Part 1 – A Heart of Eggshells
By their age alone, rooms such as the Hall of Dusk and Dawn acquired a sense of deep consequence far removed from any actual material grandeur. In the case of the hall itself, ponies entering it would find themselves speaking in hushed tones as more than a thousand years of history swallowed their words. If one looked back far enough, the knotted tangle of customs and laws of Equestria all wrapped around this room and its purpose. Only one pony still remembered that the hall had once simply been a hall—a serviceable place to meet others, a shelter against the winter cold, or perhaps four sturdy walls to contain a celebration of some joyful occurrence—and nothing more.
As she did every morning before sunrise, Princess Celestia of Equestria, Daymare, Dawnbringer, and Regent of the Moon stepped through the great arched doors on the west-facing side of the Hall of Dusk and Dawn, and made her way over the stone floor, its surface made uneven by hundreds of years of hooffalls, to a dark wood booth where the on-duty Auspex Harenae would be waiting. This morning it was Autumn Fern, a middle aged stallion with a brown coat and dusty mane.
“Good morning,” Celestia greeted him, as usual.
“Good morning,” came the reply, as usual.
In the centre of the room was a round, stone table, worn with age. About its circumference sat exactly three hundred and sixty five sandglasses of various sizes, each with its own little brass plaque upon which were written two dates. By the laws of Equestria, the lengths of the day and the night were determined by these sandglasses. Each would be flipped twice a year, once at the start of a day and once at the start of a night. Sand flowed from the night bulb to the day bulb in one of the glasses. Examining it, Celestia estimated that ten minutes of night remained.
“How did Sandy do on his exams?” Celestia asked the Auspex.
“Aced woodworking, of course,” Fern replied. “The rest were a bit of a mixed bag.”
Sandy was Fern’s son, an apparently precocious youth who Celestia knew much of, yet had never met. She followed his life through little morning conversations with Fern such as this one. Fern was a second generation Auspex; Celestia remembered hearing about his birth from his father, but she understood that Sandy had unearthed a passion for carpentry and was unlikely to follow in his father’s hoofsteps.
The Auspex Harenae were an old institution. They had only a single responsibility, but it was an important one: watch the sandglasses and remind the on-duty sun-raiser or moon-raiser when the time came for them to do their job. A job for an alarm clock, some might argue, but with so much riding on the sunrises and sunsets, only a living, breathing pony would do.
Besides, the Auspex Harenae were too deeply ingrained in the traditions of sunrise and sunset at Canterlot Palace to get rid of, and were popular with the tourists. They dressed in their own archaic-looking uniform last redesigned some six hundred years ago, had their own traditions, and were rumoured to practise an initiation ceremony that they thought kept secret even from her—it involved a toothbrush, a lampshade, and much drinking, incidentally.
“Sleep well?” Fern asked in turn.
No.
“As well as can be expected.”
The true answer didn’t fool Fern. The Auspex shifted uncomfortably, perhaps expecting an elaboration that Celestia didn’t give. Instead, she made a show of checking the sand in the nightglass.
“Em, eight minutes ‘til sunrise,” Fern supplied a little hesitantly.
There was no more conversation after that. It took all of Celestia’s considerable supply of self control not to fidget or check either the sandglasses. To not look at that one sandglass.
You’re starting to crack. Your own guards are noticing. Fern notices. Only a matter of time before everypony knows Princess Celestia is terrified of something.
So she would tell them. Today was the day. She’d left it far, far too long anyway.
“Thirty seconds to sunrise,” Fern said.
Celestia nodded, levitating the next sandglass round the great circle of sandglasses that made up the year as Fern counted down the seconds.
As the last of the sand fell from the nightglass, Celestia spun the next glass around. The click it made as she placed it back on the stone table echoed through the empty room. She stepped over to the balcony on the Eastern side of the hall, past which the mountainside plummeted down to the planes that stretched out to the horizon.
The flipped sandglass still sat on the stone table, sand gently falling from the top bulb to the bottom.
Not far away, only ten places across, was the largest of all the glasses. The Greater Solstice Glass, that would be turned ten days from now to mark the beginning of the longest day of the year. A day that might never come because, according to the prophecies of Foresight, a creature thought gone, a creature that dared to call itself Nightmare would return to Equestria, and then there would no more sunrises.
Foresight had yet to be wrong about a single prediction. After all, the future had been his Talent.
Celestia raised the sun.
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It was midsummer in Equestria and the day promised to be as sweltering as any other. Of course, this meant that sunrise was scheduled around half four in the morning. The palace would be all but deserted for hours yet. The passageways looked different by the fresh morning light, without a soul about to clutter them up. Little motes of dust danced in the shafts of new sunlight Celestia passed as she made her way through to the western wing. Fears became muted in the wake of the morning and she felt more like herself. Soon, the day would fill up with duties and responsibilities as Equestria awoke, but early morning was hers.
