pony. “You ponies can be very cute at times.” He gently ruffled her mane. "But maybe it’s best if you take baby steps: first, go back to your friends. And then...” He splayed his hand, looking somewhat defeated. “And then? Well, we’ll see what happens.”
A firm nod from Twilight seemed to please Reason. He walked to a set of drinks on a table nearby and prepared two glasses. He offered the apple cider to her, which she accepted gracefully.
“Here’s to you, Twilight Sparkle, and your friends,” he said with a proud smile. “The last and final moment as princess is yours and no one else’s.”
She tipped her glass in response, and downed it. Once finished, she wanted to voice her thanks, only to find empty space where the human stood moments before. Twilight looked around her chamber but there was no trace of Reason—the cup that he had supposedly drunk from was in its initial spot on the table, clear of any drops of cider.
Had she imagined the whole encounter? It didn’t feel like she had. But then why was there only one glass that had been used? It didn’t make any sense!
Twilight groaned, rubbing her forehead as she felt a slight headache coming on. Perhaps she needed to get some shuteye to make sense out of this. Yet, as she looked at the pristine bed, she didn’t feel as tired as she was when she was with Celestia.
She let out a moan, knowing that with her mind still abuzz she wouldn’t catch any sleep.
And when she couldn’t sleep, she would take a walk. And so she did.
It was a slow night for the Midnight Court, with Princess Luna left sitting on her throne, all the while flanked by two guards of the Night Watch. Not a sound pierced the silence that reigned in throne room. Not a word was uttered by either stone-faced guardian; the princess’ occasional wordless mouthing was the only clue that she was not idly sitting.
Her eyes closed shut, Luna had used the momentary lull to visit the dreams of some of her subjects. It was an unspoken obligation which she took to ensure that no ill thought pestered any of her little ponies. At least she was doing something, lest she sat there awkwardly with her two loyal guards. She could very well strike up a conversation with the two of them, but by then she had already squeezed every possible topic out of the two stallions. These were soldiers, trained to protect their subject with their very lives—alas, such training did not encompass the finer nuances of social interaction. Besides, not a single Midnight Court had gone by where she hadn’t attempted a conversation with them. To the mare, the small talk with the members of her Night Watch had gotten tediously repetitive.
Only recently did the Night Princess take it upon herself to survey her subjects’ dream states. It was suggested to her by an old friend, and it did placate the nights when the Midnight Court had no hearings.
But only just.
The trouble was that often times, when nopony came before Luna during her Midnight Court, it usually meant that things were going smoothly for most if not all of her subjects: the same applied to her subjects’ subconscious. While some of the more… interesting dreams helped to distract the alicorn from her real world predicament, the novelty had worn off far sooner than she would have liked.
She was observing a young pegasus colt’s aspiration to become a famous journalist when a loud yet regulated voice brought her back to the world of the wake. “You have a visitor, milady,” the herald from the doors announced.
The alicorn batted her eyes to ensure she was fully awake. She then beckoned the stallion to allow the guest in. When she saw the petite form of an alicorn, Luna’s brow arched with some surprise.
“I, ah, hope that I’m not interrupting anything,” Princess Twilight said with an uneasy smile.
“Not at all!” The Night Princess exclaimed, immediately leaving her throne to go greet her fellow regent. “I was doing nothing of interest, I’m glad to see you.”
The younger mare seemed unconvinced. “If you say so,” she replied in a quiet voice. It didn’t go unnoticed by Luna.
“What is it, child? What bothers you?”
Twilight cast a sideways glance towards the Night Watch, biting her lip. “I’d... like to speak with you—in private,” she finally said in a whisper.
Luna stared at her younger colleague, her curiosity plainly visible in her eyes. She nodded regardless. “Guards, We shall return briefly,” she said to the armored stallions in her old dialect. “Keep watch and remain in the throne room until Our return.”
A collective affirmative was the response as both Luna and Twilight promptly left through the double doors. Alone in the corridor, Luna turned to adress Twilight. “Well then? What is the matter?”
Twilight shuffled nervously in place, furtively shifting her gaze here and there. “It’s, ah—” She hesitated. “I ah… I’m not sure how to put this.”
“Come now, Sparkle, you can confide anything that bothers you with me. Speak your mind.”
To this encouragement, Twilight breathed deeply for a moment to collect herself. “Do you think,” she slowly said, fumbling slightly with her pauses. “That Celestia may be… well, wrong?”
The Night Princess pouted pensively, musing over the question. “What do you mean by that, child?”
“I mean exactly what I said.” Twilight pawed at the carpet, looking downtrodden. “Could she make a bad judgment call?”
Luna snorted at the query. “We are not infallible, Sparkle,” she said with resolution, holding her head high to emphasize her status. “We may be nigh immortal, but we are not gods. Recall your brother’s wedding: my sister was among those who failed to see through the disguise of that wretched changeling.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you having second doubts of your position? As I saw it, you appeared to be quite keen about it.”
“Well, yes, I was.” Twilight looked up to her elder. “Now I’m obviously not.”
The cogs in Luna’s head spun, working hard trying to understand what could possibly have changed the young one’s disposition for the new title. She was about to ask her why, when her eyes flared up in realization. “You spoke to him.”
Twilight’s eyes widened. “You mean Reason? He’s actually real?” she asked in disbelief.
“Of course he’s real—he tried to reason with me before the nightmare took hold over me. I just—” Luna shook her head. “What did the human tell you?”
Twilight grimaced. “He told me enough to doubt her,” she spat. “He thinks that Celestia made me a princess just to send me off because she thinks that I’m a threat.”
Luna’s jaw tensed up, recoiling slightly at the claim and looked away. That was not lost on Twilight. “You knew!?” she accused angrily.
Knowing that withholding would be pointless, Luna sighed before turning to the fuming alicorn before her. “My sister did speak to me about this plot, yes,” she finally said. “I was wholly against it!” she added defensively at the sight of Twilight’s deepening scowl.
Twilight brought her forehoof to her muzzle. “I… I just can’t believe that she would even do this to me!” She began to pace. “After all that I did for her! I worked on every single assignment that she gave me!”
Luna cast her gaze downwards. “Sparkle…”
She did not hear Luna and resumed her furious pacing. “I spent years of my foalhood away from my parents to study under her!”
“Sparkle,” Luna said more firmly.
“I even helped save Equestria like three or four times, and this is my reward!? That no-good, double-dealing—”
“Twilight!” Luna shouted, finally regaining the pacing pony’s attention without resorting to the Royal Canterlot Voice. “I am very well aware of my sister’s loathsome scheming,” she said, her voice and eyes unwavering. “But I will not have you insulting her in my presence.”
“What do you want me to do?” Twilight gestured in a dramatic fashion. “Keep calm and carry on as if nothing’s happened?” She shook her head. “No, no, no, no—I have every right to call Celestia out on this, whether she’s your sister or not.”
“And you would be correct to do so, but she is my sister.” Luna’s eyes shone with unfaltering tenacity. “And I love her dearly in spite of her dastardly deed. A thousand years of exile did not temper my love for Celestia; your arguments shan’t cripple our sisterly love, no matter their merit.”
Twilight’s expression grew cold. “Does that mean that you disagree with me?”
In contrast to Twilight’s expression, Luna’s own expression turned sullen. “No, child. As I said, your anger is justified and I do not dismiss it. I...” She glanced sideways. “I did not anticipate Reason’s involvement in this sordid affair.”
Twilight’s eyebrow piqued, but otherwise did nothing. Luna continued: “I believe that my sister did not consider Reason in her plan.”
“Why?” Twilight asked, her eyes still narrowed.
“She did not mention him in her scheme.”
The young mare snorted. “That’s all?” she scoffed. “Well, it came back to bite her in the flank, didn’t it?”
Luna pouted once more, but not out of sorrow. “It would appear so,” she coolly said, her eyes wandering the length of the quiet hall. “’Tis odd, however—Celestia is a skilled planner. Few things are left unconsidered in her plans.” Her azure eyes fell back on Twilight’s own. “Why would she overlook an influential factor such as Reason?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Twilight snarked with a roll of her eyes. “Maybe she expected me to roll over acceptingly because I revered her!” She let out another snort. “Well I will not stand for this!”
Twilight opened her mouth to continue, but seemed to think better of it. She seemed to focus on Luna. “Hang on a second,” she said. “If you don’t approve of what Celestia is doing, then why didn’t you confront her?” She lashed her wings out. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about this?”
It was Luna’s turn to scoff as she whipped her tail sideways reflexively. “Do you think me as foalish? Of course I challenged my sister and her appalling plot.” She sighed. “But my sister’s banishment decree has placed me in a difficult position. She was correct of the corruption within me, and justly imprisoned me. I, by principle, cannot be against her.”
