The Night is Passing

Chapters

I. The Apostate
II. To Tell the Truth, to Tell it All
IV. Let Us Go Singing, and the Road Will Be Less Tedious
V. Had Mares Not Been Fated to be Blind
VI. These Arts Are Perilous
VII. Between the Motion and the Act
VIII. That Which Sleeps May Wake
IX. Gathering Storm
X. Shaken From the Wrath-Bearing Tree
XI. The Lament of Lud
XII. Troja Fuit.
XIII. Dreams Like Clouds
XIV. Terrible Canyons of Static
XV. Covering Earth in Forgetful Snow
XVI. Vain Empires
XVII. Monheim
XVIII. Alleluia! Don't Bend! Ascend!
XIX. Be Comfortable, Creature
XX. Land of Confusion
XXI. Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges
XXII. I Wondered What Friendship Could Be
XXIII. We Drift Like Worried Fire
XXIV. Out on the Edge of Night
XXV. And behold, a Pale Horse, and his name that sat on him was Death
XXVI. Lift Yr. Skinny Fists Like Antennas t' Heav'n
XXVII. The Confusion of Twilight Sparkle
XVIII. Your Arm's Too Short To Box With God
XXIX. You're Gonna Carry That Weight
XXX. A Song of Degrees
XXXI. Walk On, Melchizedek
XXXII. Love is the Currency of the Land
XXXIII. In the Shadow of that Hideous Strength
XXXIV. Jannah I: A Prolegomena to Charity / Outremer
XXXV. Jannah Interlude: Last Ticket Home
XXXVI. Jannah II: Have You Passed Through This Night?
XXXVII. Jannah Interlude II: The Six Vigils of Tradewinds / The Stations of the Dragon’s Watch
XXXVIII. Jannah III: Beloved
XXXIX. Jannah, the Last: What If This Present Were the World's Last Night?
XL. Jannah, Postlude: Gethsamane
XLI. The Last Enemy That Shall Be Destroyed is Death
XLII. Celestia I: Author
XLIII. Celestia, Interlude: Lower Still
XLIV. Celestia II: Perfector
XLV. Twilight I: The Only Moment You Were Alone
XLVI. Luna I: Work Out Your Salvation In Fear and Trembling
XLVII. Twilight II: ChildBodyBride
XLVIII. Luna II: I Believe In Your Victory
XLIX. The Night is Passing
Epilogue: The World is Not a Cold Dead Place
Act 1: Some God Will Give Us an End to This
III.The Night Has Stories Also
Act 2: Pilgrim's Progress
Act 3: The Night is Passing

I. The Apostate

I. The Apostate

On the ridge overlooking Ponyville, Twilight thought about Celestia.

She sat with binoculars held to her eyes with magic, scanning the streets for signs of life. There were none; only the lost, castaway things that the evacuation had left behind. Overturned carts had not moved, and their cargo remained unclaimed. A door hung loosely on its hinges, and she swore she could hear it squeaking in the distance. The library still stood, at least. She stared down at it, lost in thought.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day that Celestia had left. Celestia had come through Ponyville before her two month sabbatical began.That month or two had stretched into a year and a half, and now Twilight was left aching. It had been too long since she’d heard that voice.

Twilight scanned the path that the Princess had walked when they had last seen each other. She remembered her walking up the main street, heading towards the library.

“We gonna go down there or not, Twi?” Applejack asked from beside her.

She jerked back, eyes darting over to her friend. “Yes. Yes, of course.” She looked up, shielding her eyes. “Gosh, is it noon already?”

Applejack shrugged, the shadow from her wide-brimmed hat hiding her face. “Days ain’t gettin’ longer, that’s for darn sure,” she doffed the hat and wiped her sweaty brow. “I’d love to get movin’, if that’s all fine with ya.”

“I suppose,” Twilight said, biting on her lip.

The binoculars still hung in midair, kept there by a steadying spell until she removed it. She put them carefully into her saddlebag, then slid down the dusty ridge onto the path below. Now that she wasn’t lost in thought, Twilight could feel the sun beating down on her and the sweat gathering on her coat.

On the road below the ridge, Rarity and Rainbow Dash waited. Rarity looked up, mildly surprised by the noise, but then returned her eyes to the ground. Rainbow’s ears perked up from where she lay in the grass; Twilight knew that if she stalled much longer, the restless pegasus might decide to rush in alone just to relieve her own boredom. Twilight offered a weak smile in response to Dash’s impatience.

“Well girls, we might as well,” she said.

Rainbow jumped up into a hover, grinning. “Finally! Action! That’s what we need around here.”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Rainbow, weren’t you the one who thought this was a trap?”

“Well, duh, of course I did,” she admitted, mockingly returning Rarity’s gesture. She rubbed her hooves together, and smirked. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna get some now that we’re here!”

Twilight looked to Applejack, who was still on the ridge. The farmer smirked at her, then looked to Rainbow.

“You're a darn fool, Rainbow. Now you know I love ya like a sister, but consarnit nopony with their head straight walks into an ambush with a grin.”

“Whatever! Like I can’t take whatever anything in there can dish out!”

Twilight gestured to her two friends on the road, and they followed her back up the ridge and over. She signalled for Rainbow to land. The pegasus huffed at her, but she complied, touching down. Twilight felt a little gust of wind on her mane and coat as Rainbow flapped her wings once for good measure and then tucked them against her body. Dash’s mouth was a thin line as she came alongside Twilight. Her steps were like little drumbeats of annoyance.

“You don’t have the guard here for support. You know why you shouldn’t be flying, Dash, ” Twilight said, keeping her eyes on Ponyville. As they approached, Rarity and Applejack fanned out behind Rainbow and Twilight, keeping a liberal amount of space between them. The Long Night’s aftermath had taught them to be cautious.

“I know, I know. Draws attention, I’ll get shot, whatever.” Dash sighed. “Not like you have to stop using magic,” she added softly.

Twilight chose to let it go. It was understandable, really. Rainbow was used to being a scout, being able to fall back on guards with repeaters and good aim if she ran into trouble. The evacuation of Ponyville and its environs had given her some hoofs-on experience.

Though the streets ahead were empty, Twilight wished for tree cover. Once, she’d enjoyed the open vistas around Ponyville, but at the moment they were far too exposed for her liking. The idea of danger in the daytime had once been preposterous, but so had anarchy, and that hadn’t stopped it from tearing apart the countryside.

Behind her, Rarity coughed before speaking. “Rainbow, you don’t know for certain that it’s a trap. There could very well be somepony hiding in there, hoping to avoid any trouble.”

“Eh, I guess. I mean, it’s always possible that the refugees bothered to come this far, but why would they? Nopony has heard from Dodge Junction in like four or five months, right? And with how pissed off everypony was at the Princess, why not head for Las Pegasus?”

“The walls of Canterlot might be a comforting thought after being in danger on the plains,” Rarity argued.

Rainbow shrugged.

Twilight was inclined to agree with Dash, but said nothing. She doubted the refugee band from Dodge Junction was here, but at the same time there was always the possibility that Rarity was right. Scouts had seen ponies moving into the valley in a large herd, but then they had vanished. Twilight had almost forgotten it when an offhoof report from a wanderer had tipped them off to the presence of somepony in town. The vagrant had figured it was a missing party from Dodge Junction. Rainbow thought it was raiders.

We won’t know until we see for ourselves, Twilight thought.

With this—among other things—in mind, Twilight set hoof in Ponyville for the first time in over a year.

She paused on the first street she came to. While Rarity and Dash continued ahead, Applejack came alongside her, and together they stared down the forlorn street. While she stood silent, Applejack pulled off her her hat and whistled, listening to the sound carry through the empty air, then sighed and frowned.

Briefly, Twilight imagined she could see where the Princess had walked before the Long Night. Closing her eyes, she saw Celestia nodding, accepting the greeting of a passing pony. The Princess smiled, her benevolent gesture like the light of the beautiful sun itself—

“Twilight? Twilight, dear, are you listening?”

No, she hadn’t been. “Sorry, what?” She blinked and refocused on Rarity’s frowning visage.

“I was just asking if I might pay the boutique a quick visit—catch up with the old place, you know? It’s been awhile. It's also a rather large, inviting place. I'm sure any newly homeless wanderers would find it a splendid hideout.”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah sure,” Twilight said softly, her eyes wandering back towards her own abandoned home. She shook her head, trying to return to the street in the present. “Hey, Rarity!”

“Yes?” She turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t go alone.” Twilight looked over at Rainbow. “Can you go with her?”

“Yeah, sure,” Rainbow said as she unfurled her wings to stretch them. “As long as you’re quick.”

"I'll try. I shan't be long, darling!" Rarity trotted off toward the square, pegasus escort in tow, and Twilight heard a conversation strike up between them. Rather than strain to eavesdrop, however, she looked over to Applejack.

Applejack’s head was tilted, an eyebrow raised. “You all right, Sugarcube? You seem a little off your game today.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Yer just a bit... slow. Kinna starin’ off into space.”

“Oh. I was just planning,” she said, quickly looking away. “You know. All sorts of plans about what to do in case of attack, and stuff. Or how we’ll sweep the town efficiently. You know me. Efficiency.”

“Right. Gotcha.” Applejack adjusted her hat. “So, where exactly would you like to start? What’s your plan?”

Twilight continued avoiding her eyes, and gazed down the lane. Her old library stood at the end of the road, the hollowed tree’s green canopy drawing her eyes. She swallowed. “Actually... I was wondering if you might start over here. I need to check something out.”

“And you’re sure? I could come with ya, Twi. You know we shouldn’t be wanderin’ off alone. Ice Storm’s told us that before, if you’ll recall.”

Twilight bristled, remembering the flight from Ponyville; the white pegasus Captain's grim tirade on battle doctrine echoing in her mind. "Of course I remember, but look, they do that all the time, but it's not like we're in the guard. We don't have to parrot their methods all the time. It's a good thing to know, but we can take care of ourselves, especially here of all places. And besides, it'll only be for a minute."

Applejack made a face, then shrugged. “If ya say so. Fine.”

Twilight trotted off at a brisk pace down the street, leaving her friend behind.

The books, the royal guard, now Applejack--everyone always talked about staying together, but it wasn't as if she couldn't take some initiative. Celestia had always stressed the importance of initiative. At the thought of the princess, Twilight's irritation began to fade.

Celestia had come to town a year and a half ago, paying Ponyville an unexpected visit. Twilight had picked up hints of Celestia’s sabbatical through her correspondence with the Princess, but the date had always been vague.

She followed hot on Celestia’s heels as the Princess strode through town. Celestia was calm, graceful, everything Twilight had always admired. Her steps were measured and sure, her head held high. Her mane billowed in the light breeze, a radiant field of color. It was mesmerizing. It took her sight captive and held it until the princess would speak again.

Celestia smiled down at her. “It’s only for a while, Twilight. I think perhaps two months.”

“Will I be able to write?” Twilight looked up at her hopefully. When Celestia shook her head, Twilight’s ears drooped.

But her teacher chuckled. “Sadly no, you won’t. But I promise to have much to write you about when I return. In my absence, you could always write my sister. The two of you have become such good friends, and—don’t tell her I said so—I think it would do her good to have a penpal.”

Twilight perked up at this. Talking to Luna about astronomy the last time she had visited Celestia had been rather enjoyable. “I think I’d like that. But, aren’t you going with a guard? And where are you heading? I know you don’t want to tell the court... I mean, I guess you just want some privacy, but—”

“But surely I would tell you, my faithful student?” Celestia chortled. “Iwould, if I knew exactly where I was going. But to a great extent, I think I shall be wandering. Perhaps I’ll even see an old friend of minein the West.Shegoverns a city there called Jannah.”

Twilight tasted the name, rolling it over in her mind. Jannah... it sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She made a mental note to look it up when she had the time.“But by yourself?” Twilight asked. “Won’t you be lonely? Isn’t it wild out there?”

“Oh, Twilight. I shall be quite safe. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Twilight came to a stop at her old doorstep. The familiar signage was gone, smashed to splinters in an old confrontation; the door’s paint was faded and chipped by stray storms out of the Everfree. She brought up a hoof to open it, but hesitated. There was no reason behind it, nothing holding her back. She simply didn’t want to look. And yet.

Just a peek. Just one little peek.

Twilight lightly pushed the door, cringing at the squealing hinges, and her mouth fell open as she took in the carnage before her. Books littered the floor in careless patterns—nothing more than a haphazard collection of broken spines and shredded pages. A crippled bookshelf lay face-down on the center table. A heavy weight built in Twilight’s gut as she stared at the burn marks and old bullet holes along the surface of the shelf—like a pockmarked face, former beauty stolen away. How much of this had been her own doing?

Taking a deep breath, Twilight plunged into the library. It was like visiting the scene of a murder. The damage the marauders left in her library was everywhere, and broken glass was scattered all over the floor. As she gingerly stepped about, she found a book that looked more or less intact and scooped it up with her magic.

“Supernaturals,” she mumbled to herself. Looking back, she carefully brushed a few of the glass shards away with magic and sat down. The book floated before her eyes: on a whim, she flipped through the pages to the entry on poison joke. She stared at it, and a smile found its way to her lips. Somewhere in her memory, a tiny Applejack fumed.

Applejack. I should probably head back.

Twilight placed the book in her saddlebags. Turning to leave, her eyes fell on the overturned center table, and she quietly lamented what used to be her library. It seemed so long ago.

The marauding bands had come in the wake of the Long Night. Ponyville had only been given up when constant raids had made living there impossible.

In the wake of her sister’s disappearance, Princess Luna had been unable to hold Equestria together through the panic that had ensued. With every mile of Equestria that fell to anarchy, marauders gained strength, and grew bolder. Malcontents preyed on the smaller towns throughout the countryside. They painted themselves, spiked their manes, and came in swinging and shooting. At first, they had justified it with hunger, but soon offerings of food no longer placated them. Meeting their basic needs became only a pretext for lashing out; the excuse they whispered quietly to themselves as they embraced the violence, once it took the thrill of hunting down their fellow ponies to feel safe and alive.

Twilight thought they were mad. Most of them probably were. The one that had stumbled into the library before Ponyville was left abandoned had been foaming at the mouth, snarling at her before she blew him out the door with a strong push from her magic. The marauders had lacked a plan. They just spread through town, burning, killing, and stealing as they willed. Their aim had been poor, and they lacked organization. As soon as the guard had shown up, the assault had stopped.

But it didn’t end. In the year that had followed her teacher’s disappearance, the marauder bands had grown more and more daring and competent with each passing month.

She told herself once that it was a testament to the essential character of Equestrians how awful they’d been at it. She’d said it wryly, but at the same time it had been comforting to think that the Guard would always be there and be better. If nothing else, there had always been more of them. Where had all those ponies come from?

She left her library behind.

Twilight headed towards Sugarcube Corner. Her mouth turned down into a frown with her mind in free fall. The packed dirt beneath her hooves offered little in the way of answers, but they did offer up a spot of dried blood. She swerved around it, trying to get her thoughts off it. Instead, she thought of how far Equestria had fallen in her mentor’s absence.

A month had stretched into two, and they’d still gotten no word. Two months stretched into three, and ponies began to notice that days were a little shorter. Four months in, the days had gotten so short that ponies whispered of Nightmare Moon.

Twilight shook her head. I can’t dwell on it. She’s not coming back. If her teacher was going to come back to Equestria, she would have done it months ago. A year, even. Twilight had to stay in the present.

I should try and find Applejack... She bit her lip, looking around for any sign of her friend. The town was silent, as though hushed in desperate prayer; all around her were empty streets, empty buildings, utter lifelessness, all except the enduring verdant canopy of her library. Twilight shivered and continued on, picking up speed as she went. She needed to find Applejack. I’m an idiot. Why didn’t I want her with me? Have a perfectly dependable pony right there and... Stupid, Twilight, stupid! If it is a trap...

If it was a trap, it was going to be sprung. She was far too alone, and far too exposed. Visiting her home had not been worth it.

She came out of the long alleyways into the open main square, headed for Town Hall. It rose before her, battered but still standing, with holes in the walls and graffiti covering nearly every inch. The town was still deathly silent. Twilight’s hair stood on end, her eyes darting side to side, every hoofstep sounding like a thunderclap to her ears.

Her hurried pace slowed to an awkward crawl. Which way had Applejack gone? How long had she lingered in the library? I thought I’d only be a minute! I should’ve paid attention. I should’ve known better by now!

"Applejack?" she called, her voice reverberating off the neglected storefronts and empty homes surrounding her, returning to her ears to leave only a shiver down her spine. “Applejack, where are you?”

Twilight listened, straining to hear any kind of response. For a moment, she thought she heard an answer, but it was faint. “Probably looking through a house,” she muttered to herself, eyes scanning the scarred storefronts.

She turned towards the boutique. Of course! I’ll go find Rarity and Dash, and we can go look for Applejack together. It’s obvious no one is here. The town had nothing to offer them but old memories. No one would stay in a place as dead as this.

She trotted towards the boutique, feeling better already as she passed by Town Hall. Soon she wouldn’t be alone. With her friends by her side, she would be safe again. The thought of Rainbow swooping down to pick off anyone who tried to ambush her was suddenly very comforting.

Her daydreams of Rainbow’s martial prowess were abruptly ended by a hoof to the face.

She went sprawling. Her head hit the ground, turning the world into a fragmented jumble of light. Something turned her roughly on to her back, and she faced the bright sky. Before she could move, the sun was blocked out by a tattooed, scarred pony roaring in her face, spraying spittle over her face. She screamed as the pony reared up over her, preparing to beat her into the ground.

Twilight panicked; she summoned magic, raw and shapeless, and discharged simple arcane power. It washed over her and threw her attacker back, shrouding her in a purple shell, and she gasped and shook violently as the primal energy danced over her like lightning.

As it subsided, she tried to raise herself up on weak legs, calling out, “Rainbow! Rarity!”

Twilight heard somepony screaming, and then off in the distance she saw Rarity running out of the boutique, only to trip and go sprawling herself. Twilight tried to run for her, summoning more magic, but her body felt numb and her legs betrayed her, dropping her roughly to the ground.

She heard hoofsteps, and whirled her head around to meet them. A unicorn in tattered leather barding grinned at her as she emerged from Town Hall. The raider’s teeth had been filed into sharp points, and she flashed them at Twilight in malicious glee.

The unicorn pulled a crude spear from the hole in the nearby wall, and the weapon hovered above her head in a green aura.

“Hey, catch!”

The unicorn let the spear fly; for Twilight, it was in slow motion. She reached for it with her magic, but she was still reeling from her wild discharge of energy. All she could manage was to narrowly turn it aside, whistling past her ear.

The unicorn marauder groaned like a disappointed foal. Behind her, two more raiders emerged from their hiding spot. Twilight glanced back towards the boutique, but she had no time to search for her friends. This is all my fault, she thought, turning back to face her assailants.

She grit her teeth and pulled magic from her body once more, feeling the tingling along her spine. It gathered on the tip of her horn, and Twilight cast it out into a wide, flat plane in front of her. The air shimmered and crackled with energy.

The spearmare was talking, but Twilight couldn’t hear her through the light shield. She took quick stock of the other two raiders: one had only hoofblades, small serrated weapons tied to the hoof; the other clung to an old shootstick, a long wooden pole supporting a miniature iron cannon which flared out at the end.

The gunner took aim, and she knew her shield might not be able to withstand both his assault and the unicorn’s. The spear thrower summoned her own magic, and Twilight acted. She pushed her light shield forward like a ram. The unicorn, distracted while charging her power, had no time to react. While the other two jumped out of the way, she was blasted back, legs flailing like a foal trying to fly for the first time.

Twilight seized her chance as they regrouped, and made a mad dash for the boutique. She ran low to the ground, her ears tucked in, doing everything she could think of to make herself a smaller target. She raced for a cobblestone bridge over the stream ahead and took heart at the sight—perhaps she could funnel her pursuers into a bottleneck as she crossed.

There was a loud boom, and Twilight knew instantly that it was the shootstick’s report. It hit somewhere on the bridge, and as her hooves touched grass again she felt tiny shards of torn-up rock pelt her flank.

Twilight whirled, summoning her magic. She focused them into a tight, hard point, and cast an arcane bolt back across the water. It hit the gunner dead on, and he fell with magic arcing over his twitching body.

She looked away from her first target, now fallen, only to find the other raider now right before her.

Without time for useful magic, Twilight dropped low to the ground. The raider sailed over her and went sprawling with a thud. Twilight drew her magic up to power, and subdued the pony with a debilitating blast.

She took a moment to breathe, looking around for Rarity—she found her dancing back from another raider pony, the attacker's hoofblades glinting in the midday sun.

She took a sharp breath, and cast a simple dome-shaped light shield over Rarity, who then stopped short as her attacker’s weapons rebounded off the purple light. He fell back, Twilight let the shield drop. Rarity recovered swiftly, and unleashed a wide ray of magical energy. The pony on the ground groaned and shook violently, and Twilight knew he was out of the fight.

Rarity was at her side before Twilight could say a word.

“Where’s Rainbow?”

Rarity pointed, her eyes wide and her chest heaving. Twilight looked and saw that Rainbow was locked in combat with a green pegasus. They rolled in midair, hooves flying, punching, kicking. The raider tried to dig his hoofblades into her side, but Rainbow was too fast for him, batting his forelegs away. At last, she broke free, throwing the defeated raider down onto the boutique’s ceiling. He hit with a thud and rolled off of it. Twilight and Rarity winced.

“Thank you, Twilight. I’m glad you came along when you did! Now... wait. Where’s Applejack? Oh, please don’t tell me...”

Twilight shook her head furiously. “No, no she’s fine. Well, I think she’s fine! We got separated.” Rarity gaped at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!”

“Twilight, you can’t... Nevermind. It’s a moot point. Rainbow!”

Shooting between the buildings with practiced ease, Rainbow landed gracefully a few steps away. She grinned triumphantly until she noticed that they were one pony short. Her cocky grin faltered.

“Hey, Twi, where’s AJ?”

Twilight groaned. “I don’t have time to explain. Can you two just help me find her?”

Rainbow’s wings flared out as she nodded. Rarity huffed, but had no objections. The three of them turned back towards the rest of town. Already, Twilight could hear the sound of conflict in the distance. She gestured back towards the center of town, and Rarity and Rainbow followed.

They passed Town Hall, and Twilight scanned the storefronts for shooters but found nothing. A pegasus rose up from one of the alleyways, and before Twilight could say anything, Rainbow was barreling towards the foe. The green raider fled, with Rainbow giving chase.

“Rainbow! Don’t chase her too far!” Twilight managed through gasps for air.

Rainbow spun around, hovering as the raider escaped.

“What the hay, Twilight? Why not?”

She wanted to scream, “Why? Besides the fact that she’s running?” The books all say... to stay together. She held her tongue. Yes, they all said to stay together and not go off alone. Like she had done.

Two raiders stormed out of a shop, and Twilight stopped short, readying her magic. Another joined them, an earth pony stallion with a shootstick. He leveled it, grinning like a madpony as both Twilight and Rarity brought up their shields. Twilight braced herself, preparing for the impact of the missile against her shield.

She needn’t have. As the gunner took aim, Twilight saw Applejack running up the alley towards them. One of the ponies looked back, but before he could alert his comrades, Applejack had turned and bucked them with all of her considerable force. They went airborne with a sickening crunch, ragdolling over the square. As Applejack passed, they stumbled to their hooves. Twilight kept her magic ready to cast an arcane bolt at any of them if they hesitated.

None of them did. In the blink of an eye, the element bearers were left on their own.

Twilight breathed a sigh of relief, watching the slowest one as he retreated. She allowed herself a thin smile, shifting her gaze back to Applejack. “Hey, looks like—”

Applejack was in her face, seething. Twilight backed away, her ears flattening against her head and her mouth hanging open. Applejack wouldn’t let her escape. She advanced, every step forward matching Twilight’s steps backward.

“What were ya thinkin’?! Were ya even thinkin’? Twi, I thought you were only gonna be a minute, and now... Celestia, lookit this! You coulda died! Just wanderin’ into ambushes an’ not carin’! You should know better. Celestia knows you’ve seen it done, and ya know how this works by now! I was sick with worry, thought some fool monster had found ya an’... an’...” Tears of what Twilight could only assume was anger gathered gathered in the corners of Applejack’s eyes.

Twilight noticed at last that there was a nasty cut under Applejack’s eye. No longer able to bear her accusing gaze, she stared down at her hooves, ears drooping. “Ah, Twi... look, hon, I’m sorry. But ya scared me right awful, ya hear? I just... I don’t wanna lose ya.”

“I know,” she said, studying the dirt.

Applejack sighed and sat heavily. “I reckon we’re in the clear, girls. Chased ‘em all off proper.”

Rarity came alongside Twilight, and hummed in affirmation. Twilight sighed and looked up at last. Applejack was still staring at her. Rainbow landed to stand beside her and look at Twilight.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I just wanted to be alone for a little while. See the library.”

“Sugarcube, I know ya didn’t mean it. I’m just... be careful, alright? Please? We’re here for ya.”

She nodded slowly.

“I’m not sure anypony we want to see is here, you guys,” Rainbow said, kicking the ground.

“Agreed.” Rarity grimaced at the storefronts. She put a foreleg over Twilight’s shoulders and hugged her close. “We’re all safe now, though. I’m sure Twilight will be more cautious in the future. Right, ‘fearless leader?’”

“Yeah,” Twilight muttered.

“Of course, darling. Now, I doubt anypony is here, but why don’t we make sure? I’d hate to see some trapped pony be retaken by these ruffians. Why don’t you take Twilight with you, Applejack?”

Twilight and Applejack trotted side by side through the streets they once called home.

They were both quiet for a long time. The only sounds were the wind and the quiet echo of their hooves. The long-shattered windows held now only dirty, jagged shards, taunting mouths making mockery of what had been. An orphaned door lay in the road, and Twilight peered down as she stepped over it. It was pink, or had been once. She sighed, seeing the legacy of raids here as well. When Luna had finally managed to lift the sun into the sky, they’d thought that things were looking up. They’d all believed it.

Then the raiders had come.

“Different. It’s all really different, Twi.”

Twilight glanced over at Applejack, and the look on her friend’s face knocked her out of her melancholic reverie entirely. Applejack took in every broken window and article of daily life left behind by panicking ponies. Twilight could tell what was coming. “Applejack?” Applejack simply shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, and sped up, leaving Twilight a few paces behind.

“Hey! Wait up!”

But she would not. Twilight stumbled after her, trying to keep up as they left town behind entirely. She didn’t try to call her back again. Applejack was running like the wind now, and for a brief, irrational heartbeat, Twilight feared Applejack meant to leave her behind for good.

Then, in a flash, Twilight realized where she was headed, and her heart sank.

Home.

Twilight was sprinting now, but still her friend widened the gap between them.

The sun was setting, and Twilight knew time would be short for them. Luna and the court mages could only keep the sun up for so long.

Applejack didn’t seem to care. She ran on, now well ahead of Twilight. With every bend in the long dirt road out of Ponyville, Twilight feared that she would lose sight of Applejack for good. It was was a silly thought, but it ate at her. As if letting Applejack out of her sight was just an invitation for raiders to snipe at her from the trees, or for her to sprout wings and fly off.

Time lost definition; all that mattered was the beat of her hooves against the dust. Sweat ran down her forehead and drenched her mane, matting it to her face. She shook the offending strands away, frown growing all the while. She was no runner.

It occurred to Twilight at last to teleport. She stopped dead in her tracks and made the jump, her magic tunneling through the cold space between heres and theres, carrying her to pop back into being before Applejack.

Her sudden appearance was ignored. Applejack's attention was elsewhere, her eyes locked on something behind Twilight—something that was making her shiver, something that had made her lose her footing into a fall, by the dust and dirt covering the one side of her. Something so terrible that AJ's beloved Stetson lay ignored in the dirt next to her, and there was so much wrong about that.

Twilight turned, bracing herself, but it wasn’t enough. The main farmhouse was ruined, discolored by accumulated filth. The windows were boarded up. The door which had been barred hung open. Through the open door she could see the beginning of some obscenity painted in green. Something had torn a hole in the roof, exposing half of the second floor to the sky. The barn beyond was flattened. Trees were uprooted left and right, and the ground was torn. In the dried mud, Twilight noted the heavy imprints of Manticore paws and her jaw hung open. Manticores hadn’t dared leave the bounds of the Everfree in a long time. World’s moved on.

“It’s all gone,” Applejack said behind her, and Twilight faced her friend. “All gone. ‘S all gone. Just look at it!”

“Applejack...” Twilight took a shaky step towards her. Applejack shook like a leaf in a bitter wind, her eyes darting from left to right, as if trying to find some evidence that it was all an illusion.

“No! It’s all gone! It’s all gone, Twi! Might as well’ve never been a Apple family livin’ in... in S-Sweet Apple... aw, Celestia. Aw, no.” Applejack turned and Twilight knew she was hiding her face.

“Applejack?”

“Gimme a m-minute, wouldja? Just... just a minute.”

Twilight sighed. It felt like the bottom of her stomach had just given out. Carefully, gingerly, she picked up the discarded Stetson from the dust with her magic, and brought it over to herself. She beat the dirt off of it with as much care as she could manage, and then sent it back to its proper place. She softly placed it on Applejack’s head, and Applejack automatically moved a hoof up to straighten it.

Twilight sat beside her and said nothing. The only sounds were Applejack’s sniffles and the quiet rustling of the soft breeze.

Finally,Twilight ventured to speak. She cleared her throat, and began. “Applejack, it’s going to b—”

“No! Don’t you dare tell me it’s gonna be all right, Twi! Don’t you dare! It ain’t alright! Ain’t never gonna be. It’s wrong! The world shouldn’t be this way! It wasn't meant to be this way.” Her drawl warped the words, mangling them into something akin to sobbing.

Twilight said nothing.

Tears sprang up in the corners of Applejack’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Twilight could see her red eyes now, puffed up and awful. Twilight moved closer to her, and Applejack buried her face in the crook of Twilight’s neck.

“I just wanna go home, Twi. It’s all I want.”

And still, Twilight had nothing to say. What could she say? The empty space where her words should be was like an almost tangible ache in the air. Twilight felt like her lungs were on fire, begging her to fill it with something, anything. Just so it wouldn’t linger on and on.

After a while, she spoke. “I’m sorry I left you all alone, Applejack.”

Applejack shook her head, her face still buried in Twilight’s neck. “Nah, it’s alright. Ya didn’t know.”

“No... I just... I wanted to see the library again. I shouldn’t have left you alone, you were right. We’ve been living in this world long enough to know that sort of thing. I was stupid. I was so worried that I’d gotten you killed.”

“Twi, it’s fine. Ya had to go home.” Applejack pulled out of her forelegs, and gestured wildly at her own former home. “I had to go home. We all need ta do it! Home... it’s home. And this don’t feel like it any more, and I don’t know what that means.”

Twilight sighed again. Her ears folded against her head, which she lowered as she inched forward to speak. “Applejack, I know you don’t want to hear it, but home isn’t just here. It doesn’t have to be here.”

Applejack sputtered, and shrugged, unwilling to speak.

Twilight turned them both back towards the house. Applejack resisted weakly, but soon gave in.

Twilight took a deep breath and stared at the house. The words came together in her head as she chewed her lip. “Applejack, your family’s back in Canterlot. They aren’t here. Isn’t that enough for ‘home’?”

“Dammit,Twi,” Applejack swore, pushing her hat down over her eyes. “It ain’t just about where you are, I know that. But Sweet Apple Acres was ours—it was part of us and they... just look what they done! You oughta know. Don't tell me you felt nothin' when you saw your library.” Her voice broke, and she coughed as her constricted throat finally refused to speak another word. Twilight held a leg open to her, and she returned to its comfort.

It was time to head back.

Twilight noticed the cellar door from far off. It hung open, revealing little but shaded blackness, inviting her in like a predator’s maw. However, she filed it away for later. First, she and Applejack needed to catch up with their friends.

Rainbow was easy to find. She flew over the streets, looking down and calling for them. As soon as she saw Twilight waving at her, she landed and started talking quickly. “Where have you two been? We looked all over!”

Twilight put up a hoof, gesturing for her to be calm. “It’s alright. Applejack and I thought it might be a good idea to check outside of town, see if any refugees had held up in her farmhouse.”

Applejack didn’t look at her, but Twilight heard her shuffle her hooves. A white lie, but she thought Applejack would appreciate it all the same.

“I’m guessing you guys didn’t find anything.”

“Good guess. Yeah... unfortunately, I fear I was right all along. The refugees from Dodge Junction never made it here. The raiders were probably hoping to snare someone a bit less prepared than us, though.” She gave Rainbow a smile. making her puff her chest out, placing a hoof over it. She flared her wings out.

“You know it! Nothin’ gets past me. I’d never leave you guys hanging. Anyway. Rarity asked me to go look for you two. We haven’t found them anywhere.”

Twilight thought about the cellar. “Did you check under the houses?”

“What?” Rainbow cocked her head to one side.

Twilight rolled her eyes and waved her hoof in a circle, as if to hurry Rainbow’s thinking along. “Cellars, you know.” Rainbow still looked lost, and Twilight sighed. She stopped waving her hoof and thrust it towards the ground. “Underneath.”

Rainbow’s eyes lit up. “Oh. I guess? I don’t know. I didn’t, really.”

“I didn’t either. Honestly, I was more waitin’ for ya ‘fore I started headin’ down into things.”

So probably not, Twilight thought. Right. I’ll just have a look at that cellar then.

Rainbow led them to the boutique, where Rarity sat pawing at something blue and silky, her back facing the doors. Is that... a dress? Part of it? Oh, Rarity. She wanted to leave her friend to mourn in peace, but she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

When Twilight coughed, Rarity jumped. She awkwardly wheeled herself around. “Oh! Sorry. Twilight, yes, hello. I was just... distracted. I’m glad Rainbow found you. Where were you?”

Twilight shrugged, seeing her friend hide the torn scraps. She avoided looking at them. “Sweet Apple Acres. We were looking for ponies. Sorry we forgot to tell you.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Of course. You were with Applejack; I knew the two of you together would be just fine.” She smiled as wide as she could, and pushed the rags out of sight behind her.

Twilight looked around, noting the dismal interior. These walls were stained just as Applejack’s had been, and the once lovely wallpaper was torn and shredded. The dress racks were bent and deformed, and to Twilight’s dismay, the raiders had covered the walls in their amateur attempts at hoof-drawn pornography.

Now that she was looking for them, she could see shredded fabric bits everywhere. Somepony had taken to destroying for fun the painstaking works Rarity had been forced to abandon.

The former fashionista, by this point, had recovered most of her poise. She sniffed. “Yes, solid thinking there, Twilight. It wouldn’t do to forget the outlying areas. I believe we’ve looked the town twice over by now, and there’s nothing but a few signs of somepony being here weeks ago. If there were refugees here, they’re long gone.”

“I doubt it was them. Probably raider bands or just drifters, stopping in an abandoned house for the night. I guess we can stay here for now, seeing as how the sun’ll be down before we can reach the river,” Twilight offered.

“I would quite prefer to sleep on a proper bed...” Rarity looked around, and Twilight just barely caught the grimace she gave.

“We can sleep at Sugarcube or the Inn,” Twilight said before Rarity could formulate the rest of her sentence. Twilight smiled softly, but said nothing as Rarity gave her a thankful look.

“Actually, Rarity, I wanted to check on something quickly.”

Rarity blinked. “Oh. Oh, of course. What, if I might ask?”

“Just a door. A cellar door, back when Applejack and I were walking back. I want to see. I mean, there won’t be anything in there, I know that. But... Curiosity. Just making sure.”

“Curiosity is alright, I suppose. Take Applejack with you?”

“Sure.”

Twilight nodded, but her mind had left the boutique altogether. She was thinking about the door.

As Applejack fell in step beside her, Twilight looked up, noting the setting sun. The days were far too short. Princess Luna did what she could, she knew that, but it simply was too much to expect a full day of sunlight in these times.

The cellar door bothered her. It tickled her mind, like how Spike had tickled her ears with one of Rainbow’s molted feathers years ago. She scrunched up her nose. She was sure it was nothing, but it had seemed so... odd.

It was a short walk, only a minute before she turned the corner and saw it. Wind blew, and the door creaked. The noise was harsh, abrasive. She winced.

Cautiously, very cautiously, she approached the door and looked around it. Standing before the drop into shadow, she waited for somepony to call up to her. Nothing came out from the hole, and she set her shoulders. It was just a cellar.

“I just want to take a peek,” Twilight explained. “Watch my back?”

“Sure.”

Twilight summoned her magic once more, closing her eyes as the warm, lively feeling coursed up her spine and gathered at the tip of her horn. She shaped it into a harmless ball of light, taking a deep breath. She always enjoyed making light; it was relaxing. Nothing dangerous or harmful about it, only a simple weaving and tying off. It reminded her of being a filly, and how her mother first taught her to create light to help push the shadows in her room back.

She let her little light go, and under her command it drifted down the wooden stairs, into the cellar below. She squinted into the abyss. For a moment, what lay beneath was unclear, but then she recognized it.. or rather, them.

Twilight froze, her levitated ball of light dropping down, bouncing along the bodies until it came to rest against the cheek of a pale, lifeless mare. The light caught on her glassy eyes, staring out at Twilight in their dead emptiness, almost reaching out toward her.

Twilight screamed. She scrambled back toward the steps in a frenzied escape only for her legs to collapse beneath her, slamming her chin down onto the cold stone, her vision blurring...and then, somehow, she was outside again, eyes wide and breaths short.

“Twilight!”

She couldn’t bear to look back. Instead, she looked up into the sky, but it was too disorienting, too much, and she could feel bile rising up in her throat. She turned her head and threw up violently.

“Twilight, what is it? Twilight!”

Applejack was at her side, pulling her away, trying to speak to her. Twilight ignored her, even as Applejack hoisted Twilight onto her back. Somewhere, the farmer was calling for their friends, trying to ask Twilight what it was she had seen. But she couldn’t say. She simply didn’t know how to say it in a way that would do it justice.

There had been so many.

Author's Note

It begins. The sunbutt teacher fled across the worlds and the Student spellslinger followed.

Thankya big big to sai RazedRainbow, who I thank for saying the right things to make this story happen. Read Not all Who Wander, y'all. You are the better craftsman and one of my best friends.
Thankya to sai q97randomguy, writer of Paradise Sundered and new into the fold of authordom, for his invaluable aid to me not only in this fic but many others, as a pre-reader and as a friend. Sharing references is super fun.
Thankya to Mixolydian Grey, for bein' best shy Skype contact and prereading
Thankya to AkibaWhite, who tore this thing to shreds and prompted me to decide to rewrite this chapter. It's a lot better now. Read Lost Legacies, y'all.
Thankya to wackedoutpet for helpin' a bit here an' there, editin' and reading.
Thankya to sai Admiral Hoofsome for bein' neat an' stuff. Some nice comments here and in chapter 2.
Finally, say thankya most kindly to sai Sunchaser, writer of the Lavender Letter, for his invaluable assistance, for making me think a lot, frustrating all my aims, and being a huge help. You're a pretty cool guy, Sunchaser.

Also, thanks Bronius and Nothing is Constant for reading just as readers. A lot of the time, ya just need to know it's worth and don't suck, ya know?

II. To Tell the Truth, to Tell it All

II. To Tell the Truth, to Tell it All

Applejack hated the sound of the ancient, iron-bound gate slamming shut. It was all the harsh, grating of metal on stone, but more than that, it was cold, final—it was dead. Her ears turned downwards and she closed her eyes, grimacing as the gates of Canterlot shut away the outside world for the evening.

The small crowd that gathered to greet them at the gate quickly flocked to Rainbow and Twilight, barraging them with questions of the outer world. A few tried speaking to Rarity, but she was never approached quite as immediately. Thankfully, Applejack had long ago learned that none of the crowd seemed incredibly interested in her. She was fine with that. Hay, I’m glad they aren’t all crowdin’ me. I like bein’ able to hear myself think.

Rainbow Dash reveled in it, coming alive in the attention, puffing out her chest and giving the crowd her award-winning smile. Ponies bombarded her with questions and requests for the whole story, but she parried their larger queries with the more exciting pieces of the tale. Applejack tried to catch her eye, but Rainbow wouldn’t look at her for more than a second. She couldn’t tell if it was simple distraction or something else. Rainbow hadn’t wanted to talk much on the way home.

The ponies that hounded Twilight were far more disappointed. The former protege of the princess simply marched forward, one hoof after the other, down the wide main boulevard of Canterlot. She looked lost in her own thoughts, a scowl on her face and her eyes staring down at the stones she trod upon.

Applejack adjusted her hat, thinking about the tingling sensation of Twilight’s magic depositing it there. Trippin’ and forgettin’ it like a fool...

Twilight continued on, staring down, until a tall gray stallion with black mane and tail blocked her brooding advance. He narrowed his eyes as he spoke, like somepony who had caught a foal breaking curfew. Applejack disliked him on sight. The way he looked at Twilight just made Applejack feel sordid. Twilight looked up at the interloper, and Applejack wished she could see Twilight’s face as he spoke.

“Twilight Sparkle. My name is Trotsany, of House—”

“Sorry,” Twilight said softly, “I need to go. I’m sure that the Princess is probably better suited for your request.”

Twilight tried to move around him, but he planted a gray hoof on her chest. She looked up into the face of the noble pony and he quickly went pale, his hoof falling away from her weakly. He sputtered at attempting some sort of reply, but Twilight simply continued on, the crowd surrounding her retreating into quiet whispers.

A part of Applejack would've paid a lot of bits to have seen Twilight's expression, but most of her just silently watched her go and shivered in the cold night air

I guess it was too much to ask for, her feelin’ better by morning. ‘Course, I ain’t sure I’d be feelin’ much better if I’d seen ‘em.

Applejack hadn’t looked; out of respect, of course, not fear or anything. She tried not to think about it too hard.

They had burnt the whole house. Applejack refused to touch the bodies, and Rarity hadn’t been able to get very close knowing what was underneath. Even Dash had been somber as Twilight set the house ablaze, and they had all watched as the darkened Ponyville evening was lit with the towering flames of a funeral pyre.

The crowd was dispersing, and Rainbow was beginning to make her own way up to the High City. Applejack came up beside her.

“How you holdin’ up, sugarcube?”

“Hm?” Rainbow blinked. “Eh, fine, I guess. I mean, we’re all okay, aren’t we?”

Applejack let the callousness pass. Rainbow had been almost as troubled as Twilight as they sat around the fire the night before. “‘Course we’re all okay. You headin’ straight up to the Princess, or are you makin’ some stops?”

Rainbow shrugged, unfurling her wings and flapping them once. “Don’t exactly have anywhere to go in Canterlot but there.”

Applejack sighed. “Y’know yer always welcome with us, Rainbow. An’ I’m sure Fluttershy would love some company. The ‘mostly permanent’ kind. It’s a big house she’s got for just one lil’ pony.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Let me guess, you’re gonna go home first?”

“Rightcha are there, sugarcube.” She gave Rainbow a smile. “Tell Twi an’ them for me, wouldja?”

Rainbow nodded, and Applejack stepped back to make room as she flared her wings out. With a push, she lifted off into the air. “See you in a bit, AJ!”

And then she was gone. Applejack’s eyes lingered on Rainbow’s swiftly retreating form, and she sighed. Sometimes I envy ya, Rainbow. Flyin’ off wherever you wanna go...

But then something caught her eyes. Something blue and moving fast, flying as fast as Rainbow was. Something coming right towards her. She grinned and her heart leapt in her chest as she waited for him.

It didn’t take long. Soarin’ was one of the fastest pegasi alive.

He landed right in front of her, stirring up a tiny cloud of dust. She suppressed a chuckle as he landed and then stumbled.

“Heya. Don’t hurt yerself there!”

Her favorite pegasus recovered with a goofy smile on his face and trotted over to her.

“Hey. Scout fliers said that you four were coming back emptyhoofed, and I was wondering how you were holding... up. Applejack?” He finally noticed the ugly gash that ran below her right eye. She realized where he was staring, and tugged her hat down. Her cheeks burned.

“Ain’t nothin’. I’m fine, ya hear? ‘Sides, ain’t you supposed to be on duty, Soarin’?”

Soarin’ chuckled, pushing the hat back up playfully with a wing. He kissed her on the unscarred cheek. “Hey, now, you know me. Whenever I can, I’m bailing.” Applejack glared at him. She had half a mind to say something about that before he shook his head. “Nah, Spits just told me that I’ve been on rotation too long. She gave me the week off to do my own thing. Well, our own thing.”

Applejack rolled her eyes. “Right. You gonna walk me home, ya big fool?”

“If’n yer willin’,” he replied, mimicking her accent. It was a terrible impression, and she punched him for it.

“Can it, pretty boy,” she said, grinning. “‘Sides, I think yer gonna wanna hear what all went down in Ponyville.”

He shook out and settled his wings, and together they set off towards the middle city. “Anything to stave off the boredom of traipsing around in the mud, my lovely apple pie.”

“I hate you sometimes.”

“Oh, I know.”

The avenue from Old Canterlot up to the greater Celestial Tier was adorned by a series of arches with pennants flying on them. They caught Applejack’s attention and held it.

As best she could, she relayed to him the events in Ponyville. He listened, the humor draining from his face as she continued. When they came to the marble archways, she briefly paused her tale. Soarin’ was about to speak, but her eyes caught his, and he held his peace.

They walked through the arches in companionable silence. While she didn’t enjoy Canterlot life, there were parts of the city she truly loved. The gateways between the lower and middle tiers were some of those places. The tightly-packed, bustling traffic gave way to open gardens, where stone pathways led through fresh-trimmed grass and bursts of floral color. A few ancient oak trees provided shade along the way from the sun. Already noon too, Applejack noted.

She knew that Princess Luna was trying, but the days were still short. Things were going to fall apart without longer days to grow and work in. But walking along the paths she loved, some of her good spirits returned. “...I guess that’s all t’ tell, really. I wanna hear ‘bout the guard though. And your pegasi. What’ve you been doin’?”

Soarin’ shrugged, focusing on her while her gaze wandered over the marble arches. “Not much. Kind of the same old thing: a bunch of wide-eyed newbies and a handful of grumbling old officers. I got a new kid in my wing yesterday, though. Prism Rays, good kid. A bit... er, boy crazy? Wide-eyed, average flyer. Not exactly what I’d have picked out, but he’ll do. They kind of all have to do.”

“You’ll have them ready, Soarin’. I know ya will. Wonderbolt, remember?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Wonderbolt.” He looked away.

They passed ponies going the opposite way on business. The middle tier was quieter, away from the hubbub of the grand gate and it’s street vendors. The streets were still lined with tall buildings, but there was more green life. Just the way Applejack liked it.

They took a right, headed towards her Canterlot home. “Y’know, I wonder if Rainbow knows yet.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I doubt it. Spits only figured it out because I wasn’t coming back to the barracks some nights. Her and Rainbow... they’re pretty similar. It’d take something pretty drastic to make her realize she likes somepony, let alone somepony else liking a certain apple-y applehat.”

She resisted the urge to punch him, and instead awarded him with a chuckle—if only for variety. He beamed.

“Ain’t like we’ve been tryin’ that hard. I mean, it’s still secret an’ all... but Rares knows for sure. Twilight ain’t noticed nothin’ about nopony in a long while, and I know Flutters knows. Celestia alone knows the workin’s of Pinkie’s mind.”

Soarin’ raised his eyebrows. A young couple passed, sharing some private joke. Applejack watched them, sighing. Soarin’ looked down, and then spoke in a lowered voice.

“Applejack... do you think she’s coming back? Celestia, I mean.”

Applejack didn’t hesitate. She shot him a questioning look. “Of course I do. She’s Celestia. Ya think she’d off an’ abandon us? She’s loved an’ cared fer Equestria so long that it would be impossible to think ‘bout it at all without her.”

Soarin’s wings fidgeted. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m not giving up, AJ. I don’t like the kinds of talk I hear sometimes about the Princesses, and I don’t hold with those who talk it. I’m just... What if she just got tired? Not hated us, or didn’t love us or any of that stuff. But she just didn’t want to do it anymore? Or what if... what if she’s dead?”

Applejack growled. “Soarin’, don’t be a fool. It ain’t becomin’ of ya.”

He shot her a tired smile. “It’s what I do best! I know, I know. I’m just thinking. Twilight and Luna knew her best, Applejack, and they’re... like, I don’t know. Depressed? Not exactly hopeful. The way you all talk,Twilight is nothing like how she used to be. She’s withdrawn, sad, listless. The Princess...” He looked around, and Applejack did too. There were far too many ponies for this conversation out here.

Luckily, they were almost to Applejack’s home. They took another turn, and in moments they were inside Applejack’s townhouse. Applejack closed the door behind them, and the two stood in her living room.

“Applebloom’s still at school. Macintosh... ain’t got no idea. But we should be fine talkin’ in my bedroom. I’d rather the cousins not hear—”

“I’d rather not hear too, if you don’t mind.” A rumbly, bassy voice filled the room. Applejack flinched. Soarin’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. Big Macintosh stood stock-still in the hallway, eyebrow raised. Applejack shook herself, putting a hoof on her chest. When she caught her brother directing his attention at Soarin’, she rolled her eyes.

“Stop bein’ mean to him.”

“I ain’t.”

“‘Course ya ain’t. C’mon, Soarin’, let’s go. Macintosh, you play nice.”

“Eeyup.”

She knew that the big red stallion held no real animosity. He was simply a quiet sort. But it was hard for others to read him like she could.

They bypassed her brother and headed up to her room. She closed the door behind them and then promptly collapsed on her soft bed. Applejack felt it move beneath her, and knew Soarin’ had sat at the edge.

“I swear I never meant to make a bad impression on your brother,” he began, and she pictured him with his wild mane thrown back, his green eyes regarding her. She stretched.

“Nah, he ain’t got anythin’ ‘gainst ya. Just bein’ a big fool, that’s all.”

He continued. “Is this how your room looked back on the farm? I’d just met you then, so I never got a chance to see—”

“Gettin’ distracted, hon.”

He sighed, and she turned to watch him scratch his mane with a hoof. He wore a puzzled look on his face. “Sorry, yeah, I know. It’s just... I’m not exactly thrilled to be talking about it. But Princess Luna is stalling out. And... ah, yeah.” He grinned at the confused look Applejack gave him. “Right, sorry. Stalling out is when you fly straight up until all your speed bleeds off, and gravity catches up to you, and you start to fall. Kinda. It’s not important. That’s what she’s doing, though.”

“She won’t do anythin’?”

“Nothing,” he said, and flopped down beside her. “Princess Luna won’t communicate with the senior officers and all she does is sign things. A lot like how you talk about Twilight, actually. I talked to Page Turner while you were gone, remember him?” She shook her head, and he continued. “He’s one of Luna’s aides, guy who brings her paperwork, reports on stuff, helps her out. He says she’s depressed, that she doesn’t go anywhere that’s not strictly necessary.”

Applejack scooted closer to him. She hadn’t realized how sore her hooves were until now. Smiling, she lay one on Soarin’s chest and pulled him into a kiss.

“It’ll pass, hon. The Princesses won’t abandon us. Luna is a good pony, an’ so’s Twi. It’s just... like a storm, or a long cold night, that’s all. It’ll pass; they always do.”

He grunted and moved to face her. She smiled, and teased that goofy grin out of him. She loved that smile, how he flashed those teeth so freely, like smiling was as natural and needful as air. She loved that silly mane of his that would never be still and lie low. His eyes reminded her of the leaves in her beloved orchards, hiding the apples that were the foundation of her family’s life.

He kissed her on the nose, and she giggled despite herself.

“If you say so,” he said softly.

Rarity walked the palace halls, her lips pressed tightly closed while her eyes kept alert, scanning her surroundings. She watched every passing servant and every bored guard. In short, she looked for signs of the abnormal.

It was an unfortunate duty, but one she did not bear alone. It was true that Rarity was no Fluttershy, but she was decidedly detail-oriented and she caught things that Applejack, Pinkie or even Twilight might have missed.

Things like the sidelong glances barely visible in periphery as she walked by; the subtle narrowing of a particular noble's eyes as they passed in the hall.

It was not news to any of the Element Bearers that something was cancerous in the halls of high Canterlot. While the noble House of Belle had long been disenfranchised—a little under seven hundred years—they still kept their horns held high and their ears to the ground, catching the hushed whispers.. Her father had wanted to get away from it completely, be a simple country pony with simple country joys. He had gone out of his way to cast off the legend of the name of Belle, but Rarity had held fast to it. As a Lady should.

She passed two Solar Guards, both of them white pegasi. The tiny insignia on their gold-painted barding identified them as levies from House Rowan-Oak, who had ever been thorns in the sides of anyone who would rule over them. They were against Luna.

They eyed her subtly. Most wouldn’t have caught it, but Rarity had learned to bask in attention and noticed when ponies watched her. She resisted the urge to put a dash of sway into her step as she left them behind, just to fluster them. Charity won, and she continued normally.

Beyond just some mildly impudent looks from guards, she was more troubled by the strange air in the palace. When her friendship with Twilight was young, and the princesses ruled together, the serving ponies had smiled and sung as they went about their duties; she had felt at ease, safe here, surrounded by such light. But now the halls were silent, the castle staff wore stoic grimaces, and the Solar and Lunar guardsponies hurried past each other, trading nothing save suspicious eyes.

She was so caught up in her reverie that she almost missed Fluttershy standing quietly outside the doors to Luna’s apartments. In fact, she would have, if Fluttershy hadn’t spoken softly.

“Um... Rarity?”

Rarity jerked, and searched until she found that familiar pink mane.

“Ah, Fluttershy! I’m dreadfully sorry. I was quite lost in thought. Were you waiting?”

“Only for a little while. It’s alright. I don’t mind, you know. There’s a lot to think about.”

Rarity tutted, gesturing grandly. “Now, now, Fluttershy, we mustn’t be too modest. You are quite deserving of attention! Shall we go in already?”

Fluttershy shifted her weight, flapping her wings once. “I suppose.”

Rarity took the door handles in her magic and pushed. The room beyond was ornate, in its own stark way. It was a brutal sort of beauty, Rarity had always thought, and befitting a ruler who prized the night time. Fluttershy and Rarity walked into the antechamber.

It was a massive starfield, painted intricately by a team of royal artisans to be both accurate and majestic. Soft, cloud-like nebulae drifted across the walls while above, tiny lines of silver and gold drew together patterns of constellations; the stars that comprised them shone even brighter. Rarity was still impressed: pure, Canterlotian Diamond was expensive and rare. It was also dangerous, in the possession of a spellcaster with the will to use it. A single diamond would not only amplify and channel a user’s magic perfectly, but it would also add in its own bizarre touch of wild magic. Makes the impossible possible, they say.

“Is Luna here yet?” she asked Fluttershy, as they fully entered the chamber. Rarity gestured to a ebony couch, carved up in slender tail-like spikes at the ends, and they sat.

“No,” Fluttershy answered. She sighed. “I saw you watching the guards.”

“Yes... it’s rather hard to miss, dear.”

“Not if you’re Twilight. Or Dash, too, I guess.”

“It doesn’t seem any worse though, Fluttershy. There’s no need to be down in the dumps,” she said, trying her best to offer a comforting smile. Oh yes there is, Rarity. Oh yes, there is. But we shan’t give it all away. Twilight shan’t either, if I can have a word with her! Not in detail, at least.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m fine.” Her wings fidgeted, and her ears lay flat against her skull.

“If you're sure, Fluttershy," Rarity said, as the shy mare retreated behind her flowing mane. Well, that's that then, she thought, taking a deep breath. "Twilight came by, didn't she?"”

Fluttershy nodded eagerly. “Yes, she did! Oh, but she came storming by me and she was so very upset! I tried to talk to her, honest, but she just didn’t want to, and...”

Rarity raised a hoof to shush her. “There, there, it’s quite alright. I can imagine.”

Fluttershy looked back down at the exquisitely tiled floors. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be, darling. Did she say anything about what happened down in the valley?”

Fluttershy shook her head, her long mane still hiding her face from view. “Oh, no, I did try to ask but she wouldn’t say. She just told me that it wasn’t time yet.”

“‘Wasn’t time yet.’ Wonderful,” Rarity groused, jumping up. While Fluttershy looked on, she began to pace before the great doors.

"Fluttershy, I must admit, I am somewhat worried. Twilight... we found something in Ponyville. Something terrible. I'm rather concerned that Twilight may do something rash. She's refused to speak with anyone since—she summarily rebuffed even myself!" Rarity huffed, turning to Fluttershy. "Can you imagine it? Twilight, our Twilight, fixing moi with such a look that I was left quite distaught!" Shivering a little in the coolness of the chamber, Rarity resumed her pacing. "I suppose, in hindsight, it may have been just a bit...uncivil of me to expect her to sim—”

“She’s angry at the Princess.”

Rarity stopped hoof extended in a sweeping gesture, her mouth open in midsentence. She stared at Fluttershy, blinking. The pegasus seemed to shrink. Coughing, Rarity put her hoof back down.

“I... come again?”

Fluttershy murmured incoherently. Rarity’s ears flicked forward, and she squinted. “Come again? I’m sorry dear, but honestly, you must speak up!”

“I think Twilight is angry at—”

The antechamber doors slamed open and Rainbow Dash entered, smiling grimly. The sudden noise made both of them jump. Fluttershy squeaked in alarm, and Rarity glowered at Rainbow. Rainbow, for her part, flattened out her grin and met Rarity’s eyes.

“She’s on her way. Applejack just got here.”

Rarity sighed. “You’re a ruffian at heart, Rainbow. The nerve! Your entrance was deplorable. Now, kindly, where is Pinkie Pie?”

“Oh, I’m here!”

Through the still open doors, the pink pony bounced in, smiling. Rarity could summon up no words of discouragement for her behavior. Pinkie was Pinkie; it was the only constant.

“Splendid. It’s wonderful to see you again, Pinkie—”

“And you too! I haven’t seen Twilight yet, but I saw Applejack and Dashie and Flutters and now I’m seeing you! I heard Twilight is kind of sad, but I’m sure—”

“—but I’m sure we can catch up later. You say Twilight’s on her way here?”

Pinkie took a deep breath then nodded. Rainbow landed beside her and as Pinkie began another long string of comments, she unceremoniously stuffed a hoof in her mouth. Pinkie continued, unperturbed.

“Sorry, yeah, she is.”

Rarity was torn between a chuckle and a sigh. “Yes, well before she gets here, Fluttershy...” she looked back and found her still hiding behind her mane on the couch. “Fluttershy thinks that Twilight has some manner of contention with our princess, and I think she might just be right. We should be prepared.”

Pinkie finally wiggled out of Rainbow’s reach and began again. “Yeah, but I was gonna say—”

Rainbow groaned. “Pinkie, can you be still and can it for just a sec?”

Pinkie wilted, frowning. “I was just gonna say that Twilight’s gonna give the Princess one of those things.”

Rarity cocked her head to one side, coming closer to the pair. “Those things? Whatever do you mean, darling?”

“An ulty-mate ‘em. You know. Like demands and stuff.”

Rarity raised both eyebrows. “Ah! An ultimatum, Pinkie. Does your Pinkie Sense tell you this, or...?”

But Pinkie shook her head. Her smile returned. “No, no. I just know. I pay attention.” She looked past Rarity to Fluttershy. “Just like Flutters! I may not be quite as good at watching, but I know my friends. Twilight thinks too much.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “She’s an egghead, Pinks. It’s what they do. That’s not special.”

She took to hovering again, and Rarity watched her, distracted. Bored already, Rainbow?My, but I wish I could fly.

“No, Dashie! I know Twilight thinks a lot, but this is different! She’s just... thinking. Like, thinking about thinking. Oh, I mean...” She looked down at her hooves as if trying to choose between them.

“She’s thinking without doing, perhaps?” Rarity offered, confused.

Pinkie brightened. “Yes! She just sits and does nothing allllll the time. It’s boo-ooring! And she frowns like this.” She imitated Twilight rather well, Rarity thought, sitting slouched over with a pained expression. “And just cooks like a baked bad. She just gets worse and worse.”

“And you think she’s going to be... er, ready?”

“Yup!” Pinkie said, cheerfully, as if this wasn’t dire news at all. Rarity blinked, and once again decided that the confusion Pinkie caused in her was the only constant.

But she couldn’t really argue. As Pinkie happily bounced off to greet Fluttershy, Rarity considered that perhaps it was for the best. Twilight needed to stop bottling things up. She too had noticed it, though perhaps she would never have put it quite as Pinkie had. But it had been so easy to excuse away. Twilight was having a bad day. Twilight was busy. Twilight was reading reports and paperwork.

Oh, but I’ve neglected you, Twilight. She sighed and followed Pinkie. All they could do was wait.

Fluttershy didn’t talk much.

It wasn't so easy for her to speak up like others did—she could only be so brave most of the time, and so she chose her few words as carefully as she could. When she did speak, she tried to make sure it was important.

Between those important times, she sat quietly and watched. So often, in fact, that she'd become very, very good at watching.

So much so that she noticed things. Things like, for instance, that despite her bouncing and smiling, Pinkie kept glancing at the door. Rainbow was staring at the stars, but she wasn’t moving her gaze from constellation to constellation; her head didn’t move at all. So she wasn’t actually looking at them, Fluttershy decided. Rarity had returned to her pacing. Pinkie was humming to herself after an unsuccessful attempt at trying to goad Rainbow into talking to her.

Fluttershy also listened. It was something else she was very good at, and so when Applejack spoke in the hall outside, it was Fluttershy who heard her first.

Her ears flicked forward, and she half rose from the soft couch. “They’re here,” she said quietly. Everypony in the room turned to face her, and she shrunk back again. It was enough to cease Pinkie’s humming.

Seconds later, the doors did indeed open to admit Twilight and Applejack. Twilight’s eyes flitted between the four ponies in the room, never settling on any of them for long. She didn’t smile, and she didn’t say hello. Twilight didn’t do that a lot these days, Fluttershy noticed. Applejack smiled as she entered, and tipped her hat to Rarity, who was nearest.

“Sorry I was late, girls. Went by home to see the family, y’know,” Applejack said, her smile lingering. Not even Twilight’s moody stomping towards the couch on the far corner could dampen that smile. It was infectious, and Fluttershy felt one creep over her face.

“It’s quite alright, Applejack. I must confess that I did the same, myself. I dallied long enough to see Sweetie and then came straight here. I hope you were able to see Apple Bloom. How is your brother?”

Applejack smiled at her. “Aw, Apple Bloom’s doin’ fine. Thankya for askin’. And Mac is just alright.”

“You should’ve passed along my regards, Applejack!” Rarity said, leaning in with a smile on her face. “And my, I simply must ask about your... techniques. Or what you’ve been doing with yourself, you know. You’re simply glowing.”

She was. Fluttershy understood what Rarity meant.

Applejack's face burned a sudden crimson. "Ugh, I swear, Rares. Shove off," she hissed, lowering her eyes. "Indecent," she muttered.

“Oh, but where’s your sense of fun?” Rarity giggled. “I’m sorry, Applejack, I thought you might laugh. I suppose that was a bit mean of me. Forgive me?”

“Yeah, fine. O’ course.”

“Excellent.” She lowered her voice, leaning in even farther. As she spoke, Applejack’s eyes wandered over to Twilight and stayed there. Fluttershy looked at Twilight as well. She didn’t move, staring at the stars, her expression still dour.

Fluttershy strained to hear the whispered conversation. The words flew quickly between Rarity and Applejack, as Applejack’s hat came down like a bridge between the two.

“Has she said anything, Applejack?”

“Nah. Nothin’. Ain’t heard a peep outta her. She was just amblin’ ‘round when I got here. Waitin’ fer me, I guess?”

“Possible. I’m worried she’s planning something rash.”

Rarity looked over at Twilight, pawing at the floor with a hoof.

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do ‘bout it, I suppose,” Applejack whispered when she turned back.

Rainbow hovered over them, and both ponies looked up sharply at her. The pegasus looked down questioningly, and Fluttershy watched Rarity and Applejack break away from one another, coughing. Rarity gestured towards the center of the room, and Applejack walked forward, removing her hat.

With no more conversation to tune in on, Fluttershy set her attention back to observing.

Outside, there was a flurry of movement. She heard a deep, masculine voice call out a greeting, and then the shuffling of arms. Princess Luna appeared in the doorway.

It was widely enough known that Luna was tired, but seeing her now... The princess had pronounced bags beneath her eyes, so much so that it seemed her head was drooping under their weight. Her mystical mane, flowing and dotted with stars, hung limp and frazzled, a dull and flat blue. Her shoulders slumped, and her normally graceful hoofsteps dragged across the carpet.

She attempted a smile as she entered, casting her graceful presence through the room, but it didn't hold. Fluttershy could plainly see how it faltered, and when it came at last to Twilight, it fell and died. Luna's attention rested on the unicorn, as if she could already plainly see the future there.

Greetings, our little ponies," she spoke, her crisp alto voice fracturing as it strained to fill the room. "We sincerely apologize for our rather dilatory behaviour of late. Shall we proceed?"

Without a word, the six friends followed her through a second set of doors into the inner chambers of Luna’s apartments. They passed through a long hallway of black inlaid with gold, and took a right into a simpler room. This was Luna’s study, constructed from ancient cut stone and furnished with classical styles. It was served by simple candles, which lit at a glimmer of the Princess’ horn. The bookshelves lining the walls were of mahogany, and the small desk and long table were of blocky, sturdy design. For a royal study, it was comparatively modest.

Sighing, Luna took her place at the desk. The others sat in chairs around the long table, Twilight at the end most opposite of Luna. Fluttershy chose last, and she sat beside Twilight.

Luna opened up their council. “We would hear from the four of you that ranged afield, but We would like to start with an account of what happened in your absence. House Blueblood has banished the Lunar Guard from the proceedings in the Assembly of Houses Major.”

The news was met with silence. Such a thing was unprecedented, some could argue near treasonous, but only Rarity and Twilight truly understood that immediately. Fluttershy pieced together what such things really meant by her observation of them, and saw how their eyes went wide.

Rarity dared speak up first. “That’s... that’s rather grave, Your Highness. Are they perhaps trying to hide something?”

Luna snorted derisively, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hoof. "Hardly something so cunning. Insofar as it's anything, they're just making perfectly clear what they think of Our ruling authority. Self-entitled foalishness. We shall simply wait it out."

“I hear that a lot these days.”

Time ground to a halt, and Fluttershy’s heart hammered in her chest as she slowly turned towards Twilight.

Twilight sat, her hooves idly crossed on the table, staring down the length with the same stone-faced expression she’d worn since her return.

“Twilight Sparkle. We are... not entirely sure We heard thee correctly. Wouldst thou please repeat thyself?”

“Certainly. I said ‘I hear that a lot these days’.”

Luna rose from her seat, standing on all four legs, raising her head high as she stared back at Twilight. A hint of irritation was plainly visible in her narrowed eyes.

The tension between them pressed down on the room, and Fluttershy could hardly bear it. She bowed her head beneath it, her mane falling over her face, hiding one of her eyes while she shut both of them tight.

But she could still hear. “I would like to make my full report, Princess.”

There was a moment of silence—of hesitation—before she heard Luna reply. “Proceed,” the princess said, delicately.

“Ponyville was a death trap. Exactly like Captain Ice’s expedition to Mareford three weeks ago. We were ambushed; not only that, but they were better prepared, and more heavily armed than I’ve ever seen them. They’re getting stronger. If there had been any more of them, the town could have been a fortress.”

It was quiet for a moment, and Fluttershy dared to peek, catching the Princess blinking a few times as she took the words in. “That is a grave piece of news, Twilight Sparkle. We sense that you have more than just this to say, however. We would hear your thoughts.”

Twilight barked a harsh laugh, all the more mocking as it bounced through the room off the bare wood and stone. "Oh, I have plenty to say, alright. The sun doesn't shine but six hours a day at best, and yet the guard sits idle inside Canterlot instead of going out and protecting towns and ponies. And that's just the top of the list of things going wrong, which is getting a whole lot longer than the list going right."

The growing tension filling the room snapped, and a chill fell in place as everyone stared at Twilight.

Almost everyone. Fluttershy shivered and shied away, hiding as much as she could behind her rosy mane. Twilight might question sometimes, but this...this isn’t like her at all!

“You can hardly fault Us for the sun," Luna began slowly, cautiously. There was patience in her voice—no, lenience. "We have done what best we can. It is entirely different from Our moon, Twilight. You know this better than most, from your own research into potential unicorn assistance."

Twilight paused, seeming to relent, if only a little. "Yes. I know you can't help the sun not behaving. But the Royal Guard still sits and does nothing! We've nearly lost Equestria, Luna! The whole country—all of it. Nopony is safe on the roads, towns are open to attack, left defenseless—abandoned. I worry that sometime soon, when we leave these walls all we're going to find out there are the dead and those that made them. We aren't doing anything. Marauders roam the land unchecked. They have shootsticks and rough blades now, Luna. How long until they get their hooves on something better? How long until they find real weapons, like repeaters and spellblades?

“We would think those hard to come by,” the Princess said. Her brow furrowed. “Furthermore—”

"And what if they aren't?" Twilight spoke quickly now, the weight of her fears pushing the words out. "Rioting in Stalliongrad just last week left over a hundred ponies dead. Everyday, average ponies—civilians—running around with weapons in the streets—”

"We know what you would say. We could not send soldiers in number to bring order Stalliongrad for fear of causing an incident with the Griffons of the north, as you well understand." Luna sighed; the confrontation was wearing on her patience. "We ensured that aid was sent—"

“It wasn’t enough,” Twilight spat icily, her glare still matching the eyes of the princess. “You sent a token force of guards north to escort half the supplies they asked for. It was Fillydelphia all over again; they still haven’t recovered from the Market Fire. And that reminds me, Princess. Those repeaters and spellblades being hard to come by? Just how long has it been Bell Armory was under proper guard? Has anypony even bothered checking it in—”

“ENOUGH!”

Twilight fell silent, her jaw clenched, eyes lingering on the cracks in the rosewood around the princess’ descended hoof.

Luna paused a moment, drawing a deep breath, pushing aside her risen temper. "Twilight Sparkle, thou wilt cease thy condemnations presently," she eventually said, her voice straining beyond an angry hiss. "We understand thou art hounded with guilt and frustrations, for We are as well. But such is not just cause to stand before Us and cast such indictments." The princess breathed a rattling sigh, seating herself again and raising a hoof to gently massage her temple. "We would think thee friend to Us," she said quietly, "and so are easily inclined to clemency, but do not test us, Twilight Sparkle. We do not have the patience we once did."

She's fallen into full formal Old Equestrian now. Fluttershy squeezed her eyes shut and hid her face away, her breathing and heart quickened. Please be over now. Oh, please, be over.

"'Twas no mere trap or ambush that prompted thee to such words as these, Twilight Sparkle," she heard Princess Luna say, her voice strained, tone laden with exhaustion. "Pray, tell: what is it that drove thee to this end?"

“What drove me to this, Princess? Do you want to see? Would you like me to show you?”

Fluttershy heard the soft chimes of magic, and was seized by a shiver as a deep coldness fell on the room. An itching, static charge raced over her coat as the spell built, until eventually she could bear no more—

Suddenly it was gone. Hesitantly, Fluttershy opened her eyes, but the fleeting moment of calm was crushed by mortal terror.

Twilight had brought out the dead of Ponyville, and Dodge Junction's last citizens stared their empty, lifeless eyes out at them all.

Fluttershy beheld the faces of the lost, hanging deathly still in the air, captured in a single moment forever. They stared down at her from some awful abyss, their eyes open wide. Their coats were graying, falling apart, just beginning to show signs of rotting. Her eyes were held by a single face, one she almost felt like she recognized, but couldn’t place. It was a stallion with short hair. His mouth hung open, perhaps in a scream, or perhaps just caught in mid-sentence, as some monster indifferently ended his life.

Tears washed down her face like a flood. Time swept past her unnoticed, words spoken around her unheard. The faces took up her whole attention.

It was too much.

“For the love of Celestia, no more!” Fluttershy cried, her voice risen to a wailing scream.

The images were gone in an instant. Fluttershy hyperventilated, staring ahead, her eyes darting from place to place. They slid over Applejack, who sat gaping, and settled on Twilight, who looked at her with unguarded shock.

Fluttershy felt like she was going to be sick. She was suddenly faint, and her tears burned against the cold, trembling skin of her cheeks. She needed to get out, away from here, anywhere but where those faces, those eyes could see her. It wasn't real! It was just an illusion! her mind protested, unheard.

She clumsily pushed herself from the table and stumbled from her chair, legs threatening to collapse beneath her. Adrenaline drove her to the door, shaking hooves fumbling to open it until a maroon aura enveloped the handle and it swung wide, spilling her out into the hallway.

Fluttershy tried her hardest not to be sick. It would be so much trouble for the serving ponies to have to clean up after her. Just... just be still, and don't think. Don't think and it goes away. Twilight just showed... a picture. That's all. It wasn't real. She sank down onto the hallway floor, struggling through deep, even breaths. But, oh, Celestia. Twilight wouldn't lie. Oh no, this can't be, it just can't be real!

A little calmer now, she tentatively opened her ears to the room she'd just fled—but from within, she heard nothing. At least, nothing loud enough to pierce her own frantic, heavy breathing. There was a creaking of wood, then the echo of hoofsteps, and then a shadow was cast beside her as somepony came from the room and laid a gentle hoof on her shoulder. Fluttershy dared peek upward, and her eyes found Rarity and a sympathetic smile. She laid her head down again, still shivering slightly, and closed her eyes, leaning into her friend's comforting warmth. Rarity sighed, running gentle, soothing hooves through her tousled mane.

“That’s what I found, Princess. T-that’s what I f-found in Ponyville. Because you won’t act! Because no one will act!” Twilight had recovered—well, recovered enough, because even from outside the room Fluttershy could hear the tears in her voice.

“We... Twilight Sparkle, we do not under—”

“We sit up here and do nothing! We lost contact with Manehattan months ago! They flat out refused to even speak to royal messengers! Vanhoover is dark. Las Pegasus is dark. Fillydelphia was set on fire, and now won’t answer us either. Do you know what happened to the ponies of Dodge Junction? They’re ashes! I had to burn their bodies in Ponyville! And that was the bestwe could do!”

Fluttershy heard Twilight pound the table with her hoof, and flinched. The faces of the dead were back, clouding her mind’s eye. No, no, no! She opened her eyes and stared down at the floor.

“Twi—”

"I'm not done, AJ. Luna, if we sit here in Canterlot and do nothing and ponies die because of it, what does that mean? What does it mean, Princess?" Twilight wasn't yelling anymore; her words were hard as iron. Her voice needed no raising now.

“We have done what We could!” the princess contested, but Fluttershy could hear how her voice shook.

She'd never expected something like this. Not ever, not anything like this at all. Please, no more. Please be over. Please be friends again.

“Princess, can you really say that? Can any of us say that? Raiders roam the valley freely, arguably control it. The roads aren’t safe. The railroad was cut. Griffon bands have been spotted on both coasts, kingless and lost, harassing and waylaying townsponies for food or worse. It’s been a year and a half, and we’ve done little but sit here, waiting. Just waiting, to... to starve, or be murdered in our bed by House Rowan-Oak!”

"Twilight Sparkle, We beseech thee," Luna pleaded. "By virtue of our crown–nay, by our friendship, please, cease thine assault. We have done n–"

"Nothing! And that's exactly the problem! We haven't restored the sun, we haven't secured the country, and it's clear Celestia isn't coming back any time soon. Ponies are dying out there while we just sit here and talk about it. Something... something has to change, Luna," Twilight implored, her voice breaking as her iron-clad indictments began to weigh heavy. "Luna... please, we can't just stay here like this. I saw them—I saw them all, dead in that cellar, and I just... what if it happens again? What if next time it's Hollow Shades, or Appleloosa, or—"

“Don’t say another word,” Applejack growled. “Just don’t you dare, Twilight Sparkle.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Yer just done, and that’s the end of it.”

Fluttershy heard the rustling of heavy cloth, and a quiet but sharp knock as what had to have been Applejack's trusty hat was thrown down on the table. Her lungs and throat still burned a little, dried coarse by her earlier panicked gasping, and when she rubbed at her eyes her hooves came away wet. But with Rarity's soothing embrace, which the pegasus was very glad for, she was able to cautiously peek her head back into the room, flinching only a little when she saw Applejack glaring at Twilight with eyes that could melt steel.

"Consarnit Twilight, it ain't right to go around using the dead to make an argument like that. Just calling them up like that at all... ain't natural, but we can talk 'bout that later. Ya gone done something darn well and wrong, girl, just to say your piece. Near about scared Fluttershy into an early grave, darn near scared me half to death..." She sighed, shaking her head, turning her eyes to Luna. "Princess, if'n you don't mind?"

“Of... of course. That is—if thou art done, Twilight Sparkle?” Luna said, back in her chair. It was so timid that Fluttershy struggled to hear it over her own breaths.

“Something has to change. That’s all I have to say,” Twilight said wearily. Her surprise attack was completed, the battlefield quieted. Now it just remained to pick up what pieces remained.

“Thankya. Look, I’m sorry Twi. An’ I’m sorry, Princess, but Twi is right.”

They all stared at her, all but one. Applejack took a deep breath.

"Twi's right," she repeated, more resolved this time. "Though she said it in a way I don't rightly agree with. But Princess, it's the cold truth of it. Food's startin' to run low—dangerous low, like. Nopony's brought in much harvest in a while. Haulin' food in is a chore on mountain roads to start with, but darn near impossible with ‘em so dangerous. Nopony’s willin' to do it. Winter's comin', an' I don't rightly know how well we're gonna hold out. Now don't take me wrong, Canterlot ain't gonna starve, but some of us... might not make it." She swallowed, shaking her head again. "No sense splittin' hairs. Some of us won't make it."

Fluttershy lay still against the wall, listening, still feeling shaky. Applejack was right, and she knew it. She closed her eyes, and prayed that no more tears would come. There’s nothing I can do about it, either. I’ve seen it too, Applejack.

“We had... been...” Luna could summon no real answer.

Applejack continued, her voice firm, but not unkind. “I know. There’s been a lot to think ‘bout. But the truth of the matter, if you’ll pardon me, is that if we don’t somethin’ quick, ponies in Canterlot are gonna starve. An’ I don’t even know ‘bout the rest of Equestria. I remember hearing that riotin’ ponies in Las Pegasus broke into the food supply and the buildings caught fire.”

Rainbow interrupted. “And they could have done that in other places too, or stolen food for themselves! Those raiders kind of only ran because of who we were. I mean, c’mon, me? Applejack, best apple bucker in Equestria? The frickin’ Princess’ protege? Not everypony’s got that to fight these guys... er, and Rares, I guess.”

Pinkie swallowed and tapped the table with a hoof. Her voice didn’t bounce, but it wasn’t broken. As she spoke, Rarity smoothed Fluttershy’s hair, fussing over her.

“I think Twilight is right too. After all, look at how grumpy all these ponies are. Sometimes a little change’ll go a long way. I mean, maybe it’s time to think outside the chimney!” She gave a little grin, extending a hoof. No one laughed, but Fluttershy appreciated her for trying.

“Everypony is sad,” Pinkie said, and as she spoke her usual boundless cheer seemed to fade. “Everypony looks down when they walk. Even if they get enough food to live, they won’t know how to! Nopony laughs, or smiles, or sings anymore! And that’s not fun at all. They’re forgetting.”

“Pinkie...” Twilight began, but Pinkie wasn’t done.

“I’m serious, you guys. I know I joke a lot, and maybe I’m... me! But, it’s really bad when ponies are sad like this. I try and try, but I can’t do it all by myself. You can’t throw a party for a whole city with just one pony! It’s about... oh, what word is it?”

“Uh... morale?” Twilight offered. Pinkie turned and pointed at her with a smile.

“Yeah! Yeah, that one! Morale is important and stuff.”

Fluttershy rose. She still felt ill at ease, but she also wanted to be with her friends. I can’t hide forever... I mean, I probably could, but...

She stepped back inside. Nopony acknowledged her at first, focused on the matter at hoof.

Luna whined, and Fluttershy was shocked to see just how run down she really looked as the princess laid her head on the table between her forelegs. Was she... Has she even been hiding how tired she really is?

"What wouldst thou demand of Us, Twilight Sparkle? Thou hast laid Us low, torn away Our illusory successes, but in turn have yet to offer solutions. We have indeed been wanting in Our rule, but not for lack of attempt. We did send royal scouts and missives to Manehattan, and Vanhoover. The former were turned away; the latter lay in distant fields, feed for blossoms after so long as has been." Luna shuddered, her breath catching, but she held her poise. "We trust thee unfailingly, for thou art Our noble sister's chosen aspirant... and, We would pray still, Our friend." The princess lifted her head, and matched her eyes to her challenger. "And so I ask you, Twilight. Will you not help me?"

Twilight stared back at her, her eyes wide. Her mouth opened and worked, but no sound issued forth. Fluttershy watched, fascinated. She didn’t think it would really work, did she?As Twilight stalled, Fluttershy’s mind raced. She wants to go after Princess Celestia, but she can’t help with everything. She inched a bit further into the doorway, ears flat. I can’t just run away. I have to be here. I have to help. It’s what a friend does. Oh... oh, dear. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she had to do it. She took a deep breath.

“E-excuse me, Princess, but I think I have an idea.”

Every eye on the room turned to her. Fluttershy’s breath caught in her throat. She stared back at them, her eyes darting from face to face. “I-I well, I mean, if you don’t mind, I—”

“Sweetest Fluttershy,” Luna said, gently interrupting her sputtering. “Do not be afraid. Please, speak your mind.”

How best to respond? If it was being faced with everything that held Twilight's tongue, kept her hesitant... I can help. It’s the least I can do, Twilight.

“I hear things,” Fluttershy began, staring down at the table. She traced the lines in the wood with her eyes as she continued. “About the Crystal Empire. And food. A lot of ponies think that the Empire is doing well. Some of the refugees say that they’re sure of it. We should see for ourselves.”

“And borrow some?” Twilight interjected, the gears behind those eyes beginning to turn.

“Oh, um, yes, if they don’t mind. And maybe some soldiers so we can make the roads safe and talk to the rest of Equestria again. So... some of us, at least, should go north.”

Everypony stared at her, and Fluttershy once again tried to become invisible.

“The rest can go west. That’s... that could work, ” Twilight said softly. “Yes, I hadn’t thought about the Empire, but I’m sure Cadence and Shining would help. All we need was a hoof up, and then we could win back some of the towns, and from there...”

Luna cleared her throat. All eyes were on her. She had straightened up, and some of the old strength was back in her. Fluttershy was grateful.

“We begin to see. Three shall go one way, and three the other: one direction leading to hope for the present, the other opening doors to the future." Luna paused, glancing at the ponies arrayed around the table. "Fluttershy, We—I. I would ask you to go north." The quiet mare timidly nodded, and the princess turned her eyes to the end of the table. "And Twilight... I would ask you to forge your way west, and find my sister."

“Of course,” Twilight blurted out. She flushed, but continued. “I’ll go, and if she’s out there, I’ll find her. I’ll bring my teacher back.”

“An’ I’ll go with ya,” Applejack said, taking her back from the table and placing it firmly on her head. “Somepony’s gotta keep an’ eye on ya.”

“Ooh! I wanna go, I wanna go! I’ve never been there before!” Pinkie cried out, waving her hoof about like an excited schoolfilly. Applejack managed a chuckle. The three ponies who had volunteered exchanged smiles, and Fluttershy could feel some of the tension pass.

Rarity cleared her throat. “And that leaves Rainbow and I to accompany Fluttershy north, then.”

Luna spread her hooves out, as if to concede. “So it does. Will you take up these quests? Will you bear our hopes, Fluttershy? And will you seek out my sister, Twilight Sparkle? Find her, and bring her home?"

Fluttershy mustered her strongest smile. "I'll do my very best. I promise."

Twilight took a moment, though, before raising her eyes and nodding. "If she's out there, I'll bring her back. Or die trying."

Fluttershy’s ears flicked as she blinked in confusion. If?

"I would prefer it not come to that, Twilight," Luna said, a smile tugging at her words. "Let it be done, then. All of you have my blessing on these quests. My hopes, and those off Equestria, go with you."

Author's Note

Thank you hugely to Sunchaser who made this not suck.

Thanks also to AntiquatedAnomaly, who joined my ship of awesome peeps! Er Wolfpack. Thing.

Yay!

Hope y'all enjoy it!

IV. Let Us Go Singing, and the Road Will Be Less Tedious

IV. Let Us Go Singing, and The Road Will Be Less Tedious

Applejack shifted her weight from one hoof to the other, ready to be off.

It wasn’t that she was eager, exactly. Eager wasn’t the word for it. She wasn’t happy to be away from her family at all. Simply looking in Apple Bloom’s eyes was difficult, seeing her trying to be a big pony and not cry. It made her want to turn around and tell Twilight that she quit. That she couldn’t do it and they would simply have to find some other pony willing to walk to world’s end and back, because she wasn’t going.

She took a deep breath and gave her little sister the best smile she could muster.

Big Mac stood with Apple Bloom. He put a foreleg around his younger sister and regarded Applejack with an unhappy look.

Princess Luna was speaking to the crowd that had assembled at the gate to see them off. Her magically amplified voice echoed out over the upturned faces, seeming to fill the empty space. Applejack didn’t pretend to know much about such things, but it seemed like an alright bit of speechmaking to her. She knew that it comforted her, and she wasn’t even the audience.

But suddenly, the princess was done. She turned to the bearers of the Elements and smiled thinly. Worried, yes, but genuine. Applejack wondered briefly if she had gotten the chance to talk with Twilight before all of this. Luna’s eyes flicked over to the midnight blue unicorn who stood off to the side. “Page Turner?”

Page Turner? I guess that’s the stallion Soarin’ was talkin’ about.

The Princess’s aide nodded, and his horn glowed. Applejack saw now that he had a small box in his keeping, which he delivered to his monarch before shuffling back to his place. Princess Luna set the box on the ground and looked up.

She cleared her throat, and Applejack noticed that the enchantment that empowered her voice was gone. In its place, her normal, soft tones had returned. She looked each of the Elements in the eyes as if trying to see inside. It made Applejack a little nervous, to be honest, but when it was her turn, she stood up straight and met the inquisitive gaze.

Ain’t got nothin’ to hide, she thought and smiled. The Princess raised both eyebrows, but her smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew. Princess Luna passed on.

When she’d done the same for all of them, she spoke.

“We are sorry to see you go, necessary or not. You have all been a boon to us in these trying times, and We thank you. Are you ready to depart?”

Pinkie responded first. Her voice was bright, energetic. It was almost like old times in that way, Applejack reflected, like this was at the start of one of their old adventures.

“Alllll ready!” She cried, and Applejack glanced over in time to see her grin. Before she could wander how genuine it was, Twilight had answered.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Princess. I think we all are.” She looked quickly from side to side. “Right, girls?”

Applejack joined the subdued chorus of affirmations. The Princess accepted them all with a nod and opened up the box with a hoof. From it, she lifted the Elements themselves. Applejack saw her own, and the familiarity of it made her smile despite herself.

The Princess of the night turned to address the crowd once more. “The Element bearers have once again given me their assent! As they go in hopes of aiding us all, let us send with them a blessing.”

She spun around and presented each other bearers with their Elements in turn.

“Dearest Fluttershy, We present you with your Element, in hopes that you might show kindness to our little ponies. Pinkamena, to you We present the Element of Laughter, that you might stir the spark of harmony in the hearts of Eqeustria’s embattled ponies with laughter.”

As each Element was clasped onto its owner’s neck, the crystal on it glowed brightly. Applejack was reminded of earlier days, and she could almost feel a tingle of anticipation as her body recalled the sensation of the Elements in use.

“To you, Rarity, I return the Element of Generosity.” Luna paused before continuing in a voice not amplified as she tied the necklace about Rarity’s neck. “It is strange. I am reminded of other Belles, in the past. The lost house... Once before, I decorated a fine young stallion with treasure. The House of Belle laid me low at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, Rarity. I am glad that you honor their memory well.”

Rarity looked down. “Thank you, your Highness. You do me more honor than I am worth.”

The princess shook her head but moved on. “Twilight Sparkle, We ask that you continue to bear the Element of Magic in service to both your comrades and to your nation. Celestia—” she paused briefly, as if considering. “—was right to choose you as her apprentice. Your country has faith in you.” Princess Luna lost the amplification quickly. She spoke very quietly, and Applejack only barely heard her add, “As do I, Twilight Sparkle.”

“I know,” Twilight answered, her face stoic.

Luna moved on, finally reaching Applejack. “To you, most dependable Applejack, we give the Element of Honesty. May you never shirk from being a light for our ponies to see the truth, and may you remind your companions of the same.”

“I’ll try,” she replied firmly.

“We would expect nothing less,” the princess replied in a normal voice and then continued on to the last pony in line.

“Rainbow Dash, to you at last we give one of our dearest possessions: Loyalty.” Her voice was amplified, and Applejack swallowed. The air was thick with some sort of tension she couldn’t begin to grasp, but she could see a strange light in those eyes as Luna continued. “Loyalty! It is important, and in these harrowing days it is a light in the starless dark. Will you continue to be true to your friends, Rainbow?”

“Uh...” Rainbow began to speak, only to stop. Her words carried, amplified. Applejack’s eyes darted from the princess and Dash. “Yeah. Of course!” Rainbow finished, managing a rather pathetic imitation of her characteristic daredevil grin.

Princess Luna nodded. It would have to do, apparently, for she came back to Twilight.

She removed the enchantment. “Twilight, We have some things to give you, if you will take them.”

“I assume it’s what we talked about last night?”

The princess nodded. “Of course, as well as something extra. First—” she looked down and with her magic acquired a small amulet. “—the tracker that I spoke to you about. It will show you the way, always pointing into the West. May it be a guide for you.”

“I’m sure it will be, Princess. Thank you,” Twilight said, smiling. She donned the amulet.

“And lastly, this.” She brought a small globe of what appeared to be solid gold and floated it before Twilight’s face. Twilight caught it in her own magic and examined it.

“It’s a scrying globe,” Luna said, almost shyly. “Old magic, from when We were younger. We recalled it after you left m—Us last night. It can call back to our own in Canterlot, and that way We can keep track of you.”

Twilight stared into the ball, her mouth open slightly as she turned it over and over in midair.

“I’m honored... this is really ancient magic, like something I would see in a display case in the Starswirl the Bearded wing. It’s wonderful. Thank you so much!” she said, looking up and offering her a wide grin in return.

The princess smiled and looked away.

Applejack’s eyes wandered over the crowd as the princess began to make her final address. She met a few eyes and tried to smile as best she could. Be brave. It seemed appropriate. It wasn’t a lie, for she was itching to be off. Her hooves wanted the open road.

Movement to her left drew her sight. There, the Wonderbolts stood as an honor guard for the princess. All but one of them looked straight ahead with a neutral expression.

The one dissenter’s head was turned only slightly, but it was enough. His eyes were covered by his goggles. Everything but his mouth and wild mane were covered in barding and flightsuit, but she knew that smile anywhere.

She smiled back at Soarin’, and on a whim, she mouthed a quick, “I love you.”

He paused, and Applejack stifled a chuckle. Fool probably tried to wink at me like he always does. Forgot I couldn’t see, she thought as the stallion opted for a big grin and a message of his own. “Come back.”

Applejack sighed. I’ll try.

It was a beautiful day. Twilight wasn’t sure how fitting it was that it be so, but she certainly didn’t mind. The sun’s punishing heat was countered by a gentle breeze which caught her mane. Errant strands blocked her view of the rising Unicorn Range, and she brushed them aside with a hoof.

Rarity trotted alongside her on the road that led into the far-off forest. Twilight kept her eyes on the verdance, tracing in her mind the forest road that wrapped around the mountain roots. She could almost hear Luna’s soft voice and see that dark blue hoof, illuminated by the candlelight, showing the way her party would take.

“Twilight?”

She blinked, brought out of the memory roughly. She turned her head towards Rarity.

“Sorry, I was thinking. What?”

Rarity gave a small smile. “You seemed rather focused, dear. I must admit, I am curious. I’m sure it was not our mutual pink friend’s earlier antics.”

“Was Pinkie up to something?” Twilight asked, frowning. She had missed it. At least... I mean, I’ll have tons of time to laugh with Pinkie on the road. If she’ll want to. Which of course she will, she’s Pinkie, right?

Rarity chuckled. “That she was. We had a good laugh earlier, and I noticed you were silent. I let Fluttershy go ahead and fly while I dropped back.”

“Oh... I”m sorry. How long have you been there?”

“Only a minute or so. Not long.”

Twilight sighed.

It was the last time she would see three of these ponies in... who knew how long? She certainly had no idea. They would be doing their work, and she her own. North and west. How long was it until the crossroads? How much time had she wasted daydreaming? She wanted to groan in frustration, but Rarity would prod, and Twilight would look a fool, so she did nothing but continue on.

Twilight found she had nothing to say. She wanted to speak. Her voice sounded rusty in her own ears.

And here I am, being silent. Twilight bit her lip. But what could she say? What did one talk about with somepony who was about to go away? Just... small talk? She had not the mind for it. It just didn’t make sense. She could talk about going away, perhaps, and splitting up. How she would feel. Ask how Rarity felt about it. It’s not like there are books on this kind of thing.

Had she always been like this? Twilight didn’t think so. This is why she sent me to Ponyville, I guess. She was worried because I was like this, Twilight thought. And, now that I’m back here, I can see it to. Useless.

“It’s a shame, really,” Rarity said, breaking into Twilight’s thoughts again.

“Hm?”

“This. Well, not this exactly. At the moment, the walk is wonderful, and it is beyond simply refreshing to see Pinkie and Rainbow Dash playing tricks on each other. Or talking with Fluttershy without a shadow over everything. It’s a shame we’ve only gotten out from under it here, when we are set to part.”

Twilight sighed. “Yes, it is. I am sorry, if it helps. For all of the being… unfriendly? I’m not sure how to say it, really. Which is strange for me, as you can imagine.”

“We cannot all do all things,” Rarity said, and Twilight caught her lips curling up in the beginnings of a smile. “Even the paragon of knowledge herself trips up on words eventually, it seems.”

“Something like that.” Rainbow laughed loudly, and it drew her eyes. “Rarity, I’m curious. What was all that, about the House of Belle? I’ve heard that name, but…”

“It’s nothing,” Rarity replied quickly. She looked away, her elegant mane becoming a veil between them.

This, of course, earned her a sidelong glance. Twilight had caught the scent of new knowledge, and it was desperate for her attentive scholar’s pursuit. She dug a little deeper.

“Lu—Princess Luna, I mean—seemed to think it was quite important.”

Rarity pouted. “Honestly, Twilight, you should know that a lady has her secrets. The things she would rather not drag out into the light.” She paused, smiling. “Perhaps better than anypony, you’d know that, my dear.” Rarity drew closer, so that they were almost touching. Her voice lowered.

“Come again?” Twilight asked, finding her own voice softer.

“Since when do you call our most regal princess by her first name, devoid of title?”

“Since a while ago,” Twilight said quickly, drawing away. We’re penpals. Friends. It’s not that hard to believe that I forget she’s a princess sometimes. Or something, she thought. “It’s not a big deal. I just slipped up.”

“Isn’t it?” She was grinning now, triumphant like the huntress posing with her prey. “And, darling, I’ll be frank. That wasn’t the first time I’ve heard you say ‘Luna’ plain and simple, not even an honorific to cover it’s forwardness.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Twilight said.

“True. Perhaps some reciprocity will grease the gears of conversation, hm? The machinery of our camaraderie. To answer your question...” she took a deep breath. Her smile withered slowly. The glee drained away. “My family was once great, Twilight. There have been many Belles, many generous unicorns. Is it arrogant to say such things of myself, that I am generous? It is as much my temperament and ancestry as anything else.”

Twilight shook her head. “I don’t think it’s arrogant. The description seems pretty accurate!”

Rarity’s lips tugged up briefly. “You are kind, dear. Yes, but we always were such. We gave freely. Money, friendship, even strength of hoof. It was Luna who unmade us. A Belle was the Imperial Marshal at that last battle, and under his command were his three sons. They all died, and the only male heir was a child. We lingered, but… we never recovered. Eventually, bankrupt, my great-grandfather’s great-grandfather was forced to sell our title back to the crown in Liquidation. Celestia was very kind to us. We received more for our holdings near Ponville then we deserved.”

“I always wondered how a unicorn with your mannerisms and interests ended up in a little farming town. I would’ve thought you were a Canterlot-born pony if you hadn’t said differently.” Twilight chuckled. “Remember how we met? You heard I was from Canterlot, and you were pretty pumped about it.”

Rarity’s eyes were back on her, and she joined Twilight in laughter. “Yes, I was a bit overdramatic in my joy, wasn’t I? You must think me silly.”

“Not at all! Well, okay, maybe a little. But you were trying to help me. I’m a little sorry I wasn’t more open with all of you, when I first came to Ponyville.”

“Ah, but all’s well and all that,” she replied, shaking her head. “To finish my explanation, Twilight, Luna has been consulting me on the Houses Major and how they’ve changed since she left. Your Rarity has been watching and studying like any Lady of yore.”

Applejack, in front of them, called. ”Twi, Rarity! Y’all comin’? You’re fallin’ behind.”

They were, she realized. She had lost track, absorbed in conversation. “Sorry! Coming!” She looked at Rarity and gestured with her head. They picked up the pace.

“Luna never told me that.” Twilight caught her own mistake and winced. It’s not weird.

“I wondered if you knew. You hadn’t asked me about it, and I found that rather curious. I beg your pardon! You seem bothered.”

Twilight grunted noncommittally. The two unicorns had caught up with the rest of the party. Pinkie was bouncing along the road, singing a song. Twilight caught scraps of it through her distraction—something about roads going on and on, something strange about it—but kept her eyes a moment longer on Rarity.

Rarity sighed. “You do, I promise you. I am sorry. I believe that she wished not to burden you with the unnecessary. Or perhaps she didn’t wish you to know how much she still had to learn.”

“Maybe. It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course.”

Applejack came alongside them, trotting at Twilight’s side. “How y’all doin’?”

Twilight shrugged best she could midstride, and Rarity answered. “Very well, thank you for asking. It’s a beautiful day.”

“Eeyup. Wish I could enjoy it more, y’know? Just me an’ some shady orchard lane. Good to be with y’all, though.” She coughed. “Think Pinkie’s about to burst.”

Twilight smiled in agreement. Pinkie was still singing, though not bouncing anymore. Pinkie led the way, with Fluttershy listening behind her. Rainbow meandered in the air above the party. Twilight guessed she was bored. Going too slow for the Dash, as always, she thought. Oh, that’s unfair. If I had wings, I’d probably be ready to go, same as she is.

Pinkie stopped, whirling about in the middle of the road. A huge grin covered her face, her eyes alight.

“I did it!”

The rest of the party—except for Rainbow, who had to circle back—stopped short and stared at her. Her grinning continued, undaunted, and finally Twilight simply had to ask. “What did you do, exactly?”

“I remembered the song!”

“Oh,” Twilight said lamely. Well, that made sense. “Um... yes, what song? I’m sorry. I’m lost. I didn’t know you were trying to remember one.”

“Well of course not, silly!” Pinkie replied. “It’s not like I toldja I was! I just was. I kept thinking about it and thinking about it, and I couldn’t remember, so I sang a bunch of other songs first, and they weren’t it but they were kinda close, and—”

“Pinkie, darling—”

“—and then I kind of remembered Granny Pie singing that one, but I couldn’t remember how it started which I needed too! Because if I know the beginning I can remember it all, because I always remember the words eventually, and—”

Applejack cut through the dense chattering with a firm voice. “Pinkie!” Pinkie blinked and looked at her, confused. Applejack chuckled and gave her a smile. “Now, why don’tcha let us hear it?”

Pinkie took a deep breath and began to sing. Twilight was startled into a bemused smile. It was not the kind of thing she expected.

Roads go ever ever on,

Over rock and under tree,

By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea;

Over snow by winter sown,

And through the merry flowers of June,

Over grass and over stone,

And under mountains in the moon.

Roads go ever ever on

Under cloud and under star,

Yet hooves that wandering have gone

Turn at last to home afar.

Eyes that fire and sword have seen

And horror in the halls of stone

Look at last on meadows green
And trees and hills they long have known.

Pinkie finished, and let the final note die slowly. They were silent. Twilight was shocked. She had never expected that kind of song from Pinkie. The party pony, for her part, was quite oblivious to their collective incredulity. She simply trotted over to sit before Twilight.

“Yup! That’s it. My Granny taught me that when I was just little filly Pinkie! She taught me lots of songs. Old earth pony songs!”

“Gosh...” Applejack doffed her hat with a slow-growing smile. “Well I’ll be. That tune... sounds familiar. Never heard them words put to it, ‘fore, though.”

Pinkie turned to her quickly, her curly mane bouncing. “Mhm! She told me it’s really, really old! And we used to hum it and sing it with different words back home on the farm.”

Applejack’s eyes may have been looking at Pinkie, but Twilight thought she was seeing something else entirely. The hat rested in Applejack’s hoof, pressed against her chest. A breeze tugged on her hair and Applejack’s long ponytail swung like a pendulum by her hooves.

“Makes me wish I could still do my pickin’. Had my guitar, y’know?”

“You play guitar, Applejack?” Twilight asked, surprised. She could see her friend now, sitting beneath the shade of an apple tree. “I never knew.”

“Ya wouldn’t have,” Applejack said heavily. “Nah, gave it up when I was filly. Well, not gave it up, exactly. I liked it an’ awful lot. It was pa’s.” She paused, turning her eyes on Twilight. “I couldn’t take it with me to Manehattan when I left, y’know? Right before I got my cutie mark.”

Twilight had never thought about it. She had just... never asked. I wonder what else I don’t know. What else I just never asked about.

Applejack continued. “After I got home, just never picked it up. I had gotten out of the habit. Wasn’t that good, I hadn’t been playin’ that long. Kinda hard playin’, for an earth pony, but ya can.” She sniffed, pantomiming as she spoke. “Ya... ya kinda tune it different, so you can slide your hoof up and make chords.”

She let her hooves fall and sat back. Before she could look away or dwell on it, Pinkie spoke again, hooves waving.

“If I taught you the words, you could totally sing with me because you know it, and maybe we could find a guitar in Vanhoover, and we could, like, be a folk group with a silly name and unite all the ponies with our awesome group vocals while on the run from the law!”

Applejack was startled into a laugh. “What in tarnation?”

“It would be awesome!” Pinkie insisted, her eyes alight.

They all laughed while Pinkie continued on about fake beards and crazy guitarponies. On a whim, she grabbed Applejack’s hat despite the farmer’s protestations and began to act out her fantastic idea, singing nonsense lyrics in a low, gravelly voice.

“Hey! Give that back!”

“I-I-I am a maaaare—”

“I think we all know that, darling,” Rarity interrupted, trying to hold back her laughter and mostly failing. Applejack chased Pinkie, her voice somewhere between a laugh and a growl.

“—of constant sorr-rroooowww—”

“Pinkie, consarnit, I need that! Don’tcha muss it up, or—”

Rainbow hovered over the chase. “Pinks! Hey, Pinks, lemme see it!”

Pinkie, grinning like a loon, tossed Applejack’s prized Stetson up to her like a frisby. Rainbow nabbed it out of midair as Applejack reached for it in vain. It was a bad move: Applejack overbalanced and fell. She couldn’t help it; she finally laid on the ground laughing.

“Jus’ gimme the hat back, Dash,” she managed, holding both hooves up.

The Stetson, safe and sound, descended down onto her outstretched hooves. Applejack, rolling her eyes but still smiling, sat back up and donned it again. She dusted herself off. “I’ll sing with ya just fine, Pinkie, but let’s see if next time ya can get your own hat, ya ken?”

Twilight didn’t want that moment to end. It had to, eventually, but not yet. As Rarity commented wryly, Twilight hoped it dragged on. She didn’t want to leave this behind. She wanted it to go on forever.

It just snuck up on her.

One moment, her friends were in high spirits. She was transported back in time to another summer day, stepping off the boat to visit the Zebrahara in the name of the Princesses. The smell of adventure in the air, the warmth of the sun on her back, the company of her dearest friends.

They were out in the open, the trees on either side cut back from the road. Of course, the fork in the road was visible from far-off, but Twilight had let it pass out of mind. She had been absorbed in Pinkie’s nonsensical singing and chatter. Applejack had been coaxed into singing a bit with Pinkie, and she had listened. Rarity’s gossipping had importuned upon her attentions. All in all, she had let the coming split fade from memory.

And here it was, sneaking up on her. The six of them stood at the crossroads around the sign in the intersection of roads.

None of them said a word. Six pairs of eyes just stared up at the signs declaring that Stalliongrad was along this road, and the way to Vanhoover was along that one. Once again, Twilight found herself going over the calculations—how long it would take to get to the crossing, how long the walk through the gap to the other side of the Unicorn Range would take. How long Rarity and the others would be walking until they made it to her brother.

Twilight didn’t want to break the silence. She didn’t want to be the one who spoke and set them both on separate paths. But, she thought, biting her bottom lip, if it’s not me then it’ll be Rarity. I’m supposed to be in charge here. It should be me. It’s what Celestia would want. Well, Luna would want. Who knew what Celestia wanted.

“Well... I guess this is it.” She blinked. Wow. Wow, that was lame. I guess this is it? C’mon Twilight, you can do better than this. Twilight coughed, and began again. “I...”

Nothing came out.

Her heart beat madly in her chest. She needed to stay something. Anything. It was like sinking in quicksand, and three of her best friends in the world were about to be gone, and she couldn’t manage to say anything.

“It’s not really goodbye,” Pinkie said suddenly.

Luna bless you, Pinkie. “No, it’s not. You’re right. We’ll be back here again,” Twilight said, managing a shaky smile. “We’re the Elements of Harmony; we’ve done stuff like this before. Saving the world, you know?”

“Quite right,” Rarity said quietly, her eyes still fixated on the sign. “Just ta-ta for now. Like...”

“Going out for a walk or somethin’,” Applejack finished when she didn’t. “Just like a long, long walk.”

Twilight looked away from the milepost to the faces of her friends. Rainbow, who scowled. Fluttershy, pawing at the dust with a hoof and looking down. She met Twilight’s eyes for a moment. Rarity, whose face was stoic. She missed them already.

“Dangerous business, I guess,” Applejack continued. “Steppin’ out your front door onto the road. I sure will miss y’all.”

Rainbow’s wings fluttered on her back, and her jaw clenched. She sighed and looked at Pinkie, who stood beside her.

“Pinks, you’re gonna be safe, right? Gonna come back in one piece with all of your legs without me there to keep ‘em off you?”

“Of course I am, silly Dashie!”

Rainbow looked to Applejack. “And you’re gonna take care of the egghead, right? Without me there to help?”

Applejack chuckled despite herself. “Sure, why not? Like her enough.”

It was Twilight’s turn. “And you’re not gonna get busy reading and fall into a hole or something, right? You promise? ‘Cause I’m not gonna be there to fish you out.”

Twilight laughed. “I’ll try my best, Rainbow.”

With that, the pegasus’s wings flared out, and she rose into a hover. Her furrowed brow was replaced by a smile, and Twilight didn’t know how real it was. But it seemed real.

“Then let’s go. Why not? Can’t just sit around here forever! We’ve got stuff to do, places to be! Plans and stuff. I’ve got some awesome flying to do, and you have... I don’t know, cool egghead and apple stuff?” She shrugged as best she could in midair. “Anyway, we’ll just be worse off if we stand here. So here, let me say it, and then let’s do what we do best.” Rainbow took a deep breath and then burst into a quick stream of speech. “I-love-you-guys-and-I’ll-miss-you. And stuff. Jeez.”

Before Twilight could say anything, Pinkie was on the move, jumping up on the low-hovering Rainbow Dash and ringing her arms around the pegasus’s neck. Rainbow cried out, hooves flailing, trying to right herself.

“Ah! Gettof!”

“Don’t get hit by arrows or crash or go too fast and break the sound barrier and melt or get lost or starve or get your wings swapped with Rarity’s horn—”

“Pinkie,” Rainbow yelled, trying to push her off, “I’m gonna crash! Let go! I love you too!”

Twilight hid her chuckling behind a hoof. Rainbow, overbalanced, found herself head down, hindlegs straight up, and her wings couldn’t handle the bizarre position. She fell into Pinkie and they ended up in a pile.

Pinkie was unfazed. “Pinkie promise. You have to!”

Rainbow growled, but it dissolved into laughter. “Fine, fine. I Pinkie-Promise.” Pinkie glared at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” she deadpanned.

Pinkie made an indescribably happy sound, hugged Rainbow, and then was gone. She made the rounds, doing much the same to them all. The icy pit in Twilight’s stomach was gone, washed away. She felt warm, happy. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad. Just a long trip, after all. Like going on a research trip and coming home after a month or two.

Pinkie hugged her tightly, and Twilight hugged back, a bit bewildered. “Pinkie, you’re going with me. You do know that, right?”

“Of course, silly! But I have to hug all of you!”

“I... Sure? Sure, I guess,” Twilight replied, deciding once more that Pinkie was impossible to understand.

Pinkie squeezed her harder, and suddenly she was whispering fiercely in Twilight’s ear. “Are you sure? They’re gonna be all right, right?”

Twilight didn’t let her surprise show on her face as she answered. “I think so. Don’t you? Rainbow’s got them.”

And then Pinkie had bounced off to Applejack, who was also bewildered. Twilight blinked, surprised. She shook her head and turned to say her own goodbyes.

After a few sniffly goodbyes, they parted ways, and Twilight felt that she was parted into thirds. One part went north, one part went west ahead of them, and one stayed with her. As they left the other three behind, Twilight felt the heavy scrying globe jostle around in her saddle bags and thought about home and Luna and all of her friends sitting in the drawing rooms together, in another time.

Author's Note

hey look it's a stuff

Yes, Pinkie quoted from Tolkien.
Yes, Pinkie sang the song from O Brother, Where Art Thou?
Yes, Pinks is a neat.

V. Had Mares Not Been Fated to be Blind

V. Had Not Mares Been Fated to be Blind

Rarity

Rarity was fascinated.

Rainbow hadn’t left the sky since they parted ways with Twilight’s party. She flew in lazy circles, hovering above them. She didn’t say much, but Rarity sensed she was bored. Or perhaps moody? Oh, who knows with Rainbow. That mare barely acts rationally as it is. Honestly.

But she was fascinated. She loved flying. Love to watch it happen, loved to think and dream about it, loved to read about it, everything. When they had visited Cloudsdale to cheer on Rainbow, Rarity had been imagining her friend flying. Her heart had leapt in her chest at a chance to witness the best in the world fly.

That ended well, she thought sourly. But still, it had been delightful for a time. To be up in the air, amongst the clouds, seeing what lay beyond! The open sky!

So she watched Rainbow’s lazy hovering. Her eyes followed the slow loops Dash wrote in the sky in her boredom. She thought about Rainbow taking off, her toned, powerful legs tensing as she broke free of the surly bonds of earth. It was as good a diversion as any, she supposed. Surly bonds... I must have stolen that. Oh bother.

Fluttershy had stayed grounded by her side, walking along the road with her. She’d been delightful company, to be sure, if perhaps a bit taciturn at times. But that was to be expected: the poor dear was no conversationalist. Oh, but I will have to simply teach them to hold decent, long conversations. Especially Rainbow. Rarity supposed she would have a long time in which to work her arts. Where to begin? She supposed that flying might be a good ingress point. As a angle of attack, it did present some problems. Mainly, Rarity herself couldn’t fly, though she had read quite a bit about the subject. Fiction, of course, but...

She stopped thinking about Rainbow when movement caught her eyes. She glanced over at Fluttershy.

Fluttershy, too, watched Rainbow’s winged meanderings. Her mouth twitched, and her ears lay flat. Curious, Rarity thought.

“A bit for your thoughts, Fluttershy,” Rarity said, and Fluttershy jumped.

“Oh! Oh dear, I’m sorry! I was just... distracted.”

“Oh? Oh, I understand,” Rarity said, smiling like a wolf. A bit of teasing never hurt. “I suppose Rainbow is a rather lovely mare...”

“Oh, not... not like that!” Fluttershy cried, a bit too loudly. Rainbow pulled out of a dive and hovered in the road before them, one eyebrow raised.

“Hm?” she hummed in question.

“N-nothing,” Fluttershy insisted, flushed. She had stopped in her tracks.

Rainbow shrugged and returned to her restless flying. Fluttershy, face still crimson, caught up with Rarity who waited for her. “No, not like that,” she repeated. “I... I mean, I’m not... you know...”

Rarity sighed, but she still smiled. “Maybe I’m wrong about teasing.” At Fluttershy’s confusion, she continued on quickly. “It’s nothing. Now, I know you don’t... oh, how would Applejack put it? ‘Your barn door doesn’t swing that way?’ That’s the kind of rusticism she would use. I was simply jesting.”

“Oh. Oh, okay.” Fluttershy replied softly. “I can see that. Sorry.”

Rarity walked closer to her and nudged her. “Come now, Fluttershy, darling. What is on your mind, if it’s not our mutual friend’s rather fine le—ahem, yes. Your thoughts?”

“Oh, well... I was just thinking...”

“Yes, yes I’d gathered that much.”

“I mean... about flying.”

Rarity smiled. A subject she could talk about! “Ah. What about flying? Rainbow’s flying? It’s quite impressive, if I do say so myself. Well, at the moment she’s more hovering while she waits for us, but earlier—”

“No,” Fluttershy cut in. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off like that. It’s not how she flies. I was just thinking about flying. Like, me flying.”

“Oh.” Rarity blinked. “Well, go on then, dear. What’s keeping you? You seem, oh what’s the word? Anxious? No, that’s not it...”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not,” Rarity said with an easy smile. “Go on. You must be bored to tears here on the ground.”

Fluttershy shook her head, extending her wings. “No, it’s not that. It’s just... I don’t fly as much as I used to. I never flew as much as Rainbow, but...”

“But you’re a pegasus, and pegasi fly.” Fluttershy nodded, so she continued. “Now! Off with you. Go on! I’ll watch.”

Timidly, Fluttershy nodded, and then she was off into the sky. Rainbow Dash saw her and grinned wide. Rarity watched the two of them fly ahead of her. She smiled and remembered having wings of her own.

Rainbow Dash

Rainbow felt like a coiled spring, a snake in the grass waiting for something tall and stupid to wander by so she could release. Flying had helped, but still she felt the urge to be going, to keep flying straight and not stop. How far had they gone since the crossroads? Ten miles? Five? She had no idea, no way of knowing. Stewing in her own impatience, Rainbow hadn’t given the mile markers a second glance.

She groaned. She just wanted to be there already. Or at least be farther along than... however far along this was. As the sun sank at last below the horizon, she waited for the inevitable complaints.

She had landed only twice since the parting. Her wings ached. Her hooves felt odd, like they lacked something substantial. She felt exhausted.

Rainbow doubled back to land. She didn’t want to, of course, but there was no way she could keep this up. For now, she’d condescend to some ground-pounding. Just for a moment.

As she touched down, Rainbow folded her wings. Rarity and Fluttershy, who had landed earlier, were a few steps back, and she waited for them.

“Rainbow, Fluttershy and I were talking earlier, and perhaps it is time to stop. For the night, that is.”

Rainbow had known it was coming, and still, she gritted her teeth. “We really should try to make as much progress as we can,” she said slowly.

“Yes,” Rarity rejoined, her words measured. “I do understand that, Rainbow Dash. It is, of course, vital to make as much progress right out of the starting gate as possible, as it were. However, we lose daylight quickly. The world has moved on past the days when we could walk more than six hours with light.”

“Eh.” She let out a breath and tried looking anywhere but at Rarity but failed. The unicorn’s face was cast in shadow by her hair, and Rainbow could see only one azure eye in the dying light. “But we haven’t gone that far. We should make as good time as we can, light or no light. Can’t you just like light things up? Like with your magic?”

“Well, yes, but... Honestly, Rainbow. Night is falling.”

“So?” Dash challenged, bristling. “It’s not nighttime yet. We still have some daylight.”

“Is it worth the danger of being in the open and not being able to see?”

“And what,” Rainbow shouted, stomping a hoof, “are you afraid of? What the hell could possibly be out here?” Her wings unfurled and flared out of their own accord. The coiled snake leapt out into the light. “If Twilight were here, she would understand.”

Rarity drew back, and looked down for a second. Rainbow’s chest heaved in the silence.

. “Twilight isn’t here,” she said, and her voice was resolute. “The world is a dangerous place, Rainbow, and you’re just going to have to accept that everyone can’t... keep up with you.”

“Well, it isn’t my fault that you’re too cautious!”

Rarity met her gaze, and it was like a bucket of ice water to the face. “No, Rainbow, you’re right. It’s not your fault that I’m looking out for Fluttershy and am knowledgeable of my own limitations, as well as the relative safety of the area. It is however, your fault that you can’t control yourself and your own emotions.”

And... there I go. Damn. Rainbow sighed, watching how Fluttershy hid behind her own long mane. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just... antsy, I guess.” The words hurt, but she needed to say them. “Can we just go a little farther? Please?”

Rarity cleared her throat. “Nothing to forgive. It has already passed out of my mind. How much longer, Rainbow? I understand your impatience. I want to be of use as well, but we must be reasonable. Cautious.”

Rainbow folded her wings and fidgeted. “Ugh. I don’t know. I’m not good with time and stuff. Just... a little longer. I don’t wanna stop.”

“I know you don’t, but I am not sure how much farther I can go, and Fluttershy will not be able to walk in the dark.” Behind her Fluttershy nodded, not meeting Rainbow’s eyes. A flash of irritation flashed across her mind, but she beat it down. It was true: Fluttershy was not a huge fan of the dark. Rainbow knew that. She simply hadn’t thought about it. Or how long Rarity had been on her hooves.

“Fine, I guess,” she said lamely, feeling uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite all right,” Rarity said, but there was something in how she speared Rainbow with her gaze that made Dash’s insides squirm. She wasn’t looking forward to making camp at all.

Fluttershy

Fluttershy was excellent at two things: being quiet, and listening. They went hoof in hoof, really. It reminded her of that snake that ate its own tail, the strange design she had seen one of the refugees from the North wearing on a necklace.

She lay quietly beside the fire, wrapped up in her blankets. The flames popped and crackled, and had it not been for the scene she could tell was being set, it would comfort her to hear it. The night air was cold. The cold sank into her hindlegs, far from the fire’s comfort, and she tried to warm them. Even through the warm blankets, a bit of the dark got through.

It almost distracted her from her companions. Almost.

Rainbow stared into the fire from her sleeping bag. She scowled. Fluttershy watched how the light played over her face, casting this part in shadow and then that part as it danced. It was strange, she noted, how Rainbow’s namesake mane looked with so little illumination. The fire brought out the yellow and orange, and it all seemed lighter where the fire could reach.

Rarity was staring at Rainbow, her expression blank. Aside from her right ear, which twitched, Rarity was as still as a stone. Fluttershy marked it, considering.

They, of course, probably thought she was asleep. Neither of them glanced at her, and with how still she was, it was to be expected that she fade from their immediate concerns. Fluttershy didn’t mind. Sometimes, like now, it was useful to vanish into the shadows for a little while to let others talk.

She hadn’t meant there to be any sort of confrontation when she’d told Rarity she thought they should make camp for the night. Fluttershy had assumed that Rarity’s smooth and careful reasoning would win her impetuous friend over. In hindsight, her hope had perhaps been a bit unfounded.

She didn’t sigh, though she would have liked to. I just want them to be all right, she thought. I shouldn’t have said anything at all.

She hadn’t seen Rarity’s face, when Dash had finally capitulated, but the look in Rainbow’s eyes had spoken volumes. She was waiting for a storm.

Rarity cleared her throat, and Fluttershy wilted, glad that the fire was between them and her. Rarity spoke softly. “Dash?”

Rainbow’s jaw clenched, and she looked over at Rarity.

The unicorn continued. “Rainbow, I don’t like to bring up past grievances, but I am concerned.”

Rainbow snorted.

“I am. I am your friend, and you know that. I’m worried that you’re going to bottle up whatever it is that’s wrong, and it’s going to end poorly.”

Rainbow’s ears drooped. “Look, I’m fine, okay? Just... impatient.”

“I know you probably don’t want to discuss it, Rainbow—”

“I don’t,” Rainbow cut in.

“—but I think that we should. We can’t afford to be angry at each other. It is a luxury none of us can indulge in.”

Rainbow groaned quietly. “Look, I’m sorry. I was just really tired, and that made me pissed off, and I didn’t mean it. Okay? I’m just antsy. You know, wanna get as far as we can. I didn’t mean to yell. Can we drop it now?”

“For the moment. Though what I’ve told you is still accurate. If you would like to move on, I would like your help for a moment with something,” Rarity offered, her voice a little softer.

Rainbow shrugged, and wiggled out of her sleeping back. She wandered over to Rarity. Fluttershy, on the other side of the fire, let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“What is it?” Rainbow whispered.

“Just a map, dear. I made sure to study it on the way here.” Fluttershy saw Rainbow’s eyebrows rise. Rarity smiled. “Yes, you’d be surprised, dear. Unfortunately, I am a bit shaky on where exactly along this road we are. You see, I didn’t notice...”

They continued. Fluttershy closed her eyes and smiled. Perhaps now I can sleep.

In the background, Rarity’s gentle voice contrasted with the rough edges of Rainbow’s. They traded places, going back and forth, almost rhythmically. She tried to listen, but the words slipped away from her. It was hard to follow without the map in front of her own eyes. Something about the road. Stalliongrad was farther than Rainbow would like. Rarity was more worried about food. It went on and on.

Rarity yawned and offered to set the first watch. Rainbow waved her off with a hoof, shaking her head. “I’ve got it, Rares,” she said. “Go on and sleep. I’ll wake you up soon for your shift. Fluttershy’ll take the last one.”

“Are you sure? I could take the first watch.”

“Nah, go sleep. I’ve got it. You seem sleepy. If it helps, think of it as me making up for earlier. Or something.”

Rarity nodded wearily and smiled. “Thank you, Dash. That’s kind. Good night.”

With that, she settled down, and Rainbow took the first watch, her gaze sweeping out over the quiet treeline beside the road. Fluttershy watched her as long as she could bear to stay awake and then succumbed to weighty sleep. Her eyes closed on Rainbow staring into the dark.

Rainbow Dash

Rainbow Dash saw them first.

While she was no Twilight, and Rarity would no doubt not expect such from her, Dash could think quickly. She could assess a situation better than sometimes her friends believed she could. This situation, in particular, was not hard to see play out. It could only go one way. Okay, two ways, but she doubted one of them would happen.

The stallion on the side of the road waving at her just sat there, waving. He was either the stupidest civilian ever, or he was a bad sort of pony who wanted her to think he was the stupidest civilian ever. Either way, she didn’t like it at all. It was exactly what they didn’t need right now.

She glanced back at her companions. The path twisted ahead of them, and so she had some time before they came around the bend and saw the trap. It was a trap, she was sure of it.

Couldn’t have designed it any better, either. Damn.

Fluttershy would want to help. Rarity would do the generous thing, and back her up. I, of course, am not going to let them be stupid without a fight.

But it wouldn’t work. Maybe a long time ago, she would have stopped. Maybe, in another world, she wouldn’t have thought it was a trap, but there was no way it could be anything else. Not this far out, not in the middle of nowhere.

She had a few minutes to figure out what to do. Four, maybe, if Rarity didn’t notice something was wrong or Fluttershy decided to stretch her wings.

Rainbow would have to run damage control. She could handle it, it was kind of like working weather in the old days, keeping storms reined in. But there was no pretending it wasn’t going to be both futile and frustrating.

She swooped down and landed, making a choice.

Rainbow landed in front of Rarity, who stopped up short in surprise. Dust rose from the worn road through the hills, and Rarity breathed it in. Rainbow made a noise of impatience as the unicorn coughed, waving it away.

“Honestly, Rainbow! Can you not learn a bit of decency?” she managed, a hoof over her mouth. “You simply must learn to be more considerate o—”

“Something’s up the road, Rarity.”

Rarity’s words died. She tensed, and her look was sharp. Rainbow almost smiled—it was an encouraging look. She was glad that at least sometimes Rarity could manage some steel in her spine. But it didn’t change the fact that all of her caution was about to go down the tubes. Rainbow sighed.

“He’s waving. Looks like a civilian.”

Rarity was quiet.

Rainbow continued. “Think there might be somepony in the trees, but it’s hard to see. It’s around the bend, where the road goes downhill.”

Rarity put a hoof to her forehead and massaged around the base of her horn. Rainbow grimaced, and waited for the inevitable to happen. She could play the whole conversation out herself. It was awful, but she had no faith in either of them to make the smart decision.

And yes, normally, she would love to help. Be a hero. But she wasn’t a hero. She was just Rainbow Dash, and Rainbow Dash knew a trap when she saw one, and stepping into it was stupid.

“Rainbow?”

“What?” she answered a bit too gruffly, wings folding against her side.

“You think it’s a trap.”

It wasn’t a question. Rainbow wasn’t sure what it was, honestly. It was almost an accusation. The sound of it angered her. It was like a fly she couldn’t swat away, lingering and bothering her. It was there every time she tried to hurry her companions up. Here it was again.

So she seethed. “No, Rarity. I don’t think it’s a trap at all. I know it’s a trap. It’s so obvious. So, so, so obvious. Can’t you see it?”

“Well, no, not yet. If you’ll just calm down—“ Rarity began, raising a hoof to calm the pegasus.

But Rainbow’s wings flared out as she continued. “You know what I mean. Look, Rarity, we can’t stop. We can talk to him, but we can’t let him bog us down. We have to get going. Hell, Rares, we can’t afford to get caught in a trap.”

Rarity huffed. Both of them glanced back at Fluttershy, who sat quietly behind Rarity a few feet away. Her eyes bored holes in them, or so it felt to Rainbow, who quickly looked back and lowered her voice.

“Look, can’t you just trust me?”

“Rainbow,” Rarity hissed, also quieter. She bit her lip, thinking. “Rainbow, you have shown yourself to be far, far too concerned with simply blazing a path ahead regardless of your companions and common sense. Do you know what this looks like? It looks like impatience, and frankly, I will not stand for it.”

Rainbow groaned. “Rares, c’mon.”

“No. No, that is quite enough Rainbow. We are going to offer them help. The very least we can do is not assume that they are anything more than simple stranded ponies. Celestia knows there are plenty of those.”

Rainbow huffed. She thought about pointing out that Rarity hadn’t been made a leader of any sort officially, but thought better of it. Nothing would be settled. Rarity would whine and in the end it would be two against one. Like always.

“If Twilight was here—“

“She is not. And Twilight has been different as of late. It’s over, Rainbow Dash.”

So Rainbow fell silent, fuming. Fluttershy approached slowly, her eyes flashing between them. Those eyes settled on Rainbow, and Dash turned away. She didn’t want to meet that gaze. It would ask far too much and there would be no answering. Instead, she focused on what this meant.

They came around the bend, and into the line of sight of the “stranded pony” that Rarity was so concerned about. He was tall, and had probably been muscular and fit, once. As they came closer, Rainbow studied him. She tensed, noting his worn appearance, his dirty coat, his scars. Some of them looked old, but some looked newer. These bothered her. She imagined that perhaps some of them looked like they had been made by bladed weapons, but of course, she had no idea.

Rarity was composing herself before they even got close, and it made Rainbow feel hot and twitchy. Furious. She wanted to fly, just throw herself into the sky in frustration. Better yet, she wanted to push a certain prissy unicorn out of the way, tell that raggedy stallion to get the hell out of dodge, and save a life or two. But of course, she wouldn’t. Rarity was going to be generous.

Can’t even be cautious. It’s a bad day when Rainbow Dash is the cautious smart one! Dammit.

Rarity called out a greeting to the pony that Rainbow wasn’t even listening to as she stared him down. He caught her gaze and flinched.

“No fear! Why, we mean you absolutely no harm, my friend,” Rarity was saying beside her, and bumped into Dash.

“R-right,” the stallion said, trotting forward. They met, he standing a few feet away. Rainbow snorted, not buying his skittishness for a moment. His body said he wanted to flee, but his eyes were not looking for exits. They were studying. Sizing up.

This guy is bad news, she thought, and resisted the urge to cut this off. It would just give him an opening if she distracted Rarity.

“W-who are you?” the stallion asked, his voice rough.

“I am Rarity, good gentlecolt. These are my friends, Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy. Say hello, girls.”

Rainbow Dash did not say hello.

“Right. Well,” Rarity continued. “As I was saying—we mean you no harm. If you’ll tell us where you are headed and who you are, let us examine your wounds, I’m sure we could help you before we head out on our way. For a few moments. Are you lost?”

He blinked, as if suddenly confused. Noticed me noticing him, Rainbow thought sharply.

“Oh, yes. I got all turned around…”

Fluttershy spoke. Rainbow turned, surprised, and saw Rarity doing the same.

“Oh, you poor dear… you can tell your family to come out now!”

The stallion sputtered, and now some of that flightiness reached his eyes. He stepped back, mouth falling open as if about to explain, but nothing came out. Seeming to think better of it, the stallion simply turned back towards the trees that he had come from and waved.

A thin unicorn mare with dirty hair and wide eyes shuffled out of the brush with a foal in tow. Rainbow suppressed a groan with great difficulty. Of course he would plan that far ahead!

She looked at over at Fluttershy, pausing in her vigil for a moment. Damn, she’s gotten scary good at that whole… seeing ponies thing. Wish we’d had her back in Ponyville.

Rainbow quickly turned her attention back to the new interlopers. The mare’s eyes darted from the stallion—her husband, Rainbow assumed—to Rainbow herself, then to Rarity, and then to Fluttershy, then back. Those eyes were trying to say something to her husband, Dash thought, but she was clueless as to what it was. She had no context, no frame of reference. This was the tail end of some conversation that eluded her and she felt an itch in her hooves. She needed information, needed intel.

“Alright, spill the story,” she blurted, ignoring the harsh glare Rarity shot her.

“Of course,” murmured the stallion, turning towards her. His eyes were still wide, caught in that moment of fight or flight. It set her one edge, made her want to jump away or pounce on him. She shivered. “My wife and I took our son with us, heading for Canterlot after a raiding band of griffons destroyed our village.”

“Which?” Rainbow asked, voice flat.

“Tussock,” he answered smoothly, cocking his head as if puzzled. Yet it did not reach his eyes. They remained wide and alert as ever. It was unnatural, she thought, and didn’t understand why it would seem so.

“Never heard of it.”

“Rainbow,” Rarity cut in, voice like ice. “Leave the poor dear alone. He has obviously been through quite the ordeal. Your caution is admirable, but you need to learn restraint.”

“Rarity, I’m just asking some obvious questions.”

“Rainbow…” Fluttershy cut in softly.

For her part, Dash growled and her wings flared out. “Look, fine. You wanna die out here? Twilight would ask these questions. Twilight would find out.” She stomped her hoof down with each word. “Twilight would ask! Twilight would—“

“Twilight is not here.” The words were iron whips that beat against Rainbow’s back and her hoof paused in midair. She gaped as Rarity continued. “Furthermore, Twilight is not exactly the best example of leadership right now, if you’ll consider her record as of late.”

Rainbow looked over at the new comers, who huddled together. The wife pulled at her husband, and all three stared at Rainbow. The stallion’s strange wide-eyed panic was mirrored in his companions.

Her blood boiled and her heart hammered in her throat. Part of her wanted to stop and take this elsewhere. Part of Rainbow wanted to let it drop and pick the thread of the argument up later. But the greater part of her seethed and roiled and rebelled.

“Don’t you dare talk about her behind her back, bitch!” Rainbow bellowed, advancing. “Don’t you even dare! If you’re not gonna listen to me, that’s fine. You never do! But there is no way in hell you’re going to talk about my friend right in front of me.”

“She’s my friend too, Rainbow!” Rarity stood her ground. “I meant no offense, and my words were too harsh. Can we put this aside, please?”

“Then listen!”

“I have listened and I do not agree! Not everything in this awful, awful world is trying to kill you, Rainbow.”

“You’re wrong!”

Fluttershy was saying something, but Rainbow Dash flat out ignored it. Whatever her shy friend was saying, it could wait. Rarity was going to get all three of them killed because she wouldn’t trust Rainbow, and Dash was not going to let that go. She wasn’t going to back down from it.

“Look at him!” she pointed with a hoof.

Both ponies turned their gazes away from each other and towards the refugees. The foal was cowering behind his mother, who had separated from her husband. She looked ready to bolt.

The husband stared at Rarity with his wide-eyed stare.

“Look, please,” Rainbow begged, her voice cracking. “Just look, think for a second. I know you’re trying to help and be generous and do the right thing… I get that, Rarity, I get it, just listen to me for a second. Please! That’s all I’m asking.”

Rarity sighed and returned her attention to Rainbow. “Rainbow, I’m sorry I spoke harshly. I just cannot see how these poor refugees can be of any meaningful threat to us.”

It was a blur that overtook Rarity, movement beyond the ken of Rainbow’s eyes. Rarity tried to scream, and Rainbow thought she tried to reach out a hoof, but it was no use. She went down, and as Rainbow lunged, Rarity and her assailant rolled on the ground. Fluttershy was right behind her, Rainbow could hear her high-pitched voice as it mixed with that of the refugee mother and her sobbing foal and Rarity’s cries for help. The stallion straddled Rarity, foaming at the mouth, eyes wide with rage. He reared up, and Rainbow hit him in the side with her head and shoulder, bellowing as the momentum sent them both to the ground.

She pushed away, her backhooves using the stallion’s side as a springboard. She felt them connect and inflict pain as she achieved separation and tried to stand. He was on her, mouth foaming even still, eyes black as midnight and wide. She screamed and and tried to kick him away, but he opened his mouth and she swore that something changed, that somehow he was changing right in front of her eyes. Her legs were pinned between his, but she kicked and flailed and one broke free. He stumbled, roaring like thunder in her ear, and Rainbow hit him with all of her strength.

The monstrous refugee reeled, whining in an unholy fashion. Black liquid seeped from his mouth, splattering on the dirt road and boiling away before her eyes. Rainbow Dash wanted to vomit. She wanted to flee.

Rarity’s purple aura appeared around the Stallion’s head as Rainbow retreated before him. He let out a horrible, furious cry—but it was cut short; Rarity made sure of it as she slammed his head straight into the ground with blinding speed. Dash heard the snap of sinew and bone and then she did throw up, as his body flailed and began to dissolve into thick, black ooze. The mare and her son fled, screaming mindlessly back into the forest as Fluttershy pulled Rainbow away and tried to calm her.

As she was dragged back, and as Fluttershy tended to her, Rainbow stared at Rarity. The unicorn looked down at the half-dissolved monstrosity, her face unreadable. Her legs shook, and her horn glowed with arcane power. Her eyes caught Rainbow’s, and Dash was silent.

If Twilight had been there, it wouldn’t have happened.

Author's Note

The title is from Virgil.

VI. These Arts Are Perilous

VI. These Arts Are Perilous

Luna

Luna was silent as she surveyed her sleeping city of Canterlot. As the daylight had left, the subdued business of the city had wound down like an old toy. Her eyes traced the streets that were at once foreign and familiar. How they had changed in her absence! Yet, some things had not. The High City was the same. She supposed it would never change. The Argent and Golden Gates in the interior of the city stood as they had since before she and her sister had ruled from Everfree.

The lower city hadn’t been walled in yet, she thought to herself. It was creating itself, back then. Sprouting up like a nascent forest.

It was not really the city that was on her mind. Her thoughts wandered, flitting from subject to subject: Twilight. House Rowan-Oak. Her sister.

“Um... Princess?”

Her guest. “Yes, Spike?” she replied, eyes not leaving the city below.

“I’m sorry... you sent me a runner? I mean, I didn’t wanna rush you. If you’re doing something, I guess I can just wait.”

Luna sighed. “No, We have ignored you long enough. We apologize.” She turned and walked back into her reception room. Spike leaned against the far wall, and as he saw her he stood smartly. She nodded at him. “We are glad you waited, Spike. ‘Twas good of you.”

“It’s what I’m here for, Princess,” he replied. He eased off of the wall and stood before her in the center of the spacious chamber. She regarded him.

Spike had grown up, she reflected. Perhaps not all the way, but he was making it there. He was taller than a pony, perhaps as tall as two stacked. She would have to measure to be absolutely sure. The spikes on his back and head had grown immensely. His green eyes seemed somehow more fully draconic.

“Indeed. Twilight was perhaps right when she recommended that We take you into my confidence, Spike. You have matured.”

He smiled. “Something like that, Your Highness.”

And still he did not ask, though she could see his tail twitching behind him. Luna smiled. No, not quite there, but he was learning. Patience is a virtue, young Spike. You begin to see. But he would have to wait a little longer even so.

“We are a bit puzzled what to do with you. Officially, if you understand.”

“I hadn’t thought ‘bout it.”

“We could arrange for you to take command of some auxiliaries currently under Captain Broad Hoof. Or perhaps Iron Shod? Do you have a preference?" She tilted her head and offered him a smile.

Spike seemed taken aback. His mouth fell open. “Uh... I mean, I’m not sure I would know what to do, Your Highness.”

“Which is why, for now, We have decided against it. It is simply too much to ask of you at this time. Though... ‘twould be nice to...” Luna paused and shook her head. “Excuse us, our thoughts stray. May We have anything brought up for you?”

Spike shook his head. “No thank you, Your Highness.”

“As you wish. If you will take no refreshment, it would seem our business is at hoof.”

He stiffened, and his wandering tail stilled. “Y-Yes?” he asked.

“Do you like walks?”

He simply blinked rapidly at her. Luna resisted a sudden urge to chuckle, and felt the pressure in her chest diminish a bit. Yes, she was glad Twilight had spoken to her about her familiar..

Spike finally managed to answer. “I... yeah? Sorry, yes. Yes I do, your Highness.”

“Excellent. Then We shall simply let the guards outside from our friends House Rowan-Oak go home, shan’t we?”

Spike paused, his face screwing up in sudden recognition. Good. He begins to learn. Luna walked by him, her eyes catching his. She gestured towards the door. Observe, she thought.

“Guards?”

The door opened, and two armored stallions rushed in. Luna noted the rather conspicuous four-pointed star insignia that adorned their barding. She reined in her distaste and kept her features neutral and composed.

She wondered briefly if Spike noticed, but then dismissed that line of thought. She couldn’t keep second-guessing what he did or didn’t see. She would simply have to begin teaching him to see. Assume that he didn’t. She would need his eyes.

And his claws.

“Guards,” she spoke, looking both of them in the eyes, one after the other, “we will be taking our leisure in the gardens. I trust that you will maintain your posts?”

It wasn’t strictly necessary to say this of course. Perhaps it was even a bit spiteful of her. Regardless, they answered in unison. “Yes, your Highness!”

“Excellent. Spike? Come,” she strode past the guards. Spike walked beside her, and she wished she could see his face. Those reptilian features were not so hard to read, not for one such as she. Luna had known many dragons.

They left the Rowan-Oak guards behind, and in the hall two batponies stood at attention. She smiled at them warmly, and gestured to Spike.

“Harcourt, Rolan! This is Spike, newly sworn into my service. Spike, these are two of the Nightshade Guard.”

Spike bowed awkwardly. Luna chuckled, delighted that he should try. The two Nightshades accepted it with their patented stoic grace, mouths in firm, expressionless lines as they bowed in return. Dark eyes, gray coats, black manes; they could have been carved from the very stone below them all in the mountain, Luna thought for not the first time. And were they not like stone, hard and unyielding?

She turned, and Spike trotted to her side. The Nightshades followed and she turned her attention to the guards in the hall. It was perhaps a futile endeavour, as the assignments shifted, but it filled the time to count their sources. Most were regular rank-and-file Royal Guard, drawn from levies and volunteers. Unassociated with any house, they answered to the Princesses primarily. The Houses Major could exert little direct influence upon them through legislation or order. In theory, a bastion of support and power. In practice, at least now that the world had moved on, they were wild cards. Divided into two halves, one for day and one for night, for each sister. A whole half of them were bereft of a proper master. They were a sock with no foot. A sheath without a sword. She felt for them; she understood it well. It also made Luna nervous.

“Do you know much about the Eastern Batponies, Spike? And our Nightshades?”

“No, your Highness. Almost nothing,” he replied. His voice echoed lightly in the hall. It sounded so adolescent in her ears, and she frowned.

There were a few House Guards, provided by ancient obligation to the monarch of Equestria by the disparate Houses Major. These were the ones she felt sure of. House Rowan-Oak: in the camp of the conspirators, but perhaps not all the way in. House Trotsany: leaning towards loyalty. Ah, House Epona, from the west: loyal, solidly so.

“Oh, good! We do love telling stories, Spike. Would you believe it, that We once were considered a patron of the arts? It is true, We quite enjoyed the company of artists and writers. Storytellers, all of them, full of such stories. Yes..." Luna trailed off, large eyes lost in fond memories for a moment before she snapped back to the present. Her smile was brittle when she spoke again, but it warmed as she continued, "But we were talking about my Nightshades."'

Luna marked the faces of the House Guards. She remembered this one... this one... the two from Trotsany were new. She added them to her growing list. It was slow going, but she thought perhaps worth it to know who might stab her in the back.

She shook her head. Have I become such a low thing that I would think in this vein?

Yet she did. She needed to. “You see, Spike,” she said, keeping her voice light, “there are batponies in the west, where Twilight is headed. We daresay she will encounter them in their homelands. When We traveled with our sister in the days of our youth, we made many friends in among them. In our ascendency, they asked that they might be our right hoof.”

Luna smiled, remembering strange, flat roofs on a lonely plain, the smell of spices she couldn’t name, and the sound of strange music. It seemed far too long ago.

“Huh. So they aren’t native to Equestria?”

She tsked. “Ah, but they are now, Spike. It has been a long time, ‘twixt then and now. We daresay they are just as native as you.” Luna thought about this, and then chuckled. “Perhaps more so. Dragons came late into this corner of creation, Spike.”

Luna took a right, and led her newest charge down a stairwell into the Great Hall.

She did not expect him to ask questions, and gave him a sidelong glance and a raised eyebrow when he did. She could not say it was disappointing.

“Do you know a lot about dragons, then, Princess?”

“We do indeed, Spike. We would gladly tell you more, if you would hear it.”

“I would,” he replied. She could almost hear his smile. Finally, a pony who will listen to my stories. Twilight picked you well.

Twilight. What could Twilight be doing, right this moment? Luna saw Twilight on the road in her mind’s eye. Pausing, perhaps, to check the map, Twilight would be shielding her eyes against the bright sun. She would be grimacing, her brow furrowed. Dedicated. Focused.

Luna was glad for her ability to daydream and navigate simultaneously. She had brought Spike at last to the great doors that led out to the gardens. She smiled and stopped at the top of them, surveying the forest of torches below. A few small figures moved below. Our guards.

Loyal, perhaps. She would not judge them without seeing them. Regardless, Luna wished for privacy.

“Nightshades, would you kindly clear the way? We wish not to be disturbed by well-intentioned soldiery.”

There was a rustling as leathery wings unfurled. The laconic stallions took to the air and split up. Luna wandered down towards the meandering walkways, whistling an ancient tune. The night was, of course, wonderful. She had brought forth her splendid argent moon with care, greeting it with a weary smile. After the burden of the day, the gentle light of the moon and the familiarity of the nocturnal air was comforting. How did Celestia bear it? Did she struggle at first, too? For a few years? I never asked her, when I had the opportunity.

“Princess?”

She continued on, listening to the strains of her own song and the clack of Spike’s adolescent claws on the little paved paths. How she had enjoyed resuming her walks at dusk with her sister, before Celestia’s sabbatical. “Yes, Spike?”

“I’m... I’m kinda confused. I mean, I thought you’d have something for me to do. Or something.”

“And what makes you think that I don’t?”

She could almost hear Spike’s mouth opening in surprise, and she smiled thinly. By now, she was sure her Nightshades had done their appointed tasks. Luna was impatient to begin, but even she had learned caution.

The Princess summoned her magic and the air shimmered.

“Spike, what have I done just now? Do you know?”

“I... why aren’t you...?”

“We are in private, are we not? I can drop the mask here,” Luna said, and stopped. She whirled on Spike, who stepped back. His strange draconic pupils were slits in the moonlight, and she could read the surprise in them. “Answer me, Spike. Come.”

“You cast a sound barrier,” he answered at last, setting his face into a stoic mask.

Contemplation? Trying for a brave face? Perhaps I forgot more of dragons in my long exile than I thought, Luna considered.

“Good. Yes, and now we are alone in a very true sense.” Luna sat, and tilted her head. “I wish I had time to gain a rapport with you in a better environment. As you can imagine, I am rather hard pressed.”