Over the years she had noticed that the early morning acted as a filter of sorts. Many ponies wanted to meet with her. Oddly enough, few of those ponies were quite so enthusiastic about doing so this early. Harder to be seen meeting with me, promoted the more cynical side of her nature. The thought made her smile wryly. Some things would never change.
Still, the ponies she shared this time with were often ponies who were dear to her heart. Speaking of which…
“Good morning Spike,” Celestia called as she poked her head into the small drawing room tucked into the palace’s west wing. “I see you’re up early.”
Spike smiled proudly as he stood next to a server trolley upon which a breakfast of egg on toast served with tea and coffee sat.
“You brought some breakfast?” she asked.
“Made some breakfast,” the little dragon corrected her, as he puffed out his chest in a way she found most endearing. “I’ve been learning to cook from the chefs.”
Celestia inspected the dragon’s work. In truth, it didn’t look quite as good as her usual breakfast: the toast was slightly burned and some of the egg whites were a little runny, but right now that didn’t matter because upon seeing the food she found she was hungry. She thanked Spike and levitated one of the plates over. It was good, considering Spike's age.
“The coffee’s for Twilight,” Spike said, as he got started on his own plate. “I think she’s going to need it,” he added with a smirk.
Celestia raised an eyebrow.
“She was pretty stressed about something yesterday,” he explained. “She kept cursing at a book and pacing back and forth.”
“Oh my.”
“And every so often, her horn would glow a bit, but nothing would happen.”
“That must have been very frustrating for her.”
“Except once when I think she exploded just a little bit.”
“Goodness.”
“I went to bed after that.”
“You do need your sleep, Spike, you are still a baby dragon after all.”
“I think Twilight was up all night though,” Spike added, nodding at the coffee.
Celestia smiled. Little Spike was growing up to be such a dear.
“Between you and me,” Celestia said, after taking a sip of the tea, “I think Twilight has gotten a little too used to being able to just skim through spells that, by all rights, should take a unicorn the better part of a week to master, and go ahead and cast them right away. I gave her the teleportation spell to learn—Blink’s special talent. It’s one of the eight spells that are classically regarded as the hardest to understand.”
Blink had been a very confusing unicorn with the thrill-seeking temperament of a Wonderbolt, an at-times tenuous grasp of reality, and little in the way of scholarly tendencies. She had, sadly, left precious little written about her odd views of the world and her magic.
“I’m not expecting her to be able to teleport for years yet.”
Assuming they were all still around past the end of the fortnight, prompted a part of her she had been trying to ignore. She tried her best to silence it. Morning was a time for friends, not for worrying. Time enough for that later.
Even so, she shuddered.
“Yeah, I don’t think Twilight quite picked up on that,” Spike said, oblivious to Celestia’s sudden change in mood.
She blinked. “I did explain it was a hard spell,” Celestia added, forcing herself back to the present, “but it would be just like Twilight Sparkle not to listen.”
Outside the door, Celestia heard the clip-clop of a pony moving at a canter.
“Speaking of Twilight...”
The bleary eyed unicorn in question burst through the doors of the drawing room and glanced about. Unfortunately for Twilight, Celestia had taken a seat on a cushion pushed up against the same wall as the door, and in her haste, she somehow missed the presence of the Sun Princess entirely. Her student, bless her heart, just wasn’t one of nature’s morning ponies—a rather unfortunate situation given who her mentor was, Celestia observed wryly.
“Spike!” Twilight exclaimed. Her gaze settled on the trolley. “Breakfast!” she added enthusiastically, single words apparently being the present limit of her articulation.
“Oh thank Celestia! I thought I was late for my meeting with—” she paused slightly as her brain caught up with her mouth, “Celestia.”
Rather than answer, Spike raised a claw and pointed.
“Coffee?” Celestia asked, levitating the jug of foul tasting black liquid over to her tardy student.
With a panicked cry of “Pr—Princess!” Twilight jumped nearly her entire body height.
Celestia hid a smile as she sipped down the last of her tea.
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Twilight’s lesson had gone well enough once the unicorn had calmed down—and once Celestia had gotten the idea into her student that, no, she wasn’t expecting her to understand Blink’s talent right away. Then, all too soon, the eight o’clock bell rang, signifying breakfast time for the palace and the beginning of Celestia’s working day.
She hadn’t even made it to breakfast before the first of her worldly cares interrupted, this time in the oft-dishevelled shape of the oft-grumpy Captain Whiskey. The Old Captain, as many of the more junior members of the guard referred to him these days, was an earth pony with a dirty white coat and faded mane who wore armour that had seen better days. It was covered up now, but Celestia knew that underneath was an image of a lute, a fact that tended to surprise many of the new recruits.
“Yer Majesty,” Whiskey said, falling into step with Celestia as she proceeded down the wide vaulted hallway.
“Captain,” Celestia replied with a satisfied smile. “It seems that today everypony is rising early. Something I heartily approve of.”