Twilight stammered, her eye twitching slightly. “You-you…” she fumed, barely restraining her tone, “…you coward! Just because yo—”
“How dare thee insult Us in Our presence!?” the Night Princess boomed in her Royal Canterlot Voice, her wings flared and her eyes glowing with white magical fury. “We are an ancient being with terrible powers and We care not for thy unbecoming brashness! Watch thy tongue, knave!”
The abrupt show of force had silenced Twilight with an awe-inspiring whirlwind of magical energy and thunder. It was a wonder how the cracks of lightning did not scorch the carpet or any of the nearby tapestry.
As abruptly as it had appeared, the magical energy dissipated and with a blink of her eyes, the white glow was gone as well. Luna no longer appeared furious, but her frown still showed that she was clearly upset. “Do not think that my inaction is willing, as my wings are bound.”
Twilight seemed to have calmed down, decidedly humbled by the storm of magic. “But if you can’t directly confront Celestia, then why don’t you try to talk to somepony?”
A sigh escaped the Luna’s lips. “What good would it do, child? My past is muddled with misdeeds and my unruly attempts as Nightmare Moon.” Her azure eyes conveyed an air of sadness. “Ponies still do not fully trust me. Only the foals would listen, but what parent would believe their child’s assertion that my sister, the goodly princess, would do such a horrid thing?”
Twilight’s ears drooped. “I’m…” She didn't seem quite sure what to say, her wrath now gone from her voice. “I’m sorry for insulting you. I’m angry, but I shouldn’t take it out on you, princess.” Her head sagged, eyes closed. “I just thought that you could offer me some advice as to what to do.”
Luna was still, quietly thinking over something. Perhaps... “I cannot assist you directly, Sparkle,” she finally said. "However, I am more than willing to support you if you do confront Celestia herself.”
Twilight’s eyes shot open.
“Yes, it would work,” the Luna said, a smile forming alongside the plan in her mind. “You are my sister’s protégé, a national heroine and a Bearer. Your challenge shall not go unheeded by the common folk, and perhaps that is what is needed to do what is right.”
The shrunken pupils on Twilight were very telling. “You want me expose Celestia in front of everypony,” she deadpanned.
“Indeed.”
“And have me face the possible ire of Celestia.”
“Yes, that is a risk.”
“And go against the whole coronation ceremony we had earlier today.”
“That is a given.”
Twilight groaned. “That’s exactly what Reason told me to do.”
“That human does have a knack for hatching such daring plots.” Luna beamed. “Then I suggest that you follow through with that plan.”
Luna looked on the young one with hope: it would be a difficult thing for her, considering her relationship with Celestia. To think that she had been lied to all this time... “Princess?”
Twilight's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Yes, Twilight?”
“Do you think that my friends and family will be on my side if I do this?”
Luna mused on the query. “If your friends and family are truly that, then I do not see them turning tail when the time comes.” She offered an encouraging smile. “Do not fret, your friends will not abandon you and I trust that your brother shall convince Cadance of assisting you in your plight.”
Twilight gave one last look at the dark alicorn. “Thank you, Luna.”
Luna shook her head. “No, Twilight Sparkle”—she bowed her head—“I am the one who must thank you. Your actions shall forever change our nation’s history.” She smirked. “My sister was correct in one thing: you are truly a special pony.”
They exchanged their farewells and parted ways for the last time as equals, for Luna was now convinced of what Twilight would do:
That night would be her last night as Princess Twilight Sparkle, Luna decided.
The sun shone brightly over the Royal Gardens and tweets and chirps filled the fresh air. Along the gravel path trod a young alicorn, bare of regalia. Twilight found the tranquil setting somewhat ironic, as she considered the political storm that hung over Equestria.
It had only been a week since she denounced her title and her former mentor, exposing for what she truly was: a conniving and manipulative luddite who had no intention of advancing the nation so long as it was stable and content. The public clamor was swift—the aristocrats and nobles immediately called into question Celestia’s legitimacy and had formed their own senate that comprised of various influential families. It was still in its infancy, but the nobleponies had set themselves a long-term goal of eventually being able to vie for governance of the country.
The biggest shock came from the Crystal Empire. Once Cadance learned of the scheme and explained that she was once a powerful unicorn who was turned into an alicorn princess to be kept on a leash, she and Shining Armor seceded from the Principality of Equestria out of disgust. The Crystal Empire was now no longer an Equestrian protectorate and had gained its own independence.
There had been some fears over a possible civil war, with the Crystal Empire separated and the Canterlot nobility threatening the viability of the Principality. Fortunately the public uproar was so great to convince the hasty replacement of the head of the Royal Guard to back down. Celestia, with her Guard unable to assist her in her claim of the Crystal Empire and the Bearers as well as her own sister having turned their backs on her, admitted defeat and stepped down from the throne in shame. Thus Princess Luna sat at the throne and has promised to step down as well if the Equestrian people did not want a princess in power. For now she would be the interim government while a referendum got under way within a few weeks.
True to Luna’s word, Twilight’s friends and family joined her side once the cat was out of the bag. Much to her surprise, when exposed in front of a full court, Celestia did not so much as growl at her former student in anger; she just stood there as Twilight told her that she would not comply with her plan. Not once did she lose her temper, and dealt with the ordeal with all of the dignity that she could muster.
Regardless of Celestia’s reaction and handling of the situation, public opinion of the ousted princess was at an all time low, and many people simply did not want to see her on the throne. As of now, Twilight presumed that she had gone into hiding somewhere in the Griffin kingdom of Häukland as she had sympathizers in the queen's court there.
And yet...
Twilight did not feel like she had actually achieved much—yes, she had her opportunity to chastise Celestia in front of everypony and she just stood there, unflinching and unblinking as an angry Twilight explained in excruciating detail the plot against her. At the end of it, the Sun Princess just nodded, admitting defeat and up and left the throne room.
Everyone had told her that it was a victory—that a bad pony was forced out of the good nation of Equestria. But Twilight did not feel victorious. The feeling was comparable to having an opponent walk away from a game of chess that was still in progress. She technically won, but it just wasn't the same, and here she was experiencing the same sensation, only tenfold.
And to think that Celestia hadn't even offered her own excuses, her motives why. She had simply agreed with what Twilight had said in the throne room. It was exactly as Reason had hypothesized. It almost felt too easy. Even the threat from the Commander in Chief of the Royal Guard was curiously downplayed. The elderly unicorn in charge, Testudo, was staunchly loyal to the crown. He wanted to take the initiative and suppress the dissent, and yet nothing happened: no military uprising, no tactical movements, no crackdowns. Not a single incident had been reported.
The whole affair smelled wrong to Twilight.
In her musing, she had stumbled by the stone-white statues that adorned the main area of the gardens. In an attempt to put to rest a question that hung in her head, she walked to one statue in particular. The bipedal human, dressed in suit and trousers, was in the same position as Twilight had seen all those years before: static, silent and very much not alive.
Reason and Logic, she thought to herself as she read the plaque on the pedestal. “I owe everything to you,” she muttered, looking up to the solemn yet unmoving eyes of the statue. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be with my friends right now.
A long deep breath emanated from Twilight as she splayed her wings to look at them. That was one thing that she couldn’t change. The implications of being alicorn were still unknown, as Cadance was an alicorn for only a decade. It wasn’t clear if she and Twilight were truly immortal as Celestia and Luna, which brought in it of itself more unfortunate implications. To think that she could live forever and her friends and family—
A shudder ran down her length as she finished that thought. For a brief moment, Twilight wondered how Luna and Celestia dealt with the curse of their blessing. It remained to be seen if she would have to suffer the same.
“My, my, my, look who’s here!” a familiarly nasal voice exclaimed, snapping her out of her deeper thoughts. Looking to the source of the voice, she found a confused conglomeration of mismatched body parts.
“Discord,” Twilight said without, surprisingly, disdain in her voice. She eyed the draconequus with minor curiosity who was helping himself to a large glass of chocolate milk. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I think,” Discord replied casually, drinking the glass but not the actual liquid inside. “Just having a stroll down memory lane. You’d be surprised how many good memories I have of this place.” He finished his glass and tossed the milk into a bin which he conjured out of nowhere while he took note of the statue nearby. “Ah, Reason. I do believe you two have finally met?”
“Yes we did,” she answered, somewhat surprised. “You two know each other?”
“Not much more than you do, I’m afraid.” Discord grimaced, folding his incompatible appendages. “He never return my calls, you know: a bit of a downer really, though not as much as Celestia.” He turned to Twilight, offering her a lion paw. “Oh, and by the by, I’d like to thank you for what you’ve done.”
Twilight’s brow arched at the paw. “What for?”
“Why, for spreading chaos my good girl,” he said with a great toothy grin. “You single-hoofedly managed to turn the whole Equestrian government on its head and caused a lot of distrust in the current establishment. Even I would have had to work hard to achieve just that.” He clapped. “Bravo.”
A sense of alarm spread in Twilight’s mind. “Wait, what?!” she cried, stumbling back at Discord's declaration. “But I did the right thing! You—" Twilight's eyes narrowed. "You’re not thinking of starting up trouble again, are you?”