“I can imagine. It kinda sucks around here.”

Luna was shocked into laughter by his sudden lapse into vulgarity. The corners of his mouth lifted back to reveal glimmering teeth in the torchlight—discomfort! I remember that for sure, say true—and Luna held a hoof up to her mouth. She shook with quiet mirth. “Oh, forgive me. Yes, you’re quite right, Spike. It does indeed ‘suck’ these days.”

Spike smiled, reassured. “But it’s getting better, right? I mean, Twilight and them are all out there doing stuff.”

“Perhaps, Spike. Perhaps! I daresay that our Twilight will do her best. But we shall not be idle!” She looked away for a moment, her eyes catching movement of shadows out on the other paths. My Nightshades, waiting, I suppose.

“No,” she continued, turning back towards the watchful young drake. “No, if you are willing, we shall be quite occupied in a rather dangerous employment.”

“Dangerous?” Spike smirked, and Luna wondered how sincere it was.

“Of course. The world has moved along since the days when you were a child, Spike. Danger is everywhere underhoof! But I have certain things in mind. Dragons were never creatures of stealth, in the old days. I wonder if that holds true.”

“Uh... I mean,” Spike scratched his head with a single claw. “I guess I can keep a secret, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, though I do not doubt your fidelity! But the time is not quite right for outright action. The time is fragile. I am not exactly beloved, Spike

He grimaced. “Don’t say that, your Highness. The ponies like you.”

Luna sighed. “Perhaps. Would you like to continue walking?”

Spike shrugged and nodded.

The continued along the paved way, and Luna remembered walking these paths with Celestia, not long after her return. She recalled that first moonrise, when she had taken up her old burden once more. It had been a moment of sweetness, and she had felt right. Celestia had smiled with such warmth, and thanked her as she let the stars shine brilliantly in the dark. For her night.

Luna wondered what Celestia was doing. She looked to her right to find Spike there.

“I should apologize to you, Spike,” she said softly.

He looked over at her, cocking his head to the side. “What for?”

“I have done you wrong. Namely, I have called you a ‘familiar’ without knowledge of how language has changed while I slumbered in the dark.” Luna’s ears drooped. “In my time, you must understand, it was a rather common term. It was no insult. It was simply fact. My aide has informed me that it has some... ‘baggage’ associated with it, I think he said.”

Spike shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Honestly, I didn’t even know.”

“Be that as it may, I am sorry for it. You must be very close with Twilight.” She faltered, losing her train of thought. What had she wanted to talk about? It hadn’t been Twilight.

But Spike smiled. “Definitely. They found my egg without a mother, y’know? I mean, they didn’t know what happened to my mom. Twilight wasn’t supposed to be able to hatch me, that was the whole test. It was to see how she would try, how she would handle failure. But she did. I got to have a chance to grow up in Ponyville and be happy because of her.”

“Has she always been as she is now? So driven? She is like... a stone. At the top of the hill it will never move, but get it going, and...” she trailed off, her eyes wandering among the stars. “I don’t know how to describe Twilight Sparkle.”

“Kind of. Her whole world was books and stuff when I was really young. Princess Celestia raised me until Twilight moved into the Palace. But we were like... I guess like siblings? I mean, she has a brother, but he went off to guard training. When Shining left, Twilight had me, and I was her assistant. Her number one assistant.” He sighed. “That was a long time ago.”

They passed a statue of three ponies raising a flag with a star. Luna stopped and held out a foreleg to stop Spike. Then, she gestured to the marble scene, flanked by magic-lit torches, and began to speak.

“Did you know there was an Equestria before my sister and I came out of the west? There was, and it was a hardscrabble little kingdom. But they were proud, and they were brave. You know the story of Founding, I assume.”

“Well, yeah, I mean it’s just Hearth’s Warming, right?”

“Yes, more or less. It is not precisely the tale that is told every year, but it is close enough that you will understand.” Luna began to smile, and it was a small and soft sort of expression. As she told her story, her voice changed. She knew it did, and she knew that as she weaved the tiniest of threads of magic in the air that Spike would begin to see what she had once seen.

Luna knew that before him the statue seemed almost to evaporate and be replaced, not violently but surely, like a mirage in the desert. He would see the rough beginnings of Canterlot, then little more than a castle with a few hovels surrounding it. Rock hewn from the living mountain Canter—shaped by magic and quarried by Earth ponies—formed into sturdy towers that sported the ancient banner of Equestria. Luna knew he would see it as it had been, before Discord. When first her sister and she had wandered into the east, into the little land between the Twinned Oceans, they had stayed the night in the court of Queen Amethyst.

Luna began to tell Spike about how they had left and gone north, wandering without aim and with few cares. She told him about the oracle they had been given there, though she did not tell him where or by whom it was given, and how they returned years later to find Discord on the throne of the little kingdom who had befriended them.

“Do you know why this statue is important to me, Spike? Because it reminds me,” she said, and the smile that had lingered now blossomed in full. “The oracle given to us was also given to the ponies of Equestria, and though they spent years waiting for our advent, they never lost hope. So it was, Spike, that when we came into the plain below the mountain Canter that they saw our coming and foals came out to greet us, their mothers behind them, tears in their eyes. They were ready. We were so happy, in that moment, almost as if victory was not still months off. We were so very, very happy.”

Spike was quiet. Luna looked down at him, tearing her eyes away from the past. She wondered what was happening in that foreign, scaly mind of his.

At last, when he said nothing, she continued. “The statue reminds me that life moves on, Spike. The village was named Vale, and when finally our long battle with Discord was done, we returned to find it changed. Not many had died—and we thanked the Song for that—but they were scarred. They did not blame us, Spike, but I never forgot how the world moves on.”

“That’s sad,” he murmured at last.

“Yes,” she agreed, turning away. “But would you like to know the rest?”

“I’m not sure I do,” Spike said. Luna wondered if he was watching the statue still, or if his eyes were following her.

She stalled on the path, her eyes scanning the night. “On the fiftieth anniversary of Discord’s final defeat and deposement, Celestia and I returned to Vale, and the place of our first arrival in the kingdom. It had grown since then, and would you like to know what the character of the place was?”

She glanced over her shoulder. Spike was looking at the statue.

“Sure.”

“They were happy, Spike. The foals were grandparents, and they still came out to meet us. The ones that inspired that statue, who made that flag? I embraced them, and remembered their names. They were content. They had lived life to the lees despite the haunted eyes I had seen, and the world had moved even farther along.”

Luna was glad when Spike spoke directly. “So, things get better?”

“Perhaps. They certainly can, my friend. Even I know that the Night passes.” Luna sighed. “Come, I think we will go a little further into the gardens.”

And so they did.

Fable Rowan-Oak

Fable Rowan-Oak, heir of House Rowan-Oak and so-called Sword Prince of Canterlot, was unfathomably bored.

The halls were boring. The books were boring. The guards were... well, more boring than usual. They were more or less always boring, he had found, with their stoic gazes and refusal to play his games. Everything that Fable could find was utterly boring. He was quite tired of it.

He lay sprawled out on the opulent couch, dragging his hoof across the soft carpet. His gaze wandered over the walls of books, completely unfocused.

Groaning, he rolled over quickly. “Paradise, you have to let me do something.”

“You know that my orders are rather specific, young Master. They are also strict.”

“They’re also stupid.” He sat up, scowling. “Honestly, I’m eighteen years old. I’m grown, aren’t I? One would think that I would at least be able to leave the house.”

Fable leaned towards the door where his bodyguard stood, glaring over the lip of the couch.

“I can make no comment on that,” Paradise responded, one of his strange, tufted batpony ears flicking.

“I know when you’re laughing at me, Paradise. I won’t have it.”

“I am not laughing, young master.”

Fable growled. “Look... Oh nevermind. You’re an unsufferable sort, you know that?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly did my mother tell you? What was the actual wording of your order?”

The batpony coughed and deadpanned as if by by rote, “Fable is not allowed anywhere near Saddle Street.”

Fable sighed and rolled off the couch. He dusted himself off and straightened the barding. Taking a moment to glance down at the tree emblem on his chest, he considered his options. The night was boring—it was absolutely criminal, really, that in times like these that the night should be boring. High Canterlot was about as entertaining as a mausoleum. His mother had finally caught wise to his carousing. Unfortunate, too. I had only begun to taste of the seedier side of my dear Canterlot. It’s not like I wore the emblem of our house, slumming it. No harm in a few drinks and some mares in a tavern. Just a few games of cards, it’s all I wanted.

Annoyed, he wandered the large library. With an idle bit of magic, he turned an antique globe. The strange continents turned before his eyes, but he didn’t care to examine them. The thing about maps, he had decided so long ago, was that they were rather uninteresting unless they were of something you needed. Sure, his little brother loved them and could tell you all sorts of geographical... things, and he supposed those were useful, but the only kind of map Fable needed was the one he kept in his head, the one that told him where the bars were and where the best shows in town could be found.

The library of house Rowan-Oak was extensive. Books, from ceiling to floor, with a few ladders to reach volumes on the very top shelves. It was two stories, with a small balcony above the door with more shelves and a few nice couches. It was also home to several suits of ornate barding made for Tarrow Rowan during the Dragon Wars and capable of withstanding dragon fire in small dosages.His father had loved entertaining ponies on business there, to show off his family’s twinned nature.

Fable wandered over towards the large window that looked down at the gardens. There was a guard patrolling the small walls of the estate, and his young sister chatting with one of her little friends beside the fountain in the torchlight.

There were two strains of his illustrious family, and it was for a reason that sometimes they wore black and white instead of the green and gold. House Rowan, a unicorn family, had married into House Oak and brought with them a love of lore and power. The Oaks had brought to the table an iron spine and martial prowess. It had been an excellent match.

He was thinking about those suits of armor when something occurred to him. He stood up straight, tearing his eyes away from the fountain and the hedges.

Fable blinked, looking back towards the door. He couldn’t see it, of course, for the forest of full shelves between him and it, but it was the thought that counted. He grinned and navigated back through them, the pieces coming together at last.

Paradise was waiting for him. The batpony in foreign silk, his one good eye watching his master, was still. He made no movements, nor gave any outward sign, and yet Fable felt like he was waiting for something.

“Bondspony.”

“Yes, my young master?” He stiffened, coming to attention, and for a brief second Fable was amazed that he could stand even more stiffly than he had been. Paradise was full of surprises.

“Saddle Street is forbidden me by the Lady of my House, is this correct?”

“You say true.”

If anything, Fable’s grin widened. “Say, perhaps—and this is just hypothetical—I were to simply... give Saddle Street a rather wide berth. Would it not be technically alright for me to go out? All the way down to the lowest level of the city?”

“Yes.”

“Ha!” Fable crowed, turning in a little manic circle of glee. “Excellent! Let’s be off, Paradise! There are plenty of good dives off the best and well-trod path. Adventure!”

The bat pony sighed and his ears flicked. The young Rowan-Oak glanced over his shoulder, halting mid-dance, but could only see the eye hidden by an eyepatch. Fable turned back, sensing that he had missed something.

“It took you far too long, young master.”

He huffed. “In my defense, Para, my mother was far less specific with me.”

“Details. Details are important, young master. If you are going to be leading your House’s ponies-at-arms, you must learn to pay attention.”

Fable scowled. “I suppose.”

“But yes, if you must go I will accompany you,” the bondspony said gruffly, and pushed the door behind him open.

And like magic, the young Rowan-Oak’s good cheer returned. The smile that had faltered on his face once again blossomed. “Perfect! You really have to learn to have fun, Para! Off we go.” With a quick trot out of the library, Fable left his boredom behind. The batpony sighed and followed him out.

Spike

Spike wasn’t sure what he felt.

On one hand, Luna had treated him like an equal, or at least someone who could be an equal with time and he appreciated it. He felt like perhaps she understood what he was feeling, now that Twilight was gone. On the other, his skin was crawling. Well, it would be, if he had softer mammalian skin. Which he didn’t. Ponies didn’t realize how much idioms like that didn’t work for him, and it was sometimes a bit frustrating. Oh well.

It wasn’t the night. He had nightvision that was almost preternatural and so the night didn’t bother him in the slightest. It wasn’t the cold, for even the breeze that whistled through the hedges was countered by the dragonfire that burned in his belly. It wasn’t Luna, because even when her voice seemed grave he still felt that sense of conspiratorial inclusion. That the secrets were his secrets. It was not Luna that bothered him.

If he had to put a claw on it, it was what Luna talked about. The implications of it, and what he saw in his mind’s eye.

“And all of this... wheeling and dealing, it’s just... continuing?” he asked, scowling. “There’s nothing you can do?”

“I didn’t say it quite that way, Spike. I have not been able to do anything as of yet.”

“Twilight didn’t tell me as much as I thought she had, about the Houses,” Spike said aloud, and wondered why. He supposed she had been trying to shield him from it. It annoyed him. He understood, but...

“Do not think harshly of her,” Luna cut in. They paused before another statue, and Spike looked around and realized that he had never been here before.

Where are we? Center of the maze? We’ve been walking a while.

Luna continued. “It is a tangled web that the ponies of High Canterot have woven. I do not blame her for keeping some of it from you. To be honest, Twilight herself floundered like a foal learning to swim. She was trained in scholarship, not in politics. The sea of noble opinion has not been such since I was much, much younger.”

The little box clearing they found themselves in was small for a full-sized alicorn and a teenage dragon, but it was enough. Spike felt rather large, more so than usual, and it occured to him in this place how small ponies really were. A swish of his tail, and the hedge came down. How fragile the ponies were, the creatures that had seemed so large when he was a child. How fragile the things they made!

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

Luna regarded him. Their eyes met, and Spike felt the urge to look down. He ignored it, feeling like this was important, that he should look her in the eyes and listen.

“I am not entirely sure. There are several courses of action. Most of them involve you.”

“So it’s me that’ll be doing the... um, doing,” he said lamely, feeling like an idiot. Eloquent. Real silver tongue there, Spike.

Luna chuckled and graced him with a smile. “Yes. We will iron the details out in the coming days, but I would have you as my knight. As my scalpel, my blade. My flame to put to their designs and make of them kindling.”

Spike groaned. “And how exactly am I going to do that?”

And Luna’s smile became something else. Something that finally did make Spike feel a little cold.

“However you can.”

Author's Note

Thankya Junebud, thankya RazedRainbow.

VII. Between the Motion and the Act

APPLEJACK

Twilight was being far too cautious, and, frankly, Applejack was sick of it.

They had to make a decision about the village before them soon, and Twilight refused to choose. Their intrepid leader—Applejack winced at her choice of words—wouldn’t commit.

She watched the unicorn lean against the tree, biting her lip, looking for all the world like a filly afraid to own up to her mother. She would stare out from the treeline for long minutes, then turn back and think, and then return to staring, over and over in an endless cycle, and Applejack saw no end in sight.

The journey since the crossroads had been smooth, as much as such things could be in a world like the one they lived in now. They stayed off the roads, and Applejack’s woodcraft kept them pointed in more or less the right direction. Nights had been uneventful, blessedly. Things had gone better than she’d feared when she left her home behind.

And yet Twilight never relaxed. She rarely spoke unless she had to and kept her face towards the West. Applejack loved Twilight, and she loved Pinkie, but if the former didn’t start talking, the rambling of the latter was going to drive her mad.

“Twi.”

“What?” her friend hissed, not looking at her. She was staring at the huddled wooden buildings.

“Are you gonna move, or you just gonna sit here?”

That drew Twilight’s baleful eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m just being cautious.”

“Cautious is figurin’ out how to do stuff and bein’ safe. Being smart. This ain’t smart, Twi. Honestly, it’s kinda dumb.”

Twilight scowled. “What do you expect me to do, exactly? We can’t know for sure who is in there. You’re the one who wanted to check it out. I wanted to just ignore them.”

“True, I did. However, if you’ll recall, I also pointed out that it was gettin’ dark. Which is steadily happenin’, I might add. Would you rather them at our backs?” she asked, adjusting her hat as she half-rose from the tree.

Twilight looked away. Behind them, Pinkie sat in surprising quiet, waiting. Celestia only knows what’s goin’ on in that one’s head. She might help me out, here.

Before she could ask Pinkie for her opinion, Twilight started up again. “We can’t know for sure. Have you seen any ponies wandering around in there? Because I haven’t, Applejack, and I’m not sure what that means.”

“It could mean that it’s gettin’ late, and ponies these days don’t much like what happens when it’s dark,” Applejack said, setting her jaw.

Twilight, for her part, leaned in. “Or it could mean it’s another ambush. You want Ponyville to happen again?”

“No, you know I don’t. Don’t you talk about Ponyville, Twi.” Applejack glanced away briefly, scrutinizing the little village once more. It seemed harmless. Ponyville had seemed empty, of course, but not every village in the world was going to be a trap. It couldn’t be that way. It just wasn’t how the world worked, and she was certain of that.

So when she spoke again, Applejack’s voice was firm. “Twilight, I’ma tell you what I think. I think you learned a hard lesson, and now you’re jumpin’ at shadows. You did good to not go waltzin’ in there, but you’ve been sittin’ here so lo—”

“I’m bored.”

Applejack’s mouth hung open. Twilight blinked at her, and Applejack blinked back.

“Could you maybe… uh, elaborate, Pinkie?” Applejack said, still looking at Twilight.

“I’m bored.”

Simple. Clear. Blunt. If it wasn’t so completely out of place, the laconic nature of Pinkie’s interruption would have been something she approved of, but as things were, she had no real response.

“We’re arguing, the village up ahead we’re about to walk into might be full of crazy ponies who want to kill us, and you are bored,” Twilight deadpanned.

“Absolutely.”

Twilight facehoofed. “I have literally no words, Pinkie. None.”

“Well I do. Pinkie, ya can’t just—”

Pinkie rose, and her face lit up with a smile. Standing, Applejack was set to explain how Pinkie was going to be seen and why this was bad, when Pinkie gently pushed her aside. Anger rose up in her; she felt it hot in her face. But she didn’t make a noise, as it would give them away. Pinkie smiled at her, and she stopped. It was a strange sort of smile.

“You got somethin’ on your mind,” Applejack said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

“Twilight,” Pinkie said, her tone cheerful. “I was just sorta wondering how sure you are that they didn’t see you. Like, on the road and stuff.”

“I’m… mostly sure. I mean, Applejack, did you see anypony?”

“Nope,” Applejack replied, her eyes locked with Pinkie’s. “There were some, then. That’s what you’re tryin’ to say.” Another statement. Pinkie nodded.

“Mhm!”

And off she went, prancing into the open while her friends were frozen in place. It only lasted a second, but to Applejack, it seemed to stretch on forever, Pinkie floating along happily into the dim clearing.

“Pinkie! Aw hell, get back here!” she whispered, swiping with a hoof. But it was far too late. Pinkie was beyond her reach and out in the open. She’d forced their hoof, and Applejack knew it. She didn’t waste another breath trying to call the bouncing pony back. It wasn’t worth it.

Instead, she followed. Twilight was saying something behind her, but she was focused. Despite what she’d said to Twilight, she was nervous about what was in the houses up ahead.

“Pinkie, you say they saw us?”

“Oh, silly, Twilight is awful at sneaking! Well, I mean, not always. There was this one time when we went to Canterlot and—”

“Lands alive, Pinkie, can you gimme a straight answer for once?” Applejack groaned.

“Oh. Yes! There was a pony on the road an hour ago. I thought you saw her and just didn’t want to say anything until you and Twilight—”

“I’m right here,” Twilight whispered fiercely from behind her. Applejack’s ear flicked towards the noise for a moment, but she couldn’t spare Twilight a look. She was busy scanning the houses.

But nothing moved. True, they’d picked a terrible time for this, but it wasn’t exactly how she’d wanted it to go down regardless. She grimaced and lowered her head instinctively. Pinkie had better be right about this. Darn fool.

It may not have taken that long to leave their cover and venture out, but it felt like a lifetime and a half to Applejack. She was silent, just as Twilight was silent now, and she watched. It was easy to see the glint of an old shootstick from the boarded windows. She found herself imagining how one might be poked through where two boards left a portion of window glass exposed. A pony could easily see through such a gap. In fact, a pony could easily fit the muzzle of a firearm against such a gap, and it would be almost impossible to tell. It was dark, so Applejack couldn’t tell if the glass was truly…

As Pinkie crossed the invisible boundary that separated road from town, Applejack held her breath. The opportune moment had come. Any raider worth their salt would seize the chance to murder them all here, in one fell swoop. Following Pinkie was suicide. Absolute suicide! It was inescapable. Yet she had followed dutifully, trusting.

Pinkie trotted into the village, farther and farther, while her companions held back. Applejack couldn’t help but think of home. It wasn’t Ponyville, of course. It was too small. The rustic architecture and decor of Central Equestria was replaced with wood cabins. There was little in the way of damage here. Small cast iron lanterns hung from the doors—boarded up, for the most part—and signs testified to the owners of the homesteads. It made her heart ache to read the signs and look at the little lamps. They were beautiful, in a homely way. She could imagine them lit before dusk. This was a good place, she thought to herself.

They came to the village square. It, too, was abandoned. Applejack took stock of her surroundings and looked for useful cover. A well, surrounded in stone and covered with a wooden roof sat in the middle, and around it the worn grass gave way to dust. A cart sat, lonely, without cargo or owner. A few barrels rolled out and emptied in front of what had once been a small tavern or inn. There simply wasn’t much here.

She wondered if that was it, then. Simply nothing to steal here, not enough to destroy. Perhaps the raiders and the griffons would leave such a place in peace and let it remember the ponies who’d lived there without interference.

Her melancholy was broken when Pinkie sat down abruptly beside the well and began to call out loudly. “Hello? Hellloooo, anypony up? We’re here now!”

“Pinkie, the hay?” Applejack said. She tensed. You didn’t just start calling out. Not in a ghost town.

Twilight waved at the loudmouth furiously, and Applejack began to advance on Pinkie. The call still continued. “Come on out! We aren’t going to hurt you. I promise. I’m Pinkie Pie, and I’d never hurt anypony who wasn’t bad, I swear. If you’ll—”

Applejack was beside her, shaking her. Twilight called up her magic, and Applejack felt the arcane heat on her back. It raised goosebumps on Applejack’s skin with its proximity. “Pinkie, you gotta hush now, you hear? Stop it, please!”

“AJ, silly! I’m just asking them to come on out.” Pinkie was smiling, and it drove Applejack mad.

“Look, hon, I know you mean well, but we gotta focus. There’s no telling how many there are or if they’re friendly or not, and—”

“Applejack.”

Twilight’s voice was calm. So calm that it brought her up short, and she let Pinkie go completely before turning around.

A young mare stood in the entrance to the tavern Applejack had thought abandoned. She bore no aged firearm, nor did she snarl any challenge. She wore no barding, only a tattered shawl to keep the cold at bay. If anything, she cowered. Magic will do that to a pony, Applejack thought sourly. It’s fear in a little hoofull, ain’t it? But she said nothing, for Twilight’s magic beside her was a hoofull of terror on her side of things, shining its dangerous purplish light.

“Well?” the mare asked, and Applejack saw how worn she seemed in the waning light.

“Pardon?” Applejack shot back.

“Well then? I’m waiting. Either do what ye came for or explain yourselves,” the stranger repeated. She grimaced, as if hungry and waiting to go back and sleep. The word that crept into Applejack’s mind was miserable.

“We aren’t here to hurt you,” Twilight cut in. “We simply want a place to stay the night,” she explained, “if that’s possible. If it isn’t, we’ll be on our way.” She paused, and the mare said nothing. “We know you saw us on the road.”

The mare blinked and stepped back before rebuilding the miserable mask. “Don’t matter a thing to me, that it don’t. Furthermore, say it, you’re lyin’. Course ye are. Now be plain about where yer from, an’ be quick if it please you. Or if it don’t,” she added glumly.

“Canterlot,” Twilight said. Magic still burned bright on the tip of her horn like a nocked arrow ready to fire. “We’re simply passing through on our way to… Stalliongrad. We had to take a detour.”

Applejack glanced over. Twilight’s voice bothered her. Strain painted every word, as if there were a boulder tied to Twilight, and she was struggling to pull it. It was weakness. Only a sliver of it, of course, a tiny crack in an otherwise indomitable wall. A single spell overcharged in paranoia. It was hard to think of it as weakness as she blinked at the harsh light of magical energy boiling over along the length of that swirled horn, but Applejack knew it was.

In the corner of her eye, Applejack caught Pinkie inching closer and closer to Twilight, whispering in her ear when they were shoulder to shoulder.

In the meantime, Applejack kept the mare talking. “What is this place? Why don’t we get some introductions?”

“I dunna need to know names.”

“Well, sugarcube, where I come from, it’s polite to say a ‘how do you do’ before you get to scarin’ ponies. Why don’t the rest of your friends come on out. We can say hello, that sorta thing.”

They were still, but even so, they circled. The mare stayed at her post before the tavern, and her eyes—her rose eyes, which Applejack found herself staring into—were hard and unwavering. It was the stare of somepony who has been on the walls too long or has been in the queue for food rations hours over time. It occurred to Applejack that she was in a killzone. She felt other such eyes on her, but could not see their masters. A dozen, perhaps, starving and resentful and ready.

“How ‘bout nay, and ya not move an inch.”

Applejack grit her teeth. “Fair enough. Then what do you want from us?”

Something changed. The miserable mare seemed to puff up, come alive.

“Why don’t ya get? Or better yet, we could always—” She stopped and grimaced. “Oi, can you two stop that whisperin’? I dunna like it.” When they didn’t stop, the sentinel mare gritted her teeth. “Do you ken? Heads up.”

“Makin’ you nervous?” Applejack asked, her voice a little lower. In the otherwise silent air, the words carried.

The mare shifted her weight.

Twilight looked up from her conference with Pinkie, her shoulders set. Applejack eyed the glow of her arcane energy and shivered. No idea what she’s up to.

And then there was a flash. The barrel closest to the sentinel exploded in purple light that stabbed at Applejack’s eyes and stole her vision. She winced and threw a hoof over her face, missing the immediate aftermath.

There was shouting. She knew that for certain. Dammit! Dammit, Twilight, you did that on purpose! Showin’ off like a fool

She struggled, blinking to restore her vision. When the world came back, the lone mare had been joined by other ponies, all as ragged as she was. They rubbed their eyes, all staring down at the barrel Twilight had turned into a blinding torch.

Twilight spoke then, as they stared down at the transfigured object. “I thought you might want one. You look cold, and it’s going to get pretty chilly tonight.”

Applejack gaped at the blanket Twilight had conjured, and the sentinel’s shoulders slumped in what Applejack knew must be relief.

PINKIE

There were a dozen of them in all. All of them looked tired and hungry. Pinkie found it to be both curiously similar and foreign.

Pinkie knew hunger. The rock farming of her childhood—harvesting the vital minerals needed to keep the engines of industry running and the magic of mages progressing—was hard work. A single fire ruby could keep the family afloat for months, but they were rare. The crystals that they grew were more reliable, but required grueling, backbreaking work and obsessive attention to keep the rock “eggs” growing the magically charged geodes in the sun long enough. Keeping them turned just right. Keeping them dry.

So tired and hungry ponies were nothing new to Pinkimena Dianne Pie. If anything, it was like her family in hard times. But when times were tough and the pickings were slim, her father had always born the hardship with steel in his spine and a little fire in his heart. Maybe not with a smile, but he did what he could.

These ponies, however, were beyond hope. They stared at the walls, lay down to sleep early out of boredom and a lingering sadness. The few foals that hid with the group inside of town hall were the only ones willing to move about more than a few steps. As far as Pinkie could tell, their arrival in this village was the first time some of these ponies had bothered being excited about anything in months.

Twilight and the Mayor were talking. He was an old stallion, or at least he looked it. By his own claim, he was no more than sixty, but his coat was dull and his poor body was worn by age. Or so it appeared. Twilight had not asked about his cataracts or the obvious signs of past hoofrot in one who claimed to be just reaching into true old age, and neither did her companions. They simply listened while Twilight got a better picture of things.

“And you haven’t heard from anypony outside since? Six months is a long time for no travellers,” Twilight said.

He shook his head. “No ponies,” he repeated.

Applejack stirred and spoke. “Kinda specific there. You mean somethin’ else been by?”

The Mayor’s eyes may have been whited over, but his ears seemed sharp enough. They turned towards Applejack, and he spoke quickly. “Ayup. Griffons, hear it. Yon Griffons from the whole mess o’ Manehattan if you hear it.”

Pinkie and her friends did hear it. Twilight looked away, and Pinkie hesitated.

It was Applejack who spoke for them. Pinkie figured she’d had enough loafing against the wall. “Alright, lemme get this straight. Griffons this far south of the beachhead, right? How often? How many? They messin’ with ponies?”

Twilight grimaced. “Applejack, I hope you aren’t—”

“Let ‘im talk, Twi,” Applejack said quickly.

The Mayor shrugged. “Thou know what we know if’n you hear me. So the Griffons roam. We don’t look out the windows to be avoidin’ ‘em. Shut our eyes and breath the air slow an’ they move on.”

They talked strangely, Pinkie thought for perhaps the fifth time since they’d been invited in. Ponies all over talked differently; she knew that. The ones around her mama and papa’s farm talked one way, and the ponies in Ponyville talked another sort of way, and even farther south from her old farm…

Pinkie’s mind wandered aimlessly. Or at least, that’s how Twilight would describe it. In reality, Pinkie found herself making connections. She wasn’t like Fluttershy, who watched so intently. She wasn’t one for details, seeing the web or the pattern. Fluttershy’s whole crazy sand space witch thing, as she mentally referred to it. No, Pinkie was the kind of pony who paid attention to ponies and what they wanted. And, of course, who paid attention to aerodynamics. Because building things was an important skill. Building things that flew? Even more important.

Applejack was talking when Pinkie’s attention rolled back around to the conversation.

“So, from what you’re tellin’ me, I’ma guess it’s about… twenty, at most. Fifteen? What do you think, Twi?”

“Not enough data,” Twilight said, frowning.

“Yeah,” Applejack finished, a bit lamely. “So there’s that. They ain’t bothered you none, at least.” The Mayor shrugged. Applejack turned back to Twilight, and seemed to consider saying something.

Pinkie wasn’t sure, and had no time to figure it out before one of the foals ran to them, tripping.“Comin’!” she said. “I saw ‘em, I did!”

“Aye, so ya did.” The mayor looked to the three ponies from Canterlot. “I’d suggest you be hidin’, however fancy your magic is or strong yon legs be, young Apple.”

Applejack blinked. “You know my kin?”

He rolled his eyes. “Who don’t? Now, be quiet, all.”

The ponies who had lounged on the porch and around in the main hall were now moved to action. They abandoned the outside and slammed the door shut, moved into the back rooms with wide eyes and open, panting mouths.

The rush of activity gave way to a deathly silence. Pinkie and her companions hadn’t moved an inch. The sudden haste and the abject fear was a little too familiar for Pinkie’s taste.

“Jus’ like home,” Applejack said quietly and slowly slouched underneath a window. The wooden floor creaked as Twilight took up position on the other side, and Pinkie leaned against Applejack’s back. They were silent, then. Waiting.

A few moments passed before Pinkie heard them, and she was sure she heard them first. Twilight had shut her eyes, and Applejack hadn’t moved. But Pinkie heard them all the same, marching. She would recognize that sound anywhere, dozens of mailed talons beating the ground in unison.

Except they weren’t quite in unison. She regretted being too far away from the window. She wanted to see them. She wanted to know if the griffons had changed like everything else.

The sounds grew louder and louder, and soon it was clear that, outside, the griffons controlled the village. There were a few commands given in the stillness and then the sounds of Griffons dispersing. Beside Pinkie, Twilight’s eyes widened.

“We don’t need to be here. We can’t let them find us.”

Pinkie saw the griffons landing at Manehattan again, demanding to see Celestia and make her answer for the state of the sun and nature. She remembered being there with her friends when Luna went to their Beachhead. She remembered how they looked at the ponies around them. She shivered.

“Well, whatcha suggest, sug?” Applejack said, her voice tight.

“They aren’t the same though,” Pinkie offered.

Twilight grimaced at her in response. “Pinkie, please, can you focus? Of course they’re their the same party of Griffons, some offshoot.”

“No, I mean they’ve changed.”

“Yeah, like they split up, we know that, Pinks,” Applejack grumbled.

Twilight bit her lip. “Can we risk escape? How have they left these ponies here alone? It can’t be that hard to find them.”

Applejack snorted, but it was Pinkie who answered. “Oh, they hide in a hole in the back.”

Both ponies glanced over at her. “They do? Never told us that,” Applejack said, raising her eyebrows.

“I got bored and wandered. It just didn’t come up.”

Twilight seemed to accept this. “Whatever. Point is, they’re gonna… oh stars, you hear that?”

They did. The shut door began to open, and the three friends scattered. Pinkie bolted, hiding behind an overturned table. She heard a griffon enter. The floor creaked underneath them, following their progress through the reception hall, past the counters and the old map on the wall.

TWILIGHT

Twilight knew exactly how many there were, where they were, and how much mana it would take to deal with them.

She had mapped it out, even. What would most likely happen. Even how to do it with the least loss of life—potentially with no loss of life! She had it down to seconds, what she could do to force a quick surrender. Pinkie and Applejack just made it easier than it already would be. They had the advantage because they were complete unknowns. Applejack was strong. Pinkie was smart and quick. They were loyal to her. They would die for her and she for them. They were a team.

She knew all of these things, and yet she cowered next to Pinkie.

She heard the griffon stop, probably to look at something. The map, perhaps. She had no idea. She knew where he was in the room, of course. She’d mapped it all out passively with magic as soon as the old stallion had told her that griffons visited the place and came often. She’d caught them one by one as they came in, registered and tracked. It was a unique opportunity, not something she could keep going for long. Already it was straining her to keep up with them all. A minute more, at most.

Another creak, and the griffon was moving again. He was coming closer and closer. Four meters. Twilight knew it exactly. He was the only one that was still clear and burning bright in the field of her mind. Three meters. He would look behind the table. It was either run or confront him.

It wasn’t the memories of the Manehattan firepit or the contrite prince. It wasn’t any of that. She just couldn’t do it. Not anymore. Maybe one day she could have.

Two meters.

Twilight, before she could think better of it, summoned up a shield and leapt out into the open.

The armored griffon froze, his wings flaring up behind him and his beak opening to issue a alerting cry to his comrades. He broke out of his shock enough to bring his spear to bear. Twilight spoke fast, keeping her shield to him.

“I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me, got it?”

The griffon didn’t say anything. He didn’t alert any of the others, however.

Twilight kept on, her mouth running. Her legs were shaking, and she was thankful that she wasn’t alone. She felt trapped. She could just push this shield like a plow and pin him to the wall if he turned violent. She could easily escape. But her knees were weak, though they shouldn’t have been.

“We’re not here to pick a fight. I don’t know what you want, but I know where you come from and why you’re wandering, and I can tell you that whatever it is you want, it’s not here.” She hardened her voice. “And if it is, you know I’ll give your friends Tartarus for it.”

The griffon’s spear remained poised.

“What do you want?”

The griffon stared her down.

Something changed. One moment, Twilight wasn’t sure of anything and the next, the world came into focus, and she pumped arcane force into her voice. It reverberated, not as loudly as a Princess’, but enough to fill the room with authority.

“I am tired of ponies or griffons or anyone or thing not answering my simple, direct questions.” She said, and the words were like slaps of steel. The griffon backed up as if he felt them on his feathers and fur. His spear lowered.

“Now, you are going to tell me what I want to know,” Twilight said. “You are going to tell me right now because I am really, really tired of not knowing things.”

“Not rebels,” he said shortly. “Not rebels! Not…” he trailed off. Twilight hadn’t realized that the knot in her gut was there until it loosened. The stench of the firepits left her, as did the weakness in her knees.

She sighed. “Alright. I’m willing to believe you. I guess I should talk to who you answer to, huh?”

The griffon nodded.

Twilight began to suspect that his command of Equestrian was poor. Way to go, Twilight. “That’s fine. Just don’t do anything too quickly, okay? We’re fine. Everything is fine. Applejack, Pinkie? Could you come out, please?”

They did. The griffon’s eyes darted from mare to mare, but he said nothing. Twilight gestured, and he turned hesitantly.

Once outside, they were noticed immediately. The griffon’s companions crowded around, keeping weapons—edged, blunt, gunpowder—trained on the three mares. Beside Twilight, Applejack grumbled something that sounded obscene. Pinkie seemed fine, as if the world was bright again. Twilight couldn’t make sense of it.

Everything ground to a halt. Twilight’s eyes roamed over the assembled griffons, and they watched her in return.

Twelve, as she’d marked them. Thin, a little ragged, but still possessed of that bellicose pride of their kind. Their gear was polished, and though she could see dents and tears in their armor and gear, she knew that it had been cared for lovingly.

So not Rebels at all, then.

“I have not hurt your comrade,” Twilight said loud enough for them all to hear her. She didn’t put any magic into the words. She didn’t need any. “He’s safe, as you can see. I just want some answers as to why you’re harassing these ponies.”

The griffons looked to each other, and then at last one of them stepped forward and gestured to the group. Weapons lowered.

“I will speak to you, Twilight Sparkle,” the griffon said, and Twilight got a good look at him. He was slightly shorter than the others, with a massive scar down his face. He held his halberd loosely, almost too loosely. If anything, he seemed almost relaxed.

“How do you know my name?”

“I, too, was at Manehattan, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight grimaced. “Oh.”

“So you boys gonna stand down?” Applejack asked from beside her. Twilight almost jumped. She’d forgotten her companions were there.

“Of course. I am happy to parlay.” The griffon showed them his halberd and laid it against the well in the middle of the village square. He gestured for Twilight to come to him, and the soldiers backed away so that she could approach him unhindered.

He sat, and so she sat across from him, her head spinning. As an afterthought, she deactivated her shield.

“You know,” the griffon began, “this is the first time we’ve seen any ponies in all the times we’ve come through this way.”

“It is a bit intimidating to see a column of soldiers on the road, ah…?” Twilight paused.

“Gilead. Yes, I suppose it is.” He chuckled, and his voice was low and rough, but not unlikeable, Twilight thought.

Pinkie spoke. “You don’t seem so bad, Mr. Gilead. Why scare the ponies when you could just talk to them?”

He smirked. “Oh, my little friend, what do you think we’ve been trying to do? I had heard that the inhabitants of this land were a bit more social than I’ve found them.”

Twilight felt Applejack’s hoof brush her own and glanced over. In the corner of her sight, she saw her friend’s lips purse into a frown. Applejack said nothing, and she didn’t need to. Twilight knew they thought of the same things.

The griffon went on. “Yes, but I understand why. To be truthful, just because we sought some sign of life did not mean we did so without fear ourselves.The world is a much changed place, Twilight Sparkle.” He paused for a moment. “Applejack. Pink… Alas, I have quite forgotten.”

“Pinkie Pie!”

“Of course, of course. To be frank, I was losing hope. Our little band has seen no signs of life in this place or in others. I had begun to dream that we were all alone in the world. Do you know that it snows, sometimes, not that far from here? I fell asleep and dreamed we wandered for years in the snow and in the ash. I was thinking this morning that perhaps this was the dream, and that was true. Or maybe it was all the same, you know?”

Twilight didn’t say so, but she nodded her head.

“I am curious what you are doing out here. Forgive me, but I am starving for news. Has Canterlot fallen?”

Applejack shook her head. “Nah, it ain’t.”

Not yet, Twilight thought sourly.

“I am glad to hear it!” Gilead replied, and—wonders never ceased, it seemed—he sounded sincere. “Then a light shines somewhere. I am content, even if it is not there. I had hesitated in leading my friends south, but I was curious if you thought we might find lodging. We would be willing to man the walls if that was the price of admission.”

“I could see them letting you in,” Twilight said. “The Beachhead wasn’t that long ago, but Luna has also tried to be civil with the remnants we’ve had contact with.”

Applejack winced, and Twilight had the thought that it was artless of her. It was awkward enough that she had to mention it, but—

“I am glad to hear this! What a thing, griffon legionnaires defending the walls of Canterlot!” He wore a cocksure grin that melted away a bit of Twilight’s icy annoyance. “Truly, a different world. But you manuevered about my question. Perhaps I made it too easy to do so.”

Twilight sighed and glanced over at Applejack. They shared a look.

While they did so, Pinkie began talking.

“Oh, us? We’re going to find Celestia! She’s somewhere—”

“Pinkie,” Twilight said, not quite loudly, but firmly.

“—and Twilight thinks we can find her and bring her back.”

Gilead blinked. “Bringing back the Princess… well I’ll be. It’s about time.”

Twilight frowned. “Yes. We were on our way North.” Which wasn’t a lie. Perhaps it wasn’t entirely the whole story, but she felt a need to keep that to herself. To keep it a secret.

Pinkie opened her mouth, but before she could elaborate, Twilight shot her a stern look. Pinkie looked hurt, which knocked away Twilight’s reservations, and there a moment of silence.

“She has no reason to trust me, my little friend,” Gilead said to Pinkie. “She need not. Do not look so crestfallen.”

Pinkie nodded.

Gilead looked back to Twilight. “It is a harsher world, as well. I visited Equestria once when all was peace, and ponies were friendly and warm. I mourn the loss of such creatures but know that it must change as the times change. Let me relieve you of your burden. Tell me no more; I will hear none of it. I will tell no one of your progress until I arrive at the Gates of Canterlot.”

Twilight sighed. “Sorry. I’m a bit jumpy. So you will go South?”

“Sounds like a pretty good idea t’ me,” Applejack weighed in. “Could always use a few fresh bodies on the wall. A bit crowded, but…”

“I would much prefer a crowd to an empty world,” Gilead said. He stretched and stood. “It is getting on. My friends and I should withdraw. I… hm. I would ask if there are indeed ponies here, but they are no doubt hiding. I knew that there must be survivors here… It is of no consequence. I will not search them out if they do not wish to be found. We will be on our way.” The three mares rose, and he bowed to each in turn. “It was wonderful to see unfamiliar faces—or, should I say, familiar faces after so long. May the days be good to you all. Look for me when you return to Canterlot, hm? And good fortune.”

Twilight let herself smile. “And you as well.”

His smile faded slightly. “But… before I go, I must warn you. The road ahead is difficult. I would be on your guard. Avoid the towns. There is a… shadow on the world that I cannot describe. Do not enter any buildings unless you must, for the world beyond this point is all within that shadow’s core and under its baleful gaze. If you go to the ports at Tall Tail or Vanhoover, do be careful. I heard things, months ago. I fear for those places.”

With that, he smiled and in short order reassembled the gathered griffons. They left in a column, marching back down the road, and Twilight quietly watched them go .

They had chosen the empty house at the end of the lane because Twilight had wanted to be alone. To have the conversation she knew she needed to have, she needed to be far away from the ponies that lingered here.

And yet she was failing here, too. Pinkie was asleep already, and so Twilight had missed one opportunity.

Applejack sat on the back porch. Twilight was sure she was still awake. It was the perfect time and place for the discussion she knew they needed to have.

So why not get up and go talk to her? she asked herself in the dark. She listened to Pinkie snoring from across the abandoned living room, from the slightly ratty rug. Why not? We’re friends, after all. She’s the perfect one to talk to.

Because she wasn’t sure what all she wanted to say. Or what she was thinking.

So I don’t have your ducks in a row. So what? I have a little figured out. Talking things out can help you think.

That was true. She had to concede that.

Twilight sighed. There was no way to get around it, and so she got up and quietly walked to the back door. Pinkie continued her loud snoring. She glanced back, just to make sure, and watched Pinkie grumble and roll over in her sleep, wrapped up tight in a blanket. At least one of them could sleep well these days.

When she opened the door, she found Applejack leaning against the wall of the house, looking out at the deep woods. A slender clay pipe rested in her mouth, and occasional smoke wandered up into the dark air.

“I didn’t know you brought it,” Twilight said softly.

Applejack looked up, her expression hard to read before she looked back to the trees. “Yeah. I’ve been savin’ it for when y’all were asleep. My supplies are kinda limited, you know.”

There was a moment of silence. Twilight shifted uncomfortably, and Applejack looked ahead.

“Well,” Applejack said at last. “You gonna come sit, sug?”

“Oh… er, yes,” Twilight said and did so, smiling. This is normal. It just feels… normal.

Another puff of smoke heralded her speech.“You look like ya got somethin’ on your mind,” Applejack said quietly.

“It was an eventful day,” Twilight said.

“Sure was. You had me worried there, jumpin’ out like that. I was about to jump out after you and get t’ work, but then you started talkin’.” Another smoke cloud loosed into the night. “To be honest, I’m glad you did, now that I know more ‘bout ‘em. That Gilead was a sure nice fellow. I liked him, even if he was a griffon.”

“You seemed like you felt uneasy.”

“Sure I did. So did you.”

Twilight conceded that with a little nod and then shivered. “I kept thinking about when we went with Luna to confront them. Did you think about—”

“Manehattan Firepits. Yeah.”

“And I just… I don’t…” She sighed and massaged her temples. “Applejack, I think something is wrong with me. Or has been wrong with me. I don’t know.”

Applejack looked back to her at this. “Wrong with you? What?”

The tone was so familiar, so concerned. It broke her heart. She thought of Ponyville again, of gossip at the first cider tasting of the year, of all their friends. It was so damned normal.

Twilight hesitated, and then leaned softly against Applejack. “I’m becoming somepony else, I think. Somepony I don’t like. I’m frightened. Old me would never hesitate. She would have jumped up and dealt with the problem. She would have gone into Ponyville and been carefu—”

“Now, Twi,” Applejack began as she stirred. “You know we already put that to rest—”

“No, no we haven’t. The old Twilight wouldn’t be… wouldn’t make Pinkie sad. Or frustrate you like I do. Or be cold to ponies. Not like I have been. Not the Twilight I was in Ponyville.”

Applejack was quiet. Another puff of smoke.

Twilight went on. “I hesitate. Did you know my magic isn’t the same anymore? Have you wondered about that? Because I have. I’ve wondered about it a lot. In Ponyville, the magic I did… that would have been beneath me two years ago. I went from C-Celestia saying how I would be a wonderful grandmage to… to being tired out by a shield spell. A tracker spell makes me winded.”

“Why, you reckon?”

Twilight laughed, but it was without mirth. “Maybe I don’t believe in myself or something stupid like that,” she said, bitingly. “How should I know? Maybe the world is just all wrong now, and I can’t… do the only thing I’m good at. I’m useless.”

Applejack was quiet.

“I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry. Pinkie’s face… I mean, I wasn’t wrong, I don’t think. Did I do that wrong? She shouldn’t have been so free with information.”

“‘Course not.”

Twilight bit her lip. She wished Applejack would say something more than simple affirmations. “I’m just… I don’t know.” But she did.

She was floundering.

It was so clear, wasn’t it? Even more so here, alone in the dark, looking out into these dark woods of confusion. It made sense. It had started when Celestia had left, and it had finally dawned on Twilight that she wasn’t coming back after a month or two.

“The heart just… went out of me,” she said softly. “I’ve been spiralling. Since I knew…”

“Since you knew she wasn’t comin’ back,” Applejack finished. Twilight stared at her, and Applejack continued. “Don’t look so shocked, girl. It ain’t that much of a secret, not to me. I been worried about you for a long time. I’m sorry it don’t… feel like it, but I am. Ya started wiltin’.”

Twilight shivered again. “I had this… this moment today, right before I jumped out of cover. I realized that I really have lost my touch. I realized I could take them all out, Applejack, with your help and with Pinkie’s help. I knew exactly how it could go; I plotted it all out. And I just… sat there. I was paralyzed, just like I was at Ponyville.

“And I’ve been thinking a lot. I’m different now, AJ. I’ve been frozen in place for a year. I never went after her. I thought I was trying to figure it all out, but I was just running away. I have been so bad to you all, and now… I don’t have three of you anymore, and there’s no way to change it. The past just… Time just moved on right past me, and I can’t grasp it. No magic brings that back. I know because I’ve been trying, and even if I was at my old strength, I couldn’t do anything like that.”

“Twi…”

But Twilight was done with silence. She was done with staring into the woods and waiting. “And what is the point? I don’t even know if we’ll make it, Applejack. Even if we do, what if we come back, and it’s all gone? Canterlot burned, Luna… gone, our families gone. Even if that doesn’t happen, we come home and Spike is dead, or he’s changed or… or Fluttershy doesn’t come back. Or Rainbow doesn’t make it, or Rarity dies or is hurt or loses a leg or… Will it all be worth it? Is anything, anymore?” She laughed bitterly. “I’m sorry, but I’m beginning to see why the Mage’s Guild started whispering about me behind my back. The Apostate. I’ll wear that name. It fits.”

“Like hell it does,” Applejack said, and her voice was rough. Twilight backed away, a bit alarmed.

“Like hell it does,” she repeated, and there was fire in more than just her pipe. She released a large puff of smoke, and to Twilight, it was absurdly like a dragon. “That name ain’t ever been fit for ya, and I’ll die ‘fore I ever think of Twilight—our Twilight—as anythin’ but my friend and a good pony.” She spat. “Apostate. I heard ‘em sayin’ it, and it made me sick cause it’s a lie, and you know it is, deep down. We all know it. Twilight doesn’t lose heart. Twilight would never lose heart.”

“Until she did.”

“Except she don’t. You don’t.” She sat up entirely. They faced each other. “Twi, I love ya. You’re like another sister to me, and I know the others feel the same. Yeah, you kinda went off the path. A lot, a whole lot—but you know what? That ain’t the point right now. The past is past, Twi, and we can’t go chasin’ after it. The tide’s all against us.” She groaned. “Look, Twi, I ain’t a philosopher. I’m a farmer without a farm. I’m a simple pony. I ain’t stupid, but I’m just Applejack and whatever that all means. I reckon it don’t mean that much, in the end, but I’ll take it. You’re just Twilight. Not some darn… Apostate nonsense. Twilight Sparkle, librarian.”

“Without a library,” she said softly and sniffled. I would cry like an idiot.

“Same boat, partner,” Applejack said and sighed. She looked down at the pipe with an almost comedic face of sorrow. “Dern pipe’s out again.”

Twilight chuckled, and it sounded strangled. She hated that noise.

“I’m not sayin’ you should just… get over it. I know you lost your faith. In yourself, in Celestia, in life, but I see it sure as sugar. But it don’t have to be that way. I believe in you, even if you don’t believe in you. Ponies make mistakes, Twi. Ponyville… yeah, you made a mistake. Here, you didn’t. You’re over there talkin’ ‘bout how you froze up, but you know what? From where I’m sittin’ I saw a mare who did something brave and bold and jumped up and said, ‘Here I am!’ and was willin’ to take a big risk—and you didn’t have to hurt a single pony. Nopony died. You know how beautiful that is?”

Twilight shrugged and sniffled.

“It’s damn well near perfect, I’d say. Perfect as a Sunday mornin’ with work done. I don’t even know. It’s late,” she added with a chuckle. “Twi, you don’t gotta turn yourself around in one night. I know you ain’t sure ‘bout what I’m saying to you, and that’s okay. Just… know we love you. Rarity and Dash and Fluttershy love ya too. We’re gonna see ‘em again, and we’re gonna see Canterlot again.” She stood and stretched before dumping the burnt ashes from her pipe into the ground. She awkwardly fished the remnants out with the little tool. “Dern hooves,” she said softly, and then continued. “I’m off to bed, Twi, and you should be too. It’s getting late.”

Twilight nodded. “You’re right. We’ve got ground to cover.”

“Miles to go, before we sleep, even,” Applejack said and yawned. “I’ll be damned, but it’s awful late.”

For a moment, she gazed at the door leading back into the unlit room.

“Twilight?” Applejack spoke after a moment. Her easygoing manner was gone.

“Yes?”

“Do you see the firepits when you sleep sometimes?”

Twilight shivered. “Yes.”

“When Gilead was talkin’ ‘bout how we changed—us ponies, I mean—I felt a little knot in my stomach, ‘cause he’s right. We used to be so friendly. So open. I used to smile a lot more, y’know?” She shivered, and Twilight wondered if it was the cold or something else. “It’s why I wanted to talk to these ponies and why I’m always thinking about ponies, Twi. Because if we don’t try, we’ll never be like that again.”

And then, as if awaking from a dream, Applejack shook her head and continued on.

At the doorway, she paused to look back at the Twilight, who sat in the dark with no light.

“Pinkie’s been awake this whole time, by the way. Honestly, Twi, you should be able to tell a fake snore when ya hear one.”

And somewhere inside, Pinkie giggled. And Twilight smiled despite herself. No, she was not convinced, but she felt lighter all the same.

“I guess I should.”

Author's Note

Yeah, I know. finally, right?

Editing Credits: randomguyq97, as always.
Also, a new addition: SoPonyWow has come on board to help.

Here's to more, my friends.

VIII. That Which Sleeps May Wake

Chapter 8: That Which Sleeps May Wake

FLUTTERSHY

It was strange what one noticed in all of the chaos and ruin, Fluttershy thought for not the first time since the sun had left them. Even carnage and sorrow could be gray and flat after a while, and, though she’d not yet grown accustomed to such things, she knew that it was possible.

But Fluttershy could begin to guess what it was like. It wasn’t the blood smeared on the patched canopies of the wagons that bothered her the most. It wasn’t the smell of ash and the smoke that stole her breath that she couldn’t shake. These things she could leave behind when she closed her eyes and retreated deep within herself where nothing could touch her—a hedgehog safe in its spiny armor.

What bothered her most about the wreckage of the caravan was that there wasn’t any food left.

She sat beside a tiny fire that Rainbow had made, glad for the warmth. They were truly in the north now, with a light, intermittent snow beginning to fall. The evergreens in the distance, dark and clustered, sagged with snow, and she could not help but wonder what was beyond them. Around her was the Northern Highway’s shoulder, covered in a light blanket of snow. To her back was an overturned cart which she sat against. She was glad for the cart. It kept the winds at bay and trapped a little bit of the fire’s heat to warm her wings. She was also glad for it because it was her wall, better than any veil of pink mane, it kept out the sights of death and darkness behind her on the Highway where Rainbow and Rarity poked through the ruins of a lost caravan of refugees headed north.

Fluttershy stretched her wings, happy to feel the slightly warm air blow over her feathers, casting off the cold for just a moment. It was how she made the trial worth it, really. The little pleasures of fire and bedroll and listening to conversation.

But even the comfort of Rainbow Dash’s humble fire couldn’t help her shake her misgivings.

When they left Canterlot, food had been on all their minds. Rationing was a reality in the new world; the sun never shone long enough for crops to grow as they should. They’d all felt the rationed discontent—not quite hungry, but never full. Hunger was something she could finally understand..

Where had the food gone? It was probable that it had been stolen after the raid, gathered up, and hauled back to some raider camp--or Griffon camp if they were all decidedly unfortunate. Yet it reminded her of home and the emptying larders. It was easy to imagine that there had never been food in these carts, nor in the wagons with their broken wheels and cut canopies. A line of ponies, pale and thin. She could see their wide eyes staring ahead with no energy to watch the trees for the dangers waiting there. She thought about the city ahead. Did they have food there, or had they withered as well?

She was so focused that she almost didn’t hear Rainbow land quietly beside her, her hooves crunching the snow. It was a harsh sound, and she flinched slightly.

“Hey,” Rainbow said, her voice low. “You any warmer? Sorry for knocking you into the snow earlier.”

“I’m fine, Rainbow. It was just an accident. I should’ve been watching where I was going,” Fluttershy responded and gave her friend a smile. Rainbow folded her wings in response and came into the light of the fire properly. Fluttershy watched her, took note of how she sat and how she looked out over the fire as Fluttershy had before her.

“Good, figured you would be. Thought I should ask.” She looked about. “Rarity hasn’t come back?”

Fluttershy shook her head. Rainbow looked so different sometimes. The light would catch her oddly, perhaps, or she would have a look in her face that hadn’t been there long ago. Fluttershy was never sure what to feel about it. She saw it now, and it made her uncomfortable.

But she smoothed over it as best she could. “No, not yet. I thought she was with you.”

“Well, yeah, she was for a bit. Said she was gonna wander over here…” she sighed. “It’s rough.”

“Yeah.”

“But not really surprising, I guess,” Rainbow went on, shivering. “Figured towns and villages would start uprooting and heading to big cities.”

“They’re going North,” Fluttershy pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s weird.” Rainbow frowned. “Seems kinda stupid.”

“No, not really. Stalliongrad is up ahead. Maybe they have food. We’re not really sure how the other cities are doing, you know.” Fluttershy looked back at the fire. It bothered her, how quick Dash was to speak ill of the dead, but she once again dismissed her misgivings. They did no good.

“I guess.”

Rainbow sat as still as she could, which wasn’t very. She fidgeted. Every now and then she would squirm.

“You’re sure?” she said at last.

Fluttershy blinked at her. “What? I mean, I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

“Like, are you sure she didn’t come by here?”

Fluttershy sighed. “No, Rainbow, she didn’t. I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen her. I wish I had. I know you don’t like to wait…”

Rainbow shook her head. “No… no, I…” She grimaced. “Blegh. Sorry, ignore that.”

They were quiet for a moment. Rainbow fidgeted again. Fluttershy set a silent counter in her mind, waiting for Rainbow to make her choice. Right on time, Dash stood up.

“Okay, I’ll be back. I don’t like this place, and I don’t like that she’s here.”

"If it's no trouble, take me with you," Fluttershy said as she stood. "I don't want to be alone."

Rainbow nodded. “I want to fly, but… Rarity said to stick to the ground.”

“She’s probably right,” Fluttershy said softly as Rainbow kicked snow onto the fire to extinguish it.

With the light taken away from her, Fluttershy struggled to adjust to the sudden darkness. The vague shadow that seemed to be Rainbow moved, and she tried to follow it.

They moved quietly, avoiding the piles where ransacked chests and torn sacks were left to be buried, weaving between the wagons and empty carts. They were silent as thieves, and indeed Fluttershy felt like an intruder.

After a few minutes, it became obvious that Rarity was not where she was supposed to be. She wasn’t in the snow field on either side of the upraised highway. Neither pegasus wandered into the woods, but if Rarity had walked in there, their problems were worse than simply not knowing where their friend was. Rainbow called for Rarity, and every time she did, it made Fluttershy wince. It was so loud; not even the light wind could dampen the sound.

“Rarity?” Rainbow tried again, a little louder this time. The noise echoed about the wreckage. Fluttershy thought it that it was too easy to hear.

The wreck had been, of course, been empty: no food, no bodies, no raiders. Nothing had prowled the perimeter of the woods, natural or unnatural, and so there should be no dangers to worry about. And yet, with every repeated cry, she felt more and more like crawling under a wagon and hiding.

“Rainbow…”

“Hey, Rares, where are you? Look, I knew you were gonna get lost, hoofing it…” Rainbow groaned and muttered. “I mean, seriously, they’re all in a straight line. How hard is it to follow that back to where Flutters is? Was. Whatever.” She took a deep breath and called again. “Rares! Rares, you here?”

“Rainbow.”

“Ra--”

“Rainbow!”

Rainbow Dash stopped mid-cry, and glanced over at Fluttershy.

“Thank you. Could you please stop doing that?”

“Um… yeah, sure. Why?” But Fluttershy said nothing, letting a beat go by. Rainbow got it, as Fluttershy thought she might. “You think somebody’s gonna hear us or something? We already checked; it’s not like ponies are everywhere.”

“I have a feeling.”

Rainbow pursed her lips. She looked like she wanted to argue the point, like she really, really wanted to argue it, but Fluttershy knew that she wouldn’t. They both knew she wouldn’t contest it. The word “feeling” had too much baggage between them, too many memories of times when Fluttershy had had a “feeling” that would take far too long to explain, and she’d been right. Too many times when she saw the clues and Rainbow didn’t.

Rainbow huffed. “Fine. What do you want me to do instead?”

“Well, I--”

But she never finished. She felt a pull--it prickled and glowed, and she knew it was magic at once--and in the blink of eye she had made a choice. She let it carry her back into the dark between two wagons.

Rainbow was caught flathoofed, her cry of alarm caught off when the magic encircled her and pulled her as well.

Rarity stood over them. Her nightsight returning, Fluttershy could make out her face and saw the worry there.

“Rainbow, honestly,” Rarity began curtly, “must you be so loud?”

“Hey, you’re the one who wandered off. What the hay, Rares? What’s with the magic and hiding and the… ugh. Snow. I hate landing in snow. Wet wings are the worst.”

“Well, that’s a shame, isn’t it? Perhaps you should have gone West,” Rarity shot back. “Now, I’m sorry I didn’t come straight back to you, but I thought I saw something in one of the wagons… well, it’s not important. What’s important is that we are not alone.”

That got their attention. Rainbow sat up, and Fluttershy shook the snow and semi-frozen mud out of her mane for the second time that hour.

“At first, I thought it might be somepony friendly, but after recalling my last attempt to communicate with a supposed civilian, I thought it wise to be cautious.”

Rainbow smirked, but refrained from saying anything.

“I saw that!” Rarity let out a huff, and Fluttershy watched little puff that was visible in the moonlight. “Regardless, I watched and realized that it was, in fact, a rather unsavory sort if their outfitting is any indication. Unless the guardsponies of Stalliongrad have taken to painting themselves with paint that I’m feverishly hoping is not blood, then he is not the local authority’s representative.”

“So he’s a raider.”

“It would seem so.”

Fluttershy sighed. “I thought we’d gotten away from them,” she said and closed her eyes. “That they’d left with their food.”

“Apparently not, my dear,” Rarity said.

Rainbow stomped. “Well, we can mope about it later. Let’s just kick some butt now.”

Fluttershy was shaking her head before Rainbow had finished. “No… I mean, I’m sorry to interrupt you, Rainbow, and I know you want to, but we just can’t.”

“And why?”

Fluttershy looked to Rarity, sighing again. She felt Rainbow’s rose eyes boring into her, demanding an answer. She had one—of course she had one—but if only she could get… Rarity to tell. Rarity would know why.

But Rarity looked at her, nodding. She offered no explanation.

Fluttershy nibbled on her lip for a moment. “Well… If it was just one, maybe it would fine, but they never go it alone. I think. They’re in packs, so the one that Rarity saw will have friends.”

“Which means we should take care of them and make a break for it, obviously,” Rainbow insisted, smiling.

“No, no. I’m sorry, Rainbow, but that’s a bad idea. It’s not like how it was when we were foals. You can’t just dive into a bunch of bullies and get hit a bunch and be okay. It only takes one shootstick, one spell… and one of us is gone forever. We can’t risk fighting in the dark without knowing where they are. We have to get out of here, keep heading North.”

Rainbow grimaced. “Okay… guns. Yeah. I forgot.”

“I never do,” Fluttershy said softly, and they were all quiet for a moment.

“Right,” Rarity said after the quiet had passed. “Let’s be off, then. Now that we’re together and we know the dangers, it shouldn’t take so long. I’ll lead the way if that’s agreeable to you, Rainbow. Would you take the rear?”

“What?” Rainbow flared her wing in irritation. “Why am I not in front?”

“Because you and I both know you’re too impetuous. But I’d rather you watching the rear than Fluttershy, so if we get caught you can react quickly. ”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“Thank you. Fluttershy can stay in the middle, between us. Keep a good watch, would you?”

She didn’t wait for Fluttershy to answer or comment. She was on the move immediately, keeping eyes on her companions behind her. Fluttershy plodded after, cowering at every vague shape in the night as they quickly left the wreckage behind and dashed down the moonlit royal highway. She never heard or saw raiders. She had no sign that they had ever existed except what they had done, and it was enough.

RARITY

She would never, ever admit it to anypony--especially not to Rainbow Dash--but the absence of civilization had been grating on Rarity’s spirit far more than she had let on.

It wasn’t that she was too delicate for the outdoors. On the contrary, she could “rough it” when the situation called for it as well as many other ponies could. She was not without her own species of true, inherent grit. The House of Belle was made of stern stuff. Or, well, had been.

But Rarity was a pony who thrived off of social interaction. The possibilities of ponies and the ways in which they could combine and react, talk and fight, love and lose… it simply delighted her. It sustained her. She needed ponies--in fact, she was fond of saying that ponies needed ponies. One could not live by bread alone.

And as much as she loved Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy dearly, it simply was not enough to keep her mind exercised.

But that long drought was coming to an end. Civilization! Urbanity! Yes, rather distressingly industrialized and rather miserable-looking urbanity, but she would take it.

The city of Stalliongrad rose like a monument out of the featureless, drab steppes of North Equestria. Its ancient brick buildings and strange painted roofs, slanted and curved, jutted out from behind a stately, ancient wall that ringed the city. A river—the Solga, if memory served—ran through it, passing out of the high walls through a grate and curling around to lie between the road and the city. The trees thinned out, and everywhere within sight of those impressive walls was without secrecy. Anypony who came to it came with no secrets under the naked stare of heaven.

To be honest, Rarity thought as they approached the stone bridge over the river, it was rather refreshing. She was weary of forests. Too many places to hide and to spring out from, too many shadows.

The bridge was guarded by two stallions in red barding who watched them passively. Rarity was the one who stepped up to address them.

“Hello there, gentlecolts. We’re travellers on the road, as you can see. Is the city open?”

They exchanged glances.“Ma’am, have we stopped you yet?”

Central Equestrian accent, so pre-disaster guardspony. Rarity blinked, a bit taken aback. “Well… no.”

“Then it is,” the stallion on the right concluded with a shrug.

Rarity huffed, but didn’t respond back as she might wish to. Instead, they silently passed over the bridge and continued on the road.

It was a city, yes, but it was a city that was sick.

They kept to the center of the wide cobble streets, and the crowds did not part before them as they did in Canterlot. No one greeted them as the great gates of Stalliongrad shut with the iron clang that so reminded her of home. The ponies on the street faced the afternoon with looks of weary caution but not quite defeat. A few said hello, their accents thick. Rarity made a point to greet them in turn with as much heart as she could summon.

They would go and see the Kniaz of Stalliongrad first, of course. He would be the one to ask for rations and information, the one who had the power to aid them and their city. But the more Rarity saw, the less she was interested in the Kniaz, no matter his character. These ponies were hungry. It was plain as the day was short. She wouldn’t say that any of them were starving, but nopony looked well-fed. They had bags under their eyes. They wrapped their bodies in rags to stave off the cold. And yet they greeted her with the little energy they had. The more she saw of them, the less she thought of Canterlot and the more she thought of their own larders.

Asking for directions was simple, though the ponies of Stalliongrad spoke their own dialect. She had heard this one before, and even knew bits of the old northern tongue that they had slipped into everyday speech, and this delighted the mare they asked for help. She directed them towards the center of town, where the Kniaz’s palace overlooked the river. Rarity thanked her, and they were off.

She saw signs of struggle, though they went unexplained. Burn marks on brick walls and shattered windows simply bore witness to the fact that something had happened and that it was over for now.

The Kniaz of Stalliongrad was an old stallion. His coat was faded red, his hair devoid of its once vibrant color, whitewashed. His eyes were sharp, and he spoke with an accent that was at once foreign to her and familiar--she caught a hint of the upper-crust tone of Canterlot in it, an echo.

“I do apologize for not recognizing you,” he said, shifting in his chair. It was old and it creaked, but still it was plush and looked awfully comfortable. Rarity thought of her wonderful couches, still locked up in the top room of her Boutique. She wondered if they were still there.

“It’s quite alright. We are a bit worse for wear,” Rarity replied and gave him her best smile. She had many smiles, and she knew this particular one was certainly not the best rendition of the award-winning Rarity smile. But it had not been a pleasant walk to the palace, which had been in rather poor repair.

“But I am glad that you have come. I wondered about Canterlot and the other cities to the South. Am pleased to hear that at least some are safe, da?”

“You really had no idea?” Rainbow asked. She squirmed in the chair provided.

The Kniaz rested his hooves on his ornate desk. It was one of the few things without wear or rust or ruin she had seen in the city. “Not really. We send messengers to others, but no one responds. If nopony comes back, then news must be bad, da? At least, this is how it must seem to us, with no alternative. Canterlot never answered.”

“We never got the message,” Rarity said softly. She knew that they were all thinking of the refugee caravan and the dead in the snow.

“I know this now, and I am glad at least to know we were not ignored. The world feels… less lonely.”

Rarity’s smile was a little more genuine. “We were elated to find that there were others left, as well.”

“But that does leave me curious. If is possible to make some observations…”

“Go on,” Rarity said, nodding.

“You are not here for us.”

Rarity blinked. “I… well… what do you mean?”

The Kniaz smirked. “Do not hide yet, miss Rarity; we are not accusing you of any neglect. But you did not come to find us. You come this way to pass through, do you not?”

In the corner of her eye, Rarity watched her companions. Fluttershy seemed still, though she was hard to see. Rainbow’s chair was pushed a bit in front of her own, and so Rarity could watch her tail of many colors swish with contained impatience. She smiled a little. It was so like Rainbow to be impatient in such a situation.

Neither seemed opposed to telling him the nature of their plan. But she would leave Twilight out of it, to be safe.

“You are… correct,” she allowed. “We were hoping to find signs of civilization here, but we only intend to pass through.”

“Of course, the next question is…”

Rarity sighed. “To where. We’re heading farther North, to the Crystal Empire. Canterlot is in need of food, and we were hoping they would be alive and well.” She paused. “We’re not as bad off in that area as Stalliongrad, my good man, so I know we must seem foolish to you, but we saw the far-off signs.”

The Kniaz shook his head. “No, though I wouldn’t say it is wise. We, too, sent ponies north. Several of them came back describing monsters, same as anywhere else. One met griffons who stole his food and sent him back to us. Most never returned. We have no idea how they fair… but food, if it is there…” He gave a long sigh. “I wish, I wish.”

“Well, I mean, if it’s there we have to see if they’ll share, right?” Rainbow Dash cut in. “If they don’t, or if they’re all gone, we’ll at least know.”

He nodded. “I suppose. I do fear for you, though I won’t stop you. The North, she is hard, and the snows will be harder still this year. But if you succeed, you must promise me that you will not forget us or abandon us. Canterlot’s reputation is mixed, these days, if you forgive us saying so.”

Rarity did, and she grimaced. It was true--Luna’s indecisive and floundering response to the multiple crises had left many without support. Perhaps nothing could have been done, but it was the faltering that people judged.

“We won’t,” Rainbow said before she could formulate a response. “I promise. Swear it on my life, we’ll bring you back food if we can find any. I’d never leave somepony hanging.”

He smiled at her. “Your conviction, it is nice. I believe you.” He stood shakily. “In the meantime… you’ll need food and cold weather clothing before braving the road to the border. I can have both things arranged.”

Rarity began thanking him, but the old stallion held up a hoof.

“Do not thank me yet, comrades. I would have you listen first. I cannot tell you not to go. The need is too great, the times too dark, no? But I can at least tell you what is ahead.”

Rarity blinked, a bit surprised. “Are you referring to the weather, sir?”

“No. I wish I could, but I cannot stop there. I tell you that we know nothing for certain, but is not entirely true. We knew a little, once. We knew that they were alive six months ago. The Empress’ consort… What is that one’s name, eh? Armor. One of our envoys encountered him north of border. Now, that one was not alone! He had many soldiers, da? A full two hundred, if I remember correctly.

“Now, I did not ask him if they had food, because he did not ask. Because there was no time. There are things that… sleep, yes? In the dark places of the world. They linger, exist despite years and the lack of sun or sustenance, even. Perhaps. I do not know, but I would ask you, little friends, how much you know about this place.”

Rarity squirmed. For the first time in the diminished office, she felt uncomfortable--truly uncomfortable. She had been on top of things. She could talk to ponies, lead them where she wanted to go. She had wanted winter gear that she knew the Kniaz could provide. She needed food, and now she had it. She had learned what had happened to the ponies here. So far, she was winning.

And yet the stallion in front of her seemed to know something that she did not. It bothered her.

“Not much,” she allowed at last.

“It is no surprise,” the Kniaz replied, strangely. Rarity wondered if she’d offended him, but he moved on. “The Mountain Gods, the Old Ones in the Hills, you have not heard of them. When the world was young they ruled us by fear and death, killing or eating us as they willed. Long before there was an Equestria and the tribes came together, they were hunting Earth ponies for sport in hills here. It is bad, yes? To think about. But it is true. But they disappear out of record. All dead, or asleep, or gone.”

“And now they’re back?” Rarity asked quietly. She wondered how she must appear to this stallion, and she felt small. She knew nothing.

“They come south at first. We saw them and fought them. It was… terrible.” He shivered. “Saw them, I did, with my own eyes. They are the Mitou, the Mountain Gods who walk on two legs, who can chase down any pony, who can pick us up in a single fist and devour us or throw us. Maybe you can escape,” he said, looking at Rainbow, a tiny scowl threatening to form on his face. Rarity remembered that there were few pegasi this far north. “But we cannot. They are busy now, I think. It is why I can say that the Crystal ponies must live, you know, because if they do not, then we will all die in Mitou bellies and Mitou fists.”

“How big we talkin’ here?” Rainbow cut in, and Rarity glanced at her. She wasn’t surprised to find the pegasus a bit flustered. I wouldn’t like ponies assuming I’d use my wings to abandon my friends either, if I had wings.

“Huge,” the Kniaz said simply.

“That’s really helpful,” Rainbow muttered, scowling. She made no effort to hide it.

He shrugged, and furrowed his own brow. “Three, four ponies tall? Four, that is good, that is average.”

Rainbow had no immediate answer. Rarity had nothing. She tried to imagine a creature that size. She tried to imagine how long its reach would be, the power of its hands and jaws and legs. She tried to imagine fighting such a creature. It was all quite impossible.

“So… that is what lies to the north, then,” Rarity said, though they all thought it.

The Kniaz nodded but offered no immediate comfort. “My envoy said that the soldiers won, but they fought only two and lost many. Make of that what you will, Miss Rarity. He said that there was an army to the north.”

Rarity didn’t want to think about it at all. They had made the wrong choice.

RAINBOW

The mare who took them in reminded her of Cheerilee. It wasn’t the best comparison, but it was as close as Rainbow could get.

She was older, but not quite old, not quite yet. Her mane and coat were duller than they had once been, yes, but they were not gray. Her voice still had some strength in it, and she could keep up with her youthful charges. She was a maid in the palace, apparently one in quite good standing and with enough seniority that the Kniaz greeted her with far more politeness than he had any of the other workers, almost with deference.

When they’d left the Kniaz and followed Northern Downpour, the pegasus maid, Rainbow had been quiet. She’d been thinking about flying. Specifically about flying while something tried to grab at her.

It wasn’t a comforting line of thought. She decided that it was possible to fight such a thing from the air--it had to be, it was possible to fight anything, beat anything!--but that it was going to take a lot of caution, and she didn’t like it. If only she had somepony else in the air who could fly well…

So she switched to thinking about Fluttershy, but her lack of maneuverability was a given fact of life.There was no way around it, really. She could try--Rainbow was sure that if her friends were in danger, she would try--but it wouldn’t be enough.

So she was a lot quieter than she might have otherwise been. She summoned up her usual enthusiasm for food when it was offered, but after they’d eaten, she went back to being sullen.

And so the three friends sat in Northern Downpour’s living room, quiet as could be.

Rainbow hated it, honestly. It was the same kind of silence as the one after the ponies on the road, in the woods. Yeah, she’d been right, but that didn’t end up meaning anything. She didn’t know what to say then, and she didn’t know what to say now. Because now they were all a little wrong, weren’t they? They’d thought it would be a long walk up to have a little chat with Cadence. Just ask her a favor. They thought it would be easy, or if not easy, not impossible.

But how were they going to get through and army of… whatever the hell it was? Shining Armor was dead, probably.

Except she couldn’t believe that, not really. The look on Rarity’s face said that Rarity might, but Rainbow refused to accept it. She wouldn’t believe that Shining Armor was dead and that their friends in the North were gone until she saw their smouldering tombs.

So the three of them thought about their next step in silence.

Northern Downpour seemed to sense that something was amiss, because she broke their silence with her own conversations. She didn’t talk about the Crystal Empire, or the Mitou, or even the neverending snow.

While Fluttershy and Rainbow sat on one couch and Rarity took a chair across the table, Northern picked up pictures from the table and the wall, explaining them. Rarity was willing enough to talk about the past, asking questions. Fluttershy seemed to enjoy her stories. Rainbow, for her part, found them boring, but she wouldn’t come out and say so. It just wasn’t her thing. She was glad that the old mare was trying, though. She hated when things were quiet.

“This is my brother and I. We were born in Vercoltsza, a little south of here. It is much warmer, much greener. We only came here when our parents found themselves out of work.” She took a picture down and showed it to Fluttershy first. Fluttershy cooed over it for a moment, and she smiled. “Were we not precious? My big brother and I, together all the time, wandering the streets of Vercoltsza together. I loved him dearly. Was so proud of him…” she trailed off. The picture passed to Rarity.

“Is he…” Fluttershy tried to ask and then faltered. “I’m sorry, is he gone?”

She shrugged. “I do not know. He joined the Guard.”

Rainbow’s ears perked. “Where?”

“Central province,” she answered, her ears drooping. “I am sorry. I did not mean to burden you with my old concerns. I have made my peace with it, as best I could.”

Rainbow frowned, but said nothing. Sounded like giving up, to her.

Rarity offered the frame to Rainbow, who took it. She might as well; she’d commented and everything. She stared down at the young pegasus. He seemed familiar, in some ways. He had a devil-may-care grin. Short, spiky hair. Wide, bright eyes that seemed to dominate the picture. She liked him, and she grinned back at him.

“We lost contact,” Northern continued. “Nopony could get my letters to him, or at least, none ever returned with word back.”

“What is his name again?” Rainbow asked and then looked up. “Sorry.”

“Oh, it isn’t a problem… Battleborn, if you can believe it.”

Rainbow looked down at the picture again, and thought.

“But… well. I suppose knowing the truth about what happened to him is fine and all, but I may never know, not with how things are,” she said, looking out the window for a moment. “As it is, the city won’t last for another year. And if it does, it would be the older loners like myself who will go first.”

Rarity cut in. “Oh, don’t say that. We promise we’ll return with help! There’s hope yet.”

Northern had some answer, but Rainbow didn’t hear it. She was too busy staring at this picture. That name. Battleborn. She knew it. She was sure that she knew it, that she knew some pony named that or something very, very similar.

“What was his rank, do you know?” Rainbow asked out of the blue. Rarity and Northern stopped their conversation. Both looked down at her in surprise, and she met their gazes.

“Why… he was a lieutenant last time I wrote him,” Downpour said.

“Lieutenant Battleborn.”

Rainbow looked down again, and then she started grinning. The other mares in the room regarded her with curiosity, but she didn’t mind as she stood and returned the frame to Northern.

“Lt. Battleborn,” she began. “Of the Second Army, I think. I’m pretty sure he’s under Captain Black Steel’s command, in the Celestial Tier. When we left, he was alive and well. I remember seeing him on the walls. I talked to him once.” She felt a tiny thrill of victory. Northern Downpour’s eyes began to water as she gaped. Rainbow pressed on, thinking as much about their host as about her friends. “I wouldn’t give up on him so quickly. Or on us, or your city. We won’t know ‘till we try.”

Author's Note

Sorry! RazedRainbow and randomguy for the editing credits

IX. Gathering Storm

LUNA

Luna watched the Royal Guard out on the parade ground as they paired off to spar. They were so small, she thought idly. So far away and so small out there. Even Spike, lumbering with the awkward gait of the adolescent, seemed small from this vantage.

It was an odd moment, and she was aware of its strangeness. Time had not moved on entirely, not really. The sparring of ponies now was the same as those before her great rebellion. Once again, a knight in her service was learning how to swing a sword. Yes, this time it was with claws and not with magic, but the principle was the same as in the old days.

Though Celestia was not here for her to talk with. That was new. She looked almost by instinct to the emptiness at her side, but found it not quite as empty as it felt. Her aide watched the field as well, quiet as she did.

Her isolated reverie broken, she regarded Page Turner. His brow was furrowed like a foal at work at some puzzle.

“You seem concerned,” she said lightly.

He started. “Princess?”

“You seem concerned. A… bit for your thoughts? That is the saying, true?”

He nodded. “Yes, that’d be it. I was just thinking about your new retainer.”

“Spike?” she asked and looked back to the field where the soldiers played at war.

“Yes,” he answered, and she imagined that he nodded. “I was wondering if I might share some of my observations with you and if I could know if I am right.”

She smiled. “So a game of guesses? We did the same when the world was younger.”

He coughed. “I guess. I wouldn’t presume to intrude on your plans and counsels without permission, your Highness, but it seems to me that you have something specific in mind for Spike.” She nodded, waiting for him to go on. “You have him training with the Royal Guard.”

“Yes. A bit plain, so far, Page Turner.”

“Well, yes, but… ahem.” She smiled at his flustered tone. “I’m not done yet! You haven’t let him interact in that way with any of the House Levies, not even from the Houses Major that support the throne wholeheartedly.”

Luna hummed an ancient tune whose name she’d quite forgotten. Below, Spike faced off with his partnered pegasus. His clawed hands curled around a sword made by unicorns in the forges within the mountain, and she had inspected it herself, felt the steel on her coat and reveled in how her hackles rose. Part of her still thought of her old nomadic life, fighting monsters. Or later, defending borders.

“That’s true. A much better observation than your last,” she said with a wider smile. “Continue.”

He did so while she laughed at Spike’s amateurish style. His sword danced like a drunken Earth pony at harvest: too slow, the arcs too wide, stumbling.

He was emboldened--Page, not her newest Champion, who seemed a bit frustrated--and continued. “Well, one must start with the basics to provide a frim foundation. I also see that his training is only with Royal Guard. No Lunar Guards, either. Only Solar. He hasn’t talked to any of the unicorns in service, nor has he made any flame as long as he’s been living here in the castle as a knight. The what’s and the hows I have.”

“You miss the why.”

He groaned. “Exactly. I have two theories right now.”

“Well?”

“First: you want him to make connections with your own troops because you’re worried about them, be it loyalty or morale… Or the second option. You’re worried about them, the House Levies. But…” he faltered, waving a hoof. “What about the split between night guard and day guard? Why not… let him train with both? I thought, perhaps, you didn’t trust your own guard, but it wouldn’t make any sense, because I know that you do.”

“You’re quite sure of my thoughts,” Luna said evenly.

Page Turner grimaced and looked up. Luna grinned at him. “I am jesting. No, you’re more or less on the mark, little archer of the mind. I do not trust the House Levies. To be honest with you, I never have. We need them, and we need the Houses--Equestria must all stand together! But I do not trust them and have not since my sister and I were elevated to the Amethyst Throne in Everfree.” She looked at Spike out of the corner of her eye. Terrible form. Simply terrible. But she returned to Page Turner after only a heartbeat. “You’re right about the Lunar Guard. I do not doubt my own soldiers.”

“But your sister’s, on the other hoof, you’re not so sure of,” Page guessed, turning from the parade grounds fully.

“Not entirely… or rather, I distrust them not out of suspicion of foul motive but out of simple knowledge of the nature of ponies. These ponies swore their allegiance to my sister’s banner. They are her stallions, her mares. They are mine by accident, and I remember that always. I try to treat them as she would, talk to them as she might, but they have lost their heart. I trust them not to revolt, but I do not trust them to excel. Not without a new figure to rally around.”

“So… Spike.”

“Perhaps. It is the least of my plays in this game, and if it does not take, the little I have ventured will not be any true loss. Any gains will quite outweigh the small benefits Spike may achieve training with my own guard.” Her eyes returned to the dragon. “I remember being not unlike him, a long, long time ago.”

“Is that so?”

She chuckled. “Am I a god, that I was always of the same mind? Or a plant that sprouts from the Earth? No, I was born out of the Song, but grew. In some ways. But yes, there was a time I had no idea how a sword was to be properly used. They were… newer then. There was a time I remember having no knowledge of them, though it seems like a dream. Perhaps, perhaps… perhaps it was, hm?” She hummed a tune that she knew would go back far beyond Page’s ken. “No, I still think it was true. I learned here, in the Middle Lands. In Canterlot, in fact, though at the time it was a rather crude fort of a monarch who was rather overfond of a fine vintage. Ah, but the mead they had…”

“Who?”

“Aethelred. I apologize. I am quite distracted today. I may need to do some teaching, myself, if my new knight is to be respected! Page Turner, are your curiosities satisfied?”

“As much as they can be, I suppose. No,” he stopped short. “Not quite. Actually, there is one thing.”

“Hm?”

“Spike. I like him, and I’m not saying you can’t trust him, because I think you can! But why? Why him? Why not one of the Captains to be a rallying point, or anypony else to… well, do whatever it is you have plans for. I know I don’t know everything yet.”

“Yet is the operative word. Soon, Page. Soon. Why Spike?”

She was quiet for a long time. Why Spike indeed. It was a fair question, one of the quality she expected from her favorite aide, her scholar-at-arms, as she called him with a smile. An easy answer was that he was convenient, having been deposited right into her mouth like a ripe grape. But the argument was a little bare and far too mechanical for her tastes. No, in fact, it was not mere convenience. If anything, Spike’s unusual abilities and physique made him harder to account for and command. He was eager and genuine and honest, but so were many penniless fools, and an army of tousle-headed poets with good hearts would be a poor army. So why?

“Perhaps, friend,” she said softly as she turned away, “perhaps because he is like myself. Taller, alone, abandoned by a sister, possessed of great power and unsure of what to make of that fact. We are orphans in a wide world; we will work out our salvation together.”

SPIKE

“For the love of the stars, watch! Pay attention!”

“I’m trying!”

The levitated sword came at him again, a feint that he easily batted away. He tightened his grip on the longsword they’d found for him. It may have been large for a pony, but it was perfect for him. Or at least, that’s what Iron Guard had told him before the quartermaster had put him off on this unicorn.

Amber Wood wasn’t even panting, but Spike felt hot and ragged. Usually, he enjoyed the heat from the sun at midday, but not like this. His arms ached. He was angry.

The unicorn lifted his shorter blade above his head as if he held it in stance. Spike copied with the stance he’d been taught, clawed hands at eye level, face forward. His chest heaved, unfamiliar with the weight of armor or the encumberance of anything more than a light tunic. Dragons were not made for clothes.

“It isn’t High Thaumaturgy, young master dragon! This is a simple game.” Amber Wood and Spike began to circle as he talked. “You’ve got the footwork down, for the most part--good! It’s the sword that’s the problem, but I thought it might be. It’s in your nature to use your claws.”

Spike grunted, not wanting to waste effort on speech.

“Of course it is.” The sword wavered. Spike tensed, but it did not cross over to his side. “Of course. But you’ve got the strength, boy, got it in spades. Those claws are too soft for armor, too soft by half. You got a ways to go!”

The sword jumped, and for a moment, and Spike lost sight of it. He looked up, blinded by the sun until the secondary membranes covered his eyes, and then he saw the practice blade coming out of the white heat.

Spike sidestepped. The sword hit the ground, and his mind burned like wildfire. Before he could even register the opportunity, his frustration blossomed into rage. He stepped down hard on the hilt of the sword. He felt Amber’s magic tugging on it, but he stayed firm, hissing. There were a few seconds of struggle, and then he felt the control over the spell break beneath his scaled foot—the tingling of magical influence vanished. He reached down and grabbed the blade. Amber was grinning when he stood back up, and his horn lit up.

The blade, however, did not.

He stared at it in disbelief, and Spike’s anger dissipated into a roar of laughter.

“Luna’s sake, what did you do?” Amber demanded. His face was red, and Spike simply laughed some more.

“Hold on, hold on… ah, let me breathe.” He calmed down and sat with a heavy thud. “Only if you let me have a break, sir.”

“I think you earned it… Magic. It has to be.”

Spike sheathed his own blade and set it by his side. He looked at his hands. The claws were too soft for the work of prying armor off, iwas true. He knew it before the veteran had ever said so. Not that he was happy about it. They looked the part. They just didn’t act it. He hated the illusion of them, how they promised so much power and made him look so… competent. Like he could handle things when he knew he couldn’t. It didn’t matter what things. Just anything. Perhaps that was why Twilight had left him. If his wings had been fully in. If his claws had been hard like diamonds.

Some of the good mood died. He traced the lines on his palm with a claw.

“I cheated,” he explained. “Not exactly. Kind of. It’s Anti-Magic, old Zebra stuff Twilight taught me a long time ago. I remembered how to draw some of it just because it looked cool, and I guess I was feeling lonely and found that book again. Found on that specifically canceled out low-level Unicorn magic on touch. I was wondering if it would work! I wasn’t really thinking about using it now.”

Amber chuckled. “Might I see? Ah, yes, I would prefer you not use such things here, but it is an ingenious thing to have in the future. Just glyphs, then? Zebra enchantment is a mystery to me…” He examined Spike’s palm. “Just glyphs. You’ve quite surprised any indignation out of me, I’ll confess… Just don’t do it again, yes?”

Spike smiled wearily. “I’ll try. I kinda forgot about it until the sword was in my hand, honestly.”

Amber removed the padded leather helmet he wore for sparring and wiped his brow. “Well that’s alright, I—"

He stopped up short, eyes widening before he straightened up. A pegasus landed beside Spike and hollered a quick warning to the others before saluting. Spike looked up from him in puzzlement.

He recognized the unicorn leisurely strolling through the grounds almost immediately. Old, good posture, mane back into a stately gray ponytail. Hard eyes that locked on Spike immediately, though he gave no other sign of recognition.

Cold Blood had come to inspect the troops.

Every alarm possible went off in Spike’s head. He didn’t need the Princess or Twilight to tell him that this one was rotten; he felt it with just a look. Good ponies didn’t have that look or give that look.

He sighed and straightened. The Princess had told him not to bow but to salute, and he did so. The eyes flashed at him, he imagined, but still gave no other sign of acknowledgement. Instead, the old, noble veteran spoke to one of the stallions on the other side of the mass of sparring recruits.

Spike relaxed his posture but kept watching Cold Blood. He didn’t bother to hide it. Something told him to lock gazes, not to be the first to look away, no matter what. He didn’t know if it was wise, but it was the only thing he could bear to do. So he watched.

“You okay there, man?”

Spike did not break contact. “Yeah,” he said. It was the pegasus from earlier, he guessed.

Cold Blood looked away first. Spike smiled and showed every last tooth. The pegasus whistled.

“Damn, son, you’re scary! You know that?”

Spike glanced down at him. “Hm?”

“Teeth, man,” the other responded, pantomiming. Spike snorted and shook his head.

“Nah, I’m not so bad. Who’re you?”

Puffing up his chest, the pegasus replied, “Rainbow Rays, nice to meet you, big guy. New in the service, same as me?”

“Probably newer, Rays. Any relation to—?”

Rays groaned and shook his head. “Gods, no. Everyone asks that! We don’t look anything alike, even!”

“Same name. Got wings.”

“And I already don’t like you. Got wings! Cheeky bastard,” Rays said with a smile. “Anyhow. Could tell you two were eyein’ each other.”

Spike turned his full attention to Rays. “Cold Blood?”

The pegasus chuckled and sat down. Spike had lost track of his mentor, but the veteran had produced a canteen and offered it to Spike, who accepted it happily.

“That’s General Blood to you,” he said sourly. “Or Lord, or whatever.”

“Don’t sound so eager to do the man honor there, Sargeant Whatever,” Spike said and offered the canteen back.

Wood shook his head and gestured at Rays. “No, let ‘im have some if he’s gonna barge up in here with news. We’re about done anyhow. I noticed it too, boy. You looked like you were about to kill that iron-hearted bastard.”

Spike shrugged. “Eh, not really? I just didn’t want to be the first to look down. He had his eyes on me when he walked in.” Probably came to spy on me and maybe say a word or two to anyone who’ll listen, he added sourly in his head.

“Not sure why he’s here. The Royal Corps aren’t exactly fond of the House Blood, you know.”

Spike’s honed skills as an expert notetaker came to the fore of his mind. Silently, he blessed Twilight’s bookishness. “Oh?” he asked, as innocuously as he could. Mental Spike prepared parchment and pen.

“Oh, yeah,” Wood continued. “Of course, boy. We’re not some lordlings ‘lap dogs. We’re not overly impressed by upstarts who think they can mess with the Lady Celestia! Or her sister,” he added quickly. “Besides, House Blood’s troops and the Royal Corps have been rivals since time out of mind. Our officers never dine together. Solar and Lunar, by the way, in case you’re about to ask. Oh, we’ll fight by their sides! But you think I’m gonna be caught dead breaking bread with some whoreson out of—” he cleared his throat and took on a grumbling, mocking tone“ —ouse Major Blood, Grandest of the Assembly?”

Rays drank greedily from the canteen when Spike offered, much to his amusement, before chiming in. “Oh yeah, definitely. They used to tell stories about him pushing the Griffons back at Farpoint in nine-seventy-nine, and I expected some sort of strutting hero, but his Lordship’s a cre—”

Woods stood up, his face red. “You mean to tell me they’re sayin’ he was at Farpoint! Stupid boy, I’ll tell you—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Spike said, putting out a hand. “Chill, Sargeant.”

The unicorn looked at him for a moment and then sat. “Lordlings,” he spat.

Rays had recovered from cowering. “Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean nothing by it. What I’m trying to say is that the Royal Corps… well,” he faltered, eyes looking to his superior and then back to the dragon who towered over him. Spike yawned, showing some teeth for good measure.

“Er, right. Well, the officers have their old hatreds and stuff, yeah, but the rank and file… I don’t know. It’s kinda hard being a Solar Guard when there’s no Princess of the Sun.”

“She’s still around, you know,” Wood replied darkly. “Right as rain and living as surely as you and I and Master Spike, here. Doing what she can to help, even from out there, you mark my words!”

“I guess,” Rays allowed, not quite meeting Wood’s eyes.

“Twilight will find her,” Spike cut in. He smiled, careful not to show off teeth. “I’m sure of it. Have you ever tried to keep a secret from the greatest librarian in the world? I have, and I can tell you that it’s impossible. Nothing goes unturned, unsearched, or unresearched. If anyone can find a needle in a haystack—Princess, needle, whatever—It’ll be Twilight.”

TWILIGHT

The buildings had tumbled in on themselves. The skyline was no longer on fire, but ti had been. She had the fleeting glimpse of a feeling, like a suspicion that it had been beautiful and bright and warm, and shivered. She was unsure if it was the wind or the image that brought it on, but Twilight had lost her balance.

Tall Tale was dead, and beyond it, she could see Vanhoover. The fires were gone. Everything was black from ash.

They entered the town of Tall Tale to no applause or ceremony. Not one of them said a word. Twilight reflected that there was not really much to be said, though she had no doubt they would try. Maybe not yet. Maybe later. Maybe any moment now, but they would do what ponies always did and try to give it all a name to curse and a face to spit on.

Twilight catalogued every burnt-out carriage, every busted taxi with a harness for pulling. She counted and drew with her eyes every ruined building and pockmarked sidewalk. What had done it? It didn’t matter. She guessed civil unrest had started it, and madness had finished it. Perhaps it began with a panic over food. This high up, perhaps it was anxiety over the cold. Too many ponies got to coughing, and then a few too many remark they are hungry in rapid succession. Riots started small, with tiny things, and they grew, and every attempt to quell them only made them stronger until ponies died or wish they had.

And I just feel numb, Twilight thought to herself. And so she did, as she stumbled through the uneven streets. I guess… why shouldn’t I be a little numb by now? It’s the same as Ponyville, only bigger. The Beachhead at Manehattan with fewer griffons. It’s just… it’s all the same. Bigger or smaller, but the same color and the same smell and…

There was no conclusion. Her thoughts trailed off without offering one, because there wasn’t one. So evil was banal. The final horror was the end of horror, yes she understood that intellectually, but what now? Was there even an Equestria to save anymore? She looked up at the obscured sun and wondered if it was tethered to a pony at all, or just a dream she’d woken up from. Or perhaps a liar.

A jolt of pain went up her leg, and with a cry, she stumbled forward. Twilight squeezed her eyes shut, but the expected pain never came. She opened them again.

Applejack was supporting her. They locked eyes for a moment, and Twilight quickly looked away while Applejack set her back up on four legs. Twilight sat.

“Look where you’re goin’ there, Twi,” Applejack said softly. “You’ll get hurt.”

Twilight nodded but didn’t answer.

They continued on. They passed through the residential areas on the fringe to the business district. Ruined signs, broken windows, a few corpses but not many. She suspected they’d been burned. She found it hard to care, right away.

The silence remained, heavy—not a blanket but a net, a weighed trap, a heavy fog. Twilight looked up at the gray sky. The clouds were gathering. Dark ones.

“‘S gonna rain soon,” Applejack said as if reading her thoughts.

Twilight glanced at her as they turned the corner. The street ahead was littered with overturned carts and vehicles. She was sure the smouldering aluminum wreck in the crater of that building was a personal airship. Strange, it seemed like forever since Twilight had seen one.

“Oh, definitely,” Pinkie said, a little too quickly and a little too loudly. Twilight’s ears twitched, but Pinkie went on. “Pinkie sense told me so earlier, but it…”

“Weren’t the right time,” Applejack finished.

“Yeah. But I guess now’s as good a time as any, right? Um… anypony hungry? Lunch was supposed to be thirty minutes ago. I didn’t say anything because nopony seemed hungry but I’m really, really, really hungry.”

“Thinking about food in a place like this?” Twilight muttered.

“Speak up, Twi?” Applejack asked, voice like a sword.

“Nothing. Sorry, just thinking aloud. Food would be appreciated, yes. Let’s get out of the street first.” Twilight looked around, making sure not to meet Applejack’s gaze. “There’s an alley over there.”

They crossed the street and retreated into the alley in question. Twilight slumped against the wall and stared at the bricks on the other side. Pinkie knelt and squirmed out of her bulging saddlebags and began to root around in them, humming quietly. Applejack stood at the mouth of the dirty, little alley, watching.

Twilight couldn’t care less if it were dirty. It wasn’t out in the open, and that was all that mattered. Not that she thought anything lived here. Nothing could. Nothing did. Everything was lost.

Applejack wandered into her static field of vision, offering a canteen in her mouth. She raised an eyebrow.

Twilight sighed and took the offering. “Thanks.”

“Ain’t nothin’. You alright?”

Twilight chuckled. It was a violent, one-off, angry sort of barking laugh. It was almost a genuine spot of amusement. “Absolutely not, AJ. Not even a little.”

Applejack sat beside heragainst the wall. “Well, thought I should at least ask. I suspect nopony’s quite alright.”

Twilight took a drink, relishing the slightly mineral taste of water. She realized how dry her lips had been only now, when they were wet, but restrained herself from gluttony. “Thanks,” she said, needlessly. She levitated the canteen in front of her. “Enchanted?” she asked, quietly. She felt the magic there, underneath her own. For a moment, the world fell away, and she was feeling the threaded patterns of another’s thaumaturgy.

“Hm? Oh yeah,” Applejack responded. “Sure is! Picked it up from a vendor in Canterlot. Rarity checked all that magic stuff for me, told me it was good ‘fore I bought it.”

Twilight smiled. She didn’t think about it; it came naturallyl. “This is good work. Very good. Granted, it’s not exactly thesis material! But this is good spellcrafting… elegant, even. See how… Oh. Sorry. Well, you can’t see, but the pony that enchanted this either had a lot of time on his hoovesor he was incredibly skilled. It’s… beautiful, really. Cleans any water contained in it after a minute or so.”

“Guess I got my money’s worth,” Applejack commented.

“You sure did.” She levitated it back, and Applejack drank. Wiping her mouth, she continued. “You know what I could use, ‘bout now?”

“What?” Twilight asked.

“Whiskey. Wild Pegasus. Not a lot, mind ya. Not a lot. Jus’ a little, and I’d be set. There ain’t a thing wrong with a bit of fortification as my Pa used to say.”

Pinkie cozied up to Twilight before either of them could say anything else, grinning. She offered them both sandwiches, and they ate in quiet while Pinkie talked.

“Oh, yeah, I had some in the apartment! Didn’t I tell you? We totally should have had some before we left, AJ! You know, one for the road, a little party before…” she faltered, but recovered. “Anyway, it’s back at home. We should have some when we get back.”

“Pinks, hon, that stuff is expensive. You spent money on how much of it now?”

“Oh, I’m always stocked!” Pinkie laughed. “Allllwayyys. But yeah, super expensive. Lots of bits. Or at least, it woulda been, but I did a favor for White Russian, and he had some, and since I…”

Pinkie rambled. Applejack would interject here and there, keeping the strange, wandering story alive, and between them Twilight sat as she had all along on this trip, mostly quiet, smiling despite herself.

A story. Just a story and the quiet and the dark. The dark which was not that long off, she guessed, glancing up at the clouds. She wondered if that was how it would always be. Maybe they would just wander forever and forget how to go back home, and just talk about it forever and ever, until they dropped one by one, leaving just Twilight in empty streets. Maybe she would tell stories. Just jaw on about anything, really, blabber at length about embarassing incidents as a student or about that one time when Spike grew to be huge or about how Fluttershy “liberated” Philomena. Or she could make up something new, Twilight supposed. A story about a brave knight who knew that the Princesses would come back one day, and was sure if he could just pay their ransom, that they would. Or maybe one about a circle of friends, all sorts of races and types and faces, going out on a long journey to find a magical ring. She would get desperate for tales, eventually, she supposed. Maybe ones about space, up there in Luna’s realm, the real cold and dark and quiet. Ponies she knew, maybe even one of their siblings, up their among the stars. Hell, let there be some ghosts. A few love triangles! Some bad breakups. Drunkenness. Sex. A lot of tears. Spike can get into a tussle with some grown dragon and marry Rarity, and a thousand years from now there’ll be some… some lonesome pony wandering around in these ruins, one of a whole race of us who lived on and were happy in some far away place under…

She sighed.

After a few more minutes, they headed out. Twilight led again while Pinkie took the rear and Applejack inched closer and closer to the lead as if waiting for Twilight to do… something.

It was around the docks that things changed.

The streets emptied out. Somepony had dragged debris away and pushed it into alleys and buildings. There were no more bodies. Twilight noted the remains of a fire in one of the open sidestreets, and they all paused around it.

“Company?” Applejack asked.

“Yes.”

“Well… damn, maybe they’re just some harmless ponies, Twi. If it were raiders… I mean, they’re all touched, y’know? We’d see scrawled symbols and all kinds of weird messed up… things. Bodies imapled or somethin’, beats me.”

“Not likely,” Twilight said, staring at the embers. “We’ll just have to avoid them.”

Applejack let out a sigh, but Pinkie spoke first. “Twilight, we can’t allllways run away from every single pony! We could use some directions… and food… and we could talk to them, and—”

“No.”

“Don’t be so damned quick, Twilight. This is what I’m talkin’ about!” Applejack hissed. “Just… think. Use that damned noggin of yours, ‘cause I know it works. It works like a dream, but I can’t tell from how you just get to shuttin’ down. Now, there ain’t any signs of raiders or at least that they’ve been here long. We could look for survivors. I wanna know what’s happened here.”

“Death happened,” Twilight said flatly.

“Well, duh, thankya for your beautiful insight there,” Applejack said.

“Girls…” Pinkie tried to butt in, but Applejack continued.

“We could call out, make sure we ain’t all bunched up. You could have your shield ready. They might be down at the docks. We need a way across the ocean, Twi—”

“We can find our own boat.”

“Girls…”

“Can you sail it?”

“I can figure it out! We don’t need any other ponies.”

“Oh? Cause I sure can’t navigate all that well, and even if you can, you can’t fix no boat, and furthermore—”

Pinkie shook them both and tilted their heads up towards the windows above. “Girls, look.”

Eight sets of eyes watched them.

“You have no idea how glad we are to see somepony’s still livin’ around these parts,” Applejack said, drinking from a battered mug. Cider, provided by the survivors of Tall Tale, bearing her family’s own mark. Or at least, Applejack had said the barrel did. Twilight could hardly tell with how much of the paint had been worn off. It hadn’t helped how dark it was by the docks. Night fell quickly, with Celestia gone, and it always caught Twilight by surprise.

“We were surprised to see ponies comin’ in from outside. Refugees stopped months ago,” Harvest said. He was a big earth pony, from good, rustic stock. He reminded Twilight a bit of Big Macintosh back home in Ponyville. Canterlot, she corrected.

“Oh, we’re not refugees! We’re travelling through,” Pinkie said. “Well… I mean refugees travel too, but…”

Harvest chuckled. It was a deep, resonant sound. “I get what you mean, little miss. You three are far too well fed to be refugees anyhow. From Canterlot, you said?”

Twilight watched from across the fire, which itself sat in a barrel. The ponies of Tall Tale gathered in little circles around other barrels, lodged in tents and lean-tos. She’d asked them why they’d left the buildings behind, but Harvest had simply asked her how she would feel about sleeping in a mausoleum. Besides, she thought to herself, glancing out over the soiled bay, with structural damage and lack of maintenance, they might not be a wise lodging.

“Eeyup,” Applejack drawled. She was smiling; Twilight could see the slight flash of her eyes reflecting the fire and the way the dancing flames illuminated her easy smile. It was… refreshing, she decided. It was a little bit of home. Not her own, perhaps, but somepony else’s, and it was enough for now.

Twilight drifted.

The ponies of Tall Tale were few, but more than she would ever have hoped for. Hundreds, living by the docks and in a makeshift fort only a few blocks away from the campsite they’d found. They ate from the leftover scraps of the earlier world and gathered from the tough weeds and bushes and vines in and outside of the city what fruit there was to be found. There wasn’t much, but the snows usually didn’t fall in the bay area, and so they returned home with dried tubers. They lived like ponies did in the beginning, she thought. Off the complexities of the land, eating from the surface, digging if they had to and it was shallow, but mostly just taking what was offered. It almost sounded alright.

Winter would still come, and even they would be frozen and die with every other Equestrian. Not even this simpler way of living could survive. The Sun was needed to help things grow, after all.

They’d gotten much of the story of what happened in Tall Tale, and a glimpse of the ruin of its sister city across the bay, Vanhoover, from Harvest. These ponies elected no leader and gave no thought to succession; at least, so they claimed, and yet, for all intents and purposes, Harvest led them. He gave no orders, usually. He simply asked, and ponies did. He was a leader of Stallions, Twilight supposed. Built into him was the stuff of Generals. He smiled at every foal and knew their names, and he was quick to offer them a tent for the night. She was sure that he watched them and that his guard was up, but she could not see it in his eyes or hear it in his voice. He had an upturned hoof.

It bothered her.

It bothered her not only because it was so out of place in the world around her but because simple generosity itself… bothered her, now. How far had she come? Twilight sighed. Pinkie had told him much of their purposes, though not where they thought Celestia might be. Twilight had made her swear not to talk about Jannah or the West at all if she could help it, but nopony could keep Pinkie from excitedly revealing the rest of their journey. She told it well, Twilight admitted. Embellished Twilight’s magic, which embarrassed her, but otherwise more or less with accuracy, if a little too much color. The smiling, dirty ponies of Tall Tale had accepted it all with eagerness. There wasn’t much news to be had in such a world.

Harvest told them that Vanhoover had lost contact with Canterlot partially out of choice. The griffons landed, and when the Beachhead was announced, ponies fell into despair. Twilight had said nothing, only nodding. It was an appropriate response, really. But then the old stallion had committed suicide a week before the Army of Griffonia dispersed, and no one cared about what was happening in Manehattan or Canterlot then. The Vanhoover telegraph office burned down, anyhow, in a small riot. Tall Tale, across the bridge, was stable if afraid. The farmers came into town when the days grew too short and the air too cold and the raiders too lean and aggressive. In Vanhoover, they chose a new Mayor.

Democracy, Twilight thought sourly, as she stared across the starry, spoiled sea towards the greatest of the Western ports.

Tall Tale and Vanhoover were Earth Pony towns, traditionally. They voted on everything. They elected other ponies to do voting for them, even. It was all a bit silly, but she supposed it was something you had to understand from the inside.

“Now, we got aristocrats,” Harvest said, chuckling. “But they’re not much but rich folk and proud folk, and there ain’t many lords and ladies that keep those titles long. Not since… well, I guess not since the Old Bear himself, but that’s just a story. I guess they got to lookin’, you know. At how you unicorns do things. Or how the Pegasi obey the Strategoi. I guess, when you think of yourself as a leader and bred to lead, it only makes sense that you try to lead when everybody’s all panickin’.

“So I don’t blame ‘em, not as much as other’s might. Anypony, really. It just… is, and takin’ sides is pointless now. So the nobles and the rich folk put up their candidate, a young dandy… oh, hell, I think I forgot his name. No! No I remember. Gray. Gray somethin’. But ponies liked him. He was a nice stallion. Maybe not the brightest or the most subtle, maybe not the most experienced, but Tartarus take me if he didn’t prance around like a hero out of the tales. He wasn’t so bad.

“The Populares, these new upstarts, they hated him. Wore blue, I think. Brown? No, it was blue. Blue and Gray. The Dandy won, but only barely, and they say it was all a cheat, and so there was a recount, and then another fella won, and there was a riot. We heard that much from the ponies that came across the bridge. You heard noise drifting across the bay for days. Thought they were killin’ each other, and I was right. Days of fire and smoke. Blew themselves up, I suspect. The Young Dandy died quickly. The fool who got the better of the recount ran as fast as his fat little legs could carry him. The Populares control the docks now, and they're still fighting. Some. Aren’t that many left, I guess. They’ll be done soon, any day now they’ll finally finish it. I suppose nopony at all is gonna win, as I see it. They spilled their fightin’ over here, and now both of us live in dead places.”

So the city was a warzone. The first step off the bridge would be like re-entering the Beachhead.

She had asked him about the survivors, thinking that perhaps she could ask them questions about the city, maybe ask if anypony knew what might be safest way to the docks.

“They… there’s somepony, somewhere around here,” he said, but then shook his head. “We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

Twilight had shrugged, but she had watched his eyes. The moment passed. They moved onto other topics, Pinkie steering the conversation into every metaphorical bush and wall and house that she could manage to. Everything was fair game to her. Harvest chuckled often, and asked questions. Twilight thought he seemed genuinely amused, and Pinkie seemed to like him.

Twilight excused herself quietly from the happiness around the fire. She felt Pinkie watch her go, but she didn’t say anything but goodbye.

Instead, she found an old tavern on the boardwalk. The windows were intact, but she didn’t bother to read the white lettering on them. The name of this place didn’t interest her. What interested her were the tables.

Inside, it was dusty. Tables and chairs were strewn about, and the bar was ransacked. Twilight had little interest in it all, really. She supposed Applejack would have had some comment to make, a sad musing on the ponies that had been here. Pinkie would have sat at the bar, perhaps, and Twilight herself might have been reminded of older nights and older parties. Perhaps. It wasn’t that she didn’t think remembering was bad. No. She was sure it wasn’t that; it was simply that she had something important to do. It seemed the right time.

She produced the scrying stone from her bag and placed it on a table.

It was golden or at least appeared so. Twilight knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t nearly heavy enough to be gold. It was perfectly round and yet sat without difficulty in one place, reflecting the moon. She sighed, placing a hoof delicately on its smooth surface. It was warm to the touch. Not unpleasantly so. In fact, to Twilight’s surprise, it was like touching a pony. Warm, alive. Not metallic at all. She marvelled at it.

But she needed some light, first. She concentrated, setting four amberish lights about her in midair so that now she saw herself reflected in the stone’s mirrorlike field.

What would she say? “Hey, how’re you doing? Everything sucks here. Is Canterlot still falling apart?” “Oh, just up to the usual. Dying cities.” No, not quite flippant enough. What should I say? I have been wandering in the alleys and graves?

Hesitantly, she reached out with her magic and touched the stone.

It reacted instantly. It was like the mental handshake of combining magic with another unicorn, tingling sensation and all. The orb glowed brightly golden, and Twilight waited silently in the dark for she knew not how long until Luna appeared in the circle which shone so bright that it seemed a white hole in the night. But the light faded, and then she found that it was clear as glass, and inside was Luna in some chamber of her own, she guessed with the other stone on a pedestal.

“Twilight!” Luna said, her voice high and her eyes wide. Twilight couldn’t help it. She heard her name said in such a way, and she smiled.

“Hello, Princess,” she said quietly. “This really is fascinating magic.”

The princess coughed. “Yes, right. Sorry, you startled the decorum out of Us, Twilight Sparkle…” The princess bit her lip and looked up from the stone.

Twilight was puzzled. Was something wrong?”

When Luna looked back, she was smiling. “But please, do not call Us—me, I apologize! Do not call me Princess, not right now. We are alone, yes? Call me Luna. We may drop the masks of decorum here.”

Twilight smiled wider and raised an eyebrow. “You strike me as the kind who likes ceremony, Luna. Changing your mind?”

Luna—Celestia forgive her if Celestia even cared—seemed to pout. “I have not. Tradition and ceremony are very important! They are our way of imposing order and beauty onto the mundanities of chaos, after all. I quite appreciate them. But in private… one does wish to be called by one’s own name, Twilight Sparkle.”

“Same, Princess. But you have to stop calling me by my whole name.”

“We—I! I shall try. Twilight,” she said for emphasis. It was strange, but to hear just her first name made Twilight happy. The princess always used the formal full name of every pony but her sister. It was a little like being accepted, she supposed.

It all felt so… easy. She felt like talking again, which was a miracle. “I hope everything is going well in Canterlot, Luna. My party has just reached Tall Tale. We’re crossing the bridge over into Vanhoover tomorrow.”

Luna grinned. “Excellent! I’m so pleased you finally were able to contact us, Twilight… Has everything been alright? Your companions are safe?”

“Yes. Applejack and Pinkie are fine. Pinkie’s been a little down, but it’s hard not to be, out here. Applejack and I have been butting heads, but that’s not really new.”

“Butting heads?” Luna asked, frowning. Her brow furrowed.

“No, no it’s fine. She’s usually right, probably. I dismissed the possibility of survivors who didn’t want to kill us out of hoof, earlier. I’ve just been… off, I guess. It’s hard to be on target out here.” Twilight paused, organizing her thoughts. “The city is toast. Both of them are. Not sure how many are left around here. There’s a little community of survivors in this town who are peaceful and making do. You’d be proud of them.”

“And I would. We have always appreciated the resilience of ponies of the earth,” Luna said. “But… I am sorry to hear that. I had hoped they would be alright, alone…”

“Well… I’ll tell you about it later, I guess, Luna. If it’s not… too much trouble, could I ask about Spike?”

Luna’s smile returned. There was something else, too, Twilight thought, in how she handled herself. A bit of pride, perhaps. “Oh, yon master Spike is quite in good hooves, I assure you! He’s my newest knight, after all.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’ve put him to work as you might say! I need every hoof and claw willing to help, Twilight. Spike has been training with the Royal Guard since you left and attending me during the nights.”

“How are the Houses liking that?” Twilight asked, picturing a regally armored Spike and smirking.

“There is a mixed reaction. Some appreciate the power he has; few can deny the romantic appeal of it… and the usual offenders are annoyed with us. As usual.”

“As usual.”

“Regardless,” Luna continued. “Spike is… I will not lie to you. None of us are ever safe, Twilight. The Game is now afoot, the Game of Houses, old as the throne. Now that the Elements are gone, the preliminaries are finished, and the Opening moves are being made. We are playing chess while the world burns, Twilight, and no one is as unahppy with it as I am… but I have to. Spike is my opening gambit.”

The words raised a flag somewhere in Twilight’s mind. She recalled many chess games, and her face folded into a worried frown. “Luna…”

“Twilight… please do not be upset. I would bare it ill if you were,” the princess pleaded, and Twilight was surprised at her tone. It was… not raw, but soft. Not as a queen, but as a pony. She blinked, surprised.

“He’s like… Well, in some ways, he is my brother.”

“I know. I respect him highly. We are alone, he and I, and we become friends in the ways that the left behind tend to. But I need him. I need somepony—someone, I should say—who is not already on the inside. To be my eyes and ears. To be my dagger, my rook. But he is also my companion, Twilight. My gift from you, as it were,” she finished.

“What are you planning?” Twilight asked. She rested her head on her hooves. How late was it? Her weariness was catching up to her.

“It is… hard to say. At the moment? There are pawns to move out of his way. And I need more than a single rook to do the task. He needs companions, and I believe he’s finding them. There is but one more to collect, and then the game will truly begin. Canterlot must be preserved. It will be here when you get back.”

Twilight looked out the window, but it was impossible to see anything with the glare of the lights. It was just as well, really. There was nothing to see. The city was dead. One dead city of many.

“I hope so,” she said quietly.

X. Shaken From the Wrath-Bearing Tree

TWILIGHT

As the clouds of troubled sleep faded, the morning came, announced by Pinkie’s snores and the hard feeling of sleeping on concrete. Twilight lay in the semidark of their tent, listening to the way the lapping waters of the bay broke in here and there between loud snoring. Bit by bit, she became more aware of her surroundings, of the feeling of the bedding wrapped around her and the warm of Applejack’s back against her own.

Twilight sighed. Harvest had promised to walk them to the bridge. Twilight still hoped the map he’d mentioned having was good enough to be of use. Hopefully a real street map, one not drawn from faulty memory.

It was time to get up. She squirmed out of her bedding and nuzzled Applejack first, receiving a guttural groan for her trouble. Twilight smiled, suppressing a yawn, and moved on to Pinkie.

“Pinkie? You ready?”

“Mrmf.”

“Yeah, I figured so.Harvest is waiting.”

Applejack was up by the time she turned back around. The two of them folded up the bedding while Pinkie stumbled out of the tent, murmuring to herself. Twilight smiled when she caught the scent of coffee in the air. Pinkie was the only pony who could give Twilight’s caffeine addiction a run for its money.

“Somepony’s in a good mood this morning,” Applejack commented.

“I’ve always enjoyed the morning.”

“Really now? What’s a librarian do in the mornin’?” Applejack asked, stuffing a few personal odds and ends into her saddlebag.

Twilight shrugged. “Not one anymore, remember? But I used to read with coffee in the mornings. You’d never believe it, but I used to sleep in on Sundays. Me, the one who plans every second of every day, slept in. Crazy, huh?”

“A bit hard to imagine,” Applejack conceded with a chuckle.

It occurred to Twilight that it had been a while on the road since they’d woken up to anything other than sullen silence. It was refreshing, like a bit of the old days had snuck in while nopony was looking.

“Well, I would lie there, lazing in the sun. Just a crack of sun through the curtains, cutting across the bed… the promise of coffee downstairs…” She smiled, and they pushed the bags out of the tent ahead of them. “I used to love it.”

Together, they dismantled their little tent and packed it away. Twilight was glad for the space enchantments on her bag at times like this. They’d taken her two days to get right, but they were proving to be worth it.

Pinkie sat by her tiny fire, built in the ashes of the night before. She had wrapped a handkerchief around the handle of the coffee pot (why she had this Twilight did not bother to guess) and held it over the fire as it began to bubble.

Twilight, as usual, offered to take it and make their shared fix herself and took the saucepan with Pinkie’s grumbly consent. Pinkie yawned and look at the fire.

“Woulda never figured you could go ten minutes without movin’, sugarcube,” Applejack said.

“Mornin’. Can’t talk. Coffee.”

“I know, just thought it’d be polite to try,” Applejack replied and retrieved her hat from where it sat on top of their clustered saddlebags. “Anyhow. Twilight, where’s that Harvest fella? I forgot what he said ‘bout meetin’ him this morning.”

“Nothing special,” Twilight said, looking out at the bridge and the morning view of Vanhoover’s heights. “We’re just waiting for him. We’re not in that much of a hurry, not yet. We have roughly eight hours left of sunlight if we’re unlucky. A whole ten if we’re not. You know how the days are, now.”

“Right. Well then, cry your pardon,” Applejack said and dug around in her bag. She produced the old pipe and her little pouch of tobacco and sat up against her bag. “Light me?” she asked. Twilight did so, and Applejack and she watched across the water.

Pinkie was first to have a large mug of coffee drifted over towards her, and she was on it like a starving animal. Twilight considered asking her where she had procured the sugar which she poured in greedily but decided the undoubtedly long-winded explanation was too much for this morning.

Harvest’s arrival found them like this, Applejack blowing idle smoke rings and Twilight watching the sun’s reflection. Pinkie drifted this way and that but greeted the patriarch of Tall Tale warmly. The others made their own, slightly more subdued greetings, and they retrieved their belongings and followed him.

In the good light, Twilight was beyond impressed by him. He was physically imposing in a way that left her looking up permanently. Musclebound, as if he were made of steel or red marble, with eyes that looked at her sharply. She had no doubts, now, about how he’d kept intruders and ne’er-do-wells out of the manes of his band of survivors.

Harvest kept up idle chatter, telling them about the town before the griffons and Celestia’s disappearance. Twilight’s eyes wandered to and fro, cataloguing as they always did. Curiously, one would struggle to prove that these ponies were even here if it weren’t for the ashes of their fires and the physical evidence of their tents. There wasn’t even the barest hint of a whisper of activity on the docks. The concrete beneath her hooves was cold and unwalked.

“Harvest?”

“Hm?” He looked back at her, eyebrows raised. He had been midway through a rambling, gregarious story that honestly she’d found rather tiring.

“I’m sorry, just a quick question while it’s on my mind. Where is everypony?”

He blinked. “Come again, little miss?”

“The ponies. Your ponies. It’s… at least seven thirty? Maybe almost eight in the morning. It’s not that late, but I’m surprised that none of them are up. It’s completely silent.”

“Well, you see,” he shrugged and looked away from her eyes, “we don’t quite have those Canterlot timetables, y’know? Ponies wake up about when they want to and not before. Can’t be bothered to wake up when there’s not that much work to do, after all! I mean,” he continued, making a sweeping gesture, “wouldn’t you stay in bed in such a place?”

Twilight did not answer, giving him a distracted nod.

“But sleep is boring,” Pinkie cut in. “I mean, if I lived here, I would explore all the time!”

“Hard to explore your own town,” Harvest pointed out. His voice was quieter as if suddenly remembering there were sleepers nearby.

“Oh. Well, I guess, but I mean… it’s so big!”

“Yeah, not sure I’d sleep in, either,” Applejack drawled, cracking her neck. “But, then again, that may just be me an’ the way I was raised.”

“Shame,” Twilight said, sighing. “I had hoped to be able to talk to one of the survivors from Vanhoover… Are you sure you can’t wake one?”

Harvest shakes his head. “No, Miss Twilight, no can do. Trust me, they’d be useless to ya. Now, you three have been nice to me and mine, but I’d rather not be dragging memories out of the dark for little reason.” He coughed, and they stopped at the street. “Now, I thought you might be of that mind… so last night after I left y’all, I talked to Old Stallion… ah, Jenkins. His little granddaughter helped me draw the routes on this map if you’ll let me show you.”

She noticed the saddlebag he had, now, as he dug through it and came up with a rolled up map. Twilight took it with her magic and examined it. A smile blossomed on her face.

“A street map! Excellent. A legitimate, civil engineer’s street map, zones and everything. I was worried it would be drawn from memory. Er, not to say… What I mean to say is thank you,” she finished lamely but allowing a little smile. His evasion seemed less troublesome now.

There were even notes scrawled childishly. Perhaps a bit too childish… she struggled with some of the words, thinking to herself that it was perhaps some of the worst spelling she’d seen from any child, but in a world such as this, it was to be expected. But with this, Twilight was sure they’d be able to navigate no matter how badly the streets were damaged or blocked. Harvest’s tight-lippedness about the other city aside, his map was a boon.

They walked the cracked streets in a clump, and Harvest made up for his absent eyewitnesses. “Now, I will tell ya again that I don’t know much ‘bout the city, but I do know a little.”

“As it is? Or as it was?” Twilight asked.

“Both,” he said. “Now, most of my knowledge of the city in the notes and map and such. But I do know that ‘fore all this mess, there was a steamboat in the harbor that was good for ocean journeyin’. Read about it in the papers; all of ‘em got busted for smuggling goods in from the Port Iver. I think it’s an island out there.”

“So, you think it might still be there?”

“Very possible. Since you’re lookin’ for ships, thought you might want to know. There might be others, but that one I know was there. There’s coal on the dock, so I’d be on the lookout. You’ll need quite a bit.”

“So… these two factions,” began Twilight, but Applejack chimed in, and she stopped to listen.

“I got a question, big fella,” she said, adjusting her hat. “How many folks came over the bridge? How many you think are still in there?”

He shrugged. “I… I ain’t really sure,” he admitted. “I’d have to count, I suppose.”

She blinked. “Huh. Apologies. Last night, you struck me as one of those types that keeps track meticulously. Like Twi,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Twilight, who rolled her eyes in response.

“Actually, I was going to ask you something similar. The Blues and the Grays. Are there many left, would you say? Are they blowing things up regularly?”

Harvest chuckled. “If there are lots left, ‘s only ‘cause there were so many of ‘em in the first place. Vanhoover, big cities in general, they’re all like ant beds. Too full, too crowded. Nuisances. But I don’t think there are that many left. We don’t get many explosions these days, but every now and again, I’ll walk by our barricade and hear a gunshot echo.”

Twilight blinked, and as they turned down a wide street, she spoke. “Barricade?”

“Eeyup. We put up a barricade up ‘bout a third of the way up the bridge to keep the riffraff out, keep the Vanhoover ponies on their side.”

Twilight imagined it, built of carts, perhaps. A wall of debris, guns pointing over the top.

“I’m assuming you had to use it at least once.”

“More than just once,” Harvest said, and she noticed his pace was a little quicker than before.

APPLEJACK

The long bridge across the bay was cluttered with vehicles. No bodies, or at least not yet.

She liked him, but Harvest’s refusal to do or say anything about the city across the bay rubbed Applejack the wrong way. She got protecting your own. It made a lot of sense—she’d be tight-lipped if it protected Applebloom or helped Big Macintosh. But the stallion was a stone wall. If it happened across the bay, he didn’t care. If it happened outside the city, he didn’t care. It just bothered her, how he would shrug. He didn’t care for any news they could give him. There was no interest in Canterlot or the fate of Equestria despite the silence Tall Tale had languished in.

Twilight stopped them at the pile-up of carts. The cartsponies had all fled, she supposed, and abandoned their cargoes. Or they’d been moved. Applejack didn’t really want to know which, honestly. She peeked around it and found a hole bit out of the asphalt. She tsked and returned to Twilight, who watched her.

“Can’t go that way,” Applejack said. “Though I guess I ain’t surprised. It bein’ a wall and all. I figured they woulda made a way to get through.”

“I thought it might be impossible. They didn’t need it to be that useful.”

Applejack’s ears pricked. “Come again, Twi?”

“I have a hunch as to why, but… Well. Somepony piled up the detritus of war to shield themselves from bullets, and that takes more than one or two ponies, and yet Harvest just mentioned that he made it. You see the little holes? You could stick shoot sticks through there and brace them.”

“The way you say that makes me think you’re gonna lay somethin’ heavy down ‘bout it. Seems natural to me. It’s a fortification…” Applejack said, frowning.

She watched Pinkie wander around the wall, humming to herself. Pinkie avoided the body completely, and Applejack didn’t blame her.

“Harvest an’ them didn’t want any fools comin’ across. Makes sense, you know?”

“Of course.” Twilight’s horn lit up. “Which is why I’m going to put it back together after I dismantle it.”

Applejack watched, ears twitching, as Twilight lifted the carts and put them away one by one, like a child with her toys. Applejack would be lying if she said it didn’t bother her a little, and it did in a way she couldn’t rightly describe without it seeming petty. It was easy. That was it, she thought, as Twilight finished. It was easy. All it took for anypony to do anything with magic was a whim and a horn. It had probably taken the earth ponies in Tall Tale an hour or more to build it. Two hours. She had no idea.

They passed through.

“I’m gonna guess on somethin’, Twilight,” she said quietly.

“Go for it,” Twilight responded on the other side as she stood and put the barricade back as it had been. The carts flew through the air, cradled by a purple glow.

“You don’t like Harvest so much.”

Twilight set the cart down and glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “What makes you think that?”

“How you act. It’s not like you’re subtle, Twi. Sorry about that, but it’s true. Now, I ain’t sayin’ he’s a saint. You aren’t the only one with some misgivings.” She sighed. Twilight moved the next cart. From this side, the barricade seemed impassable, a true wall. She could almost imagine ponies trying to assault this place.

And she had material all around to aid her. Bodies littered the bridge. Now that she looked, she saw foals or what had been foals a long time ago. Stallions and mares cradling broken weapons—and personal effects. She wandered, looking at them, feeling something trying to break through to the forefront of her mind. Some last connection trying to find a grip.

“I think Harvest didn’t let refugees leave the city,” Twilight said presently. Applejack turned and looked at her silently. Twilight continued. “I’m not sure, Applejack, but the way he acts… the bodies here… I think the refugees he mentioned? I don’t think that we didn’t see them just because we were busy being with him. I think we didn’t see any because he wouldn’t let them past the barricade, and they were mowed down.”

Applejack stared down at the ghoulish face of a foal, the skin rotten and mostly gone, the eyes pecked out by some vagrant bird. A filly. An earth pony, probably not that much different from Applebloom a few years ago, running for the wall with Tall Tale survivors on it, praying they would save her. Knowing they could. She would know that they could’ve saved her even as she died. Applejack saw the wound, now. Gut wound. Dying was slow.

Applejack stared.

“How do we tell?” she asked.

“We can’t.”

Applejack rounded on her. “Well, dammit, Twi, why not? Why not turn around right now and go ask that son of a bitch? Why didn’t you say nothin’ before, when we left him at the intersection?”

Twilight stared down at her hooves. Pinkie approached and laid a hoof on her shoulders, and Twilight seemed to accept it without much trouble.

Applejack continued. “Just… dammit. It ain’t right!”” she yelled, her voice carrying. The morning wind had died. The air was far too still. Far, far too still. “Twilight, you know you’re right.”

“I can’t tell for sure—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Twilight. I’m your friend. I love you like you’re another Apple, but don’t gimme none of that cautious bullshit. Cowardice ain’t becomin’. When did you start wondering?”

“Twilight?” Pinkie broke in, voice soft. Applejack stopped short, blinking. The tone of her voice… frightened Applejack. She didn’t try to sugarcoat the feeling. It was unnatural, alien, frightening.

“Pinkie?”

“Will you tell us the truth? Did he… Did Mr. Harvest not help these ponies?”

Twilight met her gaze only for an instant, and then she pulled away. “I… I can’t be certain, Pinkie.”

“Why not?” Pinkie asked. Her voice did not change. “You’re good at puzzles, Twilight.”

The former librarian flinched. “Pinkie…” It was like all the air had gone out of her, like a limp balloon. “Pinkie, please don’t ask me.”

“I need to know.”

“No, you don’t!”

Applejack was mute. She simply stared at a shaking Twilight and Pinkie, who was still as a statue. “Twilight,” Pinkie implored, smiling. “Mr. Harvest was a nice pony. He’s a good pony.”

Twilight whimpered.

And then Applejack understood. The placement of bodies… It made sense. There had been none on one side of the wall and many on this side. She almost paused to count, but the thought made her feel sick. Harvest had sheltered them. The ponies in Tall Tale loved him. He fed others—he even fed strangers. Without him, the survivors by the docks would be scattered. He was their father.

Maybe they knew. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe he had been protecting them all along from all of the outsiders. From Vanhoover and from Canterlot. He had kept them from talking to anypony to save them from hope and knowledge and so they didn’t start wondering why nopony had come over the bridge. To save himself. To save them.

“Twilight…” she breathed, tears rolling down her cheek. “Twilight, we can’t say anythin’ to him, can we?”

Twilight shook her head.

“It ain’t right.”

“What’s right?” Twilight barked.

“But… he laughed,” Pinkie said. It was nonsensical. Applejack almost wanted to tell her that that didn’t mean anything.

Applejack walked to the barricade, passing between Pinkie and Twilight. With a roar, she reared up and kicked the barricade with all of her strength, breaking the wood and sending shards everywhere. Stumbling back, she looked down to find small cuts up her legs, and she laughed, an unpleasant, awful laughter.

“You know, Twilight, I’m beginning to wonder what’s gonna happen afterward. How we’re gonna convince anypony to keep goin’ after all this.”

“What… do you mean?”

“You noticed how little he cared ‘bout the rest of us. Guardin’ his own like a pa ought to but without a bit of attention for anypony outside of his damn little circle.”

“It’s only natural…”

Applejack looked at her legs. “Oh, I know. I know it is, Twilight, and that’s the problem. I ain’t no philosopher, like the ones that write the thick bricks. I went to the agricultural college up in Chadron same as my pa and Big Macintosh did. But lemme tell ya, Twi, I understand how somepony who’s got a family feels about the world.” She spat. “The outside—the whole thing, ponies and the Everfree, wolves, weather—everything outside of the three or four of you seems like the enemy. It’s how you survive in hostile territory. Everypony wants to take your farm or your life or your apples or… whatever you got. You know what, though? I been thinkin’ lately, after that village and Tall Tale, and I don’t think that even if Celestia comes back, we’ll be Equestrians again. It’s broken, Twilight. What’s it all for? Harvest did what he did, and ponies lived. You and I can’t make him pay for it. We can’t make it right, cause nothin’ is going to and nothin’ ever will. It’s all just… dammit, broken, I guess.”

“If we find her, they’ll come back,” Twilight said, her voice cold. “We’ll show them they have to.”

“But you see? Think about that. Go back to Harvest, and tell him he has to care about Canterlot, and let ‘im tell you what that sounds like. Like foolishness. There’s no Canterlot or Celestia to tell these ponies they have to care ‘bout anypony over in Vanhoover, Twilight, and so they don’t. Or at least, they let themselves not care.”

“They don’t know any better!” Twilight insisted. “He isn’t… He won’t…”

“An’ why should he?”

Pinkie shook herself. “Because it’s right,” she said, and her voice was still changed. She started walking again. Applejack thought to answer, but didn’t. There was really nothing to say. The whole conversation was pointless. They had to find Celestia for it to even matter, didn’t they? And would they? Was it really possible? She was the one who said so.

She hadn’t said it in a while.

TWILIGHT

The city of Vanhoover was a pockmarked, bruised, swollen face.

A face that told Twilight approximately nothing beyond the obvious. There were signs of battle, yes, but no way to tell how recent. No ponies in the streets that were alive, or had been alive recently. There had been a brief and distant report of gunfire after they left the bridge behind, but it had been singular, unanswered, and as far as she could tell, useless.

But she knew that she was not alone. It was obvious. A city this size? No brief and bloody civil war could rob it of its life. Not all of it. The bodies would pile, and the blood would be rivulets; in short, there were far more alive than Harvest insisted there were. Or wants to think about, she guessed as she navigated around a bus stop sign, nibbling on her lip.

It was different from Ponyville and decidedly different from Manehattan. The streets were clogged with not only vehicles but debris from buildings that had been blotted out like little mistakes on the map that she had put away for now. To be frank, though she had been delighted to have it, the map’s effectiveness was not quite what she’d expected. Whether Harvest meant it to be a boon or not, the city was completely different.

But so far, the city’s basic landmarks were still visible and existent. Mostly. Even if they had holes blown all in them, there was enough left to make shadows in the hot sunlight.

More or less, the city was a pile of highrises surrounding the bay with a bit of urban sprawl continuing on lazily along the river a stretch before both curled around into Lake Ourous. In truth, everywhere there was city, there was water nearby, not all that dissimilar from Manehattan. Not that she appreciated the similarity, but it was hard to escape. She’d done her best to ignore the wine dark waters, keeping inland. If the docks were occupied, Twilight wanted to see the state of the city before she ventured into territory firmly in the control of militia ponies.

So far, she was seeing mostly evidence of fight but not of flight. There were no slaughtered caravans or at least none that had been left where they’d been destroyed. No signs of official evacuation.

It was Applejack who suggested that some had gone underground. Twilight was sure that she was right, but none of them had any desire to brave the dank sewers. Pinkie had been as puzzled as Twilight at the lack of life and had fallen back into silence. Until, of course, they came to the park.

She’d seen a picture of Republic Park, once. The hill had a modest bronze monument to the Earth Republic that had officially elected to merge into Equestria during the reign of the first king, but the real attraction was the greenery. It was gorgeous. She remembered smiling at the brilliant colors of its gardens, thinking of Ponyville as she admired the path leading up to the hill, with trees on either side.

Of course, she found herself unsurprised as they hid behind a charred barricade of tables staring out over the muddy Republic Park. The trees had been cut. She assumed for a clear line of sight. The hill was covered with makeshift fortifications, doors and furniture and what she thought might be metal from the hulls of at least two different ships had been erected hastily and then savaged. The grass had been eaten up by the trampling of hooves and the bite of artillery fire.

“Looks like they lost,” Applejack said, scowling. “Twi, I’m voting it’s empty.”

“I’d agree. I’m worried about somepony panicking and shooting from the walls if they see us. Pinkie?”

“Whatcha need?”

“This is going to be odd, but… Well, I guess it is odd, but you’re an odd pony, you know?”

“Thanks!”

“Welcome. You’re the one who notices ponies. If we’ve done nothing at all this trip, we’ve figured that out. I’m terrible at stealth, and Applejack is alright—”

“A bit more than alright, there, sugar,” Applejack said without force.

“—but you’re the best. I think. Can you slip around and look for signs of life?”

Pinkie nodded with a little smile. “You got it. Pinkiespy has got your back, Twilight!”

That got a chuckle. “Sure. Just be careful, alright?”

Pinkie was already darting off, waving over her shoulder in a way that somehow managed to avoid being tripped, leaving Twilight still smiling but slightly more bewildered. Soon, she was out of sight. Twilight tried to track her, but she hadn’t been paying favors without cause. Pinkie was the stealthy one in the party. Twilight trusted her keen eyes and her love of prowling, playful or not, even if she sometimes doubted Pinkie’s abilities to maintain a serious conversation.

Guess that’s a little unfair, she thought, leaning against the barricade. A table legged poked her in the back, and she shifted.

“Kinda makes me wish I had wings like Rainbow,” Applejack said from beside her.

Twilight glanced over at her. She could only stare at the same dead street so long. “Thought you were afraid of heights.”

“Oh, I am.” When Twilight raised an eyebrow, she continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Twi. I’d be scared as hell up there without nothin’ to catch me. But anything beats this.”

She gestured at the street. Twilight looked at with her. What was there to describe? She could only say dead so many ways, communicate fallen with so many words. She could only think about it so much.

Twilight sighed. “I’ve been having dreams.”

Applejack didn’t look up. “I’ll take a guess. Manehattan?”

“Yeah.”

Applejack did look now, and her face was flat. “It’s not exactly the same.”

“No.”

“But I get it. It ain’t like I hadn’t thought of all that mess, Twi. I’m still glad not all of us went.” She adjusted the hat, blocking out the sun. “Glad it’s warmin’ up,” she commented, and Twilight did not answer. “I don’t know, honestly. I reckon it’s better not to forget, ‘cause it just feels wrong, but I’d rather not think much about it, you know?”

Twilight shrugged. “We talked that night, but I’ve been thinking since then. I think that’s… I just left something back there, Applejack.” She waved a hoof. “Eh. Maybe I’m just sort of grasping at nothing, trying to catch smoke. My magic has declined since.”

“Really?”

“Inexplicably. I… I don’t talk about it much. It’s not like I’m losing it. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I mean, of course I have theories. Mostly, the stress and the helping Luna and then… you know how I was for a while.”

“Damn well stopped leaving the towers.”

“Yeah,” Twilight said, like a balloon letting out its last bit of air. “Damn well stopped, indeed. Nicely put. Magic is strange, Applejack. I’m not as sure of it as I once was.”

Applejack’s ears perked. “Wait, come again?”

“I mean… there’s more to it than the numbers. More and more, I’m sure of it. Psychology… something mystic… Pinkie sense, I don’t know. I just know that the further I get from how I was, the less control I have. I almost lost it back in that village. The blanket? I pulled too much energy at once, and I was about ready to fry myself. Or somepony else without even meaning to.”

Applejack stretched. “You know I ain’t a huge fan of magic.”

“Earth ponies aren’t, sometimes. You’ve never said much outside of Winter Wrap Up.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re my friend, Twi, and it means a lot to you. Which is why I wanna know why you ain’t been practicing.”

“Practicing?” Twilight asked. “Practicing what?”

“Twilight, maybe I’m all kinds of off base on this one, but when I’ve been injured, or Mac has, we gotta work back to apple bucking with baby steps. Today, I’m gonna walk to the store and back without stoppin’. Today, I’ll try to carry something on my back. But you can’t just rest and hope you get better. I mean, well, you can,” she faltered. “Just trust me.”

“I suppose I could do something,” Twilight replied, looking back out at the street they’d come from. “I’m just sort of worried about…”

“Manehattan.”

“Right.”

Time crawled. Twilight thought about moving up, if only to do something but sit, but decided against mentioning it. The silence was starting to get to her. With a dearth of sound, her mind began to supply its own, and with the surroundings provided, she once again returned to the Beachhead.

It was Pinkie that brought her out from the past, crawling over the top of their barricade in an unceremonious and rather obvious manner.

Twilight didn’t even realize it was happening until her field of vision was overtaken by a voluminous, bouncy, pink mane. She jumped, startled, only to find Pinkie already talking and tangled up with her.

“Not empty!”

Applejack pulled Pinkie off. “What? Fast, Pinks.”

“Not empty! There’s two ponies in there! I think we sh—”

Pinkie stopped mid-sentence, jumped off of Applejack, and then spun around. Her eyes were wide. Her gestures were wild, spinning arcs. “We need to go!”

“Go where? Slow down—” Applejack began, but Pinkie shook her head violently.

“Up there! Pris…” Pinkie took a deep breath. “There’s a pony trapped in a cage. He asked me to help him, so I climbed over the wall—”

“Pinkie,” Twilight growled. “You could’ve been seen!”

“—but that doesn’t matter because he needed my help,” Pinkie finished. “But there was another pony, and they’re going to kill him!”

Applejack and Twilight looked at one another, and the old argument rose in an instant. Twilight opened her mouth to protest that they couldn’t help every single pony in the world, but then she stopped. No, no they couldn’t.

“Twilight, we—” Applejack began, but Twilight cut her off.

“I know. Let’s just hurry, alright?”

There was no time for subtle maneuver or stealth. They ran now, across the war torn street into the mud-bowl park, Applejack leading. Her head was bowed, her ears flat, her hat hanging on only by a miracle and years of inertia. Twilight grasped at no magic. She would wait, wait until she saw whoever it was cresting the hill, and then she would let them have it.

But they saw no ponies besides themselves. They came to the first barricades, at the base of the hill, and thought struggling in deep mud, Applejack turned and kicked at the cobbled-together wall, and it shattered inward. Pinkie was first through the gap, throwing herself like a missile, and Twilight began to think they could do it. They might find this pony before his foes could; there may be no fight at all.

Pinkie led them up the hill, where patchy grass still dared to grow here and there. The path up to the only opening large enough for them, what Twilight guessed had been some attempt at a door, was worn by hundred of hooves, and Twilight felt a sense of déjà vu, of having done this many, many times, charging up this mountain over and over.

But she could not dwell on it. They were to the gap. She heard somepony shouting, but it sounded distant.

There was no way to continue. She stopped dead in the gateway of the makeshift fortification in an abject and complete horror.

Yes, it was all familiar. The bodies were not missing here as they were in the torn streets. They were scattered everywhere, left haphazard without even the dignity of burning. The air smelled of acrid smoke and sweat and mud, and Twilight felt her stomach churn. No roof, no protection from above. They had created a barrel, and somepony had shot them in it at leisure. She imagined pegasi in the air, swooping down, hoofblades cutting from out of the sun.

Applejack did not stop, and she and Pinkie pushed on ahead of Twilight. Twilight saw where they were going: a cage in the corner.

An earth pony stallion pushed against the rusting bars. He looked up to see the three mares, and a wild grin blossomed on his face. “Oh, Lady preserve me, help! Lemme out!”

Pinkie arrived first, resting her hooves on the bars. “I brought help, but I hear somepony coming,” she said to Applejack, who came beside her and examined the lock. “Not close, but if we’re not fast…”

“Stand aside,” Twilight said, clearing her throat and focusing on the cage. Business. She couldn’t afford to be distracted now.

Her friends obeyed, and the stallion edged back. Twilight summoned her magic to the tip of her horn, only drawing the tiniest modicum before releasing it as a tight, concentrated beam that burned through the lock. It fell into the dust, and the stallion pushed the door open with his shoulder.

“Oh, stars, thank ye,” he groaned. “I thought I was not for the world, young miss. Can we go now?”

“Pinkie, how close?” Twilight asked.

Pinkie shook her head as she examined the stallion for any wounds. “I don’t know. Don’t you hear them?”

She did. “What’s your name?” Twilight asked the stallion.

“Main Sail,” he said and coughed. “Look, if ye’re worried ‘bout yon Blues, I can gladly offer you some safety below ground.”

“Explain. Quickly,” Twilight added, and they began to slowly back away, towards the exit. “We need somewhere they won’t follow.”