“Well, I ain’t been up since the early hours for fun, yer know,” the captain grumbled, with a casualness that came of decades of commendable service and, perhaps more significantly, imminent retirement. “Er, no offence. Ma’am,” he added.
She let the smile fade. “Has there been a problem?”
“Sure has,” Whiskey replied. “We had an intruder last night. Or at least, we think we did.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Whoever it was, ‘twere a real slippery bugger,” the captain said. “We probably wouldn’t have known anything was wrong, ‘cept that Twiggy spotted a door open that shouldn’t have been. Lass had enough brains in her to get everypony searching. After that a few of the privates spotted whatever ‘twere already leaving.”
“It wasn’t a pony?”
“Don’t rightly know,” the captain shook his head. “Both of them claimed ‘twere some kind-a glowing thing with wings. Would-a thought that they’d been drinking, but just to be sure, I got some ‘corns to take a look and what do ya know, they tell me they found a lot of spell residue. I tell you, these are complications we don’t need right now.”
The pair arrived outside of Celestia’s private study where two watchful guards stood next to a catering pony with a serving trolley. At the sight of both the princess and the captain of the guard they straightened visibly, but Celestia only had eyes for the potential second breakfast.
“Thank you, I can manage from here,” she said to the caterer, who gave a quick bow before scampering off at a quick trot.
“So in short,” said the captain, who was also looking at the food enviously, “bugger had a bunch of magic and knew how to use it.”
Celestia turned back to Whiskey and considered what to do. Unfortunately, the coming solstice meant she already had too much to think about.
“Ordinarily,” she said, “I would treat this matter with the utmost seriousness, but due to the...” Celestia chose her next words carefully as the two guards were in earshot. “Imminent situation, I would ask you to delegate this matter to a capable pony. I would like to be kept up to date with anything you find.”
“Understood, ma’am,” Whisky said, saluting as he did so. He began to move, taking her words for a dismissal, but something screamed, faint and muffled, from within.
“One more thing, Whiskey,” Celestia added, feeling oddly detached. “Tell me, what do you make of Lieutenant Stonewall?”
Whiskey paused a moment, eyes rolling up as he pondered the unexpected question. “Stonewall? Very solid lad. Dependable. Has a decent brain in his head, which is rare enough these days.”
Solid lad. Dependable. And he had even received a commendation for that remarkable display of loyalty in the pursuit of duty a few years back. Maybe?
No.
Meanwhile Whiskey was still speaking. “Been grooming him a bit to perhaps replace me when I kick the ol’ bucket. Not made any final decisions yet.”
“You mean retire, surely?”
“Death? Retirement? Ha! Seem about the same to me, to tell the truth,” Whiskey said. “Oh, and while we’re on the topic, do me a favour, yer majesty, and make sure they don’t go telling everypony I’ve left to spend more time with my family. That ship sailed years ago.”
“I’ll… make a note of that request,” Celestia said, feeling a little confused. She wondered how much she didn’t know about her captain of the guard.
With that, Whiskey straightened himself up and executed a perfect military salute that would have made the most hard-hearted drill instructor cry from sheer joy. Then, with one last enthusiastic “ma’am”, trotted off.
She was going to miss Whiskey.
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It was nine o’clock sharp when Quill Scratch was shown into Celestia’s private study. Always punctual, that one. Quill was one of her Advisers, another old position that might sound a bit archaic in a world of modern government but unlike the Auspex, the role had evolved and changed with the times. There was no outdated uniform, Quill’s attire was sharp and thoroughly modern. The Advisers still provided advice, yes, but they often acted directly on her behalf as a liaison to the various departments of the wider government. Otherwise governing Equestria in these days would require her to be in several places at once.
Quill looked about the room which, Celestia had to admit, was currently in a bit of a state. To maintain secrecy, the cleaning staff had been barred access to her study for the last several months and it showed.
“Your Majesty,” Quill said, giving a perfect deferential nod.
“Ah, Quill,” Celestia greeted him. “We have a few more details to go over before this afternoon’s announcement about Nightmare Moon.”
It had taken a great deal of practise in front of a mirror to say that name calmly, but years of planning sessions with her most trusted senior staff members had hardened her… somewhat. Even now, she still found herself mentally adjusting her sentences to avoid having to say those words.
“I have full confidence,” Quill replied, surprising her, “in your ability to make the announcement in a manner that will reassure your ponies that, despite the gravity of the situation, everything is in hoof.”
Had uncertainty shown in her expression? Quill didn’t know the full truth. No pony did. No matter. She was ready. They had been making plans in secret for this, and today was the day that Celestia would make the general announcement to her staff. Tomorrow the guard would mobilise, the evacuation of potential battlefields would begin, and carefully worded press releases would be made.
In a way, everything would be easier after today. With the plans made all but public, there would be no going back. She would simply have to endure for ten days, coasting the waves of events as they unfolded and not thinking too much. After all this time, ten days wouldn’t be that long. And after that…
And after that... she didn’t know what would become of her.