Discord looked offended. “Heavens, no! I’ve buried the hatchet the last time, and I have no intention to dig it up now.” A lump of dirt with a handle sticking out of it appeared in his claw. “Look! See?” he insisted, pointing to the so-called 'proof'. “It’s still there.”
She ignored the dirt and again narrowed her eyes at Discord. “What do you mean by ‘now’?”
With a poof, the supposed hatchet disappeared while he cast his gaze away and twiddled his opposable digits in a poor attempt to look innocent. “Weeeell…” He leaned in close to Twilight’s ear. “I might —I repeat— I might have considered going against my word to not cause chaos just for the sake of it.”
“What!?”
He brought his arms up to calm Twilight, recoiling slightly at her outburst. “Woah, woah, woah! That was then, this is now. Thanks to you, that mischievous little idea’s gone from my mind!”
Twilight stammered and faltered to follow up. Discord nudged her in a friendly matter. “That’s good, and you know why? That means that I don’t overdo it and really get chaotic. That’s what you ponies want, isn’t it?”
“Yes…” she said slowly, still eyeing him with narrowed eyes. “But what I’ve started isn’t chaos, it’s change.”
To this, Discord brow knit in confusion. “Of all of the people and the bookworm doesn’t know?” he said. “Methinks you need to revise the meaning of chaos.”
He conjured up a large tome and opened to the appropriate page. Pulling reading glasses out of thin air, he cleared his throat and began to read. “’Chaos: complete disorder and confusion; (physics) the formless mass that supposed to have existed before the creation of the universe; (philosophy) the unwarranted and/or unforeseen change from the established order.’” Discord emphasized the last entry before grimacing. “Oh drat, they used my old sophomore picture…”
“Lemme see that!” said Twilight as she bustled through the draconequus’ furry midsection trying to catch a glimpse of the alleged definition. All she saw was an intricately detailed picture of a smiling Discord by the definitions before he slammed the dictionary shut.
“See, Twilight?” he said with an innocent smile, discretely making the dictionary vanish. “As weird as it is coming from me, I am a stickler to the rules. Chaos can be brought upon by any form of sudden change to what was established previously. And you”—Discord pointed at the pony—“managed to do that with that little exposé on Celestia’s dirty laundry, and so, I won’t interfere.”
She refused to believe him, shaking her head forcibly. “But—”
“Twilight,” he said, his tone and expression suddenly growing stern. “I am shocked, shocked I tell you, that in spite of your fallout with Celestia, you still think chaos as a bad thing like she did.” He coiled around her in a serpentine fashion. “Sure, when I broke out a while back, I did it to further my vengeance on the princesses.” Discord sneered. “Especially on Celestia—she sort of deserved it.
“But”—he leapt away from Twilight and looked dreamily upwards in the sky as the sun’s beams on him somehow grew more radiant—“after I have been shown the light by your friend, Fluttershy, I’ve learned that chaos doesn’t need to ruin lives for it to be chaos, and pure and unadulterated chaos would lose its charm after a while.” Discord turned his attention back to the pony and procured a large bag of popcorn. “It’s much more interesting to see what sort of chao—changes, that you ponies can achieve by yourselves, especially if he”—he pointed to Reason and Logic—“is going to run things backstage. Did you know that humans were deliciously chaotic?”
Twilight recoiled at the claim. “Really?” She glanced back at the statue and back to the draconequus with an arched brow.
Discord grabbed a clawful of popcorn. “I see the discrepancy, Twilight Sparkle.” His head morphed into that of Twilight and, in perfect mimicry, spoke in her voice. “’How could someone like Reason be chaotic? It doesn’t make any sense!’” Twilight-Discord began to crunch on the fistful of popcorn, a bored look on his (her?) face.
Dismissing the very peculiar sight of her own head on a draconequus body, Twilight thought that she had an answer to her copycat’s question. “Let me guess; his kind changed? A lot?”
Appearing by her side in his normal self, Discord grinned. “Ding-ding-ding! Give the mare a prize! And guess what? Humanity thrived because of that.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Yes indeed. They might have had a couple of hitches here and there, but all in all, they got to be on top of the world because they dared and pushed their limits and changed.
“Well,” he piped up, rubbing his claw and paw together, “I’m off on vacation!”
Twilight couldn’t help but be curious: “Where to?”
“I’m thinking Häukland,” Discord replied, as he donned a bright ocean-blue shirt with floral patterns. “I hear that the weather over there’s great this time of the year. Plus”—he put on a pair of reflective orange shades—“I want to say ‘I told you so’ to Celestia over and over agai—”
Twilight shot a chastising stare at him.
“What?” he asked lamely, pulling up the shades.
“Discord…”
“Ugh.” The draconequus huffed. “Fine. I won’t pester her while I’m there—satisfied?”
Twilight nodded vehemently. “Yes. Don’t cause trouble while you’re gone then.”
Discord laughed as he picked up a shoulder bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Make sure that you do while I’m gone.” And with a snap of his claws, he disappeared.
As entertaining as this meet up with her former nemesis was, worries crept up Twilight’s mind. How bad would these ‘hitches’ be? And was this the way that would ultimately her kind to greatness?
“That,” a voice behind her said, “is for you to decide.”
Twisting around to see nothing but the immobile statue of Reason, a nagging suspicion told Twilight that she might have imagined that.
Regardless of her worries, she smiled, optimistic about the future. She couldn’t tell what time would bring to Equestria and what troubles it would have to face, but she had nothing but hope for their future.
Besides, she decided that she had found her true calling. Looking up to the sky and imagining all of the wondrous possibilities that awaited her people, she beamed at the thought of meeting up with her best friends later in the day.
A good friend: that’s what she would be.
Down a wooden hall rang the echo a series of hoofsteps, the steady light of a lamp painted the intricate motifs of the walls and floor with a warm orange-yellow. A frail looking minotaur servant proceeded to the set of majestic doors and rapped on them softly.
The sounds of ruffling could be made from inside the room. With a creak of protest one of the doors opened enough for a white muzzle of a pegasus to poke through. The Royal Guard had seen better days: the coat was frazzled and the guard’s helmet no longer shone in the light, only bearing a faint reflection by the disorderly plumes. The pony’s eyes were still as hard as one came to expect from a Royal Guard in spite of the evident bags underneath them.
“What is it?” he whispered hoarsely. “The Princess is resting.”
The servant, an aging ash-grey minotaur with a cured white beard, curtly bowed his head. “I wish to speak with your liege.” He sneaked a look beyond the threshold; he managed to glimpse an object being magically floated in place. “Is this a bad time?”
The pony was about to respond when a voice from within called to him. The minotaur didn’t manage to make out the words, but guessed its meaning when the stallion turned back to the servant. “You may enter,” he said plainly, opening the door.
The servant offered his thanks and was led in by the guard. It had been several hours when his master had lent the pristine Minoatian Suite to the small Equestrian delegation —if one were kind enough to call it that— and the ponies had already settled in. The common room was the best that Xenodocheíoy’s Luxury Hotels, his master’s chain, had to offer: large and spacious, it was tied together by a tasteful cream rug, with minimalistic yet comfortable furniture contrasting the brightly lit room.
A unicorn guard bore on the guest. Like his companion, his helmet did not sport a sheen even in the presence of the many bright lights of the guest room. The disorderly nature of the guard’s appearance was unbecoming for a member of such an organized force. Antiquated as it might have been, the Equestrian Royal Guards always looked absolutely stunning in their ceremonial armor.
But the servant paid no mind to the gray unicorn: His gaze was on what the pony was flanking.
On the black chaise lounge was a stark white alicorn with a perpetually flowing polychromatic mane and tail, bare of any regalia that one would have had come to expect from this particular alicorn. Her soft magenta eyes, in spite of rumors about her fall from grace, did not look the least bit troubled. Even without her golden tiara or her sandals, Celestia looked no less majestic than when she was regent of Equestria.
A small smile on her lips acknowledged the minotaur’s presence. “Milady.” He bowed deeply. “Are the accommodations to your satisfaction?”
“They are indeed,” she replied in a content tone. “As they have been the last two times that I have been asked that. I assure you, everything that Xenodocheíoy has offered is more than is needed. Please thank him for his generous hospitality.”
The servant maintained his bowed poise. “My master extends his deepest apologies for not being available to accommodate you himself and has told me to inform you”—he brought his eyes level to Celestia’s—“that if there is anything that you wish, just ask.”
Celestia nodded graciously, radiant as always. “As charming as it for Xenodoch to shower me with his warm reception, I suspect that there is an ulterior motive for your presence.”
He bowed again. “Yes, milady,” he piped up, producing a scroll from his person. “I have a letter from a courier: He stated that the message is at least a month old, as he and his companions had difficulty in finding its addressee.” He offered the scroll. “Something about a ‘phantom princess’,” the servant joked.