But as she finished, it was too late to avoid discovery. A pegasus soared over the shabby ramparts, and Twilight saw something glint on his body in the sunlight before she lost track of him for a moment. “Run!” She yelled, calling up another hooffull of magic, waiting for him to dive.

But he did not. As her friends sprinted for the entrance, he came back into view and stopped in midair. Time slowed. She could see him in detail now, out of the blinding sunlight. He wore a workpony’s utility barding, a deep blue, and on his shoulders was something she’d never seen on a pony in the air before. The barrel was unmistakable, and she had to accept it. He’d fitted a saddle with a longbore rifle. It was insane. He would throw out that shoulder. She found herself absurdly offended at its stupidity even as she charged the magic that would end it.

Twilight roared, drawing deeper into her reserves for something that would blow the pegasus out of the sky, but he had steadied himself. He fired just as she did, and though she heard the loud report, she felt no wound and knew he’d missed her. She did not miss. Her blast of purplish arcane energy hit him square in the chest, and he spasmed before careening down towards earth, trying weakly to correct himself with wings that were no longer obeying.

That’s when she heard somepony close to her whimpering.

“Pinkie! Damn it, that… Twilight, come hold ‘em off!”

She looked back. Pinkie limped at the gate, her eyes wide, her flank red. Twilight gaped as Sails and Applejack tried to support her.

But she heard shouts of alarm from over the barricades, and she knew more were coming to reclaim their old fort. Or their enemy’s old fort. She had no idea. It didn’t matter.

“Who the hell are ya?” she heard Applejack shouting at the new pony, but Twilight could not hear his answer, as she was already looking back.

Another pegasus over the barricade, this one echoing her earlier cry. She saw no ridiculous shoulder-mounted weapon, but the glint of the dragon-like claws were enough. She called up the magic, and it obeyed without question. The new pegasus came in, strafing, and she fired twice. It dodged the first, but the second clipped a leg and sent the attacker sprawling in the dust. Before she could hit him again, she paid for her lack of attention as a winged mare fell out of the sky, out of the sunlight, right on top of her. A hoof connected with her face, and Twilight hit the ground.

The mare was laughing, and it was no crazed, dull Raider’s laugh but a clear one. Twilight hated it. She hated them. She hated everything.

The magic sprang to her defense almost without her having to pull at it. An arcane fist crashed into the mare and sent her flying. Twilight rose and hobbled back, shaking her head. Her vision swam as her eyes watered, and the world righted itself. She felt warm wetness creeping down her brow.

The first pegasus was up again and threw himself at her. He would just dodge a blast, so she coated herself with a layer of arcane energy, and when his shoulder hit her, he found himself reflected back into the air, body splayed out like a beautiful, perfect target in midair. Twilight took the invitation; repurposing the mage armor was easy. She rolled it into a ball, and it hit him like a stab in the ribs, a sucker punch by a giant, and she heard something break as she went limp and fall back to earth.

The mare was on her, screeching incoherently, knocking her aside again.

Twilight’s mane was in her eyes. She flailed, calling the magic up, panicking as she felt the mare bite her shoulder, her chest, just trying to hurt and bruise and beat. Hooves kicked her, and she felt the cold steel of a hoofblade on her flank.

And then the mare was gone, and Twilight was staring up into the sun.

She was up on her hooves. Sail had kicked the mare off and was behind Twilight, but without a follow-up, the Blue was still going to get up. Twilight channeled her panic into another bolt and put the pegasus down for good.

As soon as the Blue’s face hit the dirt, Twilight turned heel and ran at full speed. Applejack and Pinkie were halfway down the hill. Sail was right on her flank, and she called out to him as they came up on the limping Pinkie.

“You’d better lead the way, Sails. Pinkie’s hurt for you! You’d better be worth it!”

“Just follow!” he shot back.

They did, beating as quick a retreat as they could with an injured pony in tow. Twilight used her magic to alleviate the pressure of Pinkie’s leg on the ground and levitate her slightly so that two ponies could keep her moving relatively quickly.

So they followed him through streets until they came to a subway station. Sails took no second look. He read the sign as he ran, turned, and disappeared into the darkness, and Twilight realized, as they followed, that they were going to be trapped with a pony they didn’t know in a city that had lost its mind.

Author's Note

Thank you q97randomguy for editing!

XI. The Lament of Lud

XI. The Lament of Lud

Twilight

They were soaked and bitter. The tunnels went farther than she had ever imagined, were darker and more fetid than she could have ever dreamed. They seem to go on and on forever, like some sort of maze at the foot of Tartarus, and deliriously, she wondered if at the end, at the bitter end, she might not find that door of adamantine and good rowan wood.

Instead, she mostly saw scattered and wretched ponies on islands of dirt. The tunnels were wide, and here and there, the ground was torn, and the wounds allowed the sun into the network of cavern-like sewers.

Main Sail stirred the water again, the paddle firmly gripped in his strong jaw. Twilight, from behind him, looked at the little lamp suspended at the front of their tiny boat, watching it bob in midair.

The sailing pony had explained it all already, of course, in great detail with a variety of stories of dubious basis in truth and ludicrous exaggeration. She found it mildly annoying but excusable. It whiled the time away, which was a blessing in the dark, and more importantly, what things seemed plausible in his tales were, in fact, useful.

Namely, the tunnels were ancient. Main Sail claimed that the modern city had been built over the old, but she doubted this. Not that it was impossible: they said that the great Crystal City was built atop the cavernous ruins of some other place, and she had seen the primeval unicorn settlement that the builders in Canterlot had uncovered. No, she was slow to believe him entirely because the city was not old.

She quite believed that the tunnels had been built in and around natural caverns. They had left normal sewers behind entirely, now. In fact, Main Sail had been quick to exit them. The real caverns below were the safe place, he had insisted, the only safe place.

Perhaps it was. At any rate, the caverns were full. She’d tried keeping count of the ponies, but the lighting was too bad in most of the great chambers. She’d counted at least fifty of them huddling on dry mounds and in damp piles of rubble, peeking up into the gray world above. Rebar hanging down from the heavens became the backbones of their lean-tos, and she’d even seen two sullen earth ponies timidly collecting scraps from the streets to build something on their small corner of dry cavern floor. They had looked at her for only a moment with their sunken eyes, following the movement of their tiny boat of salvage but not comprehending it or what it meant. If it meant anything, she supposed.

The boat they had gotten from a mare without ears in the metro station.

Fresh from pursuit, hunters hot on their heels, Main Sail had jumped down onto the tracks, and the three mares had followed him as best they could, Applejack and Twilight still struggling to keep Pinkie mobile. The Blues had come to the gate of the station but had refused to enter. They’d shot a firearm of some kind into the dim station, but after a few threats, they had retreated. Twilight had thanked the stars fervently, as she had not since foalhood.

In the following empty silence, Twilight’s eyes had tried to acclimate to her surroundings. The empty metro tunnel stretched on and on, curving to the left out of her view. There were occasional lights that flickered on and off overhead, and Twilight wondered if the Grays had found generators to keep running in all of the devestation. The ground beneath her was hard, but as they stood and began to slowly walk, she had found it coated in sticky patches of oil and filth.

The one-eyed, no-eared mare with a wicked smile had been waiting in the tunnel, sitting beside a huge hole that led into the sewers and beyond. She had called to Sail like an old friend, and Twilight had imagined, for a moment, that she was a witch out of some fairy tale. It didn’t take much to imagine.

And so they had wandered, or at least to Twilight, it had seemed like wandering. She had tried to keep up and cross-reference the map, but it proved useless. The caverns were not mentioned or shown at all. It was like she had left the world behind.

The little boat—and calling it a boat was a stretch—creaked loudly in the cramped tunnels.

The lantern swayed with the movement of their craft. Back and forth, back and forth, Twilight’s eyes followed it loyally until she pulled herself away and shut them. She was losing track of things.

The lantern, at least, provided her with a good view of her companions. With a sigh, Twilight examined them.

Pinkie’s wounds were bandaged as best as they could be in the dark. She slept in front of Main Sail, out of Twilight’s reach, her puffed-up, cotton candy-like mane become straight and matted in the damp air of the underground. Her body moved only in breathing, and Twilight watched mutely for a moment that dragged along. She wished that Pinkie were closer. The boat need to be balanced, of course, but she still felt like it would be better. What did ponies do in such a situation? An injured friend… She imagined herself stroking that mane or lying beside Pinkie—quiet things—and found it odd that she had not the inclination to do so. Not right away. Was that how to respond?

She was worried. Pinkie’s injury had not been as terrible as she had feared, but it was not as minor as she had hoped. Not a glancing blow, but not a crippling one. The bullet had gone right through, cleanly, taking with it tissue but not sinew or bone, and she was grateful.

The real danger was less in the physical. Pinkie would heal and probably fast if experience had taught Twilight anything. No, the real danger was in the immediate future. How would Pinkie flee if they were caught? How would they, with Pinkie in tow?

Twilight sighed.

Her gaze turned to Applejack, who lay in the back of the boat. Her hat obscured her face as well as a wall against the weak light. Part of Twilight wished that her friend would look up, let in just enough light for Twilight to see, but the lion’s share of her heart wouldn’t bear it.

Thinking was Twilight’s strong point. It was what she did best, above all—even above magic. Magic was, as Starswirl wrote in the long gone ages, a matter of the mind.

She turned her attention back to Pinkie.

All magical issues are born out of the imagination, Star Swirl argued, and she heard Celestia reading from De Ars Arcanum in the oratorium. Twilight almost felt the padded couch underneath her stomach and flanks as she had then.

“All magical problems are fundamentally rooted in deficiencies of the imagination, Twilight,” Celestia explains.

Her voice is like a song, like an aria in the early morning, and Twilight drinks it all in. The radiant sun like the ocean at hide tide pours in through the stained glass of the oratorium. They sit in on couches against the wall, Celestia on one and Twilight on the other. There are tables here and there, left over for students to use in a quiet place, but the hall is empty. There are no speeches to be given or talks to be held, not today. Today, and specifically this morning, are for Celestia and her most beloved student.

“What does that mean?” Twilight asks in the voice of a child.

“Well, why don’t we finish, Twilight, and then let us see if you can answer your own question,” Celestia says with a smile—it is not knowing, it is all-knowing. She clears her throat. “All magical problems are fundamentally rooted in deficiencies of the imagination. The emotional core of ponies is the heart of magic. Do not mistake me, for I am not speaking in parables. Where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are great works of arcane might, they will fail—if they are not rooted in the right mind, they are like a house without foundation.”

Twilight blinks. “That’s kinda hard…” But as her teacher opens her mouth to explain, Twilight quickly jumps into the mental fray. “But I think I know what he means!”

Celestia raises an eyebrow, and thought Twilight knows it not, she is faking her serious air. “Oh? You think you do? Well, my faithful student, I suppose now is the time to show me what you’ve gathered.”

Twilight bites her lip. The habitual gesture has already become familiar, and she will retain it.

“I… well, magic isn’t just about horns?”

Celestia beams. “That’s a good way to say it, Twilight.”

“And, um…”

She struggles, and will not relent, because the eyes of Celestia are always on her. She feels them like the sun on her back, like she is in the throne room of God. The answer is within reach. Celestia is simply waiting for her, and she must not be kept waiting.

For her part, Celestia sips at her tea and enjoys the morning. Twilight has come far in the years under her tutelage and the oversight of the teachers of her school. Every goal set before her, she plows over. She does not simply learn; she devours, absorbs, masters. Celestia is both fascinated and delighted by this. She is so driven! So bright! So happy.

“Well, I guess he means you have to know the secrets?”

“Oh?” Celestia asks softly.

Twilight scrambles. She backpedals.

“I mean, no, wait…”

“Would you like some help?” Celestia asks.

“No! No I can do it! I promise.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Right… mind…” She grimaces.

Celestia waits a moment more, enjoying her tea and wondering about her student, before she speaks into the silence. “May I read a bit more?”

Twilight nods.

“Now,” Celestia begins, floating the book up before her, still watching Twilight. “By right mind, we mean, of course, a mind that has the proper reaction to the world around it, or rather, the proper inclination, in that it is both active and receptive. The ruling power within, when it is in its natural state, is so related to outer circumstances that it easily changes to accord with what can be done and what is given it to do. Magic relies on a tranquil mind. By a tranquil mind, I mean nothing else than a mind well ordered.”

“Concentration,” Twilight says when Celestia paused to flip the page. “Does he mean it requires concentration?”

Celestia sets the bookmark on the page and places it down. “Oh, I do think so. I think that is a large part of it! But not all.”

Twilight sighs. “Princess… I’m not sure what I’m supposed to find out…”

And Celestia notices the look of defeat and pauses. She does not simply recognize it, perhaps. Twilight wonders, later, if she does at last begin to see an inkling of something more than puzzlement there, something longer and darker.

“Oh, Twilight, I think you’ve misunderstood what I intended. This is not a day for tests,” she says, smiling as she does.

“What do you mean?”

“I met Star Swirl and worked with him for a time. He made, for my sister and me, many enchanted things. They were very beautiful, Twilight. Art, more than simple utility, was often his aim. At first, he seemed such a strange, almost cold pony, but more and more, I believe that he was simply taken with everything.”

“You knew Starswirl the Bearded?” Twilight asks, and she is in awe of Celestia the Eternal.

Celestia the Not-Quite Eternal chuckles. “I did. Our paths crossed, you could say. There was no Equestria then. I was a sojourner in the land, fighting monsters in the north and cheerfully exploring the world with… Luna.”

Her voice falters. A young Twilight does not notice. An older Twilight will think and wince at this recollection.

“Carefree and courageous,” she says quietly. “Anyhow. He wrote this while we were in the old Zebra kingdom of Ma’ain, and when we returned to the northlands of Unicornia, we found him near death. It was… hard. We had grown to love him. But he gave us his last work and asked us to give it to the sages we came across, that he might not be lost to time. I have since given it to every bright young mage I’ve come across.”

“So it’s very important?” Twilight guessed.

“Yes. And don’t fret, Twilight. I wanted you to wrestle a bit this morning with his prologue because you and I will be returning to this book often, I believe. He got to the heart of something quite important, Starswirl, and I think it will be a good lesson for you.”

Twilight stared ahead, enjoying the warm memories in the small boat.

“Twilight?” Applejack called softly.

Twilight almost jumped. “Yes?”

“You there? We’re gettin’ out.”

Twilight blinked and looked around.

Their destination was an underground shore crowded with ponies in faded clothes and torn barding. She thought she saw tattered blues and grays and even a few rust-colored cloaks, but when her eyes fell on any of the downcast-looking ponies, they seemed to shrink back into the mass of their own kind as if offended, as if her sight was like a touch that burned them. The low, claustrophobic tunnel had opened up into a high-ceiling cavern, perhaps two stories tall. She marveled at how it could exist at all.

It was lit with lamps that stood atop long poles. They jutted from the crowd, here and there, with no real rhyme or reason to their placement. Above maned heads, Twilight noted lean-tos and a pile of barrels with no labels. What was this place, before? Did anypony ever come down here? Was it abandoned?

Main Sail ran their boat aground on the gray sand, and the quiet ponies backed away. Twilight wanted to say something, ask where she was, but they would not stay to answer, and she knew this with queer certainty. No, they had no answers for her.

“Main Sail?” she asked, and her voice echoed in the great hall—for that it was, she realized. It was the antechamber of some great hall. She half-expected a lumbering earth pony thane to burst out from the crowd to see who was bothering his silent thralls.

“Ye have a need?”

“Where is this? How is this… here? Without…” she struggled. “Why haven’t I ever read about all of this?”

They stood beside the boat while Main Sail worked. The thralls parted before him like the clouds before the wind, and there was a spike of rebar there. He produced a rope and tied the boat down.

“Take what ye care about,” he said to them. Twilight noticed that he ignored her question.

So, with characteristic stubbornness, she pressed her suit. “Main Sail, why haven’t I—?”

“Because it ain’t got a thing to do with ye magic, I suppose,” he said softly, sourly, looking back at her. “Give a moment ‘fore the questions fly, will ye?”

She huffed but obeyed. The mares followed close behind him, Applejack and Twilight supporting Pinkie, who graced them both with a weak smile.

The crowd again parted, and Twilight found herself in a strange and otherworldly village.

It had the looks of a temporary settlement, and yet Twilight thought it old and established, by now, if only by the way that ponies congregated and seemed to have set down their own private homesteads. The path through the middle of the huddled thrall shelters was well worn, and she supposed that it was more port than cavern.

Twilight spoke again, softly, trying not to look too closely at the strangers. “Main Sail, can you tell us where we are? Or what we’re doing?”

“You told me that ye need passage, earlier. Is that right, young miss?”

Twilight scowled. “Well, yes, we do.”

“Then ye’ll be needin’ help.”

“I’m not sure any of these ponies are likely to offer help or be helpful in general even if they were willing.”

“You’d be right ‘bout that,” Main Sail replied. “But it ain’t them that ye need.”

“Then who? Please, just answer me.”

“Ye’ll be needin’ the Duke.”

“There isn’t a… Oh, nevermind,” Twilight said.

The cavern continued. She wondered at it, guessing it was over a hundred pony-lengths in any direction. Two hundred, legs spread out and everything.

But the nature of their surroundings changed. The thralls gave way to slightly more alert ponies in gray barding who did meet her gaze, and Twilight found herself looking away first. They were proud-looking ponies, though coated in the filth of the sewers and metros and though most looked poorly-fed.

They all shared a common look. Long manes, male and female. Eyes like hawks. She tried not to find the poor attempts at mustaches on some of the stallions funny but failed rather miserably. There was just something absurd about them, strutting in the dimly lit cave, talking amongst themselves.

At the end, near the cavern wall, she saw a large tent. There were others on either side, but this one was the biggest and perhaps the cleanest. Twilight realized that they were all stolen or borrowed from the Army of the North. She’d seen their gear before.

In fact, in a lot of ways, the whole thing was an absurd museum mock-up of the Army of the North. Like laughter in the morning, it dragged old and painful memories out of bed in wrath. She grit her teeth and stayed in the present.

The camp was guarded. Two of the barded ponies—she couldn’t bring herself to call them soldiers—stepped forward from where they had slouched about a table of cards and barred the way.

Twilight knew those uniforms were familiar-looking. She had an inkling but pushed it down.

The one on the left spoke first. Twilight guessed that once he had been handsome and well-built, but now he seemed only old and thin. “Well, then. If it isn’t Sail. What are you doing here again, you little shit?” He said it with a grin the size of a freighter and a tone as bright as the sun, but Twilight was on her guard as much as she had been in the park. This was not a friendly pony.

“Oh, ye know,” Main Sail replied, also grinning like a shark. “Just wandering by. I have business with the Duke.”

“Duke doesn’t need your kind here, bootlicker,” the second soldier said. He did not smile. Twilight did not really feel that he was angry at all. If anything, he was bored. “You’re a Neutral at best, and a coltfucking Blue lapdog at worst. The Duke has no need of either of these things.”

“Like I was saying,” the first guard continued, his grin growing wider if such were possible. “What are you really up to? What could you even offer the Duke, and why shouldn’t we finally put an end to your little career, hm?”

Main Sail sighed. “Look, Stalwart, just because—”

“Hey, don’t you start talking,” the first guard growled. Twilight scowled, mentally preparing to push the two earth pony guards away and bolt.

“Just listen to me,” Main Sail replied, slowly. “Ye knows I wouldn’t be wanderin’ around here without good cause. I have some mares he might be wantin’ a talkin’ with.”

“Mares? These three?” Stalwart replied, raising an eyebrow. “What could they give the Duke? What…” He rolled his eyes. “Now, you know the Duke won’t be taking kindly to trying to sell him ponies fo—”

“Oh, Luna’s sake,” Main Sail groaned, losing the calm demeanor. “It’s important. Just let me through, you fat sod.”

“I’d let him through, Captain Stalwart,” said a new pony who walked in from the right of Twilight’s vision. His light willowbark coat and olive mane stuck out from the gray barding and cloak he wore.

The guard in question side-eyed him. “I don’t remember you being in charge of me, Axiom.”

“I don’t recall playing cards being a part of your guard duty nor complaining.” The newcomer smiled now, and it was unpleasant. “Nor, of course, do your wonderfully complex and fulfilling duties include petty revenge on the stallion who buggered you and skipped out to the next port of call, as it were.”

Stalwart sputtered.

“Yes, well.” He turned to the mares and smiled. “Hello. My name is Axiom. You would be Twilight Sparkle, of course.”

Twilight blinked. Ponies had known her name, but her likeness had not been as widespread. “That… that would be me,” she said. “Sorry, I’ve been used to ponies only recognizing me after I introduce myself.”

Axiom chuckled. “I have an approximate knowledge of many things, Miss Sparkle. You would be surprised what I know and think. And your companions… Ah, forgive me. I will guess. Applejack, yes? I would assume your injured friend is the infamous Pinkie Pie, the laugher.”

“Got that one right,” Applejack replied.

The two guards stood mute. Stalwart’s companion seemed to finally show interest, but Stalwart had eyes only for Axiom.

“Are you done with all your smarmy stupidity?” Stalwart asked.

“Only when you are done with your rather vulgar sort,” Axiom replied without bothering to look.

Stalwart growled wordlessly and left.

“Now,” Axiom continued, and now he seemed to relax. “I am terribly sorry. The… I know I’m stealing this from somewhere, but the hospitality of the house has been lacking of late. Or, rather, always. You know how it is. Stalwart can’t really helping being repressed, belligerent, and stupid, but I suppose the world takes all types.” He turned his eyes to Main Sail. “Ah. And you.”

“An’ me, say true.”

“Well… Hm. If you’ll follow me?” Axiom turned and strode off towards the little camp.

Axiom brought them to sit before the empty wooden chair that was in front of the tent. Begging their pardon, he disappeared into the large tent for a while before emerging with a scowl and shaking his head. The Duke was asleep; it would be ill to wake him.

They sat in front of the empty chair for what seemed forever.

Axiom talked intermittently, almost exclusively to Twilight. Out of the corner of her eye, Twilight watched her companions. Applejack seemed to tolerate their new companion if barely. Pinkie mostly just seemed to be puzzled.

“You know, I’ve been thinking, Twilight. About memories. I think about the past a lot, you see. I make observations that don’t do anypony good at all. Do you think everypony dwells as I do?”

She glanced over at him. “What?”

“Sorry. I do tend to ramble. I can’t help but notice, though, how you… ah, I want to say stare, but that’s not quite right.”

“At?”

“At everything,” Axiom said, evenly, as if explaining that the sun shone and that rain was wet.

She sighed. “I’m afraid I’m lost, Axiom. Do you know when this Duke will be ready to speak to us?”

He chuckled in response. “No, I don’t. The Duke is a capricious stallion of dubious faculties but superb courage if that’s even a thing. If nothing else, he is wonderful at hitting things until they die. Champion sleeper, coincidentally, and known for looking disfavorably upon being woken up and anypony who happens to be doing it.”

Twilight sighed, and Main Sail cut in. “Axiom, you don’t have to keep up the act.”

“Act?” He turned the smile on again. “Act?”

“The young miss has not a shred of context, and all ye’re doin’ is botherin’ her. Lay off.”

“How droll. Fine.” Axiom said, waving a hoof.

“Though you do seem a bit agitated,” Main Sail followed up, and Twilight watched his brow knit together. “Has something happened?”

“Something is always happening.”

Twilight sat quietly between them, glad to not be the subject of Axiom’s address. Instead, she looked around and realized that he was partially right. She was staring, not so much in curiosity or in awe. She seethed. It was a shock to realize it, to realize that her teeth were grinding together and her blood was running hot.

Dreams have a way of continuing. Not lingering, per se, but continuing. They pop up, here and there, like thieves in the night or like disease or misfortune. They lie in wait in corners and in constellations of ponies. They brood in newspaper headlines and in pictures. Sometimes they couch themselves in the luxury of the spoken word and wrap themselves around every syllable out of a loved one’s mouth, and with every sentence, the dream lives again and forces itself upon the waking mind as if to rule it.

In the camp, Twilight was thinking about Manehattan.

Around her, Axiom and Main Sail continued what she understood now, like lightning, was an interview, a preliminary. Axiom probed.

“Yes, but ye be agitated, and it’s not quite ye’re normal even-keel.”

Axiom laughed—a fake sound. “As if I live ever in an even-keel, you bilgerat. Honestly, what could be the matter? As you can plainly see, the banner of the Gray is quite advanced, and the sun is lovely.”

As if he had been cued, Main Sail lowered his voice and leaned in. “That bad, say?”

“Worse,” Axiom said roughly, and like a snake sheds its skin, he shed his persona. To Twilight, it was an almost visible change. The smirking and the smiling and the half-lidded eyes were replaced by a hard, but perhaps earnest, stare. She thought, absurdly, that he seemed sad.

“Especially if ye drop the game. Aye, I’d feared as much. The Blues take the old hill fort again.”

“Let them,” Axiom said, sneering. “It’s not as if that thing matters. It’s trash on a muddy excuse for a park. Who cares?”

“It’s a good vantage point.”

“So is half the city, and no one is fighting over a lot of those towers. It’s beyond stupid. Blues take the hill, stay for a day, end up leaving or moving almost the whole garrison elsewhere, we charge up the stupid hill and take the thing, and then we have it for three days at the uttermost before we run screaming from the damn pegasi.”

“The Duke wants it back?”

“Hell, the Duke doesn’t even think anymore,” Axiom said and then sighed heavily. “Never bright, but never stupid. I can’t say that now. Well, I could say that, I guess, it would just be demonstrably false.”

Twilight could almost see him, this Duke. It made her want to pull her hair out. She imagined him strutting, sure in his prowess. Just like Tidewater, just like Sidestroke. Manehattan, Manehattan, Manehattan.

Beside her, Applejack stirred. Twilight felt a hoof on her shoulder and heard a soft, warm voice in her ear. “Twi, you’re worryin’ me. Are you alright? You’re grindin’ those teeth of yours somethin’ fierce.”

“Manehattan,” she said.

Applejack was quiet a moment as if thinking. “Damn, I kinda see it too, now. Army camp. Brings it all back… but you need to calm down. Do you want me to do the talkin’?”

Twilight shook her head. “No. If I don’t talk, it’ll be noticeable. If he’s really a noble…”

“Then he’ll notice on account of he’d have seen ya,” Applejack finished with a grunt. Axiom got up, and he and Main Sail huddled together, whispering. Applejack scooted forward and turned her back to them, cutting into Twilight’s line of sight. “Right. I don’t feel like I rightly trust these folks, Twi.”

Their voices didn’t carry, but Main Sail’s did. She heard him asking about the docks.

“I’m not sure I like them either,” Twilight said, taking a deep breath. The dream still swirled. She shoved the Beachead down deep into the depths of her heart. Let it simmer. She must not let it out.

“Not just on account of their actin’ like real soldiers and appropriatin’ all this stuff that don’t belong to them, Twilight. The looks they’re given us make me feel dirty. You see ‘em? Over there, watching?”

“No, and I’m trying to forget there are other ponies here.” It was true; she’d ignored most everypony not directly involved, so far.

“Well, I ain’t been. It’s bad, Twilight. What in hell’s name happened to all these ponies?”

“War,” Twilight said and coughed. “Sorry, the air is foul. War happened, Applejack.”

“Twilight?” Pinkie weighed in from the other side. Twilight realized that she had snuck up and completed their huddle.

“What’s on your mind, Pinkie?” Twilight responded. “Are you alright? Um… your bandages, those are okay?” She asked, feeling foolish.

“I’m a-okay, Twilight! Thank you, though.” Twilight saw Pinkie smiling in her peripheral vision. “I think Axiom is an alright pony, girls.”

“You’re kidding me,” Applejack said flatly.

“Nope! If I were joking, there would be a punchline, silly. Or well… a set up, you know. Joke stuff! But I really think he’s okay. Maybe a little… okay, a lot grumpy, but that doesn’t make a pony bad.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t make them trustworthy either,” Twilight pointed out.

Pinkie shrugged against her, and Twilight fidgeted at the odd feeling of being touched even if by accident.

“Nope. But it doesn’t mean that they aren’t trustworthy. He’s very unhappy, Twilight. I think you should be nice to him, and he might help us.”

Twilight blinked. “That’s…”

“Fair,” Applejack finished. “Twi, this fellow—and I ain’t sayin’ I like him or know him from Adam—but he might just be good for us and to us. We need a pony in our corner that ain’t just been let out of a cage. You know, a pony that’s got some stock.”

Twilight scowled. “Why’s it have to be me?”

“I’d say you’re the only one he’s gonna give the time of day to, sugarcube.”

Twilight reinforced the scowl with a quiet groan. She was not in the mood to make nice, especially not with strange ponies. She had business to attend to. Important business. Celestia business.

The two stallions returned. Axiom’s mask was not quite restructured, and Main Sail seemed disheartened. Twilight did not comment. Instead, she thought. She imagined, and she planned, thinking about Starswirl and the prologue read in the sunlight.

Eventually, after another age had passed, Twilight spoke softly to Axiom, who lazed in front of her.

“Axiom? You were right earlier, you know.”

Axiom lifted his head. “Hm?”

“About my staring. I was staring.”

“Ah,” he said as if this was a pointless statement. Twilight did not sigh or back off. No, her scouting had been useful. She began her attack in earnest.

“It reminds me of another time and place,” she explained. “All of this… well. It’s an army camp, really, in miniature, and perhaps with less order and less sunlight.”

“Another time and place?” Axiom said, and Twilight realized that the mask had been resumed. “Please, enlighten me.”

So, Twilight decided to be bold. “You know a lot about me. I think you can guess.”

She felt the eyes of her companions on her, but she was not worried. He would show what he knew.

Axiom lifted his head and smiled. “I do, at that. I know many things. Specifically, I know a lot about two ponies. You can maybe guess which two, but I do know what you are talking about. Manehattan, correct?”

“Yes.”

“That would explain the supremely angry look you had earlier,” he remarked and sat up. “You have my attention. I’m glad you decided to join us, Twilight Sparkle.”

“Thank you. Who is the other pony? And why me?”

“Why you? Have others…? Well, I take that back. The playthings of Gods are many. Celestia, your teacher, is the aim of all my thoughts in these last days.”

Twilight blinked, surprised. “The princess?”

“Of course.”

“What about her? I mean, specifically?”

“How I absolutely, irrevocably, and without doubt, resent and deny the fairness of her immortality and existence,” he answered in a cheerful singsong. “It is simply not fair. It’s axiomatic. I would know.”

“Unfair?” Twilight was beyond bewildered. Her plan faded away into nothing. She had not foreseen this at all.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he answered. “Honestly. She lives forever. We do not. Where do we go after we die? Where does this god send us, Twilight?”

“When we die? Celestia doesn’t—”

“Ah, it was rhetorical. Consider it, Twilight. Think hard on it. How can it be fair that we are small, and she is great? Her existence is alien, Twilight. Nothing is nor ever can be nor ever will be constant, and yet there she is, still alive. It’s obscene. It’s indecent.”

“Now hold on,” Twilight said, rage hot. “Her existence is hardly unfair. She can’t help being the way she is.”

“Can’t she?”

“If you ate meat, I would tell you your way of existing was monstrous.”

He smiled and showed every last tooth. “Who is to say that I have not done so in this new and beautiful world?” When Twilight gaped in open and naked dismay, he laughed. “All things bright and beautiful, Twilight, the Sun made them all—to be eaten or eat, that is. I have, by the way, eaten meat, but it was not a sentient creature.”

“Moon preserve me,” Twilight mumbled.

“And yet you do not tell me I am monstrous,” he pointed out.

“Because I’m in shock,” she shot back, irritated.

Twilight wished she could see Applejack’s face. Or simply lean on Applejack. Feel Pinkie’s presence beside her. Anything. But her friends were not as close as she would wish them.

“Bah,” he dismissed her, but he still smiled. “But the axiomatic evil that is the god-queen has little to do with you and I. Do you know what they called me, Twilight, before I became a jester to an old warless and woundless veteran?”

“Crazy?” she guessed.

“Close! They sneered at me and called me Seer. I was quite taken with the name—I freely admit to a bit of vainglory, but when you live in a sewer to avoid being torn apart in the streets, you keep your spirits up as you can. It became clear to me, in the dark, what it all meant. She’s a necessary evil. Ah, but I’m going on again. The important thing is Manehattan.”

“It is?” Twilight asked. She was lost. The conversation was like rapids, and her boat was shattered.

“Yes. You had mentioned it before. Now, continue your confession.”

She scowled. “It was hardly a confession.”

He cackled. “It was that and more, Twilight. I’m sorry, I had never suspected it would be so fun to get a rise out of you. I say confession because you obviously attach some meaning to the affair, enough to be angry, and beyond that, if it were not forefront in your mind, it would not be the first thing you led off a conversation with, especially not one designed to woo me.”

“Woo you?” She said, stirring.

“Figuratively.”

Main Sail also stirred. “How long’s that old stallion going to sleep?”

“Forever, probably,” Axiom said quickly and then returned his attention to Twilight. “I only ask because I’m insatiably curious. I am insatiable in many things, actually. Also, as much as I have explained myself and my motives, in my study and ruminations on you—and yes, by the way, we have met before—I have decided that your story is perhaps the most interesting one left in this insipid and wasted world.”

“We’ve met?” Twilight asked, racking her brain. It was galling to be the slow one in the conversation. “I feel as if I would remember meeting you, Axiom. I can’t say I have ever met you or anypony quite like you.”

“Ah, the underhoofed insult is nice. I quite like it. But no, I was different then. I was working on a degree in Equine studies, in fact, at the Canterlot University. We had classes.”

Twilight blinked. “Oh… Stars, were you the small stallion in the back?”

“That is all you can muster? Is that my name forever? I won’t even begin to comment on the implications of ‘small’,” he said, grimacing. “But yes. By your look of confusion, I can see you’ve noted how I’ve changed. But, as I was saying, my study of you has mostly been secondhoof. It began a bit after the fall of Manehattan. It was then that I realized that we were all doomed, you see. We’re all going to die.”

“That’s a bit certain.”

“Epistemic distance is shit,” he proclaimed. “No, I’m certain of it. Unless the author of this increasingly cold world—which there isn’t one, I would caution—has in store a deus ex machina and a rather unsatisfying ending, we are all going to freeze.”

“So, because it would be unsatisfying, you think we’re going to die.”

“Don’t you?”

Twilight wanted to say that she did not. She would have loved to say that she had hope, that she clung to some warm hope and dream of Celestia riding the clouds over an embattled Canterlot, bringing with her the light of the sun.

Instead, she said, “The world isn’t a story. It’s a country full of living, breathing, real ponies like you and me, who deserve better than to freeze to death because aesthetically it would be bold and impressive.” She paused. “This whole… line of discussion is odd. Let’s go back to Manehattan if you’re so interested in it.”

“Which I am.”

“What do you know?” Twilight asked. “I guess instead of talking, I’m going to be lecturing.”

“I have it on reliable sources that you do that very, very well. I know nothing. Well, no, that is a lie. I know many things, but pretend that I am ignorant as a child.”

So she told him everything.

Twilight

The Beachhead is twelve miles wide and seven miles deep. At the shallowest point, it is still a mile of contested territory. The city stands but is taken. The outskirts burn or are ash to be carried by the wind and trod under horseshoes made from iron. The air is cold, which Twilight could stand if it were static, but it is not. It moves. It whistles. It screams and pushes at them when they leave the safety of the hollow shells of households or stand too long in the wind tunnels of streets.

They are not all gathered in one place. Luna wished for all six of the elements at her side, but Twilight had talked her down. Fluttershy is back behind their lines helping with wounded streaming in from the bridge, with Pinkie as her right hoof. Rarity is at the heel of the Moon’s shepherd, which leaves the fighters with Twilight in the Manehattan suburb of Canter’s Crossing.

They came over the sea because the sun was failing. It’s rather logical, honestly, when one’s homeland is freezing over in the long night. The sun will not shine long enough to thaw the mountainous eyeries of the Griffons; they shiver and they grow faint, and the prey moves or dies. The crops of their thralls and serfs do not grow, and the lesser beings that are confined to earth wither.

In short, they are dying.

Even now, they are dying. As an old stallion may yet raise himself out of bed right at the door of death, so they too sail across the sea and take a single startled city in hopes that they might at least die in company.

The city they took without too much of a fight. With twenty thousand armored griffons hurtling out of the sky, much of the potential resistance just failed to materialize. Celestia was gone. The skies were dark. It only made sense that the griffons fall from the skies and raze the place, being the end of the world and all.

But, so far, they have not razed it. The outskirts they burned after moving ponies in or sending them away. It has all been to keep the city isolated and keep any defenders from feeling comfortable. There is nowhere for them to sleep, nowhere to find food or the faces of the fearful that could give them courage.

Above all, Twilight is preoccupied with two things: the rain and the sun. Or, rather, the all-encompassing presence of the first and the sucking vacuum of the second. Her coat is damp but drying. It is hard not to at least be grateful for that even if it came at the cost of taking refuge in a burnt-out house a bit too like the ones in Ponyville. Without the sun peeking through the uniform gray sky, it was hard to dry off without magic.

The rain beats down upon the churned mud of the Manehattan plains. It beats a steady march upon the exposed floor above them. It pools outside the doorway that had lost its door. She thinks it the best of all possible weapons in that it required nothing to use and, even when missing, it added to the misery.

But inside, where Twilight could summon and maintain a small magical fire, there is relative peace. The miserable rain’s rhythm was more like a song, strange and lilting and too far away to be of any meaning or import.

They all huddle close together for warmth. Rainbow, Applejack, Twilight, the two aides. Everypony suffered in kind. It was the way of the Army of the North.

Time passes. The Army is marching. Luna is impatient, and Twilight is restless. Applejack is reserved. Rainbow Dash wants to break things. It is as it will be later on, for not much has changed. It will change, perhaps, but in the Now that is Twilight at the bridge into Manehattan, they are all playing their own self-assigned roles.

The fighting is fierce. Twilight will remember it well, remember calling down lightning from the burdened, pregnant clouds on the griffon gunners. She will recall, months hence, how the lithe pegasi tried to dodge and weave but were weighed down by water and were caught in strong, iron grips and torn from the sky they were born to like bugs crushed by cart wheels.

But she will mostly remember that the Army of the North threw themselves upon the embankments dug into the earth and raised upon the great drawbridge and how they were repulsed. How this happened many, many times. She will remember the rain stopping and the long day where the sun shone for fifteen hours and ponies and griffons alike could have wept for joy but killed each other in the light instead because it was useful.

But most of all, Twilight will remember when Luna ordered the Army of the North to cease their bombardments. She will remember the look in Luna’s eyes that she will never, ever name, but will say made her very still and took all of the sun’s warmth out of her. The day passed, the night passed, and Twilight sees the coming of the end when the King of Griffona arrives in the early light of blood-red dawn with his ironshod bodyguard. He is old, and he is weary, and for all the world, Twilight wonders at how he is not upset or angry. He seems resigned. Almost relieved. It is the look of a creature that has gone to great lengths to say something to someone.

The griffons revolt. Within the city, order has been kept and ponies unharmed, but the entropy in the air has worked its dark magic on the hearts of griffons. They hem and haw, they argue, they push each other, they hunger.

Twilight, above all, remembers the disbandment of the last army of Griffona. She remembers it because of three things. She remembers his son crying over the slain after the week of blood. She remembers the piling of bodies.

She remembers the evidence that griffons eat meat.

Twilight

Axiom accepted this until the end.

“And then? What did you find?”

Twilight shrugged as if trying to shake him off. “I can’t describe it.”

“Nonsense. You’re Twilight. I watched you leave teachers speechless. You can keep up with the princess. You can describe something simple like this.”

Twilight shook her head, adamant. “No, I can’t. It wasn’t something simple at all.”

“Fine,” Axiom groused. “I suppose I got something, at least.” After a moment, he sighed. “The Duke can be manipulated easily, brought around to your side like he chose it for himself. Especially if you can mention the Blues and make it seem like something that the Chief will hate.”

“Chief?” Applejack asked, and Twilight found the sound of her voice after so long to be strange.

“The leader of the Blues. He was the chief of police above us in Vanhoover before the fighting.” He chuckled. “You see, we were all quite different, not that long ago. I was a dropout, the Duke was a minor noble who owned a string of restaurants and collected art, and the Chief was keeping the ponies on the street safe. Now, I’m somewhere between court jester and advisor, the Duke is leading a guerrilla army, and the Chief is murdering anypony who shows their face long enough for him to kick it.”

“Pretty drastic change,” Twilight said.

“What happened?” Pinkie asked. “Why are they doing all of this? Didn’t you all get along before?”

“Perhaps. It’s hard to really talk about that when you have so many ponies to talk about. Aren’t we getting along, Ms. Pinkie Pie?” Axiom asked.

Twilight glanced over at Pinkie, breaking her connection to the chair, and saw her nod.

“And yet we are not really friends, though I bear you no ill will. In fact, outside of circumstance, we have no connection. So it was with Vanhoover or, really, any city. We get along because we are separate and because it is convenient to be so.”

“I guess,” Pinkie conceded with a look of contemplation.

“So you ‘Grays’ jump outta these caves, wallop some fools on the surface, get your flanks kicked yourselves, and then just hide again?” Applejack asked. “Can’t hold onto nothin’?”

“Not at all,” Axiom said, grinning sardonically. “It is rather idiotic, isn’t it? It seemed like a good idea, at first. Those damn Blues—you see, I can’t escape how I feel about them. I’m not entirely detached. But when it begins, you feel as if it is necessary because perhaps it is. Action is called for or else surrender to meaningless death. So you fight. And then a few months later, you wake up, and it feels like it is all for nothing. It helps that the city is ruined.”

“And all these ponies? Who are they?” Applejack pressed.

Twilight looked down at the ground, troubled, but glad, somehow, to have spoken. Even if she kept that last, promised end to herself. They could guess. She didn’t have to say it.

“Refugees. Some of them pledged the Gray when it was a matter of voting. Most just don’t want to die quite yet, and so they got off the streets any way that they could and kept burrowing deeper into the earth until they found our camp, here.”

“And where are all y’all? You talk as if there’s some sort of army, but all I’m seein’ is…” Applejack counted. “I’d reckon only about thirty of you at most.”

“There are other camps,” Axiom said, his eyes drifting to the Duke’s tent. “Do I hear him? I think I do. Listen to me quickly. Only one of you speak at a time; ask what you need, and do it quickly; and don’t lie to him. Treat him like an actual duke.”

Axiom left them, then, and stood before the opening of the Duke’s tent. Twilight and her companions stood at attention, waiting for him to appear.

And he did. Twilight’s first impression was that he was a reimagined Harvest. He was massive. His legs were like trees; his body was hard like stone. His eyes were clouded, not quite milky with blindness, but dangerously close. His gait was like a parody of a king’s.

He said nothing to Axiom, simply nodding and prancing to his old chair, which he sat down in heavily.

To Twilight, who knew better, the airs that he tried to affect in that chair fell flat. He was no duke, she thought, though she thought it without any fire and with little ice. He was a hoary head without a crown on a chair of borrowed wood in a cave filled with lost and lonely eyes. Oh, he was trying to appear elsewise, she could feel it. He certainly sat up straight and looked her in the eye; that was clear. She thought there might be recognition there, but the strange milkyness of those diseased things was hard to read.

“Twilight Sparkle, then,” he said, and to her surprise, his voice was light and youthful, like a young stallion’s. He appeared older than he was, perhaps.

“That’s my name,” she replied evenly.

Yes, he really wasn’t that old. She guessed, now, that he was out of his early adulthood but not yet in the prime of life. Given a few years, as a noble, and he would have been running the circus honorum of local offices, small political appointments to build his character and prestige. If the northern earth ponies did that. She thought they did.

“And yet you do not ask how I recognized you on sight.”

Twilight sighed. “Honestly, I’m more surprised that so few seem to. I mean, yes, Celestia tried her best to keep us out of the papers…”

“Ah, but I happened to attend the Grand Galloping Gala, Miss Sparkle.”

It was strange. Twilight blinked then tilted her head. A smile slowly, slowly brightened her face, and at last she sat down and laughed.

Axiom gaped at her in genuine dismay. Through Twilight’s peals of laughter, she saw no trace of his mask. But Twilight didn’t care at all. The Gala! The Grand Galloping Gala! What a ridiculous name! What a ridiculous event! What tiny, ridiculous ponies!

It felt like another world altogether as if something had bitten off her own chunk of time from the main and the Gala was in a happier bit yet undevoured. It was too funny. She couldn’t even picture herself there, let alone him, let alone any of it.

The Duke straightened in his ludicrous chair, and somehow it just made everything funnier.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Duke asked and ground his teeth.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Twilight managed, controlling herself. “T-truly—ahem, sorry again—truly, I’m very sorry. I’m not laughing at you, good sir.”

He seemed to accept this, relaxing a bit. “Then at what?”

“Just… you mentioned the Gala. I was a lot younger then… We broke everything didn’t we?” She smiled. “We had no idea what we were doing back then, and it was so much fun. I’m sorry, but just thinking about it made me think about how ridiculous it all was.”

Then the Duke surprised her. He also smiled. “It was rather nice as a diversion.Though I always wondered where the princess escaped to.”

“Oh, Princess Celestia was with us, eating donuts.”

The Duke stared. “You’re jesting.” He had lost any semblance of formality.

“Not at all.”

“Well, call me a mule,” he said and leaned back. He chuckled to himself, looking away from them. “I have yet to even interview you, Miss Sparkle, and already, you have enlightened me as to an old mystery. My thanks.”

“You’re welcome. It’s a pretty wonderful secret.”

“Indeed it is,” he said slowly, and Twilight watched as he once again composed his mask of formality. Not quite as unfamiliar as before, but just as false. “Now. Miss Sparkle, as the highest ranked of the city’s gentleponies, I first bid you welcome to our fair city and what is left of her ponies. As you can see, the times are… difficult. But I trust that you have been well looked after, hm? In the company of our mutual acquaintance.”

“I guess you could say that,” Twilight answered evenly.

“Good, good. And, I do hate to do this, but your arrival is… interesting. Troubling, even. You will forgive me if I ask what your business is.”

Her eyes flicked briefly towards Axiom. Twilight raised her eyebrows as if to ask. He mouthed the words, “All of it,” and she set her shoulders. Right. All of it. Something in her rebelled against it, against baring her whole purpose, but why hold back? Why not tell it all? Lying or omitting her purposes would only make more questions.

How best to say it? The Duke was not an idiot. A fool, perhaps, and perhaps a bit too enamored of the trappings of fortuitous blood, but not so much that he couldn’t react like a normal pony. Think, Twilight. Think. Use the brain the song composed for you, and think. He’s gone to great lengths to set himself up as a “duke” and as some sort of old-world lord. How best to deal with that type of pony? I know nothing of him, personally. It’s all guesses.

But I do understand military types, and that’s what he obviously is trying to be. Clear, direct, bold. Look him in the eyes. Tell him all of it. Add a little flair, I guess. His whole… whatever-this-is is rather whimsical… right. Don’t stall.

She looked him in the eye.

“Good Duke,” she began with all the confidence she could muster, “my aim is nothing more and nothing less than the recovery of our Princess from whatever traps her over the western sea. To go all the way to the world’s end and bring her back to Canterlot again.”

There was a deep silence. Axiom’s lips formed a pursed little line, but he said nothing. The Grays who had been milling about—for she saw them now at the fringes of the audience—all had stopped in their tracks in gape-mouthed staring. The Duke was frozen in place.

And Twilight realized how bizarre it was. How stupid. How could they expect to go across a sea that nopony bothered to cross more than once or twice at most, to lands that nopony of Equestria had seen in untold generations, traversing lands that some claimed literally led to the edge of existence, with little clues—no, no, she corrected herself. No clues at all, no real clues at all—to find a teacher and a princess with a motherly smile or a beautiful smile and eyes like the oceans of the ultra-clear lightness of the Palmyretto Bay who may or may not want to come back.

And she wanted to laugh; she wanted to laugh so bitterly.

“She has to come back,” Twilight said, and her voice was not broken, and for this she was grateful. “She has to. If she doesn’t, if nothing changes, everypony will die. Everyone will die. We are tied to her and she to us.”

Axiom snorted, but Twilight realized that time was short. The Duke would speak soon.

“Duke, my friends and I… we have to find her. We can find her,” she said, her voice going beyond simple confidence now. It was hard and rough like sandpaper. “I have magic that will guide us, and we’ve faced down worse than the Blues and the Sea. I was… I was at Manehattan. I faced down manticores and griffins and dragons—stars! I raised one. I lulled an Ursa Minor to sleep, sir, and with help from my friends, normal, brave, honest ponies, I helped defeat Nightmare Moon herself. I need your help. I can steal a boat. I can point it in the right direction. I can fight off their… their… miserable little army,” she spat, and now she was angry. “With their damn walls, acting like real, honest… I don’t know. I don’t know. I just know that I’m angry, and they will be like… kindling. Or something, but I can do a lot of things. But I can’t do everything. I can fight them and trick them and rob them blind but not all three. Only you can help Celestia return.”

Twilight shut her mouth and trembled. The Duke made no movement.

“We need her,” Twilight said uselessly, and still, there was no response. At last, at long and bitter straights, she closed her eyes. “I need her.”

And the Duke moved, straightening in his borrowed throne. “That was quite a speech.”

Twilight stared down at the ground.

“I don’t suppose I can say somethin’,” Applejack said from behind her.

Twilight could not see his reaction, but his voice seemed neutral enough. “Of course. You are… ah, Applejack, I remember it. Forgive me. My eyes are and were poor.”

“That’s alright, Mr. Duke,” she replied. “I just wanted to say that Twilight’s right. We all need the Princess. It ain’t a matter of if we can live alone—I’m an earth pony same as you if you’ll hear me, and we like to think all we need’s the Good Earth and a strong plow.”

A chuckle. “Quoting the Books at me? They hold loser to old Rowan and Gaia in the North.”

“I figured they might. But you know what I’m talkin’ about. It ain’t about if we’re strong; it’s about… I don’t know. Maybe I’m goin’ out on a limb, but the world ain’t quite right, and we all know it.”

“Bit obvious,” she heard Axiom say quietly.

“But it’s not just Celestia bein’ gone. I think that if it were just that, the sun would be fine. I don’t rightly know how that all works, but I do know she wouldn’t be messin’ with it like this.” Twilight looked up at last, for it was as if Applejack had reached into the depths of her own thoughts and pulled out the one kernel of speculation she’d kept even from herself.

Applejack continued. “I’m startin’ to wonder if there ain’t somethin’ we don’t know yet about what’s going on here. Somthin’ is up way over there, and I want to see it. If there is something else, something behind all of this stuff, don’t you wanna know too? And if there ain’t… well. We’ll know. Somepony will know.”

She fell silent.

The Duke rose and stood.

He looked Twilight in the eyes and spoke evenly at first. “Normally, when a pony asked me for help… I would have to think about it. I would need to deliberate. You understand, Twilight, how things must work. Decorum is important for a noblepony such as myself,” he said, and his eyes scanned the crowd that had gathered around them.

Twilight saw them too. They looked like worn and ragged ghosts of soldiery, all gray with painted barding and weathered, filthy cloaks. She regretted being angry at them, now. They looked like so many wanderers, so many children. She thought, perhaps, they were starting to change, though. As if an idea had come to them all at once.

“Normally,” the Duke continued, “I would have let you wait, and decorum—as you know—would have been the byword of our entire negotiation. But… But,” he said, and then the mask died. He grinned, and Twilight saw that his teeth were chipped and stained. “But you know what, gents?” he roared, and Twilight flinched. Around her, she felt the Grays perk up to full attention. They knew this voice, knew this routine. She recognized something primal in it. “We’ve been here long enough, fighting over little things. I want to get up there and show those braggarts and roundheads what we’re made of. I’d like to see the sun, wouldn’t you?” He turned suddenly to Twilight and advanced. She shied away from him, but he got right in her face.

“You say it’s important.”

“Yes.”

“You know what I heard?”

“W-what?”

“I heard,” he said softly now, “that it was important to you. I was going to say yes. But that… tell me again.”

“W-what?” she repeated, eyes wide. He filled her vision with his huge, malformed, blurry body.

“Why do you really want to find her? What will you do?”

“I… we need her—”

“No. Your other answer.”

Twilight started. “I need… her?”

“Excellent!” he roared, and Twilight flinched, bewildered. “EXCELLENT. THAT’S WHAT QUESTS ARE MADE OUT OF, GENTS AND MARES! LOVE AND DANGER! Ah, yes, don’t you smell it? Don’t you taste it? I do.”

He played his crowd. Their fervor grew as quickly as Twilight’s confusion did. She had stepped into something, into some sort of ongoing pageant that she had no clue about. Across the way, Axiom looked at her with something she could only call sardonic amusement.

And Twilight sat in the midst of a crowd of pubescent would-be knights errant and desperate mares, and wondered what in hell’s baleful name the world had come to.

But she also thought about Celestia.

Author's Note

yayyyy

Thanks, randomguyq97, for editing ad reading through the text with me. <3

XII. Troja Fuit.

RARITY

The snow had several qualities. Firstly, it was draining—its cold sank down past the skin and clung to the bones and let go only after much difficulty. Secondly, it was heavy, for it never stopped and buried everything slowly, slowly. Lastly, it was eternal. The snow that coated everything seemed to go on and on as far as the eye could see and farther, seemed to stretch unto the edges of the world.

To Rarity, it was obscene. The blizzard raged for the third day, and she had come to accept their peril.

It wasn’t hard to understand, really. That it had taken her three days was a testimony less to her great stores of hope and more to stubbornness. No unicorn likes to admit that the natural elements are the master over her, but even Rarity eventually had to concede that she was exhausted and frozen over.

Her hooves crunched through the snow, and with every step, they sunk in a little more. She wondered, as they trudged, if it had ever been anything but snowing, if there had been any other state and if her memories of summer were strange, feverish dreams, if she wouldn’t eventually sink to her chest and then be gone into the snow.

Even the pegasi suffered. Though they resisted the cold better than any pony or Zebra, Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash shivered and huddled close to Rarity and one another when night came in full force. Flying had become less and less of a viable option for them. Their cold and exhausted estate aside, visibility was beyond poor. Rarity feared, with every hour, that they would become separated. Any moment, she imagined that one of them might slow, might stumble, and not be noticed until they were lost. The buffeting of the wind, like the fists of some lumbering beast, would push them farther and farther from their friends.

The snow fell. No, Rarity thought numbly, placing one hoof in front of another, it did not simply fall as much as it pressed.

They were not lost. She thanked any stars that still shone out beyond the thick clouds for that. There was a compass and a map, though she had little light to read them by, and these things did wonders. She knew exactly where they were going and what way to go.

Beyond that, questions of time plagued her. It meant nothing to know where to go if the time it would take was more than they had. The blizzard was not ending. She doubted that it would end in time. They had left the city in the worst of seasons on a fool’s errand to find an empire that was probably frozen and dead.

She groaned. The sound was lost in the howling wind, but she didn’t care. It was for herself alone. In private, Rarity would despair. She would whine and cry, contort her face and cover her eyes in pure, childish frustration. But she would never do this where Fluttershy or Rainbow Dash could see her. Her grief was for herself, not for others. It was anathema to be a burden on those who trusted her to know where to go.

Snow necessitates many things and forces on the mind others. Rarity began to accept slowly that she was suffering and that she was going to suffer.

She looked around at her friends. Rainbow Dash grimaced, her mouth a hard line against the wind and all it brought. She was unbowed, undominated. The wind could come down as fists or claws or bricks and Rainbow Dash would look no different. Rarity would not disassemble, even with herself; she envied that demeanor. In a strange way, it made her angry. In a distant way, at least. Anger and envy required energy. Even to envy warmth, which none of them had.

But one of us is less suited for this vile weather, she thought sourly to herself for perhaps the thousandth time. Her thoughts came slower as well. Slow, slow like watching paint dry or molasses run down an incline.

Rainbow did not bother to shake the snow from her soaked mane, and it gave her the countenance of a ghost. Rarity could not help but watch. Was there another pony beside Rainbow? A third? No, it was not Fluttershy. Where was Fluttershy?

Lazily, her eyes rolled almost as if they resented her instruction. Fluttershy also did not shiver as Rarity did. She knew her own legs shook like leaves below her without needing to look to know the truth of it. She had lost the feeling in them beyond the numb sensation of marching.

When she looked again, she counted two. Only two ponies. No, no, were there not three?

Looking over her shoulder was no way to walk. Rarity stumbled in the thick snowfall and lay there.

The pegasi were there instantly, trying to pull her up, but she waved them off. No, now was not the time for that.

“Who is that? The third one there beside you?” she rasped.

“Rares, what are you talking about?” Rainbow yelled back at her over the constant howl.

“There are three of you! Oh… Oh, who are you…?” Rarity groaned. “When I count,” she continued, raising her head up slowly and waving a hoof in their direction, “I count three ponies! Three beside myself… But then then there are only two until I… I look back…”

“Rares… Rares, look at me, will you?” Rainbow pleaded.

“I’m so cold,” Rarity replied, her eyes staring not at her friends now but above them and beside. “When I look… down the white road—”

“Rarity, are you okay?” Fluttershy asked softly. “You are talking so strangely…”

“I… I am unwell.”

“I’d say. Geeze…” Rainbow groaned. The mask was broken. “Flutters, she’s gonna get worse. We need to get out of the snow.”

“But… but the snow is everywhere.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it.”

“Rainbow, my legs feel odd,” Rarity said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded lilting.

“Yeah, yeah… gods, hold on. Don’t die on me yet.”

“I’m alive,” Rarity said, frowning. How rude.

“Yeah, I’m glad about that,” Rainbow said and smiled at Rarity with as much warmth as she could muster. “Really glad. I think I know what to do.”

“Oh, alright… I’m very sleepy, you know. I would have told you earlier, but… I didn’t think it… it was…” She made a very unladylike noise. “Bah. I don’t remember the words.”

Before Rainbow could reply, she writhed on the ground, trying to remove the saddlebags. They were vile! They were far too heavy, and she was starting to feel strangely warm.

“Should have… look, nevermind,” Rainbow said, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a breath. “Uh…. ah, right. Flutters, I’m gonna need your help here… Rarity, please stop doing that… hey!” she snapped, and Rarity finally wriggled free of her bonds. “Damn, Rares, can you calm down? The pack…”

Rarity stared up at the sky.

How wonderful it was, how uniform, how orderly! Oh, she appreciated order and uniformity. No. One of those things. Order. That sounded nice. All things in decency and order do, Rarity, that you might be happy in the land the sun your benefactor is giving thee, yea. She tried to roll over.

Vaguely, faintly, she heard her friends talking and grimaced. What were they talking about? It bothered her. Noise and noise and noise, no words, just mumbles and the occasional crunch of snow. Then lots of crunches of snow. Is that how she was going to describe it? Words came hard.

Time passed, but Rarity could not hold onto it.

Her thoughts did more than just freeze. They rotted. At once, she began to think how much better it would have been to die in Ponyville. She decided, with absolute certainty, that those who died before the faces of their mothers and fathers in the streets of in a dozen Equestrian cities—they had all been twice—no!—thrice blessed. They were done. They were finished. They no longer moved. No one made those sleeping ponies walk or march or run or talk. Noyepony asked them to do things. Nopony forced them into vain hope. And as her thoughts festered, she saw them, herself and her friends, as in a great darkness. They appeared thinly scattered and paddling in the yawning deep. They tread water. She saw herself, up in the sky, head bobbing below and above and below again, and she struggled even now, and—

Rarity felt hooves press upon her, caress her cheeks and chest and shoulders, and then she imagined that perhaps something pulled her towards some goal.

Twilight

More tunnels. Twilight had come to hate tunnels more than anything in the universe. How many ways could they possibly vary? How many kinds of corridors and tunnels could there possibly be? Honestly, she reflected, there were lots, but there was no way to tell them apart or describe them as anything but “long” or “dark” or whatever else. The labyrinth defied her. It laughed at her and kept her confused and turned around, and she hated the whole city.

Axiom hummed to himself, smiling. He sat across from her, his hooves kept carefully out of the rancid water below. The ridiculous pose he kept seemed not to bother him at all. Twilight figured it was a part of living here, in the Underground, that you began to lose the norms of the surface.

Applejack sat beside him, her hat pulled over her face. Twilight wished that she could push that hat up if only to read Applejack’s expression. She hated not knowing things.

Pinkie’s hooded head on Applejack’s shoulder stirred. “Twilight? It’s boring here. Can’t we go?”

Twilight raised an eyebrow at Axiom. “I’m not sure.”

Their only source of light was the three orbs of arcane light that Twilight juggled over the filthy waters that trickled by. She was glad for the movement. Still water was far worse.

“Not quite,” Axiom said. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Twilight. It is quite unbecoming! I assure you, you will know when it is time.”

“How reassuring,” Twilight growled.

Axiom sighed. “Honestly. I’m not trying to be… obtuse? Tiresome?”

“Difficult?”

“Right! Difficult. I’m not trying to be difficult, Twilight. You’ll know because the sounds of battle will reach even us.” He fidgeted. In the low light, she could not see all that he did, and so she wondered. “Yes,” he went on listlessly, “we’ll notice. You know, part of me is excited.”

“For violence?” Twilight whispered back.

“Yes, of course, violence. Do you drink, Twilight?”

“Yes,” Twilight answered and glared at Applejack when she snorted.

“Twi tries, but she can’t handle much,” Applejack said far too cheerfully for their current surroundings, in Twilight’s opinion. “But I think I know where you’re going.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s an acquired taste. Once you get a bit of it, you’re okay with more until you start kinda likin’ it. Pa let me try a bit of hard cider—the really good stuff—when I was still a young’un, every harvest he was alive, and by the time I was a full-grown mare, I loved the stuff.”

Axiom smiled—Twilight could see his smile shine. “Why yes, that’s exactly it. Yes, you begin to develop a taste for it.”

They were quiet again for a time. Twilight’s eyes wandered over the worn brick passageway, tracked a bit of film over the dark waters, traced the the outline of her companions. Time passed in pockets without light or a wide world to give it proper context.

Twilight started to think over the plan again. They would ascend in the chaos and find some place above ground to hide or even make it all the way to the ship if they could. Twilight hoped but did not count on making it in one go. If—no, when, she reminded herself—when they recovered the vessel, they could point it south and Main Sail would be waiting with a few ponies who had volunteered to come along. They were strays, but they were still willing. They were still ponies.

But her mind wandered away from plans—for a moment.

“You know,” Twilight said softly, “I do remember you in classes, back at the university.”

“Ah, happy day! I’d thought your eyes blinded by delight.”

“I’m going to assume you’re making a dig at Celestia, so I’ll just keep going.”

“Aw.”

“But,” Twilight continued, “I do remember you. I remember you being a lot different. A little quieter, but mostly you were… well, a lot more normal, back then.”

“You wound me! To the heart, Twilight,” he replied but without heat.

“Where did all of this come from? You went to her school once, though you didn’t study in the magic courses, obviously. So why all of this antagonism?”

“Well, a lot of time has passed between then and now. Ponies do change, you know. Nothing is constant. What happened? A farm not chosen, a sea of fine and not so fine whiskey, a sojourn to opportunity and dropping out of school, and a lot of blackouts.”

Twilight frowned. “Seems like you’ve not done well since I knew you.”

“Not at all!” he replied.

“You’re pretty darned happy ‘bout it,” Applejack noted.

Twilight saw the outline of Axiom shift and his head turn. “No, it’s just not really worth it to be morose, don’t you agree? One must move on. A stallion I loathe once wrote that. I think. But it’s true, regardless, that you have to move, or you’ll die. You know, I was thinking about that when the Duke found me.”

“And how did he find you?” Twilight asked.

Axiom was grinning. She knew that he was.

“Well, the Duke found me after the first riots. The Grays were coming into their own, then. I was sordid and wet and in a hole, keeping my head above water and hoping that none of the firebombs hit me. When you’re waiting for the world to end, you try to keep in good supply of a few things, the chief among them being hard liquor. Predictably, because we live in a terrible world, in the initial rush of revolution, my nest in the wharf went up in flames. It was quite a sight. Me, fleeing into the streets—one of many—with little flecks of fire in my coat and mane, my supplies and the supplies of the other squatters up in blue flame wrapped in crimson flame, wrapped in smoke, wrapped in terror—”

“Got a way with words there, pal,” Applejack said in a stage whisper, and Pinkie shushed her. Twilight was surprised. She’d not heard her pink friend make a sound in so long that she’d almost forgotten what it was like.

“—yes, well. So I was there in the dark. You know, you think a lot in the dark. I called my new home the Hole. Felt deeper than it really was. I’d set my watch and warrant—god, these northewesternisms gall me—but all the while, I think to myself… ‘Axiom, you know, it would be easy to die here.’ Not even that I wanted to, you understand. You do, don’t you?” Here, he paused as if he was truly unsure. Mechanically, Twilight nodded, and he continued. “Good. Well, there I was, in the Hole. And I was just sort of ruminating on the ease with which death comes. Suddenly, there he was, like some sort of hero out of the worst kind of novel.” Axiom sighed wistfully. “I hated him immediately.”

Twilight blinked.

“Wait, that’s not how the story goes…” Pinkie said softly.

“Well. I mean, I suppose there was a small bit of time where I didn’t react in an instinctive, taste-fueled and righteous fury, but that lackluster response was quite made up for.”

“How, exactly?” Twilight asked.

“Well, you see, I hated him because he was above me. It was a marvelous moment. I was wet, miserable, and tenuous. He was dry, warm, secure… In short, it was all unfair. The whole situation, the whole world. I think that was the moment it all made sense to me—in a flash. Probably not! You know, the more I think about it, the less true it seems. Maybe I’m lying.”

“I…”

“But it’s a good idea, isn’t it? It’s something out of a book. Anyhow, I was hating him in a most just manner when I sneezed.”

“You sneezed,” Twilight repeated dully.

“Yes! Good, you’re listening! You can be taught, even with a bit of that stupid sunglow in those beautiful eyes of yours. No, no you see I was very cold, and so that is why I sneezed, and when you realize I was balancing to keep above water… Needless to say, I slipped and began to drown. I cannot swim, by the way. Not at all.”

“I… I didn’t expect that,” Twilight said. “I’m assuming he saved you?”

“Oh, hell no!” Axiom said, shaking with mirth. “No, he laughed at me, that ass. I mean, yes, he saved me eventually, but only after he’d laughed first.”

Twilight couldn’t help herself. She chuckled. “You almost make me like this stallion, Axiom. I almost think you like him.”

“Do I? I suppose I do. What is our relationship, anyhow?” the jester mused. “I suppose we are friends, after a fashion. It was I that drug him out of the Ducal estate on the edge of town when it burned down. Blues planted a bomb in the wine cellar that fizzed out, but the failed explosive still started a fire. Guess it wasn’t a failure after all…” He cleared his throat. “But I’m wandering. Twilight, Pinkie, Applejack—yes, I remember your names even though I have been focused on one of you—I will let my own convictions rest a moment. Something else is on my mind.”

“Your friends up there?” Applejack asked.

But Axiom shook his head. “No, though I wonder about them. But we are all committed now, live or die, and so perhaps I am not concerned as much as I am already resigned. I have done my mourning. No, I think you might have an idea. Let me ask you a question—you first, in fact, my good rustic. What happened?”

“Pardon?”

“What happened? To us. To all of us.” He swept his hoof wide as if gesturing to a grand stage. “And I don’t mean just us, here, in this mausoleum. I’m talking about everything. Applejack, does it not strike you as odd, how the end of the world played out?”

“Ain’t sure what you mean, still,” Applejack replied, but then she stopped. She hummed. “No, I take it back. I have started wonderin’, and I wanted to chew on it a bit more, but here goes. Ponies fell apart. We all know that; it’s understood.” She looked around, and they all nodded back. Axiom seemed patient to Twilight’s eyes, genuinely curious. “But why’d they go to pieces so darn fast? Half a year later and we went from happy, smilin’ ponyfolk to maruadin’ and seriously thinkin’ ‘bout eatin’ critters. I mean, you’re right, I asked that question. It was too fast. Far too fast. I don’t know why, but there’s something we’re all missin’, some other thing that helped bridge the gap between good folk and what they are now.”

“Were they ever as good as we thought?” Twilight asked sourly. They all looked at her, and she sighed. “Applejack, I know you want to say yes right away, but think about it.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. Just tell me what you’re thinkin’.”

Twilight looked down at her hooves or where she knew them to be. In the dark, she saw nothing but varieties of shadow, the suggestion of brick, the monotony of straight lines and grids.

“Maybe ponies were never as good as we thought they were. I mean, if you think about it, they kind of had to be good. Weren’t we all keeping each other from being bad? Being guardians, thousands of us, with the guards and our neighbors and the law to back us up, going up… up to the Princess. She is good,” she said, and she grit her teeth. “Very, very good. Very… but we aren’t. We’re bad. We are mean-spirited and selfish, and why shouldn’t we be when she leaves? What’s to stop us? If you take out the top stone of the arch, it falls apart. Ponies weren’t good one moment and bad the next. They were always bad.”

“Now, hold on—” Applejack began, but Twilight cut her off with a shake of her head.

“Can you really say most ponies wouldn’t take from you, even then, if they thought they could get away with it?”

“Yeah,” Applejack said. “I think most of ‘em would’ve left me and mine alone. Ponies ain’t monsters.”

“They’re not angels,” Twilight insisted.

“Twilight… you think all of the ponies in town were bad?” Pinkie asked.

Twilight looked up, then, and found herself looking at Pinkie.

And something changed, for Pinkie stirred with energy at last. She crossed over the water with a great and careless step, graceful, as if she could fly and feared no death or sepsis. She shook herself, and Twilight heard her shoulders crack as she did, like a wall beat in by magic. Twilight knew the sound.

“Twilight, do you really think that?” Pinkie asked again. Her voice was even. Twilight would think it strangely even, but Pinkie had been not much like her old self in weeks.

“What?” Twilight asked dully. She took a step back.

“Do you think they were bad? That it was just because of where they were that they smiled and helped each other and said good morning?” Pinkie asked, and her hood came down, and now Twilight beheld her eyes like blue fire burning bright with need, with a nameless sort of need. No, need was the wrong word. Accusation.

And Twilight realized, as she stared into Pinkie’s eyes, that she couldn’t say it. It didn’t matter if it were true or not—and she still thought it might yet be true—but there was no way to say it now. Because as Pinkie advanced, she advanced with an earnest heart, and she was convinced. And didn’t Twilight also think about Ponyville, now? She had not considered her own neighbors. It was easy to say of those she had not met or those from when she forsook ponies in general, but now she thought about Carrot Top and Lyra who stopped by for tea and to talk about music. She remembered Time Turner, the stallion from the Mayor’s office who always made sure to ask after Feathermay that summer when she hurt her wings.

“I… Axiom, back me up here. Aren’t you with me?” Twilight asked. She could not tear her eyes away. She wilted.

Axiom chuckled. “You should fight your own battles, Miss Sparkle.”

“Okay, okay, fine! I can’t say that for sure, Pinkie, I’m sorry!”

Pinkie took a deep breath, turned around, and laid her head on Twilight’s shoulder. The voluminous pink mane filled her vision for a moment, and she had to nuzzle through it to see again.

“That’s it?” Twilight asked incredulously.

“For now,” Pinkie said quietly. “That’s okay.”

“To answer your question, Twilight,” Axiom said after a moment, “I’m unsure myself. I’m inclined to agree with you, yet at the same time, I am also tempted to say that evil and bad are words that depend on one’s point of view and what is convenient for the individual speaking. That being said… I think there is, perhaps, a middle road.” Axiom waited until they looked at him, and then he began. “I have wondered through the questions we’ve brought up. Were ponies ever that good? Why did the world fall apart so fast? Was the sun the factor that made the difference? Did Manehattan tip the balance and the horrors there? What was it? But then I began to think about the rest of the world.

“The Zebras fell into civil war a few years ago, do you remember? The Mad God, that crazy shaman. Blood mage with an appetite for despair, it was a terrible business. The way you nod shows you remember. The Griffons finally unite—about the most improbable thing since the beginning of the world—and immediately become a scourge in the sides of every living thing on the planet. Wars and rumors of wars and famines and strange signs out of the west, Changelings in the north… it’s all a bit too close together, you know? A bit too perfect.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Twilight asked. “I mean, you’re right; it is weird that all of that happened at one time. I mean, I know about all of those… okay, not the last bit, but otherwise…”

“We never put any of it together, because there wasn’t any reason to,” Applejack said, a bit sourly. “Now, I think I know where you’re goin’.”

“It’s a bit too perfect, a bit too concentrated. And just as it begins to circulate, our beloved leader leaves. Now, why would she do that? Oh, don’t glare at me, Twilight,” Axiom said, waving a hoof. “What do you expect me to say, she was on the run? I’m not an idiot. She’s practically immortal; why would she be afraid? It would be out of character. I do think she knows things, though. She knows something we don’t know about what or who is behind all of this… this shit we’re in, pardon the language and the pun. I’ve been… researching,” he said, and Twilight thought she caught a grimace in the light. “Keeping an ear to the ground, talking to anypony wandering into town. Even exchanged rumors with the ponies in Tall Tale before that big bastard shut me down and kicked me out. There’s a Shadow hanging over us, Twilight, and it’s—”

And even as his voice rose in volume and pitch, as his excitement seemed to rise towards some sort of climactic revelation, Twilight heard movement above. The tunnel shook. Dust knocked free sprinkled down on top of the gathered ponies, and Axiom froze in mid-proclamation.

“Oh, damn they would come now… Right! Hoods up!”

They obeyed. “How are these supposed to help?” Applejack asked again.

“The Blues ‘adopted’ a new brood of squatters by force, mostly for use as sexual chattel and to make use of their unicorns. Luckily, we have three mares and a unicorn here, so we can fit the description. We’ll be told to go sit with others or take cover at most. This will open up behind a garage that’s usually open from our observations, and… well. We’ll see. Ready?”

They nodded as one. There was another explosion and a shower of dust.

“Stars, but they are trying, aren't they? Brave, stupid… right. Count to ten, and then I’ll go first up the stair.”

Twilight was sure he counted, but two more explosions deafened her, and she followed him up into the chaos.

APPLEJACK

The world had gone mad, and the skies were filled with the cries of the frightened and the blind.

Applejack experienced the camp outside of the storehouse in flashes and sensations. The ramshackle wall that towered over them was crowned in crimson flames, and ponies ran along the unstable ramparts, crying to one another, some firing weapons of various types and qualities at unseen targets. An earth pony fell from the defenses and rolled weakly on the concrete below. Above, pegasi poured over the wall and out into the city proper, only to be met head on by an opposing wave of gray-clad ponies colliding with them, and they fell to fighting and chaos. Two dogfighting pegasi entangled, and the momentum of their struggle hurtled them onto the roof of the storehouse as Twilight and her companions sprinted away. Applejack heard the sound of that fall and thought that it would never leave her, how wet it was and how dull it was.

Obviously makeshift hovels crowded the concrete peers as well as run-down warehouses, some ruined by fire or threatened now by the same. An explosion made her right ear drum pop. Blue-clad pegasi flew low past them, dragging something squirming and moving and tearing and gnashing. Ponies with wide eyes and open mouths clad in rags fled from the rage out of the skies, jumping into open doors and turning over crude carts as if it would shield them from the fire.

She stumbled in a divot that some shell had torn out of the waterfront, and her cheek rubbed raw on the hard surface. In her left ear—the one not blown out—she heard Twilight yelling, and Axiom was beneath her, propping Applejack up until she had shaken herself back to clarity.

Flashes of Twilight and Axiom side by side. Pinkie keeping up as best she could, now leaning on Applejack, now leaning on Twilight, now with Axiom propelling her firmly but as carefully as he could as the world broke up around them.

A Blue stood in their path. Her barding was torn, her face bloody, her wings ruffled, one at an awkward angle, and instantly, Applejack knew that it was broken. She was stumbling away from the breached walls, and her wide eyes caught the four infiltrators, and as she opened her mouth to speak, Applejack was already ready to end her. It would be two kicks. One to down her before she could set herself, and one to finish her. It would take only two. That was five seconds at most.

“Are any of you hurt? Oh stars, oh Luna, my eyes…” She stumbled, and Twilight summoned up her magic to buoy the weary warrior.

Applejack blinked, unsure of what to do. She met the young Blue’s eyes and found herself feeling sick. Little golden spheres, bright with life like apples still on the tree before autumn, like bonfires from a distance. Mint green. Like kicking her friends. Applejack was awash with fragmented images of home and a musician from Ponyville she’d known, the one with the lyre on her flank. It was a coincidence, nothing more, but she wanted to scream at the unfairness of it.

The Blue began to speak through wet coughs. “You… you need to get out of here. Wall is breached, and there are fires in the wall armory area. The… ch-chyort, blood in my eyes…”

Pinkie was at the young mare’s side and wiping her forehead. Applejack looked on in dismay, and Axiom’s gaze locked with her own, and they shared what she thought was a moment of uncertainty. But neither moved to stop it.

“W-warehouses… take me with you, please…”

“We got you, alright?” Pinkie said soothingly. “We’ll take you with us, okay?”

The mare nodded weakly.

“Right, Tw—Star? We’ll take her with us.”

“I… y-yeah,” Twilight said. “Yeah, help her up, um, Gabby.”

Pinkie helped the soldier to her hooves, and Applejack unfroze to help. Pinkie was replaced by Axiom, and the two shared another look.

The Grays had delivered.

She saw how well they had done, as she grew accustomed to the smells and sights of battle all over again as they drew away from it, seeking refuge in the warehouses on the opposite side of the docks where they could see the ships still moored.

Crude gunpowder charges, if she had to guess. Probably brought by hoof and back, probably at great cost, or somehow launched from afar. She could almost imagine catapults, but knew however it was done, it was done recklessly. The soldiers of the nobles who’d left and died did not exactly fight with grace. She’d seen only a few gray figures in the sky and now saw even fewer.

So they were losing. The fires seemed to be raging yet, but there were no new ones. Either the Duke was spent or he figured that he had done his work. He was right as far as Applejack could tell.

They found themselves on a deserted street on the north side of the harbor, hooves striking the cobblestone streets and casting echoes. Applejack swore that her heart had detached itself and taken up permanent lodging in her throat.

The mare had passed out. Applejack wasn’t sure when and only realized when Twilight asked them to wait as she looked inside of a warehouse and the young warrior fell to the ground, limp and silent.

Applejack was on her, then, turning her over with a push from her muzzle and pressing her ear to the mare’s chest, fervently wishing for a pulse. She had no reason to hope for one. It would be easier for this stranger to be dead. If she died now…

No. There was no way in any and all of the pits of Tartarus that Applejack would finish that thought, for it made her feel filthy. Beyond that, she heard the heartbeat of a living, breathing mare and straightened.

“Twilight, she’s down for the count. We need to find shelter.”

Axiom groaned. “It’s ending too soon… Damn! Damn. And now we have a stray.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? She’s trying to make sure we’re safe, and I was supposed to kill her, is that it?” Twilight spat and peered into a warehouse. She cursed. “Full.”

“Yes,” Axiom said sharply. “You should have. It’s hard, but it was the better choice.”

“Screw your choices,” Applejack said, shooting him a glare.

“You weren’t exactly ready to help her, either, so don’t start that,” Axiom said, even as he helped Applejack lay the frail and fallen form on her back. “Though…” he sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I was ready to fight, but I ain’t ready to kill in cold blood. And,” Applejack began before Axiom could start his rebuttal. “I don’t give a single cold fuck what you think about it, because you’re a fast talkin’ sumbitch sometimes, I think, and you don’t really mean it. And if you do, well, oughta be ashamed of yourself. I know I am.”

Axiom grimaced but said nothing.

Twilight had moved on already. She set her shoulders, sighed, and her purplish aura appeared around the door. It was locked, barred with heavy chain and padlocks. The lock shook, and the sound of metal clanging on metal made Applejack wince even as she hoped it meant there would be nopony inside.

The sounds of battle were beginning to die down, and Applejack found herself missing them. Without any sound to keep her company, she had something worse than memories of Manehattan to contend with: paranoia. They were strangers in a strange land. Any second now, a soldier no longer needed on the wall could be sent to make sure nopony had slipped inside—a pony just like the four of them. And wouldn’t four “conscripted” civilians dragging a wounded pegasus look suspicious? I hate problems I can’t beat with my hooves. I’ve got the mind, but the patience… She spat.

“Twi! Twi, hurry, would ya?” Applejack asked.

Pinkie was nuzzling the pegasus, trying to get her to wake up. “Twilight, what do I do?”

“How in the nine hells should I know? Applejack, give… AGH!” Twilight backed up, and her whole body glowed with an intense, eldritch purple light, and there was a flash as she tore the door from existence, burned it to a crisp.

“Twilight! What in—?”

“Warded!” Twilight said and collapsed. She rolled back and forth as if on fire, and Axiom left Applejack and was at her side, trying to keep her from rolling too far or hurting herself.

Applejack pushed through, into the dusty, dark warehouse and laid the pegasus against the wall. Axiom brought Twilight in, who only shivered, and when Pinkie was inside, they all rested in a panting, sweating, bleeding heap. Applejack didn’t want to know if the blood on her coat was the pegasus’s or her own. She hated it. She hated it.

When Twilight had recovered from the shock of grabbing the warded chains, she barred the entranceway with crates, and they sat saying nothing. It was time to wait.

Rainbow Dash

Their makeshift cave was deep enough, but not by much.

To say that Rainbow Dash was frustrated was a magnificent understatement. She was furious. The world was like a pot set to boil, capped tight, and she was the scalding steam ready to break out, screaming as she did.

The situation was dire, but not as dire as it could be, and only for one of their party. Pegasi could withstand the cold and brave intense heat and come out the other side more or less the same. Millennia had prepared Rainbow for this moment and this terrain, ten dozen generations of weathermakers and weatherforgers, a dozen more of warriors and campaigners. It was the pegasi who had long been the natural-built warriors of the pony tribes. They lived for the rush of the aerial dive, the way the lightning sang in their blood and on their coats, the dampness of snow and driving gales. The magic she had was not the same as Twilight’s. Rainbow could not call it up and channel it into fire or shields. She could carve no runes nor knew any lore of magecraft, and yet there was magic in her, same as any other pony. It hummed quietly in her feathers. It thrummed louder now, in the deep snow, as it kept her body in relative comfort.

Rainbow sighed and stood, stooping so as not to hit the roof of their hoof-built shelter. The thrumming magic intensified, like a pony humming against her throat, against her sides and flanks. She liked the feeling. It came when she flew or when she was out in the cold for too long. So she smiled, if only briefly, and stretched her legs.

“Still with me, Flutters?” she asked softly.

There was a moment of silence in the dark and then an equally quiet answer. “I’m awake.”

“Good. Do we have any more of those little light things that Rarity made?”

Fluttershy hummed, and after another moment, she had dug out the artifact in question and tapped it. The rock that Rarity had enchanted glowed with a low blue light that illuminated her surroundings.

The ceiling was low, of course, and the area itself was not wide. She could see the divots where her own hooves and dug into the snow and torn it up. It was a sort of round hovel, with the newly placed light roughly at the center, and the three ponies like rays radiating out from it. It was all uneven but still useful.

“How’re you holding up?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m okay, Rainbow.”

Rainbow frowned. “You sure? Mom used to say that empty mouths don’t get fed. If you’re falling behind…”

“Rainbow, I really am fine,” Fluttershy said firmly. “I really am. It’s not me that you should be worried about. I’m a pegasus, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s hard remembering, I mean,” she added, her tone changing from solemnity to a lame joking, “with how you fly, sometimes I forget…” Rainbow sighed. “Sorry, Flutters. I’m on edge. Obvious, huh?”

A little titter drifted out of the shadows across the light. “Yeah, a little.”

“Just… I don’t know. I feel like a jerk.”

“Why?” Fluttershy asked.

“Look at her,” Rainbow said, and now she moved to Rarity’s side.

Rarity, as if on cue, groaned and shifter on her bedding. Rainbow and Fluttershy had put all three of their sets of blankets together and set their friend upon it carefully, trying to keep her sedate and calm.

Dash continued. “I mean, she’s not prepared for this kind of weather. She’s not… like, built for it like you and I are. We’re pegasi. I just… I forgot, I guess. I was so wrapped up in making progress that I forgot about my friends again.”

“Dash…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m being too hard on myself. Maybe. She kept saying she was alright, that she was fine, that she was ready and able and whatever, but like… of course she said that. Because I would just bitch at her if she didn’t. I would’ve, probably. I would have apologized later, but I’d still have bitched at her. Now she’s freezing.” At that, Rainbow hunched her shoulders and lay down beside Rarity, scooting until she was touching, her belly to Rarity’s back.

“Hey, Flutters, get over here, would you? I have an idea.”

“Hm?”

“We should be together for warmth anyhow, but I wonder if our magic couldn’t help insulate her? Like, we could be a buffer.”

“How would we do that?” Fluttershy asked.

“Simple,” Rainbow replied and shifted as she unfurled a wing and laid it over Rarity like an azure canopy. “See? We wrap her up and get her warm again.”

Fluttershy nodded, and lay down on the other side of their friend, her nose almost touching with Rarity’s, as the unicorn shifted in her sleep slightly.

They were quiet awhile, and Rainbow’s mind emptied of everything but the sound of three heartbeats and the rhythms of quiet breathing. Gradually, she began to regard her company again. How odd it was to think that the idea of spending this much time with Rarity had been strange to her before. Weeks on the road had changed her perspective. Rarity was a constant, just as Fluttershy was a constant, both of them keeping her pointed North and towards her goal.

“You know,” she said quietly, “it’s crazy how Rares and I and you ended up together. Rarity and I were always friends, but… like, we weren’t super close, you know? No… I mean, we were close, but…”

“It wasn’t like you and I.”

“Yeah! Right,” Rainbow agreed. “And I mean, we still don’t.” She sighed. It was warm here, curled up around Rarity. Pleasant, even. It reminded her in some ways of Ponyville, some stupid Pinkie Pie party or lame Twilight-needs-to-manufacture-missed-childhood-opportunities sleepover, and how wonderful it had been to sleep with others all around and the feel of another’s body.

“But you’re getting there,” Fluttershy finished for her.

“Yeah, I guess we are. I mean, I’m pretty worried about her.”

Fluttershy shifted in the dark, and Dash wished that she could see her friend’s face instead of just Rarity’s long and still beautiful mane. How had it retained its glory? Rainbow’s wasn’t the most well-groomed even in peacetime, but it had still been decent before this journey, and now it was matted, and if she didn’t do something about it, she was sure it would start curling in on itself soon in filthy knots. Fluttershy’s was ragged. Rarity’s still remained wonderful. It smelled of… stars, was that roses? It was ridiculous. Roses! In a damn blizzard!

And yet, it didn’t make her angry or frustrated. If anything, Rainbow Dash was impressed. Roses. A month ago, back in Canterlot, she would have furiously assumed it was Rarity being weak or unfocused, but now it just seemed like taunting the world to come and make her change. Like a huge raspberry right in the face of death.

She liked it.

Rainbow grimaced. “Can I say something weird?”

“Of course,” Fluttershy responded quickly. “You can always say what you like, Rainbow. No matter what. That’s what friends are for!”

“If you say so,” Rainbow said. Gods, but she felt like a creep. “I guess… This is weird. I mean, you know I… I like…”

“Hm?”

“Geeze. I don’t know. I like mares.”

“Yes, I think we established that in high school, Rainbow.”

“Har-de-har-har. No, I just… I guess I never really noticed Rarity before, not like that. I mean… I knew she was pretty. Don’t get me wrong, if she weren’t my friend she’d be occasional late ni—”

“Oh, please don’t continue,” Fluttershy squeaked.

Rainbow laughed. “I won’t. But I guess I’m starting to see her in new ways. She’s tougher than I ever thought she was. Gorgeous. Hell, she can read maps. Did you know she had any kind of sense of direction? I sure didn’t.”

Fluttershy peered over Rarity’s voluminous, wavy mane to smile.

“I’m gushing, aren’t I?” Rainbow asked, feeling embarrassed.

Fluttershy nodded, still smiling.

“Yeah, well… don’t count on this all the time. I’m tired, you see.” And now Rainbow sighed more deeply than before, and now she laid her head back against the thick blankets. “I just miss being together, all of us. The six of us… we had something great, Flutters.”

“We still do,” Fluttershy insisted, still peering over the sleeping form of their friend.

“Yeah. Yeah, we do. But what happens now? We have different journeys, and what if one of us dies? I’m just bad at all this what happens after stuff. My whole family’s bad at being survivors, Flutters; we’re great at going out in a blaze of glory. Being left over is hard. You have to like, think about it.”

“You’re not dumb, silly.”

“Not sayin’ I am,” Rainbow shot back. “I’m just saying that I miss Twilight and Pinkie and Applejack. I miss Twilight being a nerd and Applejack being obviously inferior to my masterful physique—” she paused for the inevitable giggle “— and I’m tired of missing parties and get togethers and wondering if Twilight is ever going to get laid.”

“Rainbow!”

“Hey, you were in on that running conversation. I distinctly remember you being in on the betting when she went out with that… oh, Celestia, what was his name?”

“He was a doctor,” Fluttershy offered sheepishly.

“See? You remember,” Rainbow said triumphantly and then yawned. “I’m just saying, I miss all that. I’m just stuck here in this stupid snow cave realizing that I see everything and everybody different, and it’s just kind of too late to do anything about it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m just not sure we’re all gonna live through this, Flutters. I’m just thinking about how those three could die. They might be dying right now—don’t look at me like that, please don’t, I’m not saying I think they are. It’s just that they could be, and there’s nothing I can do about it and it just bothers me.”

“I don’t think they will. Twilight will keep them safe.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow said, but she thought about Ponyville. “Yeah, she will.”

TWILIGHT

The rain beat against the window. Twilight tried to ignore the all too familiar sound as she sat in the office on the top floor of the warehouse and instead watched the activity below.

It is simple to make contingencies, sometimes. Twilight knew this. All it was was a matter of patterns and adherence to patterns, and Twilight knew far too much about both. She had marked the movements of the few and far between dock guards and had their routes down to a thin margin of error, a paper thin margin.

Their cause was hampered but not crippled. Still, the odds were no longer as in her favor as she had hoped.

First, it was not as straight a shot as she had hope, from warehouse to dock. There was a second wall, this one much flimsier and much shorter, surrounding the part of the facilities actually housing ships. It had only one gate, and that gate was fairly well guarded. Two watchtowers, constructed hastily but still very functional, surveyed the encampment—no, she corrected herself—the town. For it was a town, indeed, and not merely the refugee camp she’d imagined. Refugees didn’t scrounge up barbed wire and have orderly patrols.

The Blues were organized. As soon as the danger had gone, they had reorganized and put up fairly serviceable barricades in the gaps in their walls. The fires were dealt with efficiently, and from her vantage point in the office on the top floor, Twilight saw even now how the Blues waited out the rain patiently. They were like bees, she thought for not the first time. A colony of productive bees, everypony with their assignments.

Not for the first time, she had the feeling that it was the Blues she would rather have sided with. They were rebuilding. Whoever had been in the right at first, it was these ponies who would and could rebuild.

But the past was past. The past never really died, the rain said in solemn measure, beating spondees on the window pane, drum beats on the glass—not! done! not! done!—but Twilight refused to give her own morbidity the time of day. No, she was done with reminiscing about rain. The present was precarious enough as it was, and she needed to focus.

Their main ally in this endeavor was, ironically, the rain. If it kept up, and it looked like it would, they could easily use it to mask their progress until they were over the walls into the dock proper.

Once there, it would all be running and dodging. There was no subtlety to her plan. The Blues had prepared for that and adjusted accordingly. There was nowhere out there to hide, no shacks or boxes to dodge behind and evade vigilant eyes. Her hopes lay in violence and speed.

It wasn’t very Twilight of her, but perhaps that was why she liked it. It had been Twilight of her to insist on understanding all of this when she was hidden in Canterlot nursing a Celestia-shaped hole in her heart, wasn’t it?

And shouldn’t she be truthful to herself? She was angry about that, after all.

It all came down to the rain.

Well, no, she corrected herself. It all came down to the rain and to their newcomer. The pegasus had not woken up yet, but she would. Any time now. She was a liability. She would look for them if they were gone when she woke up, and the last thing they needed was—

She heard hoofsteps on the grated catwalk outside the office door and sighed. Grasping the door in her magic, she pulled it open to reveal Axiom, who was clenching his teeth.

“Woke up?” Twilight asked.

“Of course she did!” he said, like a cat confronted with his neighbor. “Damn right she did, just like we all knew she would. Damn… bleeding hearts.”

“I’m not happy either.”

“You could have said no,” he shot back.

“Would they have listened to me?”

Axiom growled at nothing in particular and looked out the window.

“Look,” Twilight continued. “Just tell me how she is. Lucid? Asking questions?”

“Grateful,” he spat.

“Well, that’s a start,” Twilight said.

“Yeah, a start to a brutal execution. We can overpower her. Let’s tie her up—”

“Do you have any rope?” Twilight asked patiently.

“No. Luna’s starry ass don’t tell me you went on a damn adventure to the stars only know where and you didn’t bring rope,” he said, his voice cracking. “There’s just no way.”

“We have rope,” Twilight replied evenly and shifted her weight. She was ready to talk to this pegasus herself. “But I would rather not waste it here. Not if I don’t have to. I have need of it in the west.”

“Twilight,” Axiom said, and his demeanor soured even further. “You know there isn’t anything out there. It’s all gone or dead or whatever it is. This is a stupid quest.”

Twilight stared at him.

He looked away. “You can’t just… You have to admit that—”

“I have to do nothing,” she said dully. “I have been thinking far, far too much, Axiom, and I am very, very tired of it. The truth is—and yes, it is the truth, before you interrupt me—that I don’t care if there’s nothing Axiom. I just don’t. I just want to leave this forsaken city and do it on my own boat.”

“A stolen boat,” he murmured like a punished child, staring at his hooves.

Twilight sighed and pushed by him. “Come on, Axiom.”

Together, they walked the catwalk in relative silence. It only lasted a few beats, but Twilight liked it.

“I thought about you a bit,” she said and broke the pleasant emptiness.

“I… Come again?”

“What will you do, after all this?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he said swiftly. Too swiftly.

“You should come with us,” Twilight suggested. “Why not? It’s useless here. It’s useless there. It’s not like it’s a worse choice than waiting for the roof to cave in in your little hole in the ground or waiting for it to flood or waiting to get shot. You won’t be able to get out of here anyway, probably.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said lightly.

“I probably would be,” she countered as they came to the stairs, and she descended first. “Be that as it may… I’d like some company. It’s a long trip, and we could use more hooves on the ship and later on.”

Axiom hummed. “I’ll think about it, O Captain, my captain.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing, just something I made up.”

Twilight’s mouth was closed as they descended, but her mind was wide awake and quick. She had tried to avoid the thorny question of the sentinel, hoping that it may work itself out. No, no that was a lie. She had just not wanted to approach it, not wanted to touch it with a pole.

It could still be managed. In all likelihood, their prisoner—she hated that word, but it was useful—would be headed back to the walls, and they could part ways easy enough. Exchanging pleasantries and a few farewells would be ideal. Of course, then the problem would be one of knowledge, because their mare might yet mention the location of the intruders and all would be undone.

She’d repeated all this before.

They left the stairs behind, and Twilight hummed nervously against the drone of rain falling on the windows and walls and roof. Manehattan was still there, just beside her, almost underhoof, in every raindrop. So instead of working herself up, Twilight hummed. It was an old song, she thought, though she wasn’t sure. It was a song she remembered Lyra playing one afternoon, when the wanderer had come to rest by her tree. That the two ponies, Lyra and this variable, shared a similar image was an accident and nothing more. Statistically plausible and ordinary. There were thousands of ponies with a mint-green coloring, Twilight told herself. She could calculate it, count them, figure out the percentage of the surviving Equestrian populace with exactly that coloring. It was a question of genetics.

But as she passed empty boxes and dusty, unused rooms, Twilight felt as if it meant something.

They found the pegasus awake and attended to by Applejack, who was redoing the bandage on her head. They talked in quiet tones, but Twilight knew that her friend would relay anything important. There was no secret in it. Pinkie was making some remark that made the wounded mare grin, as she was wont to.

It was Pinkie that noticed Twilight first. Her ears perked, and she turned to greet the newcomers with a little wave. “Hey, Star,” she said. “I’m glad you’re up! So is Tradewinds.”

“Tradewinds?” Twilight put on a smile forged in the white heat of ten dozen intensely boring political functions with Celestia. “That’s an interesting name, miss.”

Tradewinds smiled. “Father was merchant marine, mother was high spirited with wings, yes? They compromised.” She coughed and then resumed her smile, and Twilight catalogued the sound of her light, pretty voice—catalogue, catalogue, like always—and then the guard continued. “From Petrahoof—”

“Could tell from the accent,” Twilight said.

“Well, spasibo, am glad to hear word has spread about scenic Petrahoof. I miss it. I never liked it, you see, even when was not on fire, especially when all they teach you in school is north tongue. My Equestrian is terrible.. But… Thank you again. I would have been, ah, nee da dyeloni, yes. It was very kind of you.”

“And we’re glad we could help. I’m sorry about your wings,” Twilight offered, not having to fake her tone. She knew just how awful that could be.

Tradewinds whistled. “Is nothing to me. I am alive, and that is all one such as I needs. I am happy for it. Am also lucky, as I am remembering now how far I must have fallen… Eh.” She shrugged. “Should’ve died. Though,” she began, shifting her weight. Pinkie and Applejack backed away to give her some room. “It is curious that you would. Please take no offense, druz’ya, but you are from the latest batch of stranded, da?”

“That’s right,” Twilight said quickly, firmly.

“Then it is great wonder and credit to you that you do this. I had heard it was… unpleasant.” She frowned, and Twilight was taken aback by how sincere she looked. “I am very sorry for it.”

“I… well. Thank you,” Twilight offered. “Ah… forgive me, but is there anywhere we can take you?”

“Me? I will be reporting back to the captain on the dock.” She chuckled. “He is hard stallion, is that how it is said?”

“Hard as in rough on you? Mean?” Pinkie asked. “Oh, that sounds terrible.”

“Heh, he is babnik, that is word. So he will forgive me, because I have a pretty face. But my wing…” She made an odd sort of cooing noise and examined her wings. “Oh, I thank you for helping, but they are so…”

“Broken,” Twilight said flatly, softly. “Won’t be flying for a while.”

“Is calamity,” she agreed. “Wings are what is keeping me in food and with fire. I will sorely miss having that.”

Twilight paused. “Come… come again?”

“Oh, I forget that you are stranded.” Tradewinds smiled and gestured for her caregivers to move so that she could stand fully and then shifted her weight to and fro, getting used to the new way that her balance had shifted as one wing stuck out awkwardly, unable to fully fold itself. “You see, druz’ya, that when soldiers cannot fight, they are thrown away like so much muscor, like filth to be burned. Well, no burning, that would be bad. But I am not fed, and they will not give me a bed anymore in the nice bunkhouse. I will be… I suppose I will be stranded,” she finished.

And Twilight could not muster a single inch of sympathy, because she was thinking so very hard, and it was hard not to grin like a fool.

“So yes… but I must report. It is duty as a soldier, and mama always taught us to obey the rules. Or to dig ice caves to survive if we were stupid and played in the blizzards, but I am sure both things are useful.”

“Right…” Twilight said. Were the northerners always this odd? I’ve not met a sane, normal pony north of Ponyville yet, I think.

“That’s terrible,” Applejack cut in. “Throwin’ ya out in the cold cause you can’t work? And not because of any other reason but that you physically can’t? Makes me mad,” she said, and Twilight imagined her spitting off to the side. “Why go back? If they ain’t gonna help you none.”

“Well…”

“I mean, ain’t they your friends?” Applejack asked, clearly frustrated.

“Friends? No, no we are only comrades. No, that is word for friend in this tongue… ah, kollega? Is that it? We drink and we laugh and I know their names but we are not friends.” She smiled. “I… I could perhaps have your help, yes? We are friends. Friends indeed, I-I can perhaps fetch for you a thing or so from fort, yes? This would help me find a place to be staying?”

Pinkie shook her head vigorously. “No! You don’t have to bribe ponies to be your friend, silly! We like you, don’t we Tw—Star?”

“Of course, Pinkie,” Twilight said and then spared the pegasus a smile before she turned to Axiom. His expression was blank, and Twilight raised her eyebrows. He fixed her with a stare that communicated nothing—including, she noted, an objection to what was obviously her plan. Oh, she did love it when a plan came together out of the blue.

“So, Tradewinds, we would love to let you stay with us,” Twilight said and smiled. “Perhaps we can even help you with your wing until you can fly and get your job and food ration back. In the mean time… I don’t suppose we could come help you move your things?”

Twilight knew as soon as Tradewinds got them through the gate that it was going to end badly.

Knew is perhaps too hard, too harsh a word for the experience. She had a feeling. A strong, overpowering sort of feeling, yes, but just a feeling of something looming.

It came again as the young mare—they found that she was just out of her adolescence, in the same young adulthood Twilight had enjoyed once, when first she had arrived in Ponyville—greeted all of her “comrades” only for them to make nasty comments about her wing. She felt it like a nagging itch on the back of her mind when they retrieved the possessions she had, which were not many, and Tradewinds went to make her report.

“You know why she said yes, right?” Applejack asked quietly as they waited outside of the bunkhouse. The ship—the big ship, the one that would take them West if she could but grab it from the clutches of these idiots—was right there in front of her. A hundred and fifty yards. That was it. She could make a run for it.

It was not beautiful, the ship. It wasn’t exactly hideous, but more functional than appealing. It was all angles and straight edges, blocky with a little bit of obvious rust on the blackened hull. She imagined that, up on deck, the wood panelling was probably cleaned but not taken care of, due for a replacement. It ran on steam, as any ship heading West would almost need to be if it planned to get there in any sort of hurry. Two smokestacks rose out of the middle like the spires of her Canterlot home. It was long and wide, and just by looking at it she knew it would be a pain to steer. Fast but not maneuverable but she supposed that was alright. She didn’t need to turn. She was only going one way. Her mind turned the name of the ship over and over again like she was unsure of it. Of what it meant. Alicorn was surely a portent of sorts if those existed. Regardless, the word drove her back to her worries and the plans.

Of course, the plan would fall apart because everypony in this fort would know who had let them in.

“Why don’t you enlighten me?” Twilight responded, bluntly.

No, more like two hundred yards. Maybe? She wasn’t sure. The pressure of being surrounded was starting to get to her.

“She just wanted a friendly face or three, Twi. Somepony to come with her when she was nervous. I don’t feel right about this. Why don’t we take her with us or get her out? We can try again.”

“No, we really can’t,” Twilight replied.

“Twilight’s right,” Axiom said, and all three mares turned to look at him. He had been silent for more than an hour. Twilight had figured that he was brooding, but now that his hood was no longer a shield, she thought he seemed nervous. He licked his lips, his eyes moved side to side as if in calculation.

“Axiom?”

“Yes? Hm?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I have been irritated by your unexpected dalliances, Twilight, if you must know.”

Twilight shook her head. His tone was sharp to cut like a knife, but she barely noticed it. “No, no I think I’m on to something here. Are you okay? I guess I never really… asked. I assumed you would be used to this sort of thing after all you’ve been through, but…”

“It is not the threat of violence that bothers me, at least not the kind you are imagining,” Axiom said, tightlipped.

“Afraid of bein’ caught?” Applejack asked, walking forward and throwing a hoof around his shoulders. He tensed but did not throw the gesture off. “Why, so is everypony,” she continued in a whisper. “Ain’t nothin’ to get all uptight about. It’s okay. We’re almost home free, I reckon.”

“Reckon again.”

She gave him a quiet sidelong glance.

Twilight said, “Axiom, what’s wrong?”

“It’s been too long.”

“Too long? Now what the hay—?” Applejack began to whisper, but Axiom cut her off with a hoof in her face and another pointing at Twilight.

He spoke, his voice coming low and fast like muffled repeater fire in the distance. “Twilight, the Duke is coming back, and he will not hold back this time.”

Twilight stared. “Why…? But we already made it in. What do you mean?”

“Twilight, have you ever dealt with a pony who feels as if he is in decline?”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense for him to attack. Why risk it now?”

Axiom sighed. He looked around, making sure there weren’t any nearby Blues, and then drew them all in with a gesture.

“I must be brief. The Duke has been unraveling for a while now. Did you really, truly trust him? Do you not remember how he was, when you spoke to him? Did you not… wonder about a stallion who would call himself a Duke when he is not, put on airs like some storybook hero even when he is driven beneath the ground in the filth? Oh… oh, but he’s been on a slide for a long, long, long time, Twilight Sparkle. You were the last straw. An excuse.”

“He’s coming back,” Twilight said.

“He’s more than coming back. He means to end it. End all of it. He’s gathered all the Grays together. It’s finished. We’re all finished. He’ll run them to the wall until everyone is dead and the Blues will die and we’ll die and… and it shouldn’t have been a problem but it is. Because of the delay, he’ll be here before you’ve left, and he won’t care a bit. He’s coming, Twilight.”

“When is he comin’?” Applejack asked, and Twilight met her eyes. Both of them were thinking the same thoughts.

Twilight was more than ready to be rid of this place. The concrete and the smell of gunpowder and the cracked city streets and the busted windows. It wasn’t just the shadow of Manehattan. It was the smell of death. She was so tired. Her bones seemed a thousand pounds each.

“Soon.”

“That ain’t good enough, dammit,” Applejack hissed.

“Axiom… please, if you know…” Pinkie began, but the stallion shook his head.

“Don’t you see? I don’t know. I have no idea when! I have—”

The universe, Twilight would reflect later, is strange. It has a way of orchestrating events in such a fashion as to seem ridiculous—to make fools of mortals such as Twilight and her friends and their would-be-friend-mostly-hanger-on. Before Axiom could finish his desperate protest, Tradewinds came out of the bunkhouse, muttering. Her ears were down, her face wiped clean of her cheerful smile and replaced with a wilted expression.

“Sovolotch… am not na panale for captain to… grr! Pidar,” she spat and then looked up. “Oh. Hello, druz’ya, I am terrible, I know. Mother used to whip me.”

“I… I take it things went poorly,” Twilight said, struggling to maintain a neutral tone.

“Could be saying that, yes. Mostly, I am mad because of son of bitch captain who cannot keep hooves and dirty mind to his dirty self, yes? I am no… nevermind. It is long story and goes back away, so we should go… Are you alright?”

“Fine!” Twilight said quickly. “Come here, would you?”

“Alright…” Tradewinds said slowly and joined their circle.

There was no way to discuss a course of action. Axiom fidgeted. He shook like a leaf under his oversized cloak. Applejack was beginning to understand what was coming, and so was Twilight, and Pinkie… well. Pinkie was going to do this all by herself.

“Did you like being a soldier?” Pinkie asked first.

“Well, no, not exactly,” Tradewinds admitted, still obviously puzzled.

“Oh good! Do you like me? Are we friends? I sure think so. So you wouldn’t mind going somewhere, right? You’d even be happy to go, huh?” Pinkie asked, talking circles around Tradewinds, who was beginning to look suspicious.

“Yes… perhaps? What is this meaning?”

“Wanna steal a boat?” Pinkie asked, and Twilight could not help but spare an absurd moment to just glory in how confidant Pinkie was in her own stupid declarations. She didn’t even have the presence of mind to tell her to hush. Pinkie looped a hoof around the Petrohoofan pegasus and pointed towards the barge, tall and old, but still in working condition. Twilight imagined that their lithe friend’s eyes frantically ran down the smoke stacks as if looking for some hidden meaning beyond the obvious. But none came, and Pinkie’s hood came down, revealing her voluminous pink mane to the world as she had revealed their secret in words. Twilight supposed it was appropriate. Their potential newcomer was quiet for a beat.

“You… oh. Oh chyort,” Tradewinds replied. “Oh, hell’s snow, oh no. You’re a crazy pony.”

“Nope! Very sane. We need to—”

It was then that the world was rocked by explosions behind them. A roar went up and another answered it. Two ponies appeared on the boat’s deck, unfurled their wings, and flew above Twilight’s and the other’s heads towards the sounds of conflict.

Twilight did not need to be there to know what was happening. She had seen the sack of a city before.

Tradewinds whirled and looked as if she was about to run towards the sound, but then she hesitated. She caught Twilight’s eyes.

“Who are you ponies?” she asked shakily.

“I am Twilight Sparkle,” Twilight replied and found her voice surprisingly calm even as the fires began again. “And I am going West to find Celestia and the Sun. Anypony who is willing and who is able with a good heart and a keen eye is welcome with us. Will you come? If you stay here, you’ll die.”

“Oh, Luna…” Tradewinds groaned. “They’re attacking… I let you in. I let you in… oh, chyort. You are… you are T-Twi… oh, chyort. And I let you in. Everypony will die now, and—”

“They aren’t with us, sugar,” Applejack said, advancing. Tradewinds cowered as Applejack lifted her hood and revealed her own face. “Applejack, pleasure to meet ya with my own name, Trade. Now would you kindly come along? ‘Cause I got a feelin’ none of us are gonna wanna be here in about five minutes.”

“Here’s your stuff!” Pinkie cried and with a movement that Twilight did not entirely follow, shifted the tightly wound pack off her own back and onto the trembling pegasus’s back. Tradewinds stared with eyes wide, still shocked.

“I… I…”

“Oh, hell, just bring her, Twilight. It’s not like you gave any of your friends much of a choice,” Axiom groused. He marched past Twilight, grabbed the ex-Blue, and pushed her along with him as the two of them headed for the barge, double time.

The mares followed. No one minded a few refugees fleeing the sounds of war. A squadron of earth ponies in scratched and battered steel barding thundered past. Twilight saw their lances, attached at the shoulder, and kept her distance, somehow feeling as if she’d caught every eye.

“Oh, with my mama’s gods on my back, off to go find mountains,” Tradewinds was grumbling, shocked. “With princesses and crazy ponies! Oh Luna…”

They passed a little booth at the edge of the pier where a pony was cowering. Twilight gave him a lookover: small earth pony, no armor, no weapons, no spine. No threat. They pushed on.

But as they sprinted down the pier to the boarding plank that bridged the gap over the water, the shrimp from the booth tumbled out.

“Hey, stop! Where you think you’re g-going?” he cried, and Twilight saw that she had been mistaken. He’d been hiding hoofblades in that little hideaway.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” Twilight began, but he advanced.

The sentinel was sweating. Twilight took in his greasy mane and awkward gait and knew that she wouldn’t be able to talk him away. He was afraid, and he was ready to hurt something, and he was too young to realize that he was going to do that without a good reason.

“N-no, you aren’t supposed to be here. Get out!” he said, advancing. “Back away from the boat. I’ll… I’ll count to five. Shit, no, three. Three. Okay?”

“Okay, just please calm down,” Twilight said. She took a deep breath and prepared to throw him into the water with magic.

“Hey, I said stay still!” the guard said, and Twilight looked around, confused.

Axiom was at her side, and moving fast. He blocked her vision, overshadowing the teenaged stallion. He was a blur. There was a short cry, and then the youth was in the water, screaming as if he’d been murdered.

Axiom turned around.

“Can we please, for the love of the Bitch Goddess please get on the stupid boat?” he said, his chest heaving.

And they did just that. Twilight was third up the ramp after Tradewind and Applejack.

There was another pony with a shootstick on deck. She stood up, balancing on her back legs and leveling the smooth black bore right in Applejack’s face. But Applejack was too fast. Her hooves rattled on the wooden deck like dull thunderclaps; her hooves on the gunner’s face were like the crack of a whip. One hit and the gunner went overboard, and her gun went flying forward. Axiom lunged under it and then picked it up awkwardly.

Twilight looked over the edge and saw the battle truly unfolding. The fighting was still localized, and the Grays hadn’t broken through… but that meant that Blue soldiers were around to notice that something was very wrong. Twilight called up her magic, and it filled her horn and body like a reservoir in rainy season. It flowed and hummed in her blood, and she threw it out in thin wisps, reading the air in front of her.

It was this that told her to duck and that saved her life as a bullet sailed over her head and ricocheted off the iron hull.

“Everypony, down!” Twilight barked but didn’t bother to look to make sure her friends moved. She could hear them on the wood.

Applejack drew her attention instead as several more shots whizzed over their heads.

“Twi, we need to get this old girl movin’,” Applejack yelled. “I need your shield.”

Twilight made no answer. She stood and summoned up the magic and threw it up as a shield. Bullets fizzled against it; they burnt in midair or were deflected away towards the ponies milling on the dock.

A dozen on the dock, as many running towards the gangplank to board. Twilight focused on them and called back behind her. “Somepony kick the gangplank!”

She heard hoofsteps, so Twilight assumed that somepony had obeyed. They could do this. Her shield would hold another minute at the very least, probably more, and that was all she needed. Their shootsticks and battered repeaters and arrows were nothing to her. She was a god with glorious purpose, and they were ants. These poor fools had never seen a true, honest to goodness, breathing and furious battle mage in the height of passion. No, they’d never seen it, and if Applejack delayed another minute, they would get but a taste of the wrath she could unleash.

She thought this, and grinned with bright, dull teeth to the gray and unyielding sky and was still doing this when she was thrown from the deck.

She never saw the blast that did it. One moment she was reveling in magic and the next her face was making impact with the cold, slimy water below.

The world was terrible, muffled sound and fractured light. Her legs felt heavy, useless. They flailed for something to cling to, to stop her slow sinking, but they only drove her down, down into the oily black. She tasted it now, as her mouth opened and let it in, as her last bit of breath escaped out her nose, and she began to drown.

She called up magic, and it came but sputtered and died. She tried again. She could see, but now instead of black, everything was just the familiar purple aura of her horn.

Oh gods, it was hopeless, wasn’t it? She knew that now. It was all hopeless. She couldn’t swim. She’d never learned how to really swim, and now her head was hazy, and she couldn’t even manage a doggy paddle or floating, and she couldn’t remember how to do those things. Things slowed, gradually, bit by bit, in stages until at last she realized that of course this would happen. She should have known. There wasn’t anything in the West at all. She was always going to die like this, in the dark, in the oily scum of some stupid, worthless hellhole, alone, no magic, no friends, no Princess, no mother. She wanted her mother. It was irrational and sudden and powerfu,l and she realized she was going to die with her last thought being about her mother. Except it wasn’t her mother; it was Celestia, and she was a foal, and didn’t Celestia know that the Oratorium was a terrible place for lessons because it was so sunny and she got drowsy and—

Something was pulling at her, and she tried to scream but only drank in more of the filth and gagged. Twilight retched. She squirmed and howled and hit her head on something hard and couldn’t breathe even as something ripped her from the water, and she fell back against the concrete pier. But she could feel it underneath her, rubbing her skin raw through her coat.

Axiom stood over her, his eyes wide, panting as he looked from her to something beyond her.

“Get up!” he hissed. “Oh, star’s sake would you get up? I can’t… Oh, come on!” He was shaking her, and she groaned and spat up water in his face.

“Fuck!” he rubbed his eyes, but Twilight took the time to shakily bring herself up and stand.

She was not a moment too soon. Down the pier, a squadron of Blues came charging, roaring a battle cry. Something burned in her, something angry and humiliated. She called up her magic and it came, no longer jumping, but not yet defeated. Quickly, effortlessly, she fashioned it into a wave and blew them back with a gust of arcane wind that left them seared and icy cold. The fell and stumbled, struggling to rise.

“Where’s—?” she coughed, hacking up her lungs. Axiom was at her side and then in front of her, trying to push her down and keep low himself. She heard a bullet bounce off of something, somewhere. She was sure she recognized that sound.

“Gangplank,” he hissed. “Gangplank, right?”

She nodded and shook away her confusion. “Y-yes, yes where is it?”

“Bloody… You think I know? Hurry, Twilight! Hurry.”

The Blues came again. The same ones and she could spare no time for them. But she did anyhow, throwing one of the three back with arcane lightning and then turning to search the water below with magic for the gangplank.

She found it but heard Axiom cry out. He was yelling something. She couldn’t focus on it; it wasn’t important. She had a job, and he had a job. If she was slow, he died, same for him. Above her, she heard somepony fire the shootstick Axiom had recovered from the gunner on the boat, and her ears popped.

Magic raised the gangplank up from the depths, and she set it against the hull and then turned.

Axiom was on his side, mane wild, mane frayed, side red and slick. He kicked, and his front right hoof connected with a Blue’s face, and Twilight heard something snap. The stallion in blue fell on top of him, and she saw now that another was coming to finish him while he was pinned. Twilight grabbed the fallen Blue with her magic and threw him back into his living comrade, throwing them both back onto the concrete with a wet thud.

Axiom rose, panting, looking like an intruder in the dirt.

“They…” Twilight began, horrified, for she saw where a hoofblade had cut his side, but he coughed and shook his head.

“Up the damn stairs, will you? Go!”

She turned and fled.

But behind her, she heard more gunshots and more voices. She heard him call after her that he was coming, just run, just keep running, that she was almost there, and as she crossed the threshold, she looked back at him, turning and fleeing before the foe. But they had stopped. They were running away from him. Twilight realized what was happening. She knew it before Applejack roared it in her ears and started pulling her away from the edge of the ship.

“Run, you damn fool!” Applejack called down at Axiom. “They have a cannon—”

The pier exploded and threw her rescuer flat on his back. Debris rained on the deck and pelted her back and cheek and head. It cut her flank.

Her ears rang. Her body was numb. She thought she was screaming for him to start swimming, that she could carry him even though she knew she couldn’t, but Twilight wasn’t sure if that really happened. All she was sure of was that Applejack was telling her that the boat needed to go now and then her friend was gone, and that Axiom was lying there, and she was hanging over the side trying to do something, pick him up, carry him like a mother carrying a child with skinned knees, but he only fidgeted and rose on his own power. He was burnt. Horribly, horribly burnt. His mane was mostly gone, his coloring all ashy, like the city. As the ship rumbled beneath her, he became a part of the city, just like it, all dead and on fire and black, and as another cannon roared and struck the water, he flinched. And she realized that he was just shellshocked, that he hadn’t tried to pose or look like anything other than himself, that the mask was off.

“Twilight! Twilight, can you make a shield?” Pinkie yelled, her voice tight with panic from the doorway. More gunfire forced her back behind the bulkhead.

“No! Too strong! Axiom! Axiom, get up! Please, just swim this way! Turn around and swim!”

He looked up at her. He looked like he wanted to say something, something heroic or brave, but he just sort of stared at her blankly. The gangplank was gone.

Ponies, Twilight remembered, can’t really climb.

He looked back at the Blues, who loaded shootsticks and cocked repeaters. There were dozens now, lining the docks, aiming at him, ready. His hood was gone. His distinctive Gray barding was visible now, and it was obvious even after hellfire what he was and what it was and what it meant. He looked at them, and then he looked at Twilight.

“Swim! I know you can!” She screamed.

They weren’t firing. Why wouldn’t he move? If he just moved, then he could come back. She could thank him for saving her. She could explain she couldn’t swim, she could… she could…

The boat began to move.

“Come with us! Please! Axiom, just jump! Please! PLEASE!”

He turned as if to do so but then looked back, as if something caught his attention at the last moment, and Twilight had the most absurd thought that he would be blasted into salt. But he was not.

An explosive shell ripped him and the ground beneath him from existence in fire and finality.

Twilight stumbled back, horrified, mouth working without any sound, head not caring that it slammed against the wood with too much force. She was in shock.

But then Tradewinds was there, shaking her. “Get up! Get up opezdol! Chort tzdbya beeree! Shoot back! Shoot back!”

She stumbled to her hooves and looked out over the city.

The magic came without her having to call it. It knew her. It knew when she needed it, when she had no other way to speak, nothing else to do. It sang a song of millenia in her ears as it set the cannons to glowing. They were easy to see now. She had forgotten about them, forgotten to check for them. But it all made sense now.

The magic knew what she wanted. Not what she asked, what she wanted. It roiled, and above her, it formed a massive fire storm. Tradewinds was cowering. She knew that Applejack would be slack-jawed in fear. She thought they all were, probably. The magic was whispering. Had it done that before? It did so now. Death, destroyer of worlds.

She flung fire down on the sinners and their cannons.

She expected there to be two small explosions. Two cannons destroyed, all’s right in the world, goddesses in their heavens.

Instead, there was a storm of fire. She saw too late, before Tradewinds could say it, the magic telling her the truth too late to be useful, that the Blues had stored all their powder close to the guns. Efficiency, of course. Or carelessness. Or suicidal tendencies. It all went up. All of it. Blackpowder, tons of it, far too much stored in one place in both cases, all going up at once, spitting fire on the rest of the warehouses and bungalows and hovels and on soldiers and foragers and stranded, and everything burned. The whole encampment burned. They were screaming. She imagined she could smell the cooking skin she’d smelt once before in the firepits of Manehattan, imagined she could see the degenerate renegade Griffons flying in for another barbecue, and she sank. The magic was gone. Her mind was gone. Her heart was gone.

Vanhoover began to burn in earnest.

END OF ACT ONE

Author's Note

The Secrets
If you want to know the secrets of this story here you go!
(and if you're sad.)

Interlude provided and paid for by the institute of randomguys and RazedRainbows and Nothing is Constants.

Act Two begins soon. Goodnight, and good luck.

XIII. Dreams Like Clouds

Rarity

Rarity wandered in the land of sleep, alone except for the warmth of the sun and the sound of her hooves against the marble.

It was a strange land but not a troubling one. She walked under in the shade of a finely constructed house, built in the old styles of… oh, but she forgot. It was some race of ponies of great import. It was a square, at least it seemed to be, a walkway which led into the house’s various compartments and sundries and surrounded a lovely garden. Curious, she paused and looked through one of the doors and found that they led out not into a house, as she had thought, but on to green fields that stretched on and on, verdant expanses of life and fresh air.

Rarity took a deep breath and smiled.

This wonderful atmosphere and antique-yet-articulate tiled decor did not erase the feeling of strangeness, of oddity. Still, she did not feel threatened.

Instead, she stepped out into the sunlight and strolled in the garden.

How long had she been walking around this garden, never wandering in and experiencing it? Was it not magnificent? Rarity was convinced that she had not seen its like or equal—never its master!—in all her life, not in any of the fine parks of Canterlot, and certainly not in the little boxes and rows of Ponyville. She was careful as she bent to smell the flowers, her reverence almost as a penitent come to ask for blessing in some deserted sacred copse. She felt, for all the world, like a mare out of some antique time and place, and as she straightened herself and found a pool, she found, reflected in the water, herself. Her hair was styled in a strange, foreign way but not in a fashion she found unpleasant. She was clothed in robes wholly unfamiliar, white as pure, driven snow, trimmed in what seemed gold thread, and clasped at her shoulders with a tiny bronze brooch. She regarded it curiously and found on it a strange symbol of an alicorn. Upon it was no regalia she recognizes as Luna’s or Celestia’s. Instead, it bore an stylized hourglass that, in Rarity’s professional opinion, was beyond words. The level of detail! Oh, but she was in heaven. What stars had given such leisures?

It was then that she heard the first noise in that place.

She looked up and saw that she was not alone. Rather, she heard another walking, but their form was shadowed under the walkway and behind a tree. She smiled.

“Come, stranger! If you would not mind at least. It is a lovely day, and a lovely garden.”

To Rarity’s shock, Luna stepped out into the garden, wearing robes—no, it was really more of a dress in a cut she was just not familiar with—and smiling.

“Greetings, generous one,” Luna said. “I am pleased to find you happy here.”

Rarity began to bow, but the princess waved her off. “Oh, do no such thing. Can you not feel it in the air? It is not the way of this place.”

And it was true, Rarity found. The rules were different. This place was different.

“Pr… No. Luna, am I dreaming? It is such a lovely dream—if it is so. I must congratulate you.”

Luna hummed a strange and alien tune as she strolled through the garden, keeping to the path marked out by the little slabs of marble laid carefully upon the wild grass. Rarity waited and was shocked as the princess came alongside her and sat beside the pool, peering in.

“You are indeed dreaming, my friend. I happened to be… strolling, you could say, and I found you in the dark. You were falling, and I thought that perhaps there were better things for you to be doing.”

“Like strolling in the garden?”

“Like strolling in my garden,” Luna corrected. She sighed. “Though I must admit that it perhaps is no longer mine. I would have to ask if it were so. I have not tended to it in a very, very long time.”

“Where is this place? Is it a real place?” Rarity asked, also sitting.

“It is, and it was. When I find myself at the end of my patience or feeling as if the world is ending, if you’ll excuse a joke in poor taste, I come here. After… after our conference.” Luna seemed to struggle a bit, but continued. “I came here and recovered.”

The air whispered to her. The grass and the pool and the very fibers of the reality that was not hummed in Rarity’s ears, and she knew the truth and told it.

“You came here to cry.”

Luna looked up but made no reprimand. She smiled. “Yes, yes I did. The aether is truthful to those who are Awake.”

“Awake?”

“Yes. Dreaming is not only for those who sleep. We are not that strength which in old days could bind and loosen—though we had that authority given to us—but we can still coax ponies into true Wakefulness. We did not expect you to be able to achieve it so quickly.”

Rarity stirred. “It is very odd. Like the world just tells me these tidbits of information as I need them, almost as if I am some sort of character in a story. Some awfully intrusive story!”

“Aptly put! Yes, my heart is bare to you here, and yours to me. You… do not mind, I hope. I had not come to pry. I only wished for company and thought, perhaps, you could use it.”

Rarity hummed herself, now, though without much of a tune. The wind was whispering something, but she did not ask. She waited.

“I do not mind at all, Luna,” Rarity said. “Now, tell me of this place. I could ask the dream, but that’s not fun ‘t all, is it?”

Luna stood and shook herself gently, and before her eyes, the strange white dress was transformed into something far more ornate, some garment of state so beautiful that it left Rarity speechless. The craftsmareship, the seams! The colors—the purple was vibrant, the use of gold, oh, all of it. This was the work of masters.

“The work of ages, more like,” Rarity said to herself.

“This is Jannah, or at least, it is based upon a tiny shard of Jannah, in the West. The great promontory that we were born atop had a spring, and when the city rose up, we constructed an open shrine around that spring and to the side we created bathhouses and quarters that we might have a place of refuge from crowds and noises and our long sojourns. In one of them, there was a garden dear to my heart, that after I came out of the song and it receded… I would come and visit.”

“So this is what Jannah looked like.”

“Oh, not at all!”

The world shifted. It was not a violent change but still a total one. The garden gave way to rock that was ancient and that weighed on her mind and body with magical presence. It was like a giddy, sensuous feeling, far too intense to speak about and one that was constant.

And below her, she saw all the city spread out and knew, at last, everything.

Jannah continued. The cities of Equestria were large, some were so large that it was hard to walk from one end to the other without being exhausted and perhaps a little irritable and a lot lost. But this was not like that. She knew how high she was, and yet she could see the end only with difficulty, as a shining but distant white wall. Even that seemed almost a mirage. Between her and the shining walls was the city. Walled districts the size of Canterlot, and a dozen of them in front of her, filled to the brim with buildings of marble, great towering structures of pillars and arches and vaulted ceilings, open-air forums where tiny forms congregated in bustling, living crowds. Streets wide as four of the widest throughfares of Ponyville were the norm. The smallest houses were mansions of Ponyville, the smallest courtyards tucked away behind rows of houses were the hideouts of kings and rich lordlings. Fountains adorned the squares, larger than any she had ever seen, their large pools of clean, crystal water reflecting the sun. Even from a height, with the help of the dream, she could see and know it all, know that she gazed out upon millions and millions, that there was not enough marble in all of the world to make such a city, not enough wood or granite to shore it up and keep it sturdy. It was impossible, with its topless towers and bustling hives of industrious and cheerful market goers. It was impossible.

And then it was gone, in an instant, same as it had come, pulled through the gate of false dreams. She and Luna were alone in a great field of grass that swayed in the wind, and Luna was smiling with the sun at her back.

“You have seen my city.”

“Oh, Luna… oh, Luna whatever happened?”

“That will come in time. You must know what Twilight knows but not now,” Luna said, and she cocked her head. “Do you not have something far more important to attend to? My dreaming must end here though I have enjoyed your brief company. Have you any words for Spike? For he comes to wake me soon, I hear.”

“I… well, I suppose tell him that I send my fondest regards, that I hope he is doing well, and to be safe so that I may…” She chuckled to herself. “I am trying to be far too choice with my words. Tell him that he must keep himself in one scaly piece that is fit to be hugged by a lady.”

Luna joined her. “I can relay such a message. Do you not have your own dream?”

“Hm?”

“Behind you, will you not go to it? I believe it is lying in the grass, under the shadow of the beech tree.”

Rarity felt a pull, tightening about her chest, but it was not so strong that she was carried away. She stood and said her piece. “Luna, the dream told me something. Well, I say it told me when it really kind of hinted…”

“It is true,” Luna replied. “Yes, even I am confronted with the inside of my own heart here. Twilight Sparkle is in every lithe blade of grass, so long as I am here.”

“I… I really had no idea,” Rarity said, unsure what she could say. She would not give the feeling a name, though it was obvious now.

“Yes, I know you are uncertain. I see your own heart, Rarity, and so we know one another. Though perhaps you are more familiar with this sort of quarry than I.” And now Luna laughed, and she seemed to glow. “Go now, Daughter of House Belle, and wake rested and ready for action. There is work yet to do. Quite a bit of it.”

Luna faded away, leaving behind her only the deep blue sky. Rarity turned and found a dirt path cutting through the ocean of waving tall grass, swaying back and forth as the wind played. She walked down the path. Her friends were there, running, and she waved at them, and they waved back. Applejack and Fluttershy and Twilight and Pinkie laughing and chasing some other dawn, on some other business, but it was the beech tree that drew her. The tree had been there before, had it not? Regardless, it was there now, and it was tall and full, and underneath it was a deep and cool shade and there, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, lounged Rainbow Dash.

Rarity felt her face flush. She rallied arguments against dream logic and connections made out of slight causation, but they crumbled. No, the dream knew things. Even this, which she had not known. It was not like Luna’s beating heart, a pulsing purple light shaped in the form of her friend so boldly, but it was… well, it was there.

What to do about it? Rarity ruminated, but she did not pause her hooves on the path until she had come to the beech tree and lain down underneath its shade. Rainbow greeted her, but there was no great dream of events here for her. They lounged and spoke of flight and clouds and the way the wind rises, and she was happy.

Rarity woke in the semi-dark with two pegasi cuddled closely to her. She was warm, and she was smiling even as she opened her eyes.

At first, the air was stil,l and there was no sound. Their cave was untouched by the outside world, free even of the howling winds, and she was thankful for it. Her head, at last, was clear. Her legs felt solid and ready to run a hundred miles. On her coat, she felt the tiny sparkling, crackling invisible currents of magic that was readable but foreign to her, and she realized that her friends had draped their wings like offerings of careful artificers.

They kept me warm, she thought and felt even warmer. It was a brave, kind thing to do. Not because it was dangerous but because it was without reward. She snuggled back against whoever was behind her. How soft! It must be Fluttershy at her back, muzzled nuzzled into her mane. Poor dear, Rarity did hope her gift of magic-fueled insulation had not made her cold as well. Fluttershy was always there to share a bit of kindness. It was her Element, after all, though none of them had been very enthusiastic about the Elements they bore in their hearts. Had Fluttershy always been so comfortable? Not that she had much experience to go on, of course…

She opened her eyes and found herself looking at Fluttershy, fast asleep. Their noses were almost touching, and in dismay, Rarity stopped nestling back into the comfortable warmth behind her that she knew was Rainbow Dash.

Oh… fitting. Probably why I had that dream. What am I doing? What am I thinking?

But she had little time to ponder it. A bit of snow fell and plopped right on her nose, and in surprise, she scooted back hard and fast, right into Rainbow Dash, who wrapped around her and made a comically loud oof as both of them rolled in a heap.

Rarity came up first, flushed. “I am so very sorry, Rainbow! Snow fell on my nose and it was cold and it surprised me and—”

Rainbow groaned and sat up. She shook her head. “Nah, don’t worry about it, Rares. Sounds—” She yawned. “Sounds like a rude awakening. How’re you feeling?”

“Oh, me? I’m feeling wonderfully,” Rarity replied. “I noticed you kept me warm.”

“Oh that?” Rainbow looked away. “It was no big deal. I thought it might help you get back to normal.”

“Was I bad off?”

“You were doing pretty rough. I was really worried about you, Rares. I mean, like, I don’t mean that I think you’re weak or anything!”

“No,” Rarity said, smiling and shaking her head. “I understand. Thank you for caring.”

They might have continued dancing around each other, but more snow fell, and Fluttershy rose with a squeak. “What was that?” she said.

“Just snow, darling,” Rarity answered. “It’s nothing serious—”

More snow fell, and now there was a hole in the center of their ceiling. The gray light poured in, and outside, they heard some strange commotion. To Rarity, it sounded familiar, but in a distant way. She turned to Rainbow. “Dear, do you know… Rainbow?”

Rainbow’s eyes were wide. She pushed past Rarity and widened the hole so that they could look out and gestured to Rarity and Fluttershy to see.

They came. Rarity looked out from their sanctuary, and all around her, she found that they had become an island of stillness in the middle of a battle between ponies and monsters.

Rainbow Dash

Rainbow Dash’s ancestors were warriors. It was no special thing among her kind, and any pegasus picked out of a crowd could say the same with almost as much pride. But the mares of the genus Dash, all bearing some banner of Cloudsdalean insignia, had been in the forefront of the battles of their polis since before there was an Equestrian throne to serve. They were monsters, berserkers, oncoming stormclouds of hooves and blades and cries too raw to be replicated.

And so it was no surprise that Rainbow Dash began to lose her mind.

The battle above was a surreal sight. Ponies fought and swarmed and crowded around great bipedal beasts covered in filthy, matted fur that had once been white. They were ten meters tall at least, some taller, with disproportionately long arms. She saw cruel hands with ragged claws whirling and reaching. One stood beside their shelter, its back to Rainbow, and it reached for one of the soldiers on the ground.

Rainbow flew to the attack, a tornado of color and sound. Her hooves slammed into the back of the monster’s head with such force that it stumbled, overbalanced, and fell flat. As it began to rise, Rainbow hovered, chest heaving, and watched for a few precious seconds as the soldiers on the ground crowded and pinned the giant down. They made short work of it.

Behind her, Rarity cried out. “Rainbow, out of the sky! Come back!”

A battle song still sang in her ears, reinforced by the thrill of momentary victory and the rush of adrenaline. She could hear the magic crackling on her wings and hooves, feel the stored lightning trapped in the dark recesses of the cloudy, ashy sky.

But she came back.

Rainbow landed and shook herself off. Her eyes were on swivel, but she helped an already free Rarity pull Fluttershy out from the snow cave.

“Keep close, Rares,” Rainbow barked.

“I’d say the same for you! Do not go running off, please! You and I must work as a team.” Rarity huffed. “We don’t even know who these po—Rainbow, behind you!”

Before Rainbow could begin to turn, Rarity had already grabbed her and pulled her back. The space that Rainbow had occupied only a second before erupted, and her ears rang with something like cannonfire, like some god’s revolver. Rarity lost her balance and fell back into the hole, widening it and collapsing what was left of their now hidden refuge beneath the snow. They landed. In the conflict between Rainbow’s toned body and Rarity’s far softer form, the former was fine and the latter found itself with the wind knocked out of it.

Rainbow rolled off, recovering quickly. She cursed, and her breath came out as a cloud.

“Flutters! Don’t freeze up!” she shouted and then turned to Rarity. “If I can keep mobile, you can keep them hurting, right?”

“Right!”

“I didn’t see many magic ponies out there, Rares. Or fliers. We’ve got this, but let’s hurry.”

Rarity nodded, and she and Rainbow charged back up out of the newly formed hole in the ground.

There was another giant now, and Rainbow got a good look at the front of one. They had faces like primates, but also different, with horns growing on the top of the head and on the sides and dull, flat teeth for crushing. The eyes were red. They seemed to eat at her, and she felt herself tremble.

Don’t look, Rainbow told herself. Don’t look, don’t look. Don’t look at his eyes. That’s how they get you.

She did not know how she knew this, but she knew it sure as she knew anything. With a leap, she launched into the air away from the new giant. Fluttershy was right behind her, calling out, and Rainbow answered by waving with a hoof as they fell down on another giant together, hooves beating at an exposed back. She moved fast, but not as fast as she could. Fluttershy had to keep up. It had to be in unison, together, so Rarity would have a clean shot.

From the hole, Rarity apparently had a clean shot indeed, for she heard the strange roar of the unicorn’s signature arcane bolt, like fire that moved, and a cry of monstrous pain.

“Rainbow! Rainbow, that one!” Fluttershy called out.

Rainbow saw it. Past the milling soldiers who cheered beneath her in the snow, a giant raised a large, crude object that could only be a firearm. It was massive, like a ridiculous small cannon. Her eyes widened, and her legs locked. He was firing!

There was no way to move Fluttershy out of the way. She had to dodge it. There was no time—not even for Rainbow—and so she dove right into the snow as the gunner fired and tore the air above her head with shot. It hit another giant far behind, and she heard it protest.

She had landed on all four hooves, still running. Around her, stray soldiers in winter-white barding called out to her in a strange tongue. Two of them formed up on either side of her, keeping up. Up close, she recognized the visors and wrappings. She’d seen them before, long, long before, when first she had come north.

Crystal Ponies. The Empire had found them first.

Her new companions were armed. She saw now that around their shoulders, they wore strange belts of gilded metal, from which sprouted small mechanical appendages. These held onto lances she had not noticed before, but she liked them. She liked them a lot.

They barreled towards the gunner, who was loading.

Above her, Rainbow saw Fluttershy flying a bit haphazardly, but not as if she’d been shot. So she was safe. Rainbow yelled up at her. “Flutters, stay clear! Keep moving!” She looked back towards the gunner and spoke quickly to the Imperials. “Can you two charge him while I try to break off and hit him from the side?”

She didn’t wait long for an answer, and she didn’t even get the strange language from before. They roared wordlessly and increased their pace until they were outrunning her and she was slowing slightly to open her wings.

Rainbow Dash was back in the air. The gunner was loading the oversized musket, trying to ram shot down the barrel while two stalwart Crystal Legionnaires were only meters away with sharp, eager spears. She climbed and climbed, gaining altitude to better strafe. Fluttershy stayed at a distance. Rainbow Dash could hear her panicking, but there was no time to get her away from here.

The gunner stopped trying to use his gun properly and picked it up by the muzzle. He raised it up like a great club, and before Dash could cry out, he was already swinging it in a wide arc. Rainbow dove, hooves up to pummel the monster’s face, to drive him back on his ass, but she knew it was too late. She’d sent them right into his reach.

The gun swept them aside like ants before the ocean. One was thrown into the air and landed face-first several meters away. The other slid only a bit and struggled to rise. The gunner reached down with his massive paws and gripped the legionnaire tightly. The mask had been broken by the butt of the gun.

The world stood still. She could see the crystal pony’s bright blue eyes, see her blue head squirming in time with what was visible of her body, saw the silvery liquid that was flowing down her face.

Rainbow Dash’s front hooves slammed into the giant’s eyes.

It screamed and dropped the legionnaire, who immediately began digging in the snow. She limped, but up she came with something, and before Rainbow’s eyes, a lance extended from the tiny artifact.

The battered legionnaire stood now on her hind legs. She wobbled, she stumbled, but still she stood though her shining blood poured down from a wounded head, and her right eye was swollen shut. Her armor was dented and torn. Still, she cocked the lance awkwardly, and Rainbow saw what she intended.

The beast dropped the gun, and it went to grab Rainbow. She tried to escape, but he was fast and he was angry. A huge paw wrapped around her lower body, and she screamed.

It was so tight. It stank, and it was squeezing her, and now the beast was bringing her back down towards its ruined eye and its maw which gaped and smelled of rotting, devoured flesh. Thought evaporated. She needed to get out, she needed to get out. Oh god, oh gods it was going to eat her. It was going to just rip her head off with—

The monster dropped her, and Rainbow landed in a heap at its feet, beside the battered legionnaire. The lance protruded from the creature’s chest. Roaring, the crystal pony drove it in farther.The creature thrashed, and stepped back, but did not fall.

Rainbow saw that her ally could not muster the strength to finish it now, with only three legs and all of them banged up. She rose and tried to help push the lance in deeper, but her legs were like jello. They betrayed her. She stumbled in the snow.

Over her head, she heard the familiar sound of Rarity’s arcane bolt, and looked up just in time to see the giant fall and the legionnaire stumble back, panting.

Rainbow stood, heart racing, and looked around frantically.

But there were no more giants. They were done for, now. They lay in the snow, almost blending in were it not for the crimson stains and the pools of blood that marked them out clearly from the blinding white plains.

There was no general cheer. There was no attempt at celebration beyond the whimpering thanksgiving of bruised and shaking engineers kneeling in the bloodied snow. Some hugged their neighbors. Some cried. A few wandered as if lost in a dream, simply staring down at the bodies as if seeing ghosts or gods, staring at each other with eyes almost unseeing, staring at the sky.

Rainbow, for her part, wanted to sit. But she did not. She forced herself to move. Though the legionnaire who had aided her followed, Rarity was the only thing on her mind. Rarity and that beautiful horn. Rarity and the magic she commanded. Rarity.

The magic sniper was making her own steady way to Rainbow, and met her halfway, past the body of the first giant. Rainbow said nothing at first. She came in, legs a little unsteady still from the rush of combat and fear, and laid her head on Rarity’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Rainbow said quietly.

“Are you alright? I thought you would seem more pleased by a chance at action,” Rarity said but then sighed. “I am sorry. I make light.”

“That wasn’t fighting,” Rainbow said. “His teeth… Thank you, Rarity.”

Fluttershy landed then, beside them. Rainbow heard her hooves make contact with the earth and then heard her talking softly to somepony. She wanted to know, but she also didn’t care. Rarity was warm. Rarity’s shoulder was safe. She thought about a gaping maw and shivered and then moved back.

Fluttershy

The legionnaire’s name was Amethyst. After helping her out of her now misshapen armor, Fluttershy found her injuries to be many but nonlethal. Her blood was silver—it had taken a bit of effort for Fluttershy not to show any outward sign of dismay at this—and of a different consistency than the ponies Fluttershy had treated so many times before. It bothered her. She did not let it show, but it still bothered her. The pony could not help what she was. She seemed like a good pony, who smiled and thanked Fluttershy and offered Rainbow a round of Wild Pegasus if they made it back. Her voice was soft, her eyes were a curious, faded green.

But Fluttershy had forgotten what it was like to be among the crystal ponies. She had, of course, not seen any bleeding in that time, and so she could be forgiven for forgetting some of the finer points of difference in their physiology.

The ponies who had huddled around the hole named themselves the second cohort of the First Legion. All of them wanted to talk to Rainbow Dash and Rarity, praising their abilities, thanking them for their help. The awe they showed seemed strange. Fluttershy knew there were few unicorns and pegasi this far north. The Empire and Equestria had been trading for years now. Well, no, she corrected herself. They had been trading.

Fluttershy made her rounds. The legionnaires all thanked her, and she tried to smile for them. Their legs were scuffed and bruised. Their bodies were wracked. This one’s face was twisted and obviously ruined by a claw from some past creature. His lips were not as they should be. She thought his cheeks were so hollow she could see the workings of his mouth almost through them. Fur did not grow as it should.

But she kept a smiling face on. It was not without difficulty, but it was not without an earnest heart. She did not smile because she was happy. She smiled because she was not, and her heart ached, and because smiles are for other ponies. This was, at least, what she told herself.

The cohort was part of the vanguard of a larger detachment of soldiers guarding a caravan. A caravan of what, asked her friends as she quietly bound up a bleeding leg. The cohort’s centurion still lived, and he replied that it was a long train of wounded and civilians and, most importantly, munitions. The last border fort was being abandoned. The limitanei, the support troops, who had defended the place, were being evacuated home with their families and the inhabitants of the nearby village. The Winterlands? The Centurion spat and said that the Winterlands weren’t worth losing life over, and that the mountain gods could have them.

Fluttershy finished binding the pony’s leg.

“Thank you, miss,” he said and sighed. “We were lucky you came along.”

“Oh, no, you did most of the work,” Fluttershy said, beginning her retreat.

“No… I mean, numbers-wise, but it’s been so long since I saw a pegasus really fly. It was like coming in from a storm. Be safe, will you?”

And she told him that yes, she would be safe, and then she had returned to Rainbow and Rarity.

They sat beside the hole. Rarity explained their presence, but did not, at first, mention their true mission. They sought out their neighbors, hoping that not everypony had been swallowed up by the night.