But her ponies would be happy and safe.
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Princess Celestia sat impassively on the throne of Equestria. The events of the morning blurred together in her mind. She’d made it through on habit and reflex alone.
Around her, some her most trusted ponies on her staff began to file into the throne room. A few of them glancing about in surprise as they did so. The rows of pews that usually covered the floor had been moved aside. Mismatched tables and chairs from other parts of the palace now sat in their place. They were arranged in a rough square pattern that gave the hall the feel of an improvised war room, which, of course, was essentially the idea.
Making sure to keep her bearing composed, she collected her thoughts. A vile, evil creature was about to escape and threaten to cover all the world with darkness. They would deal with it in the most efficient manner possible. With stakes so high, there was no room for faltering of mercy. Celestia would lead the charge. Most of all, Celestia owed it oblivion for... taking... Luna...
That creature killed Luna, came the familiar mantra.
Presently, Captain Whiskey entered with four of his lieutenants: Stonewall, Shining Armour, Merryweather and Lodestone. Next were three of her senior advisers: Quill Scratch, Birchwood and Whitetail. They were followed in turn by various higher ranking aides and attendants.
The issue of the solstice. Why she was here. Focus on that.
Say it, came thought unbidden. If you can’t say it in your thoughts, how can you lead these ponies?
The issue of... the return of... Nightmare Moon... and how to deal with that vile creature who had killed her sister.
Deep within, something stirred disapprovingly. She thought it might be her link to the Element of Honesty.
Celestia allowed her eyes to close, listening to the rest of the ponies file in. Her left eyebrow itched but she remained outwardly still. Considering the news she was about to deliver, well, it wouldn’t do to be anything less than a picture of serenity.
You’re going to crack. This broke you before. Remember this morning’s Nightma—
Her bad dream. She refused to use that word in the manner it had come to be used by others. It had been a title of respect, once, given by her ponies to one who had protected them.
Her bad dream. Her bad dream.
Blinded by the darkness, she stumbled through an endless forest. Stray rocks and branches lined up to trip her while nameless malevolence filled the gaps between the trees. Somewhere out there her sister was hurting, badly.
She journeyed with five ponies: four faceless pegasi soldiers and a unicorn wearing white ceremonial vestments covered in sunbursts.
All her ponies were seated now. A few of them looked down at the sealed briefing packets placed on the tables. Merryweather and Loadstone were having to share, for some reason.
She heard her own voice. “This is an urgent meeting. Equestria is in grave danger...”
The camp had been set up. Celestia lay on a patch of grass, trying to sleep but failing. The darkness washed in towards her threatening to drown her. Fear wormed deeply into her chest and cut her breath short.
Suddenly desperate, she lit her horn and reached out beyond the horizon to lift the sun. She was refused. Faced with her own powerlessness, the living blackness flowed in through the gaps in the trees as if meaning to wrap itself around her limbs. Her legs began to visibly shake.
“There is good reason... there is good reason to believe that… that… There is good reason…”
She tore open her saddlebags with magic, taking out every single precious candle within. They floated about her as she lit every last one with magic. It wasn’t enough. She began rooting through the saddlebags of her companions, searching for more candles and discarding everything else. Within moments, she was surrounded in a meagre circle of flickering light. By the light of the tiny flames, she forced herself to breathe normally.
Calmness returned. She became aware of five sets of eyes watching her, the ponies that owned them wearing five expressions of utter shock. Celestia lowered her head and looked to the ground, too ashamed to meet their gazes.
Her bad dream. Save for a few details—Noonday, High Priest of the Sun Cult, should not have been there—it had been a real memory.
“Yer Majesty?”
“Princess Celestia?”
Her sister. It had been so long. Did she even remember what Luna’s face had looked like?
“Princess Celestia, is something wrong?”
She opened her eyes—she hadn’t remembered closing them—and was surprised to find them misty. Every single pony in the room was staring at her. Quill Stroke, Whitetail, and Whiskey were approaching up the steps to the throne, looking concerned. Yes, she had been saying something.
“There is good reason…”
What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she take this one, final step? How much more did she have to harden herself?
Feeling herself rise on unsteady legs, she heard herself say: “I am sorry, my ponies. But this meeting will have to happen another time. Perhaps tomorrow. I require… time, to consider matters. Please do not be alarmed.”
Lighting her horn, she brought forth memories of Blink, that strange, eccentric unicorn she had met eight hundred years ago. The world dissolved around her and became a field of wheat. Where, she wasn’t sure, except that Canterlot mountain still dominated the sky. A green earth pony in a brown hat gaped in shock as a piece of straw fell out of his mouth.
Celestia quickly wrapped herself in invisibility magic and took to the air. She needed time to fly under the light of her sun. She didn’t know where yet.