It earned him a hard stare on the part of the two guards and a quiet chuckle from Celestia. “Yes, I can see why it took some time to find its destination,” she remarked as she gently lifted the letter from the minotaur’s hand. “Thank you very much for the message.”
Another bow: “If there is anything else that you need…”
“Yes, I shall send for you. That will be all, thank you.”
The minotaur rose. “Milady,” he simply said before making for his exit, leaving the Equestrians to their ruminations.
Celestia took in the floating scroll before her, noting that the seal that was commonly used in the Equestrian Mail Service, prior to undoing the seal. The script was immediately familiar to her, a lump forming in her throat. She kept a neutral expression, put aside her worries, and began to read the contents. It was a short read, but the few words provided her a sense of relief. On the one hoof, she had been told that this was bound to happen and had prepared for it, but on the other hoof, she still had concerns as to how it was going to work out.
Setting the letter away, the former regent looked to the unicorn guard. “Go to that servant, Phalanx,” she told him. “Tell him that I require some paper, a quill and ink—I need to write a message.”
The guard gave an affirmative and promptly left the suite. The remaining guard, in spite of his training, showed mild curiousity with a piqued eyebrow. “Forgive my intrusion, ma’am,” he said apologetically. "But who wrote to you?”
Celestia looked to the guard and sighed. She looked upwards with whimsical eyes as she considered the stallion’s query. She had so many doubts in spite of her readiness; she was told that she would be getting this letter. Still, it did not assuage her fears.
“Hopefully,” Celestia murmured quietly, “somepony who is willing to forgive me and still call me a friend.”
The Minoatian sun was scorching hot, which reminded Twilight of the blistering heat back in Appleloosa. One key difference however was that people apparently enjoyed sunbathing in these conditions, a folly idea in her mind. She had to admit that what she had seen of the Minoatian cities and its people had been impressive. She had seen modern skyscrapers that soared high into the clouds and mocked what Equestrian cities like Manehattan had to offer. Not only that, but the mare had noticed an abundance of automated carriages similar to the one that Flim and Flam had showed up in that one time at Sweet Apple Acres. To say that the capital was bustling was an understatement—if someone told her that the population of Taurus was greater than that of Equestria, she concededly would have to assume that they weren’t exaggerating... much.
She did not travel to minotaur territories for the weather or to admire the cities however; Twilight had somepony to meet, and she had many a reservation about the upcoming meetup. But she was already at the hotel that they were going to meet at, and she wasn’t going to turn back now. A grand thing, the hotel reminded Twilight of a large chalet with wings extending out into the chaparral and beaches, a good distance from the capital city of Taurus. As memory served, she would find the person she was looking for in the restaurant overlooking the Mareterranean.
Her first impressions of the interior involved Twilight being surprised as to how luxurious the establishment was, comparable to the rich Canterlot Royal Palace, but specifically built for tourists. It was beautiful, but she thought that it was a different sort of ‘beautiful’, the aesthetics were definitely different to what she was used to. To think that she was in a place like this... it did not bode well for Twilight.
She made her way to the restaurant (which was relatively vacant of eating customers, what with it being a work day) and spotted a table shadowed by a hanging terrace outside. Her pace crawled to a slow walk as she approached the table for three, with the seat facing her already with an occupant: Celestia.
The sight of that billowing hair almost spilled a sleuth of emotions: fear, anger, surprise, and, most of all, anxiety. Twilight had rarely seen Celestia without her tiara, and seeing her as bare as she was almost seemed... well, wrong.
Still, the conspicuous lack of Celestia’s regalia did not detract her natural beauty and grace—if anything, she looked all the more graceful, and the shadow provided by the vines of the terrace added an element of mystery. She was busy with sipping from a cup when Twilight was upon her.
A quick glimpse at her former mentor’s unreadable visage made Twilight gulp; what was her reaction going to be? In the letter that she sent as a reply she sounded reasonable, even eager at the prospect of seeing her old protégé again. Why? What did she have in store for her?
Upon noticing the new arrival, Celestia beamed warmly.
“Hello, Twilight.”
“Hello... Celestia.” It had taken a noticeable amount of effort for Twilight to drop the defunct title.
Celestia gestured with her wing. “Do take a seat,” she said, her smile almost disarming.
Twilight had to stifle a scoff: She’s doing it again! This was the exact same demeanor that she had when she had been exposed all those months ago. It was infuriating!
She did not, however, miss a beat and bearing it with a forced grin, she settled down on the chair comfortably. The two alicorns locked into each other, neither one willing to break eye contact first. An awkward silence befell upon the table, as Celestia and Twilight bore each other down, daring the other to make the first move.
“Something to drink, miss?”
Twilight blinked, startled to see that a dark brown minotaur in a bowtie by her side, waiting for her order, had broken the silence. These minotaurs were not one to leave a customer hanging.
“I, ah… some water will do,” she said, not really wanting to deal with the waiter.
“Very good miss,” he said, jotting down the order on his pad. The waiter turned to Celestia. “Anything else for you, ma’am?”
“Some more tea would hit the spot, thank you.”
“Alright ladies,”—the waiter gave his best smile—“I’ll be back with your orders soon.” And with that, the minotaur left the two mares alone once more.
Celestia capitalized on the moment and piped up. “So, Twilight, how are things back home?”
Twilight stared back with narrowed eyes. She honestly believed that it would be that easy? As if their confrontation had never occurred? It was so... so maddening. It was a wonder how she hadn’t burst out in anger already.
Celestia caught wind of the her distress. “Is something wrong, Twilight?” Her tone sounded worried.
Twilight couldn’t hold it in anymore. Managing to keep her voice regulated, she breathed deeply before beginning.
“Why?”
A long pause passed by. Celestia stood nearly stock-still in response to Twilight’s hard stare. With no sign of an interjection on the former’s part, she went on.
“Just...”—she shook her head lightly in disbelief—“why didn’t you put up a fight? Why”—she grimaced slightly—“didn’t you deny everything? I mean, it was my word against yours, it could have gone both ways.”
The older alicorn seemed to take a moment to mull over Twilight's words, and in that inscrutable face of hers. Oh how Twilight hated that face.
“It would have been pointless,” Celestia finally said in a soft voice. “Seeing how it was not just your word.”
This confused her for a moment, wondering who Celestia might have been referring to—she and Twilight were the only ones who had spoken in that showdown all those months ago. Luna had promised her support, but it proved unnecessary and hadn’t said a word back then. But that meant—
“Princess Luna?” Twilight asked, nonplussed.
“It makes sense,” Celestia stated simply, taking a sip from her cup. “My sister has both an admiration for what I had achieved and”—she turned her eyes straight into Twilight’s—“a fear for it.
“Luna’s mettle had never been the same ever since she came back,” she said, “she used to be so strong, so independent and so brave before she was taken by the Nightmare.” Celestia's head drooped and her eyes closed. “I did everything to bring my sister back to me safely, but she grew fearful of me. I cannot say if it was the Nightmare that convinced her of that before being purged, but despite my good intentions, she still fears me.”
“But still,” Twilight piped up, “you could’ve said something. You made it too...”—she waved her hoof as she searched for the right word—“...easy. And I know that you’re not one to make things easy.”
A smile returned to Celestia’s face. “That I do.”
She’s doing it again! “So why did you just leave like that?” Twilight asked. “You made it almost seem like... ah, like it was...”
“Planned?” Celestia offered, the corner of her lips reaching higher up her cheeks.
Twilight’s eyes lit up. “Yes! That’s exactly—” She stopped; how could Celestia have guessed? As for the alicorn before her, her smile only grew.
“Y–you—” Twilight stuttered, “you actually wanted for this to happen?”
“I had planned for that to happen, yes.”
Twilight goggled at the larger in complete and utter disbelief. Her flabbergasted expression was a polar opposite to the pleasantly content visage of Celestia. She lifted the teapot and a basket of dry biscuits. “Tea? Biscuits?” she asked. “Minoat biscuits are nothing to write home about, but their tea does wonders on the nerves.”
Part of Twilight was tempted to take on the offer, but she still was trying to figure out the implications of what Celestia had just said. Her inner thoughts were interrupted by the timely arrival of their waiter with a tray of drinks. He carefully served the glass of water and placed a full teapot, taking the empty container with him. The two guests voiced their thanks (Twilight mumbled more than voiced), and were left alone once more.
Celestia filled her cup with more tea while Twilight sipped at her glass, not so much because she was thirsty, but because she hadn’t yet come up with an adequate response. Even after setting down her water, she still hadn’t been able to find the appropriate words. The lack of a response did not go unnoticed by Celestia.
“So,” she said slowly, her small smile unwavering, “how are things back home?”
Twilight struggled for words, incoherent sounds being the only thing that she managed. There was no way around this she realized. A weighty sigh later, she simmered back on her seat to recount the year’s events that had occurred in Equestria.