And Fluttershy began to observe. She had been thinking about this moment, and the moments after it, for some time. It was Fluttershy who had suggested traveling north, after all. Cadance and her husband loved Twilight and loved the princesses. Most importantly, one had served Equestria faithfully, and the other had called it home for more than half a decade of her short life. If anypony would be willing to help in this barren new world, it would be them. She had said it then, and she would say it again, but after Stalliongrad, she had begun to have other thoughts.

“Communication?” Centurion Copperhoof said as if chewing on the word. “That’s a long way to come for talking, miss…?”

“Rarity, good sir,” Rarity replied. “And yes, it is a rather long jaunt for talking, but you must understand that the world has quite moved along, and the old ways are no longer working. The Equestrian Mail Service no longer runs between Canterlot and, well, anywhere, you see.”

Copperhoof raised an eyebrow. “Is it true, then? That the south has fallen? We’d heard… rumors.”

“Well, I can dispel any that are too hopeless. No, much of Equestria is still quite alive and populated. Law and order are a bit in short supply, but that doesn’t mean ponies are as well.”

He hummed. “I’m honored, whichever way. I hadn’t expected to encounter Element bearers out here in the Winterlands.” He offered a big smile though it only helped Fluttershy forget his crimson eyes for a moment. “And I’m quite glad that you are uninjured as well. The Sword-Prince would no doubt have had my head if I had stumbled upon you and then lost you.”

“Sword-Prince? Ah, you mean Shining Armor?”

“That’d be right,” the centurion said. “Good old Shining Armor. He’s Equestrian, but he’s still one of us, we say. You know, the ponies here love him almost as much as the Empress. He’s been at it night and day, keeping the Mitou at bay. Rebuilt the Imperial Guard a few years ago, back when it was just a few changelings that we had to worry about here and there. Nowadays… well. I’m not sure anypony in the world could have gotten the legions up and running as fast as our Sword-Prince.”

His chest puffed out with pride. Fluttershy noted this. She also noted the way in which he said Shining Armor’s title as if it were the more correct appellation. It was a tone of possession.

“I am not surprised. He was a wonderful captain of the guard,” Rarity rejoined, and Fluttershy again thought that, perhaps, Rarity was picking up on the same things.

What she had considered as Stalliongrad had disappeared in the distance was the possibility of possessiveness. Ponies in danger are loathe to offer help if they feel too threatened, but they can be murderous if they feel that their leaders and supports are being wooed away. It had happened with Celestia, hadn’t it?

Rarity turned the conversation down new lanes, eventually discovering that they were on the right path, headed towards Imperial City. The caravan would be there in an hour, and Copperhoof intended to let his ponies rest until then. Rarity opted for the same, and Fluttershy waited to see Shining Armor. She wished to know his state of mind and body. It would be important.

The caravan arrived later than expected, but Fluttershy did not mind the wait. It gave her time to be quiet, to make up for the loudness of before. Noise was a necessity, but energy was a commodity. Even though the cold did not drag her down like it did Rarity, it still made its presence known. Even if it didn’t, Fluttershy was used to her own weaknesses and knew her own strengths. They were measured qualities.

The caravan was long, like an indolent and moveable hospital. Soldiers marched on either side of it, and as for all the world, it seemed to Fluttershy to be like the many legs of some great ponderous centipede. The wagons were in decent shape, she supposed. Ponies looked out from them, and they waved. The legionnaires of the battered cohort, who stood and armed themselves once more, waved back. Their centurion formed them up, and the three mares from Canterlot followed them as they reported back.

They kept to themselves, mostly. Rarity and Rainbow were talking quietly.

“Seems a bit… well, like you, Rainbow,” Rarity said, and chuckled.

“I’m not a meathead. He’s not as cool as me. Not by a long shot.”

“Yes, but he does possess your bluster. A bit sure of himself.”

Rainbow huffed. “Yeah. Yeah, he is. I don’t like it.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s so bad,” Rarity began, but Fluttershy interjected.

“He doesn’t want to seem weaker than he is,” she said, firmly but quietly. “He doesn’t want to be shamed.”

“No stallion does, darling. Though Rainbow would know far more about that than I…” Rarity said.

Fluttershy had been behind them, but now she shuffled forward to fit between her friends. She smiled—despite the bleak landscape and despite the conversation. It was nice to have a moment for just themselves even if it was short and even if it was spent worrying.

“Hey! You make me sound like I’m some sort of… what is that word?” Rainbow scratched her head. “No idea. Words are lame.”

“Sometimes they are,” Fluttershy agreed.

“I did not mean to suggest anything untoward, dear. Do forgive me.” Rarity eyed the crystal pony legionnaires. “But you were saying, Fluttershy?”

“Well, he’s very prideful. Like you, Rainbow. I mean, not like that’s bad. I mean—”

“No, I get it.” Rainbow smiled at her encouragingly. “You’re okay.”

“And when he figured out who we were, I think he felt outdone. We went from a warrior and two ponies he helped defend to a bunch of um… heroes, I guess. He wanted to be the hero.”

“Well, he can soak his head,” Rainbow muttered. “I can’t help not sucking.”

Fluttershy laughed quietly. “You were really brave, Rainbow.”

“Splendidly so,” Rarity agreed quickly.

“And… well, when you mentioned Shining Armor…” Fluttershy continued, but Rarity raised a hoof, and Fluttershy let her friend finish the sentiment. She wanted to know how much Rarity had caught on anyhow.

“I noticed this part. He was protective. Quite insistent that the Prince was theirs now—as if I thought any different. Honestly! It was a bit insulting.”

“You being an Element bearer made him nervous,” Fluttershy said, sighing. “He’s not a bad pony. He really was grateful.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow said. Fluttershy thought it a bit grudging but without any heat. Rainbow shook her mane and then grunted. “Stupid mane.”

With that, she pushed all of it back and wiped her forehead. Amused, Fluttershy watched her attempt to blow an errant lock of rainbow-hued mane from her face. Rarity’s horn lit up, and she moved it behind Rainbow’s ear.

“There you go, Rainbow.Everything in its pla—”

Fluttershy poked her gently, and all three of them stopped.

They’d come, at last, to the head of the long caravan. The legionnaires here were different. The second cohort wore barding that was simple and unadorned. These ponies wore bright colors, many and various. She wondered if their armor was customized, and saw that it was. Every one of them was a little different, unique and yet adhering to a general form and thrust of design. Rarity must love them, Fluttershy thought. She’s probably remembering as much as she can. I do hope she’s kept her mind from losing its edge. Fashion… doesn’t do much for us out here, but it’s nice to have a mind with beautiful things.

Fluttershy, for her own part, spared little attention to the guards. Their assignment drew her eyes.

For the first time in two years, she saw Shining Armor.

Had the years between then and now been harsh? Perhaps. He had aged. His eyes seemed less bright then… when had she last seen him? It was a little after the Secession, the official breaking of the Empire’s protectorate status. He’d looked so happy if a little tired. Now he looked simply tired. His face was harder, and stubble grew there where it had been smooth before. His mane was long and not a little ragged, and his coat was duller than before. Yet he did not seem bowed by time, nor by snow. As he took off his familiar eyewear to oggle at the site of his sister’s friends, she thought that he was not, at heart, so different from their first day in the Crystal Empire.

Fluttershy smiled.

“I can’t believe it,” he said simply, bluntly. “There’s just no way.”

Rarity trotted forward and bowed to him. His guards watched, and he shooed them away.

“My lord,” Rarity began. “We are very glad to see you again. It has been far, far too long.”

“It has… holy… I never thought you guys would come up this far,” he said. “I mean, after all of this is over, I figured you would, but not while it’s all still blowing up.” That boyish grin was back, risen from the dead past. “And you look great, considering.” But then, he paused. He looked about as if trying to count ponies not there. “Where… where is everypony else?”

“The other Element bearers?” Rarity asked. “And by that, you mean Twilight. It is alright, Shining. She is your sister after all. When last I saw them, Twilight was unhappy at parting but safe and sound. I’m sure she is safe even now, and probably in a much better state than she was.”

“Where is she? I can’t believe she would send you three out here without coming along.”

Fluttershy was three steps ahead. He would want to know where she was and Rainbow would want to tell him and Rarity would not know if it were wise. It wasn’t as if he could stop her. But ponies had different reactions these days to the name of Celestia. She waited for Rarity’s choice but, instead, she was given Rainbow’s.

“Twilight went West,” Rainbow said shortly.

“Right, she is, yes…” Rarity coughed. “Twilight has decided to pursue her teacher in hopes of correcting the current situation.”

Shining stared at them. He blinked.

He grinned. “You’re serious.”

“Serious as a mare in labor,” Rarity said. “Joking requires far too much energy in this cold and with all of this chaos.”

Fluttershy then noticed the almost imperceptible way that Shining’s eye twitched. She calculated. It was mare more than labor, but that was speculation. Regardless, something about the sentence had triggered a negative response. She was cautious.

“Yeah… But wow. Twiley is out there, looking for the Princess. About time! But you can tell me all about it. Oh, and about Equestria. We don’t really get much news around here,” he said and laughed slightly too loud, Fluttershy thought.

They came alongside him, and he began to ask questions. The cheerfulness she remembered as being his hallmark was there, but now it seemed different. It had been genuine a moment before, and now it seemed a little forced.

Perhaps it was her imagination. It rarely was, though.

Shining Armor was holding something back.

XIV. Terrible Canyons of Static

LUNA

Luna slipped away from Rarity and left her to the sweet embrace of the dream. She smiled, knowing her body back at home smiled as well. It was a good dream. She clung to the good dreams, especially in these days and especially in this environment.

The Firmament of Night was dark, as was its nature. Black, not the absence of things but the Presence of them, like darkness visible. One swam here, like in the blinding color of the Lunar Aether… but it was best not to think about that.

Instead, she watched the tiny wandering lights.

Each light was an individual dream. Each was a pony or a griffon or a zebra, sleeping somewhere in peace or in danger, satisfied or hungry. Their dreams drifted like worried fire. Worried, she thought, and turned the word over in her mind. It echoed here, for here she was only her mind in a place that had no material.

The white lights were as they should be. They drifted and were undisturbed. The red ones were nightmares. Nightmares were a part of life. Luna had watched them through the long years before and after her rebellion. Her gaze had been wary. Her attention had been keen. Not always did she intervene—often, intervention would only make a dream worse. Nightmares served a purpose, and though it had taken pain and experience to discover this, they were willing to fight for their own survival. The nightmares were a scourge, yes, but not always an unnecessary one. A stallion dreamt of an angry wife and woke to his own infidelity. She remembered the first time it had made sense to her, when such a thing had happened.

But some nightmares, some intrusions upon the otherwise safe haven of sleep, Luna could not tolerate. Some nightmares were not simply a dull crimson. Some flashed red, angrily buzzing and stirring up the Firmament with malicious intent. Within, there was no reminder or trial but only suffering. Undeserved, unwarranted suffering. These were the nightmares that drove ponies mad if left to attach to them.

And attach they would. There were other things that lived in this land besides dreams and herself. Wispy, cloud-like Whims floated through in herds or in pairs, and they were more or less harmless, but the same could not be said of the Furies. They rocketed through the inky blackness, finding weak hearts or wounded souls, and they burrowed inside. They knew no mercy. They recognized no quarter nor gave any. They knew only to consume and to beguile. They knew how to cling and how to fester.

The Furies had been her main concern in this realm during the Long Night. Spirits fell, and they descended, hungry. Fighting them one at a time had sapped her strength, and she had been afraid of asking Twilight Sparkle. She had not trusted her spirit. It was such a cruel thing to say to ponies like Twilight who would not understand. But without conviction, there was weakness in the realm of Idea, and Luna had seen the monsters that the Furies made.

But while they still swarmed, they had become manageable. At first, months ago, Luna had congratulated herself. Through hard work, she’d slain them! That was the only real explanation. The ponies of Canterlot seemed to rest easier at night without knowing why or how. Certainly they dreamed in happier states.

But before that, she had found a curious thing.

One day, long before, she had found a dream with black veins running through it. It had been the dream of a petty Canterlot thug, the kind that crawled in the filth of the alleyways and fed off of the fear of the weak and the drunk. The veins of darkness seemed to pulse if pulse weakly. How she had observed it with wide, curious eyes! How close she had come to this tiny dream and how close she had come to touching it! Even now, she shuddered.

Of course, before Luna was able to investigate, the veins of darkness had grown and lashed out, liquid and vile, and tried to ensnare her. With hooves formed of idea, she crushed them, but not before the veins had touched her. Her mind had filled with terrible noises and endless echoes. She had seen a great, desolate plain where no sun ever reached, and she had thought perhaps there were mountains, but the vision had been washed away by searing pain—first hot and then cold.

She had woken in a cold sweat and scrubbed the spots where the darkness had touched. She had scrubbed them raw.

But there was no explanation for all of that trouble. Even now, the black veins, pulsing strongly now with dark purplish hints of movement, strangled dreams left and right. They seared on touch. When she walked here, she now tread carefully. Much of her night was spent corralling the untouched dreams and trying to keep them from straying into the thicket. But even with her care, the veins ensnared new dreamers.

She had tried to cut them away, but rescuing only a few at a time had left her wracked. Her mind was confused and reeled, and it took days just to feel like herself again. But she had seen such terrible, incomprehensible things.

One of those things had been Jannah.

Luna looked away from the snares. She had a rendezvous with them. It was still ahead, but she had a reckoning planned. She just needed Spike to arrive and wake her up.

Time passed, or at least, it seemed to. Time was soft in the dreaming.

But at last, light flooded the aether, and she opened her eyes to the late afternoon. She lay sprawled on the surface of her bed, mane without its starry glory. Her adornment was put away. It was only Luna as she had come into the world, as was proper when visiting the world of dreaming. Her head felt foggy. She shook it and closed her eyes again.

“Princess?”

She opened one eye and cast her gaze around. Spike stood by her bed, a hand in midair as if puzzled. She had not seen him before in the rush of waking.

“Give me a moment,” she said.

Spike waited quietly. He put his arm down, but after that, Luna shut her eye again and saw nothing. Little by little, she came back to herself and felt more and more like Luna Songborne and less like a whisper in a dream.

“I am alright, Spike,” she said at last. She stirred. “I am quite alright, given the circumstances. I am glad that you have arrived.”

“Yeah… Barely made it on time. Amber Wood was working me hard, but I think I’m really making progress. I disarmed him twice in a row.” The dragon grinned wide, revealing his sharp, impressive teeth. Luna was reminded of the old Great Dragons.

She yawned and righted herself. “I am very glad to hear that, Spike. A warrior should be confidant.” With some difficulty, she stood on all four wavering hooves. The world wobbled around her for a moment, but then it stabilized. She smiled. “And I am feeling a bit more like myself.”

She strode past Spike, listening to the rhythmic sound of his claws against the cool tile. She wondered what it would be like to feel the coolness of the tiles. She knew how they were supposed to feel, but the pegasus magic bore the brunt of any coldness, and so she did not feel it as she knew Spike must.

“I can heat the rooms if you like, Spike. I have not forgotten the cold-bloodedness of dragons.” She hummed. “I fear I must ask you to attend me a long time. I would have to have you falling asleep on me!”

As hoped, he chuckled. “I’ll try not to. Yeah, I could use some heat. It’s freezing in here. Do you really not care?”

“Not at all. I prefer it cold,” she replied. “I… became used to colder temperatures during my hiatus.” She smiled but noted that Spike said nothing.

Luna led him away from her main chamber into a side room, meant as a receiving room. It had a small table and couches, and she gestured for him to sit in one of them. Around them hung art from various periods. Celestia had educated her on what she’d missed during the long years, and so she had taken to art’s progression since her banishment with an acolyte’s eagerness.

It was hard not to admire the paintings. She recalled buying every single one of them—from the famous to the work of a street artist, which she now looked at once again. The stallion in question had been a resident of… Oh, where had he been from? Surely it was Ponyville. She recalled that he was the color of sweet caramel and that his voice had been ever so soft. How pleasant he’d been! How flustered. She would admit she enjoyed the attention, if quietly, and had enjoyed his painting though it had asked no great and important price.

Spike spoke after a moment. “So, what are we up to tonight, Luna? You made it sound like it was something different or special.”

“Hm? Doubting my word?” Luna kept her eyes on the painting. She shifted her weight.

“N-no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Luna sighed. “It was meant in jest. I am a bit on edge, Spike. No, we are doing something tonight, but I hesitate to call it special. Different is a good word for it. It shall be very, very different. New for both of us.”

“New for you?” Spike asked. She nodded but still took in the art.

It was no grand scene in the old aesthetic she had once known. Instead, it was a garden, enclosed in a picturesque white fence. Tiny, vital flowers in a myriad of blues and yellows peeked out from the slats, and past the open gate, there was a small path between the greenery leading up to a door that moss grew around. It was hazy—once she would have found it sloppy, but Celestia had brought her around to Expressionism. That was before she left.

“Yes, new for me. Perhaps more of a new spin on an ancient thing, but still new in its own way. Do you know who painted this?”

“Actually, I can guess,” Spike responded. Luna glanced over at him, surprised.

“Hm?”

“Caramel, right? He’s from Ponyville. Or was. I haven’t seen him in a long time…” Spike met her eyes. She watched his curious, reptilian brow contract in its foreign yet familiar way. “I really don’t know if he’s alive. How crazy is that? All of the ponies from Ponyville just sort of drifted away. I mean, like, we tried to stay together at first.”

“But there were too many others.”

“I guess. Without a town to be a part of, I guess we just sort of drifted away. Everypony still knows the Apples, and so I guess they kind of keep us all connected a little, but besides that, we’re all just sort of absorbed. It’s like we’re salt, and Canterlot is a bucket of water. We vanish, but we’re still here.”

“You knew him? I had forgotten his name. Were he alive, I would like to meet him even still.” Luna turned away from the painting fully. “We have plenty of time. Tell me about him.”

Luna sat on the other couch and listened.

“Um… I don’t know much. I didn’t really know him very well. Most of my interactions with him were when I was a kid, but I do know he was dating Big Mac for a while. Not sure if they are if he’s alive. It’s been too long since I talked to Big Mac, you know? Well, you wouldn’t know.”

“I understand.”

“I thought he was the greatest. I didn’t have that many male role models, and he was kind of the biggest one. Strong, quiet, confidant. Well, I mean, he seemed confident. I was a kid; I didn’t exactly talk with him deeply.”

Luna filed all of this away for future reference. “Spike, do you have any guesses why you are here? There are two things on our agenda this night.”

“I guess I do. But why am I always guessing? You always call me in and then I guess what’s in your head. Like, why not just tell me? Er, if that’s okay. Sorry,” he added hastily. “I guess it’s just frustrating.”

“I have no doubt it is. I will tell you freely that I know it is frustrating. I am trying to get you to be on your guard even when you are with friends, Spike. You must be vigilant not out of duty but out of a sort of desperation. You and I are cornered animals. You must feel the wall behind you and hear the hounds.”

“I… alright.”

“I know it doesn’t seem that way, but it will. Trust me if only with this.”

“I trust you,” Spike countered, frowning. “I swear it. I’m sorry I said anything.”

“Do not be. I am glad you finally did,” she said. “Regardless, guess.”

“Well, we haven’t talked much about how exactly I’m supposed to be your ‘sword’ or ‘dagger’ yet, so I guess one of the topics is that,” Spike said. “Whatever ‘that’ is.”

Luna smiled. “You would be right. That is the topic you and I will turn to presently. I suppose I may wait on the night’s true struggle. But for now…” She stopped and cocked her head. Examining Spike in the well-lit room, she found him curious. His back was bent, not with labor but with watchfulness. His face seemed to be setting like cement into a permanent frown. She found she did not like it. “Enough of my games for now,” she said softly. “Spike, I need to ask hard things of you. Do you know how it was that I and my sister came into our thrones?”

“Not entirely,” he admitted.

“I am not surprised nor offended. Discord, it must be remembered, was king here for half a century. When we defeated him, there was a power gap. He had tricked a blind, unhappy king on a whim, but there were no other heirs to take up the mantle, and so all was poised for a rather unpleasant conflagration.”

“And then you two took over,” Spike said.

Luna snorted. “Hardly. Celestia was far more eager than I, at first. I did not wish to be tied to a hearth like an old spinster—which is what the whole business seemed like. But the ponies of Equestria, the common ponies, were unanimous. We woke up to find ourselves thrown into the ring as claimants to the throne. Literally, I might add.”

“But you were outsiders.”

“And heroes. Though I am glad that you said that, Spike. It is a good observation, for it explains much of what has happened since. Yes, we were outsiders. As outsiders, we should not have been considered at all by that kingdom’s rules of succession. But as the political grandstanding went on and on and we sat and waited, the air in Everfree turned poisonous. Something was rotten in the state of Equestria—not surprisingly, as Discord’s rule was still showing itself. When he wasn’t destroying causation to torture peasants, he did so love to throw the nobles at one another like wild dogs.”

Spike leaned back. An idle claw scratched his cheek. “Things got bloody? Like with House Rose?”

“Oh, not nearly as desperate as that and yet far more bloody. The Great Game broke out into violence, and a hundred ponies were dead by the time that Celestia and I intervened, demanding that the Landsmeet end in a decision. We wouldn’t have done it, but the Mayor of Everfree came to us in tears. They could make no decision, Spike, until at last a curious thing happened. A curious thing that many ponies have forgotten. Two houses stepped forward to name us as their candidates. Two houses that were in the lead, in fact. Houses Rowan and Oak threw themselves behind us, and after that, it was all route and victory.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on.” Spike sat up again. He shook his head as if casting off even the thought. “Those guys? Like, the ones that are causing you so much trouble?”

“Yes. They have always been troublesome. The later generations were not quite as good as the previous, and they never forgot how close they were to dynasty, Spike. None of them ever did. And so, for three hundred years, we remained Princesses and kept the lines of succession open and thriving, to appease them with a promise that one day, perhaps, they would replace us. And we intended for them to if we could ever get them to be more than barbarians. But then I fell.”

Luna stood. She felt restless and ill-at-ease. The room was not small, but it suddenly felt so as if it had shrunk as her mind expanded back into antiquity.

She continued. “So. The Great Game, Spike, is still being played. For some time, it was played in a new way, but it has come back around again to cloak and dagger. This is the game I remember, and I know how it must be played.”

“I’m lost, Luna.”

“I shall need you to assemble hand-picked soldiers of our guard and to be willing to kill, steal, set afire, and destroy under cover of darkness. I need you to fight a war in the streets that nopony must know about.” She caught him staring at her, horrified. She could almost hear his refusals, and so she pressed on. “Spike, I will not lie to you. The work will be distasteful. I will ask you to do things that may shame you in the daytime. Not because they are evil but because they are secret. Your enemy will not be raiders or monsters, as you are accustomed to, but Equestrians, and even Equestrians of the Royal Guard.”

“This is crazy!” Spike rose, shaking. “There’s no way. You want me to be an assassin.”

“I need you to be one.” Inwardly, Luna winced. She had hoped he would not use that word. She did not need an assassin. She needed someone to mop up a rebellion, not to kill innocents. But how to say in a way that didn’t seem like a lie?

“Oh… Oh this is so messed up,” he whispered. His claw gripped the couch’s arm, and he looked away. Luna kept her gaze firm.

“Sit down, Spike.”

“I was an assistant librarian.”

“Please, sit down,” Luna repeated.

He groaned softly and sat.

“You will not be alone. In fact, you must not be alone. A team of loyal and trustworthy ponies must be assembled, but they cannot all be Lunar Guardsponies. It must be a diverse group or at least a diverse as you can manage. It must be of ponies unafraid to do difficult things.”

“We’re just going to be murderers.”

“No, you will not,” she said firmly. She all but hissed at him. He flinched, and something in her felt good about that, felt powerful about that. Luna took a deep breath and closed her eyes but for a moment before continuing. “No, you will not,” she repeated. “You will be soldiers without flags or parades, without daylight or promises. I cannot protect you, but I can help you. I need you to do this, Spike.”

“Why?”

“Because the batponies would kill in my name without any hesitation.”

He stared at her in confusion so obvious that it almost broke the tension. She resisted a smile.

“What?”

“Spike, if you were eager to do this and realized what it might mean, I would not wish for you to be my helper in all of… this. I need somep—someone who will do what is right, at least as much as he can. I need a soldier who is not really a soldier—no, do not protest, I speak not of your blade skills. You are not a soldier. You are not a warrior. Spike, you are what you have said.”

“I’m a librarian and a secretary.”

“And a marvelous one. You are dedicated and kind, Spike. Not without fear, but willing to risk much to do much. I think that you are brave. I do not yet know if you are brave, but it is impossible to know such a thing.”

She quieted, then, and watched him. Spike would not meet her eyes. He slouched in her expensive couch, not that she minded, and he closed the membranes over those strange eyes of his. She found him curious at every moment.

The silence stretched too thin, and so he spoke in a measured tone. “I will do what you want, Princess. But I have to be able to have freedom to do it my own way.”

“Of course.”

“I’m not a killer.”

We all will be. “You are not simply a killer.”

“Then who is there for me to pick from? I’ll need a lot of help. I’m not exactly good at this plotting stuff,” Spike said, and he smiled.

Luna let go of the tension in her shoulders and chest. She had worried that he would react poorly, but he had taken it in stride as much as one of his nature could. She worried he would be soft, but the commitment was made now. There was no need to question it. No time to question it, in fact. She smiled widely and opened the door with her magic. From the other room, she felt the summoning spell she’d already set and activated it.

Scrolls wandered in of their own accord, and she turned her magic to the more important task of procuring tea. She stood. “You have plenty of choices right here. Now, I believe some tea would suit us well.”

The dossiers she had acquired were extensive and varied. Most of them were of her own Lunar guardsponies, newer guards who were experienced enough to be useful but not established enough to be suspects. A few of the ponies were Solar Guard, old veterans who would never move to great things without their princess’s word… at least, on the surface.

Spike saw one he recognized. “Amber?”

“Yes. Myself, I think he would be a wonderful addition.”

Spike hummed and set the scroll on the couch. “That would be a really awkward conversation,” he said with a chuckle and took a sip of the tea that Luna had brought. “But maybe one I need to have. Who is next?”

The next few were young Solar pegasi.

“As We said,” Luna reminded him as he glanced at the scrolls. She gathered them in her magic and held them up for better viewing. “The ponies you pick must be of good quality and must be diverse. We shall need the talents of all three of the tribes in the coming struggle against the growing sedition.”

“Gods, this is so…” Spike sighed. “Whatever. Hey, wait. I know this one.”

“Hm?”

“Rainbow Rays. I met this guy out on the practice field. We’re friends.”

Luna continued to hum. “I am glad that you made friends, Spike. They will be a pillar for you. I see, however, some interests. Tell me about this stallion.”

“He’s trustworthy, at least in that he won’t betray me because we’re friends. He’s not a great flier, but he’s not bad. Rays has only been in the Solar guard for a while, and he has more loyalty to both of you than to just one of you. He really only joined the Solar Guard because the Lunar guard station was farther and it wasn’t recruiting.”

“So his ties are not as strong. Perhaps. Proceed, then.”

Spike looked through the others and took another scroll but then moved on. Luna knew he had already made his choice. She would say nothing about it—she knew the stallion in question was no great flier. She had been watching Spike closely. She knew the ponies he had befriended out on the parade grounds. Her words about being pleased by his sociability and adaptation to a new set of ponies were genuine; she needed Spike, but she also found that she care for him. But caring for him and pushing him did not seem mutually exclusive. Rainbow Rays was an average flier, enthusiastic if he thought the activity was fun, and not possed of nerves of steel. But trust went a long way.

They went through the unicorns available from both Guards, as well as a few House Levies, mostly those chosen by lot and duty, not volunteers. As Spike deliberated and asked questions and bounced ideas off of her, Luna observed how quickly he adapted. It was all paperwork, really, just choosing the best personnel who fit a criteria. It was the kind of job a secretary did well, and she had meant it when she said that Spike had grown skilled at working the bureaucracy that a book-addled Twilight had not wanted to bother with. Had he registered yet that he would be leading them? Intellectually, she thought. But not on a deep level. That would come later. It always came later.

Three more scrolls went down by his side, and Luna moved to the next group.

“Wonderbolts? You’ve got to be kidding,” Spike said.

“I am serious as the grave.”

“Holy cow…” He leaned in. “I haven’t seen some of these guys in… Yeah, of course, I’ll take this one.”

“Hm?”

“Soarin’. Think about it. He’s not as fast as Spitfire, and he’s slower than Rainbow, but he’s bigger than them and can take a hit. Or, you know, give one. He’s strong for a pegasus, fast for a pegasus, has great endurance, and…” Spike grinned ear to ear. “If Soarin’ kicks down your door, you just give up. Are you going to fight a Wonderbolt?”

Luna chuckled, despite herself. “That’s a bit of an uneven argument Spike, at least the last bit. Soarin’ also has Ponyville ties.”

“So Ponyville ponies are off limits?”

“Not at all. But how do you justify it. Think, young master dragon.”

“He’s also got Solar ties. Soarin’ flew with the Solar guard for three years before honorable discharge. He’s from Baltimare, and he had to serve a short stint as… wow, really? A house levy for House Blueblood. It was only a year, but he still did it. He may have a tie to Ponyville but not to you.”

Luna nodded. “Excellent thinking, though I wonder if you know exactly how deep his connection to Ponyville goes.”

Spike looked over the floating reports. “What do you mean? He’s friends with Rainbow and I guess all of the girls, kinda. I was a kid, but he still seemed pretty cool.”

“He and Applejack are lovers.”

Spike stood up. “Holy cow. Holy—really? You’re serious?”

She nodded.

He laughed and sat back down. “Oh wow. Oh wow, no way. Wow, I had no idea. I thought he had a thing for Rainbow! I kept waiting for him to get the bad news.”

Luna chuckled and then stacked the rest of the reports and put them away.

He ended up with many scrolls, though Luna thought she had his choices more or less pinned down. They were not quite the choices she would have made, but that was why he was choosing. This was to be his warband, not hers. He would need to know them and to lead them. Ultimately, he would have to ask much of them.

Specifically, she knew what was going to come next. But that was for later. It was something to not look forward to if tonight went well. So far, it had. She felt—well, no, not quite relaxed. She felt calmer than she should, considering the circumstances.

But it was better not to let her nervousness show. It grew steadily as the night wore on and as the little odds and ends planning came and went. As Spike grew more eager, more comfortable with his task, Luna grew quieter.

At last, Spike lay back.

“I think that’s it. I’ll have to read them and make some final decisions, but I can do that tomorrow. I… I don’t know, I kinda feel okay about this. Right now, anyway.”

“I knew you would acclimate, my friend,” Luna said. “But you seem ready to say something.”

“Yeah… I was going to suggest someone. I’ve been thinking.”

Luna arched an eyebrow. “How dangerous.”

“Yeah, I know. But none of the ponies I’m pretty sure about are exactly heavyweights. None of them are bruisers. If we run into somepony who isbig, we’re probably gonna get squashed. I need someone who can beat down doors, carry heavy things, the kind of pony who can hold his own in a bar brawl, you know?”

“And thine arts extend to knowledge of the workings of bar brawls?” she asked him with a bit of mirth.

“Nope!” He declared. “But I can imagine what might be useful. I want to ask Big Mac to help,” he finished and seemed to wait for some response.

Luna, for her part, was not surprised. She doused her growing discomfort by indulging in a suppressing mirth. “I thought you might.”

“Really? I wasn’t sure,” Spike said, cocking his head.

“You made a point to speak of him, and beyond that, he is the pillar of the Ponyville community here in Canterlot now that Applejack is gone. He has a public face among the refugees as a good pony, and he also has prodigious strength. In another age, he would have been quite the champion. Yes, I think you should indeed see if he is willing.”

Spike seemed to lose some of his easy confidence. “So…”

“So,” she responded.

“The other thing?” he prompted. He pursed his strange, reptilian lips in a decidedly equine gesture, and Luna found it fascinating. She’d never seen a dragon make such a face.

“Yes. It will come in due time. The night is young, is it not? I think perhaps it would be better to have a nice dinner first.”

He blinked.

“Come, Spike,” she said, smiling. “Accompany me?”

He rose, and she led him back into her main chamber, where a mare-in-waiting stood by the door, yawning. When she caught sight of the Princess and her champion, she jumped to attention.

“Good evening ma’am! Dinner is ready. The Head Chef asks if you were still wanting to eat in your suite.”

“I do wish that,” Luna said and turned to Spike, lowering her voice. “Spike, I must ask, has your diet expanded past gemstones?” Spike squirmed, and she took that as a yes. Turning back to the maid, she continued. “Would you inform my most valued chef that the alternative meal will be fine, and to use both of his plans if that will not be too much of a bother.”

The mare bowed and left them.

“Geeze…” Spike hissed. “I really don’t like talking about that. Ponies aren’t exactly carnivores, Princess.”

“And you wish not to antagonize them. My maid remembers nothing that she knows she mustn’t nor did she hear me, I think. Regardless, I shall keep that in mind, dear Spike.”

Luna led him to another room branching off from the main bedroom chamber. It was simple, with a small wine cabinet and a table for six at most. She sat on one side, and Spike sat awkwardly on the other.

They talked of light things. Spike’s training and his off-duty adventure into the city with this Rays pegasus.

“I mean, I’m basically old enough now, by dragon standards. I guess. Rays wanted to go to this bar. I’ve not really been to one before.”

“I highly doubt that Twilight would take you to such a place.”

“I don’t even know if she ever goes herself, honestly,” Spike said with a shrug. “It’s weird. Most of my life with her, I was just a kid. I don’t know lots of stuff about her of that nature.” He sighed. “But anyhow. Rays practically drags me in there, and I just felt awkward. Not like, a bad sort of awkward. Just sort of like I was faking it. Like, it’s an adult place, and I’m not… I don’t know.”

“It takes a bit to feel as if we’re grown,” Luna said quickly.

Spike chuckled. “I thought you were always like this.”

She shook her head. “Certainly not. In body, mostly. In mind, stars forgive me, certainly not.”

“I didn’t have much. It was weird… Do dragons even drink?”

“They have, on occasion. There are dragons and there dragons—if you understand. Not all of them are the great majestic sort you’ve no doubt seen on migration. If I am not mistaken, you seem more of the lineage of the bipedal drakes from the Badlands.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

She frowned. “Right… I am sorry. But it is not unheard of, especially among your kind. If I’m correct, at least.”

Spike smiled a little. “I guess that’s cool to know. Rays enjoyed himself. It was fun doing stuff with a friend that I made, you know? I mean, the world sucks and all that, but I made a friend without Twilight or anyone else helping at all.”

A mare-in-waiting arrived, a unicorn, bearing two covered dishes in her magic’s hold. She laid them on the table and bowed to them both. “I am sorry it took me so long to bring your food.”

“It’s cool,” Spike said, grinning. He grinned perhaps a bit too wide, Luna thought, but was glad that the mare did not flinch at his display of teeth.

“It is indeed alright. Thank you,” Luna said, adding her own smile, and the dismissed mare left quietly.

The covers were removed. The chef had prepared lightly cooked meat for Spike, with a small dish of semi-precious stones. For herself, bread and a bit of cheese, as she had insisted.

“Go on and eat,” she said quietly. Rising, Luna went to the cabinet and retrieved a bottle and a glass. The label was worn, but she read it and smiled. Hermitage, a fine Syrah, dark as midnight, red with life and, if she remembered the variety correctly, intense. She popped the cork out effortlessly with a bit of magic and poured a token amount in a glass to test it. The wine did not disappoint. She sighed happily and returned to the table, spirits buoyed briefly.

She and Spike ate in amiable silence, and by the end, she had finished a third of the bottle. As soon as it was over, she focused in on the rest. She and Spike removed themselves to the room they had met in before, and she invited him to lounge on one of her couches, which he did happily. She was glad to see him in good spirits, considering.

For her part, Luna regretted her choice. A wine this fine was meant to be savored, but she was more interested in its effects on her mind than she was in simple enjoyment.

But alicorns are ponies as well, in their own way. She felt lighter, warmer. The gnawing doubt was not gone, of course. It lingered even still, but now it was only a whispering in and around the light conversation. Luna told tales of her journeys in the past and of the ancient kings and queens and commoners of lands much changed.

But as the hours stretched on and on, not even the warmth of good wine could forestall the whisperings’ advance. It became a murmur.

At last, she had to come around to it.

“Spike,” she said, a bit more sharply than she had intended. “What is the time?”

“Um… I don’t know, let me see.” Spike rose and found a clock on the wall. “It’s nine.”

Luna took a deep breath. She could wait just a tiny bit longer. Moments.

“Princess?” Spike took a step towards her, an unsure step. “What’s this about? You look…”

“Dismayed? Nervous? Oh, Spike, I am both. The time is drawing near. Will you come with me to the gardens so that I might calm myself before the night’s work?”

“I… Of course,” Spike replied.

She led him down from her private suite and through the many subdued halls. There were few ponies in the dark. They saw a few Lunar guards standing silently in the shadows, a few quiet mouselike maids performing a few last tasks before bedding down for the night, and a lone pegasus without barding trotting sullenly. When he caught sight of them, he seemed to slouch even more and all but scurry.

Spike glanced over at Luna, but she only chuckled.

“Lover’s trysts,” she said. “Some indiscretions go unchecked for good reason. It helps morale.”

They came out into the garden and began to stroll.

The night was warm—surprisingly so, and, to Luna, quite pleasantly so. A light breeze whistled through the hedges and beflowered bushes. The greenery was holding fast even with the not-so-distant threat of winter. Luna reflected that winter had already come in the North. Her friends no doubt set their faces to snow and wind much different from the wind she encountered here in the peace of her estates. She wondered how Twilight was faring in Vanhoover. It had been too long since they’d spoken. Days. How were the wine-dark seas of the West at this time of year? Oh, she knew the facts, but she juggled the centuries to remember how it was to be there.

But gravity drew her back to Spike.

“You and I shall be taking many walks in the coming weeks, Spike,” Luna said quietly. “This is the second, is it not?”

“It is,” Spike agreed. “Princess, will you tell me now?”

Luna cleared her throat. “I need to dreamwalk. I need you to be there to stand a lonely and dangerous vigil.” Spike offered no answer, so she continued. “There are dreams, and there are dreams. There are nightmares, and then there is something else that I do not understand. A shadow lies on the dreams of ponies, Spike.”

“A shadow?”

“Yes, a shadow.”

“But… why?”

“The time has come to meet it and understand it if I can. It threatens us. It threatens me. I fear it may be important. I am going to dive into it, and you will be the rope linking me to the surface. If I begin to drown, you must pull me back to air—wake me up. If I…” She paused, looking away from him and to the night sky with its scattered and chaotic stars. “I may come back as something else, weak but filled with some alien malice, and if that is so, you must deal with it.”

“D-deal with it?”

“Deal with it,” she said again, firmly. “As it must be dealt with. But that will not happen.” She continued swiftly, picking up the pace. Spike followed at her heels. She had wandered in the garden long enough. She wanted it over. She just wanted it to be over.

Luna lay on her bed, staring at the wall.

Spike was at her back, sitting quietly in a chair that he had brought in from another room. She did not look at him, preferring to lie on her right side. She was comfortable, at least in body. Her bed was an ocean of soft pillows and caressing, pliant covers. But her mind still writhed.

Sleep would come when she commanded it. Falling asleep was no problem for the Princess of the Night, the one who walked the deep aether. Sleeplessness, in fact, had rarely been a problem of the alicorns born out of the Song.

But she was afraid.

She shifted ever so slightly. Spike was being quiet—admirably quiet, she thought—and while usually it would have been nice, she found it awful somehow.

You want an excuse, Luna.

And didn’t she? She had been afraid of few things since the Song had faded into the pool. Few things. And yet this was one of them. The brief brush with the veins had been nightmarish, but not so much worse physically or mentally then some terrors she had faced. Celestia and she had delved deep and seen terrors that would never see the light of day. They had seen Ryl’neigh under the darkness of the Northern Mountains, stretching on forever.

And yet still she was afraid. It was not the experience. It was the suggestion in the experience, the hint of something else, something more than she could guess at.

“Spike? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Princess.”

She did not ask him for anything.

Instead, she shivered.

But the night was growing older. It was time. It had to be time. If it was not now, it would be never; she would not try again. It had taken a long time to work herself up to this, all the way to the night that she had spoken to Twilight and resolved to change. Running was easy. Hiding was something she had learned and mastered, and yet for as much as she wanted both, she could not. There was something up ahead and she would face it or…

Luna commanded sleep to come, and it obeyed its mistress readily.

At last, Luna stood in the quiet, undifferentiated chaos of the Dream.

Potentiality once again roiled about her. It touched and did not touch, was felt and was not felt. The bright lights of a thousand thousand dreamers glowed like stars in a strange sky on every side of her. Most were white, she saw, and the knowledge was like water in a desert. A few were red.

But far too many were corralled into the center, into the shadow of some great Thing that she never looked at.

But Luna steeled herself. So many nights she had refused to meet it head on, refused to look at it with all of her resolve, but tonight she would. Spike was watchful, and her heart was raging in her chest, and for a moment, it seemed possible to risk this danger and come out again.

She stared into the Shadow and thought the Shadow stared back. She walked towards it.

With measured pace, she drew closer and closer to the center. The Firmament was not flat but rather sloping, and so her progress was down, down into some great hole. To Luna’s senses—changed with their transport—it seemed as if she was walking down a great well, down a flight of precarious stairs. It had not seemed so large from afar, but now that she drew close, it seemed to grow in size. It did not make sense. Nothing in the Firmament made sense to the waking mind.

Luna felt as if she were watched.

But she continued on despite everything. Despite the feeling that with every step the stairs were growing, despite wanting to go back. She thought of Twilight.

The stairs did, at last, stop, and Luna stepped timidly into a terrible canyon of static.

It was then that they struck. She heard a shrill, heart-stopping cry, and her ethereal wings flared in response. The light which radiated out from her caught only suggestions of slithering things out in the dark, and she threw more light out.

They were lampreys, she thought in horror. Great lampreys hundreds of yards long, a thousand teeth the size of her sister, mouths like gaping caverns. They thrashed, fleeing before the light. But it was only temporary. They came back, circling Luna, ready to feast.

Luna threw out purplish-blue fires. They struck true and burned on the scales of the shadow lampreys, and the beasts roared. Her limbs shook without her consent. Her whole form wavered, fading in and out, as her unconscious mind scrambled for safety.

But Luna held firm. She summoned more fire, threw up lighting that arced and called wind that howled. She beat at the monsters even as the terrible static increased from a murmur to a roar in her ears, destroying her every thought.

So she roared back, baring flat teeth, baring the canines in the back no alicorn would ever show a pony. Her body glowed with liquid moonlight.

One of the lampreys lunged. She threw herself out of the way and then took to the sky. Another followed, and it missed her by meters. It felt. It was all relative. Nothing made sense.

But then she pulled all the power she could hold and threw it down behind her with a roar that was mostly agony.

The monsters writhed. She could see them now, glowing hot in her arcane fire.

Panting, Luna continued flying towards whatever the Shadow was, at the heart of the swirling storm of static and captured dreams.

It seemed that she flew for years. The static pounded away at her, but she knew that she that she had come to far to quit.

But no matter how long it took, it eventually ended. As she came close, she saw the little points of light dangling—still alive—and the Firmament in which the Aether lived formed itself into a tree of some dark wood before her, with its luminescent, stolen fruit. Its branches were twisted and barren except for the cages it formed around dreamed that pulsed with its own dark light. She felt a wind but knew there was no wind, and yet it dangled the dreams of miserable, twisted souls above her as if it existed.

Luna felt exhausted. Her thoughts were sluggish. Her limbs were weak. Yet, despite this, she knew that it had to be finished. All she had to do was touch the tree. To touch the tree. Touch the tree. Touch the—

She shook her head. Could she?

It radiated darkness in a way that she could not understand, was darkness in a way she was afraid that she might just understand, but that her mind shied away from. But the deepest fear was the worst.

It felt so very familiar.

At first, she thought that perhaps it was because of her own brush with the dark, but found, after a moment’s pause, that it was not the memories of her own Nightmare that she was remembering. Yes, they were similar in some ways, but this was something dissonant and different. The memory that it tapped was farther back than her foolish rebellion.

Cautiously, heart in her throat, Luna stepped forward and touched the wizened, black bark of the nightmare tree with a hoof.

And her mind was set on fire, and Luna screamed into eternity with the agony of knowledge.

Author's Note

Chapter 15
"Neither the Quick Nor the Dead"

XV. Covering Earth in Forgetful Snow

Spike sat in the Apple Family’s little parlor, eyes closed, and enjoyed the air of home.

He had not made his home out in the outskirts of Ponyville, and he had never spent as much time at the Acres as Twilight did. Yet, despite this, the fragments of their once vibrant life held enough nostalgia for nine families. The pictures which sat on the mantle and on every flat surface suitable for them were legion. Ponies smiled out at him, with hooves around each other, in great constellations, the young in each other’s embrace and the old playing chess in the shadows of apple trees. On the table sat a mug of cider, brought out especially for him by Apple Bloom, who insisted upon it. The Apple Family, in all of it’s facets and branches, had managed to arrive at Canterlot with several barrels of their world-famous cider. It was a well-guarded secret, one backed up by a spell of Twilight’s and Apple Family thriftiness.

He opened his eyes long enough to reach down and take a sip. It was, of course, hard cider. He’d expected as much, but t was still surprising to taste the burn of the alcohol on his tongue and down his throat. Applebloom no doubt assumed that he was quite grown up, and the idea made Spike smile. They had been peers once. He supposed they were still peers, in a way. He certainly didn’t think of Bloom as lesser than he. He had not spoken down to her as adults often had to him.

Apple Bloom came downstairs. Spike could tell from the creaks on the stairs alone, without need for his eyes. He had been paying attention to the world more, these days.

He thought perhaps that she might speak to him, but she did not. Maybe she paused upon the foot of the stair, but then he heard her hooves shuffle across the room towards the kitchen. For a moment, a brief moment, he thought about rising and following her, just to look for some conversation. Living, moving company. But he knew that at this moment he was not good company at all. It had been a bad few days.

His business had nothing to do with Applebloom, in that it was not with her that he had business. He supposed it was actually very wrapped up in her. Either way it would mean many things, and she was involved by simply breathing. Again, he considered mounting the stair. Spike thought perhaps that he would.

He took a long swig from the cider, and then shrugged and finished it. Why not? Why not do many things, really, even, with how the world was moving?

He wandered upstairs and found Applebloom leaning out of a doorway.

“Need somethin’?” she drawled.

“Eventually,” he answered. “So… don’t know when your brother will be back?”

“Nope.” She paused, as if something had occurred to her, and she looked away. “Actually, to be honest with you, I don’t know where he is.” She pursed her lips.

“That’s strange. I mean, from what I knew. I was just a kid, after all.”

“Ya were, weren’t ya?” Applebloom replied tonelessly. She kept looking back into what Spike assumed was her room. The hall was rather long. He thought that it had to be, to house all of the apples.

Applebloom grimaced and adjusted her bow. Spike thought that it had been straight before. She fixed her hair. She shifted against the doorway. In short, she did everything but continue the conversation.

But Spike had a lot of time, apparently, so he kept it alive. “It’s crazy to think we’re not that far off from each other, agewise.”

She glared at him. “Why? You think I’m just some dumb kid now, cause you went and had some fool growth spurt?”

“No, no,” he answered, holding up his hands in surrender. “Not at all. I’ve never thought you were dumb or just a kid. We’re friends,” he added lamely. “I just meant… I was smaller and stuff, when we would hang out.”

“Yeah, well, so was I.”

Spike sighed. “What did I do? Did I say something?”

Applebloom huffed and entered through the doorway.

Spike hesitated again. It had not been an invitation. At least, he didn’t think so. He was not one to keep on where he wasn’t wanted, but her hostility was inexplicable. Beyond that, it felt like a knife in each scaly foot, forcing him open a little more with each step, each word or glare.

He advanced, and stood in the doorway.

Inside, he found that there were four beds. Applebloom laid on the one farthest from the door, turned away from him. Her red bow lay useless on the floor, wilted and worn. Gingerly, he crept forward and collected it, handling it like an injured sparrow from the ground. In his unwieldy adolescent hands, he cradled it like a child. Had he noticed how old this ribbon was? He thought he had not. He thought, in fact, that it had been hoofed down the family line. It was a thing well loved. Spike looked up towards the treasure’s owner and watched her for a moment in puzzlement.

Spike noticed how she had changed. Her mane was like a forest, wild and curled, overgrown and now without anything to hold it back at all. Muscles rippled under her coat as she shifted to be more comfortable, moving the pillow about and fluffing it. Spike recalled that she’d just started really working on the farm when it had been abandoned. She was not a child anymore. Perhaps not in the way that he was no longer a child, for she was a pony, but in her own way. She was older than him, after all. She looked it. Had he ever noticed her before? Really, truly noticed and looked and didn’t just look but see?

He wanted to say something.

She said something instead. “You’ve always been clueless, Spike.”

“Yeah… I know.”

“See, an’ hearin’ you just agree with me make me so mad. Stand up for yourself. Somepony treats you like shit, then you tell ‘em not to.”

He blinked, shocked. “I didn’t know you cursed.”

“I lived on a farm.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Applebloom shook with a quiet laughter. “You’re an idiot, Spike. Sit on the bed behind me.”

Quietly, he obeyed. The springs groaned under his weight, and he shied away from contact with her. The ribbon was still in his hand.

“Spike, gimme my ribbon.”

“How did you know I had it?”

“It’s the kind of cheesy heart-warming thing you do. I need to put it on the bedside table.”

Spike reached over without thinking and did so himself, placing the ribbon next to her lamp. “There you go,” he said, smiling, before he realized how he had draped himself over her. He straightened, feeling foolish.

“It’s alright,” she said. She had always read his thoughts. How had he forgotten? He had forgotten a lot of things, but none of them had ever felt like this.

“Sorry.”

“Said it was alright. I’m sorry I treated ya bad when you came in.”

“It’s okay.”

“Naw, but you’re sweet for sayin’ so.” She yawned. “School sucked today on top of you comin’ by, so it was kind of a double whammy.”

“I thought we were friends,” Spike said haltingly. “Why would me coming over be so bad?”

Applebloom sighed. “We are friends, Spike.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Yeah you do. Why are you here?”

Yes, he did get it. He simply hadn’t thought that she would. Idiot, he thought. Idiot. What did you think was gonna happen? Chat up Applebloom after being locked up in the palace for months? Go back to the way things were, being friends just like that? Think she wouldn’t mind you waltzing in, drinking her beer, chatting her up, and then recruiting another sibling to do the crown’s work?

Yes, he did understand her hostility, now. It still felt like it bled. “I guess I get it. I want to ask your brother something.”

“Ask him what?”

“I…”

She turned her head and he caught her eyes. They blazed with a fire he’d half-forgotten. “You tell me the truth right now, you big son of a gun. You know I always want the truth.”

“Yeah, I know,” he answered. “I want him to join me. I’m putting together a team to help Luna.”

“Joinin’ the guard?”

He shook his head. “Maybe officially, maybe not. But it’s not like that. It’s helping her deal with the Houses.”

“So you want my brother to be a thug? Hired muscle.”

He winced. “I didn’t--”

“Honesty.”

“I just wanted someone who was strong and who I trusted,” he said lamely. “I’m afraid, Bloom. I don’t really know what to do and your brother is the most dependable pony I know.”

“Y’all just want him to buck ponies for ya.”

“No,” Spike answered, more firm this time. “Bloom, I respect your brother, and I want somepony who I trust to be calm and levelheaded. I’m sure not.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That sure is true.” She scrutinized him a few seconds more, and then sighed. Her face softened. “He’s with his boyfriend. Caramel just got back from working a long shift at the hospital, so they’re taking a nap down the hall, on the right. Don’t go,” she added quickly. “Stay here.”

He stayed. “When were you gonna tell me?”

“I wasn’t, ‘till I talked to ya.”

“Applebloom…” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I really am. I shouldn’t do this to you. I can find someone else, someone calm and levelheaded.”

“You could find somepony honest,” she said quietly.

“I could,” he answered.

“I miss crusadin’,” Applebloom said. “I miss runnin’ around with you and Scoots and Sweetie Belle. You know Sweetie and I ain’t talked in days? Scoots an’ me just bum around the streets, an’ we talk a lot less. Kick cans down the alleys, talk about Rainbow and Applejack, and sometimes about you and sometimes about Sweetie Belle, and nothin’ is the same anymore.”

“I’m still around. She is, too. We’re all still safe.”

“We’re alive. Ain’t nopony who is safe. Not ever,” she said, and laid her head back down.

He was overcome with a desire to stroke her mane, but the thought made him feel wobbly. He stood. What was he now, a freak? A weirdo? They had been sweet for each other, hormones flying through the air, and he was an idiot for presuming even in a daydream. “I guess not,” he agreed. “But we are still alive. I’ll have time to come visit, and if you go find her, I know Sweetie Belle will want to talk. Rarity being gone is hitting her hard.”

“I know.”

“I saw her yesterday,” Spike said. “Briefly. Said she was lonely.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” Bloom mumbled.

“No. I just want you to know that she still cares. She’s still Sweetie Belle.”

“I miss my sister. I don’t wanna miss Mac too,” Applebloom said. She sat up and faced Spike. She looked at him with a square jaw and summoned all the fire she could. “You better not even come close to gettin’ him hurt, you hear me you overgrown purse?”

He chuckled, but then nodded. “Applebloom, if I think your brother is in too much danger, I’ll send him straight back to you. I promise. You won’t lose him. I’ll die before that happens.”

She flinched. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

He shrugged.

“You know what I’m gonna ask ya, right?” Big Mac said stiffly when Spike had finished his speech.

Spike sighed. “No, but I can guess. ‘Why me?’”

“Naw. How pressin’ is your need?” The stallion rumbled.

They sat in the kitchen. Macintosh sat at the other end of the table, digging into pancakes. Caramel hummed as he worked on another batch for Spike and himself, but Spike was becoming used to reading others when they tried to hide themselves. He suspected the humming was a bit louder than it needed to be, the activity more about avoiding Spike than helping him.

Macintosh seemed large even with Spike’s growth spurt. He suspected the perception was based less on size and more on presence. He was a bruiser’s body housing a quiet soul. Every room he entered was altered and heavier, as if all the ponies inside were merely moons orbiting him. He filled the sight. His voice’s tone was the timbre of an earthquake, and his footsteps were like boulders against the hardwood floor.

“My need?” Spike repeated.

“Yeah,” Macintosh said. He wasn’t going to elaborate.

“I… I don’t really know. I don’t know what we’ll be doing, so I can’t really guess very well. Anything I tell you will probably end up being wrong I don’t want to lie to you.”

“It ain’t lyin’ if you don’t mean it to be,” Mac replied.

“I guess. I guess my need’s great. I’m kind of on my own right now. I need someone I trust, who doesn’t have ties. Somepony who is dependable and who I know is honest. You’re that for me.”

Mac hummed. “You put a lot of faith in somepony you don’t know much about, Spike.” When he got no answer, Mac continued. “Tell me somethin’. Did you know Caramel and I had a thing?”

“We have a few things,” Caramel said as he returned with pancakes. He slid another bench up to the long breakfast table with his muzzle and sat on it. “Rather, ah--”

“Hush, hon,” Mac said not unkindly. “Don’t go kissin’ and tellin’.” Caramel giggled.

“No,” Spike confessed, averting his eyes to stare down at the food. He began to eat, glad for the distraction. He was prepared for a no. A no was something he could handle. If he had felt like he could have done so without being selfish or foolish… I would say no, if I were him, Spike thought.

“And why not?”

“I never asked,” the dragon mumbled. “I was a kid, and I’m only a teenager, really, and I don’t think about asking ponies about that thing when I don’t think of them as dating.”

“And you still think I’m trustworthy, even though ya only knew me as a child?”

Spike squirmed. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I can’t doubt everything I knew as a kid.” Spike shrugged, took a deep breath, and looked up. “I just can’t. I mean, yeah, I didn’t know much back then. The world was different, too. But I wasn’t wrong about everything. I wasn’t stupid. I knew back then that you were honest and loyal and you worked hard…” he faltered. Mac’s eyes did not change. They were a wall of ice, cooly waiting for him to finish his feeble attempt to scale them. Yet, he pressed on. “And I don’t know. I’d take someone who I know used to be trustworthy over ponies I don’t have anything at all to go on. I liked you. I didn’t have that many stallions around to attach to in Ponyville, like to really attach to, and you were one of them.”

Mac watched.

“Mac?” Caramel asked.

Those calm green eyes drifted over, and Spike too spared a look. Caramel had taken only a single bite. His nervous energy had doubled; it was more of a fidgeting dismay, now. Spike knew that he was beaten. Caramel would make his case, that most compelling of cases: stay home and love me. Mac would do it. It was the kind of pony he was. Family and loved ones were the world.

Spike didn’t blame him. He didn’t blame Caramel at all, either. It was what he had wanted of Twilight, but hadn’t said. He suspected they had all wanted that, one way or another. It hurt, and now the whole enterprise seemed to be dangling on a string, but he would move on. Already, he was preparing to be gracious in defeat.

“I think you should help him.”

Both Mac and Spike gaped at him in confusion.

“I do,” Caramel insisted. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and I don’t want you to do bad things, but I also know that it’s important. This is your chance to do something good, Mac. Maybe something really, really important.”

“But… it’s good stayin’ here,” Mac countered weakly, recovering.

“Yes. It is, isn’t it?” Caramel agreed, smiling. “And I love that you want to. It makes me happy. But the strong ponies are strong for a reason, Mac. You’re a strong pony--not just your body, but your heart and your mind. It’s why I love you. You were made for such a time as this. Spike needs you.” He leveled his gaze at Spike, and where the dragon expected to be measured and given an appraising look he found only something soft, something like compassion. He was unnerved. Caramel continued. “If it were anypony else, I wouldn’t be so sure. No other pony I would trust to understand what it is you’re asking this family and me… but you have Twilight, don’t you?”

Spike looked down. He had not thought about the risks he was asking anypony to undertake at all. He had not counted the weight upon the backs of the Apple clan, not until it had been far too late to turn back.

But he answered. “Yes.”

Yes. Yes, he did know now. He felt it like ice on his stomach.

“Then I trust you with Mac. Mac, the ponies in this town… I know you want to help. We’ve talked. You toss in your sleep.”

“But Bloom an’--” Macintosh started to protest, but his coltfriend shushed him.

“I’ll take care of her, you big lug. You know she likes me, and you know I love her. I’m not you, but I practically live here, so I can help.” He looked back to Spike. “And he’s probably going to be living here still mostly, right?”

Spike nodded. “As far as I know, at least to maintain appearances.”

Caramel licked the syrup off his lips just to be sure, leaned up, and kissed Big Mac on the cheek. “Then do me proud, got it?”

“I’ll try.”

CAPTAIN ICE STORM

Ice Storm was a pegasus, and so the howling winds of the Canter Mountains phased him very little. They tore at his golden mane and whistled through his polished armor, but their cold, icy claws could not find purchase in his coat and skin. The magic of his ancestors burned hot within him, and he liked it.

His outward countenance was relatively sober, however. He allowed himself at most brief and reflective smiles while outside the walls, and this was one of those times. The smile came like a cat slipping across the street from alley to alley, and like a sneaking cat it was gone again. It was not that he was harsh, or that he mistrusted such displays, but that he felt them out of place. He had no love for what the works of the battlefield.

Not that such things were certain, today.

Once again, he scanned the pass and the road. Once again, it was clear, but such things had ways of changing rather quickly, and for the worse. Snow fell, driven into the cracks in the mountain face, collecting on his wings. Gingerly, he shook them out.

Canterlot was not monolithic, as ponies often thought. At least, it was no longer so. The mountain road that led up to Canterlot continued on past it, with its windy heights overlooking the jewel of the world below, and eventually they came at last to this place. The old ponies had called it Morningvale, and had Earth ponies had built a mining town inside the face of the next mountain, Mt. Goldhoof, which they had left unnamed. Locals called the abandoned mine and it’s tunnels the Warrens, now, and the little village in the valley was simply Morningvale. New Canterlot stood proudly for all the world to see--the original fort had been here, not quite as visible, overlooking the village and the little valley below.

Ice Storm’s perch was atop the ruins of the original fort of Canterlot. From here, he had kept his watch with the Seventh Airborne and the Eighteenth Infantry, both Lunar regiments. It was odd for a Captain of the Sun’s guard to be over his Lunar counterparts, but the times were strange.

Sitting beside him was a young batpony. She was in all ways his opposite. Brightly, sprightly, female, dark as soot to counter his own snowy white, with hair purple as an emperor’s robe and a smile like the moon.

She spoke. “How long will you be up here, captain?”

“As long as there are ponies in Morningvale,” he answered briefly. “Or in Old Canterlot.”

“I meant the walls, sir.”

He glanced over at her. “Until my shift on them is accomplished, Lancer. As I recall, your shift was to finish earlier than this, Amaranth.”

“I don’t have much else to do, really,” she said, shrugging. “The Watch isn’t exactly in a prime place for time off. Figured I’d come and sit on the walls.”

He hummed quietly, and looked back at the valley.

“It’ll be covered in snow, soon,” Amaranth said, presently with a voice like song. She sang, some nights, when the winds were tame and the cold a bit more bearable. The fire would obscure her face, and all that was left was a song. “I’ll miss the view. It’s a pretty town. The whole valley is wonderful.”

“I appreciate it as well,” he said. His eyes did not waver.

“You know, sometimes I think you’re a little too serious.”

Ice Storm sighed. “We all should be dedicated equally to the defence of the helpless. It is what I want most, and so I take it very, very seriously. As should you.”

“I do.”

Confused, he furrowed his brow. “Then your statement confuses me. Do you not think I am doing only what I should?”

“I’m not talking about standing on the wall, silly.” She leaned against the cracked, overgrown ramparts and bothered the dried, dead vines. Her armor was leather, unlike his own, and covered with the pictographs and symbology of her tribe.

“Then what?”

“You never smile.”

“Duty has no room for mirth,” he countered.

“Wrong,” Amaranth said softly, leaning still but turning to look at him. Ice Storm pursed his lips. “Wrong,” she repeated. “See, the way I see it, duty is the best time for mirth.”

“I… don’t follow.”

“The best time to cheer people up is when everything is falling apart, Ice Storm.”

“Everything is not falling apart. Yet. Nor will it,” he added, a bit too firmly. “They haven’t tightened the noose yet.”

She smiled, even so. “But they will. And it’s okay to smile before they do.” He expected her to continue, but instead she looked back to the hamlet and the valley. “The noose is going to tighten soon. It could be any day now.”

“The last raider incursion was a week ago,” he replied, not sure if this was evidence against his wingmare or for her. “The Seventh haven’t spotted any opposing fliers…”

“The Seventh are loyal and terrible at their jobs,” the batpony groused, and spat over the wall. Ice Storm frowned, but id not comment. “I’d never tell any of them this to their face, but they’ve been missing a lot.”

“And you’ve seen more?”

“I can see in the dark,” she said shortly.

Ice Storm blinked. “I… had not considered that.”

“Most ponies don’t. We may not fly as fast you, featherhead, but we have our own talents.” She said it with a grin, but not without a tiny bit of edge. Ice Storm appreciated that edge. “But I have seen a few patrols on the other side.”

“And you’re only now saying this?” Ice Storm asked.

“I only was sure of enough to say anything last night,” she replied, sighing. “I should have risked looking unsure earlier, Captain. I apologize.”

“As long as you continue to learn. You’re a good soldier, Amaranth. I’m glad to have you as part of the Watch.”

“Aw, that’s actually pretty sweet of you,” she sang. “I guess you know that I’m not just goofing off now, though.”

He nodded and for once put his full attention on her. Her lips pouted, her eyes danced. As she shifted her weight, her hips swayed and he wondered briefly if it were intentional. It was puzzling. If anything, she seemed excited, which was doubly odd.

“You seem to have more to say.”

“I want you to go flying with me.”

Ice Storm blinked. “Pardon?”

“Flying. With me. Two ponies. Nyoom, through the air,” she said, as if to a simpleton, gesturing with her hooves.

Ice Storm rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant. Whatever for, Lancer?”

“Oh, you know! The love of flying, the thrill of the wind against your face,” she lowered her voice, “the raider encampment on the slope that wasn’t there two days ago. That sort of thing.”

“A new one?” he asked, taken aback. “But… Surely not. We would have seen them setting up.”

“It was there last time I did a flyover. They weren’t even trying to be that subtle about it, to be honest. A few fires, a lot of movement.”

Ice Storm looked back to the valley, and to the mountains that surrounded them all. If it was true, then Morningvale was in danger. It had always been in danger, of course, ever since this whole mess began…

He growled. “Let’s go.”

“Need to wait a bit first,” Amaranth replied. “Just a few more hours, and we’ll have plenty of night time. I know you can’t see in the dark, but I have something I think might help. I’ll need a bit to work on it, though. Meet you at the top of the central spire in three hours?”

Ice Storm nodded. “Yes. I will be there, you have my word.”

The Captain was always true to his word. He had always striven to be as punctual and as precise as a finetuned instrument, in-tune with the needs of the world and his own spirit.

Old Canterlot, also called Castle Watch, was a ruin. Still, despite the wear of years and neglect, the basic layout was much the same as it had been in the old days. The new barracks, below the eastern and western walls, had been built over the previous structures. The modest citadel no longer was the throneroom of a petty king and his nascent country, but instead housed the Captain and the staff of the two attached regiments, as well as the actual Mountain Watch themselves. It stretched up from the mountainside in a single tower with a winding, nerve-wracking staircase and on top sat a simple flagpole and a box. There were four torches atop the tower, burning bright against the all consuming night, which cast the pegasus Captain in a ghostly half-light as a shade, and the wooden box was in shadow. The box was Ice Storm’s, and not a soul dared to touch it.

He did not lean against the ramparts. He looked over them, yes, but he would not slouch. I may be off duty, he thought grimly, but I will need to be alert. I pray that she is mistaken.

And he had prayed, though this was secret. His mother had held fast to the old Supernalism, treating the sisters as avatars of the Song, and thus in their own way, Gods. He had prayed to Luna--it was night, after all--twice before ascending the stair.

Amaranth arrived suddenly. The flapping of wings and the shadowy blur of her body was the only warning before she had landed beside him. He flinched.

“Heya, Cap,” she said, catching her breath. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Was having a bit of trouble.”

“It’s alright. It’s dark enough, at any rate,” he said. He eyed her, surprised to see no armor.

“You’re in full gear,” she noted, as if on cue. She laughed softly. “Always prepared, huh?”

“Should I discard it?”

She nodded. “Leave it here. Fly like the moon wanted you to, Cap. We’ll be quieter that way, and if we need to make a run for it you won’t be as tired.”

He hesitated. It seemed simple and reasonable enough. The flight was meant to be a stealthy surveyal, after all. Yet he hesitated all the same.

Amaranth sighed. “I promise you’ll be fine, Cap. I swear it.”

“It’s not your word I doubt, Lancer,” he said, perhaps a bit too sullenly. He undid the clasps on his armor one by one, awkwardly fumbling a bit in the dark, and then armor fell to the floor, clanging against the ancient stone. He winced at the harsh sound, but Amaranth shivered violently.

“Better hearing,” she said,her ears flat against her skull. “Hurts like hell.”

“I’m sorry,” Ice Storm said, frowning. “I… didn’t know.” He was finding out just how ignorant he truly was about ponies under his command. It galled him. A captain, especially a captain with so small a unit under his direct command, had no excuse for not knowing such things. Most of him wanted to apologize, but now was not the time. “Shall we go, then?” he said instead.

“Not quite.” As she knelt, he saw that she had a small saddlebag on her. Gingerly, she lifted out a small glass vial and set it on the stone. Puffing her chest out, she said, “This is made from moonflowers. It’s usually actually a pretty terrible idea to eat them, by the way,” she said as Ice Storm approached and picked it up gingerly, cradling it in his hooves. The liquid inside was a light blue, and glowed like a tiny star.

“Yet this is safe? How terrible do you mean?”

“Oh, you know. Hallucinations, the chills, lots of crazy stuff. It’s a really terrible time. Trust me,” she said again. “But our tribe has a recipe that uses them with a few other things to make a potion for darksight. It won’t make you sick, sir. I’ve been making them for friends who I wanted to fly with at night for a long time.”

“And this will allow me to see in the dark as you do?” he asked, looking down at the bottle.

“Yes sir.”

“Well. Let us see then,” Ice Storm said, and downed the mixture in a single gulp. It tasted awful, with all the burn of hard liquor and none of the taste, like breathing in burning and freezing sludge. He gagged, struggling to keep it down.

Amaranth was beside him as he began to gag. His eyes watered. His face and then his body felt like they burned, burned and there was no way to stop it.

And then, almost as quickly as it had come, the agony stopped. He stood panting, his legs spread and wobbly, but still straight. It was astounding, really, how quickly his calm and professional demeanor was washed away, like sandcastles at the beach.

“I… I’m sorry, I forgot how bad it is the first time,” Amaranth squeaked. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s… it’s fine, Lancer,” he said, struggling a bit to return to his normal tones. With that, as if to prove that he was indeed alright, he looked up.

The night was alive. As far as he could see, the land was illuminated in blues like a painting. He could make out the outlines of all of the castle’s structures, the scattered pines below, the dirt path leading back towards the Iron Gate and Canterlot. Morningvale was a painting bathed in starlight. He thought he had understood what the words “starlight” and “moonlight” meant, but before he had seen them as through a mirror, and but darkly. Now he saw them face to face, the silver radiance of a painting, the luminescence of a Goddess, and without thought he kissed his hoof to the moon.

Amaranth almost flinched. “You’re a…?”

“My mother,” he said quietly. “This… this is astounding. I can see everything. The stars--Goddesses Divine, the stars! They shine all the brighter. This is how you see things in the night?”

She nodded.

And Ice Storm grinned without restraint. “Marvelous. Now, lead me on. I wish to see what can be seen.”

They took to the sky with the grace of their two tribes, and mocked the low blowing wind with their speed. Amaranth flew in front, and Ice Storm fell in on her right flank, keeping close to ride in the current of air she left behind. Below them the valley passed quickly, towering pines and fields and little dirt paths. The little lake by the woods was already beginning to freeze, Ice Storm saw as they soared over it. Snow gathered in clumps here and there, and soon it would cover everything. It was all a month too early.

But they left Morningvale and the woods and the valley behind, and came back to hard, jagged rocks and crags. The Warrens were ahead of them and the slopes on either side. In the distance, the piercing peaks of the mountains were shrouded in pregnant clouds, storehouses of snow. More, then. He was prepared for it. A pegasus feared no weather that he could master or endure.

And then Amaranth banked right, and he followed her without thought, on pure instinct. Pegasi learn Follow-the-Leader as a tactic early in their training, though few did it as well as the Wonderbolts who perfected it. But he had learned to focus only on the lead pony, and with some effort he tore his eyes from the terrain below and gave Amaranth his full attention. As she corrected her course, so did he. As she slowed, so did he, until the wind was faster than they, and the buffeted at him as the oncoming storm rolled in.

At last, Amaranth pulled up, and they both struggled to stay hovering in one spot like ships on the deep sea.

“I’m not seeing campfires,” she shouted.

He looked, and saw nothing but crags. “Are you sure? Could they be wanderers?”

“Moving through the noose?”

He grunted. On second thought, it was ridiculous. “Shall we go lower?”

She shook her head vehemently. “No! Dangerous.”

“Keep going,” he shouted back. “Have plenty of time.”

They continued, circling over the southern slopes, and now he did look down. Between every jutting rock and in every depression and crack he looked for the tell-tale signs of an encampment, but found nothing.

Time passed strangely and frustratingly. His wings grew sore, and his head pounded. His hearing was shot, all static and ringing.

He wanted to give up. He did not doubt Amaranth in the slightest, but the encampment was gone. Perhaps she’d been mistaken. Perhaps they had been mistaken, and pulled up stakes once they realized their danger. Anything was possible, at this point. If anything, he was relieved to not find signs of encroachment this close to the valley. No foe had ever taken Canterlot in a half a dozen sieges, and it was in no small part thanks to the fact that none of them had been aware of just how flimsy the defenses behind the mountain were. Even with the advantage of the terrain, the castle was a wreck and the Iron Gate was half rusted. A focused, organized (or at least numerous) push would overrun everything, and he feared that the raiders knew it.

But this was good. They were not risking being caught. Obviously, they still respected the might of the Castle Watch, regardless.

He thought this until Amaranth pulled him up short, sending them tumbling in midair for a moment. Before he could ask what on earth she meant by it, the mare shushed him and pointed down below.

Finally, he saw it.

He had been prepared for a campfire. Three campfires. An encampment of thirty or forty ponies. What he saw was enough fires to keep two hundred strong warm and content. He saw them now, a few huddled bodies like ants around tiny distant stars. Their tents were well hidden, but he saw them all now, saw their number. His jaw went slack.

Two hundred. At least.

Amaranth was saying something, but the wind drowned it out. For his part, Ice Storm could say nothing.

The noose around Canterlot was tightening faster than anyone had thought. This would be the first encampment of many, he knew that. They would be coming in droves now. There were not enough ponies in the valley to make a show of strength, not with so many and not in this terrain. Their comrades would become bold.

They were going to lose the village. More than that, Ice Storm knew in a heartbeat that the noose was going to be drawn tight around all their necks, and there was little he could do to stop it.

XVI. Vain Empires

RARITY

For the first time in a very long time, she felt safe. For the first time in a very long time, Rarity felt as if the world was bright.

Partially because it was, with the sun’s blessing. The day before had been a short one, with only three hours of real light and a lot of gray and black on either side. But this day had been long and made mild by the northern climes, and so their arrival in Imperial Center was a beautiful one.

How could she forget such a place? It lived in her dreams, though they had been more occupied of late. She had felt its magic in her blood and loved its people with her actions once before, and still now, she felt as if it remained familiar. It had grown, yes. But growth could not change the heart of such a city from what it was, not one as old as this.

The returning cohorts were welcomed without fanfare, but with many faces all the same. Some were eager. Most were nervous or cautious. Several came to the Prince himself, bowing enthusiastically and asking for news of the world beyond the walls.

The walls. Those were new.

When she had first seen them, they had been too alien to contemplate at first. The Crystal Empire did not have walls around its capital. It never had. In three thousand years, Imperial Center had been naked of walls, secure in its legions and in its northerly position, safe from the warlike tribes of the plains of what would be Equestria and the far-off griffons. And yet circling the citadel and the shining crystalline city were walls at least fifteen meters tall, maybe even twenty. Not even close to the seemingly impenetrable bulwark of Canterlot, but still impressive for the work of a year. It had to be a recent development, of course. Nopony could have built a wall here without it being at least mentioned in Canterlot. She was sure of it.

Beyond the wall, black as midnight, the city was verdant. The trees and lawns of a thousand lots greeted her happily. Three dozen parks, thousands of tall, densely populated towers, a hundred or so pathways and as many fountains—all of them were bright with life.

The crowd around the homecoming cohorts dispersed after a few streets. Those who had begged for news were gently turned away and asked by officers to check the “boards”—whatever those might be—for the news they sought. Glum crystal ponies turned and, one by one, vanished into alleyways and neighborhoods.

Beyond the gates, the streets were never in as much disarray as the lower levels of Canterlot were. She saw a few slow, sighing sorts who wore their refugee status on their sleeves, painted around their eyes and rouged on their cheeks, but most of these crystal ponies smiled. They went about their business with vitality as if the world had never changed. She wished to see if it were true, but the soldiers and Shining did not go into more residential or commercial areas. They stuck to the main highway from the gate to the spiring Crystal Palace.

All the while, the three ponies from Canterlot kept to themselves in a little huddle, inches apart from one another. They had not sensed any of the jealousy of the Legionnaire since their initial meeting, but even among good and honest ponies, she found herself feeling out of place.

Would this be what it was always going to be like? Once, she had felt at home in many places, safe and secure in a vast array of different locales. But the world had changed, hadn’t it? Even here, in the Empire which had remained locked in time for a thousand years, things were changing.

At last, they arrived at the palace, where the cohorts were made to stand in formation to be accounted for and reviewed by Shining Armor. The Canterlot ponies stood to the side, watching as Shining Armor walked along the front lines of the two battle-hardened cohorts. The line was at least a hundred or so meters long, but he took his time, looking each pony of the front line in the eye, speaking to a few of them. Rarity noticed their eyes—Fluttershy was not the only pony, after all, who could pay attention to the way in which a pony held herself. Rarity too could see such things. She too paid attention.

Their eyes never left the Sword Prince. They all followed his every movement without hesitation and without calculation. This was not the stance of those who chose and weighed but of those who simply waited and moved as if they were willing puppets. It made her feel strange.

Perhaps that was a bit too harsh.

When he had finished, Shining Armor sent them back to their barracks in the care of their officers. The legionnaires, still in perfect formation, moved on. Despite wounds and weariness, they moved without difficulty or, at least, without the appearance of difficulty. She wondered at their strength.

At the last, Shining Armor came back, and before her, she saw not her friend’s goofy, amiable big brother but a quite different stallion. He was, for all the world, like a statue of the type she would expect to see in the old palace gardens in Canterlot or perhaps in a museum. He was made of granite, no, of marble—fine, white marble chiseled with care and with purpose. She was absurdly reminded of a display she’d seen once in a museum of art in Manehattan, where a picture had been emblazoned upon a curtain and then the curtain had been drawn back to reveal something entirely different.

But the hard exterior sloughed off. He grinned, and the gesture ruined the serious persona.

“Well, now that that’s done, we can get you three into better rooms than you’re used to,” he began. “Sorry for all of the parade and marching.”

“It’s quite alright,” Rarity said quickly. “The people must see their leader being, well, a leader. And I must say that you do a fabulous job of looking and acting the part.”

Almost like an embarrassed colt, Shining scratched at his mane and grinned. “Thank you. I try.”

He led them up the stairs and through one of the main doors into the towering Crystal Palace. On the inside, things had not changed as they had out in the city. That seemed to be part of what made palaces the way they were, she thought. They did not seem to change much at all when everything outside of them was changing. Canterlot Palace, the Crystal Palace, they did not change or falter as the world changed and faltered. They seemed to be constant and untouched.

A few servants shuffled through, as was also the norm for places like palaces, and all the while, Shining Armor was talking.

“I know you three must be wanting some real news and information about what’s been going on up here. I’ve been talking your ears off about Equestria since we found you in the snow.”

“Oh, but we were very happy to tell you,” Fluttershy answered. “Um, I mean, we weren’t happy about some of the things, but…”

“We understand, dear,” Rarity said softly before straightening her posture. “Now, I will admit that you’re right. I’m simply dying to know what all has gone on here in the north.”

“And I’m looking forward to telling you. I know that sounds really weird, right? But the way I see it, sometimes you can figure stuff out just by explaining it to somepony else.”

“It quite makes sense,” Rarity responded.

“Can we get some food or something first?” Rainbow grumbled. “If we’re gonna have some sort of storytime pow-wow, I’m gonna need snacks or I’ll be napping.”

“You sound almost like Pinkie,” Rarity commented with a smile, glancing sidelong at Rainbow.

And Rainbow stuck her tongue out. “Meh. It’s not that surprising. I mean, we’ve been friends forever, Miss Priss.”

Rarity only smiled and hummed.

“First, I’ll get you guys situated with rooms,” Shining Armor cut in and then called for a passing crystal pony, who was quick to respond and proceed over. The pony bowed, and Shining introduced him. “This is the good stallion who is really in charge around here.”

“You’re too kind, Your Majesty,” the old stallion intoned.

“Nonsense, you keep everypony’s head on straight, Cicero. Now, could I ask for a favor? I need…” He looked back at Rarity with an eyebrow raised for a moment then shrugged. “Three rooms, I guess,” he continued. “Make sure they’re the nicest guest rooms you can find. Also, tell the chef we have guests tonight, would you?”

“I can do this, yes,” Cicero said, bowing. “Will that be all?”

“You got it.”

“Excellent. I shall go at once. Your Majesty. Ladies.” He trotted off.

“Great guy. Old as the hills,” Shining said as they continued towards a tall stairwell. “But I never realized how much goes into keeping places like this working, you know? When I was still just the captain of the guards in Canterlot, a lot of this stuff was just far away, and I didn’t pay attention. I mean, yeah, I knew there was a mare in charge of all of the servants and there was a head chef, but I didn’t like know any of them. If I was inside the palace, I was on my way somewhere, passing through… or I was seeing Cadance.” He shrugged. “But there’s so much going on, it seems like.”

“Well, I’d imagine so,” Rarity answered. “A lot goes into making anything look splendid, I assure you, and this place is certainly splendid.”

“You should tell Cadance that,” Shining said as if distracted.

“I was hoping to see her, actually,” Rarity said quickly.

“Yeah. I kinda thought she’d be out on the balcony waiting for you, being all lovey,” Rainbow said, grinning.

“She’s a bit more busy these days. A bit too busy for waiting on the balcony. I… well, anyhow. She’s just really busy. But we’ll see her after dinner. Well, I mean, you three will. I might see her before that. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Anyway… come on. You guys can chill in one of the sitting rooms. I’ll have something brought up for, us and I’ll get to telling stories.”

“So, essentially, most of the Empire is intact?” Rarity asked, sipping on hot black tea before Shining could even begin to explain.

The servant, a young crystal mare, seemed shy. Rarity was careful to be very gracious, which did seem to boost her confidence. It was the little things, she thought to herself, that made a Lady’s behavior. The little things mattered.

“Almost all of it. Right after Celestia went on her sabbatical, we started having trouble with rogue changeling hives. Specifically, the hives in the mountains started going farther afield for prey, as far as Amarylis.” He paused. “This is where I realize you don’t know much about our geography. Hold on…”

Shining Armor stood and moved about the ornate chamber. There were couches around a central table, perfect for reclining on one’s side in the traditional crystal pony manner, and a rather large painting of some strange mythological scene on the other wall beside a small chest. Ponies carrying other ponies away from weepers. It all seemed rather unpleasant, but Rarity had to admit that the art was itself incredibly well-made. Silently, she sipped her tea and made a mental note to ask somepony about the odd painting.

Shining Armor rooted about in the chest for a moment and then returned, carrying a scroll in his magic. He laid it out on the table, and Rarity floated her tea and saucer out of the way in order to see.

The Crystal Empire was mountainous, much more so than her own homeland. It was pinned in on three sides by the dagger-like peaks and by the ice-cold seas that led to the end of the world. Mountain passes gave way to the long valley, verdant and wooded, in the center. To Rarity, who had an eye for the patterns hidden in chaos, it looked an awful lot like a smiling mouth. They had walked through this valley. It was all snow at the moment.

“Here we are, in Imperial Center… right at the center.” Shining Armor chuckled at his own joke. “See Amarylis, to the East? There was a raid on a village not far outside of there that was pretty serious, and from that day, things snowballed. Villages all along the mountains were raided. They suck the ponies dry, leave them weak and unable to resist, and then they cart a few of them off.”

“Abduction?” Rarity asked, sipping tea, albeit in a horrified fashion.

“Yeah.”

“But that’s so terrible,” Fluttershy said, hunched over the map. “Please tell me you found them…”

“Oh, we did.”

“I’m likin’ the sound of that. What’d you do, go kick some changeling tail?” Rainbow asked, flapping her wings.

Shining grunted. “I wouldn’t put it that way. They kind of did a lot of the work for us.”

Rarity paused and lowered her cup. “Some sort of internecine conflict?”

“The changelings don’t have just one hive,” Shining explained. “There are at least a dozen major ones, twenty or so minor ones, maybe several we don’t know about. Chrysalis managed to conquer or control or simply had soldiers on loan from about six major hives if I remember correctly. She was Queen of Hive…” He paused and then scrunched up his face. “Ch-Chr’yrs? It’s impossible to say it right. It’s kind of just noise.”

“Dreadful noise,” Rarity added.

“Yeah, well, what’s really dreadful is what happened to the hives after she got her tail thrown out of Canterlot. It shook a lot of things up with the hives, and then add that to the fact that the Empire pops up out of nowhere, and there was a lot of fighting. Her hive went from being the most traditionally dominant hive to almost being wiped out, to being back on top. Constant civil war. And then… well, then we started finding them just hiding. They weren’t raiding anymore. They just wanted to hide.”

“Hide?” Rainbow asked. “From what? I mean, there are zillions of them. They could swarm anything if it was that bad.”

“But they’d killed each other off. We really debated it for a while, but in the end, we gave any who surrendered and subjected themselves to magical screening asylum here, in this little town called Haven.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up!” Rainbow Dash flared her wings out, and Rarity took another sip at her tea. Her own thoughts about asylum she kept silent.

“I know what you’re about to say…” Shining began, but Rainbow would not be stopped.

“You should! That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard! They’re… they’re—”

“Changelings, yes,” Shining finished.

“And you just let them waltz in because they cried a few crocodile tears? That’s stupid!” Rainbow Dash hovered slightly above the ground, perhaps without even noticing it. Her face was twisted into a furious, nasty snarl; her teeth were bared. Rarity shivered. She had forgotten that pegasi had slight canines. She did not hate them; she feared them. Not a lot. Only slightly. They reminded her of other things.

Shining Armor sighed.

“Rainbow…” All three of their heads turned to regard Fluttershy, who sat on her own couch. “Don’t you think you’re being a little… I mean, I’m sorry. You just sound so angry.”

“Hell yeah, I’m angry,” Rainbow Dash said like she was driving nails into iron blocks with words.

“Well…” Fluttershy squirmed.

Rarity thought perhaps she was contemplating a muttering, downcast retreat, and so intervened. “Rainbow, dear, could you be so kind as to come back down to earth and return to your couch? I believe it might be best.”

Rainbow threw her gaze like baleful fire, like flaming arrows, but they fell flat against the shield of Rarity’s controlled and measured expression. Rainbow Dash wilted, her ears drooping as she looked down to see that her hooves had indeed left the polished tile. She dropped and then awkwardly mounted her couch again in a huff.

“Fine.”

“Now, as you were saying, Fluttershy?” Rarity said, lowering her voice and softening it.

“I just… Rainbow, when you talk like that, you don’t seem like Rainbow anymore.”

“Not like me? Like who then?” Rainbow asked, ears flat against her skull.

“You sound like the ponies in the Houses Major. Like Lord Blueblood, when he wanted to tell the Las Pegasus refugees to go away.”

“I’m nothing like that creep.”

“He called them rebels and said that letting them in the city would be stupid and we would all die,” Fluttershy said quickly. “You just don’t sound like Rainbow anymore.”

“I… Look, it’s different. They’re not even ponies.”

“S-Spike wasn’t a pony,” Fluttershy shot back.

Rainbow growled. “Look, it’s still different! Changelings… they’re liars. Their whole thing is lying about what they are.”

Fluttershy looked away.

“Rainbow Dash,” Rarity said. It was just a name, and though she still had not revealed her own thoughts, she put enough venom in those three syllables that Rainbow recoiled as if slapped. She continued, “I think that you need to stop acting like a child for a moment. I’d like to hear the rest of the story, for one. For another, regardless of how wise trusting changelings is, Fluttershy is right. You’re being horrid.”

“I just want… I don’t know. It just seems stupid. Rarity, come on. They’re changelings.”

Shining Armor spoke up. “And you’re a pegasus.”

“It’s not the same.”

“And I’m a unicorn. Outside there are crystal ponies, who are descendants of earth pony colonists.”

“The changelings hurt and kidnap and, like, frickin’ feed on us.”

“They also are all different, which you would know if you lived here,” Shining said mildly. “Beyond that, if we’re going to talk pasts, pegasi have a long and storied one of leaving a lot of death in their wakes. A few shattered empires ruled from cloud fortresses harassing the ponies below.”

Rainbow looked away.

“Please continue,” Rarity said.

“We let them settle in Haven. That was when we first encountered the creatures you met. The Mitou.”

“The wha’?” Rainbow asked, pouting on her couch but interested despite herself.

“That’s what they’re called. The Mitou. It’s an old regional word for them that we dug out of the records. The earliest mention of them in the Imperial annals is as a passing mention, reports of sightings, but they were assumed to be a mythical creature from the past’s stories, stories fit only for foals and fools.”

“But they obviously aren’t.”

“Yeah. They killed or ate or stars knows what to the changelings and chased a lot of them down into the valley. And then they started to do the raiding themselves. They sacked the town of Haven, and we started pulling the survivors from there and the ponies from the villages to the east out. Most of them are either here or in Amarylis City, just waiting for the snow to stop falling. It… it’s been a pretty hard winter, even for this far north. But we got lucky. You remember the whole ordeal with the Houses Major and the Crystal Empire becoming independent again. Twilight was right there helping us through the proceedings, and I kind of remember you three being in Canterlot… but whatever. Right after that and during it, I reformed the Imperial Army, starting with a few legions of volunteers, some of them from Equestria. So by the time that the Mitou started to attack…”

“You had soldiery with which to fight them off.”

“Exactly,” Shining Armor said with a nod. “And we have been as best as we can… which, I guess, you’ve seen. It’s not exactly easy.”

“It was horrible,” Fluttershy murmured.

“Those legionnaires got creamed,” Rainbow Dash said glumly.

Shining winced. “It’s not like we aren’t trying. They’re bigger, faster, stronger. They don’t have magic, but they do have some primitive technology—stars knows where they got it!—and it takes so many hits to kill them that we lose five ponies sometimes just to kill one, and that’s if we aren’t being ambushed. And with all the snow, and how white their fur is, how good they are at run and gun… it’s beyond just hard. It’s practically impossible. The roads are all theirs now,” he said, gesturing wildly. His voice was strained. “The cities are all in decent condition, and if we commit troops, we can get caravans from one end of the Empire to another, but we lose so many more legionnaires than we can afford.”

“But you have so many ponies,” Rarity said. “There were only a few of them. Perhaps they are not as great in number…”

“Or maybe there are tons of them. We have no idea, and that’s part of the problem,” Shining groaned. He shook his head and then straightened up. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long… long everything. We may have to institute a draft.”

Fluttershy shivered.

“A what?” Rainbow asked.

“A draft. You know, force citizens into service in times of emergency,” Rarity said.

Rainbow blinked, and then seemed to understand. “Oooh. Ecoplisia, got it. We have that in Cloudsdale. We don’t have quite the same reaction.”

“You wouldn’t,” Rarity said, a bit more sourly than she had intended to. “And so now we are here, surrounded.”

“Basically,” Shining Armor said. We have a few things going for us. I can show you one of them tonight, with Cadance’s permission. It’s… a secret.”

“Forgive me, Shining Armor. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Rarity said, wincing. “I had hoped we would find ourselves in a different situation from the one we left, that is all.”

“Seems like the whole world is in this situation,” Rainbow groused. None of them could say any different.

Soarin’

Soarin’ figured that the pony who sat quietly across from him in the booth could probably do anything he wanted. His face, the air about him—remembering what he looked like was like trying to keep a sandcastle in one piece. He was plain and unassuming. Beyond that, even.

In short, Soarin’ had decided he was a perfect spy.

“This is… kind of a weird place,” Soarin’ began, when the other simply stared at him.

On his right, Big Macintosh shifted and looked intently at the surrounding crowd.

The tavern was lively, typical of the lower tier clientele and location. Not quite Saddle Street, thank the stars, but only slightly more wholesome. Beer and cider flowed like waterfalls, and occasionally, so did blood. None at the moment, though, for which he was grateful. Soarin’ didn’t think it was so bad, really. Nothing too rough for a Cloudsdale pegasus.

Soarin’ had been getting into fights and finishing them since he’d been small. The grinning, goofy, pie-eating pegasus most ponies saw wasn’t a facade, but it wasn’t a full picture either. It was the better part of the picture.

“Not at all,” Page Turner, Princess Luna’s personal aide, replied. He said this without much expression.

“I mean…”

“It’s crowded,” Page Turner finished as if this was an old piece of reasoning. “Yes, I know. It’s also the epitome of a public space, could easily contain a mole, and on top of that it is dangerous. Mildly.” He paused as if remembering something. “Also, their selection is awful compared to the other establishments on this thoroughfare and slightly pricier, by a bit at most.”

“Oh,” Soarin’ said, blinking.

“You think a lot through,” Big Mac noted, his voice almost imitating that flat tone.

“I do try. It’s vital to be thorough about such things, I think. Thinking is… what I do.”

“I noticed. Now, since you’re all aware of those things,” Big Mac continued, looking back to spear the scribe with his gaze, “I’m assumin’ it don’t bother you ‘cause of some very particular reason.”

“Why should it? Think. I am almost unknown. I am aware of how little ponies of high birth notice those like me. I encourage it, even. I am as boring as possible.” At last, he flashed a small grin, and Soarin’ finally felt like he was in the presence of an actual pony. “It is quite useful to be a bore when one chooses. With less distraction, I have more time to think.”

“What about us? Well. Soarin’ here, this flyboy is noteworthy.”

“Aw, thanks, big guy,” Soarin’ ribbed.

“I didn’t say that were a good thing, featherbrain,” Big Mac replied offhandedly, like swatting a fly. When Soarin’ wilted, he chuckled.

“Yes, Mr. Swiftwind here is quite famous. The Wonderbolts stock has gone down of late, I will add, but the point is still valid.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Soarin’ replied, ears drooping as he grimaced.

“Sorry. I really meant no offense. But, as to your question, I assume the next logical step you would take would be as to why such a personage would be in such a dive as this? Why, because you are here. It is mildly well known that Soarin’ Swiftwind and the Element of Honesty are involved in a love affair. The stories in the noble circles call it ‘tempestuous’ I believe. No. That was someone else…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Soarin’s said. It wasn’t just his ears drooping. He felt like his whole body might just slump over and die at this rate.

“Hey, guys! Make room.”

Rainbow Rays nudged Big Macintosh and then found, to his dismay, that there was only room by the slight scribe. The young pegasus opted for a chair instead. He placed the three tankards down with a grin.

“This place sucks ass,” he said, cheerfully as could be.

Soarin’ grumbled something incoherent.

“But the bartender is fine. Like, I’m tellin’ you, the legs on that guy. Celestia burn me, I’d love to—”

“I get it, kid,” Soarin’ said quickly. “Oh gods, can we just get on with this? We’re somewhere between pathetic and laughable as far as being secretive.”

“You learn on the job,” Rays said and shrugged. Happily, he began to down the cider he’d brought. Soarin’ wasn’t too far behind. The scribe was the odd stallion out.

“Yes, I’d like to conclude this business as well.” Page Turner’s horn glowed, and he produced three envelopes. He distributed them to the three companions and then sighed. “Read them in private, of course. And do so only when it is properly night and not simply this abysmally undecided grayness. Failure to do so is unfortunate and will lead to disappointment.”

“Why?” Rays asked between gulps.

“Fire. Regardless, you won’t be able to read it.”

Soarin’ had no idea how serious he was. “So, marching orders,” he speculated, lowering his voice.

“In a matter of speaking, yes,” Page Turner said, matching his volume. “You will see. Also—”

“Psst. Boss.”

Soarin’ glanced over and saw a pleading Rays mimicking some sort of odd attempt at looking pitiful. “I need more bits to fulfill my mission. You know, the being distracting and drinking lots one.”

“Aren’t you great camouflage,” Soarin’ muttered. “Stars, kid, are you a machine or a pegasus?”

“What gets me ten bits?”

“Either.” Soarin’ produced the money from a pouch in the saddlebag smushed between himself and the wall. “Are you even of age?”

“Hells no!” Rays said cheerfully and wandered back to the bar.

Soarin’ reflected on how far the star of the Wonderbolts had fallen. Though, if he were honest with himself, he had always been the butt of the collective, omnipresent laughter in the outfit. The difference was that he was a part of that laughter, caused it on purpose. But this new world was one where he spent a lot of time out of place.

He grunted and was about to comment on the young pegasus when Big Mac spoke.

“He’s excited to be here with you.”

“How do you know?” Soarin’ asked.

“Because he said so earlier, before you got here.”

“He’s eager, alright,” Soarin’ groused, but most of the fire was out of it. He hadn’t been so different, really. It was common in pegasi of that age, right on the farther side of the divide of adulthood. You want to fit in, want to be a part of a crew or a gang. I guess we’re his new gang. It could be worse.

“Now that our friend is busy,” Page Turner interrupted, “I believe I may finally ask you a question. Both of you. Can you trust this young stallion?”

“Eeyup.”

Soarin’ shrugged. He looked over to the bar. You’ve got to be kidding me. Really? Balancing one on his head?

It kind of reminded him of Applejack, oddly. He couldn’t help but chuckle. “As long as he shares one of those…”

“I am trying to be serious here,” Page Turner said.

“Sorry,” Soarin’ offered. He kept his gaze on the pegasus in question. “Honestly? It depends on how you mean that. Like, do I trust him to not go squealing when the action starts or betray us? I don’t think he’s got that in him, and if Mac here is right, no motivation.” Of course, he grinned like a maniac over there, laughing, his whole self given over to the joyfully active slacking that came with subsidized drinking. “Do I trust him as in would I go back to back with him in a fight?” Soarin’ shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

“I suppose that is an answer enough for me,” Page Turner said as Rays returned.

“How much longer we here, Cap?” he asked Soarin’.

“I’ve got nowhere else to go for a while. Figure our friend here would rather split,” he replied, nodding at Page Turner.

“Yes. I have much to do.”

The scribe rose and adjusted his saddlebag once he was standing. “As always, a pleasure. Now, if you would excuse me…”

He trailed off as all of their attentions were drawn towards the bar.

An earth pony, a massive one almost as big as Macintosh, left the bar stool that was comically too small for him, stumbling back a step as he began to speak loudly and angrily. The pony next to him, also an earth pony but much smaller, leaned away from him. But this only angered the larger stallion, who moved in closer, demanding an apology loudly.

“Look, I didn’t… do anything,” the smaller earth pony insisted.

“You—”

Before the aggressor could say what it was he had done, another pony had stepped in between them. The young stallion’s defender was a batpony, not quite middle aged, with an eye patch and numerous scars. Soarin’ noticed the way he carried himself, the way in which he stood directly between the maybe-attacker and what must be his charge or friend. This batpony was a soldier.

The ambient noise of the tavern had died to a whisper as the huge earth pony huffed, staring down at the shorter batpony guard. Behind him, what passed for his friends gathered. Most of them were also earth ponies. All of them looked like bruisers.

Soarin’ knew a lot about fights. He understood the anatomy of a bar fight as much as it could ever be unraveled.

They always began the same way and ended the same way. You start with two ponies deep in their drinks, and a chair always gets knocked over, and one of them is always a complete, insufferable asshole, and they always end with everypony outside eating dirt. A lot could happen in between.

“Look,” slurred the younger, smaller earth pony. “I don’t want… any trouble. I didn’t mean to knock it over, my… good stallion…” He coughed and leaned against the back of his apparent champion. “Now, please, we can settle this whole debacle… uh, like civilized stallions, yes?”

That stupid kid is gonna get pounded into the ground, and he’s dragging his friend along. Soarin’ grimaced and slowly exited the booth, nudging Rays out of the way. It was frustrating, but in a sense, he was glad for what was inevitable. At last, something no one could laugh at him about.

He was going to beat somepony’s face in.

Page Turner put a hoof in front of him to block his way, and surprised, Soarin’ looked down at it. He glanced over towards the scribe to find his eyes wide and his mouth open.

“Don’t tell me I’m not allowed to interfere, because I’ll be noticed, because I’ll just push you out of the way,” Soarin’ said first. “C’mon. I’m not going to let this stupid kid—”

“Absolutely you’re not. By all means. Don’t you know who that is?”

The young stallion—he reeked of money and soft flabby upbringing—showed his true colors. His voice cracked. When the bruiser and his cohorts had not backed down, he appealed to the bartender Rays had admired, only to be met with frightened eyes. No, nopony would help him here, not with this particular crew.

“W-wait! Hold on,” he said, trying to hold them off just a moment longer. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Rich House boy,” the bruiser spat. “Fresh meat. Don’t be a little bitch, and maybe when I’m done—”

Soarin’ had had enough. Gods, but he was grinning like a foal at Hearth’s Warming. This was his day, his moment. When was the last time he had been in an honest to goodness brawl? Far too long, that’s how long. Starfire was going to be furious. She would tell him he was stupid.

Sometimes, he didn’t mind if ponies thought that.

“Yo, stick-up-your-ass,” he called out across the tavern. All eyes turned towards him. The bruiser stopped in his tracks with a look of supreme confusion. “Yeah, you, big guy. Why don’t we cut the shrimp some slack, you know? I mean look at him.” He tsked, shaking his head. “Look like a bully, man.”

It was all calculated, of course. They never took the easy way out. They always wanted to fight and bicker about it. Well, Soarin’ was a very obliging pony.

“I know who you are, hotshot,” the bruiser growled. “Hooflicker, flying like a damn bird for the one with the moon on her ass and the rest of these friggin’ failures. I’m not afraid of you. Scram.”

Big Mac was on his right already. Rays awkwardly shuffled at his left, shifting his weight from hoof to hoof like a mare waiting in line for the bathroom. Wow, wait to show the world your age, kid, Soarin’ groused, but he didn’t mind. Just made it better. What could be better than a baptism of fire? The pencil pusher wanted to see what the kid was made of? Soarin’ had fought side by side with a lot of slackers. He’d do it again.

“Uh… Cap?”

“Adults are talkin’,” Soarin’ said quietly.

“I don’t think he’s gonna back down,” Rays said nervously.

“Hell no, he isn’t,” Soarin’ replied, cheerfully.

A bar fight begins not with thought but with instinct. It is a web of action and reaction in a haze of intoxication and forgotten except for brief flashes of impact and the rush of air past one’s ears as a bone-shattering kick goes by harmlessly. Soarin’s youth came up like a ghost under summons, and it lived in his grin and it burned in his eyes, a hundred smoke-filled nights and a hundred shit-eating grins and about as many scoldings from a dozen commanding officers and relatives.

The bruiser struck first or tried to. He feinted as if he intended to make a rush at Soarin’ but twisted and sent two back hooves in the boy’s direction. The batpony could have dodged easily, but not without risking his charge, and so took both horseshoed hooves in the chest and crumpled. The sound of that impact was sickeningly wet.

Soarin’ moved at the same time, forgetting his comrades entirely. One of the bruiser’s friends upended a table, and with a single fluid motion, Soarin’ unfurled his azure wings and lept over the table like a jaguar. His front hooves hit somepony’s face, and down he went to the filthy tavern floor, rolling, his eyesight filled with color and scattered light. The stallion bit him on the shoulder, like an animal, like a lion, and Soarin’ got his legs beneath him and kicked at anything close enough. He hit something soft that gave way and the biting stopped.

Soarin’ was up on his hooves in a moment. They had the rich kid on the floor, and before Soarin’ could do anything about it, Rays hit him from the side, right in the stomach. The lanky pegasus bounced back and hit the floor hard, but the bruiser stumbled.

It was all the young stallion on the floor needed. He kicked at his attacker’s legs and scrambled out of the way. The bruiser roared, and around them, Soarin’ saw bar patrons scattering.

And then, against all odds, there was Page Turner. In his magic’s grip was a book, a tome like a brick, and the bruiser and he locked gazes for a brief moment.

“What the—”

It was all he could get out. The book slammed into his face at high speed, and he went flat on his back.

Soarin’ didn’t have a chance to register anything further. One of the others was on his back, kicking at his sides and legs. He let out a pained whinny and went low, trying to get a good kick in, but this one was faster on his hooves than his friends.

“Rays, come get this bastard!” he roared, continuing to take swipes. He couldn’t fight like this. He spun, only for his cheek to crash into a waiting hoof. He hit the ground with a thud.

He felt the rush of air, smelt the stink of sweat and panic, as the young pegasus arced through the air over him, hitting something and causing a ruckus out of sight.

He struggled to rise, disoriented and unsteady. His vision swam. A hazy, twinned apparition of Big Macintosh wandered in from the right, lowering his head under a panicking, backpedaling pegasus. Mac’s head went right under his chest, and between one blink and another, the foe was on his back on the bar, flailing and trying to move. Mac pushed him back behind the bar and then turned to face another.

By the time that Soarin’ had gotten back on his hooves, it was over. The bruiser was out cold as were two of his friends. The other three had fled.

Of his own ponies, he was in perhaps the worst shape. His bones all ached, and the joints where his wings met his body were sore. Did that idiot…? Stars, he bit me. Who does that?

Rays had gotten by with only the beginnings of a bruise on his cheek and a cut above his eye. Macintosh looked immaculate. The batpony was not so lucky. He’d hit his head on the counter when he’d fallen and was out cold. Soarin’ inspected the wound carefully. He was glad to find it was not serious, but now there was the problem of what to do with a downed batpony. He’d meant what he said to the scribe earlier, but he also preferred not to be the center of attention when it came to things like this. Not to the ponies outside the bar.

He groaned and nursed the beginnings of a world-class headache. “How’s the dandy, Rays?” he asked, grimacing.

“He’s fine, Sir,” Rays answered, his voice tight. Soarin’ spared him a glance and found him standing over the fallen pony, legs spread in a battle-worthy stance, ready for anything. His nostrils flared; his wings were spread out for all the world like he was expecting somepony else to come for his new charge.

“Glad to hear it. At ease, will you? Help him up.”

Rays blinked and shook his head. He trembled a bit as he helped the pony up.

“Sorry, bro,” he murmured, dusting him off.

“Sorry? Sorry, why… why you’ve saved me, you brave bastard! I’m forever in your debt,” the pony replied with the grin of the confused and the survivors. “Para? Where is Paradise? I need to thank him…”

“This him?” Soarin’ answered, standing over the sleeping batpony.

The grin turned to a look of horror. “Para? Para, answer me!” He rushed over and was on the ground again in a moment, right next to his fallen guard. “Paradise, you will answer me right now. It’s an order.” When the stallion-at-arms did not answer, he began to stammer and panic.

Rays came up beside him and bumped him. “Hey, hey, calm down. Chill… come on. Chill. He’s okay.”

“He won’t move,” the rich pony said flatly as if there was nothing else to say.

“Because the counter knocked him out cold,” Soarin’ said wearily. “He’s okay. He’ll live. We just need to get him out of here before the guard comes. Explaining this will be tedious, eh?” He smiled. It kind of hurt, but it was worth it. “What’s the name, kid? Soarin’.” Soarin’ extended his hoof.

The other pony stared at it and joined his own to it slightly, bumping it as if it were unclean. Or, at least, as if it were a bit foreign. “Fable. Fable Rowan-Oak.”

Oh. It was the only thing that Soarin’ could think.

“Well, Fable,” Rays cut in. “Want to help me carry him?”

“Y-yes…”

Macintosh was behind him now, Soarin’ could almost sense him. His hoofsteps were like thunder now in the abandoned tavern.

“Ain’t no guard on the street.”

“Won’t be for a while. The lower tier is going to the dogs,” Soarin’ spat. “Too many fools and hoodlums like us, I guess.”

The one pony he wanted to see was Page Turner, but the unicorn was gone, vanished in the confusion. Of course. I saw the look on that face.

Soarin’ watched the young scion of the House of Rowan-Oak and his own rookie prop the now awake and groaning batpony between them and pursed his lips. Rowan-Oak, the house with the most soldiers, the best levies. The House that won wars. The House that had been following Lord Blueblood around for a decade and who had followed him right into the rebellious faction. And so Soarin’ knew exactly what the look on Page Turner’s face was.

It was the look a chess master gets right before he sets a beautiful trap.

RARITY

Rainbow and Rarity walked the streets of Imperial Center in the liminal dusk when the gray of the new world gave way to the familiar and unchanging night, side by side. Fluttershy had wanted to stay and rest, but the prospect of doing nothing for hours had driven Rainbow to desperation. She’d pleaded with them to go somewhere, do something with her, so she could avoid both loneliness and inaction, and Rarity had relented. No, if she were honest, it had not been that hard to convince her. Inaction was one thing, but tension was another.

Rainbow hadn’t met Fluttershy’s eyes since her outburst. It was not a matter of shuffling about. She had seen many ponies drop their gazes in shame over the years, and this was not the same.

Neither she nor Dash had mentioned changelings or Fluttershy since they left the palace. Most of the talk was aimless or about the surroundings, reliving old days. There, the street corner where once a frenzied Rarity had run a crafts booth for the Crystal Fair, and there the open greenery where Dash had tried her hoof at jousting in the old style.

But Rainbow Dash was no conversationalist and never had been. There was only so much air and fluff she could pad into a conversation to avoid the quicksand tugging at them both, begging to be talked about. But she was a bad conversationalist, which meant that when the other things died off, she had nothing to replace it with because the point itself was hard.

Rarity knew all of this. She was good at certain things. Understanding how ponies talked to other ponies was one of them. At least, she liked to believe that this was true. It was possible that she overestimated her abilities in this area, always very possible with anything involving intuition and other ponies. The problem of other minds is so troubling, Rarity thought, pursing her lips as they watched a patrol of city guard pass by.

They were handsome fellows, she supposed, and seemed dependable enough at a glance. Light barding, more decorative and indicative of their roles than meant as protection against any sort of martial implement. They looked well fed, focused, in control. These were their streets and their ponies, and it had never been any other way. No scheme or monster could tear it apart. This was what their walking said, at least.

Rarity was not being idle.

When the guards were out of earshot, she spoke to Rainbow. “Impressive fellows, hm?”

“Eh? I mean, how?”

“They simply seem rather competent. I bet there is less of a problem with crime here.”

Rainbow shrugged. “I guess.” There was a pause, and as Rarity expected, she gestured wildly at the air. “It’s the gear.”

“Go on,” Rarity coaxed as she gestured with a nod. They crossed the street.

“It’s old. It’s worn. They polished it, and they’re trying to keep up appearances, but honestly that stuff has seen a lot better days.”

“So they use vintage gear,” Rarity said.

“No, their gear is somewhere else. On somepony else who needs it more than they do.”

“A legionnaire, then.” Rarity looked about. Their conversation was not so loud, but it was definitely too sensitive to be having while walking the street. She squinted. Was that a nice little cafe? Why, Celestia bless her, it was. She imagined they had tea. Wonderful tea—she distinctly remembered they had wonderful tea in the Empire. And coffee. Gods, the very idea of honest to stars coffee of high caliber… if it were not positively unladylike, it would almost be lust, that’s what she would be tempted to call the feeling coursing through her. Coffee!

“Uh… Rares?”

“Hmm?” She smiled at the cafe. Because it was wonderful.

“You okay?”

“I am delightful. Wonderful. Yes,” she answered. “I’m sorry. Did I miss something you said?”

“Uh, you missed like a bunch of stuff.”

“I… well. I am quite sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I was… am deep in thought. We should perhaps not be talking on the streets of such things. Would you mind sitting?” She turned and gave Rainbow a conciliatory smile. It was not often that her attention slipped.

Rainbow simply blinked at her. “Wow, you really didn’t hear me at all. I… damn, like I was about to get serious.”

Rarity wilted. “I’m… I’m sorry… honestly, I saw a cafe up ahead, and I became envious of the obvious lack of rationing here, and I just…”

Rainbow sighed. “Geeze.”

“I’m very sorry, Rainbow. Come, sit with me and let us talk, yes?”

“Yeah.”

Rarity led the way, pushing a burning shame back down her throat to coil itself around her heart. It was awful of her, to ignore a friend in such a way, even for a moment. A Lady gave.

They seated themselves quickly, and she made sure to smile at the pretty mare at the counter with her uniform and her promise of coffee and perhaps a cookie—she would see if they were out of the oven in the back yet. As soon as the mare turned, Rarity grimaced. Was she so easily distracted? And she had spent so much time calling Pinkie a slave to vice.

“Now… please, forgive me, Rainbow. I see you pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Rainbow said, pouting.

“Of course, forgive me again.” She blinked. “You know… I never did ask you if you wanted anything.”

“I didn’t really think about it.”

“I remember that you love coffee.”

Rainbow grinned. “Yeah, I tried quitting. Remember that? No caffeine for two weeks!”

“Yes. How could I forget?” Rarity said, leaning in with a grin of her own to match. “You were insufferable. I felt like you yawned so much during that experiment that it was a miracle you didn’t dislocate your jaw.”

“Heh. Yeah,” Rainbow replied, eyes wandering, glazing over.

Thinking of the past, no doubt, Rarity reasoned. “It’s on me. Shining gave me some bits when I mentioned that we might go out on the town briefly.”

Rainbow’s ears perked. “Sure, Rares. I’ll wait till she gets back.”

“Now,” Rarity said, wishing she could lean even further in without seeming ridiculous, “talk. I think you have quite a bit of that to be doing.”

“I didn’t mean to yell,” Rainbow said, ears folded back against her skull, her eyes down, her forelegs sagging as if lifeless.

“Well, that was rather straight to the point.”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I mean, like, I’m still not convinced I’m really wrong, you know? But you saw how she was looking at me. Luna, that hurt so bad, Rares. Like I had frickin’ punched her or something. I don’t know. Words are stupid. Feelings are dumb.”

“Sometimes. I like them sometimes, myself,” Rarity said.

“Like… I don’t know. Tell me I was right. Or wrong. Something.”

Rarity sighed. “I can’t make your decisions for you, Rainbow. Do you think you were wrong?”

“I know I shouldn’t have gotten so angry like that. I guess.”

“I will admit that I am perplexed about how to react myself, to this whole affair,” Rarity admitted and shushed Rainbow silent as the mare waved to her. “Hold your thoughts, darling, I’ll return,” she said and walked back to the counter.

“Here you are, ma’am. Six bits,” the barrista all but sang.

“Thank you. Ah, I see you’re quite the artist with foam. I’ve always admired how you do this, with the milk and making little patterns,” she remarked.

The mare blushed. “Thank you, ma’am. I really love when ponies notice. Could I get you anything else?”

“Just another. A, uh… an au lait; that seems safe enough for our pegasus friend.”

Rarity waited until it was finished and then came back to the little table. It was really a lovely setting, as the setting sun shone through the towering crystal. The streets were bathed in a rainbow of color, not unlike the wild, unruly mane of her friend, who watched her as she took her seat.

“It’s a lovely day. Well, a lovely night,” she corrected, gesturing. “Don’t you think so, Rainbow? I’m sorry if I seem frivolous. But it has been so long since I could simply enjoy a thing such as this.”

“No, I get that.” Rainbow paused and looked down at her coffee. “Geeze, did you really have to hit on the barrista?”

Rarity blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Rainbow grumbled.

With a sigh, Rarity sat and floated the coffee over like a little ship of peace. “I simply admired the work of an artist where and when I did not expect to find it.” Sipping at her own coffee, she found it a bit too hot and sucked in cool air to run over her tongue.

They sipped in silence for a moment.

“Do you think I’m a bad pony sometimes? With stuff like that?” Rainbow asked, looking directly at her, not hiding her gaze at all.

Rarity did not have the presence of mind or the energy to compose herself. She grimaced. “Rainbow, honestly, if I thought you were a bad pony… would we be here? Would I have accompanied you? Would I really have gone anywhere with you?”

“You… need me to hit things?”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Darling, do you remember the manticore?”

Rainbow snorted.

“Yes, all of you forget that! But besides that, I’ve needed you to not hit things more than I’ve needed that muscle exercised so far. Though…” She looked about briefly. There were few ponies around. Only two sat at the tables in the open air. A few wandered by. “That may change here soon. But regardless… no, Rainbow, I do not think you are a bad pony. I think you’ve learned bad things, and I think you make mistakes, but many ponies do. Myself very much included.”

Rainbow sighed.

“Beyond that… I don’t know if it is wrong or right to trust changelings. They don’t seem to have had any trouble with it, and I doubt that Shining Armor and Cadance of all ponies would make that choice lightly. In many ways, I understand what you were saying. The changelings… frighten me. I dislike them rather strongly.”

“Dislike.”

“But I would not kill them all if I had the chance. Perhaps I am weak then, Rainbow. So very weak.”

Rainbow huffed.

“If all we are reduced to is simple barbarism, simply lashing out at everything that isn’t us that moves out there, then we are lost, Rainbow. We’ll just be holed up in our cities sneaking potshots at hapless survivors outside who just want to find food until we all freeze and the sun dies. Sound familiar at all? In a year—no, I recant. Less than a year. Far too soon, at any rate, that would have been us in Canterlot. Raiders by another name.”

“I’m not a raider,” Rainbow said firmly.

“I don’t think you are,” Rarity responded. “And I would rather us all be able to say that when this is all over.”

“We can’t just… I mean what, go out and hug those bastards? That stuff is a bunch of baloney, and you know it,” Rainbow said, nursing her cup.

“And did I say to act foolishly? You’ll recall I said I wasn’t sure I would have trust them either. But there’s a difference between forgetting the offenses of the past and watching ponies or other beings who can think and feel die in such a way. I would not wish those monsters upon even the Houses Major.”

Rainbow couldn’t help but grin, but it was more predatory than mirthful. “I don’t know… Just one would be enough. They’d soil themselves.”

“Yes. Thank you for the image,” Rarity replied, rolling her eyes. She continued in on the coffee.

They spoke of nothing for a while. Coffee is congenial, but it is not always conversation that is inspired. Occasionally, a companionable silence is what seems most apropos for sharing on cafe porches, and Rarity was more than content.

It was like Ponyville. If she shut her eyes and imagined the smell of the Cakes’ bakery, it might as well have been Ponyville itself, born again. A light noise of bustling streets but not so loud as to be unpleasant. The smell of food and the laughter of content ponies on their evening business.

Often, far more often then perhaps was prudent from a purely business point of view, she had closed up early on particularly slow days and wandered by the Corner for a pastry of some sort and coffee. Pinkie would come and sit, and the gossip of the day would flow. Twilight, the true caffeine addict, would arrive eventually, craving something only Pinkie could provide. In this case, a mocha made the way she liked it. All of her friends, any of her friends could come by on those days, or maybe none at all, and either way it was still good. It was glorious. She had forgotten more than she had thought possible.

But were you ever one to stop by, my lovely Rainbow Dash? Ah, sometimes. Briefly, between one cloud and the next.

The silence was not awkward. It was companionable, gentle, a thing of breezes. Time passed both slowly and quickly, or so it seemed to her. She watched Rainbow’s tension ease away, and soon they were laughing again at almost forgotten stories of Ponyville and days when the world was younger. Every time she wondered how Rainbow could bear to sit still for so long, she would find that her friend had launched into yet another story. She did not mind. She did not mind it at all. It had been a good decision, following Rainbow. No, nothing had really been solved. That was not the point.

Her suspicions and theories about the Empire and its ruler? They would all be moot soon, or she would have ample evidence with which to construct new theories after their audience, and so there was really no need to talk it over.

Fluttershy

Right away, she noticed that things were different, when her friends returned. Fluttershy heard them before she saw them, chuckling in the halls. The sound brought a smile to her face. Laughing was a commodity, after all.

When they walked in the door, Rainbow Dash balked, but only after catching sight of Fluttershy, and only in a way that spoke volumes. She would not meet Fluttershy’s gaze. But she also did not retreat.

Rarity pointedly stepped aside and nudged Rainbow in the ribs.

“Hey…” Rainbow fidgeted, not bothering to protest beyond what she had said. When at last she caught Fluttershy’s eyes, she did so slowly, uncertainly.

“Hello, Rainbow,” Fluttershy offered, going first. She did not like making the first move. Rainbow was always the one who did, and it had worked that way forever. But she was beginning to grow tired of waiting to be reconciled.

“Hey, Flutters. I’m… I’m really sorry. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I got angry.”

Fluttershy smiled. “It’s okay. Did you enjoy your walk around the city?”

Rainbow nodded and Rarity began to speak. “It was lovely, Fluttershy. I do wish you’d been there to see the way the sun reflects in these crystals. Perhaps tomorrow, hm?”

“Of course,” Fluttershy replied softly, and patted the bed.

The bed where Fluttershy sat was at the center of the rather large quarters she had received. It had a full canopy, which she had found fascinating, paintings on the walls, chests and drawers--more or less everything a room of luxury could have, in her imagination. And her imagination had been helped along by long stays in Celestia’s palace.

Her friends sat, adjusting themselves, and then Rarity began. Her eyes seemed alight, her manner one of nervous excitement. Fluttershy found it draining, but not in a bad way. She was happy somepony was happy. Rainbow, too, seemed content, and she sat close to Rarity.

Fluttershy stored this moment for further review. She did this with many things.

“Now, dinner will be soon,” Rarity said. “And with it comes our meeting with the Princess.”

“Empress,” Fluttershy offered, a bit timidly.

Rarity blinked. “Hm?”

“I thought at first it was the title that the ponies here used, but Cadance dropped the Princess from her name herself.”

Rainbow looked between a startled Rarity and an even-toned Fluttershy quickly, squinting her eyes as if trying to make out writing far away. “What? What’s the deal, Rares?”

“It’s… I mean, it’s not as if it has to mean anything,” Rarity said. Feebly. That was the word. Feeble. Fluttershy added this to her assessment of things.

“I don’t know,” Fluttershy said.

“It, well, might be.”

“Can you please tell me what the hay that means?” grumbled Rainbow.

Rarity sighed, her ears drooping. “Well… the Princess title is what showed that she still considered herself Equestrian in some way. She kept it of her own volition after the coronation.”

“She wasn’t from Equestria originally, wasn’t she? I thought not…” Rainbow said, scratching her mane.

“No, though she loved us and our country. She was not. She is Henosian,” Rarity began, and paused. “It’s not as if it has to mean something bad. It’s just sort of disconcerting on the eve of our request for aid that she would do so.” She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m reading into this far too much.”

“I just wanted to know what you would think. I didn’t mean to worry you,” Fluttershy said. “I’m sorry, Rarity.”

But Rarity waved her apology away. “No, no. You’re quite alright. Perhaps I am simply a bit more sensitive to it.” She paused, humming. “You know… No, I think that you might not. We used to be noble, my family.”

Rainbow looked at her askance. “No way,” she said flatly.

“Indeed we were,” Rarity affirmed. “A Major House, too. House Belle! Our House words… ‘Of Great Heart’, if you’ll believe it. I always thought they were strange ones, if comforting. Or aggrandizing.” She chuckled. “It’s silly, but I grew up on that history. We lost our house hundreds of years ago. I forget many of the details. When I was much younger, I could have recited the whole tale, for it was long and sad, but I’ve lost most of it.”

“I never knew,” Rainbow began, but a knock on Fluttershy’s door cut her off.

Cicero, the stallion who had shown Fluttershy to her room, informed them that dinner would be served shortly, and that the Empress would see them beforehoof in the throne room.

Before any of them could say a thing, he left. They looked at each other in confusion, but stood.

“I… Well, we were going to see them anyhow,” Rarity said, and shook her head. “My, but for some reason I begin to feel ill at ease, my friends. Do you feel off, Fluttershy?”

“Me?” Fluttershy responded, cocking her head to one side.

“Yes. You’re marvelously perceptive. I trust your eyes and feelings more than my own.”

Fluttershy hummed, and then said, “I feel like there’s something we’re not being told, but I don’t think we’re in trouble or danger or anything bad and nasty like that… just they don’t want to tell us something. Or they don’t know yet. I mean, the other ponies. That Cicero pony knows. He wouldn’t look us in the eye.”

Rarity nodded. “Right, then. Shall we go? Rainbow? Fluttershy?”

“I’m starving!” Rainbow said, right after Fluttershy knew she would. “Let’s get this over with already.”

“Yes, we should go,” Fluttershy added.

And so they did, walking back along the halls they had come through, the ones adorned with tapestries and paintings and more gold than any of them had ever seen in another single place in their entire lives. Even at night, it shone with the reflected light of hundreds of candles. A scattering of maids lit these as they passed, most balancing on stairs, most of them Crystal Ponies. Fluttershy worried they would fall, but her attention was torn from their spectacle by the great door to the Imperial Throne. The Obsidian Throne, she corrected herself as the doors opened.

They walked in, and in an instant she was confused.

The windows were covered with great tarps that had been rather obviously tacked on in a hurry. The room smelled slightly stale, as if no pony had let it air out in weeks.There were tables with haphazard piles of paper on them and a few dozen ponies of various races in barding worrying over them, talking in low voices over something urgent. One would rush to another table with papers, and then return when something was explained to him, and so they went without caring a bit for the three newcomers.

The Obsidian Throne itself was under a great tent made of tarp, shielding it from light. What light there was, at least. Half of the lights had been left unlit, and the others were random in their placement. This was no throne room. It was a war room, one that Fluttershy realized had not been opened many times in months. She saw bedding now, by the walls.

Rarity saw them too, aparently. “Fluttershy, do you--”

“Yes.”

“But… this is…”

“This place is worse than my house used to be,” Rainbow grumbled.

“I guess we, um, should keep going,” Fluttershy suggested quietly. “I mean, if that’s what you think. I mean, we should.”

They did. None of the three mares of Canterlot could muster an answer to the strange sights as they passed the worried, frantic, sleepless planners. How long had they been here? Why did they not leave? Did they not? Fluttershy had no real data.

They approached the great tent and stopped.

Shining Armor emerged, his expression flat. Or so it appeared. To Fluttershy he looked distressed, torn, unsure. His eyes would rest on each of them but briefly, and his gaze stayed nowhere for long. He pursed his lips and gritted his teeth.

“Shining, good… ah, evening,” Rarity said, stepping forward.

“Yeah,” Shining said. “Don’t move, please. Also, be quiet. Try not to be, like, exciteable.”

“I cry your pardon?” Rarity shot back.

“Just go easy, alright? She’s bad enough as it is.”

“What on earth are you talking about? Please be--”

But Rarity did not finish. From the tent came a familiar voice with an unfamiliar burden. It was Cadance’s bright, cheerful voice twisted by something in the dark, cool enclosure. Strained, as if her throat had never had water, shaky as a newborn foal.

“It’s alright, Shining. Come here, girls.”

Fluttershy gulped, and before the other two moved, advanced. She would not be afraid. She would not be afraid. The voice was so different that all at once she was afraid to look and see what the truth was, but she heard pain. She heard pain and she could not bear to hear pain.

She stood within the dark, but could not see Cadance. There was a faint glow that she thought came from a horn, and some strange dancing lights that she did not understand. Her eyes, tricked by the glowing candles from before, perhaps.

“M-may I have some light?” she asked.

Rarity, behind her, gave it. A very dim ball of illumination floated into the enclosure.

Fluttershy covered her mouth in horror. She wanted to cry.

Cadance sat upon the obsidian throne like a wraith, like a body that should have died but had not. Her face was sunken, her eyes were dim. She smiled, but it only seemed to make everything worse, as frayed hair covered her face as it would, grown wild but without lustre. She was almost skeletal, like one who starved, and her labored breathing seemed to fill the tent like thunder.

But then Fluttershy understood, and then she did weep, if quietly, as her friends came to stand at her side. Cadance’s horn did indeed glow, but it was not the sign of magic she was accustomed to. The aura was dark, almost alive, dancing like a true fire, shining out from the spirals of her beautiful sculpted horn. The aura radiated out from tiny rashes and bruises along her legs and abdomen, and behind the whites of her eyes it waited like a crouching beast to spill out. Along her neck and legs and cheeks and chest, everywhere there was room to draw them or carve them or however such things were placed, there were runes glowing with that secret purplish fire. They looked as if they hurt. But it was what she held that tied it all together. Nestled safely against her chest was the Crystal Heart, which pulsed as if alive with a purple light she had not seen before, but which she felt like a hand pressing down on her lungs and heart. Cadance stroked it like one would stroke a foal, held it as if it were her own child.

She coughed, and the force of it rippled along her body and shook every bone. She was not dying. Fluttershy would hear it in that cough. No, she was not dying, but she suffered. She wasted, and Fluttershy knew too much about medicine. She did want to know such things because they made her understand.

“I’m always glad,” Cadance said, “to see my favorite sister-in-law’s friends.”

She was trading her life for time. The shield had been up all along. Maybe it was protecting every single city in the Empire. Dozens of cities and towns, and all of that magic pouring out of her every moment of every day for a year.

That could never last.

Author's Note

Chapter XVII: Stand Tall! For the Best of Equestria

XVII. Monheim

TWILIGHT

Twilight woke from troubled sleep and found that the world had not changed.

It had in some ways, of course. The morning light that streamed through the ragged cloth over the porthole was sharp like a knife. They were farther from home. Yet things had mostly stayed the same. The bed was still surprisingly comfortable, her door was still closed, and she was still in her cabin removed from everypony on the ship. As she had been for a week.

Twilight yawned and stared up at the rusty bolts on the ceiling.

The good ship Alicorn, as they’d decided rather enthusiastically to call it, was better than expected. It helped that, shortly after pulling out of the port, Applejack and Tradewinds had found a wide-eyed work crew onboard. Unarmed, frightened, and with few choices, they’d been willing to work with the Canterlot interlopers. Twilight had forgotten their names. She just didn’t have the energy to care.

Sighing, she turned on her side, away from the cabin door. Tradewinds had come once. Applejack had come four times and had been frustrated the last time. Pinkie came by…

She blinked. Keeping track of how often Pinkie visited was impossible at best. Pinkie would just simply be there and then off somewhere else just as quickly as she had arrived. The ship and its melancholic air had not slowed her down as much as Twilight would expect. Nor had the bullet wound, apparently.

She’d asked Applejack about Pinkie’s leg the last time she had visited. Pinkie’s recovery is the only good news on this stupid ship, Twilight thought. She’d feared infection, but Pinkie was already sprinting up and down the halls. She’d found food supplies in the mess; Applejack claimed she’d been baking a cake for the bemused but nevertheless appreciative Vanhoover sailors.

The crew they’d picked up was doing well also—if with a bit of distrust for their new shipmates. Specifically, the Blues. Twilight couldn’t really blame them; though, it would have frustrated her had she the energy or the care.

For a moment, Twilight considered simply drifting off to sleep again. It wasn’t as if she would do anything if she rose. If she went outside, her path would simply bring her back to her cabin again.

She rose, grumbling, and fluffed the pillow. If only nopony would bother her ever again. She could just stop doing everything. Forever.

Content, Twilight lay her head down and closed her eyes.

Only to see an explosive shell tear Axiom into tiny, gorey scraps.

She shivered and jerked, eyes going wide. It was only a vision, a brief reminder, and it faded, but still her heart pounded in her throat and her heart ached and would not let go. It was an impossible nightmare. One moment, he was there—breathing, alive, staring right at her—and the next he was not. Twilight had seen ponies die before. Not often, of course, but she had seen it. They gasped and groaned and fell and bled. These things were horrible, but at least afterwards, when the smoke was clear, their bodies could be recovered. There was a bit of dignity in the proper care of a lifeless shell.

Axiom had simply stopped being. Reduced to strips of flesh and shrapnel bone and viscera. Not simply dead but gone. Erased. Burned away.

There was, of course, nowhere to run from the sight of him ceasing to be. When she shut her eyes or covered her head with the thin, useless pillow, he was there—dissolving. When she slept, he stared at her.

Growling, Twilight turned to face the door.

It was at this moment that somepony knocked, and for once, Twilight was grateful for the interruption.

“Um… Twilight? Awake?”

She recognized the thick northern accent immediately and sighed.

“Yes, Tradewinds, I’m awake.”

There was a silence that Twilight felt was probably more awkward on the other side of the door, and then their castaway began again. “Can come in, da?”

Twilight looked around, weighing the possibilities, and then chided herself. What, am I afraid it’s too messy in here?

“Yes, come in,” Twilight answered. The door creaked as it opened, and in the opening stood the light blue pegasus, with her ridiculous half-shaved mane and enough piercings to make a grown stallion faint. If it were any other pony on the singing earth, Twilight would have thought they were simply trying too hard. But this one? Twilight wondered if she were even truly aware of how she looked. Tradewinds’ name may have suggested cunning and an ear to the ground for profit or chance, but the reality was a mare with a broken wing and a smile Twilight called vacuous when she was in a sour mood. On better days, she was reminded of somepony else, though she could never place exactly whom.

“Um, privet, Sparkle. Uh, Twilight. How are you?”

“Fine,” Twilight said, a bit more brusquely than she had intended. The pegasus did not flinch, however, and Twilight couldn’t help but give her credit. “Kind of just woke up from a nap.”

“Oh, well, am very sorry. But wished to ask question.”

“Shoot.”

“When will you be coming out?” Tradewinds asked, straightening herself.

Twilight arched a single eyebrow. “No ‘will you’, just a ‘when?’”

“We all have to come out some time, Twilight.”

Twilight blinked. “Maybe.”

“We are coming to islands and thought perhaps you might want to see, da?” Tradewinds smiled a smile to challenge some of Pinkie’s best, and Twilight couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Islands, you say?” she repeated, yawning. “What sort? I confess I’m shaky on geography.”

Ordinarily, she’d have simply told Tradewinds to leave, but… why not? It was better than having nightmares. Or doing nothing. Marginally better, perhaps, Twilight thought and gave Tradewinds a long look.

The pegasus carried on, oblivious. “Yes, is Island Thera, very pretty from afar. Crew is talking about landing to forage or trade with locals.”

“And you’re sure there will be locals to trade with?”

“Eh.” Tradewinds shrugged. “Captain says yes. I do not know, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight sighed. “Well. What time is it? I guess I could… like…”

“Come updeck, yes?” Tradewinds asked.

Twilight shrugged.

“Oh, good!” She beamed, wings flaring slightly before folding back tightly against her body. The injured one moved slower, and the look of pain on Tradewinds’ face moved something in Twilight. She approached and inspected the wing.

“You took the bandage off.”

“Was bothering me,” Tradewinds grumbled.

Twilight sighed. “You need to keep the wing still. Come on, I’ll take you to the infirmary and wrap it.”

Twilight gently placed a hoof on Tradewinds’ chest, and the pegasus moved reluctantly. Again and again, Twilight was surprised by the muscle definition she found there, the resistance the mare’s strong body gave to her hoof’s touch. With her strange manner, it was easy sometimes to forget she was a warrior.

Twilight led them deeper into the ship. Its iron halls creaked slightly at their passing, though not in a way that worried Twilight. At this point, the ship coming apart underneath them would just be the sign she needed to convince herself that Celestia just wasn’t there. It wasn’t like the Alicorn making it to the West was going to help much anyhow.

The insides of the ship were confusing to her. Had she been up and about, Twilight supposed that learning the layout would have been rather easy, but her bed was safe and meant a lack of interaction with her fellow ponies—a thing she was beginning to wish for more and more.

To her surprise as she turned the corner, Twilight found a pony lying in one of the two infirmary cots. She frowned, trying to remember to what crew he’d belonged before all of this mess. Had he been one of the Blues or one of the Captain’s ponies? She supposed that it didn’t matter, really, as they were supposed to all be the same crew now.

Ignoring their guest, Twilight examined the infirmary itself. It was unfortunately rather bare, with most of its medical goods carted off to benefit the Blues in their fortress. She supposed what was left of it had, well, burned.

“Let me see if I can’t find some bandages,” she murmured, opening the cabinet doors with her magic and peering in at the dusty shelves. Nothing. More doors, more shelves, no bandages. Pushed back into a corner, she found a small box, which she grabbed and levitated out into the light. She could hear Tradewinds doing… something behind her. She supposed it couldn’t hurt if they both looked, as long as that wing stayed secure a few more minutes.

“What is that?” Tradewinds asked. Twilight glanced over to see she’d already sat on a steel table in the center of the infirmary.

“Looks like pain meds. How’re you feeling?” Twilight asked as she turned the box over, reading the warnings.

“Am… not so bad,” Tradewinds said.

“The truth if you don’t mind.”

“Wing hurts.” She was quick to wave her hooves in front of her face as if dispelling any attention. “No longer feel queasy!” she said quickly. “Boat is wonderful place.”

“The boat is terrible,” Twilight said.

“‘S not terrible,” grumbled the injured pony in the corner. Or sick pony, perhaps. Twilight wasn’t really sure why he was lying on the cot. He looked alright.

“Whatever,” Twilight groused. She looked away from the stranger in the corner and back to Tradewinds. Words formed like clouds in her mind, but a wind blew them away. Something held her back. She turned and looked for bandages.

There were some, at least. She opened a container laid somewhat carelessly in front of the closet door and found a roll lying inside. Beside them was a bottle of Wild Pegasus clearly labeled “For Medical Purposes Only” and two shot glasses. Twilight rolled her eyes.

She turned around, holding the roll in her magic. The strange stallion on the cot had turned to look at them silently, and Tradewinds sat awkwardly on the table, frowning. She looked down at the floor, away from Twilight.

Twilight sighed. “May I ask you a question?” she said. Tradewinds looked up at her, and Twilight cleared her throat. The stallion also watched, but she tried to ignore him. It just made things more awkward.

“Always, da,” Tradewinds said quickly.

“Why did you take them off? And where are your old ones?”

“Except that one,” the pegasus said softly, not really replying. She bit her lip and looked away. “They are in ocean.”

“Why?” Twilight grit her teeth. No, she would not be irritated. She would find out. But the irritation was there. She wanted to be annoyed. She wanted to write Tradewinds off as an idiot and go back to her bed and her room. It wasn’t her fault. Nothing was her fault.

“I…” Tradewinds looked at her, really looked at her, for a moment. Twilight felt exposed as if somepony had shaved off her coat completely. “You would not understand, I am thinking,” she finished. When she frowned this time, it was different. The first frown, Twilight thought, had been more of a thing of shame over being caught. The second frown was a gesture of distance.

Twilight opened her mouth. Her lips smacked, and she was far too aware of it. She licked her lips, a nervous habit, another thing she was far too aware of, and which added to the atmosphere that pressed on her.

All at once, as if standing before a mirror, Twilight thought she caught a glimpse of herself.

“Twilight?” Tradewinds cut through her reverie—or tried.

“Could you try?”

“Am sorry. What do you mean?”

“Could you try?” Twilight repeated. “To explain, I mean. Could you try?”

“I suppose…” Tradewinds replied. “Well… it was not free.”

Twilight blinked.

“My wing. It was not free. Could not move it,” she repeated, gesturing awkwardly as if trying to show Twilight something that could not be shown.

“Well, of course,” Twilight replied, slowly. “Because it’s still not really up to moving much, yet. You can’t move it.”

“But it cannot move.”

“Yes… yes, that’s what I just said.”

“No, no,” Tradewinds shook her head. “You will not understand.”

Twilight did not feel irritated this time. She did not feel frustration. Mostly, she felt like she was talking to somepony on another ship, across a long, foggy bay of dark water.

“You need to move it.”

“It… if I crack your horn, would you do?”

Twilight took a moment to parse this and then answered. “If… if my horn cracked, a lot would be going on, but I think I see what you’re trying to say. It’s a part of you.”

“Is more than wing,” Tradewinds said. “It is life. It is the thing that makes Tradewinds Tradewinds, and not…” She blinked. “Do not know a good earth pony name for Tradewinds.”

The stallion on the cot chortled.

Twilight looked at the bandage and then approached Tradewinds. She inspected the wing in question and was not surprised to find that there was still obvious signs of physical distress. The fur right above where her wing began was cut haphazardly, whether the result of fire or wound Twilight did not know. The feathers were in complete disarray, but only on the injured wing.

“Does it hurt to preen? Or is that something you can’t do?”

“It hurts,” Tradewinds said, almost whined. “But I could if I wanted to… perhaps…”

“No, I figured it would. Reaching underneath for the uropygial glands would be painful…” Twilight mused and then sighed.

“I know. It is looking embarrassing,” Tradewinds murmured.

Twilight shook her head. “No, no I didn’t mean it like that. I was just asking. No, put your wing down. Don’t try to do it, alright?” She sighed. “Does it embarrass you that much?”

Tradewinds nodded. “My mother, she taught me to be presentable, da? Also, to avoid things with sharp teeth.”

And, at last, Twilight chuckled. The effect on her companion was instant. The pegasus’ ears perked up, and she smiled. No, she almost seemed to glow. Twilight found it curious and filed the reaction away. Filing, filing. She was always taking notes. Never did stop being a student, she thought.

“How’s your neck, by the way?” Twilight asked, thinking.

“Is still sore.”

“I could preen your wing, I think. I can be careful enough to make it presentable. Would that make wearing the binding a little more bearable? I remember that Rainbow wasn’t really big on being flightless.”

She looked away from the injured wing and shoulder and found Tradewinds looking at her curiously. “You know how?”

Twilight nodded after brief hesitation. “Yes. I mean, I’ve…” She stopped and then laughed, genuinely and without reserve. “I’ve read lots of books on the subject,” she finished. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I haven’t said that in a long time. But yes, I know how.”

Twilight set the bandage aside, and Tradewinds hopped down from the table. “So… where shall I be, da?”

Twilight gestured vaguely over towards the cots. “We’ll get out of the center of the room.”

As they shuffled over, Twilight brushed the table and was shocked. It was cold. She expected as much from a metallic operating table, yes, but it was easy to forget just how immune pegasi were too cold. It was so strange, she thought, not stopping to think more on it.

Tradewinds sat near the wall, pushing the cot to the side to make room. Twilight sat beside her and pursed her lips. Now to remember exactly how this preening thing worked.

She remembered the glands under the wing for waterproofing, and as she inspected the injured wing once more, it began to come back. Her mind was always keeping notes, after all. Very little was lost for good. Even her magic had come back. In its own way, of course. When it decided it could blow up as much as it wanted.

“Is everything alright?” Tradewinds asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Twilight muttered. She had been frowning of course, screwing her face up in frustration. Because she was bad at emotions. Remember that.

Twilight went to work. To be fair, she did have some experience; it was simply not the most encouraging experience, and Fluttershy had been far too gracious about the whole thing. But she found that there was less pressure sitting in the infirmary, under the sickly washed-out ship lights, her companion’s back almost against the walls with their chipped-off paint and their age. It felt easier to see the pattern of how the wing should be, of how the feather should align to work together. Wings were systems, puzzles. They were organic machines built for the purpose of flight, and she had always found them to be particularly beautiful.

Thankfully, Twilight had plenty of restraint, and decided that it was perhaps not the best comment to make.

Tradewinds hummed as she worked, and the mild tension in her shoulders melted away like ice thrown into a fire.

Twilight did not speak but found she didn’t have to. The silence wasn’t awkward at all. If anything, it was full, saturated with peace. Peace… The word drifted in her mind like a castaway on a calm sea, which she supposed was apt even if it was cliché. She knew that, and yet nothing in her said that it mattered.

Tradewinds would speak, and Twilight listened as she straightened the scattered feathers, bringing them to order with little tugs. They had no real taste but softness, but they tickled her nose a bit.

“I am reminded of my mother,” the pegasus began, her voice thick not with accent but with something warmer and happier. Twilight stole a look, curious, and found that her eyes were closed.

“Oh?” Twilight prompted.

“Yes, back in Petrahoof,” she murmured, like a curious song. “Am thinking of a day in winter, when I was very small, and my cutie mark, she was new, da? I was very excited. I said that now this meant I would be able to be flying everywhere. I would be like bird! I was silly foal.”

Twilight nuzzled under Tradewinds’ wing, feeling awkward, but not enough to stop. It helped that the pegasus seemed to hardly notice. She had read, of course, that they did not view touch the same way a unicorn did. Preening was just something one did with friends and family as much as one would a lover or a trusted pony or even a wingpony. Fluttershy had not exactly been a good case study, for such things, nervous as she had been.

Though she was a unicorn, Twilight found herself thinking less about what she was doing and more feeling her way through the process. It was both alien and natural, different from running a brush through a friend’s mane only by the mechanics of the act itself.

And Twilight listened as she waterproofed the wing, making sure to be gentle, preferring to do a poor job over causing any discomfort. For the most part, she found that there was no trouble. Tradewinds and her wing were just fine. Twilight nuzzled under it, and then the oil there was applied to the wing. It was a simple process—a repetitive, relaxing one.

“My mother, she told me of course that I was not quite ready to be soaring, but I could fly, you understand? Just not very well! So I am telling her all of the things I will be doing, and it was snowing, and the fire was so warm, Twilight Sparkle. It seemed as if it was always snowing and the fire was always warm, forever, when I was a filly in Petrahoof. And my mother, she knows my magic is still growing, da? Was less coldproof—is that the word?—back then, and so she tells me, ‘sit little one.’ And I sit. And she tells me very seriously that I cannot be going out like this! For you see, my wings, they were not in their proper flying order.”

Twilight made a small “ahh” noise, not bothering to comment. It was more of a recollection than a story, she thought. Maybe more for her than for me. It’s a long way from Petrahoof. Twilight sighed. It’s a long way from Ponyville, too.

Tradewinds continued on. “So, with having told this, she sat me down, and she began to work, as mothers do, da? And we were near the fire, and I was still young, and next thing I knew, I was waking up on little couch,” she said, chuckling lazily, almost dreamily. “My mother was not a pegasus, Twilight Sparkle. She did not understand, but she tries hard, you know. You have mother too, of course.”

Twilight grimaced without meaning to, glad that her friend’s eyes were closed. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well, you know of mothers.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She was sure it did not take long, but still, for Twilight, it seemed to drag on forever. Not in a bad way, necessarily. The moment simply seemed to linger. Idly, her face full of feathers, Twilight couldn’t help but think that the princesses did this. She wondered if they ever had anyone help them. Why hadn’t she ever helped Celestia do this? Or Luna, perhaps. It seemed so wonderful… Tea with her teacher had been the highlights of her younger days, after all. Relaxing, soothing calms in stormy years of study.