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Time had not been kind to the old castle. The Sun Princess huddled in what had once been a feast hall, wings wrapped around her body. It was modest in size compared to some of the grander venues in Canterlot but then, in many ways, times had been simpler when this place had been built. The ceiling was completely gone and the marble columns that held it up were cracked and broken, one having fallen completely over onto its side. The flora, both natural and unnatural, had all but claimed the room; ferns grew up though the stone floor, vines hung down the walls and tree branches grew through the remains of what had once been stained glass windows.
Celestia began walking slowly and aimlessly through the ruin, pausing frequently as some memory or other demanded her attention. Broken glass crunched under her hooves, though she paid it no mind.
All around was stillness. The Everfree was a dangerous place, but perhaps the monsters who lived here knew to at least not disrupt the sanctity of these halls.
Before her, sitting on a bizarre collection of plinths and platforms, joined together in a tree of tortured stone, were the five physical forms of the Elements of Harmony. With magic, Celestia cleared some of the debris away, so she could sit facing them.
“I know what I have to do,” she said softly, beginning her communion. It was never unambiguous, dialogue like this, but she felt that something heard her. “I just don’t know how to have the strength to do it.”
The stones were silent.
“When the creature that dares call herself Nightmare comes again, I will face her. Alone. For the good of all of Equestria. It is the only way. I—”
Celestia’s eyes were drawn to one of the orbs. Honesty. She couldn’t tell if the compulsion originated from the stone, or if it had been simply from within herself.
“You. Don’t you dare judge me. It is the only sane way. Luna is gone. The only way to stop the eternal night is to banish the creature again. Or kill it somehow. The creature killed Luna. Don’t you understand how important it is for me to believe these things? Won’t you allow me this one, small lie, if only to myself?”
She took a deep, calming breath.
“Please, you have guided me in the past. Show me how to—to freeze my heart and stop feeling. Whatever it will take.”
She felt a sense of… pity, almost? No, not quite. It was comfort, and assurances. An image came to mind—a translation of the abstract feeling, of a pegasus youth, out flying for the first time, lost, but at last found, wrapped under her mother’s wing.
She pulled away mentally and physically as if burned.
“I am no longer a carefree young foal, nor an inexperienced youth with only my own neck on the line. I am a princess of Equestria, responsible for the lives of millions. I cannot simply wait for a miracle. There is only one way that isn’t gambling with all those lives, and I must take it. I am not asking for pity, I am asking for strength.”
As before, the stones were silent. No means were offered.
“I made this bargain, long ago. Luna—” her voice cracked. “It was her, weighed against everything. I am called to prove myself a second time, but if it must be so then—”
She faltered, feeling the strangest sensation that she should look behind her.
It was the nature of the clouds of the Everfree forest to move on their own, restlessly shifting about. They always blanketed the sky thickly no matter the season, spreading perpetual gloom. But a tiny gap had opened to the blue sky beyond it through which a shaft of light fell on the ruined ground at her hooves.
Look up.
Celestia followed the shaft upwards to where it streamed through a broken window frame. There, at the very apex of the arch, was one single piece of stained glass.
It had endured, unbroken, a thousand years of weather, a thousand years of plant growth, a thousand years of the the attentions of the fauna. A thousand years without breaking to a hailstone. A thousand years without being stolen by a dragon.
While her ponies had invented the steam engine and constructed the first railways, it had endured. When explorers made the first contact with the Zebras, it had endured. It had endured through Polaris’s usurpation of Thuban as the north star. The great eastern migration of ponies. The death of the Dragon Ardusin. Through all this, it had survived.
Through the glass shone ancient symbol of the Mares of the Day and Night: a disc, half yellow, half blue, split by a waving line upon which twin stylised images of winged unicorns chased the sun and the moon, one white coated, one deep blue.
Sister, it seemed to say, I’m not dead yet.
“Ten days. I only have ten days.”
Her horn lit up. Golden crown, torc and horseshoes were thrown to the floor. They were heavy and she had a long flight ahead of her before sundown.
There were creatures in the world much older than the first sunrise, and she needed to speak with one.
Part 2 – The Dragon Inanna
It was early evening. The world was beginning to take a subtle orange tint that in a few hours’ time would crescendo into a glorious sunset. Leaves of the oak trees rustled in the light breezes. The air had cooled, but the dry earth still held onto the sweltering summer heat, and a winged silhouette dropped down, down, and down until it was lost in the great expanse of primeval forest.
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Wings flared and ready, Celestia peered around boulder. Different, instincts surfaced in her, as different as this forest was from Canterlot. She was pleased that the day she forget them entirely had not yet come.
The subject of her attention was a gaping maw that opened out of the base of a limestone cliff face. It was fifty times her wingspan yet somehow the thick canopy still hid it from the air. The owner liked it that way.
Celestia sniffed the air. As always, there was hint of ash and smoke on the breeze. Carefully, she stepped out from behind the boulder, not completely furling her wings and remaining ready to bolt. She made her steps as forceful as she could on the approach and kicked a few rocks about for good measure. Once at the mouth she was careful to silhouette herself as plainly as possible. It was never good to inadvertently sneak up on a dragon.