“Where to begin?” she wondered, thinking over what had happened. “You remember that a referendum was held after you left?” Celestia nodded. “Ponies were split over who should take over from you; people were mostly unsure about your sister and the prospect of her continuing where you left off. There was one thing that everyone was sure of:” Twilight said. “Nopony wanted the senate that the nobleponies formed.”
With no interjection or visible response from Celestia Twilight continued. “The senate was...”—she shrugged—“well, pretty upset about the results. One of the members, Gilded Cage, he actually initiated a plot along with other nobles to try to seize power for themselves and install the senate.” She tapped on the table, revisiting her memories. “Did you know that of all ponies it was Blueblood who foiled the plot? Were it not for him, we might have seen an uprising.”
“Did he now?” Celestia asked in between her sips. “Well, to be fair, he was always something of a traditionalist. And I doubt that Blueblood would have one of his aunts removed when he needs his aunts for his”—her smile turned mischievous—“antics.”
“Antics?” Twilight asked before realizing what Celestia meant. She made a disgusted noise. “That pig!”
“Some ponies will never change,” Celestia said, chuckling softly. “What happened to Gilded Cage?”
“He was arrested, along with his co-conspirators.” Twilight gulped down some of her water. “The trials have just begun, and it doesn’t look good for any one of them.”
Celestia made a thoughtful noise, but said nothing else, her soft eyes requesting Twilight silently to continue.
“So Princess Luna’s interim government is still running things,” she said. “And in spite of things being stable, I noticed that ponies are— seem... different.”
Celetia's brow creased. “What do you mean by that?”
“What I mean is that ponies seem to be...”—Twilight shook her head—“...lost. I don’t really know how to explain it.”
Celestia said nothing. She closed her eyes in silent contemplation as she finished her cup of tea, not making a sound. Once she set the cup down, she looked to Twilight with knowing eyes. She knows something about that, Twilight, a voice in the young mare suspected.
“But you planned for that, didn’t you?” she accused, her voice adopting an edge. She brushed her forelock with a frustrated groan. “I just want to know: Why did you abdicate just like that if you knew that this would happen? Don’t you care about their happiness? With you gone, you made so many ponies unhappy.”
Celestia’s smile fell, only for a sad grin to take its place. “I do,” she answered, casting her gaze out towards the Mareterranean. “But it needed to be done.”
She craned her head back, observing the movement of some clouds. Twilight had noticed that the weather here didn’t seem to be regulated like it was in Equestria, and had wondered how often the lack of control hindered life in Minoat, as well as the other non-pegasi controlled lands.
Celestia interrupted that tangent thought. “See those clouds up there, Twilight?” she asked. “When left unfretted they drift wherever the winds carry them, and they can travel thousands of miles, accumulating in size and numbers. Often they just smidgen the blue sky with strokes of wispy white.” Her eyes flicked back to Twilight. “Sometimes they grow dark and make it rain. Sometimes they even cause terrible storms capable of incredible destruction.
“But all clouds have one thing in common: they cease to be.”
Twilight felt a lecture coming from her old mentor—openings like that only meant one thing: a monologue.
“Clouds fade away just as easily as mountains in time. Time”—Celestia lifted a biscuit, only to crush it in her magical grip—“is unstoppable; a terrifying thing when one stops to think about it.”
She sighed. “And while I may have the blessing of longevity, I do not see it as such, as I too am at the mercy of time.” She raised a hoof to her muzzle. “I might not look a day over thirty, but I have changed since then, and not all for the better,” Celestia said with a long face.
“I am a widower, Twilight,” she said with a twinge of sadness. “I too had the same desires and affections for another as your sister-in-law has. But where she may still live with your brother and remain together until old age, I remained”—Celestia’s lips twitched downwards—“young, while my lovers passed on as everypony does in the end.”
Twilight didn’t know what to say. “I–I’m so sorry, Celestia. That must’ve been difficult.” Her ears perked up. “Wait, did you say ‘lovers’, as in plural?”
A lopsided smile crept up on Celestia’s features. “I am well over a thousand years old,” she said. “I have fallen in love with many a stallion in my heydays.”
An image of Celestia being surrounded by stallions sprung into Twilight’s mind. Her cheeks burned furiously as she dispelled the naughty thought. Celestia didn’t seem to notice the odd coloration on the young one’s face.
“You can imagine what consequences come with my ageless nature,” Celestia said, her scowl returning. “Everypony who I’ve come to call a friend or love have long since passed on, with the exception of Luna.” She brought her cup of steaming tea to her muzzle. “But even my own sweet Luna...” A pained took hold of Celestia’s face, scrunching her eyes shut. “You know what happened to my sister.”
The vapors of the tea swirled with magical purpose, taking the vague yet familiar form of a helmeted mare with serpentine eyes. Twilight didn’t need to be reminded who Celestia was referring to.
“Few creatures in this world have known loneliness as I have,” she continued, sipping her tea. “It is a horrible thing to be alone, Twilight. And there was a time when it was a punishment that I doled out—only twice, but I fully regret doing so.”
“You mean Discord and...?” Twilight let her question hang.
There was no response from Celestia, her silence being all that Twilight needed to understand the implication.
“I do not consider myself truly just, or above being erroneous.” Celestia’s eyes lit up. “And while I may have learned much during my lifespan, there was a time when I was naïve enough to enforce my concept of right and wrong.” She shifted slightly in her seat. “My sister and I came not long after the unification of the Three Tribes, so I knew of the conflict and animosity that was present between the races. I wished for an Equestria that would not dwell on hatred of others or on warfare, so we got rid of the racial caste system that was still in place, making everypony, pegasus, unicorn and earth pony, equal.”
Twilight had half a mind to ask Celestia what was so wrong of emancipating fellow ponies, but she did not interrupt her.
“Then Discord appeared.” Celestia’s expression darkened, a hint of anger flashing briefly in her purple eyes. “My sister and I... we were so young—we didn’t think things through when we spoke to him. We assumed that he was evil by nature, and we didn’t—”
“But Discord was evil!” Twilight interrupted. “When he escaped his imprisonment, he wanted to ruin Equestria!”
“That’s... not exactly true,” Celestia said slowly with a shifty look about her. “He wished for revenge on me and my sister. We both jumped to a false conclusion which only created an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
She shook her head briskly, quelling her quivering lips. “I believed that change, changing the norm, the status quo, was the root of all evil, and so I made a vow to stem change as much as I could. I always thought that change would bring risk and with that risk there would have been new opportunities for evil to take hold.
“It’s with a heavy heart that I say that I only realized how folly that thinking was after banishing my sister to the moon.”
Twilight’s brow piqued. “How so?”
“In my attempt to keep things as they were, I neglected Luna’s stance over things,” Celestia explained. “I thought that I could convince her that things were fine as they were.” Her head drooped. “Because of my failure to take things into consideration, I lost a sister for a thousand years, and I forced her out of Equestria for so long. She is a fish out of water and not seen in a good light because of me.”
She let out a long sigh, her face the epitome of regret, an unfamiliar look considering who it was. “Ponies’ ideas of my being, as well as my own judgment calls, have put Equestria in a difficult spot.”
“What do you mean?”
Celestia’s gaze flickered to meet Twilight’s. “It doesn’t want to get on with the times, pure and simple.”
It took a moment for Twilight to realize what Celestia’s implications were, to which she shot a confused look. “But... you mean technologically? But we’ve—”
Her words died as memories of a year-old discussion resurfaced: I mean, for goodness’ sake, your kind has not made much progress beyond airships and chariots for air travel! a familiar voice in her head complained. Could it have actually been...?
“We haven’t, Twilight,” Celestia replied, her face passive. “Or at least, not while I was still princess. And I’ll explain why.
“With my longevity and natural prowess, it is understandable for one to forget that I am not some sort of deity. I have protected Equestria and its people for centuries and ponies are quick to assume that I am their infallible guardian, always prepared and always willing.” She set her cup down, a curious expression plastered on her face. “As such, even when presented with opportunities to move ahead they refuse because they think that I am the ace in the hole for any given situation.”
“But,” Twilight interjected, shaking her head, “we all saw what happened when you dueled with Chrysalis! You lost to her!”
“And yet many still thought me as a goddess regardless of what happened during that debacle,” Celestia said. “Even after that, ponies would rather stay put and not progress because they fancied themselves as superior to others.”
Twilight pouted pensively, not able to recollect any particular moments that implied what she was saying. But then she began to remember some incidents with other species, Zecora being a prime example. If Equestrians were sure in their racial superiority, then episodes like the fear of an unknown zebra, the mistrust between the Appleloosans and the Buffalo Tribes did make some sense.
“But I wrote to you about how we improved ponies’ attitudes towards others,” Twilight said. “My friends and I helped secure peace between the Buffalo Tribes and the Appleloosans as well as make Zecora welcome to Ponyville!”