But soon she was done, and Tradewinds hummed and thanked her. Twilight smiled, without reservation, and thought perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to go up to the deck.

LUNA

Luna Songborne, Regent of the Night, Hammer of the Stars, Forger of the Diarch’s Crowns, was in bed past lunchtime.

To be fair, these were not normal times, nor was she in bed out of laziness. She had risen to aid the sun in rising. It was harder and harder these days. The shining light of her sister’s charge graced the land unevenly, haphazardly, and Luna knew that the strangeness in its touch was not all because of her own lack of affinity. It had always seemed strange to her, so unlike her own moon’s aura, but the soul of that great fire, Sol, had never been distraught at her touch.

Luna sighed but rose.

She wondered, as she often did when she was alone, about Twilight and her friends. Weeks had brought only sporadic news. A few reports from Twilight, one or two from Rarity. They always seemed tired and sore, with little to say but bad news.

But it was time to rise. She had stayed abed long enough.

The room was empty, as it had been for a very, very long time. Her chambers had not always been empty. There had been servants in brighter days. A gaggle of chatty, giggly mares to dust and gossip. A memory rose up from the deep waters of the past—an image of two earth pony mares carrying fresh linens into the room when she’d been reading in her study. She had peeked out and watched them, millennia ago, as they’d discussed some guard or other. The names and words had faded from her mind entirely. The music of their laughter had not.

Luna left the safety of her canopied bed and went out to the balcony to look over the city. Below her, the old city, bathed in light that was too early in waning, sat like a surly old stallion in the corner of a tavern. The one who always had some glum proclamation or prediction, no matter the weather. She supposed it was more her imagination than the city itself, though the mood had indeed taken a turn quickly in the past week.

A sudden breeze pushed at her. It seemed gentle, but Luna could not enjoy it. The cold weighed on her. Most things did, these days.

Spike had been on the verge of panic when she had opened her eyes at last, the night she had gone deep into the Aether to see the source of the darkness. Her whole body had been burning. When she had reached up to bid him be still, she had seen her own leg and known what troubled him. Like ivy, a thaumaturgic fire burned on her skin, ignoring the coat for the vital life within.

It has been a long time since I have seen true blood magic, Luna thought, and rested her head on the railing.

She missed her sister. She missed Twilight. She missed many, many things. They would know how to handle such esoteric arts. The last time Luna had seen a true bloodmage, the castle in the Everfree had been beautiful and rather new. His head had also ended up as a bloody pulp. She clearly remembered that part.

It had been Celestia who had whiled away at the magical arts. Not to say she knew nothing of them. Luna’s magical knowledge was vast. She’d forgotten more than most of the unicorns that had ever been born had or ever would learn. But Luna had always been more practical in her arcane studies. She wished to know how to build and rend, to grow and wither. Celestia had gone after lore and fundamentals, the secrets behind the laws that governed the life force of the universe. Celestia had not been unlike Twilight Sparkle in her younger days.

Luna brought her magic to heel with a thought, sending it to search her chamber for the scrying stone. She found it, oddly, underneath her bed, and levitated it out to the balcony to look at its strange, flat surface. Her reflection was faint against the roiling mist inside.

“Active, then,” she said, though no one was present. It was good to hear a voice even if it were her own.

Why had she called the artifact out to her? It was a mystery. She’d simply wanted the thing all of a sudden. Thinking of Twilight and my sister, she thought, smiling at the globe.

Would Twilight answer a call? It wouldn’t hurt to try. It had been some time since Twilight had reported back, and the last conversation they’d had… There had been hints of something in the future. Luna recalled being troubled by her descriptions of Tall Tale and that city beyond it… Vanhoover? A new city, one raised long after her departure in exile.

She activated the scrying globe and waited. Twilight would probably not answer immediately, and it gave her time to collect her thoughts.

Rarity’s last report had been a day out from Imperial Center. It had been a curt narrative of an attack by strange creatures of a type that Luna recognized. The Mitou were as old as she. Well, no. Not as old as she was, exactly, but close enough to count by pony standards.

Back when we were adventurers. When the world was young, she mused. Luna the Hammer and Celestia the Mage. They had beaten and burned every monster and villain from the Empire down to the Great Sands and beyond, to the jungle highlands where the zebras prayed to strange beings and spoke the name of Gan. Or they had, in the old twilight days.

Perhaps she would tell Twilight about those days. The idea brought a smile to her lips. Yes, she would. Twilight would listen intently, always happy to hear a story of the princesses. Or, at least, of Celestia. But she wouldn’t mind if it were about Luna as well, she reasoned. Of course not. Twilight was always eager to learn and listen. She could tell Twilight all about the old Gods of the Mountain and their rule of terror. Two alicorns leading a party of hardy adventurers had done much to curb that scourge.

It had always been that way. Two sisters, come Tartarus or high water. Or rain. Lots of rain. Endless rain. She could almost hear the rain on one particular day, as another memory rose to the surface—

“Celestia? We’re lost.”

—Luna took a sharp breath and stared straight ahead, her eyes boring into the plain. It had always been this way as well, that to be an Alicorn meant to remember. Yes, over the many long years she had forgotten things, but not many. She remembered much more.

She might have gone on staring into the distance had the scrying globe not thrummed and glowed bright gold. Luna blinked at it and waited as the luminance faded and was replaced by Twilight Sparkle’s smiling face. Smiling: that was a good sign, Luna thought. Smiling meant alive, for one thing. It tended to carry with it a suggestion of victory, at least in context. She did not seem jubilant, but Luna supposed that adventuring was tiring. She would know. In any case, she smiled back.

“Twilight! We—ahem.” She cleared her throat and stood a bit straighter, tried to seem a bit more composed and a bit less like someone recovering from magical burns. To that effect, she shook her head, and her mane fell over the right side of her face, blocking a view of her body, Luna hoped.

“Still trying to code switch?” Twilight asked.

Luna chuckled. Twilight Sparkle had a way of pulling a pony up by the bridle. “Yes, it can be difficult at times,” she said, “but I do make the effort. I believe it’s worth it to speak as myself with friends, with no intervening barriers of State and pomp.”

“Keeps you sane,” Twilight replied, and Luna nodded.

“But enough of my linguistic feats,” Luna pushed, leaning in slightly. “The last time we spoke, you were in the process of securing transportation. It seems you are alive, and as you do not seem overly… morose. I trust that you and your companions were successful.” She tilted her head, awaiting a response.

Twilight blinked. No, it was perhaps more accurate to say that she stared. All at once, Luna felt as if the ground beneath her hooves had shifted and turned to mud. Mud not unlike the mud that she had sloshed in a long, long time ago.

“Celestia? We’re lost.”

It was a day she was trying not to think about with Twilight heading West. In that direction.

“Twilight? Can you hear me?” Luna asked, furrowing her brow. Scrying globes rarely encountered difficulty, but it was not unheard of, and these particular artifacts were rather old.

“Yeah… yeah, sorry. Spaced out,” Twilight stammered, and looked away. “Yeah. Ship… uh.” She looked at something behind the globe and then levitated it, swinging the artifact about so Luna could get a view of the deck.

It seemed a rather large vessel, though Luna supposed it was needed for the long journey. Ponies walked the deck here and there, disappearing behind shipping crates almost as soon as they appeared.

“It seems you were quite successful indeed!” Luna said.

Twilight took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I was… but that’s that. You may be interested more in what I’ve been doing, but I am dying for news of home. Is Spike there? How is he? How are you? The city...”

Twilight was rambling, words upon words in a flood. Luna usually enjoyed when she became excitable like this. Enthusiasm had always impressed Luna. She had valued it in her champions and companions over the years. In Twilight, she found that it could be a fire to power any machine of thought or invention if one would but blow a bit on the embers.

“The city still stands,” Luna said. “Miraculously.”

Twilight blinked then grinned. “Good. Sorry. What’s the news?”

“Well, the houses are, of course, plotting,” Luna began. “Nothing has changed in that regard. The scope of the plot has metamorphosized, however.”

“When I left, House Blood was trying to woo the Rowan-Oaks into a real, firm alliance instead of simply occasionally being on the same side relative to you.”

“And that is all that they were doing until you left. As I feared—in fact, you’ll remember that I told you this would happen—the departure of you and your friends changed things.” She sighed. “The lines are being drawn, the real lines, the ones between rebel and loyalist. It is becoming less and less about policy and more and more about sovereignty.”

Twilight let out a frustrated growl. “Figures.”

“Yes. ‘Figures’ is right. But you’ll notice I’m not hopeless quite yet,” Luna said with a smirk. “Spike has been such a help. Your idea was wonderful, and I thank you for it.”

Twilight smiled, looking away for a moment. “I figured it’d be perfect, you know? I’m leaving both of you behind with… well, kind of just nopony. You don’t have your sister, and he doesn’t have me around… I mean, I’m sorry, I guess that’s a little presumptuous, Your Majesty.”

“Not at all. It was wise. I confess I miss my sister terribly. Your company as well—though we both knew that you needed to leave. Well...” She paused. “No, you knew. I was too foolish to notice, and you had to show me.” She cleared her throat, racking her brain. Was she forgetting something important before she tried to pin Twilight down with something less world-shattering?

Twilight sighed. Again. “I miss her too.”

And just like that, Luna felt heavier. Her face wilted into a frown; her attention dragged. For a moment, she wished for something mad: that Twilight would simply turn around and come home. Celestia had had so many students, so many companions. Luna had only Twilight Sparkle, the only one who would stargaze with her, and she was headed West, where Luna would never go again except in chains. The West, where the world petered out, narrowing and narrowing to a fine point where the ground gave way to mud and water and strange. tall grass and endless rain.

Luna took a deep breath. “It’s worth it, Twilight. Pardon. I mean that it is worth it, going West. She’s out there still. I know she is.”

“Would you know if she died?”

Luna shook her head. “Not in the way you mean.”

“I’ve just… I’m just not sure,” Twilight said, lowering her voice. She positioned herself and the globe so that they were in the corner of the little cabin now. Luna could see a door behind Twilight’s back before she pulled something in front of it and plunged herself into darkness. “The blankets should muffle me a bit,” she explained tonelessly. Now, in the light of the globe, she looked too pale, too thin. Luna could see now a place on her cheek where some of her coat had been singed off.

“You’re not sure that Celestia lives? Or do you doubt the worth of searching?”

“I don’t even know. For once in my life, my problem has nothing to do with logic or thought. Getting this boat was hard, Luna. We had a friend, a pony we picked up in the city who was helping us…” She shivered. Luna lost her face in shadows for a moment.

Luna stared, mouth half open and mind still.

“It was so bad… Luna, so many ponies are dead in that city. They’ve been killing each other, and we were stealing the boat and there were cannons, and I couldn’t just not shoot back… Oh, stars… Luna it was terrible.”

“I… I did not know.”

“Now you do. I’m just… I’m fragile right now,” Twilight admitted. “I keep wondering if it’ll be me next or Applejack or Pinkie… or you or Spike. Rarity. Dash. Fluttershy. Anypony. Is it worth us dying like that, just to find Celestia?”

Luna bit her lip.

It was a cruel and enduring irony that in all of her long years, Luna had not actually succeeded in understanding the ways of the hearts of ponies. Their natures she thought she knew, but Celestia was the princess who could soothe their waking spirits. It was Luna who stared, the one who was easy, the one who clung to the mask like a lifeboat, because when she took it off she had nothing.

“My sister…” She faltered. What would she say? That Celestia would make things right? Maybe. But not immediately. Not for a long time. Bringing Celestia back would not heal all the wounds. The darkness in the Aether was still there, and still… It occurred to Luna, suddenly, that Twilight Sparkle had not yet been told of her discovery, and she solemnly decided that the unicorn would not know until it was necessary. If her faith wavered at this, it would not survive the revelations Luna had paid for with her pain and sanity.

And she could not in good conscience lie, either. Lying by omission she could think at until it seemed acceptable, but she would not say there was hope when there might not be any.

Except, she wondered if that was the whole point of the thing. Hope. Like candles.

“My sister would do the same for you, Twilight Sparkle,” she said at last, and Twilight’s eyes met hers miles and miles away. “She would do the same for you in a heartbeat. I would as well. It’s not just… It’s not just about what she can do and what she can fix,” Luna said, pressing on before she broke down and let her secrets loose. Twilight deserved to know. She couldn’t know. She wouldn’t understand. It would take too long to explain. But she had wanted to tell her the night before her questing had begun, when her fears were just fears and not theories that were solidifying. “It’s not just because she’s a princess, Twilight. It’s because we love you. You are our dearest friend and student and companion,” she said quickly. “If you aren’t sure about doing it for Equestria, do it for yourself.”

Twilight looked down.

“You know,” she said quietly. “I always felt guilty when I was a filly.”

“Why?” Luna asked, caught off-guard.

“She was like a second mother. I love my mother, and I would never have them trade places. But as I grew up, I thought that I was being too… presumptuous. When I went to Ponyville, Celestia was trying to shake me out of my coldness. It wasn’t that I was cruel or unkind, Luna. I was simply closed off, unwilling to risk. Like I am now, I guess. I risked a lot in that city,” she spat and then shivered. “And I lost my bets. My friend died.”

“And you regret risking.”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said.

“Risk is perhaps not the thing you should be fearing, Twilight,” Luna said, pressing. “Mayhaps you should fear the absence of risk. When a thing stops risking, it has begun to die, I think. To dare is to lose one's hoofing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself.”

“That’s a tall order,” Twilight said, a little sullenly. But she did not disagree, Luna noted.

“Yes, it is. Life is rather difficult. I would know. I have been walking the earth, to and fro, for quite a long time, Twilight. In fact,” she continued, glad she had just been thinking about such things. “I told you a little of my time in the West, but you know little of the rest of our life.”

“Nopony knows most of it.”

“That is because much of the interest lies in the chaos and immediacy. Life is lived forward but understood backwards. Once viewed from a distance, much of it is not as worth the recounting as one would believe. Even our days as adventurers would be little more than entertaining stories.”

Twilight sighed.

“I refused risk when it came for me,” Luna said. To say that she said this quietly and that it seemed far too loud would be understatement. She knew that it was simply her mind, but it felt as if those words were hammers on her ears or cannonfire over the Gorge like in the old days before the Fall. “In the West, when my sister and I went in search of something very important.”

“Where were you going?”

“The place that I think… I think Celestia has gone back to, Twilight. The Well… The Well of the Firmament. There are two Wells of the Song, Twilight, but we went to the farthest reaches, and what we saw and did there I was sworn never to speak of, but there was a day when I could not touch the moon nor plead with the sun. I was an alicorn, gifted in magic and strength, capable of great things, but I was no more magical than I was in the moment that I was born out of the Song,” she said, cringing at the word. Song. Song, song, song. “She kept telling me it was a prophecy, Twilight, that there was a prophetic reason for us to go and do what we did. We had a grand destiny!” She groaned. “But I, too, was worn down by time, Twilight.”

“I… Where? What happened?”

“Jannah. Jannah happened. We were betrayed, but that was just painful. Jannah is… I do not want you to go,” she said shortly. “You have to. It is necessary for you to go to that place, but I do not want you to. I do not want anypony who has ever been born to have to climb the great white walls.”

“But what’s… what’s wrong with it?” Twilight asked, eyes wide.

Luna shivered. “Everything. The city lives—if you can call such things as are there living. It crawls with that which should not be; it is plagued by the siren song of the damned and the forgotten. Millions snuffed out in a night, Twilight Sparkle, led to their deaths happily, singing softly in the streets as their bones were crushed and their skin was split and their wills digested. Monsters, my dear, dear friend.” Luna cut herself off, softening her voice. “My dearest friend, you will know when you are there, and when you come to the city I will be prepared to speak of it in more sober tones. But after we left that place, we went West. We went West for a long, long time. And it was there that I first lost myself.”

CELESTIA

The appointed hour had come and it had come too soon, far too soon. Celestia could feel it, despite her sodden coat and wings, despite her bone-weary state. It was like a knife between her ribs, burrowing into its warm new home.

She had felt it all along, of course. Building. She felt it—though at the time it was smaller and nameless—when the rain started. But the days of rain had been too much. It was as if the journey had been merely stacking stones on Luna’s back until this last moment when a careless mistake sent them all crashing down. The last straw.

And when she couldn’t hear the miserable splashing of Luna’s hooves in the damp, chest-high grass, this all occurred to her in a second. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“We’re lost.”

Luna’s voice was like ice. No, it was more like cold iron. Like Antenna’s serrated dagger, in Jannah. How many months it had been since then, almost a lifetime ago?

“Celestia? We’re lost.”

It was odd to hear her whole name spoken aloud. Luna always called her “Tia.” Sometimes she might say “Celly” if she was being facetious, yes, but rarely did they use her full name.

“You never call me that, Lulu,” she said.

“Well. We’re lost.”

“Not really.”

There was silence between them for a time. Celestia stared ahead, out over the dark reeds at the world’s bitter and watery end. She had no idea how close or far the mountains were, that lay in the distance. She only knew that they were ahead of her and that she had to get there. It was important.

Why am I not turning around? Why won’t I address her properly? It didn’t make sense. She should have felt alarmed. She should have responded to Luna’s challenge, Luna’s plea for some certainty, in kind. Celestia the Comforter. Celestia the Explainer of Things.

Instead, she let the gentle, persistent rain wash down her face and her cheeks. It collected below her, soaking her hooves. She found herself numbly glad for her hoofbindings.

“Celestia, answer me with something other than stupidity. You aren’t a fool. How far is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Luna was gritting her teeth, Celestia knew this. She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye. At last, she turned to face her accuser.

The rain had forced upon Luna the visage of the damned. She suffered. Her mane was plastered to her face as if she had simply stopped caring enough to peel it off. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep—there was nowhere to sleep that was not cold and wet. Even the makeshift campsites they made and protected with their combined magic eventually succumbed. She was thin, so thin. Her ribs would begin showing soon, Celestia guessed. It was only a matter of time. Already she looked hungry, less herself. She was a shadow, a hollow impression of what had been. And might yet be.

Perhaps.

“Well? Speak!” Luna demanded. She was in something that looked almost like a fighting stance, but it was far too pathetic. Celestia could not feel anything. Perhaps it was because it had been so long in coming. It had been a year in the making, at least. Maybe more. Maybe it stretched back to the moment Luna had emerged, sobbing into the Song.

Emotion would not come, but Celestia’s mind still raced. “Lulu—”

“Call me by my name. The one I gave myself. If it pleases you.”

“It does,” Celestia said, very softly. “It does very much so, sister mine. Luna, we are not lost. I cannot point to where we are going on a map. I cannot mark the exact spot. But I know where we must go and from where we have come. I know that we are on a line between the two, following the path. Is that not enough?”

“Is it?” Luna asked.

“I would think so. Do you trust me not?” Celestia asked, and she was tired. The road was long. Her hooves ached. She found herself wondering when they would begin to rot in the water.

“I don’t know. I am unsure, to be honest. If it is, then I’ll keep going. But why should we go at all? What is there to find? It’s just a myth, Celestia.”

“Your grand proof of this, sister?”

Luna huffed. The rain continued as it had since the dawn of time, here at the frayed edges of the map. A drop hit Luna in the eye, and she blinked it away with a little growl. “The burden of proof is on you, my elder. We both know that your claims and your search are foolhardy.”

Celestia sighed. “I don’t know this at all. Luna, we’ll never get anywhere sitting.”

“We’re standing.”

Celestia wanted to feel something. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to curse, or stomp her hoof and send up a pillar of water. She wanted to berate her sister. But there was simply no fire in her. There was only aching and steel.

“I concede that. Yes, we’re standing. But we could be moving out of the rain.”

Luna exploded. One moment she was tensing with annoyance and frustration, and the next, she was screaming. Her eyes glowed with an unholy blue light which Celestia recognized well. At last, she felt something. Fear.

“THERE IS NO LEAVING THE RAIN. IT GOES ON FOREVER, UNTO ETERNITY.”

“Sister!” Celestia backed up, hooves kicking up water behind her. She prayed that they would not be caught in the reeds. “Sister, you told me this would end. You need to calm down!”

“THERE IS ONLY THE RAIN, AND WE WILL NEVER LEAVE. IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT. THERE IS NO END.”

Luna was hovering now, her wings defying the rain. Magic held her up—Celestia knew this—but as her sister’s wide wings spread and cast a shadow over her, she was reminded which of them had always been the better flier.

“Luna, s-stop this right now. You told me you wouldn’t! You promised!”

“WE WERE PROMISED THAT THE RAIN WOULD END. WE WERE PROMISED MANY THINGS.”

And then the talking was over. Luna lashed out with a lance of arcane lightning that caught Celestia on the face. The world was white light and searing pain, and she screamed. Sight was gone. She thought she was bleeding,but she had no time to check. Celestia hit the water. Her magic rose to the dance, and though she could not see, Celestia could still fight. Her sister burned like a torch in the dark, a magical beacon for everything that slept at world’s end to see and come for ravenously, and Celestia would take advantage.

She swung, and Luna howled, her voice tripling, stretching, deepening in a way that Celestia had not been able to explain when this had happened before.

“Luna! Come back to your senses at once!”

“WE ARE SANE AT LAST.”

Celestia called the water around her up, and in her mind’s eye, free from the blinding pain of trying to see, she felt the outline of the roiling, stagnantliquid’s every drop. She knew every particle of it, and it was a part of her for a split second before the deluge was heaped on her sister’s head.

And then Celestia ran.

She could win. It was more than possible. Luna was stronger, yes, and faster. She was the better fighter in many respects. But she was not a creative duelist. Brute force went far, but Celestia had rarely been defeated when they sparred on the Rock of Jannah as youngsters. There was no doubt in her mind.

But she was so very tired of hurting ponies.

The water protested beneath her. It resisted her momentum. The rain beat against her face and invaded her eyes and mouth. Breathing was hard, and she was gasping into the humid air. She cursed the time that moved strangely here at the place where the maps ended. It could have been seconds. It could have been years.

She heard something roaring beside her, and she knew Luna was trying to kill her this time. A thousand duels, a thousand thousand weeks and days and works, and here at last Luna was going to kill her before it was finished.

And finally Celestia was furious. As her sight began to come back to her and the ghostly outline of the mountains danced before her infirm vision, she cursed the Well at Jannah and her sister and all the ponies along the way she had loved and hated and lost and all the days since the Song ended and the circle had been broken. She hated all of it. She hated every single thing in the entire world.

Her hatred was cut short by Luna’s arcane assaults, which shook the ground beneath her. She tripped.

Landing in a heap, Celestia knew it was over. She tried to rise, but her right hind leg cramped, and she groaned. It was pathetic. She was going to die because her sister was mad and had always been mad, with no sun in sight to offer her warmth or succor. It was unfair.

Most of all, she thought she might hate Luna. Perhaps. In this moment, at least.

She turned her head, and Luna—no, it was not Luna, and she refused to call it Luna—stood over her.

“You should have let me die in the streets, Sister. When I held you up,” Celestia spat, and realized she was crying. “You should have let me fall.”

And Luna stared.

And sank.

And wept.

And Celestia held her, because it was who she was. She had little choice. Luna needed her.

“Tia?” She managed. “Tia, I’m sorry. I was angry,and the rain…”

Celestia said nothing.

Author's Note

Edited by q97Randomguy and RazedRainbow

XVIII. Alleluia! Don't Bend! Ascend!

XVIII. Alleluia! Don’t Bend! Ascend!

Amaranth

No retreat is ever simple. Choosing to abandon something, anything, is always a loss. A pony becomes attached to places, even places that she hates. Simply stepping backwards is, in a small and insidious way, horrible. To watch somepony take what is yours and touch it with their filthy, muddy hooves and rub their bellies and their filthy faces on your beds and walls, to imagine their impunity as they eat the food you gathered and overended your most private and sacred scraps and keepsakes. No, retreats of any kind were never simple or easy.

Evacuations? Evacuations were worse.

Amaranth was not surprised. “Hard” did not begin to describe the experience of forcing a pony to flee their home for their own good. ‘Impossible,’ she decided, was a far better word. And yet she had done it. She had looked into the eyes of the retirees and the young couples and the shut-ins and the bachelors and told them that there was no hope. Their little cottages were doomed, and nopony could do anything about it. They always argued. Surely, an earth pony couple had tried to reason with her, surely the Guard can repel a few disorganized thugs. There are more than a hundred of them up in that old ruin! Hundreds, in fact. How many of those ruffians could possibly have gotten this far up the mountain undetected and with enough strength to fight? This was all an overreaction.

Those two, the couple, had hit a sore spot. None of the ponies she’d been trying to get out to the town’s antiquated square had been willing to face the facts, but they had at least known the wisdom of fear and how to know when a pony was serious.

But the couple had just looked at her as if she were not a pony at all, but a poster on a wall. A picture of some other place. Things like that simply didn’t happen here, their blank faces insisted.

She had been so angry.

But then as quickly as her fury had jumped up to bite, it died away. Amaranth had only sighed. “Come to the center of town,” she’d said, her voice flat. The evacuation would begin, and then she told them as bluntly and as honestly as she could that if they did not leave, they would die horribly and after much suffering, and that nopony would be coming back for them. And she had said she was sorry.

And had left.

Now, she sat on the roof of the old Morningvale Library. It had been built at least a hundred years before she’d been born, inhabited by only one librarian, an elderly mare who had clung to life with a cheerful obstinance that she’d found refreshing when first she had come to Castle Watch years ago.

It was bizarre, really, the kinds of things the mind would recall in the most inconvenient moments. The feel of the sun on her cheeks as she counted raiders in the early morning, watching for their campfires like wayward stars reclining. Or perhaps a memory of the first time she had visited the village, sitting on its library, scanning the desolate mountain pass for signs of life.

She had been young then. To be honest, she had been a year too young to officially join the Lunar Guard, but the rules of the Duskwatch were different. They were older than the modern guard. Quieter. More willing to bend the rules and work outside of the lines.

And so she had trotted into the village in the morning, fresh out of her fillyhood, as the ponies of Morningvale had been sleepily congregating at their bakeries and their benches and around the well in the center of town. A pouch in my saddlebags with my first month’s pay and enough room for a book, she thought with a smile.

“See something?”

She glanced over at Ice Storm. His cool blue eyes were like the flowers her mother loved, the ones in the cave gardens at home. How strange.

“Lieutenant? Amaranth, are you alright?” The Captain cocked his head to one side, furrowing his brow.

Amaranth shook her head. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Did you see something?”

“No, sir. Nothing to report.”

“Ah.” Captain Ice Storm looked back out over the pass. “I thought I caught you moving out of the corner of my eye and assumed you had noticed something. I imagine it’s simply nerves.”

She smiled. “Or you just got tired of it being quiet.”

“Perhaps.”

“You know, Castle Watch was my only stationing outside of Canterlot,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Oh?” He turned away again, casting his ice blue eyes over the patchy Morningvale pastures. Amaranth looked back out as well. She was grateful for the lack of trees near the village. There was a forest between them and the raider base camps, but it was far enough that it would be useless as cover. The enemy would have to cross more than two miles of open ground.

He’s doing that thing again, the one where he pretends that you’re making unnecessary chatter. Absurdly, she briefly considered sticking her tongue out at him, but not even she felt like it at a time like this.

But to her surprise, he spoke again. “You don’t seem perturbed by this.”

“Castle Watch? No, it’s not so bad.”

“It seems like a terribly boring assignment. Tolerable, and not particularly taxing.” He yawned, and Amaranth blinked and stared at him. “But frankly, I think I would probably die of boredom here after a two-year tour.”

“If I didn’t know any better…” Amaranth shook her head. Let him loosen up. It was better than him being Mr. Icicle-Up-His-Ass. “It’s not so bad. Yeah, there aren’t any bandits or manticores or zebraharan separatists causing trouble. No, you don’t get to do much but look at dirt and rocks and a few awkward pine trees. But… I don’t know.” She shrugged.

The wind picked back up. She had wondered if it would return, and she closed her eyes for a moment. She loved the wind, how it ran through her hair and stroked her face and ran over her wings.

“So what appealed to you?”

“It’s a good place to live,” she said, finally.

She could almost hear him raising his eyebrows at that.

“Live.”

“The Duskwatch garrison at Castle Watch is probably the most laid-back unit in Equestria,” she explained, licking her lips. As much as she liked the wind, it joined forces with the cold air to dry her out. She wanted to drink from her canteen, but she needed to space her intake out to make it last longer. The well was too slow and too distracting. She’d have to vacate her post. “We guard the pass, but it’s in the middle of the country. There was never really anything to guard it from. There are a few diamond dogs in the warrens across the valley, or, at least, there were. A couple of Rocksnakes that would come north off the mountains looking for an easy meal, but nothing too terrible.”

“Rocksnakes?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, gesturing with her hooves, not really caring if he could see or not. “They can get big. They’re beautiful, actually. Like… it’s hard to describe. They’re magical. Literally. Some are just, like, rocky, but others look like they’re made of crystal. Not exactly friendly, but if you show them you’re not just some dumb critter, they’ll wander off.” Amaranth chuckled. “They’re kind of lazy.”

“Sounds like a worthy adversary for the illustrious Duskwatch.”

“Hey, watch it,” she shot back, smiling. “The biggest part of our job wasn’t military at all. We were kind of the only government presence in the valley. We’re just there to help. Foals who wander into the woods or up the mountain, digging a new well for the farmers on the east side, stuff like that. Sometimes we just hung around in the square, a squad of us. We’d wait and see if anybody needed help, but mostly we would just chat.”

“Sounds… taxing.”

“Oh, come off it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It sounds like nothing, but we did have an important role.”

“Which was?”

“This village and the castle are the remnants of the original Canterlot. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” he replied tersely.

“The ponies who live here are kind of our history. We’re the ones who keep them connected to the outside world. It’s really easy to forget about everypony and everything in this little mountain bubble, Captain. It’s easy to feel alone, too. We worked more at fighting off that than any young diamond pup looking for some mischief in town. The Duskwatch is the representative to remind these ponies that the Princesses didn’t just forget about them.”

There was silence for some time as the captain processed this. For her part, Amaranth returned to the memory of her first visit to Morningvale without her armor, the strangeness of being a batpony in the world of grass and sun, on the surface. That never entirely went away.

“I don’t want to abandon this place,” Amaranth said at last.

“I know. I saw it when you flew up here.”

“They shouldn’t be able to take it from me.”

“I know.”

She bit her lip.

Ice Storm spoke again, different than before. “They’ll pay for this place, Amaranth. I promise you. I won’t leave until they’ve paid for it.”

Golden Field

Trenches are impossible to describe in a way that does them any sort of justice. No brand or style of picture-painting with words will convey the feeling of sitting in it, waiting and waiting and waiting. The sketches in his infantry manual told him the ideal dimensions of an ideal defensive entrenchment in ideal conditions, but they forgot to mention what it was like to dig one or how much like a grave a trench looked or how cold they were.

His hooves were soaked. His coat was soaked. Every part of him was filthy. The carbine he’d been drilled to treat as an extension of his body was pressed to his matted fur like a newborn foal, cradled in his hooves. Its smooth wood was cold against his legs, but the iron barrel was colder on his cheek. He was glad for the cold. The rest of him was uncomfortably hot.

Golden Field had found that there was rarely any true silence. Born and raised in Canterlot, last son of a family of eight, and now a riflepony. There was always some background noise, some indiscriminate chatter. This was true even in a trench on the edge of nowhere. The manipular engineer, Clunker, cursed and kicked his ragged, rusted gatling. Rifleponies fidgeted. The manipular scouts watched through binoculars over the lip of the trench, waiting, their bodies as still as the marble statues of High Canterlot. He thought at first that he waited for them to give some sign, but he found that the thought did not move him. Not yet.

His eyes rarely left the little section of mud before him. Roots snaked through the fecund earth, roots that had been there longer than he had, that had done nothing to no one, attached to the grass and the weeds that had missed destruction by an inch. He was sorry, but not very sorry. Mostly, he thought that if he had to wait to die somewhere, he might as well do it in the mud.

Random associations kept his mind moving. The unicorns down the street who called him “mudpony” as a foal. The time he’d tried to dig a tunnel in one of the parks to the palace and been brought home by an amused guard. Colorful memories.

“You’re never going to get that piece of shit working,” a riflepony said, his voice flat.

“Watch,” Clunker shot back.

Golden didn’t bother to glance over at the engineer. He would fix the apparatus, or he wouldn’t. He would sit in the little compartment and fire the gun, or he wouldn’t. Golden did not immediately find a reason to care.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. It was more accurate to say that he couldn’t. It was too big to care about adequately. He was simply too small.

It was just a matter of ratios, really. Numbers. Things that could be grasped and considered.

The trench had been carved with magic and hooves along the entire length of the valley. The infantry assigned to the watch to bolster it had been spread thin along a mile long fortification, rifles ready. Ammo was low. He’d heard that one of the maniples of the third regiment, the pegasi, had been grounded and given ancient model shootsticks with just one shot each. Golden hadn’t seen that in person, but he believed it.

He had already seen as much of the world above his hole as he wished to when he had been digging. He had always liked digging. It made sense.

At least two miles of open ground stretched out before the trench, broken up by a few errant trees and farmhouses. Rock outcroppings provided a bit of cover, but not including that, there was nowhere for the raiders to hide.

It was a perfect setup for slaughter.

At least, that’s what they were planning. Golden didn’t know about such things, even if he could think about them, and didn’t care. That was the future, and he had the present, and the present was the feeling of malleable mud on his back and the calming cold of the rifle barrel that kept him focused and alert.

Metal clanged on metal. Golden spared the noise a look. The gatling emplacement was a barrel-shaped contraption with three metal legs supporting it. They dug into the mud, and so the whole structure sank, but its long three-barreled gun still stuck out over the shivering rifleponies. Inside the barrel were controls. Golden did not care for the machine.

“Are you done?” he asked. “You’ve been hitting that thing for an hour.”

“Twenty minutes,” the machinist answered without turning to look at him. “Maybe twenty-five. Regardless, it’s done. It was a problem in the hydr… nevermind. I’ve fixed it! We’ll have some cover.”

“Already have cover,” the riflepony who had griped earlier pointed out.

“You have mud,” Clunker said. “You have a hole. Cover? Perhaps, but not the kind you need. A well-placed grenade or mortar could flush this whole place out. And you better bet on those dirty whoresons cobbling together a few mortars. I could’ve done as a kid; I’m sure they can.”

Golden looked around the bulk of the emplaced gun and saw that the complaining riflepony was Fallow, the mare with the shaved mane.

“Yeah, and that thing can explode on us pretty easy.”

“Hardly!”

“But you didn’t say it wouldn’t, now did you?” Fallow asked.

Golden looked back at the mud wall. Fallow was spiteful, and she hated Clunker because he’d transferred from the Frontier. She’d called him a coward, before the collapse, but beyond simple information, Golden found no substance to this. It was hard to think of anything in the trench as real.

Time crawled like a dying dog. He experienced hours, and a moment limped by his nose. Days would pass, it felt like, but only an hour would slump into the dismal mud of his trench to die. Waiting was the hardest part. The manuals that showed how to dig a trench, how to fortify a house, how to set up a crossfire—the ones that did not mention that digging was muddy and awful—had neglected to mention that the worst part of battle was the waiting that preceded it.

Because, any moment now, the scout could slump down, and Golden would look at his face, and he would know that the waiting was over. No, he supposed that was not entirely true. The waiting to wait was over because then the raiders would make their trek across the field like revenants.

It was about this time, as he contemplated what it would look like to see them marching in ragged lines, that a scout stirred. Her name was Rosebud, and the two of them had been together since the first day of basic. He trusted her keen eyes.

So when she ducked down, he knew she’d seen them first. He didn’t ask her what she had seen. He already knew. What he did do was sit up and shake the mud out of his mane.

“Movement,” she hissed, and all of the little noises and disturbances in the hole stopped dead. Two dozen pairs of eyes in both directions burned into her own, looking for some doubt to cling to. Golden did not join them. He already knew she was right.

“How many?” whispered one of the rifleponies to Golden’s left.

“Shut it,” growled another voice.

“Centurion!” Rosebud saluted briskly at somepony behind Golden.

The Centurion of the rifle company was fat, old, and a unicorn. His voice was reedy and creaking. As he brushed by Golden, the young riflepony caught the strong scent of cigars and port. Indeed, the stallion had perhaps the fattest cigar Golden had ever seen clenched between two teeth.

He supposed they all dealt with things in different ways.

“Now, how many?” Centurion Halftrack asked.

“Not sure. I can try to get a count, but they’re bunched up tighter than I expected. Company strength at least.”

The centurion took a drag on the fat cigar then used his magic to pull it away as he blew smoke towards his scout. He did not answer. Instead, he gestured towards her binoculars, and she gave them to him silently.

The centurion mounted the ridge slowly, almost comically, grumbling into his cigar as at last he cleared the dug-out earth and lay on the grass. Several of the rifleponies stood and watched, and Golden supposed he might as well. He would be at the wall soon, regardless.

Before the trench was a series of small ridges of packed dirt left over from digging. In front of this embankment was a shallow trench, only a few centimeters deep and somewhat shabbily dug. If a charge wasn’t broken up by rifle fire, the dike would trip up any assailants. They hoped.

Golden watched the obese unicorn grumble and smoke into the binoculars until his own eyes were drawn past his commanding officer and out into the field itself.

And at long last, he saw the enemy.

They were like ants, a dark cloud of ants, swarming out from some disturbed nest amongst the trees. They moved fast, chaotically, without any semblance of order.

Except that soon he began to realize that this wasn’t true. They did have order. It wasn’t the parade ground maneuvers or the well-oiled machinery he was used to, but as the cloud dispersed into smaller packets, he realized that they were being far more cautious than he’d expected of barbarians.

Centurion Halftrack grunted and stood straight up. Somehow this seemed insane to Golden. None of the antiquated weapons the raiders and bandits carried could reach this far, yes, but still it was strangely reckless for a stallion who always seemed so unimpressive.

Halftrack looked down on them, cowering in their hole, and then he grinned.

“Lot of ‘em,” he said simply and waddled back down into the mud. He brushed off his barding and then looked around, puzzled. “Well? What are you lot standing about for? Sharpshooters, up on the embankment! Get off your lazy asses, all of you!”

The silence broke, replaced by chaos. All around Golden, rifles were loaded and set against the ground. Ponies ran and jostled each other in preparation, yelling and reporting and ordering, and all the while, Golden simply reared up on his hind legs and leaned against the opposite wall of the trench, resting his carbine against the earth.

And then came more waiting.

The centurion rambled on. Only the Lunar guard had centurions, and most of them were stoic, stone-faced veterans. It seemed fitting that Golden had landed himself with the only talkative one.

“Sharpshooters, I’m expecting you to make those shots count! Look for leaders, heavy weapons, anything of importance. Unicorns. Look for spellcasters.” Golden tried not to cough as the stallion moved by, filling the already foul-smelling trench with his new noxious smoke. “If one of you blighters so much as wastes a single shot on a damn shield, I’ll beat you senseless later. Can’t afford that. Not at all.”

The enemy drew closer and closer. They’d be in range of the sharpshooting ponies soon. Any moment now. Somehow, he dreaded that happening. They had the advantage now, and these pillaging wastes of space couldn’t hope to break through. Not without about three times as much cannon-fodder. It was simply impossible.

Rosebud rested in his peripheral vision, using one of the embankments to steady her aim. Golden watched her, and for a moment, he forgot about the small horde. He had always admired how still she was, how careful.

Her rifle cracked. It cut through the chaos. It shattered the low whistle of the breeze that now blew over the top of the hole. Like some capricious hammering smith, Golden thought hazily, uncertain. Like a fearsome god.

More reports of rifles. He thought he saw a few figures fall, but it was hard to tell which were struck by lead and which were simply dodging out of the way, looking for cover. He didn’t blame them.

But then something emerged from the dark alpine woods. Something large and hulking. Some great familiar shape lurching towards the line.

Somepony down the line saw it too and cried out, “Centurion!”

“I see it,” Halftrack answered, looking out over the top. “Damn. Never thought those halfwits could snag a manticore.”

The rifleponies waiting for the order to fire began to talk amongst themselves. Manticores usually kept to the Everfree in the Central Province. Few of the ponies on the line had ever seen one. It was one hell of an introduction, Golden thought sourly, seeing the beast led on chains.

“Holy Tartarus, if they let that thing loose—”

Halftrack growled, not bothering to see who had spoken. “If they let it loose, it’s just as likely to turn on ‘em as it is to come over here, so calm yourselves, my young bucks.” He paused for a drag. “Well, probably more likely. Golden! You got better eyes than me. They got that thing on chains?”

Golden squinted, trying to be sure. “I think so, sir,” he mumbled.

“Thought so. Well.”

But it was curious all the same. That they had captured a manticore was in itself a feat and one that left him a bit more impressed than he had been as to their capabilities. But they were brigands, and that sort were known for toughness. No, the odd thing was not that they had caught it, nor that they were foolhardy enough to attempt to use it in battle. The odd thing was that it didn’t seem to mind.

Golden scratched his mane. “Centurion, I—”

“Raider skirmishers separating from the main body!” Rosebud shouted. While her right hoof stayed on the large trigger, she hurriedly worked the bolt with her teeth. Golden grimaced, thinking about the cold metal. But he supposed it worked.

“Spit it out,” Halftrack said. “They’ll be in range soon.”

“That manticore, sir—”

The centurion waved his hoof. “Speak nothing of it. I’m sure it will turn on them, and if they try to get it too close, we’ll simply shoot the handlers.” He removed the cigar and turned to the gatling. “You! Blasted mechanic! Is that starsforsaken thing working?”

“Yes, sir!” Clunker answered from inside the turret’s body. “I’m feeding the belts in n—”

“Good, I’ll take your word for it.” Halftrack turned to Golden. “See? No problems. Now, look downrange, boy! We have a village to protect! Carry on.”

The centurion walked away, whistling as if on some midsummer lark. Golden stared at his retreating head with gaping mouth.

But he had little time to wonder at his centurion’s manner. Already, the Sergeants were giving firing orders. The rifleponies formed up, pointing their carbines downrange, not bothering to really pinpoint specific targets. That would come later. The men of the line went for a volley, same as they had since the earliest days, with shootsticks.

Sergeant Black Powder had made his way down the line to Golden. He passed, his booming voice assaulting the ears of the waiting troops, his presence like the rush of air before a storm.

The wind picked up. In the narrow trench, it sang and blew, dragged at the fringes of Golden’s woven tunic. All at once, he saw the manticore advancing, getting bigger and bigger by the second, and he felt something. It was a hot feeling, a tightening of his chest, like the skin on his cheeks was being peeled back, like the hair of his coat was going to fall out. He was grinding his teeth without realizing it, shaking without meaning to.

“Ready arms!”

He pulled the hammer back with a shaking hoof and tried to control his breathing. He had been so calm, so serene. His eyes watered, and he had no idea why.

The sharpshooters kept up pressure on the front line of the raiders, but fewer fell than Golden had expected. He could see them now, really and truly see them. Maybe a hundred and fifty meters out, maybe a little more, but still close enough to see. He had expected monsters, and he was not disappointed. Huge, small, ragged, armed to the teeth—they were as motley as promised and just as menacing. They returned fire now, and with amazement, he saw that they had shootsticks and arbalests and everything in between. Every weapon under the sun, and he felt like they were all for him.

Something whizzed over his head, and he flinched.

His eyes focused on a huge stallion with a tall mohawk. The raider’s barding was cobbled from stolen guard equipment and civilian wear, but the spikes that jutted from his helmet and shoulders were original and sharp. On his shoulders he bore a battle saddle, a mounted weapon that Golden recognized just as the stallion readied it to fire.

“Oh Celestia,” he whined. “They’ve got a gat—”

The stallion’s machine gun was deafening, like a thousand thunderstorms right in Golden’s ear. Bullets cut into the ground all around him, tearing the grass and mud as well as catching ponies. They cried out, in shock more than pain, caught by surprise and plummeting back into the mud to writhe and let the agony catch up with them. He was panting. No, he was hyperventilating, shaking like a leaf.

“Fire! Luna fuck me with the moon, fire!” The sergeant pushed by him, almost toppling Golden as he ran furiously down the line. “Fuck! Fuck it, they weren’t supposed to have heavy weapons! Where’s the starsforsaken—”

Golden couldn’t hear the sergeant anymore. All he heard was gunfire, and all he saw were ghosts through the black powder fog. He fired, but their old weapons shrouded their movement.

Over and over again he fired, pulling at the lever on the carbine, firing the five rounds in his first clip in seconds. He released the metal casing, and it fell useless on his hooves. He flinched and whined as it burned his coat. Tears and mud stung at his eyes. They weren’t supposed to get close. They wouldn’t get close. They’d said they wouldn’t get close.

He tried to shove another clip into the large hole in the stock of his gun but missed entirely, dropping it on the trench floor. He cursed and stooped.

This saved him. The ground shook, and he stumbled forward, burying his face in the dirt. He felt heat on his back, and his ears rang. Golden turned over, blinking against the washed-out sunlight through the clouds, but the sun was moving back and forth in hazy circles. Everything was. He was.

He tried to rise but stumbled again and lay facing the gatling turret. Clunker was inside, yelling. Golden heard things, but not distinctly. There were roars, like distant waves hitting the rocks or a crowd far away cheering at some parade. It was a lot like a parade. They had those in Canterlot all the time, didn’t they? His head hurt. It hurt badly. His face was hot. His body was hot. Everything was hot.

The gatling shook, and at last, noise came screaming back to him as a pony kicked him from behind.

“Get up! Oh, Tartarus, get up!”

“What?” Golden rolled onto his hooves.

“For fuck’s sake, give me your gun, or shoot it!”

It was Rosebud. Her forehead was soaked crimson, and one eye was shut. Blood and mud mixed and matted her coat. She shook him. “My gun is broken,” she said, grinding her teeth. “Give me yours!”

He nodded dumbly, and she let go of him, scrambling for his carbine. He gave her a clip, feeling almost absent, and she yanked it from his hoof.

And as she went back to the trench wall, the ground beneath him rocked again, and he stumbled towards the gatling. Clunker would be a safe pony to be with. They were already winning. There was no way anyone would come close.

As if out of the ground itself, the centurion was back, levitating a revolver in front of him with magic. Miraculously, against all odds and in defiance of each and every god and Song, the cigar was still lodged firmly in his mouth, and he was still grinning.

“It’s a hell of a show!” he called, levitating the revolver up above the trench to fire from cover. “Hell of a show! Where’s your rifle?” he asked, prodding Golden.

“I—”

“Nevermind that! You’re with me! Got a problem down the line. Can you hear? Stand? Bleeding? No? Good!”

Golden felt himself enveloped in magic and pushed along. His hooves sunk into the mud, and in numb shock, he realized that there was a small rivulet of fluid running through the center of the trench, at the lowest point. He didn’t want to know what it was.

“Manticore! Gatling gun!” the centurion continued on. “Gods, can you believe they dug up an old mobile mortar? It’s insane, lad! Capital work, but not enough. We’ll—”

And at last, Golden saw the source of the shaking ground. Fire and shrapnel bloomed out of the ground like a flower of death, ripping a hole in the field and showering the trench with dirt clods.

“We’ll get hit!” he whined.

“Nonsense! But Song, that was close,” the centurion said and let loose rousing laughter which sounded like the onset of madness.

He sounds almost happy, Golden thought. He gaped in stupefied amazement even as he was dragged along.

“I’ll need somepony to hold the mortar! The cohort’s got one, you know! Capital I found you useless in the muck!”

Bullets flew over their heads and were answered as rifleponies began to gain their footing again. Again and again, the carbines of the Lunar guard cracked like whips, like lashes for the sins of trespassing, and yet the fire out of the black powder fog seemed not to waver.

“But they have a manticore! We can’t stay here! They’re too close!” Golden yelled over the fire as they pushed their way through another wave of Equestrians armed with pikes.

“We’ll just have to!” the centurion yelled back as he let a riflepony pass. “By Luna, we’ll just have to, young buck! Hell of a business!”

There was another shell, and they reached the mortar at last. As dirt rained on his back, Golden pushed the body of a dead Equestrian soldier to the side and set the tube back on its bipod as his commanding officer found binoculars on the dead pony’s companion.

The centurion, still working on his cigar, grinned.

“Welcome to Tartarus, young buck! I hope you’re liking it so far!”

And that was when the roaring started.

Spike

The Selene, Luna’s private airship yacht, plunged down from the heights towards the rocky valley below.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Spike called from the prow. He gripped the deck rails tightly, baring his fangs without intending to. He had waited too long. Luna had said do what he felt he needed to do, and he had just… waited. The reports had come in, and he had stared at the dossiers and hesitated.

But now he saw the need. Down below, tiny explosions blossomed along a thin line the hapless guard had dug in the cold ground. The delayed sounds reached him high up in the sky, and he clenched his teeth.

“We need to save the boosters!” the pilot yelled over the wind. He was one of Luna’s Duskwatch, a younger stallion named Ossite. Spike glanced back at him, scowling, and he shrugged from the pilot box. “I’ll do what I can, but if you wanna get out of here without us being shot full of holes…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Spike groused.

“We’ll be there soon! I promise. Just hold on!”

And so Spike waited. There were more explosions down below, and one of the houses in the little village was ripped to shreds. Timber flew in all directions, and as the home collapsed, the dirt it kicked up floated over the roiling fog of battle.

When he’d heard the village of Morningvale was to be evacuated, it had been impossible not to think of Ponyville. The evacuation of his own adopted hometown had been chaos. Ponies in the dirt streets, gathering their belongings, struggling to take with them the markers of some kind of normalcy. Foals crying on their doorsteps, the houses filled with bullet holes and boarded-up windows, the guards watching the horizon with fearful eyes.

And it was happening again.

Beside him, strapped to the rail, was another pony of the Duskwatch. The mare’s ears were pressed back to her skull, her eyes hidden behind dark goggles. Spike was mostly glad for the long barrel on the saddle strapped to her back. Some cover fire would be nice.

As they got closer and closer, Spike made out individuals running through the village streets, most of them streaming away from the front line. The line of wagons heading towards the Iron Gate and safety were not far removed. A few moments of hard running, and a raider could make it from the line to the evacuees. Things were falling apart.

But he wouldn’t let it happen again. Not another town.

“What’s your plan, Companion?” the Duskwatch mare asked.

“What?” Spike yelled back.

“Your plan!”

“No, the companion part!” Spike waved one clawed hand.

“It’s what you are, Companion! Your title! The Princess gave order for all of her personal retainers to assist you in any way possible. It’s why we let you borrow the Selene!”

“Right,” he grumbled.

“But your plan, Companion?” she pressed again.

“I’m…” Spike growled. “Look, I’m not sure. I need to know what’s going on first, Amaryllis!”

“Fair enough.” she answered and shifted her weight. “How about those stragglers?”

Spike saw them now, a handful of fleeing civilians pouring out of houses on the far side of the village. They had no direction, scattering to the four winds.

“Where are they going? Why are they so behind?” Spike called back to the Duskwatch.

“Panic!” she barked, and Spike heard metal clang on metal. He looked back, but she was signalling to the pilot. The ship slowed and stabilized over the caravan. Before Spike could ask what they were doing, she had already loosed herself from the ship and flung herself into the open air.

“Companion! I’ll use my scope to see ahead. The pilot can bring you down at the edge of the village to collect the stragglers.”

“Will you just meet us midair?” Spike called as she flipped the sniper’s scope down over her eyes.

“We’ll see!” Amaryllis answered, and then she was gone.

As soon as Amaryllis had cleared the starboard side, the Selene’s engines roared back to life, and they soared towards the embattled settlement.

An explosion tore up the ground in the distance, and he could hear something big in the smoke and haze. Something familiar.

“Is that—?”

He didn’t finish, for as he the airship settled down to a low hover, a bullet sailed past his head, and he ducked down.

Ahead of him, through the rails, Spike could see the dust cloud parting. At last, the battle was arrayed before him. He saw everything, all of it—struggling rifleponies in the mud, two dozen individual duels, and a manticore reaping earth ponies left and right. As Spike watched, the beast trampled a screaming mare in argent armor.

His horror was interrupted as Ossite shook him.

“Spike! Companion, I need you to hear me!”

“Gods!” Spike shied away. “Gods, he just—”

“The line is gone! I need you to keep those ponies away from my ship!”

And with that, Spike stumbled forward off the deck and into battle.

He saw what Ossite meant immediately. A raider charged from an alleyway with a griffon falchion in his mouth, headed straight for the Selene. Around him, a few panicked civilians scattered, but he had no time for them. It was the yacht he wanted.

Spike drew his longsword, stepping to the side to block his path. But the raider would not be turned aside. He charged anyway, reckless and without bothering to bring the sword up. Spike raised his own, ready to impale the attacker with his own momentum, but his hands shook. Oh Luna, he’s not turning. He’s not going to—

And then the raider lunged at him, screaming around the falchion handle, and Spike’s sword lodged in his unguarded chest.

Spike shook like a willow in a gale. The raider squirmed on his sword like a bug on a pin, trying to get closer, his falchion fallen to the side and his teeth snapping wildly. The mad pony’s blood ran down the blade and gushed on the ground and on Spike’s clawed feet, and the young dragon panicked. He threw both the sword and the raider down.

The pony twitched, finally falling still and silent, matted in mud and his own lifeblood.

“No… Oh L—”

But Spike stopped and looked around. The civilians who had been scattered by the brigand’s charge huddled against the ship, staring at him with saucer-sized eyes, with gazes that asked questions and demanded succor. Ahead of him, in the streets, guardsponies in light barding tried to beat a fighting retreat through the short village byway.

And he knew, then, in a flash, that he could not panic. Those eyes told him that he could not falter, not even for a moment, because he was not alone. He saw in them Twilight’s eyes. In Apple Bloom’s eyes. For a moment, painted across his senses, he saw Luna looming over the huddled refugees, her wings surrounding them like an aegis, her eyes glowing with a thousand years of isolated, exiled fury,

He grabbed his longsword by the hilt and pulled it free. He cringed as the blade scraped bone, but he did not shake as badly as before. When next he looked to the civilians, he could speak normally again.

“Get on board. I’ll keep them away. Hide down in the cargo bay, and stay there until I or the pilot get you!” He gestured, and the spell over them was broken. Ossite was already lowering the gangplank, and as soon as it touched down, the ponies scrambled up it. A foal rode upon his frightened mother’s back, and he stared at Spike.

But Spike turned back to the battle. Ossite called from the deck.“There are more in the fields behind us!”

“Go!” Spike yelled at him as he began to walk headlong into the chaos. “I’ll be back!”

The ship sprang to life behind him, heading back for other stragglers, and Spike charged into the village.

Already, some of the cottages burned. Smoke poured into the alleys on either side, masking combatants from one another. On his right and left, a few riflepony guards were loading carbines, and Spike saw a huge raider descend on the one to the right, shoulder pad spikes bared to stab.

Spike met him first, plowing into him with his shoulder. The charging raider went sprawling, hitting the wall of a house with a thud and falling limp. Spike didn’t spare any time to finish up, as another emerged from the smoke.

But the riflepony he had rescued had already reloaded and shot past Spike, hitting the new attacker square in the center of his face, blowing their head clean off and sending their lifeless body tumbling back into the black.

Spike stepped back. “What happened here? I thought everyone was supposed to be out!”

“They were!” the riflepony answered, and already Spike could see that the stallion was beginning to crack. He was shaking as bad as Spike had been. “Oh, Luna, they were! I don’t know why they’re here! I have no idea.”

Spike had nothing more to ask, which was just as well, as he did not have space. The manticore roared again, assaulting his ears.

“How in Tartarus did they get that thing here?” he asked the air. Already the riflepony was backing up, but Spike held him by the shoulder. “I need you to stay here,” he yelled over the din. “If you see any other villagers, I need you to send them towards my ship, got it?”

The pony just nodded, his mouth wide and mute.

Spike let go and took a deep breath. The manticore had to go, and he was the only one with fire. Twilight always said they were afraid of fire, he thought, and then before he could think twice about it, he had charged into the smoke.

It was blinding, but he could breathe. What was fire and ash to a dragon? Nothing. Nothing at all. If anything, he felt comfortably warm between the immolated buildings, more at ease now that he was in his literal element. Another raider stood, coughing and looking about. Spike had no pity on his blindness, balling up a fist and smashing it in the pony’s face as he ran on.

And then he was out of the fog, and the manticore was before him. Its paws caught another guardspony and pinned her to the ground. She screamed, trying to crawl away, but the weight was too much.

Spike took a deep breath and released a pillar of flame. It poured over the manticore, and the beast stumbled backwards, roaring. One of its legs caught in the trench, and it fell.

A great cheer went up around him, and before Spike could react, there was a volley of deafening gunfire. A whole wave of charging attackers fell like felled trees. Most were still, but a few tried to crawl away, only to be set upon by the counterattack of charging guards that poured out of the trench in all directions. The manticore struggled to rise, and Spike saw that it had broken its leg. It could do nothing to flank the defenders.

But it could still reach. It flailed and roared, knocking a pony back as he tried to finish it with a shot to the head. Spike sprang forward, preparing another blast of dragonfire. The wounded animal kicked at him, but Spike dodged its kick by a hair and then cut into the limb with a powerful strike. He roared himself, and the fire blew everywhere in an indiscriminate cone of heat. The leg burned.

Fury and adrenaline burned in his mind and in his heart hotter than the dragonfire that he called up again and again, draining himself as he flooded the trench with flames, hitting the manticore over and over again. It squirmed, it screamed, and Spike saw its whole body racked in green light that was not from the fire.

The manticore’s body exploded into a cloud of black ash, but not like the ash and smoke of the burning homes. The cloud moved as if it were alive, forming up above Spike’s head into a swirling dark mass, like a final revenant of the monster’s undying fury, and then it hurtled itself towards him.

Spike threw himself down, and the cloud went over his head. He rolled to the right, springing up to face it again, but it was gone, disseminating into the air.

Around him, the raiders began to flee like birds scattered by a foal. The ones who had weapons or firearms that encumbered them dropped their arms and ran on without them. The guardsponies who had charged out from the trench stopped and let out a ragged cheer. For a moment, a shining moment, Spike smiled. Every fiber of his being sang. They had won.

And then the mortars began to fall again.

The house to his right exploded, and Spike staggered forward. The gaurdsponies caught out in the open retreated back in disarray, scurrying like mice for their hole. Some fell, and now Spike could see past them as more charging raiders came, another wave of death and chaos. His heart lodged in his throat. It was too much. It was too many, far too many for dragonfire and sword.

Spike took a step back, and that was when the pegasus landed in front of him.

He was a guardspony, but not one of Luna’s. His armor was gold like the sun itself, gold like the hair he wore in a ponytail that cascaded between two outstretched white wings like clouds. Spike stood transfixed, for the pegasus wasn’t running at all, even as another mortar crashed into the ground. He didn’t even flinch as Spike drew away from the blast, feeling the shockwave in his chest.

The white pegasus held up a hoof, and from the skies fell dozens of pegasi and batponies, short lances attached to their backs by saddles. They hit the new wave of attackers like sledgehammers, knocking back several at a time, impaling them instantly and then kicking in all directions with lethal hoofblades and steel-shod hooves. The polearms and shootsticks were no match for batponies at close range. Every time a raider tried to level one, he found it batted out of his grip and his face kicked in.

Spike stared in disbelief even as the pegasus turned to him.

“Dragon! Spike, is it?”

“I…”

“Ice Storm, Captain of the Solar Guard, liaison with the Duskwatch. I’m afraid I’ll need your help. I’ve no time to explain. Follow me!”

He flared his wings out and hovered before heading off into the village. Spike followed, running with his sword up. They passed dozens of embattled pairs, ignoring them all. Spike watched as a guardspony was taken by surprise as he loaded his weapon, a lance catching him from the side through the shoulder, but he couldn’t stop. This pegasus needed him, and he wasn’t going to slow down a bit.

Ice Storm stopped at last in a small square, landing in front of a little well. Around him were cowering civilians in torn clothes, covered in filth, a few with light wounds. There were almost a dozen at least, all of them behind an overturned wagon.

“What are they doing here? Why did the caravan leave them?” Spike asked, clenching a fist.

“They had to. These wouldn’t leave,” the captain explained, gesturing to the civilians. “They’re safe for now, but the Lunar guard is not doing well. None of them will get this far in, but…”

Spike looked around, noticing the batponies on the rooftops for the first time, and the lunar guardsponies aiming carbines down all the streets.

“But… they need to go,” Spike finished. “One lucky mortar, yeah, I understand. I’ll get them back, but I’ll need someone a little faster than me to help keep these bastards off of them.”

Ice Storm looked up at the rooftops. “Amaranth!”

Spike followed his gaze and saw one of the batponies trot to the edge of a roof and leap off, her wings opening up as she glided down with surprising grace.

“Reporting,” she all but sang. “Manticore is down. Nice work, big guy. We tried to keep them from retrieving the mortars out there, but the smoke from the houses on the other side of town is getting picked up by the wind, and it’s hard to get a good shot. At least it works both ways.”

“Agreed. Good work. Spike, this is Lieutenant Amaranth of the Duskwatch. Amaranth, this is—”

“Oh, I know who the Moon’s Companion is,” the mare laughed. “It’s an honor to be of assistance.” She bowed swiftly. “What do you need me to do, Ice?”

“Captain,” Ice Storm reminded, but without any force. “I need you to help Spike move these ponies out of the square. I saw your ship coming in, Spike. I would’ve asked you to use your flames on the manticore, but you were quite ahead of me. Now that it’s gone, we have a hole to get these poor ponies away from this hell. But it’s a small hole.”

“Yeah, and they’ll fill it soon,” Amaranth groused. “Moon above, I thought there were fewer of them.”

“We both did,” Ice Storm said glumly.

“Well, time’s short, Spike,” Amaranth said quickly and began to trot over towards the wagon. “Lets get these ponies moving. Up! Up we go, come on! Everypony up on your hooves!”

Spike watched after her, blinking. “She sure is unfazed,” he commented.

“Hardly,” Ice Storm replied. His voice was rough. “Nopony is unfazed by this. We all handle it in different ways, or we don’t handle it at all. Take care of her. She’s a good soldier.”

With that, the captain took to the sky again, heading back towards the front line.

Spike followed Amaranth. Already, she had the refugees standing and milling about, looking every which way. When Spike approached, a few of them backed away as if he were yet another horror.

Spike sighed. “I’m here to help,” he said, though he knew it would be useless. “Look, we need to move. Luna’s sent her own yacht to help the evacuation, but I can’t call it this close without us getting shot down, so we’re going to run for it.”

“But they’ll shoot us!” one of the civilians yelled, his voice cracking.

Spike snorted. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” he answered, trying to sound confident.

“They’ll just shoot you!”

Amaranth stepped in. “Please. I’d rather you move on your own accord, but so help me, I will push you the whole way there, you understand me?”

The ponies said nothing.

“Right.” Spike spoke quickly. “Let’s move.”

He strode out in front of them, and Amaranth took up the rear, hovering. He heard their hooves beat against the earth behind him, and knew that there was no more room for error. He remembered how the others had scattered. These would do the same. One false move and they would lose stragglers to fire and smoke.

“Stay close!” he called as he picked up speed, clearing the sentries, who ran alongside him, carbines strapped to their backs. “The smoke is going to be bad, but I need you to try to keep up!”

“Dragon!” one of the running sentries said from his side. “The line is broken everywhere. We can’t guarantee that we’ll be out in the clear once we leave this place!”

“Figured!” he yelled back.

The two sentries and Spike came to a crossroads, where he saw the truth of the riflepony’s warnings. A dozen carbiners using the buildings for cover fired down one street, and an answering volley tore past Spike’s face. One of the guards fell from a second story window and hit an overhang, crashing through to the patio below.

“Go!” he called, stepping into the breach and blowing a long cone of dragonfire down the street. He heard somepony crying out in panic, and behind him, the crowd of refugees charged on. He kept the fire up, pushing it out with agony, his mouth hot even by a dragon’s standards.

But then Amaranth tapped his shoulder on her way by, and he stopped, gasping. His vision swam, and he rocked back on unsteady feet. A bullet whizzed by his ear, and panting, Spike took a shaky sprint the rest of the way across the intersection.

The refugees were out in the open, and Spike could see the Selene swoop down from the sky and come to a hover a hundred meters away from the fleeing herd. Ossite parked the vessel and came running out onto the deck. The batpony pilot pushed the gangplank off and set it against the ground and then bent down low at the prow to do something out of Spike’s line of vision.

Spike had no time to wonder what it was, for the sight of easy targets had riled up a hornets’ nest. Behind him, he heard yells and spun to find the rifleponies struggling to get their guns up as a handful of quick raiders fell on them. Spike charged, his longsword up and ready, but not before a blow to the head sent one of the sentries sprawling.

Spike struck back, catching the offending raider on the shoulder and lodging his blade deep. The shock of impact went up his arms, but he was firm, fighting through the shaking as he pulled the blade free. The other sentry succeeded in freeing his gun and avoiding a raider hoof and fire once, twice, pulling his bolt back with his teeth, hitting another raider with both shots.

But there were more, many, many more. Above the village he saw pegasi taking to the sky and meeting enemy fliers head on, rolling and dodging, some falling onto the rooftops below, but blessedly few. Another mortar and almost as if it were on queue, guards began to stream back from the village as raiders followed them. The raiders didn’t even bother with firearms. They charged right into the heat and the wall of singing lead death, larger bodies absorbing multiple shots before they succumbed, shielding others behind them who got further and so on until the fighting retreat began to waver and stand at the tip of full-blown rout. A unicorn centurion with a crested helmet wielded two revolvers, blasting away until his ammunition was spent, throwing the cigar from his mouth into the eyes of the stallion who finally gored him with a horn, and even then he flailed, kicking at the other charging raiders until a hoof crushed his face.

The pursuing raiders came ever closer, and before Spike could meet them, Amaranth swooped out of the side, doubling back from the Selene. She crashed into a cluster of earth ponies, knocking three of them flat and carrying a fourth several meters with her momentum before pushing him off and taking back to the sky. When she was clear, the remaining sentry spent the rest of his clip and then began dragging his companion.

But he was too slow, too weak from exertion, and the armor on the unconscious sentry was too much. Spike stopped him, sheathing his sword on his back, and scooped the stallion up in his arms. The weight was nothing to shrug at, not yet, but he could bear it.

“I’ll take him! Just keep falling back! If Amaranth is here, the refugees are safe. Get on the ship! We’ll take you!”

“I can’t just leave!” the riflepony argued, and yet he reloaded his weapon as if on the verge of panic, as if any moment he would lose his sanity and fall back to animal fear.

Spike roared at him. “It’s an order! Under Princess Luna’s authority! I need you to move.”

And the sentry did, running alongside Spike as the dragon carried his companion back towards the waiting Selene. Ossite had set up a deck gun, and it fired now over their heads, the sound like some god’s revolver ringing in Spike’s ears.

Fifty meters. Forty. He was sure they were being pursued, but it was just a bit longer, just a few more seconds carrying all of this weight and then they would all be safe. He had done it.

Ossite only stopped firing when Spike held the pony up, and between the two of them, the sentry was rolled onto the deck. Ossite carried him back, and a refugee helped the pilot get the sentry below deck.

Amaranth swooped overhead.

“Companion! Spike, I think that’s all we’re going to get! The unicorns are getting ready to raze the town once the raiders have taken it! We need to get out of here now!”

“Couldn’t be happier!” he called back and climbed aboard.

He looked back at the burning hamlet just in time to see Amaranth land twenty meters away, maybe more. The guard was formed up properly still, their discipline hanging in there at the darkest hour as volley after volley began to push the attacking flood back towards the cover of the houses. She landed next to a crawling Duskwatch flier, pulling at him.

Spike leapt over the rails, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do it fast enough.

“Amaranth! I got it, co—”

Before he could finish, the world burst into flames right before his eyes. Where Amaranth had been bent over pulling at her comrade, there was a crater of torn earth and charred vegetation. Guardsponies screamed, but others took their places, keeping up the fire. Spike stood there, his mouth open, frozen.

But then he saw her, covered in dirt, crawling in the mud. He ran, and he saw nothing else but her, struggling. He no longer saw the firing line or the ship or even Morningvale. He only saw the pony, the defender in the dirt, the only one whose name he knew, the only one whose name he would have to know when Luna asked him about this. He needed no thought.

He was at her side, and she was groaning like a drunkard, trying to string sentences together. She bled everywhere, her coat cut open in a dozen places or more, her wings still intact but at odd angles as if she had been caught in a spotlight.

“I can’t… I can’t feel my legs…”

Spike ignored her. He couldn’t think about what she said. He had to move—she had to move. Another mortar hit between the guard and the village. They were probably out of the range of all but the luckiest shots, but he could take no chances. He lifted the sobbing batpony and cradled her in his arms like a newborn foal, and then he ran.

“Luna! Luna!” She beat at his arms. “Luna! I can’t feel my legs! I can’t…”

Spike pressed on even as he heard another shot whiz by, even as Ossite fired right over his head into the village, tearing the houses to shreds. He leapt, and adrenaline and ancient dragon strength gave him an edge, for he gained the rails and landed on the deck easily.

“Spike! She’s in no condition to hang on!” Ossite yelled as he fired again, unleashing another spray of fire.

“I think she’s—”

“It doesn’t matter! Another good shot and that mortar will rip this airship in half!” Ossite said and stepped away from the gun. Spike held the comparatively tiny mare to his chest, which heaved with the effort of running and dragonfire.

Ossite shook him. “Get her below deck! I need you to use the gun while I get us back to the city.”

But he would not give her up. There was no conscious reason in it, just blind, raging instinct, a dragon’s instinct to never let go. He bared his fangs, and Ossite fled without a word to the pilot box as Spike strapped himself and Amaranth along with him to the rails. One clawed hand held onto the deck gun, and he squeezed the firing mechanism, built for much larger pony hooves, and rained death upon the village as the airship took to the sky.

When they were high enough, he let go of the gun and slumped. The sentry who had evaded injury was huddled against the rail on the far side of the deck, strapped in. His face was pale, and he seemed to be ill with the sudden movement, but Spike couldn’t find it in himself to care. The mare in his arms moved, but only her front legs. She sobbed, and Spike began to come to himself again, and he looked down at his own legs, which moved and were fine, and then to her legs, which were still. They were so deathly still. As they left the chaos behind, she kept trying to move, kept trying to squirm out of his grasp but he held her firm, still looking down at her legs, still looking down at her tiny, wounded form.

That could have been me. That could have been me. And it could have been. Maybe it should have been. He shifted his legs, wishing he could hear the sound of his claws scraping against the metal deck. Just to be sure that they were scraping. Just to be sure that they moved.

Author's Note

originally entitled "Mladic"

XIX. Be Comfortable, Creature

Rarity

Rarity lay in bed alone. The covers were tucked in as they had been since the room had been prepared for her upon her arrival. Everything was immaculate—mostly because nothing had been touched. There was even a bottle of brandy on the counter with some glasses. Even in her odd state of mind, Rarity had at least taken the time to examine it. A good year, a good source. There was no guarantee she wouldn’t be trying it later.

In fact, she thought she might as well try some now. If nothing else, it would give her an excuse to do something other than… wallow.

She needn’t even move, really. After all, she was a unicorn, and unicorns had been blessed with magic. One of the many advantages of this arcane heritage was the ability to laze and drink without ever having to move one’s body from its resting place. All in all, Rarity was glad to be a unicorn. It was easier to be unhappy, and required far less energy to stay that way.

They’d finally met with Cadance two days ago. Even in her darkest dreams she had anticipated what it would be like to gaze upon the face she had known as young and vibrant become so frail and hollow. But the Empress was still alive and even in this state her magic was great. Rarity had been allowed to glimpse behind the illusion of her magic for a moment. The air seemed clear, up on the walls, until Shining reached out. His hoof touched something almost alive, something made of wild magic which had given her a headache just witnessing. The air had danced and hummed in a way she could not describe as anything but upsetting, and when he pulled his hoof away all had ceased.

It was this, then, and not the hastily erected walls that kept the Mitou out. Even the walls had proven to be a lie. Shining Armor and a few of his most trusted lieutenants walked the base of the wall, careful to keep out of sight of the local populace. They’d been removed from the area closest to the walls for their protection in case of assault, but also to hide a terrible secret.

The walls were not complete. The shield masqueraded where there were in fact holes. Shining had been reluctant to say how much of the wall was truly there, and after witnessing sheer rock face quiver like a disturbed pond, Rarity had not wanted to ask.

And so she had retreated to her room. To sulk. Perhaps to think, and if she were honest with herself, she had no plan.

The empire grew food, yes, and even had some to spare. Quite a bit, by the standards of the near-starving Canterlot. But it was far, far away. The roads were dangerous with bandits in the south, and now she had found that even more horrors had awoken.

Rarity was having to conclude that perhaps things were not happening by chance. Perhaps none of this was natural. In fact, she sat up and drank a shot. No, none of this was rational or natural or made any sort of sense. One did not simply pull a string and unravel the whole world! Not like this. Never like this. Sure, Celestia disappearing would cause panic and dismay and perhaps even some trouble with the sun…

She thought about the refugee family on the road to the Empire. Rarity had not thought of them in some time. Partially because she had no explanation, and partially because the memory of it made her almost ill. But now… perhaps it meant something.

She sighed. This was all idle speculation, wasn’t it? Who could it be? What could it be? Discord? No, nopony had seen him in a year. Luna was of the opinion he had accompanied Celestia. Besides, this simply wasn’t his style.

Rarity smiled. Discord. She had almost forgotten him. What else had she almost forgotten? Surely he should have figured more prominently in her recollections, but time and danger tend to monopolize one’s mind, she decided, and drank to that.

It was then that the knocking came on her chamber door. Startled, Rarity sprank from the comfortable bed and stood.

“Hello?”

Another knock, this one softer.

She sighed. “Come in, please.”

Rarity’s suspicions were confirmed when the door creaked open and Fluttershy timidly peeked inside.

When all else changes, you at least do not. “Come on in, Fluttershy. Please.”

“It’s late… I’m not disturbing you, right?” Fluttershy asked from behind the door.

“Not at all,” Rarity answered. “Come, come. I insist.”

And so the shy pegasus made her relatively silent way to Rarity’s bedside, closing the door behind her without even the slightest creek. Rarity’s mind never stopped, and so she was impressed by this. It was easy to miss Fluttershy, like a spy in the shadows. Were it not for her poor friend’s temperament, the image would be more apt…

But before she could wonder anymore, Fluttershy had crawled up on the bed in mildly uncharacteristic show of forwardness and laid her head down solemnly.

“Something on your mind, darling?” Rarity asked, perplexed.

Fluttershy sighed. “A lot of things. But mostly I really, really just miss all the girls. Even you and Rainbow. I got used to being able to see where you two were, at least…”

“We’re right here, Fluttershy. Safe, sound, and in Rainbow’s case, probably snoring so loud they’ll wake the dead.” They shared a quiet laugh, and then she continued. “But I suppose it’s only natural. We’ve been away for home some time, and one does get used to the accoutrements of the road, for good or ill… though I do not miss my saddlepack, personally.”

“Neither do I. It’s so nice to be in a city again where it’s safe…”

“But it would be better if it were Canterlot. Or if Twilight and the others were around.”

“I miss how Applejack always kept us calm. Even when she didn’t do anything, her just being there made it easier to feel confident.”

Rarity smiled. “She did have a way about her, I’ll grant you that happily. A certain protective air. I certainly miss Pinkie’s antics, myself. True, sometimes Pinkie can be a bit irritating, but whether I would admit it or not at the time, I usually laugh. Even when I don’t, I appreciate the effort. That somepony has remembered little old me.”

“And I miss Twilight,” Fluttershy said, in a different voice than before. “Rarity, I’m afraid for all of our friends, but when I think about Twilight it’s…” she gestured, her mouth opening and closing as if her teeth might snag some last word out of the air.

“Complicated.”

Fluttershy nodded.

“Well, I certainly say that our relationship with our intrepid leader has grown somewhat complicated. This ‘Apostate’ business in particular… who started that? Did Twilight herself come up with that ridiculous word? And who, if not her, would dredge such a… a ghost out of the dusty pages of some old book?”

“She…” Fluttershy shrugged.

“I love her all the same,” Rarity said, after a pause. “And I always will, as I love you all.” Rarity laid out flat beside Fluttershy and then turned on her back to look at the ceiling. She gestured. “I have given all five of you girls my heart and received another one in its place. We’ll never stop being friends, Fluttershy. Our companionship is stronger than any lead bullet or iron shield—”

At that moment, there was another knock at Rarity’s door. She stopped, blinked, and turned to her companion. “Fluttershy, did you come with somepony else?” Fluttershy shook her head, and so Rarity sat up again and cleared her throat. “Well, who is it?”

“Rares, can I come in?” Rainbow Dash asked outside the door.

Rarity’s face brightened with a fierce smile. “Well, of course! Always.”

Rainbow pushed the door open, holding a pillow in one curled leg. She raised an eyebrow at the scene before her.

“Don’t stand there,” Rarity said lightly. “You’ll let all the dark in, you know. Fluttershy and I were just discussing something of great importance to you, Rainbow of Cloudsdale.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same. When she opened and closed the door, it did indeed creak, and Rainbow herself seemed to be noise given shape. She shuffled so awkwardly along the stone floors, the report of her hard hooves like little hammerblows. She stretched her wings, and Rarity found herself admiring them.

“You know that’s not my name.”

“Forgive me, Rainbow of Ponyville,” Rarity said with a laugh. “I meant no offense.”

“And I didn’t take any. Mind if I join the party?”

“I would be delighted, in fact,” Rarity replied, and patted the part of the bed beside her, opposite from Fluttershy.

Rainbow climbed aboard and then, in an instant, the air changed. It was in an odd way like traveling backwards in time. Rarity felt as if they had swum upstream and come at last to some quiet place, where the rapids gave way to creeks and ponds that melted from ice on the serene mountains. Unsought, her mind wandered and returned with pictures and feelings of the cave in the snow that her friends had dug for her, saving her life when the cold had proved too much. In some strange way, though her bed was now crowded, she felt more free than she had before. Life was meant to be this way, or at least it was easy to think that in the moment, with two pegasi pressed snugly to her. And they were quite close. She was surprised to find that Rainbow did not keep her distance, or that Fluttershy did not mind being so intimate.

What her weary mind was trying to feel was perhaps something like happiness. The reverie was not disturbed when Rainbow asked a muffled question.

“So, what’s this little get together for? Or do you two just snuggle randomly? I mean, I’m not gonna stop ya, whatever floats the Flutterboat.”

Rarity laughed and rolled over to face her. Dash had her face flat against the bedding, staring ahead. Usually, Rarity would have simply offered some witty retort, but somehow none came to mind. Perhaps her wit was failing. Or perhaps the mood was simply too serene for such foolishness. Whatever her reason was, Rarity didn’t care. She simply nuzzled Rainbow and answered. “No, but she wanted some company. I take it you felt a little lonely too.”

It wasn’t as if she had never done this before. Nuzzling was a common greeting among close friends in Equestria, and yet Rainbow stiffened. “I… well, yeah. It’s not weird,” she added.

“It’s not weird at all. We’re used to company,” Rarity said gently. Rainbow’s reaction stirred something in her. Something warm. She grinned. “But as I was saying, dear, we were just discussing your element.”

“What, flying?”

“No, Rainbow, your element,” Fluttershy said with a little laugh.

“Ooooooh. Loyalty. Stuff. Yeah, got it.”

“Loyalty stuff, yes, Rainbow. Eloquently put,” Rarity said and relaxed with her back to Fluttershy and her right cheek on the bedding facing Rainbow Dash. “We were just thinking of the girls. What they’re doing, where they are. How they are.”

Rainbow sighed. “Yeah.”

“I miss them,” Fluttershy said softly.

“But they’ll be fine,” Rainbow continued on. “They’ll be fine. I mean, I guess if you’re really asking me, I have no way to say that for sure. It’s a dangerous world out there. I mean, it always was though, you know?”

“Hm?” Rarity raised an eyebrow.

“Rarity, you lived in Ponyville, the place with the most weird happenings per capita,” Rainbow responded flatly. Rarity tittered a bit in response, and Dash continued. “But, yeah, it wasn’t dangerous in the same way. I mean, especially when we have Fluttershy to just like, kindness the big dumb manticore away.”

“He was not dumb! He was such a sweet kitty,” Fluttershy mumbled.

“He was a friggin’ manticore,” Rainbow said. “But yeah, I know they aren’t as aggressive towards ponies as some things. I mean, hell, as long as you stay out of the forest they’ll just about never bother you.”

“Territorial, though,” Fluttershy offered.

“Yes, we get the point,” Rarity snuck in. “But you were saying earlier, Rainbow?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, right. Danger. But like I was saying: the world’s always been a little scary. When things aren’t so… you know, end of the world, fire and brimstone, ponies still worry about getting sick. Paying debts. Their kids growing up right. All kinds of stuff can happen, you know? Just walking out the door.”

“It’s a dangerous business. Suppose you trip?” Rarity asked, but then continued. “But I think I understand.”

“It is a dangerous business, or whatever. You’re right. Even a walk down the street is dangerous, in a way. Flying is risky. Even when it’s no-stress, slow flying, you’re still in the air. We have light bones. Remember when you broke your leg, Fluttershy? When you were little?”

Fluttershy stirred against Rarity’s back. “Yes.”

“How far did you fall?” Rainbow asked.

“Um… I don’t know… Maybe two ponylengths? I have no idea, Rainbow…”

“But not far, right?” Rainbow insisted, pressing on. “See? And yeah, she fell on cobblestone so it’s kinda different, but you know what I mean. Every normal day you’re out their walking can turn into a disaster. Eventually, I guess I just realized that I couldn’t be afraid all the time anymore, about myself or my friends. I can be worried about them… I mean, I am worried about them. Pinkie’s not the best fighter, you know? Twilight’s not as fast as the others. But I could sit here and list off all the little dangers for like, ever.” She pursed her lips, as if lost in some thought. Rarity simply gazed at her, enthralled, before she finished.

“I could be afraid all the time, or I could choose to feel afraid. That’s what I decided after Fluttershy hurt her leg. I got pretty freaked out, like, I was working with a trainer then. It was after I quit flight school. I kept wondering if that was gonna happen to me, only worse, cause I go fast, y’know? But I worried so much that I flew worse. I hesitated. I kept screwing up and flying worse and worse and I was so frustrated, and it was because I was just… afraid all the time.”

“You quit? I’m fuzzy on that particular story,” Rarity admitted. Rainbow shrugged and shifted to lay on her side.

“Yeah, long story. Or well, kind of. I’ll fill you in some day. But you can feel afraid and not be afraid. You can’t control everything, Rares. I sure can’t. You gotta do what you can do, and do what you can for your friends, and you hope for the best. I know that the others might be in danger right now, and that’s not even counting Canterlot or the Princess or Spike… but I can’t do anything about it. I have to focus on what I can do and do it as good as I can. Which means getting whatever help or giving whatever help we can, however I can. Fortune favors the bold. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“I’ve heard that myself,” Rarity said quietly. “I think that’s wise, Rainbow.”

“Thanks,” Dash replied, very quietly, and looked away.

Part of Rarity wanted to discuss their next step. She wanted to plan. The food was there, and they might be able to get the Empress to part with it, but there would be no way to defend it with the Legions tied up… Not to mention the fact that Mitou’s awakening would probably pose a threat to Equestria as the country grew colder and the frost spread south.

But it was late, and her friends were here, and Rarity found that mostly she just wanted to sleep. Or talk. Or drink, though in a different manner than before.

“I don’t suppose you girls mind staying?” she asked.

“You serious? These rooms are so big and friggin’ empty,” Rainbow griped and rolled on her back.

“Oh, I would be delighted. It is a bit lonely. I wouldn’t mind staying,” Fluttershy said.

“Then it’s settled.” Rarity sat up quickly, upsetting the bed a bit, and hopped down. “And I do hope you girls don’t begrudge me this, but I think we could all use a bit of time to unwind. A symposium, perhaps? I’m sure you’re familiar with the term. The two of you are pegasi, after all.” She glanced back at them with a smile.

“Oh dear… Now?” Fluttershy asked, sitting up as well.

Rarity turned away, continuing to grin all the way to the dresser and the complimentary scotch. The servants who had prepared the room had included three glasses, oddly enough. She would have to thank them later. If I see them. Nothing like the ones in Canterlot. They’re so flighty here, it’s impossible to say a simple thank you.

She once again inspected the bottle as her friends moved on the bed behind her, making it shake. “Yo, Rares, you serious?”

“Why, of course. To be honest…” she shrugged, took the bottle and the glasses with her magic, and turned back to Rainbow with a sheepish smile. “I was maybe planning to do so regardless. Alone.”

“Aw, you know that’s no good,” Rainbow said with a little whine, but she smiled. “See, you gotta have ponies with you, girl.”

“And behold, here you are. As if the stars themselves sent you,” Rarity said, and trotted over.

“Oh dear…” Fluttershy frowned. Rarity came to her first and nudged her with a shoulder.

“Oh, come Fluttershy. I’m only wanting to let loose for a night. It’s been a tense visit. It’s quite alright.”

“Yeah, I know this ain’t your thing, but—” Rainbow began, but Fluttershy shook her head.

“No, no I’ll try. It’s traditional,” she said, very seriously. Rarity arched an eyebrow and looked at Dash questioningly.

Rainbow snorted. “Hey, you’re the one who called symposia, not us.” She blinked. “Oh Celestia, you don’t know what that means, do you?”

“I wasn’t aware it was anything more than a friendly get together,” Rarity replied, frowning.

Rainbow laughed a bit too hard. “Ah, geeze, Rares. Yeah, that’s the gist of it, but its a bit more grandiose than that. Like, in a drunken way. Big pallet on the floor, pillows to lean on, some food. You know, grapes and olives and stuff you can nab from some slow earth ponies.” Her grin was practically predatory, and for some reason Rarity loved it. “Or, in this case…”

“Are you trying to imply something?” Rarity asked.

Fluttershy sighed weakly. “Oh Dash, are you sure?”

“Of course!” Rainbow leaned in. “No pegasi party is complete without some sort of raid. It’s very traditional. Trust me. Consider this a lesson in high manners,” she added when Rarity’s skepticism showed through. “Get it? High… manners? Geeze. Pinkie woulda laughed.”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Pinkie laughs at everything.”

“That she does! And consider the first toast to her. Now come on, wouldya?” Rainbow hopped down and spread her wings. “Rarity, you and I can go… requisition some stuff. Fluttershy can set things up here.”

Rarity was grinning, despite herself. It was foolish, but she hadn’t seen Rainbow excited in awhile. A long while, really. “If you insist, but this is a bit much, don’t you think?” she asked.

Rainbow shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I’m a bit too excited. But… I mean, back at home, before all of this, we did silly things all the time. Pinkie threw some ridiculous party like every couple of weeks for the lamest things. We haven’t had fun in forever, and as long as we dwell on being sad we’ll be useless. Let’s have fun. Just this once, and then we can go back to work and get this done.”

And with that, and with a little fire in her eyes, she strode off. Rarity hesitated a moment, noticing for not the first time that she cut a fine form—wings extended, proud athletic legs and all the rest—and then shook her head. Morale was important, she supposed.

Rainbow

It had just been one of those ideas. The kind that just pop into your head because of some random connection, the ones that are so dumb that their dismissed in a heart beat. But she hadn’t let go of it. She’d held on.

And that was how Rainbow found herself sneaking through the halls of the Crystal Palace at night, sticking to the shadows.

“Rainbow,” Rarity hissed, “you do know we don’t have to really hide, right?”

“Then why are you keeping your voice down?” Rainbow asked, using her wings to speed up. Rarity struggled to keep up.

“It just… seemed… appropriate!” she answered.

“Yeah, well, I mean…” Rainbow stopped as the hallway opened into an intersection. “You can’t just lollygag around! It’s a raaaid.”

“It’s not a raid.”

“I’m the pegasus marauder here,” Rainbow replied with a snort.

Rarity raised an eyebrow. Rainbow could see her do it even in the dark, or at least she imagined she could.

“Whatever,” she said, laughing.

Rainbow strode out into the hallway. Pursing her lips, she looked down each way and tried to remember what she knew of the layout. Truth be told, she actually knew very little. It’s not like Rainbow paid attention to things like tours. Or explanations. Or… well. Whatever. She could find it.

“You’re quite gung ho about this,” Rarity said, and laughed.

Rainbow liked the sound. She guessed that she kind of always had, really, but she liked it a lot more these days. Maybe because it was, well, rare. Oh kill me before I lay eggs. I’ll become Pinkie.

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged. “When I was a kid, my dad and his buddies would do this. Everybody does sometimes in Cloudsdale. It’s not a huge thing, but it’s still like a thing. A kind of tradition. The old pegasi warriors would do this after coming home from a campaign, or sometimes when things were slow and they had a few days of peace. They would unwind and talk and get smashed, but not too smashed. Just enough to get everypony a little silly and a little talkative. All the best pegasi philosophy came out of symposoi,” she said.

“I wasn’t aware you read philosophy, Dash,” Rarity remarked.

Rainbow looked down one hallway again, shrugged, and wandered down it. Rarity followed on her heels. “Well, I don’t. My dad used to say that all the time.” They walked on a bit, passing hallways and tapestries, sculptures and arrayed suits of armor before at last Rainbow turned around and looked at Rarity. “Yeah, I got no idea. Which way’s the pantry, or the kitchen, or whatever?”

Rarity hummed. “Oh, well, if you’re feeling like getting some extra help… and if it won’t interfere with the campaign of the finest of pegasi raiders, I’d be glad to help.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Lead the way, then, Rares.” Rarity led them down another hallway, and Rainbow caught up to her.

“I was more seeing where you would lead. I didn’t mean to withhold information,” Rarity explained.

Dash shrugged it off. “It’s alright. Kinda just glad you came along.”

“Well, drinking was my idea, originally,” Rarity said, and resumed her humming.

Rainbow was led through a seeming maze of hallways and wide open spaces, past balconies and meeting rooms and reception areas and great dining rooms, until at last Rarity paused before a double door emblazoned with strange letters that Dash couldn’t hope to read.

“Here we are!” her friend announced cheerfully.

“You can read this stuff?” Rainbow asked. She pushed the door open and stepped inside the dark kitchen. At least, she guessed it was indeed a kitchen. It was hard to tell when the inside was pitch black.

The darkness was chased away as a little ball of magical illumination wandered by Rainbow’s cheek. It was warm, but not hot. Her coat and mane stood on end, and a shiver passed down her spine, as it always did when a unicorn used magic too close. But she did not feel the odd sensation she did when Twilight used her battle magic, the weighty presence of something else. Instead, it was much like Rarity herself passing by just a bit too close, just enough to press against her side.

“I can’t,” Rarity replied. “I just paid attention. A lady must always know where to find the things that are important, Rainbow Dash. Food. Friends. Clothing. Implements of Violence. You know. Essentials.” Rarity trotted along, saying this in an almost singsong. Dash had to admit there was something attractive about it. Rarity continued, “It’ll be somewhere around here. The pantry, I mean. You’ll know it when you see it, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow affirmed, focusing on the task at hand.

Whatever her intentions, that focus did not last for long. After a moment, she turned to ask Rarity some inane question which was quickly forgotten. Rarity stood with a curious, thoughtful look on her face by a small wine rack. The light from her spell poured over her face perfectly, highlighting the sharp lines and aristocratic features, the shining eyes and full lips. Rainbow gulped.

“A pity,” Rarity said quietly. “Though I do know that they have a cellar here… somewhere.”

“Ah, I could totally find that,” Rainbow offered quickly. “If you want.”

Rarity turned to her and smiled. “Why, that would be wonderful. The stairs down there are somewhere around here...”

Rainbow listened, but most of her brainpower went to gazing. It was a strange feeling, knowing you were ogling someone even as you ogled them, and not knowing why.

Rarity

Rarity felt amazing. She could conjure up a dozen other words to describe the feeling, and perhaps would in a moment, but “amazing” worked just fine. Wine did things to Rarity. One of these things was increase her vocabulary.

She leaned back against her pillow, gesturing at the ceiling as her magic held the cup in a firm and sober grip. Some unicorns could work magic just fine when intoxicated, and some were hopeless. Rarity tried not to be hopeless in any situation.

“But I’m just saying that there has to be more to this business of you and flight school, darling,” she drawled. Another aspect of an intoxicated Rarity: a noticeable change of tone. “Won’t you tell? It’s not nice to keep secrets, you know,” she added in a singsong before giggling. Fluttershy giggled as well, on the other side of the pallet.

They all lay around several dishes. Olives, bread, three bottles of wine (Rarity had made sure to find something sweet, mild, and drinkable for Fluttershy) and a few glasses were cluttered together in the middle of their symposium. Most of the food had been eaten, and quite a bit of progress was being made on the wine.

Rainbow rolled her eyes dramatically and ate an olive. “Daaaarling,” she said, mimicking Rarity’s gestures. “But what if there isn’t?”

“Welllll, make something up! Come on, for me? You would at least try to reward my boundless curiosities and whims, hmm? Please?”

Rainbow balanced another glass between two hooves and drank. “Well…”

“Oh, dear, are you sure you want to know, Rarity?” Fluttershy said, a bit louder than usual. She smiled even so, and her cheeks were rosy. Rarity giggled at this, covering her mouth with a hoof.

“Well, I suppose if it’s just to private too share with your bosom companions, too heart wrenching to be laid bare before you fellow maidens in arms—”

Rainbow laughed. “I think the only maiden here is Fluttershy!”

“And too strange to elaborate upon even with I, your beautiful, gracious, humble, and… and curious host…”

“Oh, alright,” Rainbow said, waving her off. Rarity grinned and lay flat, inching closer.

“See? It’s just little old me.”

“Yeah, little gossipy you,” Rainbow said with a lopsided grin.

“Why, I never! I simply enjoy the… the news. Yes.”

“Like the news about… um… who are the spa ponies? They're so nice…” Fluttershy hummed and scrunched her face up in concentration.

“Aloe, dear. And Lotus. I think? Yes,” she repeated with gusto. “Yes, absolutely.”

“You used to talk with them about so many things, like—”

Rarity coughed. “Fluttershy! Honestly, revealing a lady’s secrets!”

“So I’m not a lady?” Rainbow asked, and then laughed. Rarity sputtered, but Rainbow went on. “Nah, I kinda wanna tell it now, y’know?”

“Oh, of course!” Rarity was many things. Magnanimous. Gracious. Ambitious. Occasionally devious. She was also incredibly nosy. She knew this about herself. The knowledge cut through even the alcoholic haze which quite pleasantly turned the candles on the stone mantle on the opposite side of the room into waving little stars. She inched even closer, eager. This was perfectly normal. After all, didn’t everypony love a good story?

Rainbow drained the glass, set it down carefully and with no little bit of wobbling. Rarity carefully steadied the glass, using just enough magic to be helpful but not enough to be noticed. Small favors made the world go ‘round.

“So, I was kinda just a kid, you know? Like, not a kid kid. Whatever. But I was really dumb back then, and I was really cocky.”

“Only back then?” Rarity asked, and laughed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fluttershy smiling the smile of the warmly drunk. She would be sound asleep soon. Rarity reminded herself to get the mare some water from the pitcher on the table by the wall. She would be happy for it tomorrow.

“Hey, I try!”

“Oh, I’m just teasing,” Rarity said. “You do. You have matured quite a bit in the time I’ve known you. You’ve become a courageous, supernally beautiful picture of pegasus femin… femininity.” She delivered the line perfectly, with all of the pomp she could muster, and all three mares went into a fit of laughter.

“You…” Fluttershy yawned and stretched her wings. “You have grown up a lot, Rainbow.” She sighed, and Rarity poured a drink of water from the pitcher, cooling it down with her magic before she offered it to Fluttershy, who drank it quietly.

“But do go on, dear,” Rarity prompted.

“So here comes adoles... adult-”

“Adolescent,”Rarity said.

“Yeah, that. I was that. And I was on fire and excited, and I was pretty terrible at following directions. But like, pegasi kids are like that sometimes, you know? We’re rambunctious. Is that a word? Okay, yeah, that’s a word. And I wasn’t a jerk, so they didn’t get toooooo mad at me.

“And I made friends. That’s when I met Fluttershy. I had loads of fun. Picked fights with bullies, flew circles around the teachers…”

Rarity’s smile this time was gentle. She loved the way Rainbow’s eyes lit up as she recalled her past. The excitement that dripped from her lips was like honey. She imagined her wings going up in excitement, and giggled aloud. It’s so cute the way they do that. Her wings really are splendid.

“What?” Rainbow asked, as she contemplated a bottle. “Um…”

Rarity poured some with her magic. “You’re sure you haven’t had too much?”

“Heh, I’m good. Pegasi are lightweights, that’s what you’re thinkin’ right? Well… okay, yeah, that’s true.” She shrugged and drank some of the nice pinot noir Rarity had picked only an hour or two before just for her.

Strong, but still with a sweet edge… medium bodied, hints of the field and fruit. Packs quite a punch. Perfect for a pegasus like Rainbow. I think.

“Well, I had this one friend. Her name was Cheerful Skies. She was so great, Rares, a really fun filly to hang with. We used to race and I always won.”

Fluttershy yawned again. “You beat everypony though, Rainbow…”

“Yeah, but they weren’t as fun as her. She laughed all the time, and she was always up for fun when we had time off. Even though I won every race. We were fast friends, though, that’s the point. The teachers started pairing us up because when I was with her, I behaved. Didn’t want to get her in trouble. Same with Fluttershy… sometimes.”

“She sounds charming,” Rarity purred lightly. She tried some of the pinot noir herself. Yes, it had been an excellent match to Rainbow. “But… I can’t help but notice you haven’t spoken of her before.”

Rainbow sighed. “Yeah, well. There’s a reason for that.”

Rarity frowned, concerned. She sat up and carefully walked over to Rainbow’s side of the pallet. Fluttershy had already begun to move, and settled on the other side. Lightly, Rarity nuzzled Rainbow. “Oh dear… Rainbow, if this is painful—”

“You don’t have to tell her all of it,” Fluttershy said softly. She was fading fast, now.

“Nah, nah I should tell all of it,” Rainbow said. “This stuff is really good… whatcha call it again?”

“Pinot noir,” Rarity said, showing her the bottle. “It’s… it occurs to me that ex… explaining wine varieties in this peculiar, ah,” Rarity yawned, and then mumbled the rest.

“Hm?”

“Go on,” Rarity said.

“Alright. Well… well, you know I’m… like, you know I like mares.”

Fluttershy, her face down on a pillow, gave a rather muffled response. “Rainbow, you told everyponyforever ago, nopony cares anymore.”

“Er, yeah,” Rainbow said, scratching her mane. “Uh, anyway. So I liked her.”

“Yes, we gathered that some time ago,” Rarity said softly. “That is how these stories tend to go.”

“Celestia, you make me sound like I’m some… um… I don’t know. Stereotype.”

“Not at all. It’s quite natural for mares—” Rarity took a long draught of wine. “Ahem, for mares of our caliber—which is great. I mean, like our caliber. It’s stupendously wonderful. Supernal—to discuss our love lives. When drunk. Very acceptable.”

“So, I put my little moves on her, y’know? Went in for the kill. Dropped hints, brushed by her a few times, teased her. And I thought she really, really was re… re… um. That she was cool with it. But I guess I was just a dumbass, because she was always huggy and happy and wanted to be with me. I screwed everything up bad.”

“Oh… what happened?” Rarity asked, pulling back to watch Rainbow’s face.

“Well… I kissed her. I thought she was just too shy, because I was dumb, and she flipped out.”

“Ah…”

“Yeah. Super protective parents were furious. It was against the school rules, and I was already a troublemaker…”

“Did they expell you? You poor dear…” Rarity began, but Rainbow cut her off.

“No. I left! I ran off, right off that stupid cloud, took to the skies. Went all the way back home.”

Rainbow worked her mouth, as if trying to remember words, but then a light snoring interrupted her. She and Rarity both looked down together at Fluttershy, who was unconscious against the fluffiest pillow she could find. They looked back at each other and stifled laughter with much effort.

“Can you handle her with magic?” Rainbow whispered.

“I can certainly try, dear…” Rarity responded, and did so. Gently, she concentrated and lifted Fluttershy up off the assorted blankets and pillows. Rainbow got to her hooves, a bit off balance, and together they walked Fluttershy back towards the bed.

“Rainbow… do be a dear and help me with the weight,” Rarity asked. The effort was more than she’d anticipated, and it had sobered her somewhat.

“‘kay,” Rainbow responded eloquently, and together they placed Fluttershy on the bed. Rarity looked back at the remains of their evening’s festivities and smiled.

Wordlessly, the two awake mares cleared away the clutter and then sat on the bed. Rarity gently brushed Fluttershy’s hair back with a hoof. “She was carrying a lot of stress. I was glad she could let go of a little of it.”

“Me too.”

“So,” Rarity continued, turning her gaze towards Rainbow. “What happened?”

“Hm?”

“With you and your doomed love,” Rarity clarified with a smile, and laid down.

Rainbow grinned back and laid down on the comfortable bed as well, close to Rarity. Though her mind was not quite as clouded, her body still felt warm and she allowed herself to feel comfortable this close to her friend. She felt the urge to rest her head on Rainbow’s back, right next to her folded wings, but restrained herself. Honestly, Rarity. What has come over you tonight?

“Ah, nothin’,” Rainbow said. “I tried to go see her, but I couldn’t find out where she lived. Dad was kinda pissed, but not really. Mostly I think he was mad that her parents had overreacted. And that I flew all the way home by myself, I guess. But he didn’t punish me.”

“I begin to see why you’ve been so… hm. So… uncomfortable discussing your interests.”

“Wha?”

“Your preference. You know.”

“Ooooh.” Rainbow laughed and then yawned. “You know… and I mean, maybe this is that fancy-shmancy wine talking, but you really are pretty. Cheerful Skies had a nice mane but yours is a lot—” she yawned again. “Better. Yeah.”

Rarity blinked. “Why, thank you.”

“Mhm…” Rainbow’s eyes were not on Rarity. Or, more specifically, not on her face. They had drifted downwards, and Rarity followed their gaze towards her legs and blushed furiously. A strange, bizarre thought came over her. Could she… I thought, at times, but dismissed it as wishful thinking. But…

“You know, now that Fluttershy’s asleep, we could talk about anything,” Rainbow said, grinning a bit salaciously. Her voice was a lot more slurred now, sleep creeping in.

“Yes… we could,” Rarity agreed, a bit breathlessly.

“Mhm… did you…” Rainbow shook her head, as if trying to drive away sleep, but almost as soon as she stopped her eyelids sank, too heavy. “You have really nice legs, has anypony told you that before? I always… uh, I always kinda wondered why you didn’t have stallions all over you.”

“I turned a few away,” Rarity allowed. Her heart beat a bit faster. Calm down, she ordered herself. It was just the drink talking. Nothing more. As much as how close their faces were and how warm Rainbow’s body felt even in this way—the only way, she corrected furiously. Her thoughts became jumbled.

“Yeah… why? I mean, you could have like anypony you wanted… not a good enough stallion around?”

“Perhaps. That’s not my only, er, preference, of course…”

“Mm…” Rainbow grinned at her and leaned in, eyes soft. “Really? Tell me about that…”

And Rarity sat dumbfounded. Was Rainbow going to…?

Rainbow Dash slumped against her shoulder, and Rarity knew almost immediately that she was asleep. Snores after a moment confirmed this. She laughed at herself, her foolishness. I am as desperate as an old spinster, it seems. Getting all worked up as if Rainbow Dash would want to kiss me, the prissiest, most un-Rainbow mare she could find.

But she hesitated to move Rainbow, who was stretched comfortably on the bed, and so at last she simply put her head against the bedspread and soon she too surrendered. Foolishness aside, she found herself enjoying the company and the warmth, and the feeling of excitement that lingered as she imagined that perhaps Rainbow would have wanted to lean a bit more, and what she may or may not have wanted. It was just some foolish wishing, but it was nice. And that was enough, she supposed.

Author's Note

XX. Land of Confusion

Spike

“So, after commandeering my private yacht, you flew straight into the fray with minimal weaponry, no experience with command or airships of the modern make… and brought back a shipload of stragglers?”

Spike nodded.

Luna smiled. “When I told you at our last meeting to do what could be done, I did not anticipate action quite that bold. I am very impressed, Spike. I’m also glad that you were so fortunate. Few go into battle as green as you—pardon the pun, my friend—and come out unscathed.”

Spike shivered. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Luna gestured, and they walked out to the balcony. Spike was glad to be out in the open, in the fresh air. He enjoyed the palace, but since waking up, he had felt like it was too small, too full of hallways and places to hide.

His dreams had been troubled. If Luna knew, she did not speak of it. Yet. Even after all this time, she confused him. One minute she was direct, straight to the heart of things like an arrow or a javelin in a unicorn’s grip. The next she was as indirect as a blushing virgin. The word Twilight used… what was it?

“Tell me about it,” Luna said as she looked over the city. “Tell me of your first battle. I have read the reports, but I wish to hear it from you. A warrior tells his own story from his heart, after all. If nothing else, it does him good to put it all into words. Words are powerful, Spike.”

Spike was young, but he was sharp. His eyesight was incredible—his hearing better than one would expect of a reptilian species. He caught many things in the web of his senses, and so he noted the way that Luna glanced at him, eyes which were like tiny fires, a furrowed brow and an unreadable face. Her words were gentle, but her face was not. But there was no rancor, and he was glad for that. She really did not seem to mind that he hadn’t exactly asked for permission to use her private vessel.

“You told me I had a lot of freedom to act, and I kept getting reports from runners on what was happening. I felt useless,” he admitted, leaning against the balcony. He, too, watched the city. This was how all of their meetings face to face ended up going. Two souls watching thousands of others. He knew what he saw—home or what he could call home. What she saw was a mystery. Most things were a mystery to him where Luna was involved.

“You can mess with my mind when I’m asleep, can’t you?” Spike asked without thinking. But he was trapped now. He’d said it. “You can show me things or make me think things. You can make me see things.”

His gaze stayed on the city. It traced the high streets of the Celestial district, the crowded byways of the far Terrestrial markets. It was, in short, everywhere but on Luna. His sovereign’s gaze was heavy.

“Why?” she asked.

Spike shivered. Another unreadable syllable. “I saw you.”

Luna did not answer. He considered elaborating, but nothing came to mind. What would he say? If he was wrong, she would call him a lunatic. Even if she had altered something inside him, touched his mind in some way, nothing had come of it but strength and courage. He might have hesitated had it not been for the vision of Luna as a sort of goddess on the battlefield. Spike should be grateful, and he was. He was very grateful.

“Perhaps. It depends on who and on what I would do to them,” Luna at last answered, her voice quiet but not soft. “You saw me on the battlefield.”

“Yeah.”

“You are not mad,” she began. “I believe I have… overstepped my bounds.”

Spike finally looked at her, and for once, he could read something there in her countenance. Shame. Perhaps a bit of alarm. At least, he thought that was it. Doubt died hard, especially where Luna was involved. Not that he did not trust her. He did. Doubt and faith are not opposites. They walk hand in hand, lovers more than enemies, allies and strange bedfellows. Without the uncertainty of doubt, there is no true faith. He had read that somewhere.

“I don’t understand,” Spike admitted.

“You fought well,” Luna said, not quite answering him. “Admirably. Heroically, even. I confess that I was shocked. Yes, you did see me. I walk in dreams, Spike. But Dreamwalking is not all that I can do. There are more things on heaven in earth than even Twilight’s philosophies can guess at, and I am one of them.” She sighed and sat, looking at Spike intently. “Are you angry?”

“No. I just… I’m confused.”

“My sister and I can do many things. Different things. Celestia and I peer into the hearts of ponies. It is what we have always done. My champions always heard my voice in the young days of this kingdom. They saw me in visions and dreams as an aegis over their hearts when they battled great monsters or defended the innocent. It was a very different time. In some ways, it was a dark time. Civilization in these days…” She blinked and then chuckled darkly. “Perhaps not anymore. But when I first returned, I found that civilization was everywhere. It was abundant and not threatened. Monsters existed. Banditry had not died. War and famine and disease were less but had not been wiped away. But the world felt so much safer. In my own time, every settlement was a candle, isolated and alone for all its vibrancy or character, and utterly and irrevocably surrounded by darkness. Cities and towns were full of love and friendship and hope and peace, but the woods were full of death. The plains thundered with the sounds of agony. The mountains bore witness to the many ways that a pony can suffer or fear.”

“So… this ‘Companion’ thing…”

“Is a last holdover from those days. I had many friends, warriors after my own heart. Even as a princess, I strode across the lands with my great hammer, and Celestia and I lived lives much the same as we had for centuries, more adventurers than rulers. I sent my companions out with my spirit riding in their hearts. To be a companion was to be inhabited in this way.”

“Inhabited? Whoa, like, you’re telling me I’m possessed now?” Spike asked, taking a step back.

“No! No, do you see how we have erred?” Luna groaned. “No, it is not like that. I exert no control over you. I simply am with you, to the ends of the world. Simply, as if that were simple. It’s strange and outlandish to you, I know. I had forgotten in the excitement and in my happiness at once again having the Companions. Companion, I should say. I simply gave you courage, my own and the memories of my friends and… lovers,” she added, hesitantly. “When you felt the rage and the sorrow, the will to move on, it was your will. But it was also mine. They are the same, or at least in that moment they were.”

Spike looked away, back towards the city. “That’s a lot to take in.”

“We—forgive me, Companion. I know. The title is not easily shrugged off. The mantle is heavy, but the yoke is light. Do you forgive Us?”

“I guess I do. I mean, I was just gonna stand there like an idiot, Luna. If anything, if you hadn’t nudged me into action with that weird vision…”

“You would have done whatever it is you would have done. The future is uncertain, Spike. Even Celestia knew that. She used to say that all the time, in fact. She has changed much, but sometimes things do not change. I apologize. I have been so very gloomy of late,” she added.

“Kinda hard not to be,” Spike said and went back to leaning on the rails.

“But I still would hear your tale, Spike of Ponyville,” Luna said. “I… hm. I shall be honest. I think it is good to share stories of such things with those who will understand. Also, in the interest of honesty, I confess that I always enjoyed my companion’s stories of their deeds abroad.”

“It wasn’t exactly a grand quest,” Spike said. “It was kind of horrible, actually. Death everywhere… fire, smoke, everything you could want in a nightmare. They were just… I mean, the guardsponies just… died. In droves. Dozens at a time, mowed down. I still don’t know how I didn’t get shot, running at them with my stupid sword like some kind of action hero. I just… ran.”

“The manticore was quite a kill for one who would disparage his worth,” Luna prompted.

“The manticore was kind of an accident,” Spike countered. “I mean, I got so lucky. I was just furious. I can’t get that mad again, or I’ll do something stupid like try to just flame it, and next time, the manticore isn’t going to get its paw stuck in a trench. Next time when I run out of fire and I’m trying to catch my breath, it’ll knock me through a wall.”

“Quite true,” Luna said. “Though I would not be so quick to disparage your fire! I have seen dragons of many stripes and colors and creeds in my time, and a dragon’s fire can break nations. Even yours, young drake, can turn the tide of battle. You recieve wisdom in victory, and I am glad that you see it, but do not overcompensate.”

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks,” he said with a smile.

“Every young warrior, every brave knight worth his salt, begins much as you did. They charge in with hearts full of fear but just as much light and find that battle is not beautiful.” Spike turned back and looked at her. She usually spoke of things like this with such nostalgia. “It can be, in hindsight. The grandness of an army. The beauty of a mageknight’s sword sparkling in the sunlight. Even the thrill of danger in the arms of a beast… Ah. Yes, battle can be intoxicating as much as any wine. At first you are frightened, like a new bride, but then you begin to love the fire in your legs and the ice in your spine. You almost think you hear the Song, the first Song, in how your hoofblades graze the earth, and in how the hammer falls…”

As she spoke, Luna’s whole appearance changed. This change was like a wave, starting small and growing until at last it was overwhelming. Her eyes always had their fire—Spike had found them to be arresting and their gaze penetrating—but now they were positively stars come close to earth. Her smile was not like any of her normal smiles. It was something old and almost feral, but it did not make him feel afraid. He had seen war. He recognized it even though he had never seen its like—expect that, in a way, he had. It reminded him of the stallion with the pistols, gored and still fighting in the retreat from Morningvale. Luna’s mane changed from its normal resting blue to the blazing nightsky as magic poured from her without thought or bidding.

He was not afraid. He felt something else and could not name it. Reverence came to mind, but it was too quiet, too mild. Awe. Awe was appropriate.

Luna coughed, dispelling the fog of glory. “I am sorry,” she said slowly. Old… memories die hard. I am diminished,” she added, smiling in a gentler way than before. “I am diminished. But pray, we may yet think of other things ‘ere you leave. Not all is battle.”

Spike suddenly remembered the letter in his bags. He took a step back towards the bedroom to grab it but hesitated.

Luna looked at him curiously. “You have some business?”

“I… well, it can wait,” Spike said, unsure why he felt the urge to let the issue lie. It was urgent, but an hour would not change anything. It could wait.

“If you are sure,” Luna said. “Though I suspect, perhaps, you feel my mood more than your own. I crave leisure, Spike of Ponyville. I crave it rather desperately.”

“I could use a second to breathe, myself,” Spike replied. “We haven’t done much to help you, and I’m already tired.”

“You’ve done more than you know,” Luna countered. “My yacht is not unknown to our citizenry. They have seen her before, and where the Selene goes, so goes my presence and will. You did even better than you know by taking her to Morningvale. Already, my scouts report that without their aid the story is spreading like wildfire in the streets.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Spike groaned. “It’s all blown out of proportion too.”

“As is the way of tales spread from pony to pony. Some say you wrestled two manticores—”

“Kill me.”

“—and some say that you lopped off the beast’s head and burned its remains, and after this was done, you proceeded to turn the tide back singlehandedly with a river of flame,” Luna finished, revelling. She seemed gleeful, grinning wider than he had ever seen her smile. “Oh, the maidens will sing of thee, Spike, with your great sword…” She paused. “Moonfang, yes, that’s a suitable name! With your great sword, Moonfang, cleaving whole waves of foes, and yet gentle as a lark.”

“That is a terrible name,” Spike said flatly.

Luna huffed. “It is a perfectly acceptable name, young drake.”

“It’s a good name for your sword maybe,” Spike countered. “I’ll think of a name for you, how about that?”

“‘Twould be much appreciated!” Luna said happily. “Choose well, and honor the blade. But… I suppose I should see whatever it is you were about to show me.”

“It’s a letter,” Spike explained, and then headed back inside to grab it. As he looked through his pack, he continued talking. “Rays got it, actually—it’s addressed to him. You’ll see why we wanted you to see it when you see the crest on it.”

Spike held out the letter, and Luna pulled it over to the balcony with her magic. Her eyes lit on the seal and went wide. “Rowan-Oak.”

“Yeah, them.”

“And they want… what?” Luna murmured as she opened the envelope and peered inside, devouring the letter’s contents like a hungry foal. She was silent, aside from a short humming, and then looked between Spike and the letter that dangled in midair before her.

“The young noble you saved… he wants one of your stallions to join his personal honor guard.” It was not a question.

“Apparently.”

“This… this is a rare opportunity,” Luna breathed. Spike could almost see the wheels turning behind her bright eyes. “Troop numbers, levels of readiness, an ear in their home and eyes on their fortunes…” She turned away, looking back out at the city. Spike thought, perhaps, that she was looking for the Rowan-Oak estate. “We can find where they resupply. Like an axe at the root, we will be… Oh, Spike, this is a grand chance. Has the boy accepted?”

“Not yet. I wanted to show you first.”

“Accepted, what am I saying? He’s been ordered. The transfer of guardsponies to the levied soldiers of the Houses is mine to give. And I shall give it! Speak to my Nightshades, and we shall have in place a system of communications for our mole.” Luna practically danced back inside. “Oh, this will be glorious. I shall relish their frustration greatly, young drake. Greatly.”

Luna whistled, and a section of the wall opened up, much to Spike’s amazement. As one of Luna’s Nightshades stepped out, he turned to her. “Has he been here this whole time?”

“Why, always,” Luna said with a puzzled frown. “Art… ahem. Are you truly surprised?”

“I…” Royalty, he reminded himself. Royalty.

Rainbow Rays

The old bat pony’s default glare burned holes right through him. He felt like kindling for a bonfire, a blade scrutinized by an expert eye, a rat on the kitchen counter. His legs wanted to buckle. Instinct told him to bow his head and cry pardon.

But instead, he stood tall. He could not quite meet those crimson eyes, but he could keep from avoiding them too overtly. Rainbow Rays stared ahead like rigid military statuary.

Rays remembered that the bat pony’s name was Paradise, but he had not yet been given the name of his companion. The newer stallion was a unicorn but massive all the same. He towered over both of the other soldiers, glowering as well as he could. If Paradise was fire, this new stallion was like ice. Or an avalanche. Or something. He was running out of word images.

“Who comes to the gate?”

“Your name, colt,” Paradise explained gruffly.

“Rainbow. Rays,” he added after a short, awkward pause. “Rainbow Rays of Canterlot.”

“And why do you come?” continued the nameless officer-type, tonelessly.

“I was… I mean, my transfer was requested, I guess, so—”

“Will you take the Oath of the House and renounce your former connection?”

Rays’ attempt at schooling his own actions had quite failed. It was always opening his mouth that ruined everything. But so far there weren’t any really hard questions. “Yes, I am,” he said, more evenly. Spike and the others had drilled him on what to say and how to say it.

The nameless one coughed. “Well.” His judgemental gaze took in the young pegasus. “Well. Fine enough. Far too few of you feathered types. I’ll swear you in and leave you with the hardass. Ain’t mine.” Another cough and then he returned to his toneless questioning. “Do you swear to uphold the honor of the House Rowan-Oak?”

“Yes.”

“To defend its livelihood and interests, its ponies and its vassals, its friends and liege lord?”

“Yes,” he said, a bit more firmly. There you are, Princess.

“Will you swear yourself to the House in all things, one life for another, your blood for our blood, your pain for our pain, to be under the care of our house as we will be in your care?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are a stallion of House Rowan-Oak.” The nameless one grinned. “Captain Onyx. I head up the day watch here at the Estate. I’m told you’ll be on the Lordling’s detail with hardass. When he’s done with you, the armory is in the basement. Yulestone will get you some gear with the house’s crest on it and a lance.” Chuckling, Onyx turned around and walked off without a word.

This left Paradise and Rays in the foyer together. The bat pony sighed. “You should not be here.”

“I’m… sorry?” Rays replied.

“It isn’t your fault. You are a soldier as I am. You go where you are sent and do what you are meant to do,” Paradise said with a shrug. “But the young lord is foolhardy, and I was far, far too careless. As you saw,” he added, grimacing.

Rays let the mask drop and frowned. “How’s your back? I was concerned after that fight. You were pretty out of it.”

“It was an inexcusable failure on my part,” Paradise growled and turned quickly. “Follow. I’ll take you to the quarters you will be sharing with me, in conjunction to the Lord’s chamber.”

“He snuck up on you without any warning. You couldn’t have known,” Rays said. Despite himself, he liked this gruff sentinel. It didn’t hurt that Spike had told him to ingratiate himself as well.

“Oh, I could have,” Paradise said and looked back at Rays. “And you will too. Impossibility does not excuse you from responsibility. As your lord lives so do you, and as he suffers you suffer a hundredfold. Now, come. We have things to do. Ponies to talk to. You have a lot of things to learn before I will feel comfortable with giving you any sort of responsibility, whether my body is broken presently or not.”

At least I’m through the gate, Rays thought as they walked through the courtyard. It was massive—as big as he had always imagined the famous statue gardens at the palace were. But House Rowan-Oak’s estate was a fortress, and it was impossible to forget this even in such a beautiful place. High stone walls encapsulated the greenery. Sentries walked the boundaries, keeping to the outside paths. Spike and Sergeant Wood had mentioned counting those guards as well. He tried his best, but Rays was sure he’d missed some. Ten in the courtyard, ten on the walls. Not counting the two on each little tower, which would make eight more. Not exactly a cohort, but he suspected that there were others just out of sight.

When Spike and the Sergeant had brought the letter to him, he’d been sure something terrible had happened. They’d come to chew him out. He’d done something awful. The whole secret… thing had been compromised. But no, they’d just hoofed the letter open and looked at him expectantly.

Of course he remembered Fable Rowan-Oak. The lordling they’d saved at the bar was hard to forget, and the bruises from that fight hadn’t quite gone away yet. Soarin’ had given him a lot of attention. Rays, for his part, liked this quite a lot. Stars, but looking wasn’t a sin, was it?

Regardless, by the time Rays had finished reading, the next words out of Spike’s mouth were all too predictable. He was here to be sneaky. They wanted him to spy—and spy he would, Rays supposed. Giving numbers wasn’t so bad. “Thirtyish in the courtyard during the day,” he’d scrawl on the teleporting scroll. See? That wasn’t so treasonous.

It wasn’t that he thought what he was doing was evil. He didn’t. Princess Luna needed his help, and that’s why he had signed on for the guard in the first place. If anything was going to ever get better anywhere, ponies like him would have to start making a difference.

Paradise led him inside, and once again, Rays began to memorize the positioning and number of guards. Rowan-Oak was a warlike house even in the most peaceful times. There were a lot of stallions in armor to count. He couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place in his own Solar barding, but he supposed he would sadly be rid of it soon. I’ll miss this, he thought as he glanced down at the polished, gilded steel. And he would.

A few of the guards standing at attention by the walls gave him smirks as he passed. Not malicious looks, but knowing. Fresh meat. It was a bit like being the new transfer student. Rays quickened his pace a bit.

From a great hall, they passed into a smaller hall and finally emerged back outside into a smaller, more intimate courtyard. It was a simple square enclosed by a porch on all sides, with more doors and more halls and a beautiful fountain in the center. An earth pony raised a tattered flag over the cascading waters, captured forever in marble.

At this point, Paradise turned to him. “Do you know who this is?”

Rays blinked, a bit startled. “Ah… no? The statue… fountain thing?”

“Yes. The statue fountain thing,” Paradise replied flatly. “I don’t suppose you wish to try your luck at guessing?”

Rays thought for perhaps three seconds. “No idea,” he said honestly. “I guess you’ll tell me, though.”

The bat pony’s sigh was long and deep as the ocean. “My frustration is not exactly with you,” he began, “but with the fact that my family has served this great house for a very, very long time, and its traditions and history are important to me. Not so as much with many of my fellows. But you will be different. I will be quite sure of it,” he added, a bit darkly. “This is Tall Rowan, the founder of the House.”

Paradise sighed and turned back to the statue, looking up at the pony. Rays’ eyes followed, and he at last paid the fountain the attention it was worth. The stallion had a hard face but not a malicious one. He seemed to be just what he was—cut from cold stone—and yet he seemed heroic. Stoic, even. He was focused, and there was something honest in that determined stance. A bit of the dashing good looks of Commander Soarin’ with Macintosh’s muscle. I’d follow him.

Paradise, thankfully, could not see the smirk on Rays’ face. “During the Changeling Swarms of the early Celestial Era, Tall Rowan singlehoofedly turned a complete route into victory at Badlook Ridge. There were parades in his honor in this city.” Paradise’s voice was soft. “It has been some time since we were held in that regard.”

“Wha—?” but before Rays could ask, Paradise cut him off.

“Enough of that. Let’s continue. We need to have you properly equipped.”

Equipped. This implied a visit to the armory. Rays tensed slightly.

“You got all of that?” Spike asked. “Numbers of troops, makeup, disposition. Anything. Everything. If it seems even vaguely important, you remember it.”

“Got it,” Rays said, nodding furiously.

“Weapons,” Sergeant Amber Wood interrupted. “Remember t’ be lookin’ for those weapons they’ve got, lad. See if ye can’t get a good look at the maker’s mark on ‘em. We’ll be needing that.”

He’d worked the details out himself on the long walk down to the estate. Politics hadn’t really been his thing in school, so it had taken a while to jog his memory, but bit by bit he’d gotten it. The major houses maintained their own standing armies—most were small, and Rowan-Oak’s was an exception—as well as levies they could pull from their holdings or had a right to demand from certain cities. They owed the monarchs at least a portion of their forces every year, even in peacetime, and almost all of them when called up in a muster. But they could keep back their good troops and send their levies if they wanted. It was frowned upon, but it happened. The levies often had their own equipment supplied by the town or city or the province itself from a common store, or they bought their own. The standing armies, however, had to be armed and paid out of the pocket of the House itself.

Which meant that House Rowan-Oak needed suppliers and menders. If they were going to have an army worth doing anything, they would need several fine blacksmiths. He just needed to figure out who those craftsponies were.

No big deal, right? He wouldn’t recognize any of their marks, of course. But he could sketch them on the scroll Spike had given him. He could do that much at least, and nopony got hurt. While he was not the brightest, Rays had a stellar memory. Beyond stellar, in fact. He remembered everything he saw, read, heard, or smelt. When Rays professed to not remember, he either had never seen the thing in question or was lying through his teeth. Occasionally both. They were not mutually exclusive.

He had, of course, kept this to himself—not only with his brief interactions so far with the guard but also with Spike and his co-conspirators. He had often found that one could be useful without saying how one was able to be so, and it was better not to create… unrealistic expectations. So he laid low. Helped, but wanted the spotlight until it meant ponies expected great things. Great things often exploded in a pony’s face.

He had the layout of the compound inside the walls down pat. The main building in the center seemed to be the one that housed most of the family, their dining halls and sitting rooms and such. The courtyard behind it, with the statue, was a kind of annex leading to three other structures that were all attached. As they walked into one of these, a few questions to Paradise filled in the rest of his mental map. One was the armory and barracks for the regular soldiery and occasional levies, the structure directly across from the main building was mostly guest chambers and a library, and the third building was… well, all he could gather was that it was a vault of some kind. Paradise was vague, and Rays was not sure if this was from lack of knowledge or something else entirely. The practice yards and parade ground were behind the barracks, and the rest was walls and towers and patrolling guards.

All in all, he could see the map he would be drawing tonight clearly in his head. The proportions might not be exact—he was bad at drawing—but they would be good enough to be useful. For what, he preferred not to think about. Maybe just being sneaky.

Regardless, the barracks derailed his thought substantially, and not just because of his omnipresent, amiable libido, though the average male soldier of House Rowan-Oak was prime-grade material for such wonderings. The place was massive. He quickly lost track of how many beds there were, distracted by the bustle inside. He was noticed quickly, and greeted rather enthusiastically by a group of ponies playing at cards between beds.

“Co-ed bunking?” he asked, confused. “It’s different from the guard, Paradise.”

“That’s Captain Paradise, technically,” the old stallion muttered but shrugged and was not deterred. “But you may call me simply by my name, I suppose. Yes, male and female together. While not the most proprietous, it saves on space. Which means, of course, more ponies to serve our House.”

“Friendly bunch,” Rays commented lightly as they took a right into the armory.

“Fraternity breeds good morale,” Paradise answered.

The armory was also huge. Not as big as the Solar Armories but still almost as impressive. The walls were lined with racks carrying pikes and lances, firearms of domestic and foreign make, hoofblades in at least three styles. All of them carried some identification of the house and its twinned tree standard. At the other end of the cluttered racks spaced out on the floor, a lone pony sat at a long desk.

Even before Rays heard her speak, she had stuck in his mind. She was a unicorn, young, with her mane buzzed completely on the right side and hanging long on the left, a style he’d never seen before. Her pure white fur was marred with tattoos like bronze ironwork on her cheeks and brow, and they flowed down her hooves. With a bit of revulsion, he realized that she’d filed her horn to a vicious point.

She didn’t look up. “What do you need, oldtimer?” The accent was not Canterlonian. It wasn’t thick, but his perfect memory served up a similar example. Northern, far northern. Probably Stalliongrad or Petrahoof. An exchange student from those wintery lands had transferred into his class in flight school, and he’d loved that strange lilting, musical voice. On this mare’s tongue it sounded less like music and more like a particularly lascivious older mare on the prowl for young university colts.

“A bit of respect, for one,” Paradise replied without much heat. Rays wondered if this were a recurring thing, this exchange. “I requisitioned armor yesterday.”

“Da,” the quartermaster answered.

“I have need of it.”

“For this little runt? Looks like you just dropped off your mother’s teat, little bird.” She grinned at him the way a cat grins at a crippled sparrow. Even had he found mares attractive, he still would probably rather die than be the last stallion on earth with this particular pony. Rays suppressed the urge to gag.

“Yes, for this one. Now, if I may?”

“Yeah, if you may,” she mocked but turned and gathered a few things from a chest behind her desk. She laid them out on the wooden surface.

It was not much different from the armament he’d first been issued, in some ways. Barding for his chest and shoulders, a bit of protection for his back and flanks. Armor for his legs—which was not a guaranteed thing in the Solar guard, and he was glad to finally get some—and a helmet. Hoofblades. Iron shoes.

What struck him immediately was the quality. Everything the dirty old mare had pulled out was immaculate. There were gold inlays in the helmet. The crest was in pristine condition. The hoofblades were probably completely new, unlike his old ones. A small fortune sat on the table.

“Does not matter how long you look, it will never love you back,” the quartermaster spat and then laughed at him. “Take and eat, son of the fat summerlands. Like you’ll be using it.”

As Rays collected his new gear, Paradise brought him a rucksack. He set it down. “Your old one will be disposed of,” he said flatly.

“Um… I have a few personal things in there,” Rays said quickly. “You know. Things. Can I hold onto it for a bit?”

“What sorts of things?”

Shit. “Uh… personal stuff?” Rays tried to grin. His attempt was a dismal failure. “Um. Journal, letters. You know. Stuff. Pictures.”

“Simply curious,” Paradise said, raising an eyebrow. “It is fine, but you will have to carry both. I’ll not be carrying your things. Elder Sign, could you help him with your magic? I’m in something of a hurry.”

“So, our foalsitting is selective, yes?” Quartermaster Elder Sign said and laughed. To Rays’ abused ears, it was similar to the sound of a chainsmoker drowning in cat piss. It fit her personality. And they said I had no imagination.

But she did help him pack his new gear in the rucksack. He mumbled a thanks, but she seemed to ignore it. Instead, she spoke to Paradise. “The Captains wondered where you were, you know.”

All at once, the air changed. Paradise’s frowning indifference, his almost irritation, vanished and was replaced by something steel. Something sharp. His shoulders tensed. His brows furrowed, twisting his whole countenance into something cavernous and cold.

Rays knew that this was beyond him immediately. He looked away, and that was when he remembered his mission in the armory. As the quartermaster and his guide stood staring at each other, Rays used their moment of antagonism to look at the armor on the walls. It took almost all of the time, but he found a mark. Then another. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and with the tension that flowed between the two others in the room, he had little room to find humor in the maker’s mark of a fat, nonthreatening heart.

The standoff of wills with broken. Rays did not see how it ended or who won, if anypony won, only that one moment they were silent and staring, and the next there was a small commotion of movement and he was being pulled away. But he had seen enough. The marks of craftsponies were seared in his mind, enough to draw them.

SPIKE

The Palace of the Sun Victorious, as it was called officially, had many chambers whose purposes were long lost in the march of endless years. It was filled with dozens of sunlit walks and great vaults of almost heavenly appeal, like the vast chambers of the Strategos of Cloudsdale, or the Great Vault of the Scholarians in the lost pegasus city of Derrecho, lost in the vast wintry north, lined with pillars that reached like great redwoods up to the blessings of light and warmth. There were many such beautiful places in the palace, and though they made up the vast majority of his childhood, they were distant to him now. When he had walked them as a hatchling, such places had seemed to be the end-all and be-all of his experience. Life had been the bustle of the street, late nights with donuts and a few precious sips of Twilight’s coffee, always dark, rarely sweet, always wonderful. Studying at desks and chatting under the light creeping in through the stained glass.

This palace which had been his creche and his idea of paradise was now a hospital.

The wards of the infirm filled the pillared vaults of the palace. The groaning and the sullen, shocked silent alike, lay in great constellations of suffering, tended to by the busy volunteers. They came from all walks of life, he saw. All three of the tribes—no, for he knew too much now. There were more than just earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi. He saw bat ponies. He saw a few zebras with bandages. A griffon with black feathers and a hunter’s eyes with his chest scarred and bruised and beaten.

And among them, Spike walked in quiet reflection.

The wounded from the battle of Morningvale had been brought here quickly afterwards. Spike had carried them himself, blood running down the scales on his arms. He had watched mutely as they were tended to and wandered numbly when his usefulness was done.

The battle had continued after his retreat. The guard had lured the interlopers into the town and then taken advantage of the lack of cover outside the burning ruin. As soon as they tried pursue the guard, mortars and a line of rifles had kept them pinned down. With nowhere to go, they had burned in their own fires or died or fled back down the slope.

In the end, the village was gone and the lines had simply been redrawn. In the night, more raiders had come up from the plains and dug in.

But they weren’t really raiders anymore, were they? It had bothered him more and more. Raiders didn’t take territory and dig in. Raiders raided and left. They took to survive, killed, plundered… but they didn’t conquer. Not really.

So what were they? They’d changed. The whole conflict was changing, and no one was quite sure what it meant yet.

Spike wasn’t quite wandering aimlessly. There was a definite end in sight, and as he looked, he saw her there, lying against the wall. More accurately, he saw her captain sitting rigid beside her, alert and focused as always.

Captain Ice didn’t look away from Amaranth, who slept soundly, but hailed Spike nonetheless. His voice belied his state—it was rough, ragged, hoarse. “Good to see you under better circumstances.”

“Yeah,” Spike said a bit numbly.

He stopped next to the captain and looked down. Amaranth slept peacefully. She was so small, to Spike. The all were. He was realizing that more, just how small these ponies were compared to him, how fragile they were.

“Sedative set in well, helped her sleep.” Ice sighed. “I never was able to properly thank you, Spike.”

“Just… did what I had to,” Spike said.

“Hardly. You went above and beyond the call. They tell me that was your first time to see true battle, and it was extraordinary.”

Spike felt no pride. No joy. He cringed. “It’s not me. It’s… this.” He held out his arms. “I’m big. I have an advantage.”

“True.”

“It’s… it’s bullshit. Ponies tell me did something great, and I didn’t. I’m just a big, strong freak with long arms. I cheated.”

“Spike, would you say the same of me, with my wings?”

Spike furrowed his brow. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

“Then why judge yourself differently?” Ice turned slightly to lay a hoof on his shoulder. Spike smiled down at him, as he had to reach.

“Maybe. How is she, though? Besides…”

“Besides her legs,” Ice finished flatly, turning back. “She… is upset.”

“Putting it mildly?”

“Very. I… I am a bit shaken, to be frank with you. Very, actually. She is my friend, Spike. Don’t tell her I told you that. She’ll gloat. Or maybe do. She could use a little gloating now… see? I ramble. I lose track of my thoughts. I’m due back to the lines tomorrow, and all of me rebels against it. I have to be here. I have to stay with her. She is my soldier. She is my responsibility.”

“You know,” somepony spoke up from behind them, startling Spike, “that’s an awful lot of burden to bear.”

“Heavy the head that wears the crown,” Ice Storm muttered.

The pony came into view now as Spike turned to see her. She was a House Levy, from House Epona, an earth pony. She nodded at Spike and smiled. “Good t’ see ya, Big Scales. Spike, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah. You?”

“Master Sergeant Rose,” she replied. “House Epona’s lendin’ the crown some rifles for the line. Was looking for somepony who had seen action out there.”

“Well, you found us,” Spike said.

She looked from one ot the other, eyebrows raised. “I’m afraid to ask. In fact, I won’t. I’m sorry for your soldier, Captain. Permission to speak freely?”

Ice Storm nodded. “Granted.”

“You also have a responsibility to the other soldiers in your command, Captain. Those that still stand. This one lives and has come home, as much as she can. But the others are yet to return. They need you.”

“True,” the captain replied. “Fair enough.”

“And I hear you are quite the hero,” she continued, smiling up at Spike. Spike fought back a grimace. Ponies tended to be dismayed by a display of sharp teeth.

“I’m not,” he said simply, flatly. No need for anything grand. “I’m just strong and fast, and I did what I had to do. It was what anyone would do if they’d been me.”

“Humble. Maybe a bit too much. But I won’t complain.” Rose chuckled. “But I’ve bothered you two enough. I wish you all the luck and skill in the world.” She bowed and left them alone with Amaranth.

Amaranth, who was in fact waking up. She stirred, stretching her forelegs and yawning. Spike smiled almost instinctively. There was something innocent in how ponies acted in that time between the dark of sleep and the sun of waking. Twilight. That’s the word he was thinking of, really. Twilight. No wonder he liked it.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Where are we?”

Ice Storm hovered over her. “The palace. They’ve set up a triage here, and we brought you after we evacuated.”

“I… yeah, I kinda remember that,” Amaranth said slowly. “I… Oh. Legs.”

Ice Storm tensed up and then nodded.

Amaranth stared up at the sky-like ceiling far above and was silent for a good minute. At last, she spoke quietly. “You know, I wonder how many ponies actually look up and notice.”

“Hm?” Ice Shine seemed taken aback.

Spike chuckled. “Most don’t. It’s the best kept secret in Canterlot.”

They all looked up, now. Above them spread a great starry sky, a field of diamonds in the vast, immeasurable darkness, islands of light in a sea of uncertainty. The moon hung full in this sky, the face of a beautiful goddess, a mother of a thousand bright children. But the space between was lively as well, not black but beautiful dark blues, swirling vortexes of energy and creative, raw, feeling.

“Are… my wings…?” Amaranth coughed. “Be straight with me, Captain. Please.”

“They are fine,” he answered. “As far as I know, you will be able to fly. The sky is yours,” he added, a bit quietly, and then he seemed to go slack as if a great burden was loosed from his shoulders. “Amaranth, I’ll need to leave soon. The line must be held. We drove them back into their own lines, but there are always more. It’s not just a raid.”

She nodded. “I know. I always had the feeling. It’s… There’s too much organization. Do you ever wonder how this happened, Captain? How all of it happened?”

“Often.”

“Who doesn’t?” Spike asked.

“But they were just so organized. The manticore, the mortars… I wonder. I wonder a lot. Promise me two things, Captain.”

“Anything.”

“Find out. If you can. If there’s anything to find out. And hold that line for me. Don’t you give a damn inch, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Not an inch. Be careful, Captain. Please be careful.”

“I will.”

“Smile.”

“Alright.”

To his credit, he did try to smile. Amaranth laughed, but it was a sad laugh.

Spike sighed. “I probably need to get going. I’m glad you’re okay, miss.”

She reached out, and Spike’s clawed hand met her halfway. “Thank you, Companion. I owe you my life.”

For once, it didn’t bother him to hear that. “You’re welcome. I was glad to do it.”

Spike released her hoof and rose. “I’ll come back,” he said. “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

He smiled. “Good.”

And with that, he left the two companions alone.

He had business to attend to, after all. Rays’ letter had come through or would soon. He would need the night to compare it to the registry in the treasury office. It shouldn’t be too hard.

His train of thought was completely derailed as a stallion was slowly forced into the chamber.

“Now look here! I say, I am quite well, and this is an outrage! I’ll have you know I fought on during the griffon raid of ‘88 with three deep wounds, a concussion, and a hangover! A gentleman doesn’t let himself be put down by such triflings!”

The orderlies trying to keep him moving groaned. “Please, Centurion Halftrack, it’s not the end of the world… We just need to replace your bandages. You can’t go back right now—”

“Hogwash! Absolute hogwash! It’s a hell of a war, and I’m a hell of stallion, young buck, and no stab wounds stop a gentleman!”

“Please, sir!”

Spike recognized the old soldier. He’d seen him go down with a stab wound from a unicorn. The one who used his cigar to burn somepony’s eyes. Spike blinked, astonished.

“I thought you died,” he said, more to himself.

But the Centurion heard. He squirmed. “You! Lizardman! You’re a bloody hero. You get me out of this! Tell them I can go back to the front! I have rapscallions to murder!”

Spike laughed, more out of shock than amusement. “I’m not sure I can, sir!”

“You bleeding rascal,” Halftrack spat as he was carried off. “They’ll never let me back at this rate. Celestia’s fat flanks, I’ll have nothing left to kill at this rate. It’s a hell of a war.”

With that, he ceased his struggling, and the two orderlies dragged him off to a cot. Spike shook his head. It was a strange world, after all. Espionage, war, famine… how things changed. But he had work to do.

Author's Note

XXI. Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges

SPIKE

With a new world came new ways of thinking. It was a fairly clear idea, one whose truth he’d seen over and over again. Ponies who had never even dreamt in their wildest nightmares of hurting another pony, let alone anything else that breathed, would resort to wild savagery. He had seen ponies turn desperate in the face of gnawing hunger, seen their eyes and faces go strange from anger as they pushed each other and fought each other to get at the meanest morsels. Some ponies became beasts. But he had also seen heroes, average folks who had joined the guard and worked tirelessly, quietly, without love of glory and without pay in the infirmary wards.

And then there’s me, he thought to himself.

He hadn’t brought the sword. One, it wouldn’t be necessary. Two, to bring it would imply that without it he could do nothing. Three, he did honestly intend to persuade and not simply to intimidate. Of course, intimidation would be fine too.

What a world. He sighed and shielded his eyes from the sun. Twilight had always told him that dragons grew protective coverings over their eyes that would make sunlight’s harshness less threatening, but he’d yet to grow them. Because he wasn’t grown yet. He wasn’t.

And here he was, doing a grown pony’s dirty work. Dragon. Not pony.

“Gonna go in?” Mac asked.

Spike looked at him. “Eventually.”

“Working on a speech?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t.”

Spike blinked. “What? I mean, shouldn’t I know what I’m going to say? This has to go the right way, and word can’t get back. This guy has to be petrified. Or something.”

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Mac drawled. He spat into the gutter and shrugged. “Not trying to be in your business,” he added. “Just wonderin’.”

“Yeah. It’s fine.” Spike looked back out of the alley at the blacksmith’s shop. Even from here, he could smell smoke and hear the endless ringing of hammers. Most of the shop was open to the air. The great furnace which spewed acrid smoke, almost like a mockery of the great and now abandoned weather factories of Cloudsdale, glowed hot. Beside it, the ponies who busily worked seemed small, fragile creatures. They were, in their way. He was learning this.

At last, Spike shook himself and walked out of the shadows.

A few of the passing ponies in the street noticed him, but nopony looked for very long time. That a dragon walked among the sad and the waiting of Canterlot was no great news. He was an oddity, not a mystery—the novelty was wearing off, little by little.

The workshop was impressive even from the outside. Spike had read the dossier before coming down to the Terrestrial Tier, but even then, it was hard to understand what numbers mean without visual context. Steel Heart was one of the best smiths—and the finest crafter of weapons—not currently working for the crown in any capacity. Even including the royal armorers, he was still in the top tenth of craftsponies left in the country. Twenty apprentices worked busily, with journeyponies and a few fully-fledged Guild workers alongside them. Light a fire under this place and they could produce enough arms and armor to outfit a company in three days and still keep the quality high. They could arm entire countries in a dozen shops like this, banging away in their shaded open-air workshops, given world enough and time.

Spike and his companion were stopped before they could enter by a young stallion, barely old enough to marry. His voice wavered a bit between maturity and a childish cracking. “I’m sorry, but we’re booked… If you’re coming to place an order, there’s no way we’ll be in any shape to fill it any time soon.”

Spike chuckled. “I need to talk to your master.”

“He’s busy, sir.”

“I figured as much. Still, I need to talk to him. Please, step aside.”

There was no malice in his voice. He felt none. He simply needed the boy to move, and so he flashed a bit of teeth. It worked.

Spike and Macintosh maneuvered carefully through the working ponies. Most ignored them, busy at work, shaping metal. He tried to see what it was that they worked on, but most of it was beyond him. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought perhaps that he saw something familiar, something almost gun-shaped, but before he could turn to investigate, he found himself stopped by an outstretched hoof.

Spike looked down to find a stern face glaring up at him. Steel Heart was a mare, tall and muscular in a way that was eerily similar to his companion. For that matter, she had the same coloring. Spike blinked, and made sure that Macintosh was still behind him.

“What business do y’all have? Thought I told that fool ‘pprentice to warn folks that we’re too busy for new orders,” Steel Heart said.

“It’s not exactly an order. Do you have an office we could talk in?” Spike asked. This was the point where his confidence ended. The mare looked at him with a kind of folksy suspicion.

“What do I look like? I do my business like an honest mare. Now, I’m tellin’ ya, I’m flat booked—”

“I understand that. But please, hear us out.”

She pursed her lips.