Somewhere in the gloom a hazy, indistinct outline shifted. A draft ruffled Celestia’s feathers and small rocks and pebbles strewn across the ground tumbled into the cave. She counted to thirty. Inanna the Dragon, it seemed, had just awoken and taken a single breath.
“Celestia,” a raspy voice echoed up from the depths. Despite being felt as much as heard, it was weak and resigned. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Inanna the Dragon was old, perhaps older than any other creature of this world still drawing breath. Celestia’s eyes had seen the world of spirits diminish, the scattering of the wolves, and the beginnings of civilisation, but those eyes had been around for so much longer. Before them, forests had sprouted from plains and valleys had been carved by ice. If Inanna could be believed, she had seen the very first light, when the world itself was hot and young.
Inanna was old, but even she was not immortal.
“I’ve been searching for the final sleep,” the rumbling voice bubbled up. “I have done all the talking I wish to do in one lifetime. Let me be.”
Blinking away dancing after-images of the bright outdoors, Celestia took a few careful steps into the gloom. Her eyesight, sufficient to count the petals of a dandelion across a field on a bright day, had never been good in darkness and at night she felt all but blind. Still, she was eventually able to pick out the rough details.
If Celestia hadn’t changed, then nor had the cave. Unlike the old castle, which seemed just a little bit more ruined and forgotten every time she visited, this place was exactly as she had last seen it. The same pyramid of the same riches dominated the centre of the cavern about which the same massive mother-of-dragons lay curled. If occurred to Celestia that even Inanna’s posture hasn't changed.
“Inanna,” Celestia called, still approaching. The dragon had no title, although many had tried to give her one. Celestia doubted that Inanna even understood the concept.
A single eye opened. “Oh fine,” Inanna said, “I see you are not going to go away. Tell me, how long?”
Celestia thought back and replied. It had been a while.
Again, Inanna exhaled. “How the time flies, and yet drags so.”
Celestia’s eyes dropped to the floor. She and the dragon had never been friends, exactly, usually quite the opposite, but she couldn’t feel happy about seeing her in this state.
“How long?” she asked in turn.
“A few decades, maybe,” the dragon replied. “Not a century. You should be happy, I expect.”
Accompanied by the tinkling of little avalanches of treasure, Inanna adjusted her head. The one yellowed eye she had open was the size of Celestia with wings retracted. The rest of Inanna’s body remained so still it might as well have been part of the rock. “No? Not going to tell me that you actually are so sorry to hear that?”
Celestia’s lips had been parted in readiness to speak but she could force no words, of either sympathy or condemnation, through them. A hint of amusement flashed in Inanna’s eyes, just for a moment.
“I came here with questions,” Celestia said, trying to regain the initiative, but Inanna interrupted.
“You changed everything, you know. You and Luna both,” she sounded wistful. “Equestria, in all its various forms, was only the least of what you did. The world was once such a simple place. Some years I long for the world where you ponies were still the insignificant little creatures who spent the time between their sleeps eating grass.”
“Equestria was the dream of ponykind,” She was unable to keep a measure of pride from her voice. “It is older than I.”
Inanna seemed to have no answer. Her snout came to rest on her pile, setting off more avalanches. “Perhaps I feel like talking. The animals make for poor listeners—whatever it is you need to ask,” the dragon seemed react to something in Celestia's expression, “they'll be time for that later.”
Celestia felt like grinding her teeth together, but this was how it always was. Inanna would talk and Celestia would learn a little titbit here and there. She often wondered if behind those eyes, Inanna carefully planned which little fragments of lore she doled out as insurance that Celestia would return. It was hard to say. All she could say for sure was that it had been a very long time since Inanna had last tried to eat her and the world had changed immeasurably since then. Small mercies.
So she found a spot by the cave wall to sit and folded her wings. Perhaps there wouldn't be any harm in taking a little time to sort her thoughts out? For a time, then, she would indulge the dragon.
☼ ☼ ☼
Celestia listened with only half an ear. To pass the time, she levitated two dozen or so fallen branches that lay scattered about the forest floor just outside the cave and arranged them into a pile. Her horn lit briefly and the fuel ignited; the young flames dancing up to guard her against the coming darkness. The scent of the woodsmoke was steeped with memory. It was a very old, very familiar, source of comfort to her. Older, even, than the even sun and everything else that had come of it.
It was easy—much easier than was commonly supposed—for her to lose herself in the noise and constant movement of her ponies until past and future faded away against the vibrancy of the now. Here, underneath the primeval forest, where the limestone stalactites grew at their stately, measured pace, the now faded and mixed a little with the then.
Beside her, brought alive once more in the smell of the woodsmoke, Luna was taking her customary place by the fire. She had picked a spot just out of sight, but Celestia didn’t turn her head to look. On evenings such as these, they often talked in circles about visiting the places beyond the hills, but for now Luna seemed content to remain silent.