The arched brow on Celestia’s face told her that she remained unconvinced. “True,” Celestia admitted, “you managed to convince a group of ponies numbering just over a hundred to tolerate the presence of one zebra, and an even smaller group to learn to share land with the local populace.” Her eyes were hard but not unkind. “It is still a feat for you and your friends to have managed it, but Appleloosa and Ponyville are not all of Equestria, dear.”
Celestia looked to the Mareterranean once more. “Your intervention, while helpful, wouldn’t be enough to change ponies’ way of thinking quickly enough.” Her eyes fell on her old pupil. “Even if I told my subjects to be more open-minded, they wouldn’t do it. At least, the big business ponies didn’t listen to me when I offered them the choice.”
“Wait, wait,” Twilight piped up, “what’s this about business ponies?”
“Simple economics, Twilight.” Celestia beamed. “When there are multiple nations bordering each other, what should they do to work towards greater economic and social stability?”
“Economic integration,” Twilight answered automatically, recalling what she had learned when she had dabbled in macroeconomics. “Failing that, then either a common market or a preferential trade agreement at the very least.”
Celestia’s smile grew at the quick and comprehensive answer. “Very good, Twilight. Can you name me Equestria’s trading partners?”
“The Cry—” She stopped herself, realizing that the former protectorate had yet to establish any trading agreement with the new government. Twilight mused over the list that had been instilled in her from her studies: “The CSZ, Häukland, Minoat, and Saddle Arabia.”
Celestia nodded. “Would you believe me if I told you that they only began trading with Equestria due to my own initiative, and not that of our own entrepreneurs?”
Part of Twilight wanted to say no outright. “Of course I would.”
“Now, would you believe me if I told you that this was only achieved out of decades of insistence from my part?”
Twilight was about to answer that she would, but then the ‘decades’ bit sunk in. “Decades?” she parroted, her voice almost breaking.
“Decades,” Celestia repeated with a straight face, nodding an affirmative. “It was almost two centuries before the first trade agreement was finalized, and that was only with the Saddle Arabians, as they are ponies. For the other races they came a few decades afterwards.”
Twilight blinked: she couldn’t believe that ponies would lack the common sense to see that formalizing trade would be an immense boon towards the development of Equestria. She had already thought that ponies were quite close-minded, but this... this was on an entirely different scale!
A fleeting suspicion crept up in her mind. “You, ah, never told me,” she said slowly, still trying to piece things together. “What exactly was the occasion when those delegates from Saddle Arabia came?”
Celestia put on her most innocent mask. “It was for the signing of the new free trade agreement between Equestria and Saddle Arabia.” She inclined her head forwards. “That was the first improvement in Equestrian trading relations since pony shops allowed Gryphon goods to be sold from them centuries back.”
Twilight gulped. “And I don’t suppose that it was because of a lack of support from the Saddle Arabians, right?”
Celestia almost snorted. “Saddle Arabia had been willing to set up a trading bloc with us for years,” she said with a note of frustration in her voice. “It was the Equestrians who didn’t want it; it’s always been the Equestrians who weren’t willing. The only reason that they relented that time was because of an easing of the terms from the Arabians.”
“But,” Twilight interrupted, “this is all about economics. What does this have to do with Equestria being technologically backwards?”
Celestia finished her cup of tea. “It all goes back to my former subjects’ perception of me,” she explained. “Apparently, from their point of view, my capacity to protect Equestria from any and all threats meant that besides dawdling in the areas of technology and the economy”—she looked to Twilight—“they could, for one reason or another, refuse help from the outside.”
“That’s…!”
“Naïve, foolish and imprudent?” Celestia offered, in sync with her thinking. “It is, but can you blame them? I’ve done Equestria right for centuries, and as such ponies trusted me to keep them safe.”
The young alicorn found herself agreeing with the reasoning, in spite of the voice in her reminding her that Celestia had deceived her before. But a question rose in her. “But that wasn’t the case for everypony, was it?”
Celestia kept an impassive face. Taking that as a cue, Twilight continued. “The nobleponies, at least Gilded and his kind, didn’t seem to hold you in high regards. Why else would they try to seize power with you gone?”
“Disillusioned ponies with too much money and time on their hooves,” the Pony of the Sun answered with a regretful sigh. “I’d like to think that all ponies are contributing members of society with the interest of their fellows at heart, but that would be a poor lie.” Her violet eyes were brimming with remorse. “Promises of power are irresistible to those with the resources, and those who find power so alluring often have dark motives.”
Twilight was reminded of the tale of Sombra. Absolute power…
“So you knew that the nobleponies would try to dethrone you if you had stayed?”
“Of course,” Celestia said with a huff. “I also knew that Luna would be the public’s safeguard from their greed. I didn’t need Reason to tell me that.”
Twilight’s eyes shot open, her ears swiveled to attention, and her tail froze. “Reason was in on this?”
“Of course,” came the reply. However, much to Twilight’s wonder, it hadn’t come from the mare in front of her, but by the now-filled seat by the side.
A smile could be found on the man’s face. “Morning, Twilight,” Reason greeted. He turned to Celestia and —the hay?!— pecked her on both cheeks. “How have the minotaurs been treating you, Celestia?”
She returned the smile with one of her own. “Lavishly, just like in Häukland.” Done with their greetings, the two turned to find a bewildered mare staring, agape.
“I think that we may have broken her,” Reason whispered playfully to Celestia.
Twilight was at a complete loss for words. At her every attempt to talk her mind drew a blank, completely aghast at not only the unsolicited appearance of Reason, but the two’s... relationship.
Her cheeks were aflame.“Y-you two, ah, are, um…?” Twilight tapped her two front hooves in the hope that the meaning came across without having to say it.
At first both Reason and Celestia didn‘t catch her meaning, trading their puzzled expressions. Then Celestia brought a hoof to stifle her laughter into a giggle while Reason limited himself to a cocked eyebrow and a mischievous grin. “Oh, dear.” She chuckled, recovering her composure. “Giving a peck on the cheeks is how humans greeted their familiars or friends. To think that you believed that Reason and I were engaged…”
“I wouldn’t be too dismissive of that,” Reason interjected, his tone and face curiously level. “You might never know: I could actually hold you very close to my heart and want a tighter bond with you.”
The air suddenly felt very still as Reason stared deep into Celestia’s eyes, the alicorn herself looking back with slightly parted jaws. For a long moment, neither one of them so much as blinked. Then Reason waggled his eyebrows sardonically, unleashing a roaring laugh from her.
“Oh, you had me going there.” She said in between her sniffles of dying laughter.
“I had me going for a second as well,” Reason said with a slight tone of surprise. “I don’t think an engagement between a statue and an alicorn would work; that would be just silly.”
Twilight kept gaping at the scene, feeling it surreal and, well, incredibly awkward. The red in her cheeks finally turning to her coat’s natural color, she loudly cleared her throat in an over the top manner to get the attention of the two before her. “Can somepony please explain to me what’s going on? And why you”—she pointed to Reason—“haven’t shown up after that night? I was having second thoughts about you and what you told me!”
The atmosphere turned sober once more, and the last vestiges of chuckling ebbed away. Celestia deadpanned, reverting to her usual passive face. Reason, on the other hoof, chewed on his lower lip and was having trouble making direct eye contact with Twilight. He leaned towards Celestia. “Shall I, or do you want to?” he murmured.
“I think that I’ve said enough—Twilight’s looking to you for answers,” she said.
All eyes on Reason, he nodded and turned to a fuming Twilight. “Cat’s out of the bag now, huh?” he quipped. “I suppose that it’s best that I start from the beginning then.”
He sat up straight on his seat, resting his elbows on the table, hands interlocked. “This whole thing didn’t start with the changeling attack,” Reason said. “You have to realize that Celestia’s been trying for years: Decades even.”
“She already told me this.” Twilight huffed with a wave of a hoof.
“But she hasn’t told you how I came up with the idea that would eventually lead up to my talk with you,” said Reason. “Ever since Celestia’s laid eyes on you for the first time she knew that you would have been key to Equestria’s future. She sensed greatness in you right then and there, when you were just a filly.”
Twilight’s ear flicked. Something about what he had just told her bothered her. She dismissed the thought to the back of her mind while Reason went on.
“Celestia shared with me her plan to have herself ousted, where you would have been the key to not only achieving that, but”—he gestured, indicating around the trio—“to help Equestria along in the aftermath.”
It then clicked in Twilight: that previous thought resurged as a year-old memory. “To make me princess? But you were against it.”
Reason paused, biting his lip. He looked to Celestia for support—she shook her head, encouraging him on. He sighed, before turning back to the mare in front. “I... well, I wasn’t onboard with Celly’s decision to make you into an alicorn.”
Twilight’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “But?” she prompted, knowing that there was more to this.
“But, I was never against the idea of you being a possible leader.”
Looking back on it, Twilight had to, begrudgingly, admit that that had been the case. She still had her doubts about that, but kept them to herself.