“It would be better if we went a bit further into your workshop,” Spike said.

“Fine,” she barked and turned quickly.

She led them to the center chamber, next to the main forge. It bellowed smoke and ash and fire. To Spike, the air seemed cozy. He wondered how it felt for the ponies. He noticed, now, that Steel Heart’s short, matted mane dripped with sweat.

There were only two ponies working in this room, both of them with Guild insignia. He could see the shape of a gun barrel clearly now as they manipulated it with strange arm-like apparati attached to their shoulders.

“Now, what do you need?” Steel Heart spat.

Spike looked back at Macintosh, frowning. They locked eyes for a moment, and then Mac nodded. He looked back the way they had come quickly and then shrugged.

Spike turned back to Steel Heart. “Actually, I’m here about that order you were talking about.”

The smith looked at him strangely, and then her eyes widened. “Now, you look here, I don’t need no intimidation. You’ll get your damn guns.” She stepped back. “I told you last week that this was a tall order, and none of this shady doin’ would make it go any faster.”

“Shady doings?” Spike cocked his head to the side. “What was that?”

She went pale. “I don’t mean nothin’ by it, I… Hold on.” She put a hoof to her temple and closed her eyes, growling. “You ain’t with them—you’re the Queen’s pet. Damn. Now this is private business, son, and—”

“It is private, I agree. I would like it to remain private. And safe,” Spike said. He was full of nervous energy. His legs wanted to stretch, to pace. “I know about your clientele, and you’re right; I am here… out of concern, I guess you could say.”

“And you’ll be leavin’ out of concern. Now.”

Spike chuckled, a genuine chuckle. The little smith—little only to him—shook with something between rage and nervous energy, the kind he quite understood. Like a foal caught magicking the cookie jar down from the counter.

“House Rowan Oak wants guns,” Spike said flatly. “How many?”

“Private business.”

“Won’t be for long,” Macintosh spoke. His bassy voice was almost lost among the clanging of hammers.

“Yeah,” Spike said, caught flat-footed. “Ma’am, I’m going to straight with you. I’m going to lay out the facts, and then I am going to ask you for a favor.”

“I don’t even know you, and you want favors?”

Spike shrugged. He walked over to where the now listening workers held the still hot gun barrel with tongs. With a hum, he picked up the molten metal and turned it over in his hands. He felt only warmth, cozy, gentle warmth. Idly, he brought it up to eye level. “This will be a fine weapon, eventually. I imagine your Guildsponies are accomplished gunsmiths.”

“The… best.”

“Hm.” They all stared at him, holding the orangey, burning rod. Idly, he switched hands. How strange it was. This thing would burn right through flesh, set fur ablaze. If he were to just touch it to the walls, they would go up in smoke, and he would be fine. Just standing there in the fire and in the ash, content and warm. When he looked past the brand and into Steel Heart’s eyes, her frustrated anger was gone. She did not cower, but she wanted to. He could see it; he could sense it the way a predator senses that his hunt may yet be successful. Her fear stank.

“And these are all for Rowan Oak,” Spike said quietly.

Steel Heart nodded.

Spike thought of giving the would-be barrel back to the craftsponies. For a brief moment, he even considered bending it right in front of them. Hot as it was, it was certainly more pliable, and in this moment, he felt strong, invincible, higher and better. He sighed and held it like a torch instead.

“They won’t make it there,” he said.

“Listen,” Steel Heart said. No, not said. Begged. Bargained. “Listen, please. I have thirty odd mouths to feed, ponies who need this work, and without it… You can’t just waltz… You can’t just take this away from us. I have to eat too.”

Spike hummed. “The crown will pay. More.”

“The nobles will kill me,” she replied.

So she had a backbone still. It brought him out of his self-centered daze. “No, they won’t,” he said firmly, sure. “We’re as good as them or better. They’ll not trouble you. And if they do, then they’ll certainly not touch somepony who is openly being patronized by the Princess herself.” He put the barrel back. The two ponies in Guild uniforms shied away from it and him.

“Who the hell are you two?” Steel Heart demanded, her voice shaking a little. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?” She groaned and looked around as if wanting to find something to kick. “You have no idea what you’re doing. You have no idea. Them shady ones, they’ll know I worked with you when they don’t get what they want.”

“Shady who?” Macintosh asked. “You been talkin’ an awful lot like somepony else is involved.”

“I don’t know who they are,” Steel Heart replied, defeated. “Look, you think I’d work for somepony who don’t let me see their face if I didn’t need the bits bad? I’m not stupid, lizard.”

“They’re not nobles?” Spike asked. This was new. Unexpected. A third element thrown into the equation, and he was beginning to be worried.

“How the nine hells am I gonna know? The one who placed the order was that quartermaster bitch from the House. Then, three weeks ago, I got a visit right before we stopped for the day from these two ponies in red cloaks. Wouldn’t take ‘em off for nothin’, and they weren’t exactly pleasant. Told me if we didn’t hurry, they’d know. Told me they wanted everything done and quickly. Didn’t matter if I had to cut a few corners, just be done. I told ‘em to go to hell, same as you. Thought you were with them at first.”

“Red cloaks? No idea who they were?”

“None. The Quarter-bitch was back the next week, and then nothin’ until now. I can’t give the princess or anybody else these guns. You can… you can threaten me all you want, see? But I can’t. My honor is at stake, but damn, so is my life. One of ‘em was a unicorn, those red fellows, and I’m pretty sure he could blow me to pieces and burn the whole shop down in a heartbeat. He was a mean son of a bitch.”

Spike looked at Macintosh. Air hissed past his teeth as he breathed in, thinking fast. But it was Macintosh who spoke instead.

“Ma’am, sorry for all of this, but we need your deal to go bad. But I understand. You gotta protect your own.”

“Damn straight.”

“And a few cut corners would be fine by these two red fellas?”

“That’s… yeah, it’s what they said. Kinda.”

“Then how about both of us help each other out? Now, I don’t like the idea of doin’ anything but my best, myself, but a poorly made gun that looks fine would be a mighty fine surprise.”

Steel Heart stared at him. “That’s cold, you bastard, but you two ain’t gonna leave me alone, are you?”

Macintosh smiled. “Nope.”

“Fine. I… I want some sort of compensation out of you, lizard bastard. You’re asking me to take a risk. And why the hell do you care? The Houses and ponies ‘round here got rights.”

“Because…” Because laws are quiet in times of war, Luna whispered. Or perhaps it was his own thought. He wasn’t sure. “Because guns in the wrong hooves means innocent ponies getting hurt.”

“Who said you two were any better?”

Spike knelt down so that they were on eye level with each other. “Miss Heart, I didn’t threaten you. I don’t really know how to do this, and I’m not good at it. I need you to help me, but I really need you to help everypony. Those two who came by here, the cloaked ones and the quartermaster, er… ‘bitch’, are bad. You know that, I think. I only offered to buy them because I understand that you need to look out for those you employ.”

She frowned at him. “Well, you seem about the same, comin’ in here tryin’ to intimidate folks.”

He sighed. “Because that’s what I figured I was supposed to do, but I really suck at it, you know? That isn’t me. This is. I’m asking you, please, to do the right thing. The nobles are trying to make their own little grabs for power, and they’re going to hurt everypony caught in the middle. But you can stop that. You can keep them from using those guns. When they try to fire the shots that will hurt innocents or each other, the guns won’t fire. The bullets won’t kill. I’m doing what I can to keep us from tearing each other apart, but I need your help.”

She looked at him, looked right into his eyes, and her gaze was hard. It lingered. “What’s your name?”

“Spike,” he answered. “My name is Spike. I’m sorry I came in like I did. But you seem like a good pony, and I don’t think I’m wrong about that.”

“Tryin’ to sugar me up,” she said.

“Probably,” he agreed and chuckled. She actually joined him. “But I mean it. Please. Just help us. I’ll make sure you’re given compensation. I know that this isn’t the safest thing ever. But I promise you that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you don’t face any consequences for this. If you’ll just sabotage the shipment, I promise you I won’t waste this opportunity. This is the best choice.”

Steel Heart shut her eyes and sighed. She rubbed her temples and turned away. Facing towards the furnace, she spoke.

“Just… fine. What the hell. All of the hells. I’ll do it. I want three thousand bits, dragon. Three. On top of what I’ll get from them, we should ride out the winter. If they so much as look at me funny, that bitch especially, I’ll knock you into next week. Got it?”

Spike grinned slightly but smoothed his face out. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be watching over you, I promise. You’re doing your city a service.”

“You need better lines, kid. Now get the hell out of my shop.”

RARITY

She arrived breathless. Her head ached. Her body ached as well, but not quite as much, nor did it march to the eternal throbbing of her heart’s beating. Her mouth was dry, and her lips would not moisten no matter how much she attempted to rectify this. The world seemed bigger, the halls seemed longer, and the sun seemed far, far too bright.

In short, Rarity had a hangover.

Not a terrible one, mind you. It could have been far worse. She had experienced hangovers far, far more dreadful than the one she was currently soldiering through. Her brief stint at the Canterlot School of Fine Arts had been… well, not memorable. Much of it was a blur. But a lady does not become mired in the past, and so Rarity had moved on, lived and learned. And now, when she had a hangover, she did much less groaning. Coffee helped.

Unfortunately, coffee was in short supply. Rarity had decided that rationing was the worst word to have ever existed. Though, to be fair, there was coffee available if she tried hard enough. It was simply that she had been intercepted by a messenger before the beautiful, precious liquid could be acquired. It was mildly tragic, honestly.

Rarity sighed and rubbed her temple. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’m a bit… slow this morning.”

“It’s Shining. Let me guess. No coffee?” Shining asked and then chuckled. “You remind me of Cadance when she can’t get to coffee in the mornings.”

Rarity smiled at him. She had always liked Shining Armor. If for nothing else, than that it was refreshing to see nobility who truly cared about each other. She decided to tell him so. “I’ve always found it wonderfully refreshing how familiar and close the two of you are. A lot of noble couples seem to be together in all but the best ways.”

“Well, a long time ago, I was just a kid, and she was a babysitter.” He smiled back. “But thanks. Sorry to bother you so early. It’s important, but… well. It’s urgent, but it’s probably best not to be too panicked. In fact, I can have coffee brought up while we wait for the other two to arrive. I want all of you here before I explain.”

Rarity’s heart burst for joy. On the outside, she maintained composure—as a Lady should. “That would be lovely, Shining, thank you. And you’re sure it’s alright that I call you that?”

“Please. It’d be a favor.” He signalled for the attendant by the door and in a moment had the pony in question procuring coffee.

“Now, Shining… what is this all about? I know you’d rather not tell us piecemeal, but I am simply dying of curiosity. Urgent? Important?”

“Well, I guess I can say something. It’s about the changelings refugees, honestly.”

Rarity stiffened. “You don’t say.”

“I do. Though perhaps not what you think.”

“I would hope not,” Rarity said and eased back against the couch.

She’d expected to meet with the Princess, but Shining had instead led her into another room. These were the private royal reception rooms, from what she gathered, a place for the Imperial couple to receive and entertain their friends and those they considered confidants. Unlike the rest of the palace, it was not quite so ornate and byzantine. It was rather comfortable. It was decorated in a way more reflecting personal taste than official Imperial dignity. Looking about, she saw a few paintings, one of the two of them, and one of Cadance herself, sitting in what Rarity guessed was the statue garden in Canterlot. Rarity found herself drawn to it, enamored of its soft, gentle textures, the way that the almost fuzzy scenery blended into the figure.

There were other pictures, of course. Ones of Canterlot, of home. Of Twilight, and even one of her friends, all of them smiling into a camera’s eye on the occasion of Shining and Cadance’s wedding.

Rarity pointed to the picture, the urgency of Shining’s news like a dimming, far away candle in the daytime. “That seems like worlds ago. Ages.”

“Well, it was years ago.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a bit addled. The girls and I perhaps relaxed a bit too enthusiastically,” Rarity offered sheepishly.

“We all need to escape from time to time. Even me,” Shining said. “I wish Cadance and I could just leave, sometimes. You know, we lived in a house in the royal compound before we moved in here. I miss it. To me, that little place will always be home.”

“It won’t last forever,” Rarity said.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “The changelings here don’t have queens. Well. A few still do.”

“What happened?”

“The mitou happened. They’re brutal and intelligent, and they apparently are very familiar with changelings. Knew how to get in, kill the queens, and send the hives into panic. It was traumatic, as you can imagine.”

“They… do not share minds, but live in connection?”

“Kind of. It’s hard to explain. I barely understand it myself.”

“So they felt her passing, all of them?”

Shining nodded.

Rarity blanched. “That’s horrible… like watching your mother die. It would be watching your mother die,” she added. “What do they do now?”

“They wandered until they came to us. Droves of them, sad, defeated little things. They would just lay around, moping. Wake up at night and cry. I wish I was making this up. But they adjusted. They bond together now, drone to drone. If this war ends, if all of this ends and the world recovers… well, we might have a very different kind of changeling on our hooves. Changelings who are far more friendly.”

“But how will they continue, without queens?”

“They can give birth, apparently. Who knew?” Shining shrugged and sat back on his couch. “Emergency survival reflex. I have no idea. It keeps the hive alive, and usually queens would adopt the headless hive, or they would just dissipate and meld into other groups over time, but with so many queens gone…”

“You know, I’ve never talked to one. You seem to have, though.” Rarity hummed. “I wonder what they are like, now. We’ve all changed quite a bit.”

“They’re pretty different. Strange, too. Their language is clicks and things I hardly recognize as words. But they can be friendly enough. Helpful, too, when the locals aren’t too nervous. They helped build the wall around Amethyst and repair it after raids by the old gods.”

“Old gods… you’ve called them that before. The mitou.”

Shining nodded and shifted. “Yeah. That’s what the crystal ponies call them. From what I gather… they used to basically worship them. It’s crazy, especially after seeing them in action, but it kinda makes sense. Nasty set of deities, though.”

Rarity nodded. She’d seen what those beasts could do. They were fast, faster than anything she’d ever seen. Able to tear ponies to shreds with ease. Without hesitation, they withstood lance and shot and hoof.

It was about this time that somepony knocked on the door. Shining and Rarity looked up in unison, puzzled as nopony came in.

“Ah… hello? You can come in,” Shining said.

The door opened, and Rarity tried desperately not to giggle. Rainbow Dash was obviously faring far, far worse than she was. Her eyes were half-open, her mouth preemptively in a grimace of dismay. She leaned heavily on Fluttershy’s shoulder.

“How are you this morning, Rainbow?” Rarity asked, smiling.

Rainbow grumbled.

Fluttershy smiled. “Good morning, Rarity.”

Rainbow was deposited on the couch beside Rarity, who nuzzled her without thinking, as friends were wont to do on occasion. “Come, then, Rainbow! Coffee is ready. I promise you’ll feel better,” she sing-songed.

Rainbow straightened up, her face flushed. Rarity supposed she was still in a tizzy. The messenger had probably woken her up from deep sleep. Humming, Rarity happily used her magic to prepare another cup. With her friends here now, the world seemed a much brighter place.

“Here you go,” Rarity said and floated the cup in front of Rainbow. “Black with a little sugar, but not too much. Just the way you like it.”

“Mmthanks,” Rainbow said in a gravely voice, keeping her eyes down. She drank quietly, and Shining cleared his throat.

“Now that you’re all here, I suppose I can explain,” he began. He leaned back on the couch and then scooted over for Fluttershy. Sighing, he drank some coffee of his own and seemed to formulate his next words carefully. “The changeling Mothers here in Imperial Center are concerned about some of their own. They came in secret last night, late, half a dozen of them.”

“Mothers?” Fluttershy asked. “You mean queens?”

“No. Very different. As I was telling Rarity, the mitou struck hard and fast. They killed many of the queens in the initial wave of their invasion. They’re familiar with how changelings work, you see. Navigating their tunnels was simple, and the usual methods the changelings employ to ensure survival of their hives in the event of a queen’s death were hopelessly inadequate. There were just too many queens suddenly gone. They’ve restructured, adapted. They have Mothers now, changelings who are chosen for their charisma or kindness or wisdom by a group of changelings.”

“Like… families,” Rarity said.

“Kind of, I suppose,” Shining Armor answered.

“What exactly is the nature of this… problem?” Rarity asked.

Rainbow grumbled between sips. “How do we know we can trust ‘em?”

Shining Armor pursed his lips. “For a few reasons. First, they came of their own volition to tell us. Secondly, if they had queens, I would be wondering as to their intentions, but the changelings in the Families have been cooperative and helpful, and it is honestly in their best interest to help us. They hate the mitou more than they could ever hate us. The trauma inflicted on them was unspeakable.”

Rainbow grunted.

“But to answer your question,” Shining continued, “they aren’t quite sure themselves. ‘Corruption’ is their word. As for myself…” He leaned in, and Rarity found herself leaning in response. His face had changed, possessed of some seriousness which she did not yet comprehend. “Have you ever wondered about all this? How it all happened?”

“What do you mean?” Rainbow asked groggily from behind her.

“Famine, chaos, war, and rumors of wars. Isn’t it a strange coincidence that Celestia vanishes, the mitou return, half of the world goes mad all at the same time? Within the space of a few months? Don’t you find it odd even a little?”

“Well, yes, of course… but it’s hard to think about such things when you’re busy living them,” Rarity answered. Instantly she thought of Luna, patrolling the night’s furthest shores, seeing the hearts and the minds of millions. She wondered if changelings dreamt and if Luna saw them also.

“More and more, I begin to wonder if there isn’t some kind of first cause. Something to get the ball rolling, get all of this crap going. Sorry. I know this is really sudden, but the Mothers seemed troubled, and if they’re concerned, I’m concerned.”

“What do you intend to do?” Rarity asked.

“Me? Nothing. But I do have a favor to ask. Consider a way of paying me back for all the wine,” Shining said casually.

Rarity had, unfortunately, been in the middle of sipping at her tea and avoided spitting it out thanks only to a long-trained grace. She set the cup down. “Hm?”

“I got a note from the cooks today, wondering if I had taken some myself. I actually had no idea who took it. But, if the look on Rainbow’s face is any indication…” He snickered. “It’s alright. I understand the need to unwind.”

“We’re so sorry, Shining. We won’t do it again,” Fluttershy said.

“No, it’s alright. Honestly,” he said, suppressing further laughter, “I think it’s hilarious. A good laugh is something I need more and more these days.”

Rarity returned to her coffee, mortified. “Well, so far, we have a vague outline of a problem, but I’m not finding anything specific so far.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything specific. In wartime, miss, there’s always less than half of the information you need. The enemy is in that direction—how far, how many, in what formation and of what disposition? No idea.”

“I suppose,” Rarity allowed.

“Still gotta do something,” Rainbow grumbled.

“My thoughts exactly,” Shining Armor said. “That’s why I need you to visit the enclave today.”

“The… what, exactly?” Rarity asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The enclave. The changeling enclave. I can’t go. It’s too noticeable, and ponies will want to know why. But you three? You’re exploring, you see? On a stroll. Seeing how things are up here, looking for any news you can find to bring home.”

“You want us to be spies,” Rainbow said flatly.

“No, I want you to be diplomats,” Shining replied quickly. “You’re not there to snoop—though, I do encourage you to go in there with eyes wide open… No, I need you to talk to them, listen to them. Not just the Mothers, but all of them. Anypony who will talk. The Mothers are expecting me to send somepony, and sending you will show them I trust them… and I think, with fresh minds and perspectives, maybe you can figure out a way to deal with this.” Shining shrugged. “I’m a soldier. I march and act. I tell ponies to go, and they go. I tell ponies to stay, and they stay. Beyond that, I’m not much help. I can be nice, but Cadance is the one with brains.”

“How is she?” Fluttershy asked softly.

Shining slumped. Not terribly much, but enough for Rarity to notice. “About the same. A little worse each day, a little slower. She’s miserable. She was able to keep breakfast down this morning, so that’s a plus,” he said, trying to smile. “I’m sorry. It’s been a hard time on both of us. Months. It wasn’t like this at first. It seemed so doable, so possible, back then. We thought she could do this. We thought that this war or whatever the hell this chaos is would be over by now, and it obviously isn’t.”

“But it will be,” Rarity said, as firmly as she could manage. “It will be.”

“Oh, I know. One way or another,” Shining said, matching her steel for steel.

RARITY

Rarity had seen a city living under the idea of siege, but she was learning that unhappiness could be incredibly diverse, as could its opposite. The shadow of dread hung over the Imperial Center as much as it hung over the city of Canterlot against the mountains. There was no real rationing here, not as there was in Canterlot. Full rationing would have been wiser, but it would have required the approval of the Houses native to the city, all of which would love an opportunity to gain some political power cheaply and easily.

Rarity knew that the empire no doubt had its own internal frictions, but she had not seen the kind of autonomous, noisy nobility here that she was used to. Despite all of her childhood dreams of House and title, she found the silence around a single voice of command to be beautiful in a way. It would never work in Equestria. History, mistress of all change and its final arbitratrix, had decreed for the united tribes a legacy of autonomy. It had served them well before. It was not serving them well now. So it went.

“So where is this changeling place?” Rainbow asked. Rarity glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Shining said it would be down this particular avenue,” Rarity answered. She gave a decidedly unladylike snort. “Well, eventually. ‘You’ll know it when you see it,’ indeed.”

“Well, I’m sure it will be easy to notice,” Fluttershy offered.

Rarity shrugged. “One supposes. I haven’t exactly seen any signs, but from how he talks of the place, it seems rather informal.”

“What are we even doing anyway?” Rainbow whined. “This is so lame.”

“Lame or not, Shining is our host, and the least we can do is help him,” Fluttershy said.

Up ahead, a small café bustled in the afternoon sun. It was out today when it was meant to be—Rarity could still appreciate small blessings—and so she could almost imagine that it was a normal day, free from the worries of a new world. A pony in the corner played an upright bass, accompanied by a drummer and a trumpeter, filling the street with soft jazz. She smiled.

As they walked, Rarity took stock of her companions. Fluttershy seemed no worse for wear, unchanged from her usual demeanor in these dark days. Of all of their tight-knit company, Fluttershy had fared the best. All had wilted or fallen into their own private despairs, but Fluttershy was, on the outside, much the same. Quiet, demure, quick to aid and slow to both anger and action. Rainbow, however, had come up from her brooding, scowling low. She shone in use. Even now, for her whining, she still came along willingly. She listened. The fury barely kept in check had left, she thought, and had transmuted itself into something just as intense but far more controlled. Something productive. Something good.

“Bit for your thoughts?” Rainbow asked in her left ear. Rarity jumped a little, turning to find her friend hovering upside down with a grin. Rarity gave a little huff of mock indignation.

“Honestly!”

“What? You were all smiling like a loser. I had to bother you.”

Rarity’s smiled returned, and she chuckled. “Whatever you say, you great feathered vandal.”

Before she could say much else, the air changed. Had it been a subtle change she only now recognized? Perhaps. It was hard to tell at first, but it seemed off. The houses and lanes seemed off, with only a few ponies scattered about scurrying to and fro on business. But the difference hit her at last: the streets were empty and not simply empty but abandoned.

“Welcome to ghost town,” Rainbow said, not even bothering to lower her voice.

Rarity rolled her eyes, but kept walking as if nothing had ever bothered her.

It was at this time that a door up ahead opened, and a changeling stepped out into the sunlight, stretching as it did so, oblivious to their presence. Rarity’s response was immediate. Her heart leapt into her throat, and her pulse hammered in her ears. This was it. This was the monster. She saw the wedding again, the changelings hurtling down from the sky like living meteors, felt again the fear stabbing at her veins, tasted the panic over her friends and over herself.

She stopped dead in the center of the street. It was a brief stop, abrupt but brief. She could not betray her dismay. She would not. That was the past. This was the present. Ponies changed, sometimes for the worse and sometimes for the better. This individual had done nothing to her. She would not judge it by the standards of others. She would not.

It caught sight of them, but the changelings reaction was far more subdued. It simply cocked its head, curious.

Rarity cleared her throat and waved. “Hello! Hello, there.”

The changeling trotted towards them. Rarity saw it clearer now. Its body was porous, but not quite as starved-looking as the invaders at Canterlot. It’s eyes were bright cerulean blue, all color, no pupil.

It came close, and Rarity knew that her companions’ reactions were not unlike her own. It stopped.

“This one greets you. Am sorry, for Equestrian is bad.” It smiled.

Rarity smiled back, trying not to be bothered by the fangs. “Yes, well, I’m Rarity. My companions are Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy. We, ah, were looking for somepon… er, somechangeling?”

“Somepony is good,” the changeling said and smiled. “Who are you looking for? This one can —help if it is acceptable.”

“That would be wonderful,” Rarity said. “Ah… Mothers? I’m sorry. I have less to go on then I would like.”

The changeling made a chittering noise Rarity found mildly unsettling. “Yes, we know who. I will take you to Mother. This one’s name is Carytid. Mother Ypres will be happy to see.”

Turning, the changeling began to trot off at an easy pace without another word. Puzzled, the three from Canterlot followed.

The changeling hummed quietly, a strange atonal song that seemed to meander as much as their path did. Off the main avenue, the lanes were more alive. Changelings, chittering lightly, humming their soft songs, mingled. None of them seemed particularly busy. They simply were, with none of the haste of their crystal pony neighbors. Most regarded the interlopers with curiosity, and others simply ignored them, absorbed in their own little worlds.

“There were so few of you earlier, Carytid,” Fluttershy said.

“Do not like main road. Too open,” the changeling answered.

“Ah. I suppose you’re used to smaller spaces,” Rarity noted, looking around.

“Yes, my sisters and I were workers in the center chambers. Not used to sky. Not sure about sky.”

It was about this time that Rarity realized, to her horrible embarrassment, that she had no idea if Carytid was male or female. It was hard to tell without resorting to the obvious, and Tartarus would freeze, explode, and turn into a field of daisies before she would resort to such vulgarity.

“What? Sky’s awesome,” Rainbow groused.

“Is nice to fly in,” Carytid said. “But too easy to be seen. Am nervous sometimes.”

Her… him? His voice sounds effeminate, but so do some stallions’... Bother. Rarity sighed. Rudeness was simply intolerable, and to be forced into it was not doing her mood any favors.

Carytid led them down an alley onto another small neighborhood road. A few buildings down, a small, old café full of chittering, softly humming changelings caught Rarity’s eye. A little market occupied the street, with booths here and there. She saw very little money being exchanged, and mostly it seemed almost to be simple bartering, perhaps even exchanging favors. It was very curious. She caught only a few things that seemed analogous to words. Did they communicate telepathically? All at once, Rarity realized how little they really knew about these strange northern neighbors.

“Mother Ypres is here,” Carytid said, pointing with a hoof towards an old but charming house of the kind one finds in old neighborhoods. Once, Rarity thought, it had been the abode of some well-to-do sort, a minor merchant perhaps.

“Is there any sort of protocol?” Rarity asked. “I’m ignorant.”

The changeling looked at her curiously, cocking its head to the side. It chittered a few times, and Rarity wanted to be irritated about her inability to properly gender the helpful soul but suppressed it in favor of a smile. “I’m assuming no,” she said. “Thank you for helping us, Carytid.”

“It is pleasure.” Carytid smiled and then opened the door.

The house inside was sparsely furnished, but in a more homely way than a spartan one. Tapestries hung from the walls, filled with strange shapes that seemed to match nothing Rarity had seen in mortal life, in blacks and green and reds and whites. They were not foreboding, but something else, something certainly not cheerful. Ambiguous? Perhaps, but she was not worried by them. If anything, they were promising. What they promised was still a mystery.

Carytid bid them sit, and so they did, Rarity finding a nice spot next to Rainbow Dash on the long couch. The living room or reception room or whatever would be the proper name for such a place, was homely, and the more she sat and waited, the more Rarity felt at ease. Behind them, stairs led up to what she assumed were the Mother’s chambers or perhaps the rooms of many changelings. Or did they live underground? Once again, her ignorance betrayed her. Much was the same: couches, a table before fit for tea, a normal house. Much was different, even unknown, yet she did not fear. Not yet.

Carytid stood on the other side of the table from the Canterlot mares, humming her strange little song and looking at the tapestries.

“Does she know that we are here?” Rarity asked. “Did someone tell her of our arrival?”

“Oh, this one did,” Carytid said, not bothering to look.

“I… when did you…?”

“We sang to her,” came the response. As if to show this, Carytid sang her wordless song a little louder and then quieted.

Rarity simply blinked, somewhere between awe and bewilderment.

After another moment or two of this, they heard somepony descending the stairs and turned to look. A changeling, perhaps taller than Carytid but not of the same stature of Chrysalis, smiled down on them as she approached. Rarity rose to greet her, putting on her own best court smile.

Mother Ypres had blue eyes, deep and singular in the same way as any drone. Her ridge was minimal, her horn chipped, her wings fluttering slightly. She seemed older than Carytid, but not particularly ancient. But as soon as Rarity approached, the air felt different. It was as if somepony had put a rope around her neck and pulled her head down. This was more than a changeling drone. This was the Mother. This might as well be her mother. All at once, she was in the presence of wisdom herself.

Ypres shimmered, her whole body altering, and went up in green flames. Replacing her was another mare, a middle-aged unicorn with benevolent ice blue eyes and a mane that was bound haphazardly as if it were a living thing struggling to escape. Rarity was amazed to see Ypres had even managed to include half-moon glasses in her illusion.

“Hello. I am glad to finally see the three that fill our songs this morning. I have chosen to appear to you in this form to insure that you are comfortable.”

“I… we are comfortable however you are comfortable,” Rarity managed, completely off her guard. The initial awe had faded into the background, but it had not gone away. Only now did she have the presence of mind to realize that Carytid had bowed.

“I try to avoid that,” Ypres said evenly. “We are not queens, and we rule no Hives. We have our families, sisters all.”

Well, that was one mystery solved. “I had wondered… Forgive me. It is hard for me to tell apart male and female,” Rarity said, hating how awkwardly the words tumbled out. She cleared her throat. “I’m sure it’s a difficulty shared between many species, though I must say that I am ignorant of the customs of your people. I ask your forgiveness in advance for any rudeness, Mother Ypres.”

“And you shall have it. It is of no consequence. We are making our own ways even now. The winds of this world change. Carytid, would you like to join us for tea?”

Carytid nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Mother. May I prepare it?”

Ypres nodded, and the younger drone scurried off. Rarity cocked her head to one side. “Earlier, she referred to herself as ‘this one’.”

“Converting our songs and workspeech into Equestrian is difficult at best,” Ypres said. “Some of us have tried to preserve the various honorific forms and methods of address. I have abandoned many of them, as they do not translate well. You have been accepted into the Family’s company, and so now you may be approached as an individual. Before, when your acceptance was not concluded, we faced you simply as a collective, nameless and uniform. When we find strangers, we become one faceless mass. When we find welcoming, we separate and once again become our own. It is hard for me to explain.”

“I think I understand,” Fluttershy spoke up. “When ponies feel threatened, we tend to retreat back towards our group. If we have one.”

“Yes, the great herds. We sing about them sometimes. On occasion.” Even in this new form, Ypres hummed softly. “Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and Rarity of Canterlot. Such a strange afternoon. We had heard of your advent.”

“You know of us?” Rarity asked.

“C’mon, Rares, we are sorta, like, famous,” Rainbow piped up from the couch.

Ypres chuckled as Rarity rolled her eyes. “It is true, Rarity of Canterlot. You and your companions are well known to my kind. Some of my daughters were of Chrysalis’s hive, and and know very well of your skill in combat, Rainbow Dash of Canterlot.”

“Ponyville,” Rainbow said evenly.

“Your pardon?”

“Ponyville. Rainbow Dash of Ponyville.”

Ypres cocked her head to one side and chittered. It had seemed far more normal from Carytid, with her changeling strangeness, but out of the mouth of a unicorn, it seemed suddenly bizarre.

“We are all originally from Ponyville. Or, well, it was our home.” Rarity sighed.

“It will be again, some day, I hope,” Fluttershy added.

Ypres nodded. “I hear in the song that this place is known to us, but few know anything of importance. Perhaps you can tell me of your home when our business is concluded. I do have an inkling why you have come, after all. Oh, and Rarity,” Ypres paused, smiling. “To answer your anxiety, we do not have differentiation between the sexes. Changelings, we are, ah… forgive me, I’m not quite sure of the word. We are all the same sex; both are united.”

Rarity processed this.

“But yes,” Ypres continued, “through common usage, we prefer Equestrian feminine pronouns.”

“I… might I ask why?” Rarity asked. “If you are unisex… or both? I’m sorry, I feel incredibly ignorant. I hate that feeling,” she confessed. “I assure you, I am usually more collected than this.”

“Hermaphroditic, perhaps, though applying the term to sentients seems a bit inappropriate. We appreciate your honesty. Emotion is something that is free and open among us. We all know, even if you take care to hide it, and so appreciate when ponies do not attempt to fool the ones who cannot be fooled. And to answer this question… because they sound much nicer,” Ypres said, with a grin.

Over tea, the story came out.

Changelings live as children of two parents: The Here and the Never. We live and breathe, love and breed, work and play in the Here, what the unicorns once called Mundus or Ea, the World that Is. But we also live simultaneously in the world of the Never, what your thautmaturgists and mystics once called the Aether, the world of dreams and portents. Our experience is multiplicitous. Old changelings become lost as the decades slowly limp by, fading in this world and becoming bolder in the Never. In the Never, our songs are not wordless. The words we speak there, that we sing there, are like planets dancing. No mouth or mind could hold them in all of Mundus, on all of Earth.

So to truly tell you of what we saw and felt, I would need another language.

But I can try to tell you in this one. In the Aether, ponies come and go. To us, they are shadows or apparitions, things to ignore. In walking, sometimes, we see them in the street, sleeping but still going about the business of the day. They vanish after a moment. Sometimes, their dreams hang from the great trees, and we hover by and we listen to their stories. Such strange dreams you ponies have! So different, yet all are so similar. Our races have been estranged in the Here, but in the Never, we have never known struggle or antagonism. We are the ones who chronicle your dreams, for your dreaming lands were our origin, our birthplace. Those of us who have gone forever to the Aether have filled scrolls with your dreams, some of them miles long, and so in the long ago, before Luna came to our Never, we were the shepherds of the night. It seems to be a position cursed towards a fall.

But the dreams are conflicted, darkened. There is something behind all of our dreaming, beyond our walking and our living, a darkness beneath the floorboards of the universe that is clawing at the Land of Sleep.

We found many in this very city whose dreams are darkened. Many are simply torn by nightmares, fears, struggles. But a few are taken. There is no other word for it. They are gone. That which is left looks and acts like the pony that is gone. It may even think it is the same pony, but it is not. Oh, it is not.

It is hard to say how many of these sleeping horrors there are in this city alone. At least a dozen, perhaps as many as two or three dozen. Maybe more. We are finding new ones occasionally.

There are three in the palace.

We have only sparse clues to work on, images, places, a few names which could be anypony. But we know that the Old Ones, who you call the Mitou, are also consumed by the darkness beneath. They are not presences. They are holes. That is how they killed the Queens. Because they do not exist in the Never except as absence, and we were foolish.

And even now, the sleepers become harder and harder to sense and catalogue. They wait and wait, and they will strike soon. We know they will. We know because we’ve seen it in their darkest thoughts. We’ve seen it all and what they intend to do.

They intend to murder the Empress.

Author's Note

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"In Times of War, Laws are Silent."

XXII. I Wondered What Friendship Could Be

TWILIGHT

Twilight regarded what passed for a port under the shade of a hoof, her eyes squinted not against the sun but against her suspicion. It was hard not to be dubious.

When they had first told her of this island, with its little port, she had expected something a bit more civilized, perhaps a proper city of stone and wood beams, streets in grids and piers with numbers. In short, she had expected a port. Instead, she had discovered a scattering of haphazard hovels amongst the ruins of said port, with exactly two peirs still in any shape to receive visitors. Any hopes of shelter and safety crumbled quickly as Twilight began to wonder how old the ruins really were. Some vines grew quickly, after all. Perhaps these were the survivors of the port which the captain had spoken of. More worryingly, it was quite possible that these were invaders, barbarians from somewhere else.

Where? Twilight wondered, feeling foolish. She was a master of many subjects, but geography of the lands west of Equestria was not one of them. She had ideas, but they were vague, and beyond knowing that there were islands she had precious little to offer.

The captain came alongside her as she peered over the side.

“I’m surprised,” he said softly.

“In what?” Twilight answered, gruff.

“How few ponies have come out to greet us.”

Twilight hummed, noticing only two faces gazing up at them from the dock. “That unusual?”

“Very. These ponies have always been friendly, Twilight Sparkle. The last time I was here it took a considerable amount of effort not to leave the island with a young wife and a ton of fruit that would go sour in a week. Maldon is the old name. They call it Midway these days.”

“Let me guess--thought I might like to know a bit of history?” Twilight smiled and glanced over at him. “Well, you were right. So, these ponies are friendly. That’s encouraging. Perhaps they’re suffering from the Long Night same as we are.”

“Undoubtedly,” the captain replied. Twilight watched him now, pursing her lips. He was grim. To be honest, he had been grim most of the time Twilight had known him, which was not long. From cage, to hiding, to the escape from the death city, he rarely smiled. He wore melancholy like most ponies wore clothes. She didn’t blame him. Clearing his throat, the captain continued. “I hate to see that. I’m not that surprised, but somehow I thought that maybe they would be safe. Maybe there’s somewhere, some ponies who are safe from all of… this.”

“I doubt it.”

He grunted and shuffled off.

Twilight returned to her observation as they let the gangplank down. The ponies at the dock waved and greeted them with warmth. And it was warmth, but it was restrained.

The captain was the first off, flanked by two of the Vanhoover ponies. Others trickled off, and when none of them seemed particularly violent, a few more ponies emerged from the ruins and the hovels scattered throughout. To Twilight, they seemed like shy children coming out from behind their mother’s skirts to greet a new friend. Or perhaps predators crawling out from a long watchful waiting. Either way. In any case, Twilight left the ship last, following Applejack closely, watching everything.

Maldon, or Midway, whichever name one preferred, had been grand once. At least, this was the judgement of Twilight Sparkle, amateur equinologist. The ruins were more extensive than she had expected--the little show at the port had been just that--a port, and the real city was farther inland. The road from the port, which she learned was called Orestia after its ancient name, was paved in an ancient but otherwise sturdy manner, not dissimilar to the ancient Imperial roads the Crystal ponies had stretched all the way down to the Zebrahara to carry their merchants. Along the way, half-ruined mile markers in a script Twilight did not recognize stuck out from the ground, mostly at odd angles, held in place by the care of their builders and a bit of luck.

The ponies of the island were all earth ponies, and cheerful ones at that. They smiled often, laughed frequently, and chattered like old mares around a village well. Twilight found their company… well, not unpleasant.

To be honest, they annoyed her. They were energetic, overly friendly, a bit too loud. It was an island of dull-colored Pinkies, and that thought alone was like a living, breathing migraine begging to happen. Yet, at the same time, she could not dislike them. It wasn’t really fair to, and she knew it. The villagers at the dock had offered them food and greeted them with warmth she had not seen ponies have for strangers since Celestia had left on her overlong sabbatical. It was strange. New.

But not new. It was not the ponies of Midway who were the aberrant ones, but herself. Twilight knew this. It was irritating; beyond that, it was painful.

Apostate. She had not heard that word in a long time. It seemed true.

“You’re awful quiet,” Applejack said, still by her side.

“I could say the same for you, AJ,” Twilight replied.

“Fair enough. Difference is, I’m just observin’, and you’re broodin’.”

Twilight chuckled softly. “Perhaps. I’m thinking. They seem happy, more or less.”

“More or less,” Appejack agreed. “A little cautious, but still willin’ to be neighborly.” She paused, then added ruefully, “Well, not neighborly, I guess.”

“Same thing.” Both of them watched Pinkie telling some joke to a colt Twilight had learned was named Solaris. He laughed, enthusiastically tugging at her for more. Pinkie, in high spirits, was glad to provide.

“Like walkin’ down the road around harvest,” Applejack said. “Pinkie used to come help, remember?”

“Yep.”

“Kept us laughing, worked harder than all the hired hooves, Celestia rest ‘em, and she loved keeping the young ones out of our hair when it came time to lay down and catch a breath. Y’know, I always hoped she’d have a brace of foals herself.”

“A brace? You want her to have rabbits?”

Applejack guffawed. “It’d be hard to tell ‘em apart from the jumping vermin with all the energy any child of Pinkie’s would have.”

Twilight smiled despite herself. “You’d have to find a stallion who could keep up.” She paused. “Does Pinkie even like…?”

Applejack also seemed taken aback. “Twilight, it occurs to me--and stop me if I’m wrong--that neither of us have any idea. I’m not quite sure what to make of that.”

“She literally never talked about it. Did she? I have this vague memory... Luna, it’s been way too long.” Twilight grimaced. “I’ve got to stop using the Princesses as epithets. It’s just weird now.”

“I hear ya. I also think I’ma ask Pinkie ‘bout her preferences because the last time Pinkie said anythin’ about that, we were Applebloom’s age or earlier and she thought that weird blue boy, the one with the white wavy hair, was gross. To be fair, he was pretty darn gross at the time. Cleaned up well.”

“Pokey?”

“The very same.”

Twilight laughed loudly, genuinely. “You’re kidding!”

“Kidding? I’m all ears if we’re telling jokes!” Pinkie was on her other side now, grinning like a fool. Twilight and Applejack both jumped back, mouths gaping.

“Pinkie! How did you… why… no. Just no. Don’t explain.” Twilight rubbed her temple.

“What’s the joke! I wanna hear!” Pinkie somehow managed to jump and walk at the same time.

“We are joking now?” Twilight’s ears flattened against her skull as Tradewinds joined them.

“Now it’s a party,” Applejack commented, and nudged Twilight.

“I love parties!” Pinkie added.

“We know. Celestia, Luna, Cadance, and the Song itself, we know.” Twilight groaned, but her heart wasn’t in it.

She had forgotten how nice it was, really, to be surrounded by friends. Pinkie, Tradewinds, Applejack… Not quite the same as the fabled and august five she had walked down the roads of Ponyville with, when the world was bright, but friends all the same.

“Applejack tells me you thought Pokey was gross when you were still in school,” Twilight began, only to be steamrollered by Pinkie’s stream of excited words.

“Well, Twilight, he was gross! Oh my gosh, he had so many piercings and he didn’t take care of them and he was so greasy back then! AJ, AJ, do you remember his mustache?”

“I can’t rightly say I do, Pinks.”

“Well, I do, and let me tell you, it was super gross. And his beard! Oh gosh, he tried to grow one and it was so bad!” She chortled. “It only grew on his neck.”

“Aw, come now, he wasn’t so bad,” Applejack said with a smile.

“Oh, he was nice! He was so shy about asking me out and I was really nice to him about it when I turned him down. He grew up to be a lot better looking. Still not my type!”

“You, er, have a type?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, yeah. Mm-mm. Big, strong, muscular, red…”

Applejack cut in. “That’s my damn brother, Pinkie!”

Pinkie cackled. “Oh, is it?”

“Bah, stallions smell of sobaka,” Tradewinds grumbled. “No matter how is saying.”

Twilight, between them, rolled her eyes, as a now beet-red Applejack hastily tried to get answers out of a happily humming, skipping Pinkie Pie. But even as she did so, she smiled. Ponyville was less of a place, and more of a feeling, she suspected.

The city was huge.

Maldon, Twilight learned, had been dead and gone for a long time. Over a thousand years, give or take. Destroyed in a great conflagration, said some. Others claimed pestilence combined with some great upheaval. A few insisted upon some terrible battle, but none could guess at what enemies such an isolated island city could have had. She saw much writing, most of it beyond her ken. Some inscriptions seemed vaguely familiar. Others she knew were familiar: Old Equestrian, from the time before Celestia and Luna’s taming of Chaos and Advent.

She had stopped by one of these engravings, touching it lightly with a hoof. It was only a small message, carved perhaps manually by some earth pony, for it was rough and hard to parse. Twilight squinted at it in the dying light.

The ponies of Maldon proper had also greeted them with kindness and open hospitality, feasting the crew of the beleaguered vessel in modest, but still fantastic style. In many ways, Twilight was reminded of the Apple family and their welcome feast upon her own arrival in Ponyville. Smiling to herself, she remembered how she’d escaped only barely, after what seemed endless waves of relations offering their own specialties.

The ponies of Maldon lived in the ruins, but did not seem to mind. Some lived in tents in the remains of parks. Others had fixed the roofs of the old houses with straw and wood and made them shelters again for new families. Still others had claimed quite serviceable housing that had remained miraculously intact. They were scattered throughout the once proud metropolis, and yet they were no scattered people. They were there now, most of them, gathered in the biggest of the parks left behind to grow into pine woods, arrayed at great, long tables. She had estimated there were perhaps a few thousand of them living in this city’s bones.

Down the street, a foal played with his friends. A mare watched them from a doorway, and Twilight found her eyes caught by the scene even as the cries of play tugged at her ears.

Without thinking, she began to approach until she stood by the mare’s side.

“Done reading?” asked the mare. Twilight assumed she was probably one of the foals’ mother.

“More or less. Can’t make horns or tails of it. Whoever scrawled that was either blind or in a hurry,” Twilight responded.

“Maybe both!” replied the mare, with a little chuckle as she stretched. “Chaser! Dinner’s ready!”

One of the foals yelled back, but didn’t exactly return home. The mare rolled her eyes.

“Chaser?” Twilight asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting name.”

“An old proverb. I can’t remember how said it. Somepony wise, I guess. Or old. Probably old.” The mare hummed, waving for her child. “It goes like this: ‘Chase the Sun, and it will shine on you.’ “

Twilight was taken aback. “We… my mother said the same to me, once.”

The mare looked at her now directly, and smiled. It was not a wide smile. It was an all together familiar smile, the kind her mother had kept just for Twilight, the kind of smile Celestia had smiled in the great, warm Oratorium at some juvenile idea, some spark of life that Twilight brought with her, that she nurtured.

“I suppose mothers are all the same. Or, we try to be. When we’re good. The name is Rose.” At that moment, the child in question appeared, grinning, and she embraced him, mussing his hair. “Fool boy,” she said, not unkindly, and kissed his head. “You’re taking a breather from the party, I suppose, Miss…?”

“Twilight, ma’am. I’m not big on crowds.”

Rose nodded. “This little one would be far too much of a burden.”

“Hey!”

Rose laughed and nuzzled him. “At least, that’s my excuse. I’m not one for loud parties, myself.” She hesitated. “Would you like some tea? I’ve already eaten, I was cooking for Chaser here, so I wouldn’t mind some company.”

Twilight hesitated.

“I… yes, of course. I would like that.”

“Well, come on in,” Rose said. She herded her child towards the door and gestured to a blinking, awkwardly shuffling Twilight.

Twilight followed her inside. The house was surprisingly well furnished, despite the outward appearance. Yes, the decor was rustic, but she was from Ponyville. She was used to rustic. She liked it. Above all, it felt like home: warm, with a small fire going in a modest fireplace. The foal was given his stew and while he ate, Rose brewed tea. Twilight sat at her table, across from Chaser.

Rose returned with a cup for each of them. Twilight examined them, curious. They were clay--simple, but well-made.

“So, Twilight. Tell me about yourself,” Rose began, sipping at her tea.

Twilight grimaced. “That’s such a hard question. I’m not sure what to say.”

“The beginning is a good place to start.”

“Well…” Twilight chuckled. “I was born in Canterlot. We lived on the second tier, in a nice neighborhood. I read all the time, still do when I’m not wandering the world on a fool’s errand.”

“Such confidence,” Rose said.

Twilight took a sip of her own tea. “Hm. This is good! Thanks,” she said with a smile. “I ended up getting a chance to apply to Celestia’s school as a foal. Based on scores and raw potential, I would have gotten the best magical education available, but I didn’t know that. I thought I had to pass the entrance test.”

“Did you?”

Twilight grinned. “Something like that. You see, nopony passes. They give you an impossible task, and you fail. The point is not how you succeed but how you handle your failure. It’s usually something that not even the instructor can do. It’s different every time. For my test, they wheeled out a dragon egg.”

Rose started. “They wheeled in what? But you were only a child! You could’ve been hurt!”

“Well, it was supposed to be dormant. It was dormant. I kind of… got startled. And exploded.” Twilight drank her tea to avoid eye contact. “And cast a very high-powered illusion spell on my parents. I think one of them was a fern.”

Rose snickered. “Surely you’re kidding.”

“Nope. I hatched the egg, too. Celestia herself had to come calm me down and fix everything. I was about to cry. I thought I had failed and everyone was going to be angry, or dissapointed, or… I don’t know. But she smiled at me, and she made it alright.”

“She sounds wonderful.”

“She is,” Twilight said, without any hesitation. “I was her faithful student, and she was my teacher.” Twilight paused. Another sip. She stared into the cloudy tea. “I was happy,” she said at last.

“You say that like you won’t be again,” Rose remarked, mussing Chaser’s mane idly.

Twilight shrugged. “I’m looking for her,” she said. “She left us. Whether she meant to or she was delayed or trapped or…” She couldn’t finish. The obvious possibility was too large. “But I have to know. I have to find her. And bring her home, if I can. Only she can fix this.”

“Only her?”

“Only her.”

“Well,” Rose began,cradling her cup as light steam rose from it, “it seems to me, if she were a good teacher, she would have been trying to work towards you being independant. Like a good mother, really. All children have to grow up.”

“Not me,” Chaser said.

“Especially you,” Rose answered and rolled her eyes.

“But… it’s so big. You have no idea what it’s like right now without her,” Twilight said, but then she sighed and leaned back. “No. Besides the obvious things that really can’t be better without her coming back, like the sun… We could have fixed it. I could have fixed it. Somepony could have. But I need her, Rose. I need her to smile at me.”

And, as if to fill the gap, Rose smiled. “I can tell you miss her. Do you think she’s out there? Waiting?”

“I don’t know. I just… I want to think she is,” Twilight said. “I really, really hope she is. But I’m afraid I won’t like what I find when I finally make it to wherever she is. The unreflected life isn’t worth living, but sometimes reflecting on things makes it unliveable. I’m worried the truth will be worse.”

“Maybe it will be,” Rose said. She sighed. “How old are you, Twilight? Twenty?”

Twilight nodded. “Almost. Twenty-three.”

“Such weight on young shoulders. You can’t fix the world, Twilight.”

“I have to try.”

“Yes. Yes, you do,” Rose said. “But you won’t. You can change yourself. You can do what you can, but… you’re only one mare. You’re young, and I think you’ll have time yet.”

“If we’re lucky.”

“It’s really always been that way,” Rose countered. “Midway is a peaceful place, but even we have problems. Life is always… oh, what’s the word…”

“Precarious?”

“That’ll work.”

“I just want to go back to how life used to be. When all I had to worry about what normal things, like finding someone to grab lunch with or the foals from Cheerilee’s class reshelving things in the wrong places. I miss my library. I miss my little town and how happy we were. I miss my friends.”

“Aren’t they here with you?”

Twilight shook her head. Sighing, she laid her head against the table. “No. Not all of them. Applejack and Pinkie are here. I’m so glad they are. If they weren’t here, I’m not sure I would have gotten this far. I’ve almost fallen to pieces so many times…”

Chaser, either oblivious or willfully ignorant, had now finished his dinner and stood up. His mother kissed him on the head, and then he had returned to his playing out in the streets before Twilight could even say goodbye.

Rose watched the empty doorway. “I worry about him. Not because of anything he’s done, but because I’m his mother.”

“Worrying seems to be what we all do, these days.”

Twilight frowned down at the scrying stone. Not, in fact, because she was upset with it in anyway, but more because a light frown had become her standard way of being.

Luna would be on the other side of the stone. She would smile, perhaps. She would enumerate her own days and ways, most certainly. Company was only a flicker of magic away at any given time, and yet Twilight felt alone in the night, with the moon overhead slipping in through the window. She turned the stone over and over in her hooves, humming.

Applejack sat in the doorframe of the old tavern which they had been given. Above the two silent friends, the crew slept with full bellie in warm beds. In most ways, they were far better off here, in the middle of the sea, than they had been at home in ages.

Applejack smoked. She did so everytime they stopped in a place that was relatively safe. Twilight watched her now, partially with that scientific curiosity which had not died, and partially with simple idleness. Carefully, she would draw on the long churchwarden, and with equal care she blew fragile rings out to fall apart in the night air. The air blew back, knocking the smoke rings, so fragile, back towards Twilight. They never made it. Like other nights that Twilight had watched her smoke, only a faint, lingering smell remained. It was not sweet, but it was not offensive. If she were honest, Twilight would say she liked it. Like a fireplace roaring against the winter night, it reminded her oddly of home. Not her own home, but the concept of home.

“Where did you get that pipe?” Twilight asked, cradling her link to home.

Applejack looked back inside, towards the scattered tables of the tavern’s core. “Pardon?”

“Your pipe.”

Applejack nodded and took the stem from her mouth carefully. Twilight wondered at how difficult it must be without magic. “Pa had one. Granny Smith did too, but we made her put it away a while ago. MAc carved this one.”

“Big Mac? He can carve?”

“Sure can, better’n you could imagine. Boy’s an artist,” Applejack said, grinning as she took another draw.”He used to make little doodads and gifts for folks back home, on occasion. I think he probably carved a few little things for that coltfriend of his, before we left.”

Twilight nodded. “I’m surprised you have tobacco left after all this time.”

“Running right low, actually. Won’t have any much longer. But I’ve been spacing it out. I was doing swell until we got on this ship.” Applejack grimaced. “Too much time. Ain’t healthy for a body to have that much free time on their hooves, really. They get to thinking too much.”

Twilight couldn’t really argue with that. She returned to gazing down at her connection home.

“You know, every time you break that thing out…” she faltered. The image in her mind was pristine, but fragile. She wondered if sharing it would break the joy of it. She doubted the integrity of her memory. Had it always been this way?

“Spit it out, sug.”

“Sorry, I spaced out.” Twilight sighed. “I think about one time, after harvest. All of us showed up for the last day to help and then stayed for the party. It was a long, long party… I think it was really one of my first harvest parties with your family, actually. Maybe the second.”

“Hm. I vaguely remember. What about it?” Smoke curled up about her face like a cat stretching its back.

Twilight breathed in, enjoying the light hints of smoke. It was strange--the few times she had encountered such things in the city, it had been foul and a nuisance. But here, in the quiet darkness, there was a naturalness to it that had been missing. It reminded her of potpurri in an odd way.

“You, smoking on the hill after the party died down. The wind was blowing, the night was warm, and we were all happy and exhausted. I caught sight of you, and I just remember it.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a moment that’s stuck in my head all this time.”

“Funny how those moments do,” Applejack said, nodding. “You know, little ones, without any big drama or story to ‘em.”

Twilight felt strange. Not sad, nor happy, but something in between. She took the stone and put it back within its protective sack, tightening the drawstrings and cutting it off from the night. She would come back to it. There was time. Sighing, but smiling, Twilight stood and walked over to Applejack. The wood beneath her hooves creaked with every step.

“Bit for your thoughts, hon? You’ve been down. I was wonderin’ if you were gonna burn a hole through that rock you got, staring at it like you were.”

Twilight chuckled. “I’ve been thinking a lot. I miss home.”

“Well, we all do.”

“I just keep thinking about how much of a child I was. I was so naive. Ponyville was bright, and Canterlot was beautiful, and the woods and their dangers stayed in their places. We were happy, weren’t we? I’m afraid I’ll forget and one day, some day, I’ll think it was just a dream. Or perhaps I’ll think I was never that happy, and I just remember those days wrongly.”

“I can’t rightly speak to that. But I do know we were happy, Twilight. I think we were. I know I was,” Applejack replied, taking another draw.

“Do you regret anything? I regret being busy so much of the time. I missed out on a lot of opportunities for lunches and picnics… walks through town… watching Rainbow do her tricks.”

Applejack rose. Where she had been lying across the doorframe, she now laid to the side of it, and gestured to the new space. “Come sit with me.”

Twilight did so. “I could have taken more time to be with you girls. I should have. I could have written my letters to the princess more, or even been so much less formal. She just wanted me to be happy, and I was so obsessed with being perfect so long.”

“Now, Twilight, what is really on your mind? You know we saw you all the time. You were a good friend. You still are. I’m here with you, aren’t I? I could be home right now, kissin’ Soarin’ or nagging Bloom.”

Twilight smiled and sniffled. She was surprised to feel the lump in her throat. Where had it come from? When had she been this emotional? It was Applejack. Or rather, it was in talking itself, and Applejack was helping along.

“Soarin’?” Twilight asked. “So you are serious about him.”

“Serious as I am beautiful.”

“So…” Twilight chuckled and hiccuped a bit through her sniffling when Applejack punched her shoulder. “But… you know what’s funny? I totally had the hugest crush on you when I was new to Ponyville.”

“That ain’t even a secret, Twilight.”

“I don’t believe you. I was so secretive about that!” Twilight protested.

“Hardly. Poor Twi, just blushin’ up a storm! Oh boy, Dash used to think it was the funniest thing. I just felt bad for you.”

Twilight smiled. “Whatever.”

“We’ve come a long way, though. Gosh, it hits me too, now.”

Twilight laid her head down on her hooves. “I’ve been so cold, haven’t I? So insular and harsh and calculating, when I should have felt and acted and… It’s hard to realize that you’ve done so much wrong. I have looked at, but not through. I looked at, but never looked long. I should have been there.”

“But you did what you could. You were trying.”

“Maybe.”

“You were,” Applejack countered. “And you tried pretty hard sometimes.”

They were quiet for awhile. Applejack’s pipe went out, and Twilight lit it for her wordlessly, nodding at Applejack’s quiet thanks. The smoke rose again, curled again. Applejack blew a few rings, and Twilight watched them sail on the unseen currents.

“So,” Applejack began after a while, “you gonna talk to Luna tonight?”

“Yes,” Twilight said.

“You mind passin’ on a hello to Soarin’ and my family for me? Actually… for that matter, think you could arrange me or Pinkie seein’ our kin?”

Twilight thought about it, and then smiled. “Yes, I think I could get that to work. We’d have to work at it a bit, but I think it could work.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Applejack replied, quietly.

In the quiet of her own room, Twilight lit the scrying stone.

She was not entirely alone. Applejack slept on the make-shift pallet across the room, up against the wall. Smiling, Twilight remembered how Applejack’s snoring had bothered her once. But life on the road had hardened her to small disturbances. It was difficult to care overmuch about a companion’s snoring when said companion was the best chance your fragile party had against the raiders and madponies watching you from the shadows.

The stone glowed with a soft white light. Through her magic, she could feel a sort of corridor open up unseen in the long spaces between the island and Canterlot. The magic would cross infinite seas and horizonless plains to reach its target, and this brought her some comfort.

At last, Luna answered.

Luna’s smile was automatic, but still warm. Columns framed her face in the moonlight. The stone on her end seemed set upon a table, but it was not hard to get a good view of things.

Twilight took a deep breath and dived.

The scrying stone saw into its companions, and it could relay messages, but that was not the extent of its abilities. Hearing and seeing were not being there. The scrying stone could cross that boundary. It could take you there. After a fashion. So Twilight reached out, and in an instant she was gone.Her body slumped, her eyes closed, and her mind sailed the Aether.

Twilight stood upon the table now, hoofsized and feeling dazed. Vertigo was a good word for it, she thought, as her knees shook. Vertigo was a good word.

Luna, massive, smiled down at her. “So you were able to do it at last!”

“T-think so, yeah,” Twilight responded. “I feel really lightheaded… is that normal?”

“It is.” Carefully, Luna offered a hoof. “With time, you will be able to project a larger image of yourself here. It will take some practice, but I think that you are quite capable of it.” She smiled as Twilight approached and climbed aboard. “Some new bit of magic artistry for you to perfect will be good for you, methinks.”

“Methinks? I thought you were working on that.”

“I am. I simply like the sound of it.” Luna hummed a quiet song, one beyond Twilight’s knowledge, and walked with her to the bed. Carefully, Twilight’s aetherial projection was deposited on the bedside table. Luna lay on the magnificent royal bed and sighed with what sounded to Twilight’s ears to be suspiciously close to contentment. It was good to hear.

“So… does this mean I can dreamwalk now?” Twilight asked, sitting down.

Luna looked at her curiously for a few seconds, and then her eyes widened. “Wait. I never thought you were interested in such a thing!”

“Well, I mean, I figured it wasn’t something I could really do. I never was able to find much on it…”

“No, no you are very capable of it,” Luna said quickly. “I… I had thought of asking you if you wished to learn, but did not want to bother you, and then it was a bit too late for such things.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind trying. Here and there. I’ll be a dedicated amateur,” Twilight said. “How is the homefront?”

“From my little outpost here they seem dire.”

“More than last time?”

“Not so much,” Luna replied, stretching. “Your young master dragon has been hard at work.”

“Good.” Twilight paused. She spoke slowly. “Luna, he is alright, isn’t he?”

“He is as safe as any of us. I swear to you this, that he is no mere pawn. He is my Companion, in the old sense.” Luna cracked a little smile. “Do you know of them? I once had brothers and sisters in arms, bound to me by love and bonds beyond magic. Spike is my hoof.”

“I worry about him,” Twilight admitted. “I just… I know he’s old enough to handle himself.”

“More than old enough. He is blooded now.”

“Blooded?”

Luna stopped. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but then her words seemed to die. Twilight felt her heart sink.

“The barbarians at our gates attacked the town of Morningvale--”

“In the valley behind Canterlot, yes, I know.”

Luna coughed. “Yes. He… borrowed my personal air yacht and flew around the mountain to assist in the evacuation’s rear guard action. He fought very bravely, Twilight. Already among our soldiers he is something of a hero. They talk of him often.”

“He… he’s killed.”

“Yes.”

Twilight faltered. She felt her projection flicker and fade. “I… I don’t know…”

Luna scooted closer. “Twilight. Twilight, please. I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. I did not want to tell you, I knew this would hurt you. My time… it was different in my time. The world was dark and we needed to do such things.” Luna’s eyes were wide. She gestured frantically. “Twilight, he saved so many ponies. Innocent ponies, who did nothing worth dying. I’m sorry that I have led him down this path of--”

“Luna! Luna, please.” Twilight held up both front hooves, shaking her head. “Luna, it’s fine. I… it was just a shock.”

Luna looked miserable. “I am sorry.”

“It’s fine. I mean, it upsets me, but I don’t blame you. I understand. He’s a hero. He saved ponies. I myself have had to…”

“Hurt ponies.”

“Yes.”

“The warrior’s path is best walked by those who do not revel in the pain.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not a warrior, Luna. I’m a librarian.”

Luna scoffed. “Twilight Sparkle of Canterlot, you are much more than a librarian.”

“Ponyville. Of Ponyville,” Twilight corrected softly. “Is he okay?”

Luna nodded, but with hesitation. “Yes. I think he will be fine. What bothered him more was the injury of one of his companions, one of my Lunar guards. I have made arrangements personally for her care, in hopes it will bring him some succor.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Twilight said flatly. She sighed.

They sat in silence for a moment. Luna’s features softened, and Twilight’s heart returned to its place, out from the grave.

“You know, I’m on an island now,” Twilight said. “Midway. It used to be called Maldon.”

Luna’s ears perked. “I cry your pardon. Maldon?”

Twilight nodded.

“I have not heard that name in some time. In fact, I do not believe I have heard it spoken since before I was banished. And you say you are there?”

Twilight nodded.

Luna edged even closer. “I have such memories of that place in the days of its glory. What is it like? What are the ponies of that place like? Is the hospitality of Maldon strained with time?”

“So far they’ve been friendly. A mother on the street invited me in for tea, actually.” Twilight hummed. “The city here is just ruins, but the ponies living here don’t seem that interested in rebuilding. They live in the ruins. They’ll fix up a house or old agora, but only when they need to live in or use it.”

Luna nodded, but did not seem to be satisfied. “And you have walked the city, then? Ancient now, but Maldon all the same.”

Twilight thought of the carved words. “Yes. It must have been grand, in its day.”

“It was. It was, Twilight,” Luna replied sotly. “I… Twilight, ma I ask of you a favor?”

“Favor? Sure,” Twilight said quickly.

“It… well. No, nevermind.” Luna smiled.

Twilight leaned in. “What was it? It’s alright, Luna. We’re friends. If I’m learning anything right now, it’s that I could be a much better friend.”

Luna smiled. “You were not such a bad one.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “You’re not convincing at all.”

“I suppose I am not. I wished to… well…” She faltered. Slipped. Some look flashed in her eyes which Twilight did not comprehend in its quick passing. “Twilight, I have missed Maldon as it was. As I remember it. I have missed so many things. In this war of ours I have missed a simpler time, when ‘war’ meant little more than myself, my sister, a few brave knights, and the joy of the quest.”

“You miss that?” Twilight asked. “But things were so much more dangerous.”

“Yes, but the were simpler. At least, I think they were. And that thought, Twilight, that thought! That I could be remembering all of those things wrongly… it is does not do one well to dwell on the unachievable. It is my sister’s absence that inflicts morbidity.”

Twilight’s ears drooped. “I miss her.”

“I miss her also. More than anything.”

“I promise you. I’m going to bring her back.” Twilight stomped her tiny astral hoof.

Luna’s smile was radiant. Twilight thought of the old Oratorium. She could almost smell the old books. “I know you will. I have the utmost faith in you, Twilight Sparkle. Of Ponyville,” she added.

“What did you want, though?”

“I wanted… to link. Take you with me into the dreaming and go back into your memories and mine. It is foolish. I know, I know. To ask you to allow such an intimate invasion for the mere whim of an old mare is laughable. In such times as these, I should not be caught up in my old remembrances.”

“Intimate? It doesn’t seem like such a huge invasion to me.” Twilight walked to the edge of the table. “I wouldn’t mind at all, so long as it’s safe. Let’s go. I’m curious to see old Maldon myself.”

Luna said nothing. She bit her lip. “It… it can be intense. You seem so blaise, but to share one’s heart is no light matter.”

“It’s not my heart. Just my memories. Besides, we are friends.” Twilight chuckled. “Even if it hasn’t felt like it a few times. Writing you now and then when I still had my library, working side by side during those months of panic, talking to you now in this way--I feel like we’ve grown really close. I wouldn’t mind opening up. I probably need to,” she added. “I’m starting to worry that I’ve undone everything.”

“Undone?”

“All the good I learned by going to Ponyville in the first place. I used to be so open and honest with my friends. We used to be so happy. Things in the world have changed, but I think that the change that came between us was less of a matter of external forces so much as of internal ones.”

“Ah.” Luna nodded. “We--forgive me. I do still slip from time to time. I understand.”

“I need to open up more. Be honest.” Twilight shook her head ruefully. “You know, me and Applejack realized today that we know almost nothing about Pinkie’s romantic life and preferences? I mean, it isn’t exactly our business, but to not know at all! There’s so many things I have left to learn. I’m starting to feel like I’m going to miss it all.”

“So… you would not mind sharing hearts for a night?”

“If that’s what you call it,” Twilight said.

“It is accurate. Or, mostly. Alright, then. We will go. It will be… strange. You will have ideas and feelings that are hard to read and there will be much of myself. Much of yourself mixed in, too. It is hard to explain. I would need to use another language.” Luna sat up. There was a strange look in her eyes, but she smiled. “You shame me. Perhaps showing you everything of that place will do me well. I, too, have been a locked garden for too long.”

And with that, Luna lay with her face close to the tiny spectral form of Twilight, her smile intact, and called upon her magic. It thrummed, and as she closed her eyes, Twilight felt as if she was falling, falling, falling, until she felt nothing but heard the sound of singing, and then the heat of the sun, and finally the wind rising.

Author's Note

Interestingly, I'm going in a direction with this I did not plan.

FINAL PAPER DONE EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE AND INCOHERENT I AM INCOHERENT I WISH TO DRINK LOTS OF WHISKEY LANGUAGE IS DEAD

the Maldon arc should be three chapters at the most. Spike and company have some business to finish, and Rarity's fellowship has mystery and danger on their hands, and then... well.

Act III is coming. Sooner or later. Somewhere between those.

XXIII. We Drift Like Worried Fire

CANTERLOT

The city is alive. All cities are or were so, at one point.

The city thinks and sleeps and dreams. It sleeps and it does not sleep. The ponies who walk its streets wander and talk. The things that they talk about in these days are not the things that they talked about in the days that are past. The darkness outside is not usually spoken of directly. Always, the circumstances which press upon the existences of these denizens are attacked from the side. The weather is a trusted avenue of complaint. Whining about the lack of a surfeit of food is another. The ponies on the higher tiers grimace with disgust at the rabble of discontent below. The ponies down on the low tier mock the pretensions to power or safety of their betters. They are both equally helpless.

Some topics of conversation remain. The Princesses are also an avenue of complaint.

“You know, they say she never really got used to the modern ways of handlin’ things,” says a tailor from Sandy Cove, a port in the East. He finishes off his third cheap brew and lets out a great belch. His folk are a small folk, an uncouth folk, an honest folk. This does not mean they do not gossip, for when they were still in situ, they did so often. “I heard tale that she can’t write in Equestrian but a little, see? Just here and there. She’s all but lost it. Went senile, perhaps.”

“Senility happens to the old,” points out the mare down the bar, who is tall, lithe, and from the south. She beat the borders for a decade, tracking the hydra as it passed, running off the wolf and avoiding the lion. She has seen many things. “And she’s old,” the hunter of the world’s vastness says. “I’ll warrant ye that, but she’s no old mare on a shiny chair. Princess Luna and our Celestia, they don’t age like we do.”

“Ain’t natural, I thought sometimes,” grumbles the drunk who has precious little history besides a few streets and dim memories of happiness.

“It sure would explain a lot,” the tailor says to cap the observation off.

It is night. On the streets the ponies come and go, talking in circles of things they do not understand.

“You know, I just don’t understand why we can’t just fix things,” says the high society mare to her companion.

“Well, even a princess must deal with day-to-day affairs,” her companion and occasional mistress replies. “Perhaps there are things we do not know of, yet.”

“Bah, you could say that of the common pony, but of us? Marigold, come now.”

Marigold, who had been born to a frightened servant girl in the wine cellar of House Epona, right beneath a well-matured and high quality bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, says nothing as to the merit of the commoner.

So ponies talk. Other ponies shout.

On the Terrestial tier, the lowest, there are many backways and shortcuts, alleyways that open into old apartments and courtyards with gardens that have run wild without constraining care. In one of these, down the street from the Redpony Market, a crowd has gathered. It is not a large crowd. There are fifty ponies here, but almost a dozen are not here to listen but to watch the listeners. In the middle is a tree, gnarled with age and shadowed by the tall buildings and spires. A few sit in the shade of the tree, which is the heart of the shade. Others shift their weight from one side to the other, waiting for they know not what. Ponies come to listen from the not-so-abandoned apartments to lean on their bannisters. The steps that lead up to the next floor in the courtyard below are crowded with white-cloaked observers. Their steely eyes are unwavering.

The pony who stands before the crowd on a box is not masked, but he is hooded. He sneers. He yells.

“Look, you have to open your eyes! We have all been deceived!”

“By what?” A heckler, near the back. There is, in fact, no heckler at all. This one is a plant, put there by the red-cloaked speaker whose hood turns towards him.

“By the great lie,” he says, smooth as oil. “You are being used for your work, your labor, your time. You are being robbed and thanking the thieves.”

“The hell?”

“The Good Stallion knows of your struggles, my brothers and sisters. He knows and wants to help. It was he who brought order to the streets of Las Pegasus and to the towers of Maripony! It was he who calmed the raging bandits in the southern badlands! The Good Stallion has shown them all a way out, a way to live better. Freedom is calling!

“Freedom from what? Why, freedom from the chains of slavery! You are all of you slaves. You kneel to these nobles and these lords and ladies. Worst of all, you believe the lies that the princess tells you. Do you think that there are really mindless bandits and raiders outside who want to hurt you? Of course not! In these hard times, she is simply afraid that you will open your eyes to the army of your comrades outside.”

“My family died in a raider attack, you bastard! I know they’re out there.” This one is indeed a heckler. He stepped from the crowd, furious, a wall of angry intent. “What do you have to say about them?”

“The raiders of the south have been tamed and brought to the light, friend. The Good Stallion has turned them down paths of righteousness. That the same has not happened here must be laid upon a lack of action. If the princess is as great as she says, then why do we hide when others do not?”

“Because I think you’re lying,” says the large heckler. “What do you want? Just spit it out already.”

“The princess must be made to give up the reins of power!”

Grumblings. It is hard to think of such a thing. A thousand years is hard for any pony to move.

“Bullshit!”

The speaker raises both hooves up to the heavens. “Now, now, please listen. Judge for yourselves, but I have seen the truth. I know it! The Good Stallion can deliver us from this darkness. Think! Stop walking in your ignorance, and look up at the skies, and see the darkness. The true darkness is oppression. Who do you think has kept the sun from us? Who do you think? Ask yourself where Celestia is. Ask yourselves what could have been done better. What has been done. What may yet be done. The ponies of this land must be free to raise their own suns!”

The whitecloaks watch in the streets. The ponies of Canterlot talk and sleep, but the whitecloaks do not talk or speak.

TWILIGHT

It is a strange thing to wake up in a body not your own. To be fair, she had not really woken up. The pony to whom Twilight Sparkle was now tied had woken up.

Twilight Sparkle knew certain things immediately. This pony’s name was Ruby, and she was a mare. Twilight thanked the stars for small mercies. Ruby was sprawled out, tangled in the sheets of a large bed. The sun did not creep in but rather invaded the room like the arrogant bitch she was. This comparison was not Twilight’s, who also knew that Ruby did not particularly enjoy waking up. Morning was not her favorite time.

Twilight Sparkle felt certain things. She felt the warm sun, the soft sheets, the residual headache of a night of merriment, and a coastal breeze blowing on her mane. The headache excluded, it was not a bad moment. Even the headache had a sort of smugness about it. Ruby’s head only hurt because she had enjoyed herself an awful lot, after all. It was also easily cured, Twilight thought, for coffee was abundant in the world, and it was good.

Ruby thought to herself that it was a shame she had never liked coffee. Twilight was stunned into mental silence by the horror of this.

Luna’s voice—not the same, but close—drifted in with the breeze. “I can hear thy shuffling, Ruby of Canter.”

Ruby chuckled. “If you wouldst have been in thine true element, perhaps it would be I who was up early.”

“I am comfortable in the sun,” Luna replied, and Ruby’s head turned to see her. Twilight’s sight, tied to hers, saw everything she did. Twilight, in fact, saw much more. Ruby’s mortal eyes saw the world, all of its vast surface, but Twilight saw with the mind’s eye and saw every crack and intricacy.

And both Twilight and Ruby felt something together, some large and moving emotion.

Twilight realized with something between shock and dismay that it was love. Ruby smiled, thinking how beautiful Luna was on the balcony in terms that made Twilight want to crawl out of her mind by force. It was wrong. She should not be here; she should not be listening. For everything Ruby felt, Twilight felt, and every intimate memory that Ruby knew, now Twilight could see and feel and smell and taste. In an instant, as a smiling Ruby rose from their bed, stretching, Twilight knew what it was to be Luna’s lover, and her mind almost buckled under contradiction.

And then in as quick a moment as the strain had come, it passed. Twilight would have been shaking, but she had no body of her own to shake.

Twilight? It was Luna’s voice, but it was not Ruby’s Luna. It was Twilight’s Luna, older now and sadder.

Yes? Oh Stars, Luna, I had no way of knowing. I’m sorry. I didn’t try to look—

She felt Luna’s presence now, reassuring her. I know. It is alright, Twilight Sparkle. It is quite alright. I asked you to do this knowing you might see and feel such things, and am not affronted. I did not know if you would be connected well enough to truly… experience. I am sorry.

It’s… it’s okay. I think it’s okay. Ruby kissed Luna softly, and together they stood on the balcony. Wow, this is awkward. Twilight wished she could laugh but figured Luna would pick up on the humor she exuded.

I am a bit shy about it as well, Twilight, Luna said as the two lovers looked out over the city. But I do hope the view is some consolation.

It was. Maldon was in its prime. The city stretched out before them like a cat, luxurious in its pace and vast in its riches. The architecture was strange, but not entirely alien. Twilight saw it as a collage, a kaleidoscope of half a dozen ancient cultures. This was a true metropolis.

This is kind of what I imagined when you described Jannah to me before we left, Twilight thought. She felt Luna scoffing. Hey! Didn’t have much to go on. I recognize Second Dynasty Zebraharan influences… old Crystal architecture… all kinds of things. What was this place?

The greatest trading port on earth, Luna said. For a time, at least. This was at its height.

The memory Luna sighed happily. “I am glad to be rid of the sea, at least for a time.”

“One almost forgets wherefore we were summoned,” Ruby agreed.

Memory Luna grimaced. “Indeed. I had hoped to forget it a bit longer.”

“T’would not be good of me, your sword, to allow such a thing,” Ruby said with a grin and nuzzled against Luna’s shoulder. Ruby was a tall unicorn, taller by at least a head than Twilight.

“More sheath than sword,” Luna said, and Ruby burst out laughing, catching herself in convulsing giggles on the balcony rail.

“Oh, Luna! Your tongue is sweet and sour in turns.”

“I do try,” memory Luna said with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

Twilight knew this because Ruby knew it. Ruby stroked the alicorn’s cheek. “We shall be fine. If thou would but keep the faith…”

“I worry. Celestia is not worrying enough.”

“I also worry. Thy sister sometimes hides what she feels from us, Luna.”

Luna grunted. “Regardless, it will be time to find sustenance shortly.”

“I hear the call of adventure!” Ruby said and turned to leave, flicking her tail under Luna’s chin.

Twilight was somewhere between mortified and intrigued.

Twilight and Luna found themselves in their borrowed forms strolling through the streets of Maldon. On every street corner the produce and treasures of the world were ready to be traded, and they attracted Twilight’s mental attention. She would have gasped had she been bodied.

Luna, she began, some of these things they’re selling… There, the amphorae. I’ve only seen things like that in the Royal Museum in Canterlot.

She felt Luna’s amusement. Yes, but in the past, they were simple objects. It is the nature of such things, Twilight.

So what happened? Twilight asked.

Invasion.

With the word came flashes of memory. The flashes became something more, pressing on Twilight with spurs of meaning, of sensation. She could feel the heat of her own breathing, the weight of a warhammer in her magic’s grip, the drain of casting another shield around her person. Rain poured from the sky, flooded the plain, turned the ground into churning, bloody mud—

Twilight’s mental sight blurred.

Who? she asked.

At the time, we said it was Zandikar, an old city-state in the West. Twilight felt in these words a great weariness. For centuries they raided, Twilight, but after the battle that day on Maldon’s shore, we finally decided that they could be allowed to roam no longer. The sailors of the ships that burned or fled or were abandoned all bore the Sigil of the Crow. The dead zebras and bat ponies on the sand and in the hills bore the tattoo markings of seven of the eighteen pirate clans of Zandikar. It was them, Twilight.

But… you don’t sound sure. Twilight didn’t have to say it. She could feel it like one feels heat. In that moment, she was sure Luna felt her own great doubt in the same way.

I am beginning to wonder, Twilight. The pirates of Zandikar were renowned for their ferocity, but what I saw that day was beyond any battle I had ever fought. Beyond all battles moves the Song, as my sister says, but on that day, even she struggled to hear it. The Molla of Zandikar swore to us in all the tongues he knew that he had heard of no such raid. We thought he was lying, of course… She paused. Twilight, I ventured deep into the Dreaming and saw—

What she would have said was lost as both ponies experienced a strange vertigo as if the world had tilted on its side. The memories of Ancient Maldon did not seem to notice, as they went about their business. The memory of Ruby and the memory of Luna chatted and walked in intimate closeness together unperturbed. But Twilight could no longer tell up from down.

And then it passed. She could feel Luna’s influence, feel a well of strange emotions all mixing together at once. She felt something warm and good, something frightened and cold.

I am being called, Luna said.

By who? Twilight’s heart would have skipped a beat had she only brought it with her into the Aether. Always, in the back of her mind, there was the thought that this time it would be Celestia around the corner. The same thought had followed her through all of the ordeal of the Long Night. Celestia would be in the next room, around the bend, over in the next street. Not gone, simply out of sight. Any moment would be her advent. Any moment.

Your… yes, I believe I know who it is. Do not worry yourself, Twilight, for it is your friend. Rarity of Ponyville has some need of me.

Twilight’s disappointment was vast, virulent, and brief. Almost immediately, it was followed by a relief that far outmatched any sadness she had felt. Celestia had been gone for some time, Rarity only for a month.

So she is alright, then! Twilight said.

That she is. Come. I will restore you to your form, and we will walk in the Dreaming, Luna said, and Twilight felt pulled from her seat behind the eyes of Ruby until, somehow, she was lying in the street. The memory of the place had frozen, locked in time. She could see Ruby with her own eyes now, and she examined her closely.

Luna had become two. Twilight did not look over but spoke regardless. “She meant a lot to you. How was I able to hear her memories?”

“I shared the bond with her in a way much stronger than with Spike. She was a companion for a decade before we were lovers. It was a different world, Twilight. For two mares… it would have been viewed in such revolting terms. I did not wish her to be known as a plaything as if I were some mistress ruining mares in my service for cheap thrills.”

“So you could hear her thoughts?”

“No. They are stored with mine here in the Aether. I have trouble unlocking them alone, in fact. It is much like reading a language one knows mostly in theory.”

Twilight could understand that. She nodded. “Is Rarity alright?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“She’s dreaming.”

“Yes.”

“Well…” Twilight cocked her head to the side, looking deeply into Ruby’s eyes. “I am full of questions.”

“I can feel them bubbling.”

Twilight was suddenly aware that she could, in fact, feel her own curiosity almost physically. She laughed. “Well, this is awkward. I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business, but… could you tell me about her?” Twilight at last turned to Luna, who stood beside an ancient oak door that glowed argent.

“Yes. It is some ways away. Enough, I think, for stories.”

The door opened on a grassy hill on an endless, snowy plain. A single great oak adorned the crest, looking out over the tundra. The hill was in impossible summer, the fields about it in the heart of winter.

Twilight blinked, dazed by the transition from the aetheric chaos of stars and darkness and color to the more concrete world of an individual dream.

Rarity stood beside the oak, in the shadow, looking at them and yet not seeing them. Twilight was about to ask, but then Luna stepped forth away from the door, and Rarity jumped.

“I didn’t see you enter! I expected some great flash,” she said, composing herself. “I am glad you came, though, Your Highness. I didn’t know how this would work.”

“I am impressed, for my part, that you grasped how to summon me,” Luna replied.

Twilight stepped forward out of the veil of the doorway. “Hey, Rarity.”

Rarity jumped again, this time closing the gap between her and Twilight. Twilight found herself carried into a powerful hug, wrapped up in a way that in living memory she could not ever recall Rarity having done.

“Twilight! By the stars, I have worried about you!” Rarity let her go, and Twilight caught her breath before being fussed over and nuzzled and chatted at. “It has been a month or so, right? I lose track… Oh dear, how has it been? How far are you? Is Applejack being just ghastly about the whole thing? Has Pinkie gone mad?”

Twilight struggled to answer through laughter. “Yes! Yes, we’re all still here. We picked up some… Rarity, please! Picked up some friends.”

“Oh, dear… I know this isn’t your body, so I don’t know why I want to fuss. It’s simply been so long.”

“Only a month.”

“Give or take, but that long of travel and battle and whatever else. We’ve seen terrible things. I know that you have.”

Twilight looked away. “Yeah.”

“But it is behind us,” Rarity continued, firmly resting her hooves on Twilight’s shoulders. “See? Both of us are safe and sound. Rainbow and Fluttershy live and thrive! Well. Perhaps not thrive, Rainbow’s hangover still hasn’t entirely dissipated…”

“Hangover?” Twilight snorted. “Sounds just like her. World’s falling apart—”

“—and Rainbow Dash still finds the last bottle of Wild Pegasus and a nice cloud. Yes, you’ve said so before, I think,” Rarity finished.

“Still mean it,” Twilight said and hugged her friend. “I’m glad to see you too, Rarity. I was worried.”

“Worried doesn’t cover it. Twilight, you seem… better.”

“Like less of a antisocial bitch, you mean,” Twilight responded.

“I would not go so far,” Rarity said, haltingly.

“The Apostate,” Twilight continued. “I’m… I’m not different, yet. But I’m not the same, either. Does that make sense? When we were in Canterlot, I drew inside myself, and it hurts to come out.”

Rarity sighed, but she smiled. “Twilight, I have waited a long time for you to say something like that.”

“I think I have been too.”

Rarity looked to Luna. “Your Highness, forgive me. I didn’t mean to ignore you. How is Spike and the city? How are you, furthermore?”

Luna smiled down at her. “We are well,” she answered, shrugging. “As much as can be expected. The city grumbles a bit, but it lives. Spike has done deeds of valor already in our service.”

“Deeds of valor,” Rarity repeated. The aether was strange, curling in on itself with an emotion Twilight also knew that she shared. But it faded away. “Twilight, in all of my excitement at your coming, I had almost forgotten why I had called you. Or, I suppose, it would be more accurate to say that I called you, Princess.”

“And I have come. What need you?”

“Besides company, you mean?” Rarity smiled. “You’ll notice I was not alone before,” she added in an almost conspiratorial way to Luna, and Twilight was amazed at the look of almost girlish glee that Luna returned, like a foal who has concocted some worthwhile plan. But the moment passed. “Luna, the situation in Imperial Center seems less sure and stable than I had originally thought.”

Twilight started. “I haven’t heard anything. What is it like in the Empire?”

Rarity sighed. “Well, they’re alive, for starters. I’ve said hello to your brother and his wife, and they are in good enough spirits to overlook Rainbow procuring their alcohol in the night—if that means anything. Imperial Center is secure, or at least appears to be, and the other cities of the North seem to be well-protected. They even have a wall around the great crystal city,” she added with a hint of amusement.

“A wall?” Luna asked. “Why, there has been no wall put about that city in… Well, a long time. It was a source of pride, I recall, that they had no need of walls.”

“They don’t really have one now,” Rarity said. “It’s an illusion placed in between the gaps of the real wall. There’s a huge shield keeping the Mitou at bay somehow. I don’t really know how it works, but I am positive there is more to it than the illusion of the wall.”

“Mitou?” Twilight interrupted. “Hold on.”

“Mitou. They are… fearsome. Great white-furred creatures who walk on two legs and can crush ponies in one hand,” Rarity said, grimacing. “There are hundreds of them at least. They’ve chased the changelings out of the mountains and into the arms of the crystal ponies. The queens are… dead,” she said. She blinked, working her mouth as if feeling around potential things to say on the matter. “I’m not sure what to think about that,” she said at last. “The changelings here without queens are docile. Friendly, even.”

“They have not been monsters at all points in history,” Luna said softly. “But we will attend to that when there is time, Rarity of Ponyville. I sense that is not what concerns you.”

“No. It’s… the Changelings claim that they can access the Dreaming in a way similar to how you do. Is that true?”

Luna pursed her lips. Twilight cocked her head to one side, watching, surprised. “Yes,” Luna answered. “I wish to qualify that statement, but I realize much of what I would say would be lost on the both of you. What have they seen?”

“Minds poisoned by some sort of darkness that they say is both new and terrifying. Something disturbing the Aether. Something that wants to kill Cadance.”

“To what end?” Luna asked, sharp, her face changed in a way that Twilight now recognized from her trip in Ruby’s mind. This was Luna at war.

“To let the Mitou finish what they started. They’re massing around the city, bothering traders and shipments but mostly focusing on surrounding Imperial Center. I’ve spoken to Shining and some of his officers, and putting that together with what I’ve gathered from the changelings, I can assume that the two are connected.”

Luna shook herself and walked off towards the snow without a word. Rarity and Twilight looked at one another, confused, but did not immediately pursue. They waited, sitting in the warm grass.

Luna looked out over an endless tundra, no doubt taken from Rarity’s memories. Twilight could see her fidgeting, noticed how she trembled and within herself felt something warm and soft. She moved first and sat by Luna’s side.

“What is it?” she asked simply.

“I have been a fool most of my life, Twilight,” Luna answered. “In case you had not guessed. From my youngest days until now. I can not hide any longer. I spoke to you of the horror of Jannah, but I was brief.”

“Yes. You wouldn’t tell me what went wrong, and it bothered me for a while. I spent a few nights trying to figure out what would cause all of that. I had nothing.”

“Because magic didn’t do it,” Luna hissed, her teeth gritted, her eyes wide. “No pony did that. No, no… Oh Celestia. You… you absolute idiot.” Luna flared her wings and turned to stare down at Twilight, who reeled as a wave of anger washed over the dream, bathing it in red light in waves. This was not mere anger. It was rage. It was something broken and sharp and hot and Twilight felt like a child. She wanted to hide and weep.

“Luna… Luna, stop! You’re scaring me!” she managed.

Luna looked away but did not stop her tirade. “I’ve been blind! Jannah, Zandikar, the battle at the Gorge, the Mad God, Celestia… it was always right there! Always, always, always and I just let it slip right past me! Celestia, you damned fool! You left me here alone!”

“Luna!”

Luna whirled back on both Twilight and Rarity, and perhaps seeing their fear, she shut her eyes and covered them with a hoof.

They stood silent.

Luan broke the silence. “Rarity, come here, please.”

“I… of course.”

“Twilight,” Luna continued, “I am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Twilight said, swallowing, shaken.

“Jannah was sealed because of the Fall, and that Fall was the fault of ponies. I have misspoken. But it was not they who tore open the world and bled her out into the streets of the city. Do you know how we, the alicorns, were born?”

“Singing,” Rarity said, almost by rote, in a dazed fashion. “First, the Alicorns in their numbers brought singing into the world.”

Luna’a eyes widened. She leaned in closely. “You? A Celestialist?”

Rarity blushed furiously, and embarrassment washed over Twilight. “No, my mother was raised that way, and she taught me some of the chants. I liked them as a child. They were pretty. I am sorry, Princess.”

“Do not be,” Luna said, waving a hoof with a strange expression. “It is not offensive to me; it is simply bizarre to encounter such in my own circle of acquaintance. But they are not wrong on this point. We were born out of the song, one after another. I was the last of the Songborne.”

“Celestia was right before you,” Rarity said quietly, looking at her hooves.

“Yes. But that does not mean it was all in rapid succession. You must understand that time before my birth was very fluid. Sometimes they sang, and sometimes they did not. Celestia spoke of arias that would last years or perhaps minutes. Celestia guessed she had been singing and exploring and laughing in the dawn time for a century before I was born at last.”

“Dawn?”

“The sun stayed forever on the cusp of the horizon, and we knew neither night nor day,” Luna said evenly. “I… I have not spoken of this before to those who were not there.”

“We are honored, Princess,” Rarity said.

Luna chuckled, but it seemed hollow to Twilight. “When I was born, the song crescendoed into a final great chorus, into one last chord of creation, and then there was silence. At least, that is what was meant to happen. But it had other plans. It, being, of course, the sour note at the end of the great song, the twist in the chord, the braying tongue of some Other Thing. And the song ended in a great cry, an unplanned encore, and that momentary disturbance was forgotten. But it was darkness, darkness covering the lands around the great tableland of Jannah, and the first that I saw when I came out of the pool was the darkness receding and then my sister holding me as I cried. They had never seen a pony cry before,” she said. She smiled. “It is perhaps accurate to say I was the first. As far as I know.

“But that darkness… my sister didn’t forget. The other alicorns did, but I know Celestia never really forgot it. That was what the ponies at Jannah found. They let it seep into our world, whatever it was. They broke the seals on the prison that the song built for it.”

“What is it?” Rarity asked.

“I do not know what to call it,” Luna said. “Darkness? Despair? A Sickness in the world, unto the death? I do not know. Celestia, I think, had a name for it, but I do not. It is just the Shadow to me. But now I see connections that I must attribute to it. When Celestia did not return, the rumblings that spread through Equestria, were they not odd? Or when one day my sister seemed to abandon her caretaking of the sun? Or when in short order our realm fell apart so easily, far too easily? It was easy. So easy. I have said so before. What I said once in agony, I say now again in prime suspicion.”

Twilight shivered. She looked back towards the tree in the Summer and noticed finally a sleeping pony beneath it. The grass looked nice. She wanted to lay quietly in it, with Rarity and Luna, and not speak of the Shadow. The word filled her with dread. All of her suspicions came back to her now. Every dark hint she had whispered to her friends, that something about the whole affair of the Long Night did not add up, all of it came rushing back. She saw in her mind’s eye a great clawed hand reaching out from the dark horizon to scrape its ragged nails through the green farmlands of her home. Twilight could see the those fingers finding purchase, pulling at some set of heartstrings, driving little ponies mad with despair. But that couldn’t be true. It simply was not true. To think that such a thing could be the cause of all of their woes… Twilight wanted to laugh. What a copout. What cheap grace would one need to escape such a cheap evil? But then she thought about the slaves of Vanhoover, and the Griffon schism at Manehattan, and she smelled the cooking pony flesh on their spits, and she felt the biting cold of a long winter—and Twilight no longer wished to laugh.

“I must find Celestia’s old diaries,” Luna said at last. “I know nothing.”

“Before you do that, Princess,” Rarity said, subdued, “if you are right, that means that there is some… thing that is capable of manipulating ponies in our world. I don’t know what to do with that. But I do know that only you would be able to find the ponies that the changelings have seen in the Aether. We need to find them before they do anything.”

“Agreed,” Luna said with a nod.

“Is there anything you could do from here?” Twilight asked softly. “I mean… this isn’t the real world.”

“Ah, faithless Twilight,” Luna said, smiling genuinely. It was a bit too close to Apostate for her tastes, but Luna meant no harm. “No, I am not there in person, but much can be done with magic and an old wit. Yes, Rarity, I can do something for you. In fact, I know just what to do.”

Luna shifted her weight, trying to compose herself. Twilight felt hollow, unsure of what to make of it all. “This is too much,” she said. “I mean… if you’re right, what do we do? How do beat something that makes holes in reality? What does that even mean? My mind won’t… wrap around it. I feel like I’m trying to eat a whole melon at once here,” she said, chuckling weakly. “Luna… there’s no way this can be true. It can’t be some crazy dark whatever hounding the world. We did this to ourselves, didn’t we? I mean, I’ve seen such terrible things. Ponies did them. No one held them by the hoof and made them do any of those things. They chose to do evil acts. I saw them. My experience and what you’re saying don’t seem to add up entirely.”

“They need not be mutually exclusive,” Rarity offered.

“We have been deceived,” Luna said firmly. “Imagine a fire, Twilight. A small fire might yet burn into a great one on its own and all that without outward cause. But if I were to pour the petrol that we used in our airships on that fire…” Luna gestured, and Twilight picked up where she left off.

“I suppose it would grow out of control quickly,” Twilight said. “And so you say we are like fire, and this Shadow was like fuel or someone providing fuel.”

“The evil in the heart of ponies is real, and it is not as small as their frames are.”

Twilight shuddered. “Then it is even worse than I had imagined. I can’t even tell myself someone was making us do it all. We really have done it all ourselves. All of this was with us all along.”

Luna seemed to hesitate between moving and staying still, her hoof suspended. She seemed to decide; she did not move. “Yes, I fear. I am perhaps wrong, but I do not think so. I do not think so at all. I have felt a great foreboding, a great shadow. I had thought it alternatively my own despair, or the loss of my sister, or the dread of the future. But now I see through a clear glass and it must be the Shadow itself. It presses on me as it perhaps pressed upon my sister, for now I know that she did not simply vanish. I believe she went west in order to forestall the creeping Shadow, and that she has not come back to us…”

Twilight’s heart was in her throat. “Maybe it’s just a big job,” she offered weakly. “I mean, it could take a lot of fighting to put something like this away. That’s not so hard to believe. There are plenty of possibilities. A myriad of different possibilities. Celestia works in mysterious ways,” she added with a sick half smile, a face that twisted into a grimace, a voice that trembled like a knife on the tip of a dragon’s finger.

“Perhaps,” Luna said.

“Twilight…” Rarity began, but Twilight shook her head. She did not wish comfort. She wished to know.

“Rarity, it is possible for me to alter some of this program of indoctrination. It is probably too late to undo it, but I could perhaps do my own suggesting. A certain time and place, a certain activity… I will see what can be done, and when you awake, you shall know.”

Rarity bowed. “Thank you, Princess.”

“Twilight?” Luna looked down at her. Twilight knew her face was set in a troubled frown but did not care. “Would you take your leave or stay?”

Twilight blinked. “I… I don’t know, honestly.”

“Stay, perhaps,” Rarity said. “I wouldn’t mind the company, to be honest. We could sit under the tree and talk. There’s a lot to talk about.”

Twilight sighed, but she smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess there is.”

The Shadow weighed heavily. Rather, the possibility of Shadow weighed heavily, and that was enough. Twilight refused to accept it even as she saw it in the corner of her eye. Rarity’s thoughts were unknown. Luna did not smile, and she did not waver from her inward-looking anger. Her anger flowed freely in the aether. Twilight and Luna and Rarity could all feel every passion and every sorrow in its time, and so felt in short order anger and sorrow and acceptance and something like love. Twilight did not have the presence of mind to separate the waves one from the other. If somepony held some secret that was waving in the wind, she did not care. Let them feel like they would. What she felt was a world enough for her.

It was a quiet dream, but in the way a storm front was quiet. In the way a blade was quiet.

Author's Note

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bluhfklewn

Chapter is up, time for a cigarette

XXIV. Out on the Edge of Night

LUNA

She was a storm. Her path cut through the business and the heavy, weary air of the palace. Luna walked through crowds, all of whom parted before her. The wounded come to rest after Morningvale, the watchful House levies, the Night Guards who watched the watchers, the bustling of the maids--through and beyond these things, Luna raged silently.

Her hoofs were thunderclaps on the tile. Her brow was bent and dark like a thunderhead. And beside her through all of this walked Page Turner, her aide.

If he had tried to forestall her progress, Luna had not registered it. Her focus was beyond the ken of smaller ponies, for it had been honed in a thousand-year prison. It was hard to describe the kind of suffering that can come from an imprisonment that defies time and space. For she had become the moon in a way she could not put into words except to scream, for she had lost herself and words had limits.But she had learnt focus. She had at least heard of patience. She had little time for the latter, now.

But at last her storming brought her to the chambers of Celestia.

Two solar guards stood at the doors, and at her approach they looked to each other. This meant something, but Luna had no time for their conferences. Her intention to ignore them utterly was thwarted, for one stepped forward.

“Your Highness, your sister’s chambers are private--”

“Yes, and I have not entered them but twice out of respect or a lack of time. Now move aside.”

The guard cowered, but did not move. His comrade also stepped in front of Luna. “Please, your Highness, your… please calm down.”

For the briefest of moments, Luna was reminded of the plains of Mareathon. She could feel the ephemerality of the hammer in her magic’s hold, the resistance of bone. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I need access to my sister’s rooms,” she said after a long pause. Her eyes were still closed. An overlong life had also taught endless patience. But it was still much harder for Luna to grasp than it had been for Celestia.

“We…” the second guard shook himself. She could hear his armor clinking. “We understand, Princess. Please, these are the rooms of our Lady.”

“It is our duty to know why you wish to enter,” the first guard said. “And in such state. We apologize, but we are bound by our word to our Lady.”

“I need to find Celestia’s books. Our books. The old ones,” Luna said, and then took another deep breath. “We may be in far greater danger than we thought. I need to find and read through Celestia’s logs, the ones she kept from our adventures. She has my logs as well, and the letters and things that we kept from those times.”

Luna opened her eyes. The two guards were looking at each other. The first guard looked back to her. “Highness, you have fulfilled the requirements of our honor. Please, enter. Shall we inform you of any visitors?”

“No. Turn them away. I am not to be disturbed by anything. Even if the walls fall,” she said grimly. The doors were opened, and Luna entered.

She paused in the doorway. “Page Turner,” she began, “I have needs of your skills.”

“Your Highness?” Page Turner bowed slightly.

“I will find the logs and sundries, but four eyes will be far better than one. Our books were never sacred, simply private. Celestia would not object to your presence.”

“I will serve,” Page Turner said softly.

Together, princess and aide invaded the stillness of the solar antechamber. It was filled with gold and copper, carpeted lavishly, adorned with art and gifts older than most of Equestria. This was the storeroom of a thousand gifts. Luna recognized several from before her exile.

She did not falter, even here. Page Turner’s rubbernecking did not concern her. Luna pressed on.

Past the antechamber they found a study and library. Page Turner lingered, but Luna gestured for him to follow her through the next door, a large double-set with windows inlaid. Celestia would not keep such books as she needed in such a place. Beyond the the study they came to Celestia’s reception room, a lavish conference chamber with a long table. It was ornate, almost baroque, practically byzantine. Luna did not stay. At the other end of this long room was another door, and beyond it a hallway, and beyond that Luna came at last into the true heart of her sister’s chambers.

The bedroom of the Princess of the Sun, Celestia Songborne, the Long-lived, the Everlasting, the Light of Manehattan, the Maid of Stalliongrad, the Mother of Cities, the Breaker of Tyrants, was incredibly plain.

Luna, though she should not have been, was surprised.

Celestia’s room was are more spartan than Luna’s own. The bed was situated in the center of the room, and beneath it was a rug depicting a stylized golden sun. Beyond this, there was only a gentle cream color for the walls, a single painting of flowers in a vase, several bookshelves. There was a walk-in closet, but it was not overly large, and seemed more functional than extravagant.

Luna soon laid her eyes on the prize she sought. A chest peeking out from beneath the bed called to her, and she approached it.

It was unlocked. In fact, somepony had opened it already and forgotten to close it fully again. The edge of a book was caught between the lid and the body of the chest, and Luna carefully moved the box out from under the bed. She opened the lid and pushed the errant book back into its place.

“Who…?” Page Turner began, than stopped.

Luna was quiet as she tested the latch, feeling for the tell-tale signs of magic. Celestia’s warmth was obvious.

“My sister,” Luna replied. “Which would suggest she came here before she left, and did what I am doing. I am more sure now than before.” Her voice was like steel. There was no rage now, no panic. Only surety. Carefully, Luna removed the top layers of books and papers and the two seekers began to read.

RARITY

The binoculars were enchanted, which Rarity appreciated. The ability to easily change the magnification was both a nice novelty and a necessary one. The crowds of Imperial Center were not that much different from those of Canterlot. Both were capitols under siege, in a state of war, one way or another. Whereas Canterlot did not have an army at its door, it still had rationing and watches on the walls. In fact, in this city under actual siege, the ponies seemed to feel their danger less. In Canterlot’s walls they had walked the streets with caution, even in relative safety, as if they knew that something was right at their backs, right out of the corner of their eyes.

But here, there was nothing quite like that. The crystal ponies did not seem overly burdened. They did not watch in the same way. At least, not that she saw.

Rarity heard shuffling behind her and sighed. She took the binoculars from her eyes.

“Rainbow, please, you need to be still.”

“I know.”

Rarity continued. “The main point of surveillance is to observe. Part of that is not being seen. This involves being still.” She laid flat against the roof.

“Gah, I get it. Seriously,” Rainbow grumbled.

Rarity sighed. Again. “Sorry. I’m a bit tense.”

“I am too. I’m not much use on the ground. I mean, I’m pretty great, but not like I am on the wing. I could be out there keeping tabs on whoever these creeps are.”

Rarity turned and rubbed her temples. She could feel a headache coming on. It had been coming for awhile. But it wasn’t Rainbow’s fault. What Luna had said in the dream echoed in her mind.

“Our marks aren’t exactly going to step out from the crowd. It’s not like the old days, when we’re going after a hydra or trying to deal with a horde of parasprites. These are ponies like you and I, and they may not even know what it is they are doing.”

“What the hay does that mean?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s… I mean, it’s hard to explain. What I gather is that it’s similar to making a clock. You’ve seen clockworks before, right?”

“Well, duh. My cloudhouse had one that Twilight enchanted for me so it could hang on my walls. I’ve seen clocks before.”

“But the clockworks. Gears and such. The clock doesn’t know what it’s doing--”

“It’s not alive.”

“Yes, I know. It’s not perfect. Let me finish, darling. The clock doesn’t know what time is or why it does what it does. The gears don’t know. You’re right, they aren’t alive. But if the clock were alive, it would do as it was made, and never know why. The clockmaker knows, and sets everything working, and then just waits for the gears to do the rest.”

“So… they’re like clockwork ponies? That one day they’ll just do things and not know why?”

“Yes. Perhaps they’ll even justify it, but the program is in place.”

Rainbow shuddered. “That’s messed up. I guess I should’ve asked you about this sooner. I thought they just found a bunch of crazy assassins dreaming about… you know, assassin stuff. I didn’t really think about why.”

“I’d rather not think about it myself. But we’ll have to,” Rarity said grimly, and then turned back on her stomach to look out on the streets again.

The roof they’d chosen was of a small bakery. She could smell the fresh bread and her stomach growled, eliciting a smile. It was a heavenly smell, bring back memories of Ponyville and the smells that would roll out of Sugarcube Corner in the mornings. Rarity saw the town again in her mind’s eye, taking a morning stroll, considering a bit of coffee and her nice customary solitary seat.

It was hard to focus. Her headache was more this than anything Rainbow could do. Rainbow had in fact been a boon to her in all of this confusion and trouble. It was nice to have somepony she could rely on. True, Rainbow had trouble staying still, but Rarity felt safe.

Time continued to crawl along with the swiftly flowing sun. It would be a short day, today, the worst kind. Rarity tried to judge how long they would have the sun. Perhaps for hours. Perhaps five. It was not particularly pleasant to think about, especially because even in its briefest of appearances it would be shining directly down on her back and head. There would be enough sunlight for her work, at least. Just enough for that.

Across the street, she could see the huddled form of the Legionaries on another roof, waiting just as she waited. They would move at her command, spreading out to envelope the sleepers.

It was a perfect trap. There were other legionaries on the street level, arrayed in a vast net of vigilant soldiers ready to grab or detain or fight. The corrupted ponies would come and never know why they felt the need to. It was going to work, and yet she felt ill at ease.

Rarity knew why. Even if they struck down every one of the conspirators, would others not rise to fill their place? For every pony felled, another would be found weak enough to the outside influence. If Luna was right, what hope did they have? What hope had they ever had, to fight off something which cannot be seen, which could twist the very fabric of reality to suit its dark whim?

Below, in the street, a cloaked pony turned and walked down the alley that Rarity was watching.

There was no time for despair. Rarity looked back at Rainbow Dash, and gestured quickly, violently. Dash shuffled quietly and they both looked over the side of the building. The pony in question was on the short side, hood down, eyes kept focused ahead. Their pace was brisk, purposeful. Yet there was nowhere for them to go, and Rarity knew that would be clear to her quarry any moment now. She had hoped they would come in groups.

Rainbow cursed. “Only one?”

“Do be patient, dear,” Rarity said idly, not really putting much belief into it. She felt the same. “We’ll just have to see. Perhaps this one is early. Mare, you think?”

“If that’s a stallion he’s a runt,” Rainbow said.

“So rude,” Rarity grumbled, but she smiled. The conspirator stopped in the middle of the alley, one building down from the bakery where Rarity and Rainbow watched. “If he stays, we’ll leave him be, but if he tries to leave…”

“We deck him, pull him somewhere, and pretend it never happened so the next ones can come,” Rainbow whispered brightly.

“Aptly put, Rainbow. Yes. Decking. Delightful.” Rarity did not look through the binoculars anymore. She did not look for others. Right now, she was concerned mostly with the one conspirator they did have.

The hooded mare looked from side to side, as if searching for something in particular. She stumbled over to the wall, pressing at it with her hooves.

“What’s she--” Rainbow began, but Rarity shook her head quickly.

That was when the lone mare was joined by her companions. Three ponies in tight formation cleared the bend and hurried down the alley. Two had cloaks, one with the hood up, the other with a widebrimmed hat. The third wore nothing on his head, and Rarity saw his face clearly. His face seemed normal, completely normal. Terrifyingly normal. She saw no immediate signs of corruption, no clues as to his inclinations or his sins. Just a blank, mildly friendly looking face.

The would be assassins congregated in a circle. Rarity breathed quietly, trying to hear what was said.

“I was beginning to wonder if that dream was really from the Good Pony and the Manichean. But here you are,” said the first, chuckling. “I am glad to see you all.”

“The Manichean walks the plains and waits to drown the cities of the unrighteous with fire,” said the tallest of the four in a gravelly voice. “I have seen it. Their thrones and crowns as well.”

“As have we all,” said the first mare. “And the Good Pony shall reward us when the archaic monarchs are no more. But we must first do our parts. I’ve mapped the patrols perfectly, and I’m finally finished working out our route.”

“It seems the Manichean knew we were more ready than we had thought when he brought us here. I have our weapons prepared.”

“What could you find?” asked another of the conspirators.

“Hoofblades, enchanted to make wounds that will bleed profusely and resist magic-assisted healing. Light barding. A saddle-borne repeater cannon for myself, high caliber, high rate of fire. Another for you, Minfilii,” he added, nodding to the small mare. “A high level duel-quality shield spell. That one was hard to find! Had to buy it off a drunkard, a young unicorn with a big mouth, but I acquired it for the cause, no matter the cost. This will keep us safe from magic and hooves alike, and probably from small arms fire at a distance.”

Rarity grinded her teeth. To think that they had been so close! She could only imagine waking to the sounds of screaming and gunfire as these monsters carved a bloody path through the palace servants.

“And with these we can do what we were meant to do,” said the smallest of them. “Finally. I’ve felt so… so burdened, as if we had to.”

“Only the weight of their corruption,” insisted the one with the gravelly voice. “I feel it also, sister, but soon we shall have the thing done and we will be free. Not only us. All of the Empire, free from the corruption. The Manichean has said he will come to forge our new Republic then.”

Rarity felt a hoof touch her shoulder. She almost jumped, but was calm enough to turn. Rainbow was at her side, and on her face Rarity could see restraint reach its breaking point.

“The big one has to go first,” said Rainbow. “I think the little one is a unicorn.”

“I’ll have her either way,” Rarity said, nodding. “If you can surprise the large fellow, it would be for the best. The other two…”

“I’ll get the first one in the head, and they ain’t getting far,” Rainbow said, a bit forcefully, and then took a deep breath. “On your go, Rares.”

“Right.” Rarity looked back down. They were not discovered. The time was right.

And so when Rainbow came crashing out of the sky, an avenging thunderbolt, there was no defense. There was probably none possible. The great behemoth went down, without even the time to cry out as his head hit the dirt hard and he was still. Rainbow landed beside him, hooves rooted on the ground, her wings flared and ready to carry her into another headlong rush. Before the other three could react, Rarity had thrown a bolt of raw arcane energy down at the small mare, knocking her flat. She was a unicorn, Rarity could see it now as her hood was gone.

The survivors split. One charged Rainbow, yelling a battle cry that was cut short as Rainbow met his charge with equal and then greater force, dealing him a blow to the face. Rarity fire again and again, catching him as he fell back once, twice, and he lay still, magic arcing along his fur.

The last turned and ran. Rainbow pursued, sprinting along the ground with surprising speed, and then as Rarity took aim to catch the runner between the shoulder blades with another bolt, he was gone. Or, more accurately, he had disposed of his robe and opened purple wings which carried him up into the air. Rainbow leapt into the skies, right on his heels. Rarity let go of her magic. She was not needed. Whatever this assassin thought in flying, he would be sorely mistaken. Perhaps on hoof he could have lost her Rainbow. Perhaps on the ground he could have slipped between the guards or caused a ruckus. But in the sky? No one could outrun Rainbow Dash in the sky.

And he did not disappoint in this regard. Rainbow caught him with a swipe to his legs, knocking him off balance and thus off rhythm. His wings pulled at the air but Rainbow was on him, kicking, pulling him into a headlock until he couldn’t move without risk of falling.

Rainbow brought him back down, and as she did, Rarity hummed and cast a quick lightstep spell. When she felt the magic wrap about her hooves, she jumped from the roof and landed softly below. The conspirators were still alive. She made sure of it. Two were out cold, and one trembled and groaned. In short, they would answer questioning. But as Rarity waited for Rainbow, she had a sinking feeling that they would gain nothing from these four but more questions.

SHINING ARMOR

Shining Armor had one great talent. He had, truly, only one real gift. His good nature was an advantage of biology and nothing more, and at that it was a minor one. It did little good for others in his line of work. True, it helped him stay sane. To laugh was to survive. But it did not stop a lance. It could not put down an sniper. His strength was honed by practice, helped only slightly by the innate potential of his body. His courage was taught, forged in the fire of desperation. Was not his love fear of death? Was not his kindness prompted by a fear of being alone?

Perhaps. Sometimes when he was alone he thought about such things. Cadance was silent on all of these points. She would not send him sprawling, and she would not raise him up. But she would kiss him, sometimes, and tell him that he made her happy. This was often good enough. But the one thing that Shining had without any shred of doubt was a shield.

When was the first time he had known it? His sister and he had been walking down the street in Canterlot, and an apple cart shook and fell. His shield had snapped up into being, called forth not by mind but by body. It crackled with energy barely controlled. It’s form was unstable, swaying like a tent in the wind as the cart fell upon it and then bounced back, magic arcing over its surface. His eyes had been wide. His mouth had been dry, and every breath raked along his tongue and teeth like sandpaper.

He did not feel that way now, but he thought of that moment every time he called up a large amount of magic.

He had left the interrogation behind. There had honestly been no point. The would be murderers knew nothing. They spouted slogans and bits of drivel, but they had no real information. They were empty. They thought they knew. They were very sure they knew why they wished to kill his wife, but they did not. Questioned, they refused to respond. They went mad, nothing but blank stares and angry words he could see did not reach their eyes.

Shining Armor walked back towards the throne room.

His sister’s friends rested, but his work was not yet done. More and more, he felt as if it might never be finished. Even as they laid upon their soft beds, Shining strode past the great table. Upon it was sprawled a map of the Empire, marked with cities and roads and mountains, marred with troop movements and deployed armies. How small they were, how easily moved, how easily taken off the board, those tiny markers. Yet he was not fooled. He was not a leader of ponies because of genius. He was one because he understood what the markers stood for, and the connection between numbers and faces did not leave his mind. This was how he made his decisions. He bore them. He was a shield.

He stopped, arrested by the sight. He always stopped. Even when nothing had changed he stopped and stared down at the progress of war.

All in all, it was not ideal. The Empire’s forces were isolated and stretched. Armies holed up in cities, unable to charge down into the plain without hounded from every side. The roads were blockaded or at least watched. Raiders from Equestria were starting to wander north, though there were not very many yet. The Mitou were in all directions. Around the head of the Empire there was a noose. Shining felt the noose around his own neck.

He continued on.

He came to the throne, shrouded against the light and the eyes of his wife’s subjects. She hid from them out of shame, but also out of fear. Ponies were weak. Shining knew this. He had seen how weak ponies could be--physically, yes, but in all ways. Shining had seen their minds break under the strain of terror. He had seen their eyes fail them, blinded by the snow. Their hearts stopped from the cold. Their will broke, pushed and pushed and pushed by noises in the night. He himself had felt his own heart beating frantically against the frail wall of his chest, battering his bones, rattling his mind.

Shining Armor had one true gift. He had a variety of skills given to him. What was he able to do, really? What could he do? What was the limit? He could run, fight, yell, and destroy. But building was beyond him. What a disaster he was. A machine that fights and can produce nothing. Sometimes, when he is away from her side he sees the Empire burning, burning, and he fighting in the flames until he is buried in the piles of the dead, screaming until his voice is muffled by the Mitou and their limp forms, unable to save anything. The Empire seemed poised upon a knife’s point, waiting to fall.

He entered the inner sanctum and kneeled before his wife’s throne. He did not smile. But that was alright. She smiled down at him.

CADANCE OF HOUSE SONGBOURNE

My body is an electric fire that will not end.

I am not ignorant of the world. I understand what goes on around me. I know the fear and the hopes of my ponies, my little ponies. I know the feeling of the Mitou as they test my barrier, the barrier that I hold steady only by the Crystal Heart’s power. They bray more frequently now. Perhaps the time is coming when they are ready to break through.

Oh Shining, my Shining, prostrate before, sit beside me, for in your company I am not ashamed. No Empress is an island; I am a part of the main, I who would wish to be as you would wish me to be but you will not say--a seed in the hot, spring earth.

Imagine running. Imagine running and running and running and then growing tired, growing weary beyond all comprehension until everything is just exhaustion. Now imagine you cannot stop running.

I do not sleep for more than half an hour at a time, a dozen naps perhaps. Like a child. Like an old mare half-dead. I am an old mare half-dead. Shining, if you could love me after this you will be a stallion beyond all stallions. But you will, because you are a great one, you are brave above all the hosts, my king, my love.

You tell me of the world outside, but I already know. I listen to you because I love you. Oh do not look with such an eye that says that you are worthless, that you are an empty vessel of blood and suffering for you are a sword in the hold of the righteous, the warmth of candlelight in my room during the night, eyes that contain me but do not enshrine me, ears that listen to my sighs. You tell me of the world outside, but I already feel it.

Do you know that even now whilst I am considering you, my most beloved one, that I can feel the Mitou who test my shield? It is failing faster than ever before. I can feel their footsteps on my heart I can feel them, Shining I can feel them stomping the ground in rhythm. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of them, massive, remorseless, giant, with claws and teeth and guns like cannons, spears like the spears of malignant gods.

O Shining, but I am here with you, not out on the outskirts. How shall I describe you? You walk in strength like the sun. Your steps are sure like the falling of water from the great falls. Your face is kind, your eyes are sunlight through the clouds on a spring day. What work of love would you leave undone? What burden of love would you refuse to bear upon your back? For your love is complete. In the smallness of gifts you are great and in the greatness of suffering you are small and gentle. I am ever in your thoughts.

They are going to break through soon. Very, very soon. You will go out into the night when they come. But you will come back. You must come back. I have thought so before, waiting when you patrolled our roads.

There are alicorns and then there are alicorns. There are those who may hear songs and those who heard the Song at the dawn of time.

Oh, but our bed is so cold and like animal magnetism at work I can feel the empty imprint you leave when you go. It’s like a hole dug by hooves and everything leans in towards, even me.

Shining is gone. He’s out there, wandering. Doing something. Being elsewhere and our bed is so cold. I’ve retired and court is long over and our rooms are empty. I ate lunch alone, and I stare out the window alone. Lonely the head that wears the crown.

But there are alicorns and there are alicorns and it is different. My aunts can stay alone for a long time, but I’m just a pony. Ponies were not made to live alone; mutual help and companionship.

But he’s out in the cold, and I wonder what he’s doing.

I used to love watching him on the parade ground. It’s my curse: I can’t resist a stallion in armor. And how heroic he looked, those bright and alert eyes. How straight and tall he stood, proud and how he smiled at me when he knew no one could see him.

So he was a fool too, but a good fool.

This is a routine now for us. We sit together on the dual throne for a few weeks of happiness. But then he will fidget. Court will seem overlong. I’ll catch him staring out the window. Sometimes he’ll accost some poor guardspony to spar with and I have to help bandage the innocent and I fuss and Shining feels foolish but nothing changes. He starts to walk more slowly.

And of course, in the end, I always let him go. He skips off to patrol or war or whatever it is like the colt who used to pull my tail when we were young.

(I know that there is more to it. There is more to everything than what I see.)

I ask him why this happens but he won’t tell me. Or at least I think he won’t, for his answers have words but they mean nothing and his shrugs tell more than they do. He tries to tell me that he’s restless, but I know he’s not without rest because he sleeps whenever I let him and he’d never leave bed if I didn’t prod him to. He tells me that he feels useless but I need him. This always makes him sigh when I say that he’s helping me. I hate that sigh. He makes me angry, but he knows that and we feel foolish and I let him go without being mad at him for leaving and he thanks me and in the morning…

In the morning he is gone to do whatever it is that tugs at him.

The mountain gods worry me. But Shining will come back.

I know he will. He must. The Dual Throne sits half empty and the bed has only his imprint and these things mean he must come back, because nature abhors a vacuum and it is very important. He’s brave. He’s strong.

It is sad that we call them that because they are not. The Mitou are just things that cannot decide how many legs to run on and how we should not fear. No, I suppose fear, but not live in fear of. They can die just as we can.

Shining isn’t afraid, not in a visible way. Mostly, he wears a stern face or a kind one; masks, but both are lovely. They comfort my ponies and give them hope. Hope is like love. I understand hope. I think.

Hope hope hope. I know there is more to it, but I cannot see everything. There is more to everything.

It’s rare to have so much time to myself. I’m lucky, really, that the Empire doesn’t work quite like Equestria. Ministers and offices work for me. A whole system in place to help.

Time passes and the sun sinks lower in the sky. It worries me.

Of course, he won’t be back for some time.

The Empire is warm, and the city itself is in Spring, but I know outside the border where he is it must be snowing. Snowing reminds me of—

—We were young and Twilight was so small. I wasn’t babysitting then, I just wanted somepony to play with. I still had my Henosian accent and I’d only been in Canterlot for a few months. But Twilight was asleep or had the cold, I don’t remember. But Shining wanted to play and we ran—

I haven’t thought about Henosis in a long time. Well, no, it hasn’t been something I have actively thought about. But I’ve seen it in dreams. I see it whenever Shining is gone too long out there in the snow. I see the Grand Hall of Dawn Castle and Mother smiling from the Throne of Gold down at me. I dream about tapestries that go on for miles and being a filly with wild hair and little wings that I cannot use yet.

My hooves always sound so loud in the quiet empty halls. Dawn Castle is so large and there are not as many ponies in it as are in Canterlot Palace. Canterlot will frighten me with it’s crowds. Here I spend much of the day in the company of only a few ponies or all alone.

The sun is slowly sinking into bed. Like a foal.

The word foal makes me sad.

I will tell Shining all about Henosis when he gets back. He likes my stories. I think.

There is more to it. But there is always more and I cannot see everything.

THE EDGE OF NIGHT

The Mitou roared in unison with each assault. Their great clawed hands rose and struck in unison, testing the shimmering field of light. Every giant on the line felt it in unison, and in unison they knew it weakened. It began to fail. Perhaps it would fall. No, it must.

Their minds were empty of all personal cunning, and edging out all true thought were dark, thorny vines. It had always been this way since time out of mind. Generations of great giants, crushed under the weight of some great, smothering Presence. They had been shaped like a potter might shape bowls on a spinning wheel. They had been forged like swords.

They were perfect in the ways of war. Massive, possessed of a strength beyond the ken of mortal ponykind, gifted with preternatural dexterity--they could run a mile in less than three minutes, could batter any wooden wall or door into splinters with their bare hands. In the days of old, long out of living memory for all but the Alicorns who sat on the dual throne, they had been called gods. In the time that came after the first blushing dawn of life the ponies who came to settle the valleys of the Empire told tales of the mountain gods, sliding down the rock face, hunting and beating the bounds, sometimes raiding on a whim.

But that was then. They were different now. Where before they roamed as they wished, now they moved as a machine with a thousand parts. They fall in to line like an orchestra. They spread out like a net. Each did his part and each was a part of the great constellation.

And so it was no challenge to attack the barrier in unison on a stretch a mile long. It was the absolute simplest thing.

They would overwhelm the cities of the plain. They would snuff them out, one by one, like the last fragile candles they were. They defied the snow and the wind. But the time for light and safety was over. It was an age of darkness, an epoch of blood. The Mitou began to sing, if it could be called that by any but the most fearsome of beasts. The sound of it was like the crying of the Earth, grating and frightening in equal measure, carrying across the snow. Their master bid them sing, and the hammer blows they brought to bear against the Empress’ hope were the drums that kept their war song in time.

The minds of the Mitou are not entirely emptied out. They had things wondering about in their misted-over minds which could perhaps be called desires, and these were their own. They were simple, focused. Break. Break.

In a strange way, they could perhaps understand that besides simply trying to break the barrier for the last stage of their campaign, they were also trying to do something far more immediate. When the barbarians beat at the doors, the King must answer. If they raided and raped the land, the King must stop them. Strategic questions were moot after a certain point. The King had sacred duties. He was the bridge between the Gods and the dwellers in the land. He was the unspoiled specimen, the archetype of manhood, the Ur-warrior, the example for all lovers and would-be heroes.

The minds of the Mitou, the parts of it at least that belonged to the Mitou themselves, was of a very different time. They still walked in the old times, in the age directly following the age of the dawn. Where they walked, the earth was young again, and like all young things, full of terror beyond comprehension. In their days the myths of a thousand years were born and dwarfed by far greater shadows.

And in this ancient certainty, they knew that the King would come.

SHINING ARMOR

Shining Armor secured the last strap of his barding. He shook each of his legs, making sure everything was in place.

Arming was a kind of ritual. No, Shining decided, it was exactly a ritual. As he stared down at his helmet, reflecting the candlelight, he wondered how many other warriors had done the same. Perhaps one--many, even, in the long reaches of history--had hesitated to put on their armor or strap on their hoofblades, or even simply to rise on the morning of battle.

He imagined for the briefest of moments that he could see a child, a young foal, staring down at his own face in the polished bronze of another helmet. The colt placed a curious hoof on the surface, but the helmet moved underneath his touch. His father placed it upon his own head, and the son cried. He was frightened, unable to recognize his father at all. The strange helmet made his usually kind face somehow horrible, somehow monstrous, like a great ruined statue buried halfway in the earth.

Shining shook his head. This was ridiculous. The whole mood was stupid. He was jittery on the edge of battle, and that was it. Arming wasn’t some kind of ritual. It was just something one did.

“Shining Armor?” Rarity called from behind him. He had completely forgotten about her.

“Anything I can do for you?” he responded, not turning around. He placed the helmet on his head, and sighed. The feeling of cold steel on his coat was shocking, but also calming. Yes, this was his uniform, his mask. This was normal. Familiar.

“I know I have no authority over you, so I will not say I protest,” Rarity began. This did cause Shining to turn. He regarded her with a neutral expression. “But, at the same time, this seems so…”

“Foolhardy.”

“Yes, if you’ll forgive me.”

Shining smiled. “I will. I agree, somewhat. As a strategist, I agree wholeheartedly. But as a warrior, I just can’t. They are out there.”

“Yes, and at a disadvantage,” Rarity said, and Shining could feel the heat in her voice. She seemed to be struggling to restrain herself. He did not react.

“In some ways. Our walls are illusory. Not entirely, but you’ve seen it yourself.”

“But they don’t know that!” Rarity said. “The barrier may not fall right away.”

“Might not. My wife seems to think it will be in a night or so.”

Rarity’s face twisted. Shining observed it with a strange mixture of patience and curiosity. He was not threatened. He was not swayed. He was not, strictly speaking, present.

“But you can’t know for sure! Why are you going out there?”

“If I may, why do you protest?” Shining countered mildly. “Don’t get me wrong, we have been friendly and I understand you fear for my safety. I’m grateful for it.” Rarity seemed about to speak, but Shining moved quickly. “But what is your concern? It is not your land or your people.”

“I’m not an island. I can’t just watch ponies do the same things I saw others do and fail just like they did. I just can’t. You’ll be slaughtered.”

“Perhaps.”

Rarity sighed. “I’m afraid that if you don’t come back, things will fall apart. I like this city. I like these ponies. I don’t want anything bad to happen to them. But I also came here on a mission.”

“You’ve said as much,” Shining replied. They had danced around this mission. He knew what she wanted, of course. It was simple. The Empire had food and soldiers. Equestria didn’t have the former and their soldiers were exhausted. His were as well.

“I need food,” she said. “If we don’t get it, the refugees in Canterlot will die. If you go out there and get yourself killed foolishly, then I cannot bring back food to the near-starving because in the chaos everything here will implode.” She sighed. “I know it isn’t my place.”

“It’s not. I don’t mind, myself,” Shining said. “I’ve never been all that big on royalty and formality. Ponies are ponies as far as I’m concerned. That’s what matters to me. I wish more ponies would talk to me normally.” He turned halfway, looking at the Legionnaires around them. “I wish ponies would talk to each other with a bit less ornamentation, a bit less of… something. I don’t know.” He looked back at Rarity. It seemed now that she was small, very small, though he knew that was not the truth. “I have to go. I will be back. I will swear to you, on my honor, that I will do my best to return.”

“But you won’t say you’ll come back. Not for sure.”

“Not much is,” he said, and laughed, and laughed honestly.

RARITY

She lay on the bed, silent as a grave. Rainbow paced near the door. Fluttershy was asleep already, curled into a little snoring ball. Their room was too large now, empty and echoing.

It was funny, truly, how futility had a way of reverberating in a place. Failure could be almost tangible. You failed you failed you failed you failed.

She could hear Rainbow’s hooves as she walked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Rarity shut her eyes. What could she have done? As soon as Shining opened his mouth she knew all was lost. Even if he came back, she was not a fool--she knew that things were bleak. The rumors had gotten a lot of the facts right. The Empire had a surplus of food, though much of it was stored away in places Rarity had not seen. They had soldiers to spare. The roads were stable and the cities were intact. But there was more to the Empire’s situation than those things. The rumors had forgotten the important things, such as the encroaching monsters. Bit of a glaring omission there, she thought sourly.

“Will you stop that pacing?” Rarity asked softly.

Rainbow stopped. “Well, what else am I supposed to do? I can’ just… sit.”

“No, dear, you don’t want to sit. You’re quite capable of it,” Rarity said, glancing sidelong at her. She sighed. “I don’t particularly want to do so myself.”

“Then why do it?” Rainbow asked. She walked over towards the bed. To Rarity’s ear, she sounded genuinely puzzled.

“There really isn’t anything we can do, Rainbow.” Rarity sat up. Without thinking, she pat the bed beside her and watched Rainbow hover up and then down at her side. Rainbow kept a little space between them. Not much. An inch, perhaps.

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re right. It is,” Rarity said. Even now, at the nadir of her mission, she found herself fixated by Rainbow’s mane. She made to move closer, then hesitated, and then finally laid her head on Rainbow’s back above her wings. Rainbow did not start. “All we really can do is wait for the morning. It isn’t up to us.”

“Nothin’ personal babe, just ain’t your story,” Rainbow quipped.

“More or less,” Rarity agreed. “Rainbow?”

“Yeah, Rares?”

“Was coming all this way stupid? Were we just fooling ourselves?”

Rainbow stirred. “What do you mean?”

Rainbow sighed again. She scooted closer cautiously, but Rainbow did not seem to mind. She did not know why it bothered her so much that Rainbow might mind. But it did.

“We’re surrounded. We might as well have not left Canterlot.”

“This siege is going to be a lot shorter than Canterlot’s,” Rainbow said.

“What will happen to us?” Rainbow was quite warm, and Rarity loved it. Even here in the north, in the agonizing cold, Rainbow was warm. That was why she wanted to be so close, obviously.

“You cold?” Rainbow asked, not answering the question.

Rarity nodded. “It’s hard not to be. It is the frigid northern wasteland we’re in, after all.”

Rainbow chuckled. “We’re going to be okay, Rarity.”

“Promise?”

Rainbow hesitated. The candlelight cast shadows over her face and Rarity wondered at how they could hide and yet magnify a form.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do promise.”

SHINING ARMOR

These gods weren’t faking when they came down from the mountains. Screaming, stallions under my command dying and screaming in the snow. Mares under my command. Ponies dead in the snow. It only lasted ten minutes.

The shield is up, but it’s not big enough. My magic is drained, a week in the snow has left me weary. My legs shake and complain beneath me, even as I struggle to keep my shield up. The Mitou outside beat against it with their fits and rake their claws along it. The magic is solid, like glass, and I can hear those claws grate along the outside like as if against a blackboard and I groan but I cannot cover my ears. If I cover my ears and cover my eyes they will die. We will all die, crushed and gone and forgotten. Cold in the snow forever, buried in the white.

But I can hold. I have always held. It’s what I do.

The fists beat upon the shield. The roaring will not stop; it goes on forever. The red eyes of two dozen Mitou stare into my own but I cannot flinch. I cannot cower though my legs want to give. I cannot cower or I will die. The mountain gods on two feet will not make Shining Armor bow.

So few remain. I brought one hundred ponies with me, most of them from the Empire. Crystal ponies. Unused, they, to the rigors of march and war but filled with heart.

One of them is crying; he’s a stallion, somewhere behind me. I cannot look at him. I don’t reprimand him. It is a perfectly acceptable response.

My hooves are cold. My flanks are cold. The cold seeps in past the armor like a knife in the dark and stabs at my coat.

Oh Cadance, what will become of me?

Those fists are huge, covered in white fur. I watch them rise and fall against the barrier like that little toy Twilight has on her desk in Canterlot. Little balls, and you hit one and the one on the other end moves. Momentum.

Back and forth and back and forth.

They stand on two legs, but run on two. They speak, but we do not understand. They speak Equestrian and it is terrifying. Truly, they claimed to be gods and we all but believed them, for we cowered. Something in us in our hearts cowered and cowers still. I fear.
Statistics.

I started with one hundred ponies including myself.

I have lost eighty-six ponies.

My command has suffered exactly eighty-six percent casualty rates. Anypony unfit to fight is already dead, so it works out exactly.

The snow goes on forever. I look away from the eyes towards the tundra that stretches out in all directions. Of course I know it is not forever. Somewhere there are trees and cobblestone streets. Somewhere there is Canterlot and the valley, oh the valley, and somewhere there is the Empire. Somewhere there is Cadance.

Cadance, sweet Cadance, with her dark eyes. Purple, they remind me of quiet walks and long halls with the sun streaming in. Multi-hued mane that flows with grace, wings that end in purplish tips like they were dipped in the sun and burnt but I love them. Long legs, wonderful smile.

The Empire is that way, the border station five miles distant. It doesn’t take long outside the lines to find the Mitou, the stalking gods. Their guns are used up. More like cannons, ugly, huge things that get maybe two shots before they jam or break. Powerful, though. It’ll blow a pegasus away, already has today. Will again.

Oh Cadance, sweetest Cadance where will you go when the shield breaks? What will you say? Will you find me buried in the snow? I know you won't. We are doomed. I've known it for some time now. Since the snowing started and the Mitou began to make the roads impassable I knew it would come down to this, a shield and hammering and then a few short screams and then a long quiet.

Once when it snowed, Cadance, Twilight and played in the streets of Canterlot. The old city’s streets are wide and clean, and the snow was pure and white and we were young. I remember how we ran and threw snowballs and I loved it. Snow was my favorite. Twilight caught cold but I was happy, and our mother let me bring her hot chocolate. And then I went back out and saw Her.

I breathe in, I breathe out, I sigh. I watch them circle as best I can. The ponies behind me say things.

“Your Majesty?”

“General out here. What?”

My words are curt; I waste only what breath I must.

“General, what’s going to happen?”

“We’re going home.”

RAINBOW DASH

What bothered her was how easy it had been.

Rainbow watched Rarity sleep. She listened to her soft, inoffensive snores, fighting the urge to chuckle. Yet, even so, her mind was far away. She imagined the would-be assassins sitting in their little interrogation room, answering questions with blank stares or snarling. Too easy? They’d barely had to try. It hadn’t even felt like a challenge.

Rainbow was quite prepared to believe that this was because of her innate skill. To be fair, she was usually ready to believe achievement was won by her own skill, that luck had nothing to do with it. Rainbow Dash made her own luck. She beat misfortune into a pulp and knocked dismay out of the sky. It was what she did.

But even she could admit that her skill had limits.

The last time she had felt this way had been after Ponyville. Not that the encounter there or the revelation afterwards had been truly easy in any way, because they absolutely had not. She had nightmares about Ponyville sometimes. No, resting on her cloud that night, she thought to herself that it had been far, far too easy, how Equestria had fallen apart.

And it had been far too easy to catch four murderers. They were blank slates. Mindless, after a fashion. She paused. Rarity stirred in her sleep. turning to face Rainbow. Dash smiled idly.

This is dumb. We’re good, we’re fast, and those guys were pretty lame. End of story.

What was this feeling that warmed her? The question was fair, but it was not a question that Rainbow really felt prepared to answer. She guessed it was just… being comfortable. After so long on the road, and on her lonely little cloud before that, she was finally on a good bed, surrounded by friends. True, times were not good. Shining Armor had left. Rainbow knew why, or at least she felt like she did, but it was still not ideal. Winter was already here, more or less. It would crawl south and sleep around Canterlot, curled tight about the walls. Monsters walked the night and beat at the door.

And yet, for all of it, Rainbow could not feel afraid. She could feel anxious. She did, in fact, feel anxious. But that was not fear. Anxiety was as much the heights of the freedom as it was the pits of worry. Tomorrow she could do anything. Anything might happen.

Rainbow sighed. She worried more than her friends knew. She always had. When Ponyville had been vibrant, years ago, her friends had always assumed Rainbow Dash to be exactly what she wished to be: fearless, dauntless, without hesitation. But even then, her mind had worked and worked. She had seen the possibilities. It wasn’t ignorance. She had just ignored everything. Furious, joyful, she had vowed never to be slowed or stayed by any fear or anxiety.

She thought about this as she reached out and stroked Rarity’s mane. She did not know why she did it. Or, rather, she did, but it was not quite time to say.

Or maybe it was. Rainbow Dash was dauntless. She was not subtle. When it came down to scalpels and gentle touches she was worse than useless. But this one time, she would have to try as hard as she could. Rarity would be kind. Rarity would not throw her aside.

Rainbow laid down beside Rarity, watching her. Her anxieties were not quieted. Her tiny, worming worry over the captured murderers bothered her still, and the threats of the morning seemed just as towering. But she supposed that there was nothing to be done tonight. Nothing at all. It could wait until morning.

Author's Note

Sorry. For lots of things. All of them. I hope you like it.

XXV. And behold, a Pale Horse, and his name that sat on him was Death

CADANCE OF HOUSE SONGBOURNE

She felt his coming from far off, like a father with an eye towards the sunset for a prodigal son. She felt also his limping, his staggering. She felt the little minds of his followers--his brave guard, her legionnaires. They were not words or thoughts but simple presences. Tiny lights approaching a much greater light: Imperial Center. Never taken by force of arms, yet surrounded now.

Cadance shook as if she felt the blizzard outside. She tried to rise, but her body no longer obeyed. The weight of the Crystal Heart’s power kept her pinned to her seat. Her hated golden seat.

There was a legend once, she recalled as she slumped down into her throne, that was told in some far off land. There were two stallions. One was a king, and the other was simply a noble of the capital city. The noble and the king were friends, and when in the depths of their cups, as Cadance had heard the story told, the noble would often remark how wonderful it must be to be a king. How carefree, how glorious it must be to be without restriction! The king would never comment on this beyond smiling. Until one day, he allowed his friend to sit in the throne, and it was just as good a view as the noble had imagined. But then he looked up. Perhaps he did it to see the tapestries, or to admire how tall the great hall was, but for whatever the reason, he looked up. And then he saw it.

Above him was a sword, hanging by a thin and--was it fraying?--rope. This, the king told him calmly, had always been there, and was above all thrones.

Cadance closed her eyes. With the Crystal Heart’s power, she could feel the darkness before dawn, and knew that dawn was not coming. Since Celestia had left, the sun had risen uncertainly. Cadance did not know why or how it was this way. She knew only that it was and would no doubt remain so until such a time as Celestia returned. Or was replaced.

Shining was safe within the walls, half illusory and half real. She wanted to go to him.

Where was he? It was hard to say, even for her. She knew he was within the gates, but she could not exactly pinpoint him. Yet, in her mind’s eye she saw him, limping between the great crystal towers of the gate, down the well-paved Imperial streets, past the neat little market stalls. Her little ponies lined the streets. They would not mob their king in his state. He staggers, the crowd surges, but with recovery they keep their distance.

She knew, at once, that he would make it. He would come to her, high up in the Spire of Imperial Center, and they would hold one last counsel of War, and she would give up her long burden and then perhaps there would be silence. War would come. It must. It had already arrived and waited at her gates to be, at long last, acknowledged.

RARITY

Rarity’s experience of warfare had been wildly inconsistent.

The arming and mustering of Ponyville’s short lived militia had been pathetic. Laughable. She had shivered while Canterlot waited, while it watched. Then Rarity had been always seeing but never seen. She had been nearby and seen the armies of Equestria march on Manehattan, their proud banners stabbing at the sky as if they would bring it down with their timing, their will, their rhythmic, hoarse songs.

The rousing of a city was probably different every time, she thought as she watched the city wake. News had travelled fast. Within an hour of Shining Armor’s return, the ponies of Imperial City were in a panic. The sight of the beleaguered survivors of his command had erased the last vestige of safety that was left. They had come limping, hollow-eyed, streaked with dried blood and wrapped in half-hearted filthy bandages. She had seen them, but from a distance.

How often had she seen such things, but only from a distance? How very often had she been content to sit at the periphery?

When the Griffons had landed in Manehattan, nopony could have predicted what would happen. It was shocking—they had appeared without warning, a vast armada sailing out of the horizon. Their ships flew crimson and black sails, and before them the ponies of Manehattan had either fled in frenzy or boarded up their homes. But there was no real escape. Where could they go? Some dispersed into the surrounding countryside, but most were in the process of clogging the streets when the first ships offloaded their warriors. The city fell quickly with little resistance.

At least at first. By the time Luna had mustered the Royal Guard and the levied troops from the houses, the resistance had begun. She had been in Canterlot, reading reports from the first scouts. It was doomed and pathetic and futile and it made her want to cry. But she had not. And the army marched.

They sat there. The Griffons didn’t seem keen on invading or raiding. Just… sitting.

They’d come for answers and restitution. But that was before the mutiny. Before they ran out of meat.

She closed her eyes. Around her, Rarity could hear the clang of metal as the palace was prepared for a long siege. She wondered how the ponies of Manehattan had reacted. Had they armed themselves, only to surrender anyway? What had they been thinking, those ponies in Manehattan, as they watched their futures sail out of the sun?

“Shining sure is taking a while,” Rainbow said.

Rarity opened her eyes and glanced over. “He has a lot to do,” she said evenly.

“Yeah, I know. But… what do we even do? I can get into fights. I can scrap with the best of them, but that’s a big difference from open warfare. We’re useless here, Rares. This is the big leagues.”

“We can do what we can,” Rarity said, but even in her ears it sounded hollow.

They sat in the middle of a great reception hall. Any semblance of state had been pushed hastily to the side as the ponies of Imperial Center were armed and arranged into small parties of militia. Rarity watched one such group pass.

“They aren’t soldiers,” she said quietly.

“Neither are we,” Rainbow answered.

“Yes, but between the two of us we can fight.”

“Maybe they’ll be fine,” Rainbow said.

“Or maybe, dear, they are going to die horribly.”

“You’re really a downer sometimes.”

“I’m… I’m aware, Rainbow.” Rarity sighed. Their eyes! So unfocused, as if walking through a fever dream. Young stallions stumbling their way into unfamiliar barding. Her eyes followed a mare with a bobbed mane with eyes like flint. Her mouth was set in a firm slash across her face, unyielding, unafraid. Or perhaps incredibly afraid. Terribly afraid. Ready to crumble at any moment. Which?

“Where’s Flutters?” Rainbow asked.

Rarity blinked, caught off guard, and looked back at her. “Not sure,” she said after a pause. “Could be anywhere.” She shook her head in dismay. “No, I’m sorry. That isn’t quite right. I believe she’s below us. The guard is setting up a triage, I believe it’s called. She offered to help.” Rarity shifted uneasily and looked down at one hoof. She simply blinked at it, as if not understanding it. “They aren’t the guard, though, are they? They’re legions here. In the Empire. Empire is a strange word. It’s rather foreign, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“Rainbow, we have to do something.”

“Can you do something?”

“No. But I have to try,” Rarity said. She shook herself again and started walking out into the middle of the chaos. Behind her, she felt Rainbow close the gap and brush her side lightly, as if to say she was there, she was coming. Rarity was not alone. For now.

It was another hour before Shining sent for them.

The maps were laid out as they had been. The officers were harried, as they had been the last time Rainbow and Rarity had walked through the throne room. It was hard, Rarity supposed, to pay attention to decorum on the edge of war. It was the little things, the pretty things, that went first. Always. The spacious walks of Canterlot were crowded now, or at least they had been when she left. It would be the same now, of course. It may even be worse now, if more refugees were taken in, Rarity thought. She bit her lip.

If anything, tension had given way to looseness. It is like being told news after a long wait. When one lets out a long-held breath.

They walked through the rushing officers. They did not furrow their brows; that was new. Now their eyes were wide. Their steps were free, long reaching, frantic but energetic.

Shining and Cadance waited at the far end. The veil had been removed. Cadance’s sad state had been laid bare, and it almost brought Rarity up short. But she continued on, because she had to. Because Cadance’s eyes had already caught her in an icy, strained grip. They said come. They would threaten her if she faltered, they would encourage gently if she walked. They would plead if she stopped. She could not stop. Her skin itched, her legs felt weak. All at once, she began to believe it. The enemy was at the gates. The gates were battered and about to fall apart without their help.