In another time, Inanna droned on.
Luna would be watching the fire a bit distrustfully. She always did. She had never liked fires; they were dangerous and attracted enemies. They had argued about it over and over again. Luna had a point. The smoke and light would signal their position to everything within miles. It was with that same sense of cautious realism that Luna had accomplished amazing things.
But that way was not Celestia’s way. Light the fire. Believe things could be better. Lift your head up from the dirt because the world was a beautiful, wonderful place, and even if you never made it past foalhood, then at least make sure you had lived that foalhood.
Her eyes had become wet. What had happened to that Celestia?
“Three males came, runts, to take my mountain from me,” Inanna continued, not seeming to care if her companion was listening. “They were actually working together.”
Celestia smiled sadly into the fire. Would she one day become like Inanna? Content to sit and talk about the same topics over and over. She felt a shred of... kinship, that was getting harder to deny. Within her existed a certain part, growing unnoticed between the nows, the was like an unpleasant lump in her throat. With every passing year she slowly, but inevitably, became less and less like the ponies she surrounded herself and more like... what? Where was she headed, in the fullness of time?
Celestia, for her part, listened with half an ear, lost in her own past. She spoke only a few times when the dragon recounted some rare moment in their respective histories where their fates had intertwined. At last, the time came when Celestia had to pause to bring forth the night.
“I think this is the right time,” Celestia remarked as she returned. Once again she was struck by how little Inanna had moved. “I came without a mechanical timepiece.” That had been a mistake, but she hadn’t been thinking straight when she’d left the palace. “My ponies do tend to worry when the cycle gets disrupted. It’s always a bother.”
“Let them worry,” Inanna replied. “We both know regular sunrises and sunsets are hardly the natural order.”
“They think they are, you know,” Celestia said. “One can hardly blame them, really. It’s been that way for so long.”
The dagon paused a moment. “Mechanical what?”
“They measure the passage of time,” Celestia explained. “So you can tell how many hours have passed. Wonderful devices.”
Inanna considered this new information as Celestia left.
“How do they know?”
☼ ☼ ☼
Celestia stared out past the tops of the trees into the darkening sky and the moon she had just lifted above the horizon. It was getting chilly, the summer's day was spent. She was delaying, even now. But as long as Celestia delayed she could still imagine there might be some way for everything could work out. For just a little longer, that was possible.
When she returned to the cave, Inanna seemed to sense the change in Celestia's resolve. “What is it that you wish to know, Celestia? Make it quick. My eyes have grown tired again.”
Celestia hesitated. Let it be possible for just a moment longer. “You once told me about a sixth Element of Harmony and how it could bring back Luna?”
“What of it?” Inanna said, yawning. The draft caused rustling of the branches outside the cave to rustle. “Oh, I see. Luna is returning soon then. In which case, I will give you your answer. Nothing has changed,” Inanna said, dashing Celestia’s weak hope. “Yes, there is a sixth Element of Harmony. I have seen it wielded three times long ago, but it has not been seen since. It’s virtue is companionship but requires an exceptional grasp of magic to use. The five elements you hold are fine virtues but without the sixth, without companionship, you will not reach out to Luna. And by its very nature, you will never find the sixth alone, so, no, nothing has changed.”
“But if I trust the five to others…” And here was the problem. If the ponies she trusted failed, or the Elements somehow didn’t take… what would the endless night do to Equestria? Figures flashed through her mind. Silo capacities. Consumption figures. Hunger amongst ponies who've never seen it. Her best shot at defeating the creature would have been squandered and with it any chance of a mere second banishment. Her one option left would be to take up arms against Luna and to…
And to…
“Nothing?” She felt herself filling with impotent anger. “You must know something. This isn't the time for keeping it back any longer. Name your price.”
“Price?” Inanna chuckled softly, shifting her head slightly in the direction of the mountain of gold that was even bigger than she was. “I am not lying and you know that. You cannot plan to both fight your sister and save her.”
Celestia shut her eyes, defeated. Maybe she would get another chance. Maybe in another thousand years she would find a chance that was real. “How do I find the strength to do what is right?”
“Now that's a poor question to come asking me,” came the unasked for reply.
Insufferable dragon. Why had she thought coming here would help?
“This isn't…” she forced down a sudden, angry lump, “This isn't how things were supposed to be.”
Inanna tilted her head, questioningly, stoking Celestia's indignation further. “I—surely I am owed some fairness? At long last? After all this time? What else am I meant to give up? What else am I meant to give? We were supposed to face eternity together.”
For the first time, Inanna had lifted her neck fully up from the treasure was studying her intently. Her expression was like a lock that had just snapped open.
“You did love Luna didn’t you?” The dragon leaned forward, tilting her head to one side, until one massive eye was just mere neck lengths from Celestia. “What an interesting development.”
“What did you just say?”