The human leaned closer, placing a hand on Twilight’s hoof, his eyes staring through hers. “Celestia never meant to use you, ever. But she realized that you were an instrument for change, and to that effect, she knew that it meant risking losing you, her faithful student—her friend.”
Twilight shook her head. “Why me?”
Reason hesitated, looking once more to Celestia. “Of all ponies, you are the one I could think who changed the most,” she explained with a smile, intervening for Reason. “Do you remember how you were before Ponyville?” she asked. “Just over two years ago, the concept of friendship was foreign to you. You believed that you didn’t need it. You had me, and for you, that was enough.”
“Even then, you defied her,” Reason said. “Maybe not directly, but you protested. You felt that the task was unimportant, and you openly questioned her judgement.”
“Your inquisitive nature was exactly why I entrusted you with the lessons of friendship.” Celestia sipped on the last of her tea. “I knew that you would embrace your own lessons, and that they would help Reason convince you to speaking out and calling me out. This”—she set down her cup—“is what made me believe that you would have what it takes to help Equestria, right when it needs help the most.”
Twilight listened carefully, recalling to her times as a secluded bookworm in Canterlot, who preferred staying inside the Royal Library or in Celestia’s study during their one-on-ones. She hadn’t paid it much heed when she was younger, but looking back on it…
Celestia had always been there: Around the corner; by the blackboard; looking over her work; even in her room a few times. She had been Twilight's go-to for almost any situation that nopony could resolve. She could always rely on the Princess.
I fell into the same trap as everypony else, Twilight realized. She had thought that Celestia could do no wrong once, just like everyone else. She, at the time, was no better than everyone else, thinking that Celestia was the proverbial ace in the hole.
However, something still bothered the young mare, as another doubt itched her mind. “But, Reason, what about everything you’ve said about—”
Her realization felt like a slap to Twilight’s muzzle, as she did her best to keep the shock from showing. “So… you lied to me?”
Reason hesitated, gauging Twilight's face. “I… exaggerated.”
“Then how can I trust you!?” Twilight blurted. “How can we trust you? You told me half-truths and disappeared on me, making me think that the whole conversation was a dream!” She seethed, gesticulating wildly. “And I know that Luna’s been consulting you. She denies it, but I know it.”
Not too surprisingly, Reason didn’t reel back from the verbal assault. A small part of Twilight’s mind remembered that the two had probably expected such an outburst from the pony. Still, the slight frown on his face told her that it still hurt.
“Trust him because he cares, Twilight,” Celestia said, her violet eyes pleading. “His idea for change was all his, but even then, he disapproved how I was to apply it. He found it too”—her eyes darkened—“cold.”
Reason appeared stiff, his furrowed brow accompanying his frown, saying nothing. He then closed his eyes, and with a slow sigh, his shoulders sagged at the pace of the breath. “It was deceitful, Celestia,” Reason added. “I still feel that we could have done without the dishonesty. No, I feel that we could have done better without the dishonesty.”
Celestia, Twilight noted, sagged as well, a mournful look on her face. “Reason, we talked about this.”
“I know,” he softly replied, his gaze cast downwards. “Even after all this time, it still bothers me.”
A somber silence encompassed between the alicorn and the man, penetrated only by the crashing waves in the distance. Twilight realized why Celestia had gotten snagged on Reason’s earlier joke—these two were very old beings. She could not imagine how long they had shared such a relationship. It was far beyond anything Twilight ever had with her old teacher.
The two were more than friends.
She said nothing, feeling that any words here would be squandered. She allowed several moments to pass, before she cleared her throat, not in the over the top manner as she did before, to steer the discussion back on course.
“I, um, don’t want to seem rude,” Twilight said apologetically, looking up to both Celestia and Reason humbly. “But I’ve still got questions.”
The couple recovered, each in their own way: Reason nodded; Celestia focused her gaze on Twilight. “Go on, dear,” she said. “Do not fret over us, please.”
In all honesty, Twilight wanted in good part to allow a moment for the two to themselves. However, the less empathetic part of her mind demanded answers to her lingering uncertainties regarding the whole affair. “Was Reason, ah, truthful about you arranging in transferring me to another place?” she asked. “That my responsibilities as a princess were to be practiced?”
“I didn’t necessarily want you to be transferred, no,” Celestia replied with a slight tilt of her head. “But if I did, that would be true. What good is a title without responsibility?” she asked.
A snort escaped from Reason’s nose, a sneer forming. “Come on, give it a rest, Celestia,” he scoffed. “Just tell her that you were going to make her the new guardian of Ponyville.”
Celestia smiled. “And what did you tell her, Reason?” she asked, “that I was going to transfer her to Los Pegasus? Maybe Vanhoover?”
“Neighpon,” Twilight finished for Reason, her vengeful eyes on him, narrowed to slits.
Celestia looked at Twilight for a moment, blinking. Then she turned to Reason, whose face was unreadable. There was a slight tug on her lips. “No wonder she was so passionate afterwards.” She bowed her head lightly. “Well done.”
“I have my moments,” was all Reason said, his smirk returning. Then the two began to laugh lightly.
“Hey! That’s not funny!” Twilight protested, not amused. “I thought I was never going to see my friends again!” Then, almost as an afterthought, she said, “And please don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
Her complaint did not silence the giggles, though Reason and Celestia did try to hide their enjoyment behind a hand and a hoof, respectively. “Again,” he said in between laughs, “I exaggerated.”
Twilight harrumphed. She didn’t find it the least bit funny. She did, however, quell her annoyance as she considered the new information. If Reason ‘exaggerated’, as he put it, what did that say about the other things that he had told her?
“What about all you’ve said about me being free to choose my own life?”
“Ah,” Reason said with a boastful smile, “all true, I’m glad to say.”
She shook her head. “But, then why was I forcefully made into an alicorn?” Twilight countered, stamping her hoof on the table for added emphasis. “That has changed my life—potentially forever!”
Reason’s grin disappeared, a neutral expression taking its place. He glanced at Celestia, who in turn knit her brow in dejection. “Reason had no part in that,” she admitted. “He was vehemently against my decision in making you an alicorn.”
Twilight wilted somewhat. “B–but—” A raised white hoof calmed her down.
“I did so, not as a punishment or for lack of love,” Celestia explained. “I made you an alicorn, because I deemed it a just reward.”
It took a moment for the pieces to fall in place in Twilight’s mind. “Wha— you mean the spell?” she asked, still confused. “But my friends helped me in completing it.”
“Yes, they did,” the Celestia said. “You were the one who actually came up with the solution, however.” Celestia stole a sideways glance towards Reason, who had his arms crossed. “In spite of Reason’s disagreement, I felt that you still deserved a reward. Becoming an alicorn, I felt —I feel— that you were ready for it.” She then leaned in with a roguish smirk. “And besides,” she added playfully, “do you really think that your friends could handle being an alicorn?”
Twilight’s immediate response was yes, but then she thought over the possible scenario: a Rarity with wings? A Rainbow Dash with magic? A Pinkie Pie with both? She shuddered inadvertently. They were not able to handle switched Cutie Marks, and literally had their lives changed. What did that say about becoming an entirely different being? She herself had gone through a lot after the transformation. No, she too didn’t think that her friends were ready for such a responsibility, least of all a certain pink earth pony. “Er, point taken.”
Yet, something about the reward bothered Twilight. “So you rewarded me, in spite of me putting my friends’ lives in jeopardy?”
“You amended your mistake,” Celestia said. “It had no bearing on you completing the spell. Did it?”
“I still think it did,” Reason interjected, arms still crossed. “If anything, Twilight failing to follow basic magical safety guidelines tells me tha—”
“Rajneesh.” Celestia suddenly huffed, instantly silencing Reason’s rebuttal. She turned with weary eyes towards the stunned man. “Rajneesh, what’s done is done. Please,” she said, “let’s not go over this again.”
Reason blinked, seemingly on the verge of countering. He instead sighed as he shuffled in his seat. “Alright, Celestia.”
Raj-nish? Twilight wondered, noting his reluctant submission. It was obviously a name of some sort, was it Reason’s human name? It was very much alien from most naming schemes that she was familiar with. Sensing an opportunity, she took advantage of the momentary lull in the conversation to bring up a doubt. “Is that all?”
Both Celestia and Reason looked up. “What I mean is,” Twilight said, “that it couldn’t have been your only motive, to reward me.” She set her forehooves on the table. “I... agree with Reason. Me causing the mess in the first place—” Twilight shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Reason glanced at the elderly alicorn, not saying a word. Celestia managed to keep a neutral face in spite of the pressure from both the human and scholar. “That,” she said in a controlled voice, “was, indeed, only part as to why you are now an alicorn, Twilight.”
“Then why?” Twilight prodded.
“Ponies prefer familiarity,” Celestia said, her gaze on the clouds above. “For millennia they’ve always had a leader in an alicorn.” Her eyes met Twilight’s. “You said that you found ponies appearing to be, ‘lost’, was it?”