Shining greeted them with a tight smile. Rarity did not return it. She could not bear to. But she nodded.

“Glad you could make it,” Shining quipped.

And at his voice, her heart quieted. She could not say why. Her thoughts had been racing with fire and shattered light, but now those things were gone. No, she thought at length as she opened her mouth to speak, she knew what this was. The mask had fallen. And yet it did not feel as if a distance had opened between her and those around her. She simply calmed.

“Well, unfortunately, we’ll not be leaving anytime soon,” Rarity said, and this time she smiled softly. “It is rather disappointing, but I suppose we’ll manage. A lady bears up under any weather,” she added. Shining nodded as if this were serious, and she found it funny. She was genuinely, openly amused in a way she had not seen in some time.

“We wanted to talk to you before their assault comes,” Shining said.

“We wanted to apologize,” Cadance added. Her voice was weak and strained, and yet even now to Rarity’s ears it sounded beautiful.

“Yeah. Apologize.” Shining sighed. “There’s no way we could send food or troops now. I had been figuring out the logistics, but…”

“It’s a moot point now,” Rarity finished.

“Yeah, nothing is getting out of here,” Rainbow said. After a second’s hesitation, she added, “Without a fight.”

“We last the night and I’ll send a legion,” Shining said with a grin. “Stars, I might send two if there are enough of us left.”

“I shall hold you to that,” Rarity replied. Why was she so calm? How could she smile?

“Your friend Fluttershy has already joined the royal doctors in converting the lower chambers into a makeshift hospital. I confess I am unsure as to what your plans are, but I of course would ask for your help,” Shining said, his tone attempting formality.

“Well, duh. I’d like to be alive tomorrow,” Rainbow said.

Cadance smiled at her. “There are many ponies in the city, and we do not know when the Mitou will attack.” She took a deep breath, and seemed to falter. She looked to Shining, who nodded.

“I need you to help us evacuate the city. More importantly, I need your help keeping the ponies fleeing this way calm. If they panic—and trust me, ponies will panic—then we won’t be able to focus on securing our defenses. Panicking ponies set things on fire and trample each other. The not-burning-things option is the best,” he finished.

“Yeah, that’d suck,” Rainbow said lamely. “How are we supposed to keep a bunch of random ponies from freaking out? I mean, I’m kinda freaking out.”

“You think I’m not? No, if you weren’t at least worried you wouldn’t be a pony. Only monsters and crazies are fearless. You keep them safe and brave by continuing,” Shining said.

At his side, Cadance closed her eyes. Her brow furrowed and she seemed to wilt.

“You just… you keep going,” Shining said. “You don’t stop, you don’t cry, you don’t shut down. You keep walking. You keep talking. You keep trying.”

RAINBOW

She was amazing. She really was.

Rainbow watched how Rarity smiled, how she talked with ease and walked like a princess among her hopeful little ponies. Honestly, she was the best. She had Twilight’s intelligence. She was brave—and Rainbow didn’t think that she would ever admit that as openly as she would now. It was a brave new world, after all. Twilight said that sometimes, but she always said it with a sneer. But she said it honestly, with wide eyes. What a brave new world, with such ponies in it. With Rarity making frightened ponies feel like they might just be alive the next day.

The evacuation was grueling and slow. Imperial Center was swollen with refugees and over capacity, and it showed. The streets were clogged. Ponies had to be convinced to take only vital things, like food and medicine, weapons if they had them at home. Rainbow had had to keep several old mares from carting off heaps of diamonds, or convincing their younger relatives to help them move some great wardrobe or chest of keepsakes. None of them understood.

Maybe they really did. Maybe they just didn’t want to. She didn’t want to.

It was a cold afternoon, overcast and gloomy. Any moment, she expected the rain to come pouring down. Part of her wanted that to happen. A Pegasus can feel storms. She could feel this one as it was born, slowly and surely, spinning and roiling and growing. In her bones she felt the lightning that stirred up above behind the clouds. The lightning which waited behind the veil would come. She knew it was only a matter of time. Soon. Very soon.

Rainbow Dash wanted to ride the lightning’s arc and feel the rain on her back. Pegasi lived for storms, flying when nothing else could or would.

But for now, there was no storm. Only dark, pregnant clouds and Rarity looking across the crowd right at her.

Rainbow blinked. She fidgeted. Yes? she mouthed.

Rarity did not say or mouth anything. Her brows knit together, her face softened. How are you holding up? she seemed to ask.

Rainbow shrugged. In reality, she was tired and a bit on edge, but it would little good to report such.

Rarity smiled at her, and Rainbow could not help but smile back. What a smile! What a beautiful smile.

Rarity moved on to the next house. Rainbow did the same on her side of the street. She knocked on the door, waiting for some sign of life. Nothing. She knocked again. Again, nothing. Rainbow grimaced and moved on. Ponies would hide, some of them, no matter how bad an idea it was. They refused to leave their little lives and their little homes on the great Imperial way.

They continued for another hour. Most of the homes were empty now. News travelled ahead of them.

Rainbow drained the canteen and then let out a long sigh.

As soon as ponies had vacated the outer districts of the city, Shining had sent the city’s garrisoned legions out to fortify the streets. Rainbow had watched this cohort of the Third Legion build a barricade three ponies high across the street. They piled chairs and tables high and dense, binding them together with magic and with the weight of even more added to the pile.

She wondered if it would be helpful. She guessed it would be better than being completely overshadowed. The Mitou were huge. She remembered what it was like to be dwarfed by them.

“I kind of expected them to attack by now,” Rainbow said.

Rarity lay in the street at her side. Rainbow knew she was tired, but Rarity had not complained. She hadn’t even acknowledged her own weary legs.

Rarity shifted, trying to shrug without rising. “I didn’t. I fully expect their assault to come after nightfall.”

“It’s pretty overcast right now. Might as well be dark,” Rainbow replied.

But Rarity shook her head. “No, they won’t come until it’s dark. I’m positive. Not just slightly dark but total darkness--that’s what they’ll need to make this assault the only one.” Her brow furrowed.

“Geeze.”

“Forgive my morbidity, Rainbow. Though, a question occurs to me.” Rarity sat up, and Rainbow grinned at her.

“Ask away, milady,” she drawled, and then cackled.

“Will you finally consent to wearing some sort of armor?” Rarity asked. “It has always made me wonder that none of us ever did, even when we went into Ponyville.”

Rainbow grimaced. “Ugh. Probably. I don’t want to. Armor is heavy, it’s harder to move in, and it usually slows a pony down. None of that’s my style, you know? Better for somepony like AJ who can carry it and not get slow. Pegasi are weird about barding.”

“Weird?” Rarity raised an eyebrow.

Rainbow nodded. “Yeah. It kinda depends on if they’re male or female. Male pegasi are bigger, if you hadn’t noticed, and traditionally they’ll wear more barding. Us? In the old days we would go in with a helmet and probably that’s it. Sometimes something light. Part of it’s practical, but mostly it’s traditional. Actually…” Rainbow stopped and looked at the barricade for a moment. “Actually, paint was our armor of choice.”

“Paint? Surely not.”

“Absolutely.”

“But your coat….”

“Could be washed,” Rainbow finished. She gestured as if the whole sight were before her. “We made dyes that could be washed out--and some that couldn’t be. It all depended, you know? But when the paint was on, you were one pony and when the paint was off you were another.”

“So, getting in character.”

Rainbow laughed. “You make it sound a lot more safe than it was.”

“Not totally inaccurately, though. Would you want to do that? I suppose we have time.”

Rainbow glanced over at her. “You think so? Seems like they could be here any moment. That’s what it feels like, anyway. How’re you gonna be okay doing that when we could be, you know, helping?”

“Because we’re just two ponies, Rainbow,” Rarity said. “In the end, we’re just two ponies. I need time to make peace, the same as you do. I suggest we both do so while we have the chance.”

Rainbow stood and shook out her wings. The air had been still, but it was heavy. She knew the wind was coming. She could feel it coming.

“Then let’s go,” she said evenly. “I mean, we might as well, right? ‘Die with your horseshoes on,’ right?”

“I would prefer not to die, myself,” Rarity answered, and then laughed. It made Rainbow’s heart leap.

FLUTTERSHY

Fluttershy was losing her mind.

It was bad enough being able to feel the storm like a needy creature pawing at her. It was bad enough to feel the electricity jumping from feather to feather, to feel it excite the blood to dancing. It was bad enough. But this time she could not hide from these sensations in her little cottage, wrapped in blankets. Now, with the storm calling her, she was in the middle of her own storm.

The Legionary medics were competent. She found herself both repulsed by and comforted by their steely eyes and curt manner. These were not gentle ponies. Yet they were good ponies. They thought of everything, and worked with what they had.

Fluttershy had seen the effects of battle before. She had stayed behind the frontlines at Manehattan--at no point had she seen what Twilight and the others had seen. They had refused to elaborate and Fluttershy rarely pressed them at the best of times. What experience she had of war came not-quite-secondhand, loading frightened or unconscious ponies onto stretchers, binding wounds, staunching rivers of blood. She had seen every way the equine body would break. At least, that was what she thought.

The snow then had been comforting. Snow and cold did not burden a pegasus as they burdened other ponies. Yet, in the presence of snow the winged often found themselves drowsy, as if secure in the knowledge that there would be no test of their strength.

But she felt only pressure.

It was hard to forget the Mitou. She could not. She could not even begin to try to forget them, those great mountains of shadow and rage. Fluttershy was a coward. She had lived her whole life knowing this, believing this, and was not surprised to think it now. She quailed before even the smallest of dangers. She hid from the gaze of those she did not know. Weak, weak, weak. She was the weakest of the companions. Six had set out from Canterlot, but it might as well have been only five. One of them was useless. One of them was extraneous. One of them, unfortunately for all involved, was Fluttershy.

Fluttershy returned to the Doctor of the Palace bearing a box of bandages on her back. “This should be the last of what you asked for,” she said softly. “We’re not running low yet, but the stallion at the supply depot wanted me to tell you that he, um, can’t spare anymore without a written order from one of the Royals. Sorry.”

“You’re kidding me,” came the response. The Doctor of the Palace was an older stallion, graying mane and the hard eyes she had found so ambiguous were best exemplified in his stare. “Obstructionist! By the Heart, of all of the insubordinate… Fluttershy, please, I’m not angry with you.” He sighed. “I know you probably did your best, but he does have a point. The main infirmary is here, but we’ll have to set up several throughout the city and they all need to be stocked. We have two in the northern wards, and if we hurry we can have two set up in the southern half of the city before nightfall.”

“Oh, I can do that, sir,” Fluttershy said. “I mean, if you need me to. I don’t know.”

“Actually, I have another job for you, Fluttershy. I can send some of the medics. This is kind of their thing, anyhow. I don’t know how they survive, working in primitive conditions. Outside, of all places!” He shuddered. “Honestly. No honest medicine can be practiced under heaven’s gaze. Out in the elements. Sorry, I find myself distracted even now, even here.”

“It’s alright.”

“But yes, I have something different for you.” He cleared his throat. “I need you to do nothing.”

“I… I don’t understand. I’m sorry, I’ve been trying… I know this isn’t really something I qualiified for. I’m more of a… uh, veterinarian then…”

“No. I mean rest. You’ve done far too much. I have three dozen strong medics right out of the legions who can run this city four times over and just break a sweat. You need to be rested for when we really need you. And as for the difference in treating ponies and squirrels, well…” he shrugged. “You can bind a wound, can’t you?”

“Um, yes.”

“Good enough. In these barbaric conditions, I’ll take anything,” he added with a grumble. “Go find a nice wall. Better yet, you can rest on one of the cots. I’ll make sure you’re left alone.”

“I… is that really alright?” Fluttershy asked.

The Doctor of the Palace looked at her quietly. “Yes. Let me ask you something.”

“Of course.”

“You’ve seen what the aftermath of battle looks like. Am I wrong?”

“No. I’m… I’m familiar,” she said, grimacing.

“I am as well. You know, most of this city is practically ancient. I was alive long before Sombra.” He spat. “And I would like to be outlive him by quite a bit, may the earth reject his body. But I saw quite a bit of battle’s cost. You have the makings of a fine doctor, I think. Frankly, and pardon me for saying so, but I think you’ve been wasted on animals. You’re patient, attentive, and hard working. I need you to be all of those things and have the energy to use that patience and alertness when I am about to drop dead from exhaustion, or else we’ll lose even more lives.”

“I understand,” Fluttershy began, but trailed off. “It’s just that I would terrible, not doing anything when everyone else is working so hard. When we’re all in such danger.”

“That’s why I need you to rest. So that you can be the one filling in the gaps for the first pony to break or get slow.” He scratched his mane, looking away from her. “And you’re young. I think the young need more time to make peace with death than the old do, my dear.”

“Do you think--”

“I know. This will not last more than a night. I’ll eat my diploma if it does. I’ll sautee it if it lasts two days.”

Fluttershy chuckled. “But we might not lose.”

“We might also be overwhelmed after only a few moments. In the end, we are rather small.” He smirked. “Go lie down. I’ll have someone get you when the party has, ah, started.”

SHINING ARMOR AND CADANCE

There was a storm once over Canterlot. It was an accident, really. Most things end up being so, one way or another. Even in the well-tended, groomed skies of Equestria there are yet wild storms. It is best to think of the great blue expanse as a barren sort of garden. Even in the most beautiful gardens there are occasional weeds.

But of course you went out to see it, didn’t you? You walked quickly, almost a skip, almost a run, your hooves clacking on the worn-out cobblestones with giddy excitement. A storm!

A storm. Yes, and there I was, ignorant of the strength of wind and the omnipresence of rain and the rapacity of lightning. I stood out in one of the parks, the one nearest our house.

Clover’s Fields.

Yeah, that one. Clover’s Fields. Clover the Clever. My sister’s favorite pony in the world, you know? Until she met the princess. Clover the Clever was Twilight’s hero of heroes. Until she met the princess.

But you saw the storm, you were saying.

Yes, I saw it. Oh, I saw it. You know I’m not good with words.

It was massive. Endless. A great thunderhead of malicious intent, a behemoth of force and chaos. No, not chaos as you think it but something else entirely. Presence. Enormous presence, like it was something in the ground but not in the ground. Like it was something in the air but not just the wind or rain. You were untouched and yet it pressed on you like touch, like a kiss on your lips, like a punch right to the nose that cracks on your bone like--

Like it was impressive. Which it was. And by the time it started to rain I felt something.

What did you feel, Shining, my only?

I felt afraid. More than just afraid. Terrified. Absolutely small in every single imaginable way. Beyond tiny. Dwarfed.

It was going to swallow you up.

It was going to crush me.

And you felt that feeling again, didn’t you?

I did. I’ve felt it several times, like I was being crushed slowly. I felt it the first time I was in battle. I felt it the first time I saw the Mitou. I felt it yesterday when we were out there on my last patrol. I shouldn’t have gone out there. That was stupid. There was nothing I could do.

They’re coming. They’ll be here soon. They’ll be here tonight. How is the shield?

It holds.

But not for long. I just want to leave this behind sometimes. I wish we could drop the shield and run as fast as our legs would take us--I would carry you out if I had to, you know.

The city has been fortified as best it can be. The wide streets are blocked with barricades, and the smaller byways are guarded. We are spread thin. The squares, the intersections, the parks are now little fortresses. The palace has been fortified. The gaps in the walls have been laid thick with traps.I have personally inspected most of the cohorts that will die in our streets. I have had ammunition and spare guns doled out. Bandages. A bit of food. A measure of wine.

A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.

I just wish there was a way to wipe the slate clean, to erase them, to break through the clouds and just... I don't know.

Like a scroll.

What do you mean?

You'll see. Perhaps. Come to me.

RAINBOW DASH

Rainbow tried to be still, but it was difficult. The brush Rarity had found was cold. She felt the light chill pass her coat and touch her bare skin. It tickled, too, though she wouldn’t dare say so. Yet, though she could stay still as a statue, she could not keep a smile from her face.

“Now, you are quite sure that you can’t remember the actual designs?” Rarity asked for perhasp the fifteenth time. Her eyes were narrowed; her brows were furrowed. “Because as much enjoyment as I derive from the creative process,” she said, cracking a smile, “I would hate to impinge on something cultural.”

“Nope, don’t remember,” Rainbow lied happily. “It’s not that weird for ponies to make it up as they go, so you’re fine.”

“If you say so,” Rarity said. She continued, starting to hum.

Rainbow listened to her song, wanting to hum along but also wanting to listen. She was not being honest, but somehow did not feel bad about twisting the truth. I’m the element of loyalty, not honesty, she thought, wanting to laugh but not wanting to give away the game.

Actually she knew only one of the patterns and it was the simplest one she’d ever seen. But it was boring. It would bore Rarity and it would bore her. The last thing she needed on the eve of battle was disappointment. Drink and be merry, for tomorrow they died. Or tonight. She wasn’t sure. She reflected that she would actually probably be very alright with maybe just a ton of wine. Wine was not her favorite drink. But, wine had one characteristic that elevated it above all other spirits: Rarity liked it.

It was amazing what the threat of imminent, gruesome death could do for a clouded mind.

“So. Do you feel like a warrior out of the tales? A dashing pegasus knight, hm?” Rarity laughed. Rainbow heard silver bells. “I’m afraid I know far less of your tribe than I should, Rainbow. I cry your pardon, dear.”

“Eh, it’s okay. I’m not that big on history, really. I mean, sometimes I am. When it’s cool,” she added. “Thanks for doing this.”

“It’s nothing. Actually, it’s something, and in a situation like this something to do is far better than nothing to do. The mind needs occupations, Rainbow. A Lady thrives on the art of being busy without being harried.” Rarity stopped briefly, humming before nodding to herself. “Don’t speak for a moment. I need to do your face. Just a bit, don’t worry, just a bit on your cheeks here…”

Rainbow obeyed. The magic-held brush lapped at her face like a great wet tongue, and the image almost wrung a chuckle out of her.

“You know,” Rarity continued, a bit more softly, “I’ve been meaning to say something for awhile.”

Rainbow’s heart skipped a beat. Or two. She blinked rapidly, trying to contain her feelings, trying to bottle them up tight. Don’t make a fool of yourself, Rainbow. This is not the time. You need to focus.

“I’m glad that it was you and Fluttershy who accompanied me to the Empire. Specifically, I am very glad that it was you, Rainbow. I know I’ve been difficult at times,” she said, frowning as the brush did its work. “I know I can be a bit of prima donna. I get caught up in foolish things more often than I would like. I’m not a fighter, like you. I can fight--combat is something you learn on the road in such a world! But it’s not who I am, not really. It’s only a mask or a hat that I put on. Without you, I’m not sure I would have managed to keep that mask on at all.”

See? Not what you feared. Hoped. Whatever. The brush left her face, and Rainbow answered. “I’m glad I came too. With you. I mean, no matter who I would have gone with, we’re all friends, but… I’m bad at words.”

“I wouldn’t say so. Regardless, I can be patient. We have all the time in the world.”

“Not really,” Rainbow said, grimacing.

“Perhaps. I think we have all the time we need. Some things take no time at all. Some take lifetimes, and those things I feel at peace about.”

Rainbow swallowed. The brush moved from her chest and shoulders to her flanks, and she shivered at its touch.

“I don’t understand that,” Rainbow said, but without much force or conviction. There was silence as Rarity worked out her design in care and gentleness. The brush danced on her coat. It was not the short, thin coat of her youth. The encroaching cold had changed even small things, just as it had pushed them to the ends of the earth in search of help. Pegasi may not feel the cold’s bite but even they could suffer in the elements eventually.

Rainbow pursed her lips. “You know… I’ve only worn the medicamen once. I mean, not counting now.”

“Is that what it’s called?” Rarity asked. She had moved out of Rainbow’s eyesight, hovering at her side, closer to her flank. Rainbow tried not to think about that.

“Yeah. Medicamen.”

“And you’ve worn it before, hm? Tell me about it,” Rarity asked.

“Well, it was a long time ago. It’s pretty common, right when you become an adult, to wear it as a sort of… uh…”

“Coming of age?” Rarity offered from somewhere behind her.

“Yeah! That. I was pretty stoked, honestly. I went back to Cloudsdale. Dad was still around then, though he was pretty sick.” She paused. “He made it though. I always appreciated that. He toughed it out and he gave me the medicamen.”

“That was good of him. You’ve not spoken of him much,” Rarity said.

“I loved my dad. He was great. But it hurts, you know? It still hurts. I mean, he died a long time ago. I should move on. I have moved on! I don’t get so… broken up about anymore.”

“It is not a sin to love one’s parents. Even when they are long gone. Especially then,” Rarity remarked. She stopped painting for a moment.

“Rarity, are you afraid? About dying, I mean.” Rainbow hadn’t meant to ask. She had never meant to. But she could not stop at that. “Like, not abstractly sometime, eventually. Like right now. In a few hours.”

“I am very frightened,” Rarity said, evenly. As if she wasn’t at all.

“Yeah, you sound like you’re quiverin’ in your horseshoes,” Rainbow shot back quickly. Her voice cracked.

“Sorry. I am frightened, Dash. It’s just… I have to keep it together.” Rarity sighed. They were silent for a moment.

“You called me Dash.”

“Oh? I did, didn’t I.”

“You don’t, usually.”

“I do like the sound of it. Dash. It’s delightful.” Rainbow could almost hear her smiling. “Dash, I certainly do not wish to die. I would like to live. In fact, I would like to live and make it home. I wish for my friends to be safe and whole and sane and I wish the same for myself. I’ll take two out of three even. I’m flexible, you could say.”

“One would hope.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” Rainbow said. “I’m jittery. Jumpy. Ready to go. Or something, I don’t know--how do you act so calm?”

“I really have no idea. I think I’m just in shock, perhaps.” Rarity laughed and continued painting. “I’m almost done, by the way. You’ll have to wait a bit for it to really dry well. I’ve some spells that should help with that.”

“Thanks again. How’s it looking?” Rainbow asked. She tried to imagine herself, but couldn’t. It had just been too long since she’d worn the paint. Come to think of it, she had trouble remembering much of that night. All she had was a collection of images. Her smiling father. Starlight. The cold feeling of a brush. Someone speaking monotonous pegas.

“You look fantastic. More so than usual,” Rarity said. She came back into Rainbow’s line of sight, the brush between her lips, smiling in a way that was different than before. It was less guarded. At least, Rainbow thought that it was less guarded.

“Thought you were using magic,” Rainbow said. She wanted to make some quip about Rarity’s comment on her beauty, make some sort of reply that would impress her. Mostly she just felt embarrassed. In a good way, perhaps, but still embarrassed.

“I was,” Rarity answered after picking the brush back up with her magic, freeing her mouth. “I wanted to finish the last bit that way. A bit more of a personal touch. You, ah, don’t mind? I hope not.”

“Nope.”

“Well, good.” Rarity put a hoof to her chin and hummed. Slowly, almost meditatively, she circled Rainbow.

Rainbow, for her part ,spent most of this time straining for glimpses of Rarity.

“At any length, I seem to avoided any serious errors. I’m a bit rusty with a paintbrush, but not so much that I’ve made a fool out of either of us. Top marks, me.” She chuckled. “Though I am sorry I couldn’t give you a more traditional look.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Doesn’t matter. The action is what matters,” Rainbow said with a smirk, though Rarity didn’t see it from back towards her flank.

In truth, Rainbow had not shown Rarity the one design she knew because she wanted to see what Rarity would do on her own. She missed the old Rarity and the old life. Rainbow Dash the weatherpony and Rarity the dressmaker. Creating and building and sewing and kicking the clouds into submission, side by side but not together, all as a part of a larger spinning wheel of life. She missed it. And if she could have a bit of that again, for a moment… if she could pretend once more to be the old Dash, then that was alright. The old Dash with her quips and her lusty looks at the busy unicorn’s flanks and he half-mocking bellyaching about having to be a model. When modeling for Rarity was the worst and most agonizing thing she could imagine ever possibly happening.

Rarity returned and sat before Rainbow, smiling in a gentle, contemplative sort of way.

“You know what I remembered just now?” she asked.

“The boutique? Me modelling for you?” Rainbow offered.

“Yes, actually. I’m glad we were in one accord! That exactly.”

“I miss it,” Rainbow blurted.

“I know you do.”

“I… hold up. What?”

Rarity. “I had a feeling. Just this spark of intuition. Do you really not know how to paint the medicamen?”

Caught. “Uh… I…” Rainbow shrugged. “Yeah, I do. But the only pattern I know sucks,” she said, and it was no lie. It was kind of lame. “I wanted you to do something that you made up. Hey, if I’m gonna get painted up for my funeral I might as well have it done by the best.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Rarity said sharply. “If anything, I want this to be a reason for you not to be crushed like an insect, thank you very much.”

“I’ll try, Rares,” Rainbow said. “Sorry, I just wanted to be able to see what you would do. I just felt like it was important. I mean, it’s not. I know.”

Rarity just sat and smiled at her. “You know, you’re beautiful, Rainbow Dash.”

Rainbow started.

“You really are,” Rarity continued. “Just stunning. Like something out of an old tale, and yet so down to earth, in only the strictest metaphoric sense of course! I cannot believe that I ever thought of you as anything but dear to me.”

“I… thanks.”

“No, thank you. Also,” she added, scooting closer, “do try not to move too much, would you? And be still for a moment, I need to apply my sealing spells.” Her horn glowed. Her eyes closed. “Rainbow, please don’t talk of dying. You think I have a nice facade of calm at the moment, but if you talk much more of such a thing I am going to lose that calm very quickly. I can’t bear it, I really simply cannot bear to think of that. I’m not sure what I do would do and where I would go, if you left me alone.” Her horn lost its glow and her eyes opened. She seemed… Rainbow didn’t know the word. Not confused, and something other than flustered. “I’m sorry. You know I’m prone to strange histrionics. It’s the edge of battle, dear, it really is, making me say all of that.”

Rarity closed her eyes again and continued weaving her spell. “You know, when I was a much more foolish me, I wanted to be a princess so badly? You remember how I dreamt of marrying a prince. Well, I can safely say Shining Armor is not my type, but I think that the pressures of being married to an authority figure may not have been what I was expe--”

She did not finish her sentence. In fact, the thought itself was probably lost for all time, because at that very moment Rainbow did something that was amazingly, incredibly, world-shatteringly stupid.

Rainbow kissed her full on the lips. Not lightly. Not playfully. Earnestly. It was the kind of kiss that screamed that she was afraid. That she was going to die and it was horrible only now to reveal herself but she could not bear to go into the dark without trying. It was desperate.

She was almost overwhelmed. Rainbow had thought about this before, but in the end, hadn’t she always shied away? Hadn’t she always tried to distract herself. When she admired her friend’s beauty, her body, her eyes, her mane, her voice--she could pass this off as aesthetic appreciation, even base sexual appreciation. But a kiss like this could not be passed of as these things. It could not be hidden behind a joke. Her lips were soft, as Rainbow had imagined they would. Rarity was good, just as Rainbow had dared to imagine she would be in dreams. Rainbow loved the taste of her, the feeling of yielding softness, the temptation to sink and sink until she was overwhelmed in pleasant haze. This was new, wonderfully new. She had kissed mares before. She had kissed a few stallions. But none of them were like this. None of them were close.

And then she pulled away, weak in the knees.

They stared at each other, both wide eyes, both with open, gaping mouths. Rainbow’s heart hammered in her chest, furious, frightened. She had made a mistake. It was ruined. Rarity would be furious. How dare she do this? How dare Rainbow presume? Like she could just roll the whole universe into a tight little ball and play with it like a child, just stop time for her stupid lusts and her asinine childish fantasies. She was an idiot. She was stupid and she was going to die and she was going to die knowing that Rarity’s feelings about her were disgust. That here, before ponies were about to die, she would choose this moment. Rarity would think of her as shallow, wanting nothing but sex or false comfort before something that was too terrible for her to bear. Rainbow shook slightly, a ball of barely contained nervous energy that wanted to explode in all directions.

She opened her mouth, closed it, tried again. To her horror, she felt an old ache, and knew she was going to tear up. She hated it. She hated everything. Covering it up was the only option. “Rarity, I’m sorry. I… Look, I just… please, let’s--”

Rarity stepped back to her. She closed the gap in a fell motion, fluid and forceful like the ocean at high tide. Her eyes were blue electric arcing fire, unstoppable, swift.

Rarity kissed her passionately, almost violently, pressing against her, pushing her back. Rainbow’s wings flared in shock. Her knees were weak. Her body was electric like a song.

Rarity pulled away, staring right into her eyes. “Shh.”

“But I just…”

“Sh.” Rarity looked around hastily, and only now did Rainbow see her blush. “Oh dear. For once, I am glad for the distraction of… well, you know. Let’s the two of us find somewhere to go. To talk.”

Rarity smiled at her, and Rainbow’s heart melted. The battle, the war paint, the city, the snow--it all fell away in an instant and somehow Rainbow felt as if they were alone already, under the shade of a beech tree in the warm waving grass.

They walked the deserted streets. Minutes passed but to Rainbow it seemed like an hour crawled by. Her heart had not slowed at all. Her legs still felt weak. She had been in relationships. She had shared kisses. She had even fooled around, but never gone far. She had walked side by side with a lot of ponies and never felt as terrified and equally as joyful in the same moments.

But at last they came to a little square, shared by several upper-scale apartment buildings. The grass lived even through the frost, and somewhere in the back of Rainbow’s mind she knew it must be magic at work.

And Rarity stopped leading her and turned. She smiled again. Rainbow smiled back, blindly, happily, forgetting even her trepidation. This was unreal. It wasn’t happening. Battle had been real, or felt real. Death had been a real threat. Everything had seemed grounded and solid but suddenly she was dreaming and that was alright. She would wake up later.

“Rainbow. I… Oh dear. I hadn’t imagined it like this.”

“Imagined what?” Rainbow asked. Her mouth seemed to work on its own. Her brain floated on surreal seas.

“This sort of confession. I mean, I knew I was being obvious.”

“Obvious? Rares, I’m lost. I knew that I was obvious.”

Rarity stared at her, and then laughed. After she recovered, she began again. “Is this… do you mean this? If it is simply a case of battlefield nerves, of the fear of death, of a deep companionship you’re turning to in crisis, tell me. Because it would not destroy me. It wouldn’t, it really wouldn’t. Because I care for you. I love you, honestly and whole-heartedly. I would do that for you.”

Rainbow blinked. “No. No, it’s not. Gods. I thought you might think this. I was afraid you would. But it’s not, Rares, it’s not like that at all. I love you. I do! What I feel, what I want is as close to what I think love is as I know. I’m not as good at this kind of thing. So I know you must think I’m clueless. Maybe I am. But I like you a lot. I think I love you. I know I just want to go wherever you go and I don’t want you to leave me behind. I don’t want to leave you behind.”

Rarity was quiet. She stroked Rainbow’s cheek softly, and Rainbow imagined for a moment she could feel her face burn with excited shame.

“Might I kiss you again?”

“If I say ‘hell yeah’ would you still want to?”

Rarity did so. It was not quite as forceful, but it was not yielding and soft. It was Rainbow who yielded.

They parted. “I’ve wanted to do that for awhile.” A pause. Rarity continued. “I really would like to do it again.”

“I won’t stop you.”

“I know you won’t. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Rainbow nodded. She tried to look serious. Whatever the hell that looked like.

“I hoped… I’ve hoped for sometime, Rainbow. I dreamed--literally, even. But I never dard believe it might be true, that you would ever want me. I assumed it was just desire or loneliness that twisted everything in my mind, trying to give me false clues, little red herrings along the way.”

“Well… it didn’t. I’m here. I like you a lot. I want to… be with you,” Rainbow finished lamely. “This is the worst way I could have done this.”

“Nonsense. I’m not really sure it could have gone any other way. This was never going to be graceful, Rainbow.”

“Even with you involved?”

“Especially with me involved. Darling, in private I am a far more messier individual than my friends believe.” She laughed like silver beat to fragile thinness, in lines, in beautiful designs.

Rainbow looked away. “I kind of figured I was too, I don’t know, flighty for you. I mean, you’ve had coltfriends before, and I know you’ve played with mares, but I guess I wasn’t sure and even then they were all beautiful and I’m kind of all muscle and feathers and--”

“And you’re gorgeous. I’ve told you several times, you know. You always forget.” Rarity tsked, but smiled. She sat in the grass, and gestured. Rainbow awkwardly sat about a hoofslength away, unsure. She was not shy, and she was cautious about only a few things.

“I’m… I mean, I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with this. I’ve never felt like this. I don’t even know what it is. I could be crazy for all I know,” she said, and tried to laugh. “I just really… ah, screw it.”

She scooted closer and nuzzled under Rarity’s chin. She felt stupid, and warm, and happy, and confused.

“This is amazing, really. You, I, a war to end all wars, a grand Empire and it’s beautiful, ancient city. I couldn’t have written a more perfect scene.”

“I could’ve. This is about as cliche as it gets, Rarity. The whole ‘we might die tomorrow so lets do the sex’ bit is so cliche. Even I know that.”

“Ah, but you said that was not your angle, Rainbow Dash,” Rarity purred. It made Rainbow shiver. “And do you think that would happen?”

Rainbow thought about saying that she wouldn’t be opposed, but decided that not thinking before acting had gotten her into this mess. Not that it was a bad thing. “Probably not. You’re too dignified and I’m an awkward virgin. Kind of. It’s just too cliche.”

“Are you really?” Rarity asked.

Rainbow felt something moving through her mane. It was like a brush, but more fine, more controlled. It touched her coat and she knew it was magic in an instant, like soft griffon’s claws.

“Yeah. I am. I played around when Ponyville was still a thing, but I never really went that far. I was nervous about it. It’s big, you know? So invasive, so awkward. I’m all about preserving my cool, and I just couldn’t let myself do something with somepony that was going to make them see as… well, not that.”

Rarity hummed. “That’s a strange thing to say. As if making love could do such a thing.”

“I saw you do this to Fluttershy once. Twilight too.”

“With magic? Yes. It’s calming--for me and for them. It makes me happy. Do you not like it?”

She did like it. She felt warm. She felt, despite everything, safe and sound. She nodded slightly. “I like it.”

“Good.”

“What do we do now? I mean, I know what I want to do. But that’s hormones. It’s now. What do we do later? Do we have time to be…”

“Girlfriends?”

“Yeah.”

“I like that word myself. Marefriend, girlfriend, my most special one. Different shades. Do you like it?”

“Yeah.” She shifted a bit.

“Would you like to be that?”

“I think so.” Soft. A grumble almost. “Yes.” An admission. Or a revision. Either way.

“I would like that also. You’re right, on the edge of battle we’re caught up in the drama and the adrenaline. We will have to be slower about this. But I think that won’t be so bad. We’ll have to talk. A lot of talking.”

“I don’t mind talking.”

Rarity kissed her mane. “I don’t mind it either. I wouldn’t mind talking at all. Lots of it. I want to know you. I already do, of course, but I want to know you more. Deeper. To be able to know what you are and what you feel by touch or sight. That’s madness, I know, but I still want it.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Rarity kissed her mane again. “Darling, do you think we’re going to die?”

“No.”

“Really?” She asked again. Her voice was soft. It did not change. It did not grow louder. It was like smoke, blowing but never vanquished, like the haze of incense. She smelled like incense, the kind offered to mysterious gods. Rainbow felt almost dizzy.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to. I want to make it and I want to talk to you. I want to kiss you again and be marefriends and walk and go home together.”

“You don’t have to wait for at least one of those things,” Rarity said quietly. She shifted her weight back and tilted Rainbow’s face up.

“I’m usually in charge,” Rainbow said, smirking. “It’s weird to not feel in charge.”

“It’s not about that,” Rarity said quietly.

“I know.” Rainbow kissed her. It was sweet.

“I don’t want to go back,” Rarity murmured.

Rainbow sighed. “Can we stay here for awhile?”

“Of course. There’s time enough for that. The city’s been evacuated. This neighborhood is empty and the closest soldiers are a blocks away. We won’t be bothered for at least a while.”

They didn’t talk for some time after that. They communicated solely through kisses. Some were isolated, small, soft. Some were long, drawn out, strung together like waves lapping at a shore happy to be born away. Each one was different. They worked out their salvation in fear and trembling and with careful kisses. They held one another in turn. They spoke not a word because they did not need to. Because they were both afraid and they both knew that when night came it would really all be over, wouldn’t it? All of it. Kissing, talking, living, walking. They would not share another round of wine in beautiful state chambers. They would not trudge through the snow. They would be nothing but ash.

They got up and walked. They walked through the empty apartment buildings, seeing the doors left hanging open, the tell-tale sign of abandonment: left behind toys, an overturned luggage crate, somepony’s lost coinpurse. They left the memories to be washed out in the rain, to be covered in the snow that would come after the magic had faded, and found that the lobby of one of the buildings was open. They sought refuge inside, away from the cold, and were soon lying on the couch. They said little. Rainbow was afraid that she would make a fool of herself, but mostly she knew that it did not matter. She no longer felt afraid. She felt sad. She felt like there was something left undone. She wanted something. There was an ache in her chest that would not be filled and she did not understand it enough to fill it.

“Rarity?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why would you like me?” Her voice cracked again. She had to stop doing that.

“You’re brave. You’re beautiful. You can keep up with me, surpass me, and I can give chase. Rainbow, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re a spectacular example of a mare.”

“I have been told that a few times. Just maybe I’ve heard someone say something like that.”

“You’re also a braggart. I find it endearing sometimes. Sometimes.” Rarity laughed.

“If we live, you’ll still want me, then? Even if I get nasty scars or lose a wing or something like that?”

“Do try not to lose a wing. You love to fly. It would break both of our hearts.”

Dash shivered and pulled a face. “Gods, I’d rather die.”

“Don’t do that either. Yes, I would still want you. I love how you look. I think you’re beautiful. But a scar would not steal that away. Not even several.”

“Good.”

“Confidant again, I see.” Rarity kissed her nose.

Love was a strange word. It communicated a lot, and yet it also left a lot unsaid and uncommunicated. Rainbow thought, in a flash, that it was so much like an arrow. Or fire. It filled the air but left something empty in its wake. It could not fill all emptiness. At least, when she heard it, she still felt a sort of sucking emptiness right below her chest. Nerves. Lots of nerves. She tried to ignore them.

Rainbow smirked. “Hey, it pays to make sure.” She settled into a more easy, calmer smile. “Honestly, I’m kinda torn. I hate being awkward and unsure. But I also hate being sure and then looking like an ass, you know?”

“Oh, I do.”

“I don’t know how to be.” She said it almost like an accusation, with a grimace.

“Don’t be either exclusively. Don’t think about that. Just enjoy this time. I enjoy you. It sounds so presumptuous, but enjoy me.”

“I do,” Rainbow said, a bit too vehemently. “Think they’ll find us?”

“I suspect we’ll know when the time is right.”

Rarity shivered against her, and it occurred to Rainbow that she would feel the brunt of the winter cold. Rainbow unfolded one wing and blanketed Rarity, shielding her as best she could. She hugged Rarity tighter, trying to give even just a bit of her natural defense.

“Wish I had a blanket. I forget you guys don’t like the cold. I mean, I don’t either, but still.”

“I feel a bit warmer,” Rarity said, unconvincingly.

“Right.” A pause.

That emptiness would not go away. Yet, she felt happy. She felt confused. She was full of feelings, and so she could bear a bit of whatever it was that gnawed at her. She could bear it. Uncertainty? Ironic, as she was uncertain even of what it was she felt. Perhaps a bit. Disbelief, even. That could be it. This was fast. An hour, at the utmost. Probably less.

It was only natural to doubt something that you had thought about for weeks, had hoped and prayed for for weeks, and received almost effortlessly. But Rainbow hated doubting ponies. She hated it. And at last, she supposed that the emptiness she felt was doubt. She doubted Rarity, here in this moment. But she didn’t want to. It wasn’t right to doubt her. She was beautiful, perfect, kind. Generous. And Rarity was loyal. It wasn’t just the way that the stupid Elements of Whatever had defined her. She had always defined herself that way.

So when she doubted, it hurt her. She couldn’t see inside Rarity’s mind. She wanted to know. She wanted to be sure. But she couldn’t understand Rarity, because she wasn’t Rarity.

Wasn’t Loyalty just Generosity, militant and personal? She could understand that. Rainbow sighed. That wasn’t really the point, but somehow it made her feel better. Crazy.

“Rarity, can I ask you a question?”

“I think we’re far beyond permission at this point.”

“I know you aren’t a virgin,” Rainbow began, as awkwardly as possible.

“That’s not a question, Dash. I am not.”

“You don’t care if I am?” Dash pressed. “That I haven’t really gone that far?”

“No, not particularly. That doesn’t bother me at all. I’m not after your experience, you silly fool.” She smiled up at Rainbow. “I’m in for you.”

“Would you hit me if I said I kind of don’t want to die that way,” she said quickly.

Rarity smacked her chest lightly. “Yes.”

Rainbow laughed nervously. “Sorry. That was lame. But… God. I have no idea. This is usually where I peel off like a bird about to hit a window.” She took a deep breath, and looked down at Rarity, whose eyes were suddenly very focused, very sharp. She swallowed. But that little emptiness in her chest ached. She felt suddenly lonely. She felt suddenly warm, all over her body. She knew what arousal was like. She recognized it as it happened, but there was something else, something that hurt.

“You want to? Because we may die?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Geeze. Rares, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because I’m a pegasus and we’re horny?” Another light smack. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I feel lonely. I feel kind of stupid,” she added, deciding to take the plunge. Go all the way. Be honest. A warrior was honest with herself. “I should have told you sooner. A few days ago, even. That would have been so much better, but now it’s all happening so fast because I kind of blew it.”

“I helped you along that path. I daresay we share that load equally.”

“Probably. A little of it is that I don’t want to die without having had… sex one time. You know,” she said, suddenly smiling. “Dad always told me a warrior was honest?”

“A wise stallion.”

“A good one. I’m trying to be honest here. Even if that’s not my thing. I want something. I want to have something of you when I’m out there. Something I can hold on to. That may not make sense, but--”

Rarity kissed her. It happened rather quickly. One minute, they were side by side and the next Rainbow found herself on her back, her wings pinned neatly under her, her hooves spread. Rarity looked down at her with eyes that glittered like diamonds in the cavernlike darkness of the abandoned lobby. “So you want this, then? Somepony experienced?” Rainbow could see her grinning even in the low light. She felt that suddenly the air was charged with something that was dangerous, but full of promise. Something weighty, something pregnant with meaning she had missed.

“I just want you,” she said, knowing how lame it sounded. But it was true. To tie herself to somepony, to be able to say that of anything, that it was hers.

Rarity leaned in and nibbled at her neck, and to her own surprise, Rainbow let out a high, keening moan. She clamped her teeth together, appalled.

“My. I did not expect that.”

“Shut up.”

“Come now. I liked it.”

Rainbow groaned in dismay. Mild, but still real dismay. Great. Way to lose what remained of her dignity, her cool.

“So you do want this. My gift to you. Or your gift to me.” Rarity stroked her face. She stroked her stomach and her flanks, down her legs, feeling every bit of them. “It astounds me that you’ve never seemed to understand just how amazingly you were formed. How brave your spirit is. It takes a lot of courage to risk this. Any of it.”

“Or a lot of, uh, being dumb.”

“Or that.” Rarity bit Rainbow’s shoulder lightly and was rewarded with a tiny groan. She moved back to kiss Rainbow, and then smiled down at her. “Well, I agree, as it happens. I want this too. I want you to leave me something, something I can take with me however long I can. But this is a promise, Rainbow Dash. Do you hear me?”

Her hooves wandered. Her horn flared, and Rainbow felt playful feelers move downwards, downwards.

“A promise?” she managed, eyes wide.

“You’re going to come back to me. In one piece. Safe, sound, sane. And if you lose a wing I will break the other one,” she said, but she grinned like a predator and Rainbow Dash loved it. She also loved that the playful magic feelers had lost their playfulness and found their destination and suddenly she could think of nothing. She was lost. She was drowning.

RARITY

Rainbow Dash panted. Rarity could feel how her chest heaved beneath her, and she shifted to give it space. Idly, she kissed the matted, sweat-soaked fur.

“Oh, gods. Stars. Light. The Hells below Tartarus,” Rainbow said hoarsely.

Rarity was giddy herself. She smiled and snuggled.

Eventually, when Dash’s breath was normal, she moved up to kiss her gently and they lay in the dark and waited.

She did not know how much time passed. She did not care. She actively wished not to know. Time was not her friend, not today. Not now.

“They’ll be sending a search party soon,” Rainbow said.

“I think not. We’re only two ponies.”

“Right.”

More silence. A few soft kisses. Soft, idle, comfortable caresses. It was amazing what a simple act could do. It was not simple. She reminded herself of this even as she knew that it was, indeed, simple. IT was both. She did not understand it. It was not a thing one understood.

“So,” Rainbow said again after the long pause. “A promise?”

“I meant it. That was not just hormones talking, Rainbow Dash. No more talk of death. We’re living. You’re living. You’re going to fly and I’m going to use every ounce of my magic and we’re getting out of here. We’ll carry Fluttershy all the way to Canterlot if we have to.”

“Aw, hell, what am I gonna tell her?”

“I think she won’t be even a little surprised.”

Rainbow laughed. “Probably not. I never could get what I was feeling deep down past her.”

Rarity sighed. “The sun’s not peeking through the blinds anymore.”

“I guess not,” Rainbow answered.

Rarity kissed her lover’s--what a strange word!--chest, her shoulders, her cheek. She did not want to go. She felt like she could not. But she did. She rose, stretching, yawning. In truth, she perhaps paraded a bit, showed off. Why not? Whyever not, in such a world, in such a place, where nothing was in place and thus nothing was out of place?

“Come, Rainbow. I want to walk a bit before the fire’s upon us.”

Grumbling, Rainbow rose and stretched her legs and wings. Rarity watched those toned, fine legs, admired those strong wings.

They left the lobby and walked the streets again. It was the edge of night. The sun had retreated to a final fortress. The night that would not pass was coming. She looked out and thought, for the briefest of moments, that it was like the end of the world.

Author's Note

And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.

And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.

And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.

And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.

And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.

And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

(Revelation 6:1-8)

XXVI. Lift Yr. Skinny Fists Like Antennas t' Heav'n

XXVI. Raise Yr. Skinny Fists Like Antennas To Hev’n

OPAL, Legata of the Ninth Legion of the Crystal Empire

The barricade was constructed of whatever was available. Chairs. Tables. Lots of tables—they were good and wide. Doors. A few ancient tower shields that were dug out of an old armory. Steel cords. Nails. Scaffolding. Sweat. Hope.

She sniffed. She shivered in the cold.

The temperature had dropped quickly. Opal knew what this meant—though, she would not say it. They all knew, and none of them would say. The Crystal Heart could bring spring to the capitol as well as solace and defense. As it left, the warmth left. Perhaps there would be snow soon. Just a bit, and then a light flurry. And then a deluge, a blizzard, and endless sea of white, covering the world in forgetful snow.

The best thing to do on the eve of battle, Opal knew, was to do anything but think. Only so much planning could be done. Only so much talking could be done—and she knew it all had been done. Opal had sat through every strategy meeting stretching a month back. Every contingency had been considered. The armories had been searched for the ancient canons the Empire had brandished in what seemed like more civilized, advanced days. She herself had combed the great Armory of Malachite III looking for ancient artilleries months ago.

So, in the end, she was confident that due diligence had been done. That would simply have to be enough.

Coughing, the Legata straightened herself, adjusted her heavy ornamental officer’s barding, and once again strode the length of the makeshift fortification.

Pikes rested against the wall, waiting to be pulled up and thrust upwards to the sky like daggers to pierce the clouds. Rifles lay sleeping against the ragged battlement. Opal stepped over a loose box of ammo. She snorted, grinding her teeth. Honestly. These new legionnaires were not up to snuff. At all. In Lord Sombra’s day, we would have had them strung up on the stocks for less, she thought, her body and mind thrumming with delight at the thought of it. But then she caught herself. Those days were gone. Long gone.

She shuddered. It was amazing, the things that magic could do to a pony. Lasting things.

She shifted the box out of the walkway with her magic and continued on.

The day had been short, and night was upon them. The skies were overcast; they were as brass. Legionnaires leaned against the walls, staring back towards the lights of the city. She scowled at them.

“You,” she barked, and the whole line jumped. “All of you. Do you think they’ll be digging holes, hm? Coming out of the ground over there?”

One of them tried to answer, but one of his companions silenced him with a frantic slap. Opal approved.

“About face!” They did so, scrambling. It was comic. Or would have been, had she not been standing on the first line of the Imperial Center’s defense. She would not berate them here or now. Another lesson she had learned on a dozen campaigns in the snow and in the mountains: a pony’s motivation was vital. It was also very easily broken.

So instead, she walked behind them, down the lines. Her sharp veteran’s eyes caught everything. Every weapon unloaded, as she had ordered. Every helmet fastened, every bit of barding accounted for, and every single body shaking.

“It is a beautiful night, no?” she said to no one at all. The soldiers said nothing. Wise of them. “Beautiful. It stirs a bit of femininity in me,” she added, eyeing them. Not a word! Excellent. She actually smiled. There was a part of her that had loved to toy with something helpless even before Lord Sombra’s… personal talk. “A wonderful night, through and through. I wonder, I do, how old you were when I was last in these maiden’s wedding clothes on the slopes of the shattered hills. During Lord Sombra’s time—” Her body ached; she wished to attach some sort of worshipful honorific to that name, to that eternal name. She choked on them all. “We fought separatists on those blasted landscapes. Oh, gentleman, what a good night. I remember it. The thrill of the hunt as they scurried like rodents before a great boot! The ecstasy of victory. I laughed so freely on that night of broken crystal,” she finished in a hiss. She felt the old feelings warm her against all winters.

She shook herself.

“I expect you to do your duty,” she began again, lamely, breathing hard. She would not be a puppet of a long-dead king. She would not be His puppet from beyond the grave. “I expect you to serve your city, your family, your empire. I expect this and more. I expect you to be exemplary.”

Silence. Her steps seemed to echo. No, they seemed to be like a droning, pounding hammer upon hot steel. It was like the pipes that the old legions blew that droned into the inky black—eerie and distinct.

“They are not Gods, gentlemen,” she almost whispered. “They are not as gods. They are mortal. They bleed. They die. Perhaps there are thoughts we might recognize in those things that we call minds only by analogy.

“Your pikes will pierce their flesh. Your bullets will break their bones,” she said and felt her old self. It waited—it watched like a dog on a leash. Baying, baying, baying. “Your hoofblades will cut their tendons. Your iron boots will break their will, and you will look on a new sunrise, and you will be alive,” she said. Let me out. Let me out. Opal closed her eyes. The breeze blew again, and she faced it.

There was silence. Again. She trotted to the battlement proper and sat between two nervous-looking young ponies. They moved their rifles, but she ignored them.

“When they come, you will face them,” she said quietly. “As I did, long ago. But I faced ponies when first I felt the hot lifeblood on my face. You will be facing different things.”

“But you said they would die just like us or anything else,” one of them said.

“Oh, they will,” she said, half-smiling. “They will. But it will not be easy. Soldier, what is your name?”

“Malachite.”

Fitting, or not fitting. Regardless, she found herself distantly amused. A King's name. “How old are you?”

“I’ll be nineteen soon, Legata.” How nervous. How afraid. As right he should be. Was she not a beast? Was she not the Emperor’s most rabid dog, who moaned like a bitch in heat at the sight of blood? Was she not the right hoof of the Lord of Shadow?

“Young. Well, Malachite, I shall tell to you a secret.”

“Secret?”

“Yes, yes. A secret. You see, my first battle was an absolute route.”

“What?” He seemed genuinely startled. Something about that pleased her.

“I was not always the ‘iron bitch,’” she said, laughing. “I was once frightened and young, a maiden in the emperor’s legions right off of the farm, caught up in his grand crusade against the Triballi chieftains of the south. My cohort met them in a wood down in Equestria, when it was a but a backwater.”

“Everfree? I was born near there.”

“The Legions take any and all,” she responded, by rote. A King's name for a barbarian born pony. Wonders never ceased. “There were many of the foederati of the southern tribes in the legion, then. They were good soldiers. You carry their pride on your shoulders, young Malachite. Do not dishonor their memory. But yes, we were routed. My legatus, a zebraharan halfbreed—Varrus, his name was—and I were the only survivors. I killed many ponies that night; some I do not remember. We all did.”

“How did you survive, ma’am?”

She was very lucky. “I was focused,” she lied. “I had a mission, and that was to return. I did not think of death.” She had thought of death. She had sobbed like a child. She had sobbed and killed and cried and screamed and ran, and her commander had cursed her for mad all the way back to the legion’s camp—even as she carried him on her back. “I was afraid, but I knew that if I simply felt fear, if I lived in my fear, I would die. I would die horribly. Fear, Malachite! Fear is the mind killer. A little death, and not the kind they tell you about in perfumed rooms. It leads only to annihilation. To dying like a dog,” she added and then stood. She left, wordlessly, briskly.

Down the line again. And again. And again.

Repetition was good for the soul, the body, the mind, the heart. If you believed in those things which could not be seen. Opal waffled back and forth. If you believed, of course, in repetition itself. That it was possible to repeat a thing at all. She doubted this as well.

She had not seen fighting since the long sleep had been ended. The magic had lain heavy on her, in the nothing between the past and that moment when they all found themselves transported. The corrupting presence of her Lord had been on them all, but in her, it was a cancer. She did not wish to think of it that way. It was that way. He was toxic, cancerous, evil, beautiful. She loved him. She would not live—

Something caught her eye.

She stared out towards the wall, past the last homely houses. It flickered. She knew that it was mostly illusory—all of the legates of the legion knew. But it was hard to believe a thing unseen. And now she saw it.

Ice gripped her chest. She let out a ragged, shaky breath.

“Light,” she whispered. “Oh, stars. Polaris, she who watches the evening. Lyrae who loves the mortal ponies of earth, Arcturus who guides the sailor back from sea…” she continued. She prayed as she had not since the days of her fillyhood.

But then she stopped. She straightened. This was not a time to whimper. She was the Right Hoof of the Emperor, the legata whom he had asked to personally attend him. She was the Scourge of the Rebel and the Nightmare of the Schismatic. She was the Fist of God, the Praetorian of the Ninth Legion.

She bared her teeth to the wall. She wished it to fall. She did not care what a sight she seemed—she would see the illusion burned away. It was unbecoming of Imperial glory to hide behind the shadows of a pathetic lie!

And then, there was something like a shout, like a great world-shaking groan, like the breaking of a seal, like perhaps the blowing of a horn. But it was none of these things. The walls did not flicker again. Like the illusions they were, they vanished.

In the outer darkness beyond, she saw them. She saw great hulking shapes, unnatural, on two legs, some on four, all of them standing still. Deathly still. Like ghosts, like mummified, wasted corpses, like herself, living long past their allotted times. She looked at them. She wished for fangs to bare at the gods who would dare come off of their filthy mountain to test the Emperor’s own Iron Bitch. The old Opal was alive and well. It took over now. It was no longer the old Opal but the only Opal once again. The harsh winter was let in like a tidal wave, but she did not care at all. She was ecstatic. She was like a virgin in a lover’s embrace. Flushed, radiant, gleeful.

“Rifles! Load! Oh, they’ll feel shot of lead yet! Centurion Yulus!”

“Milady?” answered the stallion in question, ponderously as he had even before the time of Lord Sombra.

“Have your pikes ready! I want them braced to the wall and pushing before these whoresons draw an inch closer, do you understand?”

“As you say.”

She called for her magic, and it came readily, bringing to her eyes the sending paper given her by Shining Armor, the new Prince Consort. It was hard to remember there was an Empress now. She scrawled a quick report, rolled the missive up, and watched as magic sent it back to the citadel.

A city being broken without walls—a mare who had no restraint of spirit. This was perfect.

The enemy did not advance, but they would. Around her, the legion panicked in varying degrees. Some had believed the rumors about the walls. Some had not. They all knew the truth now. For her part, she cared not.

“Legata!”

She turned, to see legionaries forming up into a thick block in the street below, nervous, definitely. Ready, perhaps. Before them stood another of her officers, the decurion of the air contingent. She raised a hoof in acknowledgement. “Hail, Flora. Are you arrayed?”

“The Ninth legion is prepared, Legata,” the lithe pegasus replied hoarsely. “The flyers of the Celeres are yours.” Opal watched as Flora adjusted her helmet and then saluted. Opal saluted back.

“Deploy to the roofs, then,” she answered. “Do not go beyond the boundary of the wall, as I ordered. Reinforce the wall only if the situation is dire.”

Opal jumped down from the wall, softening her fall with a cushion of air and magic. Briskly, she walked to the ponies in the street, not bothering to even look at the infantry square as she approached Flora.

“Legata, we have the Immunes fortifying the barriers with magic, just as you ordered,” Flora said. She was like a leaf, Opal thought. So small, with such a young appearance. Yet Flora, too, had served the Ninth when Lord Sombra commanded it.

“Where are ours? For this barrier?” Opal asked, scowling.

Flora pointed, and Opal looked to see that several unicorns were already there, laying on thick barriers of protection that made the air hum. She smiled. “Good,” she said. “I am glad that they are still quick to take up the task, in any age. Will your raw youngsters be of much use to us, you think?”

“They are of the Ninth, my Lady,” Flora responded. “They will fight and die as the Ninth has always done.”

“I could ask no more. I will see you on the other side.”

“Among the stars, my Lady,” Flora replied and bowed deeply before taking to the sky.

Opal had given no answer. She would not parrot the faith of her mother, but she would not scourge it from the heart of her companions. Instead, she returned to the barricade to find nervous soldiers waiting.

They needed not wait long. A great roaring, straight from the thousand mouths of Tartarus, sprang up from the void, and before her, the far horde began to move. They were too far out to make out individual forms so much as a great unbroken shadow.

She waited. She watched. They came closer, slowly at first and then faster, much faster, as if they were at a dead run.

“Rifles! Load your weapons,” she called, and the sound of metal on metal filled her ears. Some of them fumbled, but it filled her heart with a proud warmth to see that most of them were calm and careful. Yes, they would last more than a moment. They would drive these demons back into their miserable mudholes. She would stomp their faces into their own blood.

“Lower weapons!” she cried. “Hold your fire until you are told! You will wait for the flares, and then you will make every shot count! They come in en masse, in a horde, in a great wall of flesh made ready for your cleansing fire!” She raved. She walked the battlements with wild eyes. Sombra’s Opal panted. Opal herself was steely readiness.

They came closer.

“The Ninth is deployed across the northern districts! Your brothers and sisters all see this same force! They, too, will fight it as you do! Take heart in their bravery that you might repay it!”

Closer. She imagined she could hear them beating upon the earth like scattered manic drumming. They were like locusts, which poured out from an open sky. They were beautiful, Sombra’s Opal hissed, beautiful in their ultimate capacity for death.

Closer. She called up her magic and felt its familiar comfort, its familiar sensation. She formed it into a bright, hot point and sent it screaming into the sky as a flare. It soared and then began slowly to fall like a star, a dying fall.

It bathed the snow below in blood-light, and beneath it the horde was visible, the oncoming flood of gnarled flesh and claw and teeth. They were closer now. They moved with such tremendous speed, faster than anypony could hope to match.

“Rifles, ready! Aim! Hold!”

They would be in range any moment. The ninth had been given the rifles left behind in Lord Sombra’s temporal exile. They were of a more civilized time, a more advanced time. These were not the primitive carbines of the southern tribes. These were the rifles of the legions.

She had marked out the ranges herself, but it was hard to see in the light. She cursed. She counted.

“Fire!”

The first volley was like the judgement of a god. Sombra’s Iron Bitch crowed about mingled blood and fire as if simple gunfire would burn a third of the earth. Opal herself simply summoned up her magic, crafted bolts of arcane lightning, and let them loose out across the snow.

If the Mitou fell, she could not see it. There were too many. They came too fast.

“Again!” she screamed. “Continuous volley!”

The rifles of the Ninth thundered into the night. When the flare died, she revived it. While it burned, she scorched the frozen earth with lightning. Her horn burned. Her skin crawled. Her vision blurred and burned, and her eyes were filled with tears from exertion. Sombra’s Opal groaned in ecstasy; she all but purred with delight. And it was a delight! Blood and Iron, all the things she could hope for! Death and victory.

But the horde had not truly slowed. She saw more fall now, grasping at the air, trying to get just a little closer, but still more replaced them. At times, she felt that two replaced every one that fell. They were endless as night and furious as hell.

Her rifles began to cry out in alarm, stunned that the charge had not died. She stood behind them, and none would dare try to pass her. She knew this.

And yet one did. He broke. He let fall his rifle and turned, and before he could jump, she was there, pushing him down. She bared her teeth like a wolf. “If you want to leave, you may do so in pieces,” she hissed. “Cowards die in this legion, you worm, you profligate!”

The riflepony was beyond reason. He squirmed like a wounded animal, crying wordlessly. His eyes were wide, his movements erratic. She roared, and in fury, she threw him behind her. He fell, sobbing, and perhaps he escaped past the infantry in the street and the pegasi on the rooftops. The Legata did not care.

The Mitou were close enough to see each one individually.

She summoned up a last flare and let it loose. This one, she colored blue. Her Lord would know they had met the enemy up close—if nothing else.

Another riflepony tried to flee, but she slammed him into the battlements and screamed at him, animal fury coming out of her. He gripped his rifle again and tried to fire. She took the rifle that the deserter had let fall and held it in her magic, firing it until the clip went dry.

They were so close now.

Opal had never seen them up close before, not alive. Only the bodies they brought back to Imperial Center after a raid or patrol. But now she saw that they towered above her. They were as tall as the barricade was. Maybe taller. They were like gods.

“Pikes! Brace!” she screamed, throwing the spent gun over the battlement in the direction of the foe. “Catch their eyes! Blind them! Break them! Break them!”

The Mitou had passed where the wall had been. They were in the street.

She called up arcane fire and bathed the street in it—even as it burned her blood. But they leaped over the flames.

The first one to reach the barricade balled his hand into a fist and punched straight through the flimsy battlements. Two of her rifleponies went flying. Before Opal could attack the thing with her magic, it had slammed into another pony. She heard the sound of crushed bone. He was pulp, red undifferentiated mass against the crackling wood.

Opal burned the attacker’s great hand, and it reared back, and as it did, a rifle shot caught it in the neck, and it fell into the flames Opal had cast. Another replaced it, emerging from the flames. But on either side of her, pikes braced against Mitou coming over the top began to stab upwards. One caught the attacker right through the eye, and it screamed, thrashing. It broke the pike, and Opal pushed it into the fire with her magic.

The rest was undifferentiated chaos. Rifleponies fired and dodged and screamed. They died like dogs, like worms in the mud. They were crushed. Their blood was red haze. One was grabbed as he tried to clear his jammed weapon and broken in a Mitou’s fist as the creature in full madness of battle bit off his upper half. Opal fought with magic, crafting lances from the barricade itself, felling monsters on her right, casting down monsters on her left. They grabbed at her, but she evaded them. They tried to crush her, but they could not crush the mare who made Sombra smile. She crowed with delight of battle. It was all heat and the taste of blood on her lips and her tongue and her teeth, the smell of it coating her barding, her own petty wounds mixing with the blood of her soldiers and the life of the foe, an amalgamation. She was mad. She let herself over to madness, to wild abandon. Her raw recruits died, crushed and torn to pieces and crippled and spent, and she laughed and forced wood spikes through the eyes of the great gods that came down from the mountains.

One Mitou came out of the flames, larger than the rest. In his hand, he held a massive club, a boulder suspended on a rod of wrought iron he held it above his head, roaring. Below him, Opal roared back, and she called her magic up. But it sputtered and died on her horn. She could feel her blood boiling now, and feel the ache of overwork in her flesh. Her horn was all sharp pain. Powerless. Drained. Empty. She looked for a rifle but could find nothing. She was all but alone. The barricade was baptized in blood. It leaked blood from every gap. There was nothing.

Down came the club. She jumped out of its arcing path.

But it caught her. She was carried down in a hail of shattered wood. Everything went dark.

When she could see again, she saw fire. Wood covered her body, but she shook it off and stood, ready to fight again. Or tried. Her front legs stood proud, but when she took a step, she crumbled.

Her legs. Her back legs hung limp—as if all that kept it attached was stubborn skin. She saw herself now in the firelight and could see how broken her body was. She tried to use her magic again, knowing she would be caught, but it did not come.

The streets had been given over to death. Absurdly, she saw her parents trodding out the grapes in fall, tiny red bodies joining their brothers in a great sea of red wine that would be fit for a king. The Mitou advanced. She could see the Celares harrying them, attacking their heads, pushing them over or trying to. She saw her cohorts in little handfuls, lances high, trying to pierce a Mitou and bring it down. She saw scattered rifles held high, with panicking young ponies trying to reload ancient weapons only to be caught up in great fists. A Mitou mindlessly feasted on the fallen. Her immunes, her unicorns, tried to pool their magicks, but she saw one burn out as she had, and a huge clawed foot kicked him into a wall, and he did not rise.

She was in hell. She had died and now she would be here until the end of days, dying and dying and dying and dying. She wished to scream but had no mouth to do so; she was dead. She was dead. She was—

A fist caught her.

Opal screamed. She bawled like a child, like she had in the Everfree. The Iron Bitch was gone. Sombra’s Opal was broken like a mirror thrown into the street, snuffed out like a candle. She was going to die crying like a child.

She looked up into the beast’s face, and as she felt her mind falling apart, it shuddered. There was the crack of a rifle. Another. Another. Its forehead burst into a fountain of blood, and it fell to the ground, sending Opal flying across the cobblestone.

One of her legionaries was above her, throwing a spent rifle to his side as he knelt to put Opal on his shoulders. “Legata! We must get you out of here!”

She tried to speak but could not.

“Can you walk?” the young stallion tried to hurry, but she knew she was heavy. She removed her helmet with effort. Something exploded to their right, and the young legionnaire kept his footing only barely.

She could feel the pounding feet of a Mitou at their back, but she saw over her rescuer’s head a flying shadow and heard the thing’s cry of death. The soldiers of the Ninth began to fall back all around her. Some ran for their lives, but many did so calmly. They spent their ammunition and kept their pikes up, keeping the horde from overwhelming them. She tried to call out to them, but pain lanced up her side, and she sobbed. Her hearing went first, and then her vision, until she slumped into white noise.

CADANCE SONGBOURNE

Her cheek rested upon the cold stone. It was wonderful. After her burden had been laid down at last, after all of her suffering, this was a just reward. Cadance closed her eyes.

Shining Armor had been there when she had at last surrendered.

Cadance had let out a scream that echoed throughout the palace, and then she had collapsed. Shining had tried to raise her, but she had refused to move. The floor was fine. The floor was more than fine. It was cool to the touch, and she had no need for standing.

Now, he stroked her mane softly. Any moment now, he would be gone. She knew that he had to go. The shield was down; the illusion was down. The Mitou would be inside at any moment. They were probably already inside. Shining Armor remaining with her this long was beyond irresponsible. It was shameful. But here he had stayed, until her breathing had evened out, until her body had stopped seizing.

“The outer barricades are gone,” Shining said, his tone even, controlled.

“Yes.” She had seen it before she had fallen.

“And they’ll be looking for me.”

So the dance began. He would begin his slow retreat, and she would fight it at every turn, clinging, physically or metaphorically, yet binding him as tightly to the floor as she could. She knew this routine. Had she not seen it a dozen times over already in others? She had been a Princess once, a Princess of the Sphere of Love. She had looked into the hearts of mares and seen their anguishes and their hopes. The conversation before her was stock, standard, not in the slightest bit unique. Yet it compelled her attention and her fear all the same.

She cut through to the marrow, disregarding the steps in between. “Don’t go.”

“Cadance, we have to do our duty. You have done yours. I will do mine and then return to you. This is the life we signed on for, remember? You told me that.”

“Yes. I did. But don’t go.”

“I have to.”

Cadance turned her head to look at him. “If you didn’t have to, if there were some way to escape this place, would you go then?”

His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

She was too tired to think. “I don’t know. But we could run. I don’t care anymore.”

“About?”

“About this stupid place and these ponies and their cities and their roads and empires.” She shook. “Shining, all I ever do is care and care, and then they take and take and they never have any idea.” She leaned in towards him, and her mane fell into her face. She growled at it weakly.

And Shining brushed it away. “Cadance, that isn’t true.”

“I hate them. I hate all of them. Like… like parasites,” she hissed. “Just feeding and feeding and whining when I just want to avoid pain! Just once! Nothing is ever enough.”

“Nothing is ever enough,” Shining echoed, softly. Mildly.

“But we could just leave them to this fate of theirs. The world is going that way, anyhow. It’s all going that way. They’re like the fireflies we used to chase in the park—”

“Clover’s Field,” he answered.

“Yes. Remember them? They were very pretty, but ultimately, they were short-lived. Here today and gone tomorrow. So are these. It is the same thing, Shining. The Mountain Gods will devour, and then they will go back to sleep, and the world will keep sliding down into the dark.” She edged closer to him. “But if we leave, we don’t have to suffer anymore. We don’t have to suffer with them and watch them die. We can leave, use our magic, fly far away. And we can be together and happy until the seams finally show and the whole stupid thing breaks.”

“Cadance…” Shining began to stir, but she clung to him. As she knew she would. The whole conversation was already in her head, both sides of it. She felt free now. She felt able to say anything, so she would say anything.

“I could make you immortal,” she said, and then she felt the first tear wet her cheek, and she was furious. She was so angry. She wanted to punch a hole straight through the floor. “I could do it. I could do it. You would never die. You would never grow old. Or at least you would do so slowly, as I do. You would live with me forever.”

“Until the world succumbs and the fox faces the hounds?” Shining asked and chuckled.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, you ass. You complete, utter…” Cadance sniffed. “Ass.”

“Cadance, you don’t hate the ponies here.”

“I hate them,” she returned and buried her face in his coat. His barding was not here. She was so thankful she did not have to see it or touch it. This way, she could imagine he would never put it on. “I despise their miserable, short little lives.”

“You have only lived about as long as I. A bit more. Half a decade. You only settled into the slow aging recently, and even then…”

“I hate their smallness,” she insisted. “How they run around like helpless children for sixty years and then die like idiots in their beds, drowning on their spit. I hate how they… smile at you and then you know they’re going to die before you do and you can’t make it not happen but you have to see them day after day after day. I hate them. I hate everything.”

“No you don’t,” Shining said. She also hated his calmness. But she said nothing. She fumed until she could not support her own anger and then wilted.

“They’re going to kill my little ponies,” she said at last. “They’re going to hurt them. I know it. Shining, I can’t bear it. I love them. I love them so much. I feel them through the Crystal Heart, every little heartbeat and smile and thought are like a warm glow. They’re so afraid.”

“That’s why I have to go.”

“But I’ll lose you. I’ll lose both of you. I have lost so many already to those… those awful things. Those hellspawn. I can’t lose you as well. I’ll die.”

“You won’t,” Shining said.

“I know I won’t and it makes me angry. It makes me want to die knowing I won’t,” Cadance replied, nuzzling into his side. She knew she was quite a sight. Emaciated, sobbing, her voice ragged and cracking. How loathesome she was. How low. “This is not how an Empress is supposed to look,” she complained into his shaggy coat. “Like, at all.”

“It’s how you look, at least right now,” he said, and she knew he smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Just saying. I don’t know much about royalty, but I know you’re beautiful. I’m a simple sort.”

The sound she made through the intermittent crying was more like a bark or a cough then a laugh, but she smiled regardless. “What if you make it through this only to discover I’m ugly forever?” she asked. Her crying had stopped at last. She snuggled now, just happy to be warm. “I’m just this emaciated alicorn zombie forever?”

She felt Shining Armor shrug. “There are worse fates.”

“You’re a liar and flatterer.” Cadence sniffed. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“I may never forgive you if you do not return to me,” she added softly. Her body, which had been stiff from stress and exertion for so long, began to loosen. She felt relaxed for the first time in months. She sighed.

“I don’t intend to leave you behind, my love. You’ll see me again.” In this life or the next, she added for him. “I’m going,” he finished. “The defense of the second layers of barricades will require my direction.”

“I know.” She carefully dislodged herself and lay on the cold floor. “Go then, prince of the sword.” Die in what way seems most fitting to you, she did not add, for she loved him. “I will sleep, I think. Whether I want to or not, sleep is going to take me. So if you are to go, then now is perhaps the best time.”

“Cadance, I…”

“I know. I love you too, my shining fool. I love you. Go. Please, go quickly.” And she did. She loved him. Love burned her, it consumed her. It was the only thing that kept her alive. For a pony could not live by bread alone but on every breath of the Song of love. She wished to go with him, out among the little ponies she could not hate, even if she wished to, out in the fire and smoke, to walk tall and proud like standards against the all-consuming darkness, like Gods out of the tales come to Earth to unmake the chains of shadow. But her consciousness began to fade. She had been so deprived for so long.

He retreated and she laid on the floor. She could not cry. She could not mourn him. She felt only the sort of emptiness one feels after a year of separation and the oncoming rush of sleep. She did not see him leaving her. He did not see his face cast in the shadow of despair, the sickness unto death.

RAINBOW DASH

Even in the chaos of battle, Rainbow Dash could still find enough left of her mind to despise barding. It chafed. It collected her sweat and pressed it into her fur, matting it. Everything itched. Her wings ached.

But that was not because of the barding. No, that was the storm. It was here.

Legionaries ran past them, heading out over the barricades into the city. Rainbow had seen the flares of the Ninth legion from the rooftops, and when they’d stopped she knew that the outer defenses had cracked.

It was strange to see these stuffy military types be so sharp, so focused. She was used to their bluster and their posturing, but there was none of that in the command tent of the Fourth. Legatus Flourite was grizzled, ancient, with an eyepatch that not even Rainbow could find comical and a face that had not smiled in an age. Before him he had arrayed the legions of the Empire across the city and the oncoming horde. His staff kept the map up to date as best they could, receiving reports from breathless pegasi constantly.

Shining Armor stood at the other end of the table from Rainbow and Rarity. The single candleabra that kept the map visible shone about his head like a halo.

The newest scout gave his report to an impatient staffer. “Yes, they’re scattered.”

“Where? I need locations, numbers, times.”

The scout nodded, and then shook himself. “I need a map. I can show you.”

“Do it,” Shining answered for the staffer, and gestured.

Rainbow read his intimidation in every shaking move as he pushed the tokens that represented Mitou further into the city. “I only saw two holdouts where formation was being maintained,” he explained. “The one here, near the center, seems to be holding strong. They’re moving back slowly, and they carry the Legion’s command standard.”

“Opal,” growled the Legatus.

“Yes sir, I think so. I tried to get closer to confirm but they’ve moved in their gunners and it was too much. There is another formation to the west but they were much smaller. I’m not sure they’ll make it much farther before scattering. They may have already.”

“Rest,” Shining said evenly. “Tell the medicus that I said you could have a cot. Report back to your commander soon.”

“I will sir. Yes, your majesty.” The scout bowed and then slumped out, his wings drooping, his face gaunt.

Rarity shifted beside her. It was strange, Rainbow thought, how hyperaware she was of Rarity’s every move now. How much she watched. How much she felt. Had she always been so aware?

“We knew the Ninth would crack, your highness,” Flourite said. “It was why we gave Opal the outermost posting.”

“I had hoped we would be wrong. Damn.” He rubbed his temples. For a moment, he seemed ancient, wizened, carrying a load that would break a pony’s back. “All we had to give her to replenish the Ninth’s losses from Sombra’s fall were recruits. Children.”

“If anyone could make them proper legionaries, it would be Opal,” Flourite said quietly. “But we must look to the present, sire.”

“Running interference.”

“On the contrary, I suggest we cut our losses. If we pull back all but our pegasi, we can consolidate infantry on the main highway.”

“It’s exposed, but you’re right. But what of the Ninth? And the Third, for that matter? The south has held longer than the northern frontier did, but it will break any minute now.”

“They’ll return to us if they can. If we commit to much to supporting them we endanger both forces. We can’t be bogged down in a running battle. Not with these monsters.” The Legatus let out a growl. “Filthy abominations. This is not the kind of battle the legions are used to.”

“Would you abandon them?” Rarity asked. Both stallions looked at her. “Forgive me, but are we not short on ponies as it is?”

Flourite narrowed his good eye at her. “You are a guest and friend of the Prince Consort, but I will not—”

“Lay off,” Shining said, waving his hoof. “You’re right, Rarity, but there’s not much we can do. The city is huge, and frankly it’s because we have so little at our disposal. Four legions may sound like a lot, but all of them are a bit below strength and spread thin as it is. Our only chance to beat the Mitou back is to concentrate our forces so they can’t just break through and pick us apart. We have to consolidate.”

“I understand, sire,” Rarity said, putting a bit too much empahsis on that word. Rainbow frowned, but said nothing. “But it seems that the main contingent of the Ninth may be alive, and they will do wonders to help shore that defense. If they are as coherent as the scout reported, we may need only commit a few soldiers to bolster them long enough so that they may make their escape.”

Shining pursed his lips. “Yes, but I can’t spare any of my officers.”

“With your permission, Rainbow and I have some experience in urban warfare. Specifically, the kind of run-and-gun that your scout reported they are engaged in.”

“Sire, I... “ The legatus paused. He shrugged. “Give her a few of my pegasi, or whatever she wants. It will get her out of what little remains of my mane and perhaps, if she is right, we will have Lord Sombra’s finest general back among the living. Even if they can do little to relieve the Ninth, they could bring it’s mistress to us. Either way, we have lost little.”

Shining eyed him for a long moment, and then turned to Rarity. “I’m not going to call bullshit on your experience. I would like to. I’m not. What do you need?”

Rainbow answered. “We could do it with three pegasi and two or three of your soldiers. If we have too, Rarity could help them carry this Legata mare back and your scouts and I could harass any creeps that try to get close. It can work, Shining. It’s me,” she added, managing a grin.

The Legatus looked as if he was about to blow a fuse over such a casual address, but Shining smirked at her. She even thought he was genuine about it. “I know you can definitely do something. Twilight raved about you. Right, then.” He brought out his seal, found a spare bit of paper, and after a moment had affixed his signature in wax. “Take this. You don’t need a letter. Just show it to the first officer you find and you’ll have your escort. Please,” he said, sighing, “come back alive. My wife will kill me if I lose my sister’s friends.”

“Will do,” Rainbow said.

“Thank you, your grace,” Rarity answered, and then pulled Rainbow out of the tent, sealed parchment in tow.

They had gotten all of eight steps out of the tent before Rarity said what they both knew she was going to say. “That was a bit much, Rainbow. You knew that would bother the Legatus.”

“Yeah, well fuck that guy,” she said, halfheartedly.

“Indeed,” Rarity answered. She chuckled. “Well, shall we? Ride into death together, and all that.”

“Thought we weren’t going to joke about that.”

“Oh, I’m not joking. We shall see our share,” Rarity groused. Rainbow followed her, looking about as she did.

The tents of the forward command camp were dense and packed with ponies. The wounded were toted back behind the frontlines in great columns of groaning. Nervous looking unicorns downed potions as they ran towards the barricades. Weary pegasi stumbled out of the skies, off to report their findings or receive a new heading. She saw in their wings and their bodies the same electricity she felt in her own.

“I can feel the storm still,” Rainbow said.

“Pardon?”

“We feel the weather,” she said. They came to a cluster of tents where a pony with a distinctive crested helmet inspected a line of legionaries.

Rarity coughed to announce her presence. “Excuse me, but I have need of a few able bodies.”

“And you would be? Ma’am, civilians need to be heading towards the citadel,” the officer replied, frowning.

“I am quite aware.” She showed him the seal and he snapped to attention. Rainbow counted the little band, and hummed. As she did so, Rarity continued speaking. “I don’t need all of you. A few. I shall also need you tell me where I might acquire the services of fliers… ah, but I see you have two of your own.”

“Ma’am, I am the Decanus of these tents. Take all of us. We’re only ten, but we can do the job.” He bowed slightly. Rainbow was once again amazed at how much stock ponies put into things like seals and crowns. But she guessed loyalty was loyalty. She still respected it.

“Decanus, I will take you up on that.” Rarity turned to Rainbow. “Think this will work?”

“We’ll see.”

No battle is clean. But battle within the confines of a city is far, far worse. On a wide field, the semblance of order, the veneer of control and command could be maintained to some degree in battle lines, in charge and countercharge, in the lumbering dance that is a clash of armies. But in a city the lines break down. Battle within any sort of settlement sees the same thing, played out predictably, endlessly. There is no space for formations to outmaneuver each other in the streets of a town. They cannot turn and flank the enemy, or rush from high ground to lower. They are blocks, awkward and unwieldy, being jammed into holes that are just barely large enough.

In the suburbs of Manehattan Rainbow and Rarity had learned what it was to fight in between houses, row on row. They had been on the fringes, kept out of the worst of it, but in any battle worth its name, even the dregs are hell.

The ideal was to move in pockets, small handfuls of swift running outriders. You hit hard. You hit fast. You used the houses to hide in and and you used them as shields to keep the enemy from mowing you down. You used them knowing that a well-placed spell could obliterate them and leave you naked as the day you’d been born.

Imperial Center was worse than Manhattan, Rainbow thought without a single shade of doubt. Even with its eventual madness, with the guerillas mowed down in the streets by blunderbuss and sword, desperate to reach friendly lines and their princess. They believed. But here, she felt as if the isolated firepits where Griffons who had lost their minds gnawed on pony flesh and cackled about the coming suffocating ashy darkness were erased from the earth—she felt as if the whole city were that on repeat. Like when she had broken Twilight’s gramophone, in days that felt like another age of ponykind.

Fire. Blood. Mangled bodies. A half-eaten or torn or only the pitying stars knew what pony, his eyes wide, his mouth wide, his broken pike all around him in splinters.

They ran. They did not stop except to maneuver around the roadblocks Shining had ordered erected on the side streets. They avoided the major byways, keeping one step ahead of the horde’s path. But they could not avoid the monsters forever. The Gods catch up to the quick, and they leave the dead.

Rounding a corner, they all but ran into a lone Mitou. It carried one of their massive handcannons, and as soon as Rarity’s party was in view it brought the monstrous weapon to bear. Rainbow and the two pegasi serpentined immediately, twisting their paths in the air. Rarity jumped to the side, and the others scattered.

One did not. The gun fired, emitting a loud boom that all but shattered Rainbow’s hearing. The creature was shadowed in smoke. His scattershot coated the street, ricocheting wildly. But the bulk of it tore one of the legionaries to shreds, reducing him to ribbons.

The others charged, screaming their defiance. The two in front had long lances, the kind that Rainbow had seen Shining’s patrol wield, that elongated from a small baton. They were light, but not flimsy, and she saw their worth again as the two charging soldiers parted and hit the beast below the ribs on either side and passed him like a wave breaking on a firm boulder. It roared and swiped at them, but caught nothing. In the wake of its attack, the others leapt at it, tearing at its legs with their hoofblades.

It staggered, and Rainbow dove, her hooves outstretched. She hit it solidly in the head, at a perfect angle. The neck cracked and it crumpled like a wet bag.

They did not pause. They ran on. The Mitou would not be alone. Others would come.

Rainbow kept them oriented. The scouts had seen the map, and knew the city, but Rainbow kept the lines of communication open. Rarity would look up, and Rainbow would be her great sign, steering her away from fighting in the streets and towards the retreating Ninth.

They steered clear of a large confrontation. Rainbow knew it was probably the other surviving formation that the beleaguered scout had mentioned, but they could do nothing for them. Even from a block away she knew they would not hold out long. She saw ponies beginning to scatter. Many would be hunted down. Most, in fact. Some would make it back safety behind the lines, but there would be no true safety there, no true rest. They would be put back into the defense.

The wind had picked up. Snow fell thickly now, almost too thickly to see, but a pegasus was not daunted by storms. No, she lived for the sound and fury of them. The blood of a thousand fliers pulsed in her veins. She saw clearly, felt clearly. She felt the lightning like a kiss on the neck. It shivered down her spine. Thundersnow. A ridiculous name for a holy thing, holy in that it was separated from the godlessness of the ground and its suffering.

They came upon a market, and Rainbow cursed. It was wide open, practically. Plenty of small, breakable cover, but no structures to put between them and an attack.

And all at once she knew they would need such a thing. Up ahead, a battered cohort’s survivors beat a wild retreat, flooding into the marketplace. She soared ahead with only a gesture to the other pegasi, and signalled to Rarity to stop.

Rarity did. Her escort formed up in a tight circle around her.

Rainbow flew ahead into the wind. She cut it like a knife, she broke it like a bullet, and above her the scouts followed like birds of prey.

Seizing up the situation took only the briefest of looks. Of the cohort’s one hundred strong there were perhaps thirty left. Eight to ten Mitou followed a short distance behind. The legionaries pushed abandoned carts into a wall, a few of them calling on their magic to help. Rifleponies reloaded their weapons. She saw two pikes left. They would need more. She flew by them so fast that she could hear her wake, circling and returning to Rarity with a great thud on the cobblestones.

“Rainbow, what is going on up there?” Rarity demanded.

“Sorry, Rares. Survivors moved in. Brought a fuckton of Mitou with them.”

Rarity groaned. “Perfect. Fantastic. Can we go around?”

Rainbow was about to say that yes, they could probably skirt the edges of the market square and avoid the fighting if they were quick. She did not say that.

“Rares, they can win. If they win here they could make it back.”

Rarity didn’t say anything.

Rainbow continued. “Rares, if we just help them a bit, they can win. The ration could be worst, with us they have a fighting chance and we can bail if it gets too hairy. Please.”

Rarity looked to the Decanus. His face was a grim mask. A death mask, like the ones they laid the old strategoi of Cloudsdale in, she thought.

“Ma’am, if I may… these are my brothers. If there is a chance we could aid them, I ask that you let us. But if it will endanger our mission, then we should press on. That is the wise choice”

“Gotta choose quick,” Rainbow said. She danced from hoof to hoof. It was time to fly.

“It is not wise to engage. We are already down a stallion, and we are still several blocks from the Ninth, if we are right about their path. But—”

“Rarity, please. They’re gonna die. They’re on our side. We can’t just leave them! I can dive in there, you can hit them with spells. Their magic is probably to the breaking point, but you’re fresh. Rares. We have to do this. We have to.”

“And we will. Decanus, advance in front of me. I will snipe from behind your wall. Rainbow, harry the foe as you can, but be cautious. If we lose anyone we are pulling out. We can’t afford casualties this early. Be careful,” she added, forcefully. Rainbow shivered.

She took to the skies.

The cohort had assembled a small barricade in record time. Desperation is a marvelous thing, Rainbow had always known this. But even so she was impressed. They saw her, and the pegasus that the cohort had left dipped her wings in greeting. Rainbow returned her warrior’s greeting.

Rarity was quick behind her, and she needed to be. The Mitou poured into the open square. They too now lacked the cluster of urban cover. The rifles had reloaded. They were braced against the overturned carts and they fired, a volley that laid two of the leading giants low.

And so Rainbow and her three wingponies dived in. Their shod hooves were like hammers on the monsters’ heads. They beat upon their backs and their shoulders. The scouts had hoofblades which tore at their skin. They would dive, strike, and then climb up to circle back. They came as a wave, and when they departed the rifles shot in the gaps.

Not all of the attackers were deterred or distracted. One broke through the harassment and smashed one of the carts, crushing ponies and sending splinters flying.

Rarity’s magic came at last to the aid of the embattled survivors. A bolt of arcane lightning hit the Mitou in the chest and it howled as it felt. A second silenced it, and it did not rise. A third arced over its body, catching another beast.

A minute passed. Another. Rainbow lost track of what happened, what she did. Her body moved as if it had done nothing but fight since it was born. Everything was haze and gunsmoke.

But then they were all gone. The Mitou lay dead in the street, a natural wall.

The survivors cheered, but Rarity’s mission had no time for celebration. Rainbow dipped her wing to the bleeding scout of the cohort and with barely a salute, they continued on.

It was not long after that one of the scouts finally located the Ninth’s command cohort. Its standard was still in tact. Its pikes were still held high against the enemy. Its rifles still volleyed. But it was badly bloodied. Rainbow waved the scouts ahead and flew over Rarity’s head, guiding her like a mariner’s star through twisting alleys.

They came out behind the pikes, and Rarity made a beeline for the dense center of the formation. Rainbow had done what she could. The Ninth lived still. Whether they evacuated the Legata or not, the Ninth was alive now. Harried, pursued, but breathing.

SHINING ARMOR

He had received news from Rarity in the form of another panting scout. He was glad to hear it.

When Legata Opal’s contingent made it to the second line of defense, the frontier had collapsed. They had beat a general retreat. More had made it back to the new frontline than he had ever dared hoped. He was proud. He was also despondent.

He looked for not the first time to the Citadel at the heart of the city, the great spire of the Crystal Emperors. His wife was in there. Was she enjoying the cool of her face on the stone? Had she retaken her throne? Was she asleep, or awake? Did she watch him from the balconies or did she already mourn?

He wanted to go back. He needed to go back. The cares and the fears of those around him were unreal, secondary, tertiary, shadowy. His wife was real. She was solid. He understood battle but he did not live for it. He could live for her.

Flourite was an ass. When Rarity had returned, he had felt something resembling amusement at the veteran’s frustration that a civilian had proven him mistaken. But that had been washed away as the first waves of Mitou hit the reinforced barricades.

From the command tent, he surveyed the state of the battle. Things were going poorly, as expected. However, they were not going quite as poorly as he had feared. The outer defenses had fallen very quickly, but he had expected them too. They had felt the full weight of the enemy. But the city was like quicksand. The horde could not push its weight around in the tight, constricting streets. Its numbers were useful but hampered. Yes, it could afford to replace every fallen individual, but they could not flank. Simply put, they were too massive for their own good.

The first two sorties against the wall had been unsuccessful. The Mitou had fallen back, or been wiped out. But he knew they were testing him, probing these new, fresher meat, waiting for a hole. He would not give them one. He would give monsters no toehold in his city.

But even as he thought this, a horn blew. Shining’s head shot up and his eyes narrowed. He left the tent.

And stepped into chaos. Already, he saw his personal guards forming up to shield his tent from the barricade, and to his horror he saw the Mitou had scaled it. Two were among the tents, flailing, destroying as they went.

He strode forward. The sound of his hoofblades against the stone cleared his mind of doubt. He would drive them back himself.

“Your orders, my lord?” asked the closest of his Companions.

“Follow,” he barked, and set into a dead run. They flanked him on either side, a dozen of them.

They crashed into the enemy. Shining killed one of the interlopers outright with a concentrated ball of balefire, blowing the thing away. The second his guard disposed of with lances.

But beyond the makeshift camp, the Mitou had turned the well-tuned machinery of Shining’s defense into a bedlam. Isolated, cut off from support, individual ponies were swept into a dozen two on one or one on one confrontations, and they died quickly.

Shining’s magic came to his command with ease, with practiced eagerness. He struck again and again. His guard drove the Mitou to the ground with lances, and then he would finish them off, roaring as his fire drove their impurity from the earth. They did not run from him, but he did not run from them. He walked at a steady measure pace. They rushed, and he seared them, he batted them away like a foal shooed an insect.

At last, they were no more. Shining stood among their ashes. He wept, but turned from the eyes of his guards. No pony was near him.

When he had calmed himself, he set new soldiers on the walls, and spoke to them evenly, calmly. This would not happen again. They would not allow the enemy past them without having expended all ammunition, all strength.

Yet, as he strode off he had little confidance. Even when a runner came bearing news that the city garrison’s cannons had been recovered, he felt only mild elation. Yes, it would help. He had them split between the second and final layers of his defense. Yes, they would be a good thing. But he was still out here, and she was in there, and the city was on fire.

CADANCE SONGBOURNE

When she awoke she was alone.

Her body was no longer numb. She could feel the lightest of thrums along her horn, the tell-tale spark of magic. But she still ached, and she still felt frozen. Groaning, she tried to rise, but she was on unsteady legs. She fell.

Perhaps she would try again, but for now she waited.

Why did she wish to get up on her hooves again, anyhow? Where was there to go? There was no place to run, really. For all of her pleading, there really was no escape she could manage to pull off like this, in this horrid state.

Yet, she felt that it was necessary that she do so. It felt as if walking were the most important thing she could be doing right at the moment, walking out of the throne room, walking back to her private chambers, walking to the stairs beyond her study, the ones she had been up only a few times.

“Why?” she croaked. “Why?”

There was, of course, no one to answer her, pony or otherwise.

Not for the first time, she wished fervently to have heard the Song. The desire came to her at the worst times, when she had no time to wish or dream, when she had not the energy to regret the accident of her birth. The curse of the bastard of immortality and dust. Her mother deathless except by her own choice in Henosia, in the north that slept in snow, her father dead and gone. She had not been there at the beginning, she could only hear what others could hear, stuck with the sounds of the earth and the sound of the sky.

Again, she felt the need to walk. She got up, shaking, but she did not fall. Her legs resisted gravity as much as they could, and somehow, miraculously, Every step back towards the throne was awful. Every step was a nightmare. One, two. Pain, pain, pain, pain. When she came to the throne she could not touch it. She could not lean on it for support, though she needed to, she wanted to. She dragged herself onward, past the hated throne, past the dais, raised slightly with the steps that snared her hooves. But she did not fall. Not yet.

She found the wall. She found the gilded door, and passed beyond it, into her own antechamber. The air smelled stale. Nopony had stirred the dust on the furniture nor breathed to disrupt the silence. Shining had slept at her hooves or in the barracks. She had slept but little, always in her throne, trapped.

She stumbled on the carpet, hitting chin first. Her vision swam, and for a moment she feared it would knock her back into sleep, but she stayed conscious.

It was then that she heard it. It was not a song. It was not, strictly speaking, even a sound. It was something indescribable. She started, her eyes wide.

When she rose again, when she continued on, she did so with less suffering and less effort. Yes, she was meant to come this way. She was meant to climb and climb. Yes, there would be something there.

She had meant to tell him all along that there was something she had not told him about. There was something beyond the entropy of her own body, something like an inarticulate sunlight. Glimpsed through an unseen window, perhaps. Sidelong, like...

She had no energy to continue to think.

FLUTTERSHY

When they brought the patient to her, they found Fluttershy at wits’ end in the seventh circle of hell. She had lain among the fires and seen the many ways a pony’s body could break, and seen all the different angles that skin could tear and weep.

So her eyes were wide, but empty. Unseeing. Blind like a seed in the earth and moved to purposes beyond her.

She could, however, listen. She was excellent at listening. Even in trauma, in deep shock, this did not leave her. It helped that it was Rarity who led the train of incoming wounded, with Rainbow at her heels. The image was of a dog but Fluttershy thought distantly that she was more like a shield in a Griffon’s fist.

“Fluttershy, dear, are you…” Rarity tried to say something. Fluttershy stared at her.

“Flutters, you look like you’ve seen some stuff,” Rainbow said quietly.

“I have,” Fluttershy answered.

“Shy,” Rarity tried again, “we need your help. We’ve brought you an officer. She’s hurt, but stable. I’m not asking you to make her battle-worthy, because that is impossible. All that I require is you help us keep her conscious and alert.”

“Of course,” Fluttershy responded automatically. She turned and rooted through the crates of supplies that had formed her wall. “Bring her here, and I’ll do what I can.”

These crates were home. Home was a wall one pony high and four ponies wide. There was nothing beyond the Wall. Sometimes ponies came from the nothing and she bound their wounds and gave them what medicine she could. The Opium weed she had brought from Canterlot, weak but useful, was gone. All of her original bandages were gone. The packs of anti-bacterials she had brought were gone. The Imperial supplies were gone.

When they brought her patient, Fluttershy was considering how long she could ration morphine between several hundred ponies.

Her first impression was that there was going to be no way to ration morphine, and so she immediately stopped caring about it. Impossible. It was easy to forget that the injuries that afflicted this growling, grimacing unicorn on her cot were normal. Leg obviously broken. She saw a chip on the horn. Multiple bandages she would need to change and wounds she would need to clean.

“Rarity, I need you to do something.”

“I… yes, of course. Yes. What?”

“I need you to levitate her. Slightly. Just enough to keep her from putting too much pressure on that leg. The cots suck,” she said, and her voice cracked. She coughed. “Sorry. They are falling apart, as well. Rainbow, could you run and find me anypony who looks like a medic who isn’t immediately busy?”

“Yeah, you got it, Shy,” Rainbow said. Fluttershy was busy pulling bandages off of the leg to see her go, but she felt the rush of air from her departure.

Fluttershy was a machine. She redid the bandages—they were sloppy, and the attempts to clean the wounds on the field had been poor. She was not surprised, considering. But they were clean now.

When Rainbow returned with a harried-looking medic Fluttershy put him to work. She did not know much about surgery or medicine beyond how to administer it, but broken legs? She knew how to set a bone. She had set quite a few. The animals under her provision lived in a hostile environment, not in that it was always out to get them but that it was free, wild, unrestrained by the small rules of a civilized village like her own.

She was quick. She was thorough.

Her patient was surly. When she was awake, she bared her teeth like a lion at them. Her medic tried to back off, but Fluttershy kept him from going very far. She had faced down a manticore more than once, and plucked a thorn from its paw. She had been adored by bears and played among the wolves. She feared no beast, even one in barding.Instead, Fluttershy spoke to her.

“It’s fine. You’re behind the lines.”

“I am not wounded. Release me from your hold. I will walk back.”

“You would be crawling back,” Fluttershy corrected.

“This is intolerable. I feel perfectly fine!” Opal roared. Fluttershy had learned her name in between bouts of painkillers.

“You feel that way because you’re intoxicated from medication,” Fluttershy said evenly, quietly, like a mist that encroached and was not halted. “In thirty minutes to an hour you will start to feel worse.”

“I do not understand what you are doing.”

“I am going to set your leg. You will probably feel it even with the aneasthesic. It will hurt,” she added, by rote. “So you should probably—”

“I need nothing. Do it, then.”

Fluttershy leaned in, put her hooves on either side, and with a violence and a suddenness that no doubt shocked her companions, set the bone. The Legata shook, but did not cry out. Fluttershy blinked, backed away, and nodded. “Are you alright?”

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” Opal said.

Fluttershy sighed. “I can give you some—”

“No! Lyrae, who loves the mortal ponies of earth, no! I would rather die than be subjected to your primitive witchery,” Opal managed. Her face was pale, her breathing harsh. Fluttershy knew that she would need something to keep pressure off the leg, but before she could say a word Opal had started to rise. Fluttershy noticed at last: her legs seemed limp. Too limp. This was not mere weakness, she knew at once. She knew it not as doctors knew the bones of the body but as a painter knew the proportions of the face. she felt her chest clench.

“Please, sit down,” Fluttershy began. “I’m not done.”

“I am. I will not be held here while the Empire’s heart burns! The right hoof of Lord Sombra will not be held by a primitive!”

Fluttershy, much to her own surprise, had something alive left inside of her. It was not alive in the way that a tree is alive, or a bird, or a beast of the field was alive. It was alive in the fashion that a fire was alive, like the great fires of a master smith, which raged so hot that to see them was to feel them.

“You are going to be still,” she said, every word like a hammerblow. Every syllable saw her louder, little by little until she was all but screaming. “You are going to lie down. I am going to finish working on you, and you are going to shut your mouth and then I am going to pump you full of anti-bacterials and then you are going to leave my cot and you are going to do it and be very, very quiet,” she finished. Her chest heaved.The wings on her back, the ones which still kept trembling with the feeling of a raging storm, were flared out, making her seem twice as large.

Everyone was silent.

Opal laid back down. Her legs—her limp legs Fluttershy knew, just knew, were useless, were tended to. But wasn’t it useless? Futile? Why fix that which cannot be made whole? Why bandage the wound that will never close? Why?

Fluttershy worked without further interruption, and when they left she curled into a ball in the middle of her crates and cried.

CADANCE SONGOURNE

The Great Staircase seemed boundless, endless, defying all expectation of height and form. It was a perfect spiral, congruent as the snail’s shell, never ceasing as the golden ratio. In short, it was hypnotic and Cadance was struggling to stay awake.

It was funny how similarity could lull one to sleep. Drowsiness crept up on the mind like a cautious, desperate animal, never quite in sight but never willing to abandon its quarry. At the corner of her eyes, it would stalk and steal her peripheral vision away, and then her focus, and then when it had taken these things it would lay her down on the stair to rest.

She had rested, but it was not enough. Months of toil had left her with an abiding ache that no mere nap could ease. True, she was an alicorn. Though she was fond of saying that there were alicorns and alicorns, Cadance knew that her kind was beyond simple resilience and with time and rest she would be fine. But both of these things were in short supply. She had no time. She had to reach the top.

Why? Why was she climbing the spire?

She had no idea.

Because the air wanted her to. Because it thrummed and sang and cooed to her as she climbed.Yes, this was the right way. At the top everything would make sense and all would be revealed. The final resort for the emperors of the city of crystal. She would see the final solution to the darkness. Come, come.

How long had she been climbing? Realistically she knew it could not have been that long, but it felt like weeks. Weeks since she had seen Shining. How long had it been since they had shared a normal afternoon together?

Her mind drifted back into the past as her steps carried higher and higher into the neverending sky.

Shining and Cadance, sitting on a park bench, watching Aunt Celestia gracefully guide the sun in the last moments of its descent. She did not need to do this intentionally, much as Cadance did not need to breathe manually, but she did so regardless. Cadance had asked her why once, and Celestia had said that it was good also to hear oneself breathe, to feel ones’ own breath, and so she manually lowered the sun on occasion in order to feel what it was to be herself. Cadance found this strange, but it was always a nice evening when Celestia decided to indulge this philosophy.

Cadance sipped tea. Shining wrapped a foreleg around her. A sleepy looking Luna laid on her back in the grass, and all four of them enjoyed the privacy of Celestia’s innermost sanctum, the Garden of Dawn.

How marvelous to lie in the dying light of the sun, in the embrace of a lover, his lips upon your brow and his warmth dwelling with your warmth! How lovely it was to feel the breeze roll past as it swept over the mountain face, over the terraced garden and through the trees! How lovely, to enjoy the shade of the birch tree and feel the kiss of grass and smell the soft scent of flowers and the musk of her husband’s thick mane and the peculiar scent of night time’s nascent moments!

She felt more alive now, more focused. With every step she thought again of Shining, and of her Aunt’s garden, and of Luna’s little observatory, and of Twilight’s childish antics in the long distant past, and of her mother’s castle in snowy Henosia. She thought of the warmth of the summer sun and the cool of the autumn evening. She thought of the ancient, happy streets of Canterlot and the smiling walks of Ponyville. She thought of all things bright and beautiful that spun out of the good world’s turning, all of them born out of a Song, and in these things she thought of all that was not death. Death was a door that opened.

No, that was not it.

She remembered hazily. One night she had wandered in the gardens of the palace. Equestria had been new and strange. It had been a land of ponies who spoke oddly and seemed not to understand who she was. Nopony knew her but her aunt. But in the dark of the garden, her aunt was absent. And so her hanger-ons, her so-called companions, all the ponies she had seen or talked to—they had vanished. They slept. She was alone in the garden, even when she was not alone. Aunt Celestia had given her an attendant, a young mare with pretty mane and bright eyes. That mare was the first mare Cadance looked on and found beautiful in a way that was more than aesthetic. But that night, she fell asleep and Cadance cried for her lost home and her exile from it. Alone.

How she had wept! How she had fervently hoped that her mother would appear and bring her home, to where the sun shone through on the wintery crags and brought them little warmth. It was so hot here. The air was so thick. She suffered, she wandered. When she had found Shining, he had been an outreached foreleg pulling her out of the waves.

What if death would be like that? What if it would be going down into those waves again? Lost in another land where the language is unfamiliar? Some other country beyond the walls of morning, perhaps. Would they all be there? All of the little souls in the streets and the tents? The little ones who cowered in the houses? Would they all be strangers?

Cadance stumbled on one of the steps. She fell, going only a few steps back before she caught herself.

RARITY

There is a point at which no pony can bear to see or hear or do anything, and Rarity was fast approaching that point. Hours had passed. The night was passing, and yet it seemed not to wish to. The darkness clung to everything that the fire did not burn. The Giants rushed out of the dark only to be blown to smithereens by cannons and gunfire and magic, and then more came. And then more came. And then more came.

She had eaten. She had even slept. Rarity found that in the most dire of circumstances, of all times on this journey, she was quite well provisioned. They had even brought her a measure of wine to ease her heart’s sorrow. It was pitiful stuff, but the alcohol was in it still, and she took it gladly. She shared it with Rainbow, and together they sat against a house that had been only half-burned.

The Mitou had, of course, brought their own guns. These were almost cannons themselves. Only constant application of magic kept the walls in one piece. Rarity did her part same as the immunes of the legions, fortifying over and over. It was not a hard spell, just a tiring one. While one unicorn or two kept all of the disparate pieces held together, the rest bound each item to its neighbor by thaumaturgic means, making them inseparable. It reminded her of the classes she had taken at the community college before the boutique had gotten successful. When she’d had time.

It was in these circumstances that Rarity found herself thinking of three things.

The first was of death. Oh death, that rode like a pale horse through the tattered streets of mortals with no remorse, who took the ones who must be taken and spared without sentiment.

The second was Rainbow. Rarity had been using her magic this whole time, but the number of mages present had meant she had had plenty of time to recuperate. But Rainbow had pressed herself to the limit, without rest or hesitation, for hours. Was she alright? Rarity wanted to ask. She would ask. But she needed a moment to catch herself. Words came easier when one was composed.

The third was Twilight. Where was she? Where was their favorite bookworm, their teacher’s pet, their beloved apostate? She had led them from the first. They had always revolved around her, not as sycophants or sidekicks but as spokes around a great wheel, all of them keeping the shape and the form and the function of their turning. It was inaccurate to say that without Twilight she was lost. She could live without Twilight or Applejack. She got along alright without Pinkie Pie or Spike. But she needed them as she needed anything of the spirit: desperaely.

“Are you awake, Rainbow?”

“Yeah.”

Rarity hummed. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know.”

That was fair. Rarity stirred and nuzzled her. “The attacks come less frequently now.”

“Probably because they’ve been probing us and they’ve decided where they wanna go,” Rainbow said dully.

“Oh,” she said. She more breathed than spoke. There was not much energy left over for expression, for dramatics. “Do you want to get out of here?” she said, without thought. “Just leave. Retreat. Fly, if you will.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I just thought maybe if it was simply two of us—sorry, Fluttershy, three—we might could evade capture and get far enough away to escape all of this.”

Rainbow stirred and looked up at her. “Are you a changeling?”

Rarity blinked. “No?”

“I thought so. So why the hell are you talking like that?” She frowned and then went back to staring ahead, her amen right underneath Rarity’s chin. “Rares, you don’t run away. I mean, if you can get everybody out you do, but you don’t abandon ponies. Sometimes I do, on accident. Remember that time in Appaloosa?”

“I try not to. It was hours before you lot came back for Pinkie and I. Pinkie. And I. Alone. On that silly cart.”

Rainbow laughed weakly. “But you and me, Rares? We wouldn’t leave these guys. We can’t. Even if we wanted to, and I know you don’t wanna.”

She didn’t.

“I guess so.”

“Rares?”

“Yes?” She answered. In the distance, she heard a commotion. They were back, perhaps, with their guns and their pounding feet.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Rainbow, if you’ll believe it,” Rarity said softly. “I think we’ll be needed soon.”

“I know. I heard them before you. Felt them through the ground.”

“You would. Warrior.”

“You are too now, you know,” Rainbow shot back.

Rarity shrugged. She supposed it was true.

The first shots hit the wall and she knew that the magic was buckling. They got to their hooves and almost lazily Rarity called up her arcane power and put it into the fortification. “I think I saw the scoutmaster running back that way,” she said, pointing. “If you’re going to link up with them again.”

Rainbow said nothing. She nodded and was into the sky in a heartbeat.

ZEPHYR

The Ninth legion had broken. The others? He had no idea. They burned or held, he did not know—he cared, but in a distant way. It was the immediate that mattered.

What was immediate was that the Cohort X Rapax of the Ninth Legion was reduced to four pegasi. This was, as could be imagined, far below its proper strength.

They were basically helpless.

He had cursed more in the last two hours than he had in his entire short life. Albeit, not that much of an accomplishment, but a stallion took what he could in the chaos of war. One of those things was the entire line of thought that had just passed through his mind because it was completely bullshit and he was going to die who cared if he said “fuck” a few times before some Mitou blew his head off with a handcannon?

Nopony, that’s who.

Flying over the great vague shape of the city was disorienting. At times, he had wished for more fires, if only to help him navigate.

He was no Celestialist, no Supernalist. He prayed no prayers to the Stars, nor did he worship the Sun and Moon. Yet, even he looked down below and thought to himself that he could almost believe what they whispered about the Outer Dark. Regions of sorrow, where peace could never dwell, and hope never never came, but only torture. Darkness, visible.

The survivors had tried to link up with the front line several times. It seemed as if it would be simple, at first: just fly towards the Spire, and you’ll all but be there. And in a purely directional sense, flying made it much simpler. But flying took energy, effort, focus. The third he could spare, his mind made like a blade from fear. The other two were beyond them in anything more than short bursts. Yes, they could ride the harsh wind for a few blocks, but then fatigue weighed them down and they stopped, panting, on the roofs.

At this rate, they were never going to make it.

And they were very close. Zephyr had seen fire from the frontline up ahead of them, maybe four blocks, maybe five blocks away. One long jump. Realistically, two shorter ones. Either way, they might could make it to safety. But they probably wouldn’t. And why? Because the Mitou clogged the streets now. The four survivors had gone unnoticed for now. They were appetizers, sideshows, and the main event of the night was up ahead. For once, Zephyr was glad to have the spotlight on someone else.

Hurricane, his wingmate, shivered. “I can’t look at them,” she whispered. “We’re going to die up here or down there or somewhere.”

“We’re almost there,” Zephyr answered hollowly. “Just one more jump.”

“Two, at least. Unless we rest longer,” said another.

“If we wait longer they’ll notice us,” Hurricane said and laid her head on the roof. They were all exhausted. The temptation to simply lie down, to sink into the oblivion of restful sleep, was far too great. Few dangers could hold off the body’s need for rest. Even those that should forestall weariness sometimes did not.

The more they jumped, the higher the chance of being seen as well. “If we could count on our own fliers seeing us and clearing us a hole, this would be a lot easier.”

They were silent a few more minutes.

Hurricane rose. “Come on.”

They all stood, and stretched their aching wings. One more flight, Zephyr told his wings, once more and then we can go lie down. I promise. No more flying after this for awhile.

They moved as one. Zephyr took a running jump and was in the air. The wind caught at his wings. Pain shot up his back and he cried out, but did not falter.

He was close enough to make it. They all were. He could almost feel the ground on his hooves, could almost hear the voices of other ponies. His heart lept within him, and he turned his head to call to his companions.

The Mitou noticed them. They must have, for as he turned, there was a deafening sound, and before his eyes he saw Hurricane disappear in a cloud of feather and blood. The mist coated his face. He tried to say something or to scream but could not.

The barricade was so close, but his wings seized up. His back froze. It refused to move. It was finished. This would have to be enough. But it was not enough, it was not nearly enough. He crashed to the ground perhaps thirty yards from the barricade. He crawled, and every foot hurt him. Every little hoof’s length was torture.

The Mitou advanced behind him. He did not know if his companions had survived. For a single moment, he did not care. He cared only about getting farther, about breathing one more time, about not being crushed. He wanted to live.

It was in this state that he saw her.

She was beautiful. He saw this even in his feverish state. A Unicorn as white as snow, her mane flowing royal purple, her eyes flashing blue like the hottest fires, Magic glowed about her like an aura. Like a star—no, like a meteor she hurtled down from the battlements and bathed the ground around Zephyr in magical fire. At her side flew others. A pegasus with the colors of the rainbow, in a scout’s barding. She moved with lightning speed. A blink was too long for her. She would steal the breath from a dying man and return in enough time to pay him back tenfold. She came like one of the warlords out of the stories that every pegasus dreamed of when the wise blood took over. Soldiers followed at their heels. Lances went over his head. Rifles went off near him, shaking his hearing. He could not hear anything at all, until She came to him.

She stood before him. Zephyr thought this unicorn was the most beautiful pony he had ever seen. Perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He was not a praying pony, but he worshipped her, for she was divine. She had pulled him out of the fire.

When the rainbow-maned pegasus who was her retainer helped Zephyr onto the back of a sturdy legionnaire he lost his battle to overwhelming weariness.

CADANCE SONGBOURNE

Night and day do not matter apart from the light of the sun and the silver reflection of the moon. Hours have little meaning in the vacuum of contextless isolation. Time is fluid.

So it was for Cadance.

She had lost track of how many steps she had climbed. Twice, actually. She was sure that it had not been more than a day, if that long. Mostly sure. She knew that the army outside was no doubt losing. She knew her name. These were the things she knew, and that she repeated.

For, as Cadance was apt to say at times to her husband, there were alicorns and alicorns. She was of a race with wills of iron, or at least the appearance of such. She was tough. Her body endured more punishment than any normal pony could bear. It weathered time, resisted age, laughed at disease, fought poison like a veteran beats back a child’s charge. But there were some things not even this fantastic body of hers could do. One of them was endure past the point of absolute exhaustion.

Twice she had fallen and lain on the smooth steps, struggling to stay awake. If she slept… she did not know what would happen. Something would happen. Or rather, something would not happen. What would or would not happen was, of course, a mystery to her. This whole road of sorrows was a mystery to her. The call had not weakened, at least. She knew now that it was some sort of call. In rare moments of perfect lucidity she recognized it as magical. She suspected that it might be some final weapon. She thought for a moment that there might be some last bit of life in the Crystal Heart, but had she not drained it dry? And the hope of her dear little ponies was in short supply. It was the long night. She could not expect them to hope.

Up. Always up. Further up and further in.

She returned over and over to death and what it was. Did her ponies shiver and then go still, silent as into a long sleep? Did they scream and in death scream forever, spiralling down and down, drawn back below into the rind of the world? Was death a door that opened?

It plagued her. She knew, though she could not put it into words, that the truth would be revealed to her in short order. Even if she made it to the top of the spire without collapsing or falling and breaking her neck, eventually the monsters would find her and rip her to pieces. Shining would die. Everypony would die. How sad, that Rarity and her friends had come all this way only to be trapped in the last moments of an empire that should have fallen long ago.

And suddenly, she was there. The door was before her. At first, she did not comprehend it. Surely, she had not climbed so far already. But time is soft and does not run evenly to those who are exhausted.

Cadance pushed open the door to the Sanctum of the Emperors.

Inside, she found a few trappings. A chair. A bed. A table. A few beautiful paintings older than she by thousands of years. A small bookcase.

The Crystal Heart sat on its pedestal. It glowed faintly.

Cadance wondered at it. Even after the great burden it had borne, still it had enough magic left in it to glow. What a work of art! What a task of love it was. She would bar the door, she decided at once. Seal this room so that nothing would ever enter and tarnish this last testament.

THAT WILL NOT BE NECCESSARY.

Cadance shook. The force of the voice sent her sprawling and she lay on the floor, prostrate before the heart.

“What… who?”

YOU HAVE COME. YOU HAVE CLIMBED THE HILL.

“What are you? Are you the heart?” she asked. She ground her teeth. She felt as if a building had fallen on her back.

I AM THE HEART, AS YOU WOULD SAY IT. SO IT IS. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU HAVE COME?

“Because it’s the end,” she replied, and coughed.

YES. THE END OF ALL THINGS. OR, THE END OF THESE THINGS AROUND YOU. IT NEED NOT BE SO. BUT IT MAY BE SO.

“What do I need to do?”

YOU ARE AN ALICORN.

“Yes… I’m… there are alicorns and—”

I AM AWARE. NO ALICORN HAS SAT THE THRONE OF THE EMPIRE BEFORE, YET I KNOW YOUR KIND. I ALSO KNOW YOU. CADANCE SONGBOURNE, THE ONLY CHILD OF THE QUEEN OF HENOSIA, WHO LOVES HER LITTLE PONIES AND THINKS ABOUT DEATH. I KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS. YOUR KIND THINKS OF DEATH OFTEN, CADANCE SONGBOURNE. I HEAR SO IN THE STRAINS OF THE GREAT SONG THAT THEY HAVE PONDERED DEATH FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS. DO YOU FEAR DEATH?

Yes. Yes. “I think I do,” she managed.

I WILL SHOW YOU SOMETHING. COME, DAUGHTER OF ALICORNS, AND SEE THE OUTER DARKNESS.

And she was given a vision of the hell that was Imperial Center. She saw her husband commanding the garrison. She saw him supervise the loading and aiming of cannons. He raged and shook and fought and bled. She loved him. She loved him more than life in that moment, in the most literal way. She would die painfully, with agony if he could breathe tomorrow morning. She did not think this. She knew it. She felt it. She had always known such things as fact, even in others.

She saw Rarity and Rainbow, resolute before the great wall. She saw them slumped against a house. She saw them making love in the lobby of the abandoned tenement. How far they had come! They had braved the winter to find her. She loved them also. She knew that what they felt was true, at least in this moment. For the future was not hers to know. But she loved them.

She saw Fluttershy, tending broken ponies. Her broken ponies. She saw the frantic veterinarian trying to ease the suffering that cannot be eased and how she shattered and rebuilt herself over and over. And she loved.

She saw the frightened soldiers, shaking in their barding. She saw them die and live and cry. She saw the huddling civilians in their masses. Wives and Husbands, fathers and mothers, children, brothers and sisters, the old and the young, unicorn and pegasus, earth pony and crystal pony. She saw the quietly humming changelings in their families, preparing as best they knew how for the last silencing of their songs. She saw the last rites. She saw the reminders of love. She saw the bitter regrets. And she loved them. She loved all of them. She loved them. How many, how shining, how beautiful they were. How myriad! How lost! How she longed in that moment to gather them up.

And death was swallowed up. Death, she knew in an instant, was not a door or a silence. It was not drowning. It would be a hook behind the door where she would hang her coat. The moment before homecoming.

WILL YOU DO ONE LAST TASK?

“Yes.”

YOU WILL PROBABLY DIE. IT IS UNSURE.

“Let me die.” It was night. Yes, it was still night as she had thought. But the night was passing. She knew that it was. The sun was rising.

THEN GRASP THE HEART TIGHTLY. DO NOT LET IT SLIP FROM YOUR GRIP. TAKE ITS WARMTH INTO YOU AND THE FOE WILL FEEL IT. BECOME VICTORY, YOU WHO HAVE FELT FAMINE.

And she did as the heart instructed her.

With its powers, she saw everything. She saw as far away as Jannah and as close as the particles that made up her very body. From the spire poured out a great light, like a libation given to the gods of war. Raw, wild magic swept over the streets. She saw ponies jostled by it, but uninjured. But out past the barricade, she saw the magic descend like an angel of death. The Mitou were thrown like a child’s playthings. They were burned. They were annihilated. She saw the light like a great tidal wave cleanse the city, putting out the fires, washing the blood away. She saw some of her own soldiers caught up in the deluge past the walls, and they were swept away, and even she could not see if they lived or died. She saw Rarity and Rainbow out before the wall, fighting back to back. Rarity’s wounded leg hindered her. There was no retreat. But the wave came and they and all of their foes were borne away on it. She felt every single moment. She felt Rainbow’s blind panic as she tried to swim into magic itself, her wings beating furiously to rescue Rarity. Cadance felt Rarity’s agony as her own magic reacted savagely to a foreign invasion. There was something else, some magic that Cadance felt like heat on the back of her neck, even through the white noise of the Heart, but she could not recognize it.

And then she was still. She was silent.

The city was still. The city was silent.

And then a great sleep overtook her, and she did not know if it was the final sleep, but she welcomed it regardless. All was shattered white light and a memory of Shining’s kiss on her brow.

Author's Note

XXVII. The Confusion of Twilight Sparkle

TWILIGHT

Twilight’s breath was hot and ragged.

“Are you sure? This… this is what you want?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered. Her eyes were wild, unfocused. Every inch of her body pulsed with need, with something she was too ashamed to name. She craved this. Without it, this moment would ruin her.

“You would ask this of your princess?” asked the voice. It was indistinct, distant, yet right at her ear, like a cat purring. Twilight shivered in ecstasy. To be subordinate, to be in the presence of a greater light! She groaned.

“Yes,” she rasped.

Was it Celestia? Or was it Luna? She did not know. The figure was dark, indistinct. Like the dark side of the moon, or perhaps the sun eclipsed. It was strong, hard, yet also gentle as Applejack was. Twilight thought for a moment it had the shape of Tradewinds, with an unsure step. But she knew it was her princess, her very own, the one she needed and craved and wanted so desperately.

“Please,” she said. Her voice embarrassed her. But she couldn’t stop. Even the embarrassment fueled her feelings. Her desire. Her… whatever the hell this reckless feeling was.

“But why? There are ponies of your own kind, Twilight. Younger than I. More suited than I. Less damaged.”

“You’re perfect,” Twilight responded. She was in awe. She felt a compulsion to kiss the ground and worship.

“I am not.”

“Please love me,” Twilight whispered. “Please love me, Princess. Please, I’ll do anything. I would be happy just to be your slave, to lick your heels. I will do anything. Please love me.”

“Twilight, stop this. Twilight!”

“Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”

Twilight trembled.

“I’m not leaving. Twilight, calm down. Let us talk about this…”

She was filthy. Dirty. Impure. She felt the corruption in her heart, in her mind. On her skin. In the heat that creeped from her loins up her spine. In the way her legs shook and her head throbbed. Unclean, unclean, unclean.

“I’m not good enough,” Twilight whispered. “Of course you wouldn’t… Of course… but please, Princess, have mercy. I know I’m worthless. I know I would never be a lover worthy of you.”

“Twilight, you’re a wonderful mare. I—”

“Take me anyway. I would be a plaything in your hooves, a throwaway and I would be pleased.”

And then there was a bright light. Twilight screamed. In pain? In ecstasy?

Who cared what an Apostate felt?

Twilight had left the long road begirt with ruins behind. The highway was a memory. Her friends at her side were silent. She was silent. The air was still. She stood in a field of roses that stretched on for miles.

There was nothing to say in a place like this. Before them, on the other side of the last bridge, was the end of the world. The rolling hills and plains had given way to mountains. No, no that wasn’t right. The mountains didn’t rise; they jutted. They tore up from deeper place like trees or like...

Twilight had no words. It simply defied words. The mountains were impossibly high. They continued on past the clouds that lazed by and kept going. She couldn’t see the ends of them, the peaks obscured by the limit of her mortal vision. They were the apotheosis of all mountains, the first mountains—she was sure of it.

Her eyes wandered down them like timid climbers and came to rest on the wall.

It was a tiny enclosure beside the roots of the mountain’s sheer inclines. The walls were of brick that looked like it had just been set. Twilight looked at it, and her heart stopped. This was it. The final steps. All of their searching…

Applejack, at her side, doffed her hat and gaped.

Twilight took a step forward then another. Her legs began to move of their own accord as if it were not Twilight that took these steps but the gate ahead that had hooks in her legs, working them. She could hear Applejack and the other behind her, but they might as well have been miles away. This was it. This was the end. The Well was ahead.

Her long quest, through Sarnath and Ulthar and Jannah, was over. Luna had sent her West to find her sister, and now...

“Celestia,” Twilight whispered, and she was gone, running. Her mane was pulled back by the wind. She kept to the path that cut through the roses, and they were red blurs in her vision, unimportant. The mountains faded from her mind. No, there was something else to pay attention to now, something dear. Something close.

Twilight stood before the gate into the enclosure, her friends forgotten. She could hear them yelling, but she cared not.

“Let me in,” she whispered and then bit her lip. Her breathing was harsh in her own ears, the loudest sound. Her eyes raced over the ageless wooden door, looking for a handle or a lock. How long had it been here? Since forever? Since the beginning? She didn’t know.

She found an iron lock and despaired.

The cold iron resisted her magic. She took it in her hooves, holding it up. She stared futilely inside of it.

“No no no no no no no,” she muttered, turning it over and over. She formed her lockpicking key of magic and forced it in, but it began to fall apart as she worked. She poured more magic onto it, cursing iron in all of its forms as she had so many times before. The only thing that resisted her magic! Here, of all places! How dare it? How dare it exist in this most holy zone?

Raw force made a way. The lock shattered, and the door shook with the discharge of unshaped and uncontrolled magic. Twilight shuddered as tiny purple discharges arced on her coat. But she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Not anymore.

“Let me in!” she cried, beat the door with a hoof. It didn’t occur to her to pull it open with her magic. Nothing occurred to her but the Well, the water, the Song from the beginning of the world waiting. It was like Jannah all over again, diving into the heart of creation, and she wanted it so badly.

“Twilight! Twilight, come back!”

“I made it!” Twilight cried, laughing. “I made it! I made it, and no one can ever stop me! I’m coming, Celestia! I’m coming, and we can go back!”

“Twilight! Aw, dammit, Pinkie, help me grab her. This place ain’t good at all. It’s all a trap.”

Twilight felt hooves begin to pull her away from the door, and she lost it. She flailed, hooves striking something soft. She heard Pinkie cry out.

“Twilight, stop it! Stop it right now, you hear me? Gods, Pinkie?” Applejack growled. “Pinkie? Aw, Luna... Ya hurt her, Twi!”

Twilight stared holes in the door. “Celestia.”

“This place... it ain’t right. We ain’t supposed to be here. It ain’t meant for—”

“—Twi! Twi, please, stop it. Oh, Luna, this place…”

Twilight’s vision blurred. The roses around her seemed to grow, and the mountains seemed to shrink. It was all swimming before her eyes. Applejack was still talking. Twilight flailed, and she thought that Applejack’s hat hit the ground, but she didn’t care.

“Aw, hell, go! Go! I jus’ wanna go home. We ain’t supposed to be here! I’m a pony, not a god!”

Twilight was free. She laughed happily, madly, and bounded off. The door opened. Inside, there was a quiet, still orchard with little paths. In the center was a well. Just as Luna had told her would be, the Well at the end of the world.

Twilight passed through the opening and into the orchard. The journey was complete.

The door shut behind her.

Twilight woke on her bed. She was still on the Alicorn, somewhere between home and the great western continent.

Waking up was, again, a slow process. It had always been so. Her eyes never seemed to want to focus, not at first. Everything was blurry, uneven, unreal. Her arms and legs slowly remembered what they were and who they were attached to, but in stages.

One of those stages was interrupted by the realization that her bed was soaked with sweat. Sweat and something else that smelled like spoiled sweetness, sickly and alluring. Obvious.

Twilight hated herself.

She was silent as she straightened out the twisted sheets, grimacing at the signs of her hateful presence, and piled all of the filthy things against the wall. She would clean them. When she knew nopony would be around to ask what it was they smelled. Sweat was bad enough. She stank already. The showers on this damn ship had never worked well, and now they were just sort of pathetic.

When that was finished, she sat on her bed, staring at the door. Isolation was an interesting thing. On one hand, she thoroughly enjoyed it. It was nice to be freed of the burden of other minds. Minds beyond her own were a problem. They were a beautiful sort of problem, at least according to Celestia. Twilight just found them to be a problem.

I used to think that it was a good problem to have. Like Celestia thought.

She sighed and lay back. If she were being honest with herself, she did enjoy the presence of other ponies. She liked her companions. She felt safe with Applejack. Pinkie could make her laugh. Tradewinds was honest and open, and her smiling, cheerful stoicism—what a strange combination—was infectious. Applejack kept her level. Pinkie kept her brave. Tradewinds could make her joke on the edge of hell. She needed to learn some of that mare’s strange vocabulary. She had the feeling Tradewinds was far more foul-mouthed than she seemed.

She had spent much of the voyage dreaming. For Twilight, sleep was a good alternative to wakeful meandering. In sleep, she experienced. She could live. What was there to do on a ship for one such as her? She understood how this sort of vessel worked academically. Engines, boilers, things like that—she got it; she really did. A younger Twilight, a more energetic Twilight, would have dived headfirst into the challenge on nothing more than educated guesswork based on old manuals and guidebooks. But the new Twilight was like a dog that has been burnt or a child that has been scolded. Some cautions died hard.

So, instead, she dreamed. Some of her dreams were happy, even blissful. Some were strange, muddled, baffling. Some were awful. A few were even shameful. She did not want to think about those. But they were happening more and more these days.

It’s because you’re alone.

She got up and opened the door. Nopony was in the halls. Typical, honestly. This ship could carry four times as many ponies as it did with room for a few dozen more with ease. She had no idea how many it could hold, but with their little band, there was almost too much room to spread out.

Twilight walked the lonely, echoing halls, and soon noticed that they were a bit too empty. Nopony in the dingy mess hall, none in the halls, none in the infirmary. Grousing, Twilight decided she would have to ascend up into the sun. It was not a particularly pleasant prospect, but if it led her to companionship, she supposed she would risk discomfort.

She was lucky. A stairwell was pretty easy to find—the last time she’d gone up into the sunlight, it had taken her ten minutes to find one. Embarrassing, to say the least.

As she mounted the stair, the door above her opened. Applejack came through, the day streaming in around her, illuminating her. Twilight and Applejack blinked at each other and then chuckled.

“I’m glad to see somepony,” Twilight said first. “Ship seems deserted.”

“And I was about to come get you. There’s a reason for that. We made it, Twi.”

“Made it?”

“West,” Applejack said and gestured. Twilight followed her up onto the deck.

She shielded her eyes from the sun’s harsh glory, giving a quiet little groan. One of the disadvantages of spending all of her time inside, she supposed. After a moment, she was fine, and then she could see.

The cliffs were the first thing she noticed.

They were taller than mountains or seemed to be. Red as blood or the rusted iron of some forgotten dancefloor of slaughter. The sun shone on them like they were the very walls of morning, as if there were battlements of natural rock high atop them. Sheer cliff faces, unforgiving in their steepness. Twilight forgot to breathe for a moment.

The cliffs were not endless, she saw. There was a break in the imposing wall, and there, nestled between natural sentinels, was a beautiful city. It was a dusty red, the same as the cliffs were, and it sprawled out like a relaxing cat with one eye still open. Its port was massive. Dwellings were pressed together so tightly she wondered if there could even be streets, and she saw now that even more homes were built into the natural walls themselves.

“It’s beautiful,” Twilight said to the air itself. Not for Applejack’s benefit. No, such a sight deserved to praise itself, intrinsically.

“I said the same,” Applejack said. “Cap says it’s named Valon. Biggest port he knows of on the coast here and the one that does business the most with our continent.”

“I’ve read that name before. Valon, you say? There’s never much about it in the old historiographies. I remember being irritated because it was like everypony assumed it was common knowledge.”

“Maybe it was.”

“Still doesn’t excuse such gross omission,” Twilight said, rolling her eyes, but then she focused. “Where is our captain? I’ll need to speak to him immediately.”

Applejack looked around. The rest of the crew was also staring out over the water. Perhaps they, like Twilight, had almost forgotten the point of the voyage, where it was going. That it even had an end.

But Twilight saw her quarry and went to speak to him. Applejack followed closely.

The makeshift captain greeted Twilight with a big smile and open arms. “My good ladies. Welcome to the true west!” He laughed, freely and openly. Twilight found it fascinating. “I’m sure Applejack’s already told ye a bit about this place. Valon on the blood-red cliffs and all that.”

“It’s a sight for sorest eyes, Captain,” Twilight said. “I was losing hope that we’d ever make it.”

“Ah, ye of little faith.”

“Not in you, my good stallion. Rather, it is the waves themselves I have little faith in. But we’re here now, so I guess it’s time for me to stop sleeping in. I have something to give you before we land…” Twilight stopped, blinking. “It just now occurs to me, after all of this time, that they might not welcome us. Do you think they’ll be hostile?”

He shook his head. “No. I’d be shocked. The ponies of Valon value two things: wealth and hospitality. Trade is the lifeblood of this place.”

“The towns that prosper from trade are often treacherous for the naive,” Twilight countered. “But I believe you. Regardless, I’ll giving you something. It’s just a silver plate, nothing special… to the sight. It’s enchanted.”

“And its purpose?”

“Communication. I have two letters in my saddlebags. One says to flee, and the other says to wait. I’m going to go ashore with only Applejack, Pinkie, and Tradewinds. If we run into trouble, we’ll contact you.”

“I’m noticing a lack of a third option, in case you need help, miss.”

“If it’s something that the four of us can’t handle…” Twilight smiled. “Then I think running would be your best option.”

They docked with little incident. In fact, if Twilight could be honest, she had expected more fuss before the Alicorn found its berth. It made her nervous. Very nervous.

But the city of Valon more than made up for its quiet welcome. Even before the gangplank was lowered, the docks were filled with curious onlookers, gawkers, merchants hawking wares, and an official-looking earth pony loaded down with gold and jewels and flanked by guards in strange barding.

Twilight met him when he came aboard. He did not even pretend to ask permission. He boarded as if he had bought the ship and all of its crew outright. His eyes were bored—or seemed so to Twilight. The way he walked about her ship was the way a bored aristocrat walked through a perfect garden, noticing it but only barely.

Twilight looked to Main Sail. “Captain, they speak Equus, right? They can understand?”

He nodded. “They ken you, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight looked back to the official-looking pony. She bowed—not all the way, something in her would keep her from that, for it belonged to a pony who did not put on airs—and then rose.

“Thank you for providing us with a safe berth, sir,” she began. The stranger stared at her with a glazed look, and her tongue was stilled.

When she was thoroughly baffled, he spoke at last. Or perhaps he intoned, in the thickest accent she’d heard in her entire life. “The City greets you, stranger out of the East. The city provides you succor, stranger out of the East.”

Silence.

“Uh. Thank you,” Twilight said, trying to muster all of her forgotten dignity. “We are very grateful. We promise to abide by the City’s laws and, uh, not break anything,” she finished, like an absolute idiot. Great going. Perfect. Slayed it, Twi.

“And ye’re sure about this, goin’ alone?” Main Sail asked for perhaps the tenth time.

“I’m sure. I’m very sure. We will be fine, Captain. I… Well, we’ll be fine.” Twilight smiled. “And if I tell you to run, please, do so. There is no shame in knowing when a battle cannot be won.”

“There is much shame in leaving a friend, if I may, miss.” Main Sail looked as if he had been pursued from the mouth of hell.

All at once, Twilight felt terrible. She had written her notes and done her enchantments a week ago. Nothing had seemed out of the norm about them. She had never seen this reaction coming at all, and now she had nothing with which to counter it.

“If… if I feel that a judicious use of force on your part might be required…” Twilight sighed. She scratched her temple with a hoof and did not meet his eyes. “I’ll amend one of my letters if I must, if you can do anything to help. I promise,” she added.

He seemed to relax. Maybe. Honestly, she wasn’t sure. She hoped that was what she saw. Resignation she could not handle. “I’ll accept that, aye. Be careful.”

“I intend to,” Twilight said, and with that, she looked away from him to the others.

How long since she had truly taken stock of her companions? It felt like an age. Applejack looked little worse for wear. Her mane was unkempt. She’d mentioned something about borrowing a ponytail holder from one of the engineers after losing the last of her own. Twilight remembered this with some detached amusement. It was strange, the things one remembered. Her hat, through thick and thin, through literal hell, remained in one piece. There were miracles. Her body had healed of its hurts, and only scars remained. These could only be seen through her shaggy coat if one looked. Twilight did not look too closely.

Pinkie had recovered. The bone had not broken, after all, and with some help from the Vanhoover sailors and their stand-in doctor, she was walking fine. Her wounds had been harsher than Applejacks, but they too had faded with time and rest. She had a brace over the wounded leg, but apart from this, Twilight would never have guessed what Pinkie had seen and done. Her smile was wide as ever, untarnished. Once again: there were miracles.

Tradewinds’ wings were still on the fritz. Not much could be done about that, for now. But despite this, she seemed happy enough. Eager to be off, grinning much like Pinkie. Her expression was an open one, and her eyes shone as always. She wore her barding—though, their misadventure in Vanhoover had rendered it all but useless. Twilight was shocked to see just how much damage the thing had been done. It was more thing than barding, honestly. There were holes—bullet holes? By the Diarchs! They were; she knew it—scratches and cuts from hoofblades, dented plates on her shoulders. The whole ensemble was a complete wash. Twilight decided she would replace it all in town if she could.

And then there is the last one. The Apostate. She sighed and gestured with her head for them all to follow her as she walked down the gangplank into the squirming hordes of Valon ponies.

Yes, the last one. The Apostate. The Inquisitor. Perhaps the worst for wear of the bunch. Hell, no “perhaps” about it. She was a mess, a ruin. She slept more than half of each day away. When she wasn’t sleeping, she was kept up for days, sometimes by thoughts. Sometimes by nothing. Some nights the waves lapping beneath her hooves finally won her over to sleep. Most nights, she simply lost herself in remembering. Sometimes she saw Axiom die, his eyes locking with hers as his body was obliterated. She had imagined death, when she was young, as being something about noble last words. Something that was drawn out, something one did with dignity. But he’d just vanished like an exhalation of smoke, like the kind that rolled over Applejack’s lips. No, that was too beautiful, more like—

Twilight was back in Valon. Applejack touched her shoulder.

“You alright?”

Twilight’s eyes were wilder than they should have been. Her body felt electric—her mane stood on end. She shivered.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Looked like you were a little overwhelmed. Told the merchant fellas you were distracted.”

“I… I was. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you later,” she added when Applejack’s lips pursed. “I will. I promise.” I promise. Promise. “Well, did you talk with them? We’ll need, uh, supplies. You know.”

“I do, actually.” Applejack chuckled softly, but the almost-reproachful look did not leave her eyes. She saw much. She followed Twilight’s omissions as a dog followed a trail of blood—Twilight knew it. “There’s a few you’re gonna wan’ to talk to, pony to pony.”

“Yes… what about, specifically? And when?”

Applejack smirked. “About sellin’ a few items, and now, if you’re up for a walk across town. They just left. I’ve got directions.”

Twilight looked around. Many of the merchants and gawkers were gone. She raised her eyebrows at Applejack.

“We bought some odds and ends. Hope y’all won’t mind, but I did refill my baccy pouch. Bought some nice lookin’ apples to. Figured we could use something fresh.”

And she was hungry. “Apples, fresh apples? I would probably kill for a nice apple.”

“Now, that’s a sentiment I can respect!” Applejack chortled.

“Guys!” Pinkie danced into view. This was not exaggeration. She danced on the dusty red streets. “Are we gonna go or not?”

“Yes, I am agreeing,” Tradewinds said, ruffling her feathers. “Are you alright, Twilight Sparkle? It will be long journey if you are already tired!” She giggled as if this were the height of humor. “But I have water for you, if need.”

“That sounds lovely, actually,” Twilight said, distracted now by the view of the town before her. “These streets are going to be winding,” she said to nopony in particular. “Hard to navigate. Like Canterlot’s lower tier only worse, I imagine. You said you had directions?”

As Tradewinds gave Twilight her water, Applejack nodded and spoke. “You betcha. I got a good sense of direction, girl. I’ll get us there.” She frowned and stepped closer. “Twi, you look like somethin’ isn’t right. I’m serious—I can handle this if you ain’t up to walkin’.”

Twilight felt a surge of irritation. She would not be babied. But even as she opened her mouth, she shivered again. “I’m sorry,” she said instead, lamely, pathetically. She felt smaller than before. “I’m just… remembering. Look, I’ll be alright. I promise. I’ll be fine.” Promising again. “Let’s just go. The sooner we’re done and back onboard, the sooner I can rest.”

Applejack grunted her assent.

The streets were winding and tight. Ponies crowded them, chattering in at least a dozen tongues. Twilight heard Equus, the common tongue of ponies, but when she heard it it came in three flavors at least. The accents were heavy, as if the words were buried underneath sandstorms. Most of the ponies of Valon were earth ponies, but even in this they were dissimilar. She was used to brighter coats, but here the ponies’ coats were more subdued, earthy colors. Lots of brown, lots of dark reds, very few greens and yellows. It was strange, but not that strange. What was more odd were the relatively small numbers of pegasi. Unicorns were in abundance. But pegasi? She saw perhaps four.

What Twilight saw a lot of was batponies. Until then, she had seen only a few of the most elusive of Equestria’s inhabitants and then only a few at a time and all of them in the barding of Luna’s guard. But there were whole families on display here. She saw tiny batpony foals running in the street, playing at ball in the alleyways.

Every street, it seemed, was a marketplace. The whole town was a huge engine of commerce, spending and earning and buying and making. A great moveable market, a feast on ten thousand legs and held up by almost as many hooves and heads. Brightly colored overhangings shadowed merchants who called in half a dozen languages and their wares. Some things she recognized—it was hard to deviate much from the norm with an apple. Jewelry she knew even if she wore little. Heavy perfumes, bolts of the most luxurious cloth and silk, strange artifacts whose purposes she could only begin to guess at but whose magic she felt from the street. Seedy taverns where, between the stringed glass beads, she could almost make out the indistinct shapes of ponies playing at cards and rolling loaded dice. Caravan guards drank and argued. One sharpened his knife with a grimace on the steps of a brothel, and Twilight knew the place’s purpose by the mares who rubbed their lithe, nubile bodies against her own and made her cheeks flame. Children were everywhere, under every hoofstep even, it seemed. Yet only one pickpocket, and Applejack had seen him coming a mile off. Word traveled, she thought. No others had tried.

Twilight was easily distracted at the worst of times. She had trouble walking in straight lines, caught by new sights or sometimes by a book. So it was no surprise really, when she came too close to the stallion’s booth. Right where the merchant wanted her.

She didn’t see him coming at all before he was taking up most of her vision. He was buried in robes, with only his golden eyes present. She couldn’t even tell what tribe of pony he was or if he was a zebra.

“Ah, yes, you are the lady of the ship, is this not true?” he asked, his common tongue thick with the Valon accent. “But a lady so unadorned! Surely you must be searching for something to better present yourself to the Emirs, yes? Or perhaps in your dealings with the my brothers in the guild, hm?”

She didn’t like how he said “present” but Twilight smiled awkwardly on despite this. “I’m not, but thank you…”

“Please, if I could but show you what I have in mind! I do have something very specific, as soon as I saw you grace our humble street I knew exactly what you would be needing, hm?”

Twilight tried to maintain her awkward, defensive smile. She really did. But she was just not feeling it. At all.

“Look, sir, I know you’re just doing your job… and I know I’m a naive easterner with supposedly endless gold, but only one of those things is really true. I don’t really wear jewelry, anyway!” she said as if this would solve everything.

The merchant didn’t miss even a single beat. He laughed—and Twilight was taken aback by his laugh. It was rather honest sounding. It reminded her of Applejack’s laugh. There was nothing forced or awkward about it. “Oh, I know you are not made of coins, lady out of the sea, yes. I surmised that you did not wear much adornment. But I thought perhaps you might want to change that. For you see, Valon is the city of new beginnings. I would know—I’m the one who told your captain that! Try new things, yes? Will you see the piece? It will take only a minute. If you but lay eyes upon it—”

“I’ll buy it.”

“Then you will be satisfied, whether you buy it or not, you will be satisfied. To gaze upon beauty is good, hm? And besides, I think you will see why I chose it for you very quickly.”

Twilight was tempted to tell the strange pony—zebra?—where he could stuff his baubles, but something held her back. Applejack came into view behind the merchant, trying to mouth something to her. Twilight waved her off. “Show me,” she said.

Pinkie was at her side. “Oh! Maybe it’s magic! Or like, an ancient necklace of super ancient power that does all kind of ancient things!”

Twilight chuckled. “Maybe it is,” she said.

The merchant dug through a chest behind his little cart and Applejack seemed to be trying not to laugh at her. Twilight stuck her tongue out.

“Now, you gotta admit, that this here is funny. Twi, you? Bein’ pulled in by a jewelry hawker? Ain’t realistic. I wouldn’t have believed it a bit if it wasn’t happenin’ in front of me.”

“New continent, new me,” Twilight said lightly, and then the strange jeweler had returned with a small jewel on a golden chain. Twilight stared at it, captivated immediately. Pinkie had been more right than Twilight had expected: she did indeed detect a modicum of magic in the crystal.

The gem itself was blue like the ocean. It was perfectly cut, perfectly shaped into two sharp poles. The chain seemed to be truly golden, as far as Twilight could tell. It was, to put things bluntly, one of the most deceptively beautiful things that Twilight had seen among the market stalls.

“This…”

“Is not what you expected,” said the merchant. “Do you see?”

“You’re not a jeweler at all. You’re an artificer! I apologize,” Twilight said. “I’m not sure what this does, exactly. I mean, given enough time I could.”

“It focuses,” the artificer said. “When worn on the horn, it becomes a secondary, stacked focus for the flow of aetheric energy. It… focuses.”