“There are those who say what you did proves that you didn’t,” the eye withdrew as Inanna settled back into a neutral pose. After a moment, she began to grin. “I see now that isn’t the case.”
“Then there is a way?” Celestia said, suddenly hopeful.
“Yes, yes there is,” Inanna said. “And since I never liked you, Celestia, I’m going to tell you it. And it will destroy you.”
“What do you mean by that?” Celestia demanded.
“Only that I’m going to tell you the truth. If you heed it, it will destroy you. If you do not, you lose Luna.” The dragon regarded her coolly. “And perhaps that might destroy you also.”
Celestia studied the dragon, though the lizard’s expression was nearly unreadable. “Tell me.”
Inanna smirked, teeth the size of small trees poking through the sides of her mouth. Somehow, it made Celestia shudder. “No secret magic. No unlooked for miracles. If you want your sister back, you will have to earn her back.
“Celestia of the Three River Valley Herd, why did you really come here?” asked the dragon. “I am a selfish, hateful creature. The vast riches you see before you were paid in tribute out of fear or simply stolen. Was it really so that I could tell you to be strong and do the right thing? Or that I would turn out to be hiding some new secret?”
“But…”
“Tell me, then, Celestia, the very pinnacle of virtue, how much is your sister worth to you?”
“I—what kind of a question is that?”
“The most important kind. Tell me, what is Luna worth?”
“There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t give up to have her back,” Celestia replied.
Inanna let out a sigh. “That isn’t what I asked. Would you lie? Deceive a pony? Would you needlessly risk another pony’s life? Two?” The smirk returned. “Six?”
Celestia looked down at her hooves.
“Really now, you have to think? Luna isn’t even worth a blemished conscience to you?” Inanna said. “What about the life of a student you might be a little bit fond of? Is Luna worth that?”
Celestia looked up sharply.
“Oh yes, the magpies are quite happy to bring me news from time to time. They visit more than you do. So, you have an extremely magically gifted student...”
The swirling storm of purple wind whipped around, leaving chaos in its wake. In its calm centre, Celestia placed a hoof on the filly’s shoulder. The filly turned to Celestia, in her eyes: nothing but trust.
“…how convenient.”
“Twilight came into my care though simple chance,” Celestia asserted.
“I wonder if you know of any other potential bearers?”
The secretary placed the pink, balloon covered envelope on her desk. It was addressed to “Sky” and would contain more news of the ponies of Ponyville. Her contact’s knowledge of the ponies of Ponyville was virtually encyclopaedic, if a little erratic.
Luna was dead. There was no hope. She wasn't really going to do what she had planned with her Advisors to do. There was hope. In the last hour she would discover something, anything, that would make the insane plan work. They were important lies.
“I do.” There wasn’t really any use denying it. “I’ve been keeping an eye out. I’m sure of some. One. Perhaps. Others, I don’t know.”
This time, Inanna didn’t smirk, she outright bellowed with laughter.
“What you came to me to hear, Celestia, is for me to tell you to stop being the oh-so-pure and self sacrificing princess and take the idiot’s chance on a forgotten scrap of magic and in doing so be reckless with the lives of ponies who trust you to do nothing but look out for them. That is what you came to hear. No matter what you might tell yourself, that is what you were always going to do. So tell me, is Luna worth that?”
Celestia tried to glare at the dragon, but her eyes dropped to the ground as her shoulders and wings drooped. Inanna’s smirk never faded.
“Come now,” and oddly Inanna’s voice sounded motherly, almost. “It’s not so bad. Take this from a dragon whose body has fully half turned to gemstone and from a mother who has carried the bones of all of her children back to Anu. Take the second chance you have been given, or you will die regretting it.”
Celestia stared at Inanna, focused on really looking despite the gloom. The dragon's body was still, too still, and her scales gimmered in the darkness too much. Inanna's tail, one wing, some of her belly, a leg… they were no longer made of anything living but instead, a gemstone of uncertain type. How did dragons die of old age? Had it ever happened before?
Celestia stood up shakily. She turned to leave, but as she reached the mouth of the cave she was stopped by a soft chuckling.
“Welcome,” Inanna’s voice echoed out, “to the fellowship of souls who are not perfect paragons of virtue. You will be wiser for it.”
Celestia snapped her head back angrily, but the dragon simply looked smug.
“Take heart,” Inanna added. “A sister is a far higher prize than any quantity of useless gold and gems.”
Without bothering to answer, Celestia kicked off into the air. She didn’t fly far, landing in a nearby clearing. The moon still hung high in the sky, the image of a head there as always. She usually hated looking at it, but tonight was different. She needed to think. The sensation of seeing that unlikely pane of glass still reverberated in her mind. Could it be that this was the path she was meant to follow?
Luna had returned. Celestia could feel her standing right beside her, once again just out of sight. She came to a decision. How selfish had it been for her to value her clean conscience so? If that was the price of Luna...
“I’m coming sister,” Celestia breathed, without turning her head. “I’m coming.”