“Yes?” Twilight answered, uncertain as to what her old mentor was getting at.
“Did you notice anything else about them?” Celestia asked.
The young mare mused over the question; what did Celestia mean, exactly? Her mind worked to recall certain memories, specifically those of the ‘lost’ ponies. Many were people whom Twilight didn’t know too well and they almost always had been looking for advice from her. Yet, it was not common counsel that they sought; in fact, it usually seemed like something that a mayor or leader would be responsible for. Was that it?
“They… they seem to look up to me,” she slowly said, beginning to understand. “You made me into something that is familiar to them.” A grateful smile was Celestia’s response; Reason’s response was a distant gaze. Twilight went on. “Y-you gambled on the hope that I would take on the role of a leader—even after all of this.”
Celestia nodded. “It was a hope and an insurance policy.”
“Insurance policy?” Twilight asked, her head tilted in curiosity.
Celestia levitated a biscuit. “To give reasonable doubt about my capacity as a fair and just leader, I needed to first create that doubt.” She set her eyes into Twilight’s. “And to do so, I had to do a questionable act.” As if to emphasize her point, she crushed the biscuit. A small dust cloud of crumbs slowly fell upon the tablecloth.
Reason fixed the mare an amused look. “You must really dislike Minoat biscuits if you annihilated two of them in one sitting, Celestia.”
Celestia, caught off guard by the offhoof comment, chuckled sheepishly. “Yes, well,” she said, turning once more to Twilight, “the fact of the matter is that if I had left you as a unicorn, relegating you to some desolate town, no noble of significance would have really batted an eye. I needed to paint myself as a villain, and to lure out the undesirables.”
Hook, line, and sinker, Twilight thought, now grasping Celestia’s reasoning. “And that... hope?”
“It is still that: a hope,” Celestia said. “The choice is still yours. We can lead a dog to the water, but it’s up to the dog if it wants to drink.”
Reason raised an eyebrow. “That’s not quite how I would’ve put it,” he commented with a smile. “But yes, that is the case.” He leaned forwards. “That also goes into your earlier question, Twilight. I deliberately avoided talking to you after that night, because I felt that I had done too much with that seed of doubt that I already had planted.” He placed his hand on Twilight’s hoof. “I didn’t want you to take up the role of leadership just because I—we might have wanted you to do so.”
“It has been, is, and always be your choice, Twilight,” Celestia said, the two nodding in agreement.
Twilight blinked. What she felt was indescribable, and struggled with the appropriate response. “I… I’ll need to think about this.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “To answer like this, on four hooves, I–I just can’t.”
Celestia nodded in understanding. “It is a lot to think about,” she said. “Remember, we are not forcing you into any one choice.”
“Any other questions?” Reason asked Twilight.
Was there anything else? She thought that she had heard enough to make an informed decision. However, something still bothered her. “Actually, I’ve been thinking...” Celestia edged closer. Reason’s eyebrow arched slightly. “Humans,” Twilight finally said.
Reason blinked. “What about humans?”
“Well...” She shrugged. “Everything, really. Your kind doesn’t live here anymore, barring yourself, and the possibility that they are hiding underground.” She looked up to Reason. “Where did they go? And why did you stay?”
Reason quickly glanced towards Celestia, who nodded. “Humans,” he began, adjusting himself in his seat, “are not from this world. We visited Equestria when it existed as the Three Tribes.”
“Visited? From where?”
Reason did not answer. He looked up towards the clearing sky with a nostalgic air in his eyes. “From afar,” he simply said. “From a place I don’t think your kind will be able to reach for many, many years.”
Twilight considered her next question with care. “Are you the last human?”
The man’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “I can't tell,” he replied with a certain edge to his voice. “I have not heard from the others for centuries, but something tells me that humanity is still alive and well, somewhere.” He offered a smile. “And I’d like to think that I’m not alone.”
Something about that smile bothered Twilight: it felt disingenuous, almost synthetic. Whether Reason was trying to convince himself or Twilight, she couldn’t tell. “Um, are you humans...” She gestured as she searched for the word. “Chaotic?”
This elicited a raised eyebrow from Reason at first. Then he made a sound denoting understanding. “You’ve talked to Discord, right?”
The look on Twilight was answer enough for Reason. “While I wouldn’t call my kind chaotic, I would say that we are full of potential. We have a capacity to create just as great as that to destroy.” He leaned in closer. “But we do strive to be better than what we are,” He explained. “Comparing me to you would be much akin to comparing, say, a muffin to a cupcake. You may be sweeter than us, but we might be more accessible than you are.”
He shrugged. “But that’s neither here nor there,” he coolly said. “I can’t just label an entire species, seeing as we will always have individuals being the exception. From what I’ve gathered, the same applies to ponies.”
The explanation did seem to make sense to Twilight. In general ponies were nice and tried to reflect their attitude on their actions, especially when dealing with others. It didn’t take her any real effort to come up with examples: her friends, her parents, her brother and sister-in-law…
But as soon as she came with examples of good people, she recalled of individuals who proved to be the opposite: that Lightning Dust that Rainbow had talked about; much of the Canterlot nobility; some of the youngsters that she had seen in and around Ponyville. Much like Reason, she couldn’t really describe what her kind was without accounting for the individuality to be found among her people. Twilight nodded.
Reason returned the nod with one of his own along with a smile. “People often times make the mistake to judge an entire species by the actions of a few, without considering the variety of it.”
Twilight nodded once more in agreement. The Appaloosa debacle confirmed as much. “What about Häukland, Celestia?” At the inquisitive expression, she went on, “You went there first, now you’re here in Minoat. Did they refuse to extend your stay, or something?”
“Not at all.” Celestia seemed almost shocked at the suggestion. “It was from my initiative. I’ve also been in the Confederacy and Saddle Arabia.”
“And?” There was something more to it, Twilight could just sense it.
“Just doing one last favor for Equestria,” the older mare said, her purple eyes twinkling. “I’ve been delegating on the behalf of our nation, trying to renew investment and business’ interests. You ought to know”—she lifted her head—“my ousting and the unrest hasn’t exactly inspired much confidence.”
Twilight’s eyes widened. “You did that?” Celestia must have been pulling a lot of strings and cashing in every favor she had been building up till last year if she managed to do so. It shouldn’t have surprised Twilight considering who it was, but she was still very much impressed by it.
Celestia bowed her head lightly. “It was nothing,” she said modestly. Whether or not that modesty was sincere, Twilight couldn’t honestly tell. “It ought to be enough to put Equestria on the right path. It will also make your task easier, should you accept it.”
“Right…” Twilight murmured. “So.” She looked to the two before her. “I guess now it’s all down to me.” She chuckled ruefully, adding, “Again.”
Neither Reason nor Celestia said a word, looking on with anticipation instead. Twilight sighed. She both admired and detested their maneuvering. They put her in a position where she could really only go one way. The choices offered played with her personality and feelings over this. If Twilight refused, she would never forgive herself for potentially leaving…
Her eyes suddenly lit up. “What about Luna?” she asked them.
Celestia’s eyes twinkled. “It’s true, we’ve forgotten to mention about her.”
“Taken care of,” Reason said simply. “Luna’s in the loop. She fully supports our plan.”
“But what’s her role in this?” Twilight asked. “I thought that she wanted to remain a princess.” She cast her gaze downwards. “Unless...” She looked back up to see the smiling faces of Reason and Celestia. “All that’s really going to happen is a switch. Nothing else is going to change.”
Celestia bowed her head; Reason clapped his hands once. “You really are a smart one, Twilight,” Reason said.
“In essence, yes. You are taking my place, while my sister will still have her Midnight Court,” Celestia explained. “The only difference,” she said, “is your different perception and mindset. Equestria needs new blood.”
Reason nodded with a tug on his cheeks. “New ideas tempered by old traditions, while the old will be accompanied into the future by the new.” He then added, “And, in case the old is not enough, you can rely on me for the alien and foreign.”
“You’d do that?” Twilight asked, her voice almost a whisper.
Reason nodded. “I swore to an oath, Twilight. To offer advice to the Equestrian leader. I’ve done it for Celestia, for Luna, and I can do it for you as well.”
Twilight, as touched as she was by his support, scowled internally. This couldn’t have been solved by having an advisor instead of Celestia ousting herself? She realized that it wouldn’t have shaken up the populace if Celestia had done that. This was a necessary step. The only question was what her answer would be.
She signed once more. There really was only one answer. If she refused, Twilight couldn’t do so in good conscience. Leaving Equestria to its own devices was an incredibly risky prospect. She looked up to Celestia and Reason expectantly. Their own expressions mirrored hers. This is it, isn’t it?
Again Twilight sighed, knowing that what she was about to say would decide the future of Equestria, its people, and, in the long run, the world. Would it go well? Would it go badly? It was decided.
“Yes,” she said resolutely.