Twilight’s mind moved far beyond him. She was already thinking of how it had been done. She thought she might know. Regardless, she was grinning like a fool. “How much?” she asked. “This is a wonderful bit of work here. It’s wonderful.”

“For you? Twenty bits. I have to tell my wife I didn’t give it away, yes?”

Twenty. Three was a fair day’s wages. Twilight hummed.

“That’s reasonable,” she said. It was expensive, but with a look in his eyes, she knew that both of them were aware of this item’s true value. She knew he was telling her the truth now. She had been examining it with her own magic as he had talked. With this little trinket… Yes, she needed this.

“Excellent. Then take it, yes?” He held it out, and Twilight took it with her magic. She tried to tie it to her horn, but her vision failed her. She chuckled.

“Tradewinds, could you help me here?”

“Yes, I can do this,” Tradewinds said, and took the pendant from the air. It took only a moment to affix it, and she was pleasantly surprised that it rested right in the blind spot between the edges of her eyesight, along the line of her nose.

“Thank you,” she said to the artificer, and he bowed.

“I know where you are going, I think. You will need this.” He paused. “Lady of the Ship, if you are asked where you go, be honest. Truth is valuable, and in this case, it is priceless. Peace be with you.” He melted back into a passing gaggle of ponies, and Twilight realized that the stall she had thought was his was not his at all. It was empty.

She blinked, but before she could really say anything about it, Applejack pulled her along. All the while, Twilight grinned up at her almost invisible acquisition. Yes, this would come in handy. She would need to practice with it, or the amount of power she would put out would be ludicrous. Painful to her and probably useless for anything that wasn’t a straight-up explosion.

Around her, Twilight noticed that the crowds were thinning a bit. They were several blocks into the city, and already Twilight knew that her original assessment of this place’s navigability was accurate. It was a nightmare. A beautiful, frightfully interesting one, but getting from point A to point B by a straight line was impossible.

And out of nowhere, it occurred to her that the streets were clear. Where there had been a constant hubub of commerce and conversation there was nothing. They had gone down a side street, and now things were wider. Just a little wider. Wide enough for a few more ponies on either side of their little clump.

She felt a shiver up her spine.

“Applejack?” Twilight bit her lip. “Applejack, are you sure this is the right way?”

“Mostly,” Applejack said, and sighed. “Honestly, Twi, I’m startin’ to wonder if I took a wrong turn back—”

Time stood still, or seemed to stand still, or had always been one mass entire and Twilight had just been fooling herself in this city. Her head turned. Her green eyes like emeralds, like leaves caught in the sun, locked with Twilight’s own. The wind had just funneled through the street, pushing her hat slightly up. Twilight could have memorized the scene in perfect detail, down to the smallest hair on her head.

And then the knife came down like a lightning bolt, crack, nearly non-existent. It cut along her face, grazing the chin. Blood splashed up into the air, right in front of Applejack’s eyes.

And then a hoof from on high smashed into her cheek.

Behind Applejack, Twilight saw a wide-eyed Tradewinds. Together, they watched Applejack fall, limp, out like a candle thrown into a pool. Twilight could say nothing.

“Chyort! Tradewinds roared, and narrowly avoided another kick from the rooftops.

An ambush is a beautiful thing. Even when it is sprung upon you, and the waters of the flash flood are about to cover over your head, there is no way not to see that the whole thing is a bit beautiful. Ponies jumped down from the roofs in perfect unison, hooves bare to hit but not to wound. They would take their quarries alive, or most of them, at least. They had tried to kill Applejack. But the others could be overcome. Which meant that they had watched the party at least for a few streets and had picked the group apart.

Twilight’s magic came to her call effortlessly. She felt almost light. But the pendant had slipped her mind until she had unleashed a bolt of arcane energy so wide and so hot that it hit one of the ambushers head-on and he was ash and smoke. Tradewinds avoided being clipped by her magic by only an inch.

And then there was no room for magic. Twilight was dodging, trying to put distance between herself and the hooded bandits. Four. Five? She couldn’t tell. There was no space or time or air to tell. She saw Tradewinds whirl on a bit and kick with both hindlegs, catching an assassin and throwing him sky high. Pinkie avoided kicks with ease, like a tumblers’ artistry, and pushed her foe with her shoulder into the waiting blows of Tradewinds, who was like a berserker.

There was one left. They were going to make it.

The pony went stiff before Tradewinds could charge him, and then fell, with a dagger dug into the back of his head. Behind him stood a new stranger, a pony who wore a hood, taller than Twilight but not by much, his features completely hidden.

Tradewinds stopped. They all stopped. They stared at the newcomer.

“A cool reception,” he said.

No answer.

Until Twilight spoke. “Take your hood off,” she demanded, her voice raw. Her eyes flicked down to Applejack. She was still, far too still. They needed to get her off the street. They didn’t have time for this. “Quickly,” she added.

“I expected you to get to the point. Admirable.” The pony took his hood off, and Twilight saw that he was a batpony, like many she had seen walking the streets. Had she seen the stranger earlier? She had no idea. He smiled at her. She did not trust his smile. “I am called Abdiel,” he said and bowed. “Abdiel of Sarnath.”

“I don’t know the place,” Twilight said lamely. She looked to Tradewinds and Pinkie. Neither of them moved. Tradewinds seemed ready to take the interloper’s head clean off. Pinkie seemed… curious? Twilight couldn’t tell. Not hostile, at least not immediately hostile. Applejack, of course, was out cold. Right when Twilight needed her keen eye for character. Perfect.

Celestia had always told her that it was a good policy to make friends. In fact, the teacher who had given Twilight everything had insisted on this: Greet every stranger with a smile, she had said warmly, her voice like the sun’s warmth in the gentle spring.

“Twilight,” she said, introducing herself without much ceremony. “Abdiel. That’s a strange name.”

“This talking goes long,” Tradewinds growled. “You, bat, what is design you are having with this? Eto piz`dets, you are being here and doing this and no explanation. I don’t like it,” she said and then spat into the street. “‘Tchyo za ga`lima?” she said again, and took a menacing step forward.

“I’m afraid I don’t know that tongue,” the stranger said with a disarming smile. “My ‘design’ as you put it, was to aid you. I am sorry I could not get to you sooner, but there was a second party at the next intersection, and they delayed me.”

“You took out a whole group of them. By yourself,” Twilight said. These were not questions. Her voice was flat, almost dangerous. Tradewinds could jump at him, but her hurt wing had her off balance. Twilight knew she could hit him, but without being accustomed to the focuser, she couldn’t insure that Tradewinds wouldn’t be caught in a lethal blast. Pinkie was up, but Pinkie was not a fighter. She could fight, but this batpony was going to be far beyond her skills. She would not be able to dance around this one. Twilight could feel it.

“I did. I am one who watches and strikes. To the authorities of Valon, I am known as a Thieftaker. To my compatriots, I am known as a Taker. My profession is one of watchfulness. We wait for those who wait for the unsuspecting. When they move, their trial has already been decided. This particular group has harmed merchants before. They escaped me the last time, but this time…” He looked down at their still forms. “This time they were not lucky. I thank you for your assistance.”

He bowed. Tradewinds seemed to breathe a little easier. Her combat stance loosened.

“So you’re like a city guard,” Pinkie said. “Fighting crime! Like Batmare.” She giggled. “Get it, because you’re a batpony too? Isn’t that great?”

Abdiel smiled at her, and Twilight thought it was genuine. “I will take your word for it. I have not heard of this batmare, but if she is like the mares of Sarnath, then I am sure she is both gorgeous and valorous.”

Twilight knew it was time to choose. Did she trust this stranger? She had no immediate reason not to, after all. He had come to their aid. He had spoken to them, and on top of that… the way he seemed to be amused and not annoyed by Pinkie tugged at her to accept him. Celestia would have.

So she did. She took a few steps forward and brought up a hoof. Tradewinds was at her side, ready, but not bracing as before. “Thank you, sir.”

Abdiel touched her hoof. Twilight noticed him now for the first time as a pony and not as another hooded blade. His aspect was surprisingly friendly, now that she was giving him a chance. Crimson eyes. Positively handsome, actually. She was reminded of the dashing heroes out of Rarity’s ridiculous novels. Twilight has always made sure those came in just for her friend to enjoy.

“You are very welcome, Twilight of the East,” he said. “My duty as a thieftaker has been done. But now I think we have another one: Your friend is injured.”

Twilight startled. “Applejack! You’re right.” She turned and fell beside her friend. Gods, she had been so worried about her own safety she’d forgotten. Stupid. Stupid.

“She will be alright, I think,” Abdiel said. “But medical attention will be required. I do not know if they poison their blades. I do not usually ask thieves and brigands of their preferences. If I may?” He gestured. Twilight nodded, unsure of what he wanted.

With a huff, the thieftaker bowed and with a little help from Twilight, took Applejack up on his shoulders and across his back. Seeing Applejack limp and weak hurt Twilight in a way she could not describe. It was wrong. It was the opposite of Applejack, everything that she should not be. And as they bore her away, Twilight worried. She did not despair, but some part of her wanted to do so. One day in the West and already they had brushed with complete and total failure.

APPLEJACK

Dreams and portents.

The fields go on forever, tree on tree and row on row. They are the world entire. Beyond the fence there are other worlds, but this is her world, marked off by the walls of morning and proscribed by her father’s patrol against the night. In the mornings, she rode on her father’s broad back. They rose as the sun rose, and her father told her the names of the trees and taught her the fields.

Where do the trees come from? She asks, and her voice is small like a shrew in the grass.

They are spun out of the song, into seeds, and we plant the seeds. The earth gives us all things, Applejack, he says. Have I told you about the song and the earth?

In the beginnin’ the earth was spun like granny’s knittin’.

That’s right.

And there was a song and everyone was happy.

Right again, hayseed.

And then lots of stuff happened, and now it’s now, and now is happy too, isn’t it?

Now is happy too. Right you are, little one.

When she is small, the moral arc of the universe is short and swerves upwards towards an infinite sunlight. But there are other worlds than these. Far away, there is school, where her father has taken her many times and left her waving at the step. She watches him depart, and he has left her world, but she knows that there are other worlds than school and town, and somewhere there are fields, and her father is tending apple trees and watching over the wheat in the far fields.

Her mother is there too. She also walks the fields, and when Applejack dozes off on her father’s grand Saturday review of the proud and stately trees, she is the one who bears the sleeping child down and finds her a place to doze in peace and dream.

Dream. Dreams and portents.

Twilight sitting on an ornate pillow. The scent wafting by of exotic spices, of incense to unknown and foreign gods, perhaps, vanilla and lavender, distant cinnamon, the smell of herbs in mason jars. A rag on her forehead, wet and cool.

Pinkie hovers over her head. She whispers. She coos. Tradewinds sitting by her side, humming. Twilight is never close. Applejack sees her watching. Her eyes are tiny pricks of lavender fire, strange to behold, far in the distance.

Applejack sees and does not see.

She is younger, and Ponyville is bright. Or would be, if it were not nighttime. The stars and candles are bright enough for friends three rounds deep in their mugs. Applejack tastes the sweet ghost of apple wine on her lips.

They are young, and they are beautiful. Applejack has thought about how beautiful her friends are before, and every time, she feels the oddness of the thoughts that come when she is deep in her cups.

They laugh over Twilight. Oh Twilight. Lost in books, lost in work, lost in the mundanity of day to day and never looking up. Applejack is grounded, but she looks up. Rainbow Dash has roughly two hard-working bones in her body and both control her wings.

Was gonna get her t’ come y’know, Applejack slurs with a giggle.

She’d pass out by now.

Yeah but don’t you think that would be cute? Aw, I ain’t tryin to be mean but I’d reckon to wager on it.

You’re trying too hard, Rainbow Dash says. She laughs. I know you ham those weird little country sayings up.

I ain’t never, Applejack said. I ain’t never.

I miss her.

I miss her too, sugar. She’s a good one, that Twilight. I know she drinks. Why didn’t she come, I wonder?

Too big a crowd.

Perhaps, she thought, it was just that. She did not say: Do you think we’re too much for our Twilight with our loud ways and our boisterous airs. She did say: But you know she would be comfortable, I think, with you and me. She did not say: Do you think Twilight does not like us sometimes?

The rag on her forehead is replaced. How soft the pallet that some unseen friend has laid her upon! How warm and welcoming the scent and the air!

Twilight comes to see her. She says things. They sound nice. Twilight’s voice is bright and energetic. It is not good at soothing, but it tries, like Twilight tries. She tries so very hard. Applejack appreciates trying. Even when it goes nowhere, and not to say she won’t be honest, but she likes a soul that tries, likes a heart that strives as her parents strove as she expects herself to strive.

Twilight, a lone bureaucrat trotting down a country road to pay her visit as duty demanded. Applejack was determined to show this stranger a happy place. It was her place. There were other worlds, but this was her world, and she would make it a good one. Her family was here; her food was hot and ready; her farm bright and in season. All things were bright, and all things were beautiful.

She thought idly that Twilight seemed the kind of pony who knew few and loved few, not out of coldness but out of lack of opportunity. She wished that this pony lived in her own town, so she could show her what the congeniality of the country was like. The congeniality of her world where the apple trees and the wheat and the fallow fields stretched on into the horizon and her father’s ghost patrolled against the night and her mother’s shade watched for the veil of morning to fall gently over the world again.

PINKIE

Pinkie paid attention as long as possible. This was not as long as perhaps others would hope, but Pinkie knew that their expectations were not always right.

Still, she wasn't a fool. Fools did not last long in a kitchen. There was a wisdom that one reaped and sowed slaving day in and day out over ovens and stoves. There was a sideways sort of philosophy to be found whilst stirring a hot pot of soup.

The point was she knew what was going on. Not only did Twilight's dealings not go over her head, but Twilight's feelings were laid bare. To be honest, Pinkie found that this was true much more of the time than Twilight wanted to think! So it went.

Twilight had sold the rusty but serviceable armament on the Alicorn for supplies, barding, and trustworthy maps. She'd been told that the quickest and safest route inland was by following the river. Specifically, by taking a steam boat up it. Twilight had asked many questions. The Alicorn could not navigate the river, as she was far too large and far too deeply keeled. They wouldn't make it even halfway. The ruler—Pinkie quite forgot what his name or title was—had offered Twilight a deal. A steamboat on loan for the Alicorn on loan. Valon was having trouble keeping pirates and the other poets from bothering its trade and the mining camps it controlled up the coast. The Alicorn would be a wonderful patrol vessel. When Twilight returned, she could trade back.

Twilight hadn't seemed interested in the trade, really. Or at least, in the trading back. She had written the captain and talked back and forth about it with him. Pinkie got the impression he had been reluctant. But Twilight was firm.

Applejack was too, but she slept now.

The apothecary made them tea. Pinkie liked him. He was nice. He had told her that Applejack would be fine, and so she liked him. He laid her friend’s head on soft pillows and treated her with reverence, and so Pinkie trusted him.

Poison. Poison was a nasty word. Pinkie hated the sound, and she loved the sound of most words. Kumquat? That was an awesome word. Incredibly fun to say. Poison, not so much. The apothecary’s explanation had been a little beyond Pinkie’s herblore, caught in scraps and bits from her mother’s table as a foal. But she understood enough to know that the poison was not quite as fatal. The plant was one she’d not encountered before, which the stallion called “Zondervin” flowers. She thought that was it. Instead of death, the goal was deep sleep and paralysis. Mostly Pinkie just cared that Applejack was going to be better.

Twilight traded with Valon. They got the Alicorn and Twilight got an unnamed steamboat for traveling upstream. No cannons—the city couldn’t afford to loan her any. With Twilight aboard, they probably didn’t need any, actually, Pinkie realized. Barding for Applejack, barding for Pinkie and Tradewinds. Twilight had asked for a new cloak for herself. Food enough for two months on the river—though, she was told that it would not be that long. A little bit of Valon coinage so she could buy information or supplies as needed upriver. A few firearms for the crew. Some potions and medical supplies.

Pinkie noticed something, but wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Never, at any point, did Twilight say where it was that she was going. Why? Wasn’t that important? Did she not know? Perhaps she wasn’t sure that the obvious destination would be the real one. Or perhaps she was the Apostate still, somewhere, somehow. This last prospect troubled Pinkie. Apostate was another word she did not like. It did not fit. It was wrong.

Twilight changed, then changed again, and now the third turn was coming, and Pinkie tried to water the new sapling as best she could. Made sure it had sunshine. Talk and laughter and company when it wanted company—earth ponies knew how to make the world grow, her father had insisted. The world and sentiment were not so different to Pinkie. There were few differences at all to Pinkie. So to see Twilight withdraw, to see her cast even a single sidelong glance, worried her. To see her withhold trust and warmth troubled her.

But perhaps Twilight knew what she was doing. After all, this city was not safe. Pinkie had been hoping it would be safe and normal and happy, but her hopes had been quite crushed. No, dangerous as much as any other. More put together, yes, but still perilous.

“And you were saying that your destination was… Ah, forgive me, Lady, but I have forgotten,” mewled the… Pinkie thought he was a vizier. The Vizier’s representative. Whatever. But this was the fifth time at least.

“West,” Twilight said. For the fifth time. Every time she answered this question, Twilight got shorter and blunter and more irritated. She was bad at hiding it.

Pinkie felt an impulse, one she knew that Twilight would not appreciate. But it was strong. Honesty was asleep, so somepony had to do it.

“Jannah,” Pinkie blurted.

Twilight glared daggers at her. Predictably. She mouthed something which Pinkie could not understand, partially because she wasn’t sure she wanted to understand.

The merchant shivered. He drew back as if confronted with a corpse.

“You should have said something, Lady of the Ship,” the stallion said hoarsely, his eyes wide. “You should have said!”

“After the… attack today, I thought it would not be prudent to give our destination out freely,” Twilight said, just barely managing not to make it an acidic hiss as she continued to glare at Pinkie. Pinkie shrugged and mouthed sorry. Twilight sighed and covered her eyes.

“Very prudent. But, ah, I’m afraid this deal will no longer be satisfactory.”

Twilight stood. “What? That is—”

“No, you misunderstand. I cannot charge you as much as I have. The merchants of this place have a custom, Lady. We provide succor and discounts to those bound for the Ancient City. They… ahem. They receive the reverence we mean to preserve for the dead, if you are following. Not many return, and they return quite, ah, broken.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then please, let us rearrange this deal. Allow me my honor intact, yes? I would not give normal prices to a pilgrim bound for the Ancient City.”

Twilight sat back down. To Pinkie, she no longer looked angry. Mostly, she looked confused. Pinkie looked away from her, and turned her attention back to Applejack. She hoped her friend woke up soon. She hoped Tradewinds woke up from her nap as well, but she had a lot more faith in that happening. Applejack was too still. She was not used to seeing her still at all.

What a way to begin the final leg of the journey.

Author's Note

XVIII. Your Arm's Too Short To Box With God

XXVIII. Your Arm's Too Short To Box With God

ICE STORM

It is a hard thing to look a pony in the eyes and tell them that they will not walk again, at least not as they were used to walking. It is even harder to do this to one with the grace, the beauty, the vigor that she had. But Ice Storm knew that it was vital. It was necessary.

And so he had done it.

And now, days later, he sat by Amaranth’s bedside. He, too, had been wounded. Yet he had survived and come out of the mortarfire and bullets more or less intact. She had not. He often felt like an imposter, sitting with his bandages by her cot. He felt like a fool, like a lion with no mane, like he was an idiot to think that deserved to be in the same room.

They did not talk about legs—hers or anypony else’s for that matter. He had asked about her wings, but only once, and been told that they worked. After this, he’d left the matter alone. Pegasi understood the enormity of this. He supposed batponies did as well. To retain one’s wings was to hope. While I breathe, I hope, or so the sons and daughters of Gaia said. But he had wondered if one might not say “fly” instead of “breathe.”

Or would that be unfair? For he had known pegasi that could not fly, and though much was taken, much remained. They smiled and laughed, loved, died, and were fulfilled. Ie Storm did not know. He was not given to deep thinking. Battle had always brought the thinker out in him, though reluctantly. The only reactions to battle were contemplation, silence, and madness. The second was only a way to go on to the other two. The last was unacceptable. The first would have to do.

“Welcome back,” Amaranth said to him as he approached. Another day, another long visit. She smiled, her smile full of life even in this place.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m glad that you’re alert. I take it the regimen is going to be less severe?”

“I should be off the really heavy stuff soon, yes, sir. They say my front legs will be more or less fully functional.”

Ice Storm tensed. Yet there was no outburst, no cloud in her eyes. He had expected that. He had not expected her to smile.

“Back ones are shot to hells. But they showed me one of those walker contraptions. I like it. Think I might even use it. Looks hard to land with,” she said and laughed. Storm said nothing. He paused. He was unsure. “Ah, Captain, it’s fine.” She looked at him, really looked at him, now. “It’s fine.”

“If you say,” he managed. “Might I sit with you, then? If you are up to it, I have news.”

“Oh, I hope it’s bad news.”

He raised an eyebrow as he sat. “You do?”

“Bad news, my beloved commander, is far more entertaining, so long as it isn’t the last bad news. Now, go on, for the moon’s sake.”

“I’m not a Celestialist. Or a Supernalist,” he added. “It was a reflexive response.”

“I know.” She chuckled. “I believe you. I wasn’t offended, you know. There are religious batponies, too. The Dawn Crusade was a long, long time ago, and it wasn’t just my kind who died. There are batponies who hold a grudge. Trust me, I know. But why should I? It was long before I was born. Shall I judge the living for the deeds of the dead?” she asked, in a haughty voice. Ice Storm snorted, and she smiled again. “See? I’m fine. Go on, go on.”

“Alright. Well, you’ll be happy to know it’s bad news,” he began.

“Hurrah!” she cried weakly and pumped a hoof. Ice Storm rolled his eyes.

“And very interesting bad news at that.” He continued on despite her. “Some of it is secret. But I happen to know you have a right to know, and I happen to know mostly by accident. So I can tell you, when the nurse over there scuttles off,” he said softly. They both glanced over at the mare in question, who seemed oblivious. “But the first part is no secret to any fighters in the city. There are raiders in the valley. Specifically, in the warrens where the old mines used to be. They’ve infected the whole system with their vile presence, and there will be no attempt to dislodge them anytime soon.”

“Figures.”

“My sentiments exactly. I was very unsurprised, both by our paralysis and by their failure to retreat. Morningvale… Morningvale was a lot of things. A disaster. Shameful.”

“We weren’t even close to ready. Or maybe we were and they’re just better.”

“I don’t like to think that,” Ice Storm said quickly.

“We might have to,” she replied. “Cap, permission to speak freely?”

“Always,” he said.

“A lot of the failure of Morningvale had to do with their mortars. We didn’t see them getting their hooves on military equipment, and we should have. If we had anticipated that, getting magic in place to counter it would have been simple. Not perfect, yes, but it would have helped.”

“I am inclined to agree.”

“But we’re low on spellcasters. The guard has been for a while. At least, the Solar guard has. The Lunar guard is better. But, you know who has tons?”

“Enlighten me. I have not thought much about that.” He had been more concerned with how woefully inadequate his winged soldiers had been, what few had been there at all.

“The Houses Major sure have a lot,” she said.

They looked at each other.

“I’m… sure they do,” he said carefully.

“I think you get what I mean.”

“They have their differences, but surely you aren’t suggesting they intentionally refused a muster? It would have been a public scandal.”

“That, or the Princess never called for them, or maybe she couldn’t call on them.”

“They have an obligation—” he began, his brow furrowing.

“They have an obligation, yeah, and nobles love throwing obligations off as soon as they can. You know that.”

“Nopony could have foreseen the mortars.”

“Maybe,” she said. It was soft.

“I’m sorry. I just… That is troubling.”

“It’s troubling to me as well, Cap.”

“No, not just that. But it makes what other things I’ve heard seem more substantial. I had hoped they were baseless and petty rumors. I hope they are.”

“Spill it,” she said. Amaranth leaned in.

“Well, firstly, the Houses Major have been recruiting heavily. Houses Iron and Rowan-Oak have far, far more troops than they really have need or use for, presently. Yet, at the same time, very few of those have been integrated in either the wall patrols or the combined Levy of the Guard. This I know is true, as I’ve seen it. The palatial staff are of the opinion that it is a political ploy to force Luna into some petty concessions. I figured it was spite, and that if the need was great, they would simply drop the pretense.”

“I know what I think.”

“I am less sure, myself. There’s rumor that Rowan-Oak has been approaching every pony in the city who can swing a hammer, as if they’re desperate for somepony to fill their needs. Arms and armor, it seems. This one I am less sure of, but their usual supplier here in the city has been working significantly less. She has a veritable village of workers usually.”

“What else?”

“Reports from scouts in the valley. Signs of movement in Ponyville, but no word on how much movement, exactly. The scouts in question never got close enough. The hills are crawling with sharpshooters watching the skies, these days. But there are several reports of other ponies being spotted moving up the road, coming from the south. A few coming from the north. Ponies coming from all directions, really. A few may be vagabonds and refugees, but the others…” He hesitated.

“The others?”

“Either the bandits and raiders are becoming organized, are being led, or somepony else is coming to Canterlot. A Solar scout was able to observe a column of well-armed, well-barded soldiers marching from the south two days ago and just arrived back in Canterlot with the dawn. He describes them as wearing strange insignia.”

Amaranth was silent. She was sitting up now. The smirk was completely gone.

Ice Storm took a weary breath and rubbed at his cheek with a hoof. “Whoever they are, they have at least some basic concept of combined arms. Pike and shot, same as the old model army.”

“We could have used some pikes at Morningvale,” Amaranth said softly.

“I agree, actually. Metal barding, hoofblades… a full baggage train. The scout counted and reported somewhere between two hundred and four hundred.” He sighed. “Which means it could be anything. The idiot panicked and didn’t get a decent count at all. But we know it’s at least two hundred, I suppose. Which is…”

“Kind of significant,” Amaranth finished. “I mean, if it was just that one column…”

“It would not be a threat, nor would it be a, ah, ‘big deal’, as I’m sure you would say. If they fight like the old model army did, then we could defeat a small force fairly easily, as the repeaters we have outrange the old style firearms by a fair amount. We also do not need to fire in vollies to have efficacy, as they would.”

“But if there are more of them, then it’ll be a real fight. We may even be underestimating them and overestimating ourselves. I mean, look what a rabble did to us at Morningvale. Fifteen hundred trained soldiers with decent, if outdated, equipment? We’d be toast. Dead. Ruined. We’d win, but then who would keep the raiders out of the juiciest prize in the world?”

“Exactly. But we don’t know that they are foes quite yet. There is talk that the cities of the south may have revitalized the Army of the South and sent it north to aid us or at least to see if there is anything else. There’s some hopeful talk of some news of our plight reaching our countrymen.”

“What do you think it is?” Amaranth asked. She leaned on one hoof. Ice Storm gazed at her. So bright. Yet so dark. Her eyes golden like his own mane, like an emperor’s throne.

He pursed his lips. He bit them. Finally, shaking his head, he guessed. “I feel that they are not friendly,” he said at last. “I have no reason for this. They do not hide. They march out in the open as if hoping to be seen. But at the same time, I do not trust them. If they wear the sign of their cities or leaders, why not also include something of our shared symbolism? Why no Moon or Sun or anything of Equestria? Because they are not of us. I do not trust them at all. These cloaked soldiers, I do not trust them at all.”

SOARIN’

“So I’m in charge while the boss is out? Perfect,” Soarin’ grumbled between sips of beer. Not that the beer was bad, because it was alright, and not that at the moment being nominally in charge of Luna’s clandestine dagger was really burdening him. Because it wasn’t.

He had done all that was asked of him. He started frequenting the four dives that Spike’s newly christened “Bats Out of Hell Division” used for dropoffs and meetups. He kept watch on the activities of various Solar officers and the House levy commanders who he had contact with. He kept the flow of information from the scouts to the public controlled.

The last part was harder. The whitecoaks. Fuckin’ hell. He finished the last third of the mug in one long swig. He had told that stupid kid not to say anything. At least the scout had been smart enough not to mention the cloaks. Or the insignia. At least, he had told Soarin’ that those things had slipped his mind in the telling. Either way, it was a mild disaster. One worthy of another beer at least. Yes, that would do. He, in fact, got up to acquire one.

“Goin’ for another?” slurred Spitfire.

“Yeah,” he grumbled. He had brought her along to keep the ruse up but also because they hadn’t had a decent conversation in forever. Spike was gone, and Rays was deep under cover, and so most of the conspirators were absent. The old fart what’s-his-name was in a meeting with the Princess. It struck him how odd it was that these were the only ones he knew about. Spike had talked about cells, but were there really any others? Oh. Big Mac. Yeah, Mac. He forgot about Mac. Why hadn’t he asked Mac to come?

“Well, gimme one too!” Spitfire yelled after him. So loud. Why was she always so loud? He didn’t mind, actually. He was genuinely curious in the way that only the drunk can be curious.

Oh, that was right. Big Mac wanted to spend time with Caramel before… everything. Right.

Why the hell was he here, drinking? Would he be sober when the time came? Possibly. Maybe. Part of him hoped not. Maybe he would trip up and get himself murdered by some low-level flunky. That would be nice. A clean hoofblade right through the eye. No more thinking.

Ordering, paying, receiving. In the haze of drink, it lazed by him. He missed it.

Soarin’ sat at the booth again.

Spitfire took her mug from him without preamble and pushed the previous vessel aside. Somepony would be around to collect the forlorn, empty things later. Soarin’ did not care.

“I know you’re down, stupid,” Spitfire slurred at him before taking another swig.

“I should’ve gotten you two,” Soarin’ said.

“Shoulda,” she sagely acknowledged.

“I’m not down.”

“You’re worse than a lovesick colt.”

Soarin’ stared at her stupidly. To be fair, there was not really another way to stare at someone besides stupidly when intoxicated. Anger, happiness, lust—you were still going to have a stupid look on your face.

“Do you ever just wanna die?” he asked.

“Nope,” she said and belched.

Soarin’ grumbled.

“What was that?”

He honestly wasn’t sure. “Look, Spits—”

“Do you want to die?” she asked.

“Sometimes. Kind of.”

“Really?” Soarin’ didn’t like the very sober look she gave him and wondered if Spitfire’s tolerance were as low as he had thought. He drank, himself.

“I don’t know.”

Did he? Did he really? He thought he might. Dying would solve a lot of problems. It would mean not having to do what he knew he had to do. It would mean not meeting Macintosh and Amber Wood and that batpony he forgot the name of, and he wouldn’t have to bear any weight. He wouldn’t have to bear any weight ever again.

“You’re just sad cause your mare left you, aren’t you?”

Startled, he stared at her. Had he told her? He was sure he hadn’t. Even through the haze of drink, he was sure.

“What?”

“Yeah, I know! I know.” Spitfire leaned across the table. “Don’t think I don’t know! I mean, I don’t know who. Probably never heard of ‘er. But I could tell! Always on errands, a little late to everything. A mare knows these things.” She finished with a grin.

“And you’re quite sure?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Well, yeah. This is what this is about, right? I figured it was, Soar.” She took a long drink, wrinkled her nose, and shook her head. “Damn.”

“It’s pretty mediocre, I know.”

“What’s with the dive?”

“Atmosphere,” he lied. Mostly. He would probably have been drinking at home. No he wouldn’t have. That was a lie. Soarin’ had been about to pin this on her or on the whole “hang out in bars on the seedy side of town so ponies think that’s just what you like to do” thing, but really, he just wanted a shitty place to feel shitty in, and that was that, wasn’t it? Maybe. Who knew? He was drunk and sad. He knew little.

“So. She break up with you? You knock her up?”

“Damn. No. No.”

“Then what?”

“Screw this.” He made no effort to leave the table. He wasn’t angry. He just felt as if a pony were sitting comfortably on his neck, just minding its own business without a care in the world to distract it.

“C’mon. We go way back, Soar. Tell your auntie Spits. C’mooooon.”

He groaned. “This is stupid. You’re stupid. I’m stupid.”

“Never claimed you weren’t,” she said and laughed. “Just tell me what happened. Do I know her? I swear I won’t do anything stupid. On my honor as a Wonderbolt,” she added and did a drunken, ridiculous salute. This attracted attention, he was sure, but he didn’t care.

“It’s Applejack. Twilight’s friend? From Ponyville. Uh… Rainbow Dash knows her?” Only now it occurred to him that she wouldn’t necessarily know who Applejack was.

“Uh… shy, yellow one?”

“No! No,” he said and chuckled despite himself. “Don’t think she’s interested either way. No, the one with the hat.”

“Oh! That one. Really? Well, fuck me! Didn’t see it comin’.” She snickered at his dismay. He retreated into his drink, feeling much as he did before.

When he saw Spitfire again, he was sure that she was more sober than he was by far. It was obvious. She was looking at him appraisingly.

“Bit… for your thoughts?” he asked, almost forgetting the phrase. Usually he would have laughed. He felt no desire to laugh.

“Moon and stars. Here I was thinking it was just some little scuffle or something like that. I drank slower than you so I could get you back to the barracks after you’d drowned your sorrows, and I figured it would be alright.”

“Bullshit. I saw you drink,” he said, glaring.

“It’s true. I added mine to yours twice,” she said. “And you should know I’m not a lightweight by now.”

“I always underestimate you,” he replied and then laid his head on the table. “I’m not sure I can just drink and then sleep it off, Spits. Everything is awful, and I’m miserable, and the world is on fire.”

“Not yet.”

“It is going to be on fire later,” he amended. “And also, it will be too hot, and I hate it when it’s hot and whatever. It’s stupid. I hate everything.”

“No you don’t.” She was going to coo at him. He hated when she cooed at him. Hate hate hate. Her cheeks were rosy. Ha!

“Yes, I do, in fact, hate everything. Even you, because you’re… uh.” He faltered.

“Superior to you in every way?” she offered helpfully.

“Yes. That.”

Spitfire rolled her eyes. “Soar, can you walk?”

He grunted and shrugged. Could he? Good question. In fact, he decided to test it. He stumbled out of the seat, wavered, and stood. Blinking, once again stupidly, he looked back at Spitfire as if expecting applause.

“Good,” she said and got out. Some sober part of him smugly noted that she was not completely secure on her feet either. But she was better off than Soarin’ was, and he watched her leave a few bits on the table, and then she was helping him walk straight through the door and into the biting cold breeze.

He shivered. “Gah! Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. We should go home. This isn’t going to help like I hoped it might, and I feel like the streets are a better place to have this talk.”

“Talk? What?” He blinked. The sudden change in light was a little disorienting. Not a lot. Just a little. He was fine, really. The streets were less crowded than when they’d entered. How late was it?

Spitfire stumbled, and Soarin’ stumbled with her. She recovered, but he hit the ground with a dull thud.

“Shit! Aw, shit, Soar, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

She was shaking him. He was fine—she knew he would be fine. Nothing stopped him for long, come hells or water.

“I’m… Yeah,” he said and coughed.

“Okay. Okay, just… here.” She sat him up, and when he could see her again, the light from the dive’s window showed him only two bright fires and what looked like a face twisted in… no. Tricks of the light. See, even now her face was more smooth. She was in control, the master and commander.

“I’m okay,” he insisted.

“I believe you,” she said in a tone that implied quite the opposite. “Just sit.”

“Okay,” he said.

She sat down heavily against him. They leaned on each other like siblings would, carelessly and without a shred of self-consciousness, without noticing the other at all.

“So you’re scared?” Spitfire said after a long silence.

“Yeah.”

“That… what?”

“She’ll die, or I’ll die, or we’ll both die. Or too much time or too much space!” he said, a bit louder than he had intended to. But he continued on. “She’s right at the end of the world. I just feel it. I feel like she’s hurt somewhere, and I can’t do anything.”

“No, you really can’t do anything.”

“See? Nothing.”

“But,” she continued, and he knew she was straining now. “I mean, c’mon, Soar, you can’t just whine forever. You have things to do. Do that stuff. Just keep… You gotta keep going. It’s important.”

“To who? Not me,” he said.

“To you. For you. You stop, and you’re dead. You know that. Quick and the Dead, only two types in the sky.”

“This isn’t flying.”

“Everything is flying. Everything,” she repeated, and he felt her shift against his back. Probably waving her arms. She was more gone than she thought. “All of it. Flying is everything, and everything is flying. They’re the same, Soar. You’re not a kid—you know that. You’re a Wonderbolt, and it all comes back to the things you know and the things you don’t.”

“You aren’t making sense,” he grumbled.

“Hell, neither are you, big stupid… pony.”

“I miss her, Spits. I’ve tried not to feel it all this time, and I can’t do it much longer. I don’t know what set me off. No, screw that, I do know. Macintosh went to go see his boyfriend before we…” He coughed. “We have to do some… Fuck. Macintosh, Applejack’s brother. Big red one.”

Spitfire made a sound between a groan and a whistle that made him want to wretch. “Mm, oh, I remember that one. I wouldn’t mind—”

“He’s gay,” Soarin’ said quicker than he had said most things in his life.

“Aw.”

“But we’re doing something. Blackwing,” he added. He felt her go stiff. He hadn’t used Wonderbolt code in a while. It felt nice. Blackwing, black op. It was stupid. But it was sort of what you did in the ‘Bolts, so he kept it. “And he wanted to see Caramel, and I just couldn’t stop thinking. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ at all.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s rough.”

“So are a lot of things,” he said, feeling inordinately stupid. What was he doing? He shifted, and Spitfire sat up as he stood and stretched. “I feel better. Can we go home? I have work to do soon. Too soon.”

“I’m not sure anything is better.”

“It won’t be. But maybe it will be if I sleep. It won’t get better while I’m drunk.” He gestured, and she followed him. “Sleep solves everything.”

OPAL

There were stories of Opal, Legata of the Ninth Legion. One of them was that when isolated with only a few ponies of her personal guard, she routed a thousand hardened barbarians. Wide-eyed recruits would repeat the tale told to them by smirking veterans—or, as was not uncommon when it was a tale regarding the Iron Bitch, by wiser and more experienced legionaries with somber expressions and earnest tones. They said she and her four guards followed the great train of ponies, going ahead to fell a tree here or there, divert a stream into the uncertain road. And then, when the column was stopped, she would strike like an eagle out of the sun. Hours and hours on end, she shadowed them. Only a few died at a time. Two here, one there. They no doubt mocked her. Did she think she could defeat so many? What could one mare do against the finest warriors of their tribe, even with her magic, after all?

She could do a lot. Two here and there added up. Opal did not let up. The Iron Bitch of the Ninth Legion never, ever let up. She harassed them until night fell and then afterwards. None saw her directly. They only ever saw a flash, or a shadow, and then somepony was dead. Perhaps there are others, grumbled the warband. This lone scout is not alone, they decided.

And she fed on their growing fear. For there was fear there. It was not the numbers of the slain that frightened them, for she had barely put a dent in their number. What terrified them was her relentless assault. She was impossible, godlike, apparently without needs or whim. Such single-minded rage was not for mortal ponykind, and they were realizing this.

And then she emerged from the dark woods like a ghost. No, like a revenant, a Fury from the lowest realms of Tartarus come to drag them down into the dark where there were no campfires or stars. Her magic seared them, and her hoofblades gutted them. Nopony knew how many fell at her assault, but they all knew that merely the sight of her in the firelight was enough. Just one look at her face in the height of fury was enough.

The doctor in front of her was seeing just the tiniest fraction of this. Or, to be more correct, he would have had a good look, had he not been dodging a potted plant.

“Ma’am! Gener—Uh, Legate, please! You need to calm down.”

“I will not! I will not be calm in the presence of such gross, primitive incompetence!” she roared at the cowering unicorn. Her horn glowed weakly. It fizzed, almost giving out. Yet she held on.

“At least stop using magic, Legate. Your horn…”

“You know nothing of what I am capable of! You barely know how to do this one task assigned you!”

“It’s right here. I can show you in the report. Barring a miracle—”

“Is there no magic in this land? Are there are no healers? By the Stars, all of them, in my time you would have been flogged or removed from this place as a charlatan! Such things can be fixed with magic.”

“If it was just… It’s the wild magic, Legate. From the blast.”

Opal’s magic gave out. The vase slammed to the floor and shattered. The doctor backed away, looking down at the puddle and the forlorn flowers.

“I will speak,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, “to the Master Surgeon.”

The young unicorn seemed about to ask her who that was, but she locked eyes with him, and he fled.

As soon as he had left the room, she slumped back against the pillow.

How many days? Two, so they told her. Where? The palace, a room prepared for her on the orders of the Consort himself, to be kept well-lit and warm and clean. What a strange world she had come to, really. This place? This was a room for… nobles. Fat merchants with their shifting eyes and fatter purses. Somepony else. This was not a room for the Iron Bitch. It wasn’t a room for Opal, born on a farm, either.

It was a strange cream color. The bed was magnificent. How soft! Even the light that came through the window was soft. It was alien to her.

When she arrived back from the frontier with a whole list of wounds, the Emperor—her Lord, her blessed one—had bid her to sit before him. There had been no one else there. She remembered it well.

“Come. Sit at my hooves, and tell me of the southern lands,” she cooed softly to herself. And she had. She had done so with starstruck eyes. Her body had sung with delight that could not be found in battle, and she was like a maiden next to him. She remembered it as if it had happened yesterday. He had been so very pleased with her report.

And she had accompanied him until he retired for the night, at his heels like a loyal hound, and then back to her cell in the officer’s barracks, where she was content. That was the way a soldier was treated. Her walls had been bare. There were no windows. Windows were a tactical liability. Flowers were stupid. Leaving them for ponies clearly not in the mood to enjoy them was stupid, anyhow. She supposed flowers themselves weren’t that bad.

Here you are, she thought and stared at the curtained window where the afternoon shone through. Here you are. Out of time. Outside of time. Broken! Not broken. You could be fixed! But they cannot do it. I’m sure they could, before. I’m sure of it.

Did she really know? If she were honest, she had no idea. Medicine was not her specialty. She knew much of rending but not much of mending. But it was easier to blame the loss of knowledge.

What things they forgot! And the strangest things they still remember. They had forgotten all of her victories. Every single one. Until the Empire had come out of its long sleep, every trace of Opal had been wiped from the face of the earth. They remembered her Lord, her Master, as she knew that the ages would… except only a few knew. And they thought him defeated. And they thought him a monster. The vilest of animals, the worst of ponies.

Hadn’t she thought that in the end?

The end was hazy. She remembered the crying of the sentries—whose? And what did they cry about? She remembered other things. Soldiers in the streets. Flags borne up over and around the piles of the dead. Fire. She remembered the morning after some great catastrophe. Magic. She remembered a tent, and she remembered lying on her cot in it, waiting on something. She remembered being so… so very angry. So very lost. Sad.

A little of that sadness drifted down from the clouds she projected in her mind’s eye and touched her. Remembered sadness is not sharp, but it is painful, and she closed her eyes.

She would remember more. When she had been freed, when they had all reappeared, nopony had remembered anything at all. They were nameless things with no memory, stumbling about with bleary eyes like foals learning to walk, speaking sometimes, but usually not. She had wandered. But eventually, she had walked the walls of the legionary compound—of the Ninth Legion, in fact. This was her place. She had known that even when her name was gone.

There were hoofsteps. She stiffened and then relaxed. It would be more functionaries to do whatever it is they did. She would not rage. She would show these primitives the dignity of the Empire, by the Stars, or be burnt.

Whoever it was, they were taking their time. She supposed she was not the only wounded pony. She was, after all, just a soldier. She had always been just a soldier. Had she not told her Lord this?

He isn’t mine. He isn’t anyone’s but his own. He was never… He is not as I feel, she thought and shivered. Would those orderlies hurry up? She hated to be alone. She hated thinking.

“Do your thoughts trouble you, my Legate?”

Opal jumped. Her eyes sprang open, and in a panic, she turned over and tried to rise.

“My Lor—Empress, I am sorry. I did not know it was you! I—”

Cadance raised her hoof. “Be at ease, Legate Opal. Do not rise for me.”

“But it is…”

“An extenuating circumstance, I think,” the Empress of the North said.

Opal lay back against the pillow heavily. She let go of a breath.

Cadance looked as frail as Opal. In fact, she looked frailer. Worse than one who had bled in the streets. Opal had seen the tired eyes and emaciated form before, three months ago, but there were whispers that Empress Cadance had gotten worse.

“My Lady, forgive me, but may I speak?”

Cadance looked at her as if she were a curiosity. Opal wanted to squirm. “Of course you may speak, Opal.”

There was no boundary. The Empress used simply her name. Her Lord had done that so few times. She had died in ecstasy. She had gazed in his eyes and known—

“Empress, you look unwell. Why have you come to me? Your wellbeing is far more important than a tour of the soldiery. To have the Crystal Throne injured on my account would be unbearable, your Grace.”

Cadance smiled at her. It was not Sombra’s smile.

“I am well enough for walking. More or less. There are alicorns and alicorns, as my mother told me, and while I am no mover of celestial bodies and mountains, I am still my mother’s child. I heal very fast. Though…” she sighed. “To tell you the truth, I am rather tired.”

“Your Highness…”

“No, it’s fine. Seriously. I’ll be fine. I’ll be taking a rather long nap when I get back to my chambers. Maybe all day! Shining is being very insistent that I stay in bed.”

The Empress giggled. Opal decided that she had left earth behind and had entered into the land of impossible things. The One Who Sat Upon the Crystal Throne did not giggle. The Emperor of the North did not giggle.

Cadance crossed the floor and sat by her bedside, surprisingly close. Opal was completely lost. This was her Empress. This pony was all but holy. This pony was the pinnacle at which every other eye must be pointed, the highest peak of the Empire. This was not what an Emperor did.

“I wanted to see you,” Cadance continued. “I was on my way here anyhow, and there was a rather flustered doctor in the hallways talking about you, so I figured I was right on time.”

“He… His medicine is paltry,” she managed.

“He’s actually very good. Highly respected, even. I remember him from the dossiers that Cicero gave us. You know, he was going to hire the whole staff without even telling me? But I wanted to know.”

“Why?” Opal blurted out and then drew back. Slightly. She did not know if the Empress saw.

“Well, they are going to be living and working under my roof. The least I can do is know who they are. My mother had coffee with the Head Butler every morning. He never got used to it; he was always scandalized! For years and years. I wonder if he just kept up appearances.”

Opal was appalled.

“Aunt Celestia teased the staff sometimes. Little pranks, little jokes. The new hooves were always so intimidated! Aunt Luna is a bit more stiff with the staff, or at least she was when I left to come here. I do hope she’s softened a bit. But I wanted to be like my aunt. The royal palace in Canterlot is such a lovely place, so welcoming and warm, perfect for a warm and welcoming land. My palace is not quite as warm or welcoming. You may speak freely, you know,” she added, and Opal looked down. “The world has moved on a bit. I would like for you to speak to me freely. I am your liege, but you are a pony as I am. You may respect me best by allowing me your company now. If that helps.”

“The Crystal Palace has always been a place of strength and glory, your Grace. It was meant that the primitives would come here, and before they had reached the receiving chamber, they would already know our power and our might. How far our reach stretched… How swiftly our hoof descended. That we were merciless and steadfast.”

“It was a very different time. Are you proud of those things? I ask honestly.”

Opal looked into her eyes. Was this some sort of test? Was this what her purpose was? Sombra had laid tests for his officers on occasion. He had asked questions. What did so-and-so think of his plans to beat the Triballi into submission? Take from them tribute and slaves? Ah, yes, of course my plan is strategically sound, but should we? The answer was always, always yes.

“I am.”

“Why?”

Opal blinked. “To be strong is… to be strong. It is important, your Grace, for an empire to show that it can wield the power that an empire ought to. Empires are not maintained by timidity. Nations must be held by force of arms and vigilance at the very least and by aggression when the need arises. Others must be kept at arm’s length or beneath one’s hooves.”

Cadance frowned. “The world… the world has moved on so much from the past.”

“I know that I am a relic,” Opal said. She spat it and then froze.

“You are hardly a relic,” Cadance said and smiled at her. “You are a pony, silly. My pony, as you all are. My Legate. I am not saying it is bad… I am simply lost, Opal. More and more I realize that I know so little. I mean, I have the old annals. I can look at dates and events. I know all about your campaigns, actually. I have studied them.”

“My…” Opal coughed. “The history of the Empire is vast and impressive, my Lady.”

“Yes, it is. It is very long, as long as Henosis.”

Opal hummed. “I know of that land. I was there once, accompanying my Lor… Lord Sombra.”

Cadance hesitated. “It was my home. My mother was Queen.”

“Queen Iridia. It was a few years…” She faltered. “She was magnificent. I remember her vividly.”

“She is not much changed,” Cadance said with a smile. “I wonder if she would remember you. I wonder a lot of things, actually. Like how Henosis is weathering this darkness. I have not been back home in a very, very long time. I doubt I will have a chance to return for longer still. At least the climate is still the same for you! I felt like I was on the verge of heatstroke all the time my first year in Canterlot.”

Opal shook her head. “No, it is far colder. Winter was always harsh, but when I was a child, it was never as harsh as this time’s winters are.”

“It is the same land, though. And the same city. But a different empire. How are you feeling?”

“Me?” Opal sighed. “My Lady, I am really of little consequence.”

“Liar. You know that the city is heavily in your debt. I personally am in your debt. Your stand may have helped my husband survive. And you fought alongside him, more or less. You kept my little ponies safe. I owe you a great deal.”

Opal looked down at her legs. “I am only a soldier.”

“You are also a pony. How are you feeling?”

Opal was silent for a moment. A long moment. She wished to say nothing. She wanted to say that she was fine, that she was feeling a little more alive, a little less half-dead and beaten by Mitou fists. She wasn’t having nightmares or struggling to breathe. She was alive, and therefore, she was fine.

“I feel useless. I am useless,” she said instead. “Your Grace, why did you come if you heard what that healer said? Did you not know? Here, I will show you.”

She tore the sheets off of her bed and let Cadance see the ruined legs. Her body was a mass of scars. Most of them were old. Some were new. Thirty years on the march or in the thick of fiercest battles, and this was what was left. All of the dross had been done away with, and what remained was strength. Until now. Because half of her was completely useless.

“Your… legs?” Cadance asked softly.

“They tell me that they cannot fix anything. Maybe, maybe, maybe—they overuse that word in this time. Maybe if I had not been washed over in wild magic. Maybe if the blow had been a bit to the left. Maybe. But it is not maybe. It is. I am done. I am broken and hollowed out, Empress Cadance. The Ninth Legion has no commander.” She huffed. “Or, should I say that, my Lady, I have no legion.”

“There are survivors,” Cadance said carefully. It sounded as if she said it with the kind of delicacy one employed when stepping between napping dragons. “The Legion is not up for a fight, but there are plenty of survivors.”

“A soldier who can fight is still a soldier and can be a thing of use. How many are there?”

“Few,” Cadance admitted. “But the survival rate itself is surprisingly high!” she added. “Many came back to us in ones and twos. We found several holed up in homes in the aftermath. They fought on even when there was no hope, Legate. Your leadership at work, I think.”

Opal looked away. “It is the honor of the Ninth to back down before nothing, my Lady.”

“That legacy has not died—even if the world moved on. You are… you are not useless, Opal. You are not useless at all. You have a mind. You can speak; you can breathe—you can live. I know you can. You still have the spark of life that makes you, well, you. I know you do.”

Opal grimaced. “My Lady, these legs will not bear me to any battlefield.”

“And the Empire is not currently at war with our neighbors. Seeing as how I am related to the royalty of both of them, and on top of that we have a tripartite alliance, I doubt we will be in a war again for a very long time.”

“Then even whole, I am a relic out of use.”

“But the guard is still the hoof of the law. And they need your fire. They need Opal, the hero of the Ninth Legion, and I think you need them. Legate, you are the commander of the Legion who bore the greatest burden in the defense of the capitol. Your name lives forever. Do not be so quick to lie here and be defeated, not in the wake of your greatest victory.”

Opal was quiet.

Cadance was also quiet.

“My greatest victory was not on a battlefield,” Opal said at last. “I had beaten the Triballi to a miserable heaving pulp. I had brought back slaves who bore a king’s ransom to pay back the damages they had inflicted in their petulant raiding tenfold times. I came to the Palace after my triumph. After my fourth triumph,” she said, and for a moment, she smiled. “The parade was magnificent. The ponies did not always cheer, but that day, they did. If I have sinned in my Lord’s name, I did not break the law of the things in that campaign. There would be no more murdering of innocent farmers in the night, and the ponies in the streets knew this, and they cheered me, and I roared at them in joy, my hooves… high in the air.”

She raised her forelegs, mimicking the motion, smiling all the while.

“And I came to the palace to make my report, and my Lord stopped me. He told his ministers to leave, and he smiled at me. He told me to sit at his side, at his hoof, and tell him all that I had to say. I was ecstatic. Enraptured.” Opal’s breathing was ragged. “I was a fool. I was so blind. I told him, and he laughed at the enemy’s folly and hummed with delight at my own strength, and he praised me! He said that I had become his greatest general! No higher honor, no higher feeling could I be blessed with at that moment.

“That was my finest moment. Even now. Even after… everything.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Cadance asked.

“No,” she said. “I will remember one day. I do not want to remember.”

“But you should. Those events are a part of you, Legate.”

“Then a part of me is meant for despair, Empress,” she spat. Her sense of decorum had left her. It had died like any other wounded thing might, thrown to the side when the going got rougher.

“If you don’t know who you are… if you don’t be who you are, you’ll never change who you are,” Cadance said. “Legate, you cannot hold on to everything. You must continue.”

She thought of carrying her wounded centurion in the snow as a mere infantrypony. “I have been good at that. In the past.”

“Do it now. I can’t tell you to feel better about… about this.”

“I won’t. I cannot. I am both unable and unwilling to feel remotely better, your Grace. I am filled with bitterness.”

“My… the heart’s wild magic…”

“It does not matter how. I failed to keep the Mitou out, and if the solution took my hopes of healing from me, then the world is even and the world is just,” Opal said. She felt so tired. She closed her eyes and wiped her mane from her brow. “If it did not, if I would not have recovered regardless, then I have been paid in kind for a half-failure, and the world is just and the world is even. Without end, amen, ‘whatever,’ as my insolent recruits say to one another,” she said.

“Legate Opal…”

“I am sorry, your Highness. I am very sorry.”

Cadance sighed. “I am sorry as well. If I come again, will you receive me? I think it is time we both had our rest.”

Opal spoke quickly. “I must see you.”

“But if you can choose, which you can, will you see me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will come again.” Cadance stood and shook herself. Opal watched her do so with one half-opened eye. Cadance had suffered so greatly. She had come, and Opal could not go anywhere herself. “I will not tell you to be well. I will wish you farewell, regardless, however,” Cadance said.

Opal tried to approximate a bow and failed miserably. It did not help that she could feel very little past her waist. “Thank you for seeing me, your Grace.”

Cadance smiled. She left.

Opal lay back in her bed and stared at the ceiling. When she was alone, truly alone, she thought that, just for a moment, she could feel His touch on her inner thigh. He had admired her strength. Her power. He had admired those legs. Once.

LUNA

Luna found herself adrift. Outclassed.

She should not feel this way. There was much to do and little time to do it. The raiders must be dealt with. The new arrivals, whatever or whoever they were. Insurrection within and without. Reports of Griffons wandering nearer and nearer the city. Spike’s sojourn.

She had wanted to deny his request. Against all reason, she had wanted to bury her head in the sand. It had come into her mind to send another, some flighty pegasus or sturdy guardspony, perhaps even her nightshades, but she knew Spike was her best chance of knowledge.

Not that knowledge was always what she desired.

Young mare, young mare, she thought. Your legs are too short. Who had said that? Someone a long time ago, perhaps. An alicorn’s head was full of strange tidbits like that. They could say things and sing things that had never been said or sung in living memory, their own or others. She had always wondered where these things came from. Celestia had always thought the Song was giving them these things one at a time, but Luna did not like to think about the Song, and so she had settled on the advanced imagination of a near-immortal.

She stared down at her scattered papers.

There was much to do. Spike was gone. He had left in the night, out through one of the secret entrances. Luna was glad for Celestia’s notes.

Celestia’s notes. They had more than just a helpful reminder to ask the captain of the Solar Guard about floor plans and passages. All sorts of morsels had been buried inside. She had glimpsed only the beginnings of that treasure… and not gone a single step beyond the threshold. All that she had brought out from her sister’s chambers was in the corner, in a disorganized heap inside of a box which had seen better days.

Focus.

Her first task must be to contact Rarity in the dreaming. First? Well, soon. What time was it? Late. Late enough for her to be asleep, obviously. What else? Reports from the walls and scouts. A few petitions. A letter from the patriarch of House Epona, which was probably well-intentioned but ultimately useless.

She knew he was out there. Spike, that was. He had been in here…. hours ago. How many? Several. She wasn’t sure. If she had ever been sure, it certainly eluded her now. They had looked over the news from the outside together, and it had been grim. Of course it had. It always was.

But then she had found the report on Ponyville, and though he was not a pony, she could all but see his ears perk up. Not that he had ears to perk up. She was throwing herself off on purpose now, wasn’t she? But he had noticed. He’d asked to read the whole thing, back and front, three times at least. Luna had known he would want to see his old home before he had even asked.

She shouldn’t have let him go.

It really was not an opportune time. His team was ready to move. They would go on without him, and she was unsure of success. Of course, they could not really be traced to her. Only their word could hurt the throne, and…

Well, and nothing. They would give her away, or they would not. She thought they would not. She had placed no holds or bans upon them, no geas. How odd. This time was strange, full of ponies with no reservations and few restraints, and here she was, becoming one of them. If they gave her up, perhaps it would be for the best. She would be disgraced. As she should be, perhaps.

What would Twilight Sparkle do?

Organize, probably. So she stood, shook her head ruefully, and retrieved the box with her magic. It was time to get reading. Spike would be back from his reconnaissance in a day or so. The Assembly would not meet until next week, and Page Turner was in her drawing room, writing her responses to any correspondence and handling any reports and such that needed her attention. She needed to read. She needed to know if her suspicions were correct, but above all… she needed an answer. She was outflanked and not after much struggle. Any disgrace she suffered under would be rather deserved, for a warrior fallen this low.

As to be barred from the assembly of the houses. Honestly. She ground her teeth. She had wished for her old warhammer for the entire afternoon. Killing had not brought her joy, true, but crushing things with the hammer had. Rocks, trees, fruit, the occasional broken cart—a much younger Luna had learned to channel her disgust into other avenues.

Luna looked into the box, sighed, and began to read. If nothing else, she could perhaps find the decree. She knew it would be somewhere. Rarity would want to see it, and Luna needed to memorize what it looked like before that meeting.

It was going to be hard to convince her, Luna knew. It was an awful lot of responsibility. And the other parts, the working out of Luna’s plan, would be taxing upon her sister, Sweetie Belle. But… it was really her only option.

An hour passed. Luna found nothing. But she would. She would. Celestia had kept this. She knew Celestia had kept the original draft, and the royal seal was upon that draft, and no scowling son of House Rowan-Oak could scoff at Celestia’s seal. Though they would scoff at mine! She growled and wished to smash something.

But at last, she found it. She smiled and stood.

“Page Turner?” she called. “Are you awake?”

“Always,” came the voice of her faithful aide.

“I think I have the answer to the question I asked you the other day.”

Page Turner appeared in the doorway of her study.

“The Decree? The one after the war?”

“Yes,” she said. “Could you find where one Sweetie Belle of Ponyville is staying? I shall be paying her a visit soon.” She smiled down at the decree. “We have much to talk about. Soon."

Author's Note

Young man—
Young man—
Your arm's too short to box with God.

(James Weldon Johnson)

XXIX. You're Gonna Carry That Weight

XXIX. You’re Gonna Carry That Weight

TWILIGHT

“He complained about the cannons already. I supposed somepony would eventually,” Twilight said.

“Who is that now, girl?” the Captain asked.

“The Vizir’s… representative, I guess? I figure that’s what you would call it. Him. He told me they were ancient, to which I replied that I had told his master that explicitly, and that the ship was not really meant to be fighting when it was built.”

“I reckon ye made little headway, Twilight Sparkle.”

“You would be right. He just sort of huffed at me. But that’s fine. The deal is still going through, isn’t it?”

They watched the workponies moving the cannons one by one. Mostly, they were earth ponies pulling on ropes. They strained and strained, and yet whenever they could, they would whistle. Some hummed. They sang a strange song in a tongue she did not understand.

The two of them stood on the quay and waited. Two more cannons, Twilight thought to herself. They had moved the ammunition first. There was more of it than she’d anticipated. Tradewinds had found a few more crates.

Tradewinds now stood on deck, peering over the railing. She grinned and waved at Twilight, who smiled back at her. “What odd company I keep,” she said. “Warriors and sailors and thieftakers. Strays.”

The Captain chuckled at being called a stray, but then he sighed. “About that thieftaker, young miss. He is… well. I have been in Valon several times. The Thieftakers have a reputation for being virtuous, if ruthless. They are good ponies. Mostly. But this stallion seems different. Not bad. Simply…”

“You think he could cause friction,” Twilight finished.

“Aye.”

“I agree,” Twilight said. “For what it’s worth. Nopony has really had time to really judge his character, and he’s an unknown. Hells, I’m not really sure why he is going with us at all. Abdiel claims that we’re the best way back home to where he lives in the West. Had you heard that?”

“I had not, nay. But that would make sense, if you hear me. Yon thieftaker’s ancestral home is far to the west of here. The two towns: Sarnath and Ulthar.The Twins, so they call them on the Veldt. That’s the plains, ken?”

“I had gathered that. So it’s plausible. And he does seem to be officially registered as a Thieftaker.”

They were quiet for a moment. Another cannon was finally brought to earth and another crew began to roll it off to be put on another ship.

“What do you think he’ll use the Alicorn for, Captain?” Twilight asked. “I mean, they’re taking the cannons off of her. I’m no expert on warfare, mind you, but I’ve read my share of books. I know enough to know that she won’t be much use.”

“Supplies. Food and passengers, I suspect. A cargo vessel, like she was meant to be. Probably escort her up and down the coast.”

Twilight nodded. She hummed.

A few more beats.

“The crew has been shaky ‘bout this, young miss. Yon blues in the hold aren’t for uprisin’, especially not against the mare who defeated them so soundly. A single blow! But ye might be wantin’ to speak to ‘em.”

“Are they unhappy with going west?”

“Unsure, more like. They’ve no other place to go, really, and they weren’t in good standin’ with their Blue-wearin’ kin. Nay, I think it’s more a malaise. You seem like the speechifyin’ type, young miss.”

Twilight snorted. “Maybe at one point I was.”

“Now, I think ye’re not seein’ all the truth. Is a common affliction of the young, you know. Sore afflicted, ye are.”

Twilight smiled. The sun peaked over the rooftops, and she knew it would be gone soon. “So, you think I can just give a rousing speech, acquire cheers, and everything is right as rain? That seems unlikely. I can’t convince ponies that my mission is sound. I’m not even sure.”

Not entirely true. She was sure of some things. She thought of the artifact Luna had given her. Just that morning, in a lull, she had checked it again. It led them west, into the true West, as it had before now, and she supposed would continue to do until… well. Until.

APPLEJACK

Night had fallen, yet Valon did not sleep. It was just as busy, just with different kinds of business. Its taverns were full as any she would find in Canterlot, and even with foreign customs and strange decor, Applejack found that they were not that different from her home’s gathering places.

It was nice, settling down for a day or three. Applejack could get used to not being shot at or being worried about being shot at. Or being hungry. Or running. She was no fainting lily, but a mare had her limits! Hers were quite transgressed, but what could you do? What mattered was that they were safe, for now.

She looked across the table laden with food at the batpony who sat there, narrating some adventure of his. Chasing two-bit thieves across rooftops.

She wasn’t sure what to think, really.

She had known him only a few hours, so that was understandable. He had not given her any reason to doubt his sincerity or his credentials. He was indeed a thieftaker, charged with the dispensal of justice by what means it could be had. Often violent means, which Applejack had mild distaste for, but the world was harsher than she had imagined. He seemed amiable and friendly. Perhaps it was this easy demeanor that gave her pause.

Well that’s just plum sad, she thought and was careful not to grimace.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it. She did! The world could use a few more bushels of friendly ponies in these days.

Pinkie liked him. Twilight was… Twilight. Applejack wasn’t sure at all what Twilight was thinking. She seemed pretty neutral about the whole matter, but Applejack guessed that she was asking the same questions. Tradewinds thought the new stallion was a wonderful companion. She was hanging onto every word of his story. The Captain, who’d joined them, seemed polite enough to Abdiel.

What sort of name was Abdiel anyhow? Strange name. Not a normal pony name, that.

To be fair, he was not a normal pony. She had never known a batpony, not really. She’d seen plenty, but they were mostly guards on business and Applejack had had her own life to attend to. He didn’t seem that different from her. Besides the flying.

If you looked close enough, he had a smirk like Soarin’s.

Applejack looked down at her plate. No food left. She had some beer though. She drank. It was terrible. All hoppy bitterness without the rich substantive body. She drank it anyway.

“So, I must ask you…” Abdiel said, and his tone had changed. Applejack looked over the edge of her mug. “About your destination. Why go to such a place as the mouth of the grave?”

Twilight looked around at the others. Applejack didn’t meet her eyes. Drink drink drink, and Twilight would look away—and she did! Mare had to make her own choices eventually.

“Well…” Twilight sighed. “I have business there, obviously.”

“Business,” Abdiel intoned.

“Yes. I’m looking for someone.”

“If you look in Jannah, you seek either the very quick or the hopefully dead,” Abdiel replied. He did not seem fazed by this. If anything, he seemed excited by it. “Because, I must tell you, Jannah is a place that hardened murderers, mad men who drink blood, would dare not go without great purpose. Now, you are foreigners, so partially I must attribute your certainty to ignorance. Yet… Yet. You know, a thing can have impression upon you from far away?”

“What’s that mean?” Applejack asked.

“It means, my most beautiful of mares, that any thinking creature in the West can feel Jannah. If you stretch a sheet in the air and drop a weight into the middle, everything is drawn down towards it. The same goes true for Jannah and the world about it.”

“So, you mean that we would have chickened out if we didn’t have a good reason,” Pinkie jumped in.

“Twilight Sparkle would not be of this chickening,” Tradewinds said firmly. “You see Twilight Sparkle is, ah, khrabryy. Would not be turning to go home.”

Applejack knew a little better. Perhaps. Maybe she wouldn’t have, but Twilight’s resolve needed a push now and then to get started again.

“So you must have a very, very good reason,” Abdiel said.

“Well, why don’t you say what you think it is,” Applejack drawled. Abdiel looked over at her with an arched eyebrow and a half-grin. Like Soarin. She was angry. But it wasn’t his fault. She wouldn’t take it out on him. “And maybe we’ll tell you if you’re right, if you understand me.”

“Perfectly. You are looking for somepony in Jannah, the Mother of Cities, and you need her desperately. Well.” He leaned in. “You are from Equestria, and the all the world’s ending seems to seep out from that place. Violence and distance has not turned you back, so your need is great. What need would you have, at the epicenter? Food, shelter, safety—these things are not gained in Jannah. No, I think you need something better. Far more powerful than guns and bread.”

“What’s that?” Twilight asked flatly.

“I think you need the Lightbringer. I think you need Celestia, who brought the Sun to Sarnath and who Set Upon Ulthar. I think you need the Lady of Mornings.”

“I’ve not heard those names,” the Captain said.

“She walked among us, long ago. Well, am I wrong?”

Twilight grimaced. “You’re not. No. You’re right.”

“Then I must ask. You must take me with you. I can be of service! You know that I can fight in your defense already, but I know the country and know more of the Mother of Cities than you! This adventure… I cannot be left out. I would survive the end of days only to die of shame if I was left behind.”

“This isn’t some kind of game,” Twilight began. Tradewinds spoke over her.

“I understand. You are warrior. You wish to drink delight of battle with peers. But the druzhina of Twilight Sparkle is not place for glory-seek, da? It is not likely to be easy.”

“I understand that, madam. I give a false face, I think! I do not seek mere glory. No, the city drains me. I wish to go home—but I also wish to be of use. Here I am of use to few, but in your service, Twilight of Equestria, I might be of use to all. That is a high calling! I came here to answer a high calling, and I would be loathe to pass up the highest.”

Twilight pursed her lips. Applejack studied the batpony.

He was about their age. He seemed fine.

Who the hell asked to go on a damn suicide mission?

It startled her to think of it that way. It wasn’t They would go home. She had a farm to rebuild. Her little sister and her brother needed her. Mac couldn’t keep up with that much land by himself, and Caramel weren’t much help, and Applebloom was gonna go to college at least for a while and…

“I’m just not sure you understand what’s at stake here,” Twilight said. “I mean, if we are doing what you think we’re doing. I mean… if you really know so much about it, you know why going with us to Jannah is bad, right?”

“Think we’re beyond the ‘if we are but we’re not’ stage, Twilight!” Pinkie chimed in.

“Oh, it is horrendous. Terribly bad decision for my healthy and sanity. So was becoming a thieftaker. We all die,” he added, and for once, his smile wavered. Applejack watched him like a hawk watches a fieldmouse. He recovered admirably. “I am not rushing to death. But if I am going to choose between sitting here and doing nothing and going west and doing everything, I am choosing the obviously better option.”

Twilight sighed. “You act as if we said we wanted or needed you to come along.”

“Ah, but you see, as your friend Tradewinds has said, I am a warrior. A warrior can see weakness, madam, and I can see your party’s easily. With apologies, your only scout is injured.”

Tradewinds looked incredibly sad. Applejack wanted to say something, but Abdiel plowed ahead.

“And though I have seen her in combat, and I know for a fact that she is a raging whirlwind—” here he smiled at Tradewinds, who seemed a little happier “—you will have want of a flying scout in both Jannah and the Veldt. Neither is safe, and it is imperative that you have warning of danger before it is upon you. Eating you.”

“Comforting thought, that,” Pinkie said.

“Aye,” the Captain said glumly.

“Ah, but bring me along and you need not be devoured, friends,” Abdiel said. “Lastly, I bring my own supplies and my own money, which I can happily contribute to the collective pool, as well as an extra set of hoofblades. I speak the languages of the Veldt, and know the tribes and the little towns along the river… In short, Twilight Sparkle of Equestria, long may you live, I am incredibly convenient.”

“A bit too convenient,” Applejack murmured.

“Yes, that is troubling,” Abdiel said. “I am, to be truthful, rather desperate to come along. This is… a big opportunity. I have missed the true west. Valon is not it. I miss the Veldt and my little town. I have been resigned to death since the beginning of this long, drawn-out end of days, and finally I am seeing a way to live and die and not be passive about it! I intend to beg if need be.”

“Applejack, it would be nice to have a guide,” Twilight said quietly.

She nodded. It would be nice. “I don’t look kindly on those who don’t tell me the truth straight. You got designs? I mightily appreciate your help with those varmints from earlier, but you give me pause, and I ain’t kennin’ why.”

“I tell few lies,” Abdiel said, looking right at her. She looked back.

“Only need to tell one,” she grumbled. “But you did save us. Myself, even. I am right grateful for it. It was good of you.”

“My duty, madam. And a pleasure, I might add,” he said with a grin.

“If Twilight is accepting you, then Tradewinds will welcome you into druzhina of her,” Tradewinds said with a big smile.

Pinkie grinned as well. The Captain didn’t seem to disagree.

Twilight sighed. “Fine. I guess that’s it, then. Now that Applejack’s had her say…?”

“I have. I’ll watch ya. But you seem honest enough,” she said.

“Then I’ll guess that will do. Welcome aboard, Abdiel. Welcome aboard.”

Abdiel proposed a toast, and Applejack obliged, but she couldn’t help but think about Soarin’s smile on his face.

TRADEWINDS

Tradewinds was a simple pony, more or less. But it didn’t take vast intellect or preternatural intuition to get by, and she knew that. She was okay with not having Twilight’s learning, and she was alright with not seeing everything. In most respects, Tradewinds was alright with most things, provided they weren’t too hopeless or annoying.

It didn’t take a genius to see that Twilight was nervous. It also didn’t really require vast amounts of introspection to see that her little crew was much the same, but in a different way. She lacked the vocabulary to neatly sum this up. But to her eyes, the problem wasn’t in where they were going so much as who was leading them.

Tradewinds had heard of Twilight Sparkle. Of course she had. Everypony in Equestria had heard of Twilight Sparkle before the Fall. She was the Element of Magic, a hero of the Principality. She was the hero of Nightmare Moon’s return—she and her friends. But it wasn’t as if ponies usually recognized her by sight. They had read about her in the newspapers. Well, Tradewinds hadn’t. She found reading in Equus to be a labor, and so opted for getting others to summarize things for her. She could read. It was the pictograms. She was bad with pictograms. She preferred the stately shapes of Kryllic letters. They were much simpler.

But her fame meant little now. A pony of more intelligence would have thought themselves into a spiteful corner, asking questions like “Where was this hero when we needed her?” or “Isn’t she just a farce now?” but Tradewinds was not a pony of more than average intelligence and thus avoided the petty stupidity of those who did much better in school than she. It took a special kind of pony to think themselves into those sorts of ruts. Tradewinds accepted what was before her. Twilight Sparkle was her friend. She was nice, if not very open. She had a nice mane. She could sound very smart, and Tradewinds liked to hear her talk.

She was sure Twilight would figure it all out. Whatever “it” happened to be at the time.

“Er… well. Um. Welcome,” Twilight said.

The crew blinked at her.

Tradewinds sat on a crate. Normally, she would have just flown up and hovered and landed. Simple, simple. But her wing had not healed all the way, and so she had climbed up to this perch. Something small like physical incapability wasn’t going to stop Tradewinds of Petrahoof. Pegasi needed perches. Something was just right about them.

The wide, open cargo bay was not full. It could hold double the number of ponies present, even with the new crates of supplies. Twilight had wanted those supplies where she could see them. Tradewinds approved. Not only did they provide her a nice, serviceable perch, but it was always good to be able to see instead of just thinking you had something.

“I guess you’re wondering why I asked you all to be here tonight,” Twilight continued. “I mean, you probably already know. But I guess you’re supposed to say that…” She sighed. “Sorry.”

Applejack was beside her. She nudged Twilight and smiled. Pinkie was on her other side, sometimes distracted, sometimes staring intently at Twilight. The Captain leaned against the wall. The big pony who stood in the center of the crowd… He was the one from the cot. They called him Crossbeam. Pinkie called him Big Blue, usually with a giggle. She supposed he was big, and he was blue. She knew that the former Blues who had been discovered in the underbelly of the ship, the ponies who made up the majority of this ragged crew, looked to him for guidance. Tradewinds had the vague notion that this was not ideal. He was not a bad pony. She had only spoken to Crossbeam a few times, really, and she knew he was not a big talker besides. He seemed relaxed. Tradewinds thought this was a ruse.

“I’m going west,” Twilight said. Her voice had lost some of its trembling. “I’m going very far. My—our, I should say—quest requires going a long way and risking a lot of danger. You all have an inkling of it. I’ve been pretty reluctant to talk about it, I know. A lot more reluctant than my friends, apparently.”

“You going to change that?” Crossbeams said in a deep, gravelly voice.

Twilight blinked at him as if seeing him for the first time. She spoke to him directly now. “Yes. I should have talked more earlier, but I can’t go back and fix that now. I’m sorry,” she said to them all. “I’ve been learning how insular I can be. I should have trusted you with the full measure of my mission. I mean, we’re in this together, right? Or, well, we have been. Up to this point. By accident, but still.” And there she faltered again.

There was some indistinct rumbling among the crew. It was easy to see which ponies were Blues and which were sailors brought on by the Captain now.

“Well, I was accidental happening, and I am with you to end,” Tradewinds offered. It was hard to translate as she spoke from her home tongue to Equus, but she tried. She was getting better, she thought.

Twilight looked up at her and smiled. “You’re right. We hadn’t quite planned on you.”

“Neither had you anything in your philosophies for me, Lady,” piped Abdiel from the crowd. The Blues and sailors glanced at him. He had been on the ship a very short time and already he knew everypony’s name. He had also already won a small pile of bits and other trinkets in card games. Surprisingly, nopony seemed to mind this.

“Not at all,” Twilight said flatly.

“Happy accidents make the world go ‘round,” Applejack drawled with a lazy grin.

There were a few chuckles. Ponies seemed a little more at ease. Just slightly.

“Looking back, I’m glad my crew was on work detail,” Crossbeam said. “I mean, this old girl had to pay me back for fixin’ her up eventually.” A few more laughs. The Blues seemed content that their leader was taking Twilight’s speech well.

Twilight was the only one who seemed tense at all. “So… so I guess I just thought it would be best if we talked about this. Mission… thing.”

“All ears,” Crossbeam said.

Tradewinds wondered if Twilight recognized him from the cot in the infirmary. He spent an awful lot of time napping on that cot, she reflected. How odd. Who would sleep all the time when there were things to be done and ponies to talk to?

“A year and a half ago, give or take… Alright, twenty months ago. I know it well—I shouldn’t quibble. Celestia left us. She went west on her sabbatical. You all remember this. I know it was in the papers for weeks. I was one of the last ponies to see her, I think.

“She came through Ponyville on a sort of short farewell tour. She said she didn’t want to make too big of a production of it. She was just going on vacation. We had a nice day together. We had tea with my friends and walked around Ponyville and talked. I asked if I could write her and she said there would be no way of getting mail in the West.” Twilight paused. She looked down at the floor. “And then she left with the promise she would be back. I believed her. I knew she would come back again and I would write her letters again. I was actually still working on my big paper then. It was on… You know, I’m having trouble remembering it.” Twilight chuckled.

“Lot more goin’ on,” Applejack said softly.

Everypony was quiet.

“I figured I could have it done when she came back, ready for her approval. I knew she would be proud. But then she just never… came back. You know what happened.”

“Aye,” murmured the captain. There was a sad little chorus of affirmations.

“And I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t fix anything. Maybe. I’m having trouble fixing myself. Canterlot is in trouble. I mean, everywhere is. We’re running out of food, and it’ll be winter soon. The bandits were starting to draw a noose around the city before I left. We wondered if they might start working together soon. From what Luna’s told me through Dreamwalking, they might even have actual leaders now. They have mortars and heavy weapons. They destroyed Morningvale, another town. Little potatoes, right? Just one more.

“My home town is a ruin. Not Canterlot. I mean, it’s where I grew up. But Ponyville was really my home. All my best friends were there. It’s where my library was… is. It’s where my library is. I was a librarian. I liked being a librarian.”

“Used to work in a furniture store,” one of the Blues grumbled.

“Janitor.”

“Carpenter.”

“Hell, I used to work in a bank,” one said.

“And I was a foreman at the steel mills. On the outskirts,” Crossbeam said. He too looked down. Most of the ponies in the hold seemed to be doing that, in one way or another.

“I don’t know how to fix it right now. I can’t go kill the raiders or make them see the error of their ways or make a treaty or anything. I can’t heal all the wounds. I can’t bind up Las Pegas or rebuild the bombed-out town hall of Manehattan. There’s no way for me to bind up the clouds of Neighvarro or unite the wandering islands of Cloudsdale. I just can’t do that. It’s too big. But I can do one thing. I can find a pony who can. Or at least, I can find one who would know how to begin. I’m going to find Celestia.”

Tradewinds hummed softly. She knew that the crew had been divided over this. Of course some had guessed. Others thought that theory absurd. In happier circumstances, there might be a betting pool. Regardless, this did not produce the effect Twilight had expected, whatever that was. She hesitated.

“How do you know she’s there to find?” one of the Blues asked. “How do you know she’s not…?”

Of course, he didn’t finish. No pony could, really. It was hard to even fathom such a possibility. Tradewinds certainly couldn’t. Which is partially why she had full faith in Twilight and her mission. Because alternatives to success were completely outside of the range of thoughts she could have.

“I don’t,” Twilight said. Tradewinds started but calmed as Twilight continued. “I don’t know in a sense that would hold up in academic circles, in scientific ones. I can’t point to any data I have and prove it that way. But I know she’s alive. I know she is. Luna knew as well as I did. Whether she’s there or not, don’t we have to try?”

“How would you know where she’s gone? Presuming she came this way,” Crossbeam asked.

Twilight seemed to brighten. “Applejack, where’d I put my bag?”

Applejack turned and brought the bag forward. Twilight rummaged around in it for awhile and then brought out a few objects which she sat before her in a row.

“This,” she said, holding it up in her magic, “this sphere’s purpose is two fold. Firstly, I can communicate back home with Luna. She is searching Celestia’s records as we speak. Secondly…” The sphere glowed, and with a golden flash, a bright line of arcane energy sprang from it, running along the ground, bathing them all in a strange light.

“Like divining rod,” Tradewinds said to herself softly.

So this was it! She had had some idea of course that Twilight knew things through magic, but this was amazing. She gazed in wonder. It really was a beautiful sight.

“This will lead us to her. Where she has gone, so I will go. And I’m asking all of you to come with me, at least most of the way. The river will take us almost to Jannah, and from there, I will go with my companions. I ask you to stay with me as long as you are willing and able and nothing more.”

“Where else would we go?” Crossbeam asked.

Twilight seemed brought up short. “Well…” She sighed. “I asked the Vizir about this actually. He’s offered a spot on this very ship to any who wish to be left behind. You’ll be in the employ of the city of Valon, paid and given a place to stay. He gave me his word.”

There was silence.

“And you set this up yourself, did you?” asked Crossbeam.

“He gave his word. I don’t know how valuable or reliable that is, but he gave it,” Twilight answered. “It isn’t right to be forced down this sort of path. I thought it would be best if ponies had a choice.”

“It would be best.” Crossbeam cleared his throat. “I think I speak for at least some of us when I say that we’d like to see this strangeness to its end. Whatever end that may be. I’m not all that interested in being a supply runner’s cook or whatever other ob this Vizir could cook up for us on the Alicorn.” He smiled. “I can get a lot more napping down on your little steam ship, I think.”

There was a general round of laughter. Twilight Sparkle seemed relieved, and this made Tradewinds happy in turn. It was all she could ask for, really.

AMARANTH

Ponies never seemed to stop apologizing and being conscientious and it was driving her up a wall.

The only pony who would treat her normally was Ice Storm, the Captain, and even he dealt with her gingerly. But… she supposed that made sense. He had been there, hadn’t he? At Morningvale. Somehow it seemed more okay when he was more careful than perhaps he needed to be because he had been there on the field with her.

She sighed and smiled. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he would see her smile and think that it was a mask or some sort of brave face on a terrible situation. But mostly what she felt was that, damn it all, it was a lovely day, and she deserved to smile about it. Didn’t she? They were so rare now.

“It’s hard to believe that winter is on our doorstep,” Ice Storm said. He walked beside her.

And it was hard to believe. The sun bathed the gardens of the palace in gentle warmth. One wanted almost to swim through it, to capture as much light as one could before the clouds could return.

The wheels of her harness clattered softly on the flagstones. Some paths were paved, and some were not. She preferred the ones that were not. They were quieter, if a bit trickier to navigate. She was made for flat surfaces now.

“It’s crazy, really. I mean, a week or so ago and the world was falling apart, and we were right on the frontier between the quick and the dead, and now…”

“We’re strolling in the gardens,” he finished for her.

Amaranth laughed. “Yeah. That’s it exactly. Thanks for coming with, Cap.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, and she even believed him. “I could not think of better company,” he said. He said it awkwardly, and she picked up on it. Amaranth was noticing many odd things about the Captain.

Had he seemed so normal before? She thought he had seemed much stiffer, much less mortal when she was guarding the pass. And now he smiled and laughed and sometimes he sat with her and would listen to anything she wanted to say.

And she wondered why. Sometimes, she thought it was because he felt guilty or indebted. She had thought this for a while and felt bitter. Even the memory of that thought tasted bitter in her mouth. She was a sentinel in the night, one of Luna’s skilled Nightshades, and she was not to be pitied and coddled! But… no. If he came to see her out of guilt, he hid this well. When he listened to her and when he spoke to her, he seemed genuinely to listen and genuinely to speak. There was no pantomime or acting or trying too hard. Except when he seemed awkwardly unsure, and that felt less like obligation and more like eagerness that couldn’t decide on an avenue of attack.

See? “Avenue of attack”! You couldn’t beat the warrior out of a mare of the Nightshades. Not Amaranth.

And she appreciated that he treated her like a soldier. Because she was still a soldier. No discharge had been given to her, and no well-meaning orderly or fake-caring brass had released her into dishonor or the shadow of abandonment. The nurses and the volunteers treated her like she was fragile, and she was not fragile. She had been hit by a mortar. She was still alive. Fragile things go into shock and die. They faint in the streets and get run over by raiders. They don’t do what she did, what she could still do, if not as well.

Because her wings still worked, didn’t they? Oh, they did.

“You mentioned that your mother taught you to kiss your hoof to the stars,” she said softly.

Ice Storm jumped. Well, she wouldn’t go that far. He more shifted. It was hard to really startle him.

“She did. She was a Supernalist,” he replied.

They walked through sunbeams.

“Do you mind going out a bit? I’d like to see the city,” said Amaranth.

“As you wish.”

“Now, tell me about her.”

Ice Storm kept her pace well. She was impressed. It was hard to get used to the strange way a pony in one of these wheeled harnesses moved. She knew that. She was getting used to it herself, really.

“What would you like to know?”

“Anything. Use your brain, Cap. I would say, ‘have some imagination,’ but…”

He chuckled, an honest-to-all-gods chuckle.

“Thank you for your endless confidence in me. Well, I was born and raised in a little village called Cottontail. My mother was a seamstress. My father was a farmhand. He was an earth pony, as I’m sure you’ve already imagined.”

“I expected weather work for her, actually. You fly so well.”

She saw him smile and enjoyed it. It was nice to have companionship that wasn’t so morose in her presence. “I did some of that on my own, but her profession did not mean she forsook the sky! But it was a small town, and it couldn’t afford to pay a weather team all year ‘round. But she did work the clouds. There was another pegasi family in town, and we had a…” He rolled his eyes. “This sounds foolish. A sort of ‘sky militia’ in a fashion similar to pegasus hamlets. You owe certain weeks and months and so to the duty of maintaining order in the sky. We just kicked clouds sometimes, and watched for predators in the grazing fields, but mostly we just played. I was a child, and so were the other family’s children.”

“It sounds nice.”

“It was. Idyllic, in most ways. My mother, as you asked of her, was a rather free-spirited mare. How she found herself in such a slow and rural setting is beyond me, but she did not seem to mind it overmuch. Her Supernalism was quite serious. She taught me every star she knew, and her study of the old doctrines was extensive. I always found that odd.”

“It does sound strange for someone in the country to have put that much work into it. The reading and the studying required would be a lot, especially with how far you would need to go to find those things.”

Ice Storm shrugged. “I think there were more books in her past. She never told me much. I know she was born in Neighvarro, and when I wore the medicamen, it was an old Neighvarran pattern. A rather intricate one, actually.” He hummed.

The rim of the garden was fenced off so as to minimize the dangers of an open ledge. The city stretched out below them. Amaranth loved Canterlot. It wasn’t her home, not the same way Hollow Shades was—but it was still alive and wonderful, and she loved it all the same. Even now.

She knew Ice Storm had something else to say. Perhaps he would. Perhaps not.

Whether he would have revealed his thoughts to her, she never discovered. Looking at him, she saw his eyes widen in surprise, and with a Nightshade's instinct, she looked back to the city. She tensed, trying without thinking to enter a stance that was impossible for her now.

There was smoke. A little tendril of it rising, but she could tell it was no cooking fire. She followed it with her eyes.

“House…” Ice Storm managed. “Do you see as I do?”

“Eyes aren’t broken,” she said shortly. “You need to tell someone.”

He didn’t discuss it. He nodded and he was gone. A soldier moved as the will of another.

Amaranth watched the smoke rise from House Rowan-Oak’s compound.

SOARIN’

He felt like shit. Awful. Everything ached and his eyes hurt like somepony was politely but firmly shoving daggers into them. The hood over his head only helped to take the edge off the light. Light, he had found through vast experience in being severely hungover, was always going to win. One could not outrun the light after a night of hard drinking combined with an overly large sense of despair.

Macintosh was, blessedly, silent. Quiet partners were wonderful for times such as these, when Soarin’ wanted nothing more than to sink quietly into a bed somewhere. Not a barracks bunk or a cot. A bed. A nice bed. One with blankets and pillows and everything.

Perhaps the hangover was good. A blessing, Applejack might say. A blessin’ in disguise, he repeated in his head, trying to remember the intricacies of her voice. He still had them. But if the voice he heard wasn’t hers, how would he know? All he had to go on was memory now. Applejack was gone.

He only thought about these things because he didn’t want to think about what he’d been asked to do. What he’d been asked to do and was going to do in only a matter of moments.

“Time?” he asked.

“Half past six,” Big Mac said evenly. He said almost everything evenly, in Soarin’s experience. Which Soarin’s supposed wasn’t really a flaw. But it did leave you wanting a bit of expression after a conversation with him. Something to go on, at least.

That meant he had five more minutes.

They had planned this carefully. Rays had done most of the legwork, really. Good kid. Soarin’ had been pleased by his reports—his impression of the young pegasus as being half-useless had been mistaken, and he was happy to be wrong.

Rainbow Rays, in between his own irregular times of duty, had kept watch on everything. He knew, roughly, the fighting strength that House Rowan-Oak could muster and how quickly it could muster it. He knew where the weapons, the food, everything of value was stored. He knew when things were guarded, and when someone quick could squeeze through the cracks.

He could guess at other things too. His last report had been worrisome. At least, that’s what Soarin’ had gathered from the dark hints Spike had offered. He remembered Spike being a lot younger and a lot more open when Rainbow Dash had just been a cadet and a hopeful with a lot of potential and a pretty good chance of being a Wonderbolt. Back when the sun and the moon moved as nature had meant them to move. You only met him like twice, Soarin’ thought with a frown.

Tick. Tock. Time moved slowly, ever slowly, and yet Soarin’ felt like there was never enough. Not enough time with Her, not enough time to prepare, not enough time to come to grips with—

“Time’s here,” Macintosh said.

“Shit,” Soarin’ replied, flatly.

Big Mac—Soarin’ thought crazily that he seemed even bigger than he had the last time Soarin’ had looked up to speak to him—adjusted his white cloak and pulled the hood down over his mane. His apple-red face was still about half visible underneath, but the cloak wasn’t supposed to make them invisible. At least, that’s what Spike had said. Before he’d vanished to go do whatever the hell it was he was doing, and Soarin’ was very good at not asking questions and just running with things.

Soarin’ adjusted his hood, pulled up the bandana to cover his mouth and nose, and felt the saddlebag he wore. Everything was there. Great. Awesome. Just had to do it now.

They took off at a dead run. There was no time for sneaking. Rays had provided them with only a small window.

The two of them burst from the alleys and crossed the broad, open ground between the trade workshops and the House compound. Its walls towered over them both, and its gate houses were empty. Just as Rays had promised.

The spot had been marked. Rays marked it the night before when he was on guard duty. Good job, kid. Small enough to seem like some graffiti artist got spooked and ran, big enough to see. No one will see it. I promise.

“You have that… thing, right?” Soarin’ panted as they both hit the wall and slumped against it, hopefully out of sight.

“Eeyup.”

Mac pulled out a cylindrical container from his saddlebags and fiddled with it for a moment before he got the top off. The seconds he wasted seemed like an hour. Soarin’ was about to tell him to hurry when he freed the box’s contents.

It looked like a paintbrush. “Somepony told you how to do this, right?” Soarin’ hissed.

Mac nodded. He held the brush in his teeth delicately. The care with which he moved only made Soarin’ more anxious. His head was pounding. His heart was pounding. It was a miracle no one heard it.

Mac painted a box on the wall and then dropped the brush back in the container as if it were a snake. He closed it up quickly and hid it again.

“Nothing happened.”

Mac shook himself and waited.

That was when the burning happened. If you could call it that, which Soarin’ was hesitant to as it would make what happened so much more normal than it was. The outline burned, sparked, dissolved—he wasn’t sure what it was, but it seemed to melt away, and everything inside of it seemed to become soft and translucent. Like jello, he thought insanely.

And then Mac counted to five beside him, and by the time he was done, the jello-like substance had all but vanished.

Mac barrelled through the hole and Soarin’ followed with wide eyes.

A little to the left, but the hole they’d cut still had them next to the warehouse with a big black “5” painted on it, just as the report had said. Soarin’ would have preferred to be behind it, out of sight, but there was nopony watching. Yet. But there would be soon enough.

There was the door. He patted his saddlebag again. Two minutes? Three? Checking would waste time. The guards might be back early. They probably would be back early.

“Is it locked?” he asked. Mac was already at the door. Mac nodded, and before Soarin’ could give the order he had already turned and bucked the thing right off its hinges. The noise reverberated.

Perfect.

They entered.

Crates were stacked in all directions, some of them almost as high as the ceiling. Soarin’ didn’t have time to read labels or guess at contents. He had a job. This was it. He searched wildly for a place to set his…

There. He pointed. “Mac, pull some of those low boxes down, and make a little nest. We’ll use it for kindling.”

“Could blow up.”

“Kind of the point,” Soarin growled.

One minute. Mac had it done quickly. Soarin eased his pack off and dug the alchemical charges out. They looked like little coinpurses, but hell, he wasn’t about to question it. Questions took time. He put three of them in the hiding place and then threw the other two in different random directions. The friction caused one of them to go off, and the little sack burst into white hot flames.

“Right! Tinder and steel?”

Mac already had it out. He seemed apprehensive. “It’s too clos—”

Soarin’ pulled it out of his grip and set the steel on the ground. He held the flint in both hooves awkwardly and tried to get sparks to hit the pouches. No good.

“Just go throw yours somewhere!” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Mac had added another to his pile. Soarin’ stared at them. He wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t want to be anywhere near these things when they went off. Bombs were not his forte. He hated bombs. They always went off.

He picked up the one Mac had placed and backed away. Another exploded behind him. Friction set them off, but fire kept them burning longer. He needed this to burn well. He should’ve just thrown and ran. The pouch tasted leathery and awful. Gods, he hoped it wasn’t actually leather. Rare, but every now and then, you saw it. He hated alchemists. He hated them and their stupid bombs.

He looked back. Mac was running towards him.

“Go!” he shouted around the pouch. Mac didn’t need encouragement. He was already out the door.

Soarin’ threw the charge and didn’t bother to see if he had hit the target. He, too, was out the door.

He heard the explosion behind him and felt the heat on his back. But it couldn’t touch him. Behind him, guards had already arrived. He heard the crack of a rifle and the cobblestone in front of him cracked. He ran faster.

RARITY

She sat in the shadow of a birch tree. Around her, the wind blew and the long grass swayed. Above her, the stars shown. Far away, over the veldt, she saw the sun peaking out from behind…

Mountains. Yes. Mountains. Mountains like jagged teeth. Like the very walls of the morning.

She was alone. The world was void of other ponies. Just grass, and a tree, and the mountains at the end of the world, and Rarity.

Despite this, she heard a voice. She turned her head just so. A pony stood in the tall grass, speaking to her. Ah, yes. Luna. Rarity remembered her now. It was funny, how fuzzy her thoughts were. She opened her mouth to speak and then hesitated. No, she had to listen first then speak.

“Rarity, are you listening?”

“No. Say all of that again if you would?”

Luna’s eyes glittered like… something. She saw a picture but did not understand it. It was full of stars. “I am glad to find you here,” Luna said slowly.

“I have never been anywhere else,” Rarity said softly and honestly.

Luna pursed her lips. Then she sighed. She was a very pretty pony, Rarity decided. Not that she had anything to compare Luna with. She was only dimly aware that she herself was a pony. A Unicorn! How droll. Delightful. But what meaning did forms have anyway?

“Rarity, you are coming back to the surface,” Luna began again. “Do you remember who I am?”

“Luna,” Rarity said as if by rote.

“And yourself? You recognize your name, it seems. That is good.”

“I have always known my name.”

“You did not when last I tried to breach.”

“I don’t understand,” Rarity said.

Luna came closer. Rarity watched her like a child might watch a cloud drift across the sky. How strange. How far away.

Luna stood right in front of her, only a hoof’s length away from her face. “Rarity, look at me.”

Rarity obeyed. Why wouldn’t she? She had no reason not to. Or reason to do so. Reasons were irrelevant.

“You are going to wake up soon,” Luna said.

“I am going to wake up soon,” Rarity repeated. She frowned. “What?”

“You are going to remember to call for me when you sleep again. You are going to stay awake as long as you can.”

“I am going to call for you when I sleep again. I will stay awake as long as I can.”

Luna paused, and then added, “As long as you can without doing yourself harm.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, Rarity… Rarity, look at me. Thank you. Rarity, you… I just want to prepare you. Wild magic…”

Rarity smiled. “What is magic?”

The sun was getting brighter? Or had it always been that bright, trying to pierce her eyes? How strange.

“Rarity, just… they did what they could.”

The sun was so bright.

Rarity opened her eyes.

The lights were bright. They hurt.

She felt something heavy on her foreleg and chest. She looked down, but this also hurt. Still, she caught the sight of… a mane, she supposed. It looked blueish. Maybe? Looking hurt.

Her sense came to her bit by bit, as they always did in the wake of sleep. As she stirred, a nurse hurried over and began to babble at her. Stay still; don’t exert yourself. Someone bring me the doctor. On and on. Rarity completely ignored her.

So. Somepony survived besides her. That was nice to know. Emotion did not well up. There was nothing. There would be tears later, one way or another. She would mourn and celebrate as appropriate. But for now, she felt only a sort of grim but warm satisfaction. Yes, it was daytime again. She lived and breathed in the day again.

She closed her eyes and strangely felt no desire to slip back into sleep. She felt it was important to stay awake.

But she saw things, here and there. Or her mind saw, and she shared. Fire. Cobblestones. A couch. Rainbow—

Where was Rainbow?

Rarity tried to sit up, and she almost screamed at the pain. Her body surrendered completely. Her forelegs buckled underneath her.

But it woke the pony who had been lounging on her right up.

Rainbow Dash filled her vision, her eyes wide with shock.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh… Uh, don’t move. Stay still! Hey, nurse?” Dash looked up. “Nurse, hey! Come back! She’s trying to move! I don’t know what to do!”

“Rainbow,” Rarity said, unable to speak loudly.

“Aw crap. Uh…” Rainbow looked around in panic. As if there was something to find! Some magical potion to make her well all at once, perhaps? Rarity wanted to laugh. So Rainbow was alive and well.

“Rainbow.”

Rainbow Dash looked down at her.

“Rainbow, I’m not going to move. I’m… I’m glad you’re safe,” she managed, her voice cracking. Her throat was so dry.

“I’m glad you’re safe. You’ve been asleep for like three days!” Rainbow hugged her—hard at first, wrapping her up in a fierce embrace. When Rarity winced and made a little crushed sound of dismay, Rainbow released her and then tried again, only much softer. “I was starting to think… you know. That you wouldn’t wake up.”

“Has it really been that long?” Rarity rubbed her temple with a hoof. Her head hurt. Not a dull pain but a sharp one. “Why on earth was I asleep for such a long time?”

“Wild magic,” came the answer. Rarity moved her head as best she could with Rainbow still holding on to her. Cadance was there. She looked rather different now, partially in that now she looked much less like a corpse. There were bags under her eyes, and overall, she looked about as healthy as someone in a plague-ridden ghetto, but she did look alive.

“Your Grace,” Rarity rasped. “You’re up!”

“And about. I look forward to saying the same of… you.” Cadance’s pause caught Rarity’s attention. The way she looked at Rarity’s body and then averted her eyes. Rarity stared at her.

“What happened? What are you talking about? I certainly have no way of touching raw, wild magic,” Rarity said with a shake of her head.

“It was me.” Cadance seemed frozen. Her face hardly moved. Her breathing seemed shallow… or was it just Rarity’s eyes that failed? She was finding it hard to focus. Or hear, for that matter. She heard, but it was strange.

Definitely magical poisoning. I remember this from my youth.

“You, Your Grace?”

“Yes. The Crystal Heart… it was able to do something. Don’t ask me what exactly it did, or how, or even why it chose that moment. I really, really don’t know. I don’t want to ask it.” She paused. “I’m not sure I could bear to even go up there again.”

“And the giants? Those… those horrid things?” Rarity asked. Rainbow shifted and gave her a little room. “The Mitou,” she finished. Rainbow looked at Cadance. Rarity saw her mane fall over her shoulders and saw her wings. They were untouched. Rarity smiled.

“The Mitou are gone. Banished. Those that survive were cast out into the outer darkness,” Cadance said, in the matter of one who recited a line they had been taught. “That is what I was told. It seems true. Even the dead were deposited outside of the city. Our own fallen were not touched.”

“So it didn’t hurt any of our ponies?” Rarity asked. “What a miraculous thing!”

“It… it did,” Cadance said, shaking her head. She sighed. “It killed several. Dozens, at least. We aren’t sure exactly how many. The ponies inside of the final barricades were safe, but everything outside seemed to have been fair game. Some died outright. A few seem to have been… burnt away,” she managed. Cadance coughed softly. “Others, like you, suffered moderate to severe magical poisoning and thaumic burns. Your wounds were already serious before the shockwave.”

“My… my wounds? I remember being thrown about…”

The doctor had arrived. He bowed to Cadance. “My Lady, thank you for your visit. Once more, it is an honor.”

“It is a duty and a solemn privilege,” she responded. “Doctor, could you help me explain?”

Dash moved off the bed hurriedly as the doctor approached. Rarity had the feeling this stallion had forced Rainbow off a few times already whilst she slept.

“Miss Rarity, I’m glad to see you alert,” the doctor began with a smile. “You were asleep an awful long time, but I knew you’d be coming around.”

“Three days,” Rarity said a bit more curtly than she’d intended to. “Doctor, how badly have I been hurt?”

She saw him fight with himself. She saw it in his eyes. They didn’t seem to focus anywhere. Was it that bad? Stars! I can move… I know I can—I just did. Stars, gods, anything.

“Miss, I can’t lie to you. You were hurt before the release of magic from the palace. From what I can tell, you’d broken your rear left leg, suffered countless cuts, and your horn suffered trauma. Your face was a mess, frankly. You are going to have scars. A lot of scars.” He paused. “Bedside manner,” he said to himself with a grimace. “You are alive, ma’am, and that is amazing. I want you to know that it is a minor miracle. You made it back.”

Scars. She could handle that. Her face… her looks… she loved beauty, and she treasured her own, but these things were passing. Was that it? Was that all? Truly?

She asked. “And that’s it?” Rarity’s voice cracked. “Doctor, that’s all? A broken leg, scars, perhaps my horn won’t work magic well for a few days or weeks?”

The stallion hesitated.

“Tell her,” Rainbow said without rancor. Without emotion really, like someone who has spent so much time and energy anxiously waiting for something that they can spare none to do anything else.

“Ma’am, wild magic’s properties are, well, unpredictable. In a unicorn it can be a boon or a curse. It can burn the leylines in the body and leave you paralyzed or simply exhausted to the point of sleep, or dead, or… we don’t know what all wild magic can do to a unicorn. It can make you stronger, or so some say. But we certainly don’t know what this amount of it can do. You were one of the few unicorns caught outside the barricades.”

“Come to the point, please,” Rarity said without much feeling. She was very far away now. Where was he going?

“The deterioration of tissue was advanced. Not just dying tissue. It… it was burning away. We were forced to cut out the infection, and even then, it was touch and go. I don’t know what using magic will be like for you now.”

Another pause. Rarity stared at him woodenly.

“And… I think you should see this for yourself.”

He pulled the cover aside.

“We’ve been working on the prosthetic most of the day,” he said, a million miles away from her. “It’s been accepted well by both your body and your leylines—though with the wild magic, we aren’t sure how permanent that is. But we’re optimistic. As for the look, well, once it is working I’m sure—”

“Where is it?” Rarity said.

“Ma’am?”

Rarity stared at him.

“I don’t understand.”

“The break, ma’am, it was there already, and the magic was trying to mend you. At least, that was our guess, but it was so much power in such a small area. It was just too much. By the time you’d arrived here, half of the leg was more wild magic than flesh. It would have killed you.”

“My…”

“Rarity?” Dash said. She was closer but also far away.

Rarity stared down at the cold steel prosthetic.

CANTERLOT

A great shambling mass slumped against the gate in the hours between midnight and morning. It breathed—raggedly. It moved—drunkenly. Mostly, it did nothing.

A guard up on the wall saw it first. He had alerted his companions before the thing had come into the light, and now that they all saw it, their fear had turned into confusion.

Spike the Dragon, erstwhile assistant librarian of the Golden Oaks in Occupied Ponyville was carried by a squadron of Lunar guardsponies through the streets. They moved quickly. The Nightshade who trailed them had been insistent on that.

Spike groaned. He said things. None of them were very coherent, and those things that were did not bear thinking of, because thinking about what they meant might just make a pony want to drop the wounded dragon and hide.

The torches didn’t provide enough light to see well, but it didn’t take much light to see that he bore wounds. The Nightshade saw all and remembered all. He saw the cuts, the cracked and peeling scales, the dehydration, the scrawled anti-thaumic runes. Those last things he paid special attention to. Spike, the Moon’s Companion, was known to practice some sort of arcane art. So this was it. Anti-Thaumic runes went by many names, and there were several traditions, most secret. But the Nightshade was sure these were Zebraharan. And there were… many. Too many. They were scrawled in haste. Nopony—no dragon, for that matter—should have need of this much protection. This was not precaution. It was complete and utter panic.

For his part, the Nightshade was not moved by this. Mostly.

The Lunar guardsponies hurried on, bearing the Companion.

They were seen by no less than seven house informants. Two were from House Epona. Two were from House Rowan-Oak. One was even from House Morning, strangely enough. All of them took note and saw what there was to see and decided that the night’s work had paid off. They also saw each other but let fellow spies pass unmolested. It was simply common professional courtesy.

Elsewhere, Fable Rowan-Oak was avoiding the elders of his house. Specifically, his Lady Mother, who had thrown several things at him already this evening. A morose, fidgeting Rainbow Rays held an ice bag to his bruises and a stoic Paradise contained his rage with much effort.

A squad of House Iron soldiers met a patrol of Lunar guardsponies. Both were patrolling the same section of town. There was a standoff that ended with both continuing down different streets. Spies saw this.

A House Epona guardspony was found murdered just outside the walls of House Epona’s compound right before dawn. The private study of Lord Strong Halycon IV had been ransacked.

Ponies in white cloaks were seen briefly on Saddle Street, talking to the proprieter of the Ginger Root, a brothel and cabaret with a reputation. They entered but were not seen leave, as soon after the body of a young House Iron pony-at-arms allegedly under the influence of hallucinogens (which everypony knew you could have for a few bits in the right hoof on Saddle Street) murdered a prostitute and wondered with her dead body, his eyes blacked out and his posture unearthly. The resulting mob masked the possible exists of the white-cloaked figures.

Macintosh did not sleep, but Caramel did.

Soarin’ slept well. Mostly because he spent the whole day feeling awful and because Spitfire let him be and because Luna let him be and generally the world had fucked off for at least a bit. Which was nice.

Luna stood on the balcony, aware of some of these things, but not all. She was aware of many things, some of them secrets that nopony could guess at in the streets below. She would talk to Spike when he awoke. She would talk to Rarity when she had recovered. She would talk to Twilight… eventually. Soon, perhaps. Hopefully.

For now, she watched.

The moon shone, but it was not full. It was waning, waning. She did not like the waning. It was a bad portent if it were anything. And it needn’t be anything, really, she reminded herself.

She was very sure now, about the dangers they all faced.

If she were not as old, or not as strong, she would tremble. She would cry. She perhaps would lose her mind.

But, curiously, it is hard to crack the psyche of a pony that has spent a millenia in crippling isolation, cut off from the earth. It is hard to break that which has looked into the abyss and learned to grin at it. Push enough…

Either/Or. She liked those sorts of problems. When things came to a point, she liked it. You could use a hammer on those sorts of problems.

Her Dusk Watch or her Nightshades would bring her the night’s news soon. He had graduated from the ranks of the Night Shades because he brought back the information Luna needed, when she needed.

The great game of Houses was beginning again. She had not wished it to, but if it was going to begin, then she would be the one to set it going. She would roll the whole world up into a ball and throw it gleefully down her enemy’s throats like a madmare. Just like a madmare.

Author's Note

XXX. A Song of Degrees

THE VELDT

They say the River Yaldive had another name once, but no pony or zebra living in the West remembers it. It has been the Yaldive for generations. Valon is the gateway, but the river does not belong to the red city on the cliffs. It is not ownable. That is the way the inhabitants of the West think. They are leery to attach too strong a claim to anything of land or water. There is no real noble sentiment behind this, for the cities of the plain will fight over anything given half the chance.

Sometimes, from the steamship christened Dawn, sailed close enough to the road for it to be visible. Twilight had asked Abdiel questions about the lands beyond the cliff city. There were other cities, yes, but where? And were they on the coast? His own home was to the west, but what lay between there and Valon?

Grass, mostly, he’d said with a shrug.

When Twilight, ever needing to know, had pressed, Abdiel had laughed. The ponies onboard the Dawn were beginning to know and love that laugh. It was infectious.

There are a few towns and settlements, Abdiel had explained. Here and there they dot the vast ocean of grass. Some lonely homesteads between villages. Along the Royal Way there are even the ruins of cities that you can find inhabited by ponies. The Ancient Ones built to last, after all. But the road is a longer way. Cities must be navigated through--which is daunting when none of you know the way through the jumbled heap of broken images--or they must be avoided, which lengthens the trip. The city dwellers often have no food surplus to share or trade, he added solemnly. They rely on the kindness and the sturdiness of strangers in caravans.

But on the river, where the Royal Way is just something you see occasionally from far off, you are always moving straight towards your destination. And the little ports along the way, the fishing villages, always have food and supply for… pilgrims.

Fishing had been a topic of discussion. Some of them hadn’t minded the idea. Twilight had been absolutely appalled. Applejack knew about necessity. Pinkie had asked if it could be fried, and if so, how long such things would take.

Generally, the Veldt is silent aside from the noise of the steamship and the rustling of the wind. None of the pilgrim band is sure what to make of this. Some are dismayed, but only secretly. Some find the setting peaceful.

Twilight Sparkle is both of these things--afraid and calmed. A few days on the boat have left her feeling strangely. She does not feel completely connected to the boat, her companions, the endless grass. Watching Crossbeam fashion a crude fishing hook and using it to her horror that brings the whole thing into focus. She feels like a hook is in her brain and its tugging while the rest of her stays still. She is already over there.

She sleeps on the deck after lounging in the sun.

TWILIGHT

The sky was sickly. The clouds melted and fell apart like great sacks of refuse. It was Canterlot but it was not Canterlot. Twilight Sparkle was alone and not alone. She was aware she was dreaming, but she is also caught up in running as if it were real and her terror was justified.

The whole city was warped. Everything was off-center. Sometimes it was a subtle difference. Sometimes the walls melted like butter left in the sun. There were no ponies here. But she felt that there was something here. The nameless thing, wherever it was, knew she was aware of it.

And wasn’t it right behind her? But she dared not look.

Twilight was in Jannah. Jannah looked like Canterlot in the hands of hell. The air was hot. Muggy. She was more swimming than running, and escape was impossible. The ground was becoming less firm, less real. Her hooves went right through stones half the time, and then all the time. Each step was a labor.

She tried to call for Applejack. She screamed for Pinkie. No sound came. She cried, and her tears felt like little suns on her cheeks. They burned her, and in her hazy dream-mind she thought they should smoke as her coat was devoured. She screamed for Celestia. Celestia would save her. Celestia was here, somewhere. She would not let Twilight die this way.

The world around her melted away. Her face was on cool stone and she lay there, not wanting to move. The coolness was relaxing.

Silence. Twilight was aware she was dreaming, but in a distant sort of way.

“Twilight, are you going to lie there all day?”

Twilight jolted up, her eyes wide. The back of her head hit a hard stone surface and she went sprawling.

She had been sitting in the corner of the library. She recognized Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorn’s library instantly. This was her third home. Her home away from her home away from home. Falling asleep in a mountain of books was something that happened to her at least once a month. As she rubbed the back of her head, Twilight noticed that a book had been propped up by her horn. Gazing down at it, Twilight read its cover. Thaumaturgical Phenomenology, An Introduction by Dr. Hussar.

“Twilight? Oh dear, how hard did you hit your head?”

Twilight looked up.

It was Celestia, looking down at her with a concerned frown. Twilight scrambled to her hooves, narrowly avoiding a stack of books.

Celestia was tall. She had always been much taller than Twilight, but now she seemed like a giant that radiated light. As Twilight dusted herself off and babbled a response--that yes, she was fine, no, nothing was wrong, how was her teacher today?--Celestia’s frown became a smile that could calm armies. Ruined cities would pick themselves back up and brick by brick rebuild for the privilege of seeing that smile. She seemed white in some light, in some the barest hint of pink like the first triumphal procession of dawn. To Twilight, looking up at her, she seemed perfect.

Mostly, Celestia seemed pleased to find her student was not smarting overmuch. “I’m quite sorry, Twilight. I didn’t think you would startle so easily! How have your studies been going?”

“Good, ma’am! I’ve been working very hard,” Twilight--her voice was so young!--stammered. “And I’ve made sure to keep ahead of the scheduled reading so I’m never surprised by anything.”

Celestia chuckled softly. “Twilight, never being surprised by anything sounds very dull. You’re still a young pony, you know.” Celestia hummed. “And you slept here all night?”

Twilight looked down at the ground. “Uh… yes. I think. I mean, I woke up here.”

“Reading, I see.” Celestia picked up the book on Thaumaturgic Phenomenology Twilight had been reading. She raised her eyebrows. “Some light reading, my faithful student?”

Twilight shuffled. “It looked interesting.”

Celestia peeked over the top of the book. “It is interesting. I’ve read it a few times myself. Published seven hundred and eighty four years after the end of hostilities, in the Celestial Era, by a one Franz von Hussar, of Germane. That’s in the East. I met him twice. His work in magic was superb. His philosophic work was rather silly. He enjoyed tea.” Celestia smiled down at her. “But I think what you need more than a history lesson is breakfast. I was actually thinking of getting some myself. I was more busy than usual this morning, and so was delayed. But, happy accident, I heard somepony snoring and found myself a companion to break bread with.”

Twilight could not possibly have a face more red with absolute shame. “I was snoring?”

Celestia nodded gravely. “They could hear you in the halls, my faithful student.”

Twilight groaned.

But Celestia simply placed the book down on one of the reading tables and then began to neatly place the rest of Twilight’s books around it, organized as Twilight had (arguably) organized them. “Truth is always worth the pain, I say. I’m pretty sure I have said that.” She paused, and then rolled her eyes. “When you remember as much as I do, Twilight, you find that at some point you’ve said almost everything.”

“You really remember ponies that lived hundreds of years ago?” Twilight asked, feeling only a little of her embarrassment fade at the prospect of learning more about her teacher.

“And more. I remember places and ponies that were a thousand years or more ago. Have you ever heard of… hm…” Celestia tapped her chin dramatically. “How about Zandikaar?”

“Where?”

Celestia made a playful sweeping gesture that a younger Twilight took at face value as sheer majesty. “Zandikaar, on the coast! It was a huge city. Famous for pirates and sailors and for having a thousand types of cheese.”

Twilight was in awe. “A thousand?”

“At least,” Celestia responded.

Celestia led her away from the library and her mountain of books.

FABLE ROWAN-OAK

As Rainbow Rays held the ice pack on his eye, Fable fumed.

“And if I hadn’t left I swear to you she would’ve thrown that spear,” he hissed. His eye hurt. It was swollen. There were other places that hurt. His mother was an angry woman, and she was a very… hoofs-on sort of mare.

He was angry, but mostly he was just defeated. Someone had set fire to the warehouses. Apparently the stores for the ponies-at-arms were in there? He hadn’t known. It wasn’t his to know, and furthermore his mother didn’t seem to like him poking into things that weren’t his to know. What a day had sprung from that! The fire had raged and raged, and another of the warehouses had burned. Fable had been in a bucketline with his bondsponies, trying to help. His mother had screamed at him for doing that. He had only wanted to help. When something was on fire, he reasoned, you helped. Noble or common, you helped. It was his family’s property, to boot. But she had said he was not worth the things his blood was going to secure for him. He needed to learn how to carry himself as a member of the realm’s greatest House.

“Thank you,” he said softly, still a bit roughly, to Rainbow Rays. Rays seemed flighty. Fable didn’t blame him. Rays had been in the room when Lady Rowan-Oak had hit him. For a moment, lying there in shock on the floor, Fable had been terrified that his lithe pegasus bondspony was going to do something. He hadn’t been a servant or even a pony-at-arms for very long. He wouldn’t know how to react.

Rays had been about to say something. Fable had seen him step closer. He’d despaired.

But instead, somehow, Rays had gotten him out of the room.

“Your Lady mother did not, however, throw a spear at you,” Paradise said. His ears flicked. “Young Rays did a superb job protecting your person, all things considered.”

“He has a black eye,” Rays murmured.

“Yes, and the Lady of this house is untouchable. You were brave to place yourself between them. She could have killed you, you know. Framed everything as if you were some sort of rebel.”

“Rebel?” Fable asked.

“Yes. Have you not heard the rumors, my lord?”

Fable had. “Vaguely.”

“Well. If she claimed he wore white, then no pony in the world would dare question it. Ponies are afraid,” Paradise said flatly. “You made a good choice, it seems.”

“This is so fucked up,” Rays said.

“It’s life,” Fable responded quickly.

“Noble life, maybe,” Rays said dully, as if not believing what he saw. “This isn’t… this isn’t how you do things. I’m sorry, my lord,” he added hesitantly. “This is just… I thought you were so much better off… I don’t know.”

Fable looked at his hooves and knew exactly what Rays meant. What a disgrace. His house was a high-hoofed, arrogant mistake and so many ponies would be better off if they burned. But they were his house, his family. They were him. He was House Rowan-Oak. What do you do when you are the one that should be swept away, and not the enemy? Who do you hate when the only people worth hating around are your own?

I guess you hate them, then. All the same.

Not that any of them were better. House Iron was worse, with less poise. Everyone knew that House Epona was only behind Luna because they hated the houses that opposed her. The Major Houses were trading guns and secrets. The small houses were flitting between sides like sparrows. No, he decided as he leaned back against the couch in his study, not like sparrows. Like the street-mares, the “seamstresses” who had so much work to do. The commoners in the lowest tier drank themselves into a stupor and either horded money as if it would matter when the darkness came or spent it like a waterfall of gold. The merchants extorted whenever Luna didn’t stop them and the gentleponies were not gentle.

He hated. Not anything in particular. In general. It was a very generalized, aimless, and yet altogether quite solid hatred.

His Lady Mother had said in no uncertain terms that Epona had done it. Fable had no idea.

“What will happen, Para?” he grumbled.

“In general?” Paradise responded. His tone was flat. His face, also, was rather flat. He had served in the city’s night watch for thirty years, hadn’t he? The last lord of Rowan-Oak had hired him when Fable was born. He was the old guard.

“My mother is going to start pointing her hoof at anypony who isn’t fast enough to dodge out of the way of her suspicion. She’ll start a witchhunt.”

Paradise tilted his head. Fable knew this meant he agreed.

“You know she’s more bile than sense,” Fable continued, fuming. It was the kind of talk a person talked after they’ve had their face beat in. It’s sort of like pre-fight bluster, or bragging before a duel, except more pathetic, and you have a black eye. “She’ll demand an investigation, just to make it look official, but you know she’ll start something.”

“Your Lady Mother is her own mare,” Paradise said in the same voice as he said most things. Fable, who had known him all of his days, knew the tiny giveaways in every word. Paradise was not happy. Not many things broke through his omnipresent air of mild disapproval. There was something bubbling beneath those steely eyes.

“Yeah, and I’m my…” He paused. “Fuck. Not really. I’m just her heir, her plaything. I’m a toy, or a pet to be kicked out of the way if I bark too loudly. Mother’s already gone to the safehouse. Damned if I know which one. She’ll be talking to that Iron bastard and whoever else shows up tonight. He’ll probably strongarm her into whatever he wants. She’s a river and he’s a canal builder and I’m just some scum in the current.”

Paradise said nothing.

Rays spoke for him. “My lord, you are your own pony. You can think what you want to think.” When Fable said nothing, the young bondspony continued. “I mean… I mean, you’re you. You aren’t just a part of her. I don’t know. I know that I think you’re a good pony, sir, and it’s not right to hit your children, and it’s not right to pick fights with ponies…”

Fable chuckled. It sounded almost genuine. “Rays, my good polychromatic gentleman-bastard, we really, really have to start teaching you about what being a noble means.”

LADY BRIGANTINE ROWAN-OAK

Brigantine glared across the table. Not at Lord Iron. She didn’t particularly like the head of the Iron family, but she couldn’t say she disliked him either. No, she was glaring at Lord Blueblood. She glared at Lord Blueblood a lot, honestly. Every single time the Committee met, actually. She loathed him. He had not a single redeemable quality. No martial prowess, no business sense. A complete lack of vision. He had been the most handsome and most eligible bachelor of the uppercrust when she’d been young, and that had faded quickly. She thanked the stars--mostly ironically--every single night that she hadn’t been quite pretty enough to be a target of his lusts as a young mare.

She didn’t need him prattling. She needed him gone and she needed those bastards in Epona dead. Or dying. Or poor. Anything. She hated them too.

“I’m simply saying that you can’t be so quick to demand restitution for what may be the fault of your own negligence. Of course, I wouldn’t dare suggest it was your negligence per se, but your overseers…? Hm?”

“You’re right, I’m realizing something new as you speak,” Lady Rowan-Oak said.

“Oh?” he smiled at her genialy. Always, always he reminded Brigantine of rancid butter.

“I am realizing that you are brainless as well as ugly. Perhaps if you had more of your mane left, the sun wouldn’t have addled your sodding brains.” She resisted the urge to spit. Old habit. She had been doing so well.

Lord Iron chuckled. He enjoyed this.

“Ma’am… if I might be so bold…”

The voice belonged to Lord Dawn. Candescent Dawn of House Dawn, who sat in the council of the Major Houses. Mealy-mouthed, he was. Yet, at least, there was some sort of spine in him. Maybe. He was less inbred than Blueblood, though, so Brigantine considered him much more of an actual pony and less of an embodied anathema.

“You always seem to be ‘so bold’,” Lord Iron said and chuckled. His great rotundity shook slightly.

“Yes, well. Madam--”

“Lady.” She said.

“Yes, of course, Lady Rowan-Oak, ah, it may be possible that it was not our mutual… acquaintances that did this. Now, I know, I know! You and Epona had no love lost. Or have ever had love lost. Your intense, ah, distaste for each other is nigh-legendary. But have you considered what they stand to gain from such a barbarous act?”

“They strike out of the night like sodding assassins,” she growled. “That whole rustic, stoic act is a veneer for cravens and backstabbers and everypony knows it. It’s obvious. We had the most weapons and the best force of levies in the city--”

“The biggest,” Lord Iron mumbled.

She continued on. Storms are not stopped by words like those. “And they knew that the House war is coming. It’s obvious. Stop trying to complicate everything and use your sodding common sense for once. What do you do when you know someone is going to attack you inevitably? You try to keep them from doing it! They figured we would attack first, so they attacked first instead!”

“But what do they have to gain?” repeated the little stallion with his stupid round eyeglasses.

She rolled her eyes. “Victory, idiot. Victory. We saved much of our stores, but if we had saved less they would easily be in a position of power in the city. More of the smaller, undecided houses would swarm to them. They tried using the princess as a banner but it won’t work. She’s too smart for them and she’s ignoring us since we threw her out of the assembly months ago.”

“We did not throw anypony out of anywhere,” huffed Lord Blueblood. “It was a vote of the peerage and as you recall, it was in everypony’s best interests that we make decisions without--”

“Shut your stupid inbred… face. If you call it a face,” Brigantine said absentmindedly. “You’re all trying to pull out of our alliance and you reek of treachery.”

Lord Dawn drew back. He studied her. Lord Iron coughed.

“Nopony has said anything about abandoning you.”

“Yet you have spent our whole meeting talking around the subject of doing just that,” Brigantine said.

“Now, you misunderstand. My friends here, the right honorable peers, only suggest caution. We fear you are being led into a trap and as your friends and allies, we would hate to see you fall headfirst into it.”

She said nothing.

The fat Lord chuckled. He was always chuckling. His girth shook like an earthquake. It was almost mesmerizing. “Please, do not insult the honor of our houses. You are right. The war between houses is inevitable. But you are ignorant of history. We have always fought with assassins and paid thugs in the streets. Never with arson and soldiers.”

“There were ninety-seven deaths last time,” Lord Dawn said, smiling widely. “I have read about all of them. The assassins of the past were true artists, you know.”

“Celestia could stop us from doing more,” Rowan-Oak said, “but she isn’t here. Luna is different. Her time was not our time. The world is different now.”

“The world never changes. It is… ah-ha, it is rather like iron. It bends and it is easily shaped, but it is always iron. You simply have to learn to control it, my dear Brigantine.”

She scowled.

“You will have the full support of my house, and your comments made in anger are quite understandable,” said Lord Blueblood, with a smile and a bow. “I do so understand how stressed and put-upon you have been. It has been a trying day, hm?” The worm smiled at her and she felt dirtier for it.

“But come, let us, ah-ha, go through the details,” Lord Iron said. “Tell us everything. If you have been attacked, we must know how it was done. The art of war is understanding, don’t you know?”

RAINBOW RAYS

They had moved the young lord to the balcony overlooking the city, the one nearest his room. On the young lordlings orders, Rays had procured some red wine and a glass. Paradise had done the pouring, over Fable’s mild objections. Now the scion of Rowan-Oak sat slumped over the balcony drinking wine at an admirable pace--Rays considered any pace of wine drinking admirable, to be fair, as he loathed the stuff--and grumbling occasionally. Paradise stood beside him and said nothing. Rays sat against the doorway.

Paradise had been firm, but not harsh. “You were brave. You were also rather foolish. I think with the chaos of the day, the Lady will say nothing of what happened. I hope so, because any pony who defends my charge is a worthy pony. But… it will be best if you were to not be seen on the balcony. In case her Ladyship were to be on the walls tonight.”

That was all he had said. So Rainbow Rays sat just out of sight.

The moon was up tonight. Waning, but not yet gone, and the light was nice. You could see an awful lot of stars like this, out of the bright streets, where the taverns burnt candles long into the night and the street lamps did their work like autonomous night watchmen. But up here, the city felt smaller. You could see all of it now. But when you were in the city, the whole world was five streets, and when you were a child and you left those five streets you discovered there were other worlds. They went on forever and ever.

Rainbow Rays thought for the first time in his short, carefree and careless life, that he might not be such a good pony. The thought had never occurred to him. Of course he was a good pony. His teachers and his mother had always said he was a good colt. He never hurt others. He didn’t steal. He was friendly and usually happy and he helped Old Lady Nightly with her rickety old market cart on the weekends because she was practically blind and crazy and needed somepony to help her get there and back again without theft or injury.

But did that make him a good pony? What did that mean?

Two days ago, he had felt like a hero. He was a spy, a covert agent deep in enemy territory. This was his mission, to save the kingdom! To save the world, maybe, if he felt bold. He was serving the princess, and she was good, wasn’t she?

But now--on his information, which had been perfect--somepony’s warehouse had been burnt to the ground, a child had been abused, and ponies might die. No, they were almost certainly going to die. At least a few. Like it mattered how many.

But the warehouse had been full of weapons. Weapons kill ponies. You don’t need a musket or a rifle to kill a pony. Don’t even need hoofblades. Song gave you two front hooves to stomp with and two hind ones to kick with.

And wings to make them twice as powerful. His wings fidgeted. He felt disheveled. He was, in fact, disheveled. His mane was a mess. His coat was dirty from putting out fires. Showers had felt pointless, and when he had collapsed from exhaustion in the barracks, he had decided that it was probably for the best to be unclean.

It wasn’t as if he wanted ponies to get hurt. He didn’t want Fable injured. He had thought Lordlings weren’t real ponies. They were just lordlings. But this lordling told ribald jokes and made up dumb nicknames and had a mother. He talked a big talk, but never cheated at cards. He enjoyed some things and thought others were boring. He liked reading, to a point. He liked coffee and thought tea was an excuse for those two weak for finer stuff. He was a surprisingly good hoof-wrestler. These facts coalesced together into a maelstrom in Ray’s head that looked an awful lot like a normal pony with fancy clothes.

And he was going to destroy them.

But Luna wouldn’t lead him astray, would she? She wouldn’t do bad things. Spike was a good pony… well. He was a good dragon.

Spike could be trusted. Spike was a good dragon. Rays knew it was true. If everything in the world was set on its side, he knew Spike would set it aright. He was the sort that set askew pictures on walls right side up just to right them. At least, he had become that way.

He would make a report tonight or the next night. Rainbow Rays kept his promises. Even when he was afraid they were very bad promises. But he knew they would be different. Just a bit. He had learned a lot in the last hour. He would learn more.

He was not a good pony. Maybe. But he could try to be not so much of a bad one.

LUNA

Like a goddess from high clouds she descended into the tableau of light and sound that was the Dreaming.

This time it was not the hillside, the one with the birch tree and the tall grass, that met her eyes. Rather she saw the capital of the Crystal Empire. Or, rather, she saw the aftermath of battle laid over it. Luna knew well the aftermath of war and struggle. None of these wounds were new wounds. She knew what could be found in this stage. But she had come for Rarity, not to walk through the despair of victory.

Rarity she found on a balcony of the Crystal Palace, one overlooking the Imperial Way. The old Emperors had spoken from this very platform, Luna knew. It was a portentous place. Luna had no portents, but she did have tales. She expected this would be a long night.

Rarity greeted her. “Luna, you are always quick to come when I call.”

Luna touched lightly on the shining crystal. “It is as you say. I have watched over the dreams of many ponies.”

“What does that usually entail?” Rarity asked lightly, looking at the city. Luna watched her, interested, but also not sure how to begin. Ponies were always looking at cities. It was, she had discovered, a universal reaction to the existence of city skylines. Ponies were always peering out at the display as if it held some magical secrets to the universe’s characteristic uncertainty. Cities never did, of course. But she supposed it was a harmless inclination.

“Well, when I was younger--”

“Don’t look a day over three thousand, your Grace,” Rarity mumured.

“I walked in the Lunar Aether and observed dreams there as… well. It is hard to describe. Like apples, if they be made of light and music. Little islands. I would find one in nightmare, and enter it if I could. There I would try to bring the pony in question some peace of mind. Sometimes this meant that I let the nightmare be--sometimes our nightmares are instructive. But unnatural nightmares, things caused by magic or monstrosities… Those I banished posthaste.”

“Monstrosities?”

“Dark things walk the Earth,” Luna said mildly.

“Ah.”

“Regardless, many of them have died out. I was thorough and they do not trouble mortal ponies as they once were wont.”

“I suppose we must thank you for that,” Rarity said.

“You seem very ill at ease,” Luna said.

“I am… I do not know what I am,” Rarity said, and Luna felt her honesty in the Dreaming. “I mean, you knew what I would find when I woke up.”

“I was told. Or, well, I was told indirectly. I found Cadance in the Dreaming. I was surprised. Alicorns besides myself do not appear there often. Only if they wish to do they dream as other ponies do. I hesitated, having not seen her in some time, but eventually I entered her dream. An alicorn appearing in the Dreaming is an open invitation to me. It always has been.” She felt suddenly defensive. “At least, with the eldest of us. The children of Alicorns should know this…”

“I wasn’t going to say it was rude,” Rarity said. “I’m sorry I didn’t use your name earlier.”

“I was not going to say anything.”

Rarity smiled. “I had figured. But I thought I should apologize regardless. It was rather petty of me. I know you prefer your name here, Luna,” she said.

“Do you… wish to talk of it?” Luna asked, and felt suddenly as if she were not as old as she was. She had seen many wounds. She had known many warriors wounded such in battle. But the times were different. Did ponies change? She used to think they did not, but now she was unsure. And regardless, ponies were wily. One was offended and another laughed. One cried and another was unmoved.

“I could talk about it, yes. I’m not sure what I would say. I am in shock,” she added, as if discovering the fact. “That’s a rather elegant word. It sums up so much in one syllable, don’t you think?”

Luna nodded.

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel. What I know for a fact that I do feel falls into two camps, generally.” Rarity seemed less composed than simply numb. Luna had seen this countenance before. Many times. “Some of them seem right. Others seem… undecorous? Frivilous? Stupid. Yes, stupid. Inelegant, in nice counterpoint, but also effective.”

“What are these right feelings?” Luna asked.

“I am beyond tears and laughter thankful for being alive. I survived. I should have died. I almost did! But I haven’t yet gone to my rest. So I’m deliriously happy about that. Secondly, I am very grateful that Fluttershy and… Rainbow Dash survived. I am glad Rainbow’s wings were fine. I was worried…” She sniffed. It surprised Luna. She felt the great wave of emotion only now. What strength could keep them from her, she knew well, for only a few had it and she remembered all of them.

“You were worried your lover would not fly again,” Luna finished.

“What, forgive me,” she wiped at her eyes. “What a strange word. Why do I cry normally here? Why do I cry at all? This place is silly, really.” She sniffled. “Goodness. I am rather melodramatic. Putting on a show, really.”

“We would both feel your insincerity if that were true,” Luna said, though suddenly she wondered if it were so.

Rarity smiled shakily and then sighed. “May we go somewhere else?”

Luna nodded.

The world around them melted away. Where there had once been spires and crystal--the shattered and the whole alike--there were now stones and good tiled floors. It was the inside of some building. Rarity did not recognize it, but Luna did. She had visited it only the other day.

“What is this place?” Rarity asked, looking about. “Not that I mind it, of course! Plain, but not unlovely. In a sort of Applejack way.”

The walls bloomed suddenly with tapestries. The small study had become a grand hall, with a high ceiling and strong pillars. A few suits of armor adorned the alcoves that candelabras and paintings did not fill. It was grand, and Rarity’s awe was palpable, even without the Dreaming. Luna smiled. Rarity gaped.

“My… My, you simply must tell me where I am,” she said. For just a moment, she was carried away from her troubles. “Why, a king could live in such a place and not feel ashamed of his lodging!”

“Many Lords and Ladies did once live here,” Luna said. “I will explain it in due time. Will you come and sit with me at the Lord’s tables?”

These appeared with little ceremony or flash of magic. They simply were where they had not been. They took a seat at the sturdy oak. “For lords and ladies, they seem to have not minded the rustic.”

“You will find that rustic trappings are always in fashion,” Luna said with a smile.

“I suppose so. I wouldn’t know, really. My days of pretending to know about such things are, in truth, behind me.”

“No more dreams of being a princess?” Luna asked, and realized that she had stepped on the wrong place as soon as Rarity’s face fell flat.

“Well, I can hardly say such now, can I?” She looked down at her leg. “It’s whole here?”

“This is you as you think of yourself,” Luna said.

“Ah.”

“You wish to speak of it. I can tell this.”

“Yes, it’s really rather obvious. Especially here. I am grateful I survived. A part of me is dismayed--that is not a good word for the feeling, of course--at my scars. Are they also gone?”

“Yes.”

“What a wonderful place,” she said, and paused. “But as I grow older I become less attached to things like beauty. I treasure it highly but am slower and slower to be overly alarmed at losing it. I’m not an old mare,” she added hurriedly. “I know I sound like it. Bother. It does hurt me that I am scarred. I hate this. My beauty is a wreck.”

“Hardly,” Luna said evenly.

“And of course, my leg. My leg. It’s gone! Gone. Oh, stars, sometimes I think I’m going to go crazy. It should be there and it isn’t. But I can feel it! I think I can. I am a cobbled-together creature. I’m something from one of Twilight’s mother’s old horror and adventure tales! A monstrosity. A melange.”

Luna pursed her lips. “I have known many mares with facial scars, Rarity, who were as lovely as the moon and as beautiful as any flower.”

“Do not say things just to lighten my mood. Don’t lie, please don’t.”

“I do not lie,” Luna responded quickly, with a bit too much heat. “I tell you the truth. Do you think I lied when I let such into my be--” She coughed. Loudly. Several times. In the Dreaming it was entirely fake. Luna was not used to concealing herself here. “I have… had several lovers in my life,” she began again, this time a bit slower. “And many of them--nay, most--were warriors. Many of them had scarring and wounds of old battles, and I thought that they were beyond compare. Every single mare among them.”

Rarity seemed to absorb this. While she did not speak, Luna filled the gap. As she talked, she got up from the table and walked idly. Rarity got up behind her, and the table disappeared again.

“In my days, the old days, there were no prosthetics as they have now. Not such wonders that walk and act like limbs. Wooden pegs were as good as one expected. I loved a mare once, before Celestia and I ruled, in the far West. She was a Batpony. Her name was Hyacinth. She hailed from Sarnath. Once, we aided a village in the mountains by slaying a dragon who had grown wicked and greedy for the flesh of ponies. We smote him upon the mountainside, but he tore my Hyacinth’s poor wing.”

Luna tried to hold back some of her remembered sorrow, but she knew some leaked over.

“And she said some of the things that you have said. I was… I was so bewildered. Because she was beautiful to me. She was a warrior to me. I could not see where she got this strange notion that she had become a lesser being. It took years. I thought she might leave us. But she came to live without flight, at least, she came to accept it.”

“Years,” Rarity murmured.

“Yes. But she was always so high-strung. My sweet Hyacinth.”

“Do you remember all of the ponies you, ah, loved?”

“Friends and lovers and even a few acquaintances,” Luna replied with a smile that Rarity could not see from behind her. “Yes, I remember them all. Time has healed my wounds of seperation, but it has not stole an ounce of my remembered love.”

“I’m sorry,” Rarity said.

“Do not be. I tell you this because I do not wish for you to suffer as she did. Unlike Hyacinth, you can still do magic. She could not fly. Your prosthetic will work marvelously. They tell me it will be stronger than your old leg was.” She paused. “Which means nothing to you now. But it may one day. I do not know the future. But you are no less than you were before you were maimed.”

“Perhaps.” Rarity strode up to her shoulder. “What is this a depiction of?”

“The Battle of Ghastly Gorge,” Luna said flatly. “All of the old tapestries were preserved. I presume upon Celestia’s order. It was a very strange thing, visiting this old hall. But I thought you should see it as it is, and not how I vaguely remember it from over a millenia ago.” She took a deep breath. “Ghastly Gorge was where my army was finally broken. Oh, we went for awhile longer, but until the Gorge I was unstoppable. My airships were built by the finest workponies and craftsponies of the North. I had the better half of the Navigator’s guild, you know. My canons broke many regiments with ease. My navy blocked out the sun!” She chuckled. “It was very dramatic. My cause and I were both equally wicked, but I have only pride in my heart for the Lunar Navy.”

“This was from… when you were Nightmare Moon, then?”

“Yes. Do you see that ship? That was the Selene. Not the one I have today, which is just a little yacht. This was the greatest airship ever built. A single broadside, with explosive ordinance, of course, could destroy some of the smaller towns of Equestria.” Had Rarity been watching her, she would have seen a dreamy look in Luna’s eyes as she continued. “Oh, even as we were cracked and broken and thrown into that gorge… before, when we were arrayed in lines to give battle… ah.”

“The detail is amazing… I almost imagine I can see individual ponies…”

“Here is an old destroyer. I did most of the work on that design. In the old time, I was something of a machinist. You need many hobbies when you live as long as we do! But I was a fine draughtsmare, I think. My destroyers were balanced, firepower and maneuverability in harmony.”

“I had heard that the resurgence of air travel had something to do with your return,” Rarity said, and hummed. “And who is this, here in the center? They seem awfully brave, these… ponies…”

Luna looked down. Rarity touched the tapestry as if it were holy.

“You see, then.”

“I… So this… This hall is…”

“That is the ship of Clarion Belle, the son of Lord Belle. Both died at the Gorge. The father’s ship was broken upon the rocks after he commanded the defense of the Solar right flank, finally ramming his ruined battleship right into the heart of my formation and detonating its powder. The son led an overly ambitious charge into the center of my line after I had spread myself a bit thin. He got through. I killed him myself onboard the Selene. I knew him before the war. He was a fine stallion. You know, I suspected that he liked me when he was younger.”

“I…”

“I brought you here to talk about them, but also to speak of you. The present is what is important. The House of Belle is responsible for much good in the world. They broke my navy at the Gorge. Their daughters--Silver and Glass-- destroyed my Iron Legion at Whitetail. One Belle actually slapped my sister when she almost surrendered to me in a fit of despair. She told me after I returned that he was all that kept her from losing all hope of life in those darkest days. Their charity and sacrifice helped many of the cities of the plain to prosper.”

“It is in the past. My father didn’t like to speak of it. We all knew, of course. But after such a long time! Years!”

“Hundreds.”

“It’s just… what are you planning to do?”

“I would reinstate the House of Belle and it would sit in the Houses Major. Restore to it its keep in Canterlot, used by my sister as a Guard garrison and kept in flawless condition as a memorial to the family she felt indebted to for so long. Promise it a portion of its old lands, as per Celestia’s wishes, all of what the crown still owned of the original Belle fiefdom transferred.”

“But… Luna! Luna, please, slow down. This is insane. Pointless. I cannot be there to do anything, and the houses would never, never accept the formation of a new house and its immediate appointment to the highest tier of prestige. I am not whole. I am damaged! This is…”

“Stupid.”

“It is! This is foolishness. Don’t wave my old dream so confidently in my face… please. I cannot handle this. Not now.”

Luna sighed and rubbed her temples. “Celestia had it signed into law that she retained the right to reinstate your house whenever the need was great or one of you had the influence to do it yourself.”

She looked down to see Rarity staring. “My… my father never told me that.”

“The Belles either forgot or wanted to leave it behind.”

“But they still won’t accept it.”

“They might just have to, and you aren’t a threat to them right now. If they defy Celestia, then the whole situation turns ugly. The public still loves my sister, and if they didn’t start to protest, then the Supernalists might actually burn some thing over it. You know how enthusiastic they are about her.”

“And you.”

“Yes, well. Me. I do not care for them. In fact, after what they did in old times to my batponies, I find them horrific and troublesome even when they do good. You can realize why I was dismayed when I thought you were one of their number.”

“My mother was a Celestialist. Stars,” Rarity said quickly, as if distracted. Her bright eyes seemed to be planning. Luna considered this and found it promising. “So… if they were to have that pressure, and if they’re still glaring at each other--”

Luna snorted at that.

“Then yes, they might accept it. But to what end? Why?”

“Partially? Justice. I killed two of the old Belles. In fact, the house’s decline is entirely on my shoulder. I may right at least one of my wrongs yet. And… I need another House Major who approves of me in even the smallest way,” Luna said, cringing. “It is not the most honorable of courses. But the world is darkening.”

“Yes. Yes, I see what you mean. But somepony must… no. No, absolutely not.”

“You see the snag.”

“I see the absolute preposterousness of it! You cannot! She’s a child.”

Luna sighed and turned away. “When I was young, mares her age were married.”

“And ponies had slaves sometimes, then, too!” Rarity shouted. “No! She’s in danger. I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it,” Luna repeated quietly.

She turned and looked down at Rarity. Rarity did not budge. She did not falter, even before Luna’s sternest gaze. She was a Belle as sure as any. Luna had felt a bit of Clarion in her that day that the Elements left Canterlot for regions unknown. She felt it now. It did not whisper at her. It screamed its defiance in her ears. It stabbed at her eyes with light. Clarion had been reborn.

“I won’t back down because you are royalty,” Rarity said. “I cannot afford to do that. My sister is precious to me. I will not let her be hurt for your political games.”

“These are not games, and you know that, Rarity. Rarity of House Belle. You have a duty to Equestria the same as mine and your family always has. She is needed. She can sit the chair.”

“And be stabbed in it too!” hissed Rarity.

“Or not be. In fact, House Belle will be harmless and they may try to win over your sister in an attempt to paint the sedition in a better light. House Belle has statues in Canterlot dedicated to its fallen, you know this. You’ve seen them. Everypony has. The name will speak to ponies.”

Rarity shook. “But she’s a child.”

“She’s a mare. She hasn’t been a filly in a few years. Have you considered asking her what it is she would choose?”

“She’ll be overawed and flattered and--”

“She isn’t you, Rarity,” Luna said firmly. “Her dreams are different. If anything, I think the opposite is true. I think she will be much harder to convince than you would be.”

Rarity looked down at her hooves. Luna said nothing. The Dreaming was quiet. Which was, Luna supposed, normal. The natural state of the Aether was silence. But while she enjoyed the usual silence there, here it was simply stifling.

Luna considered her options. She had perhaps been a bit too brash. Perhaps. Celestia had always been the player of chess. Luna had made plans too, of course, but they were rudimentary things. She had been so sure that Rarity’s old dream of nobility would be enough to push her into acceptance. Dangle the prize and win her aid. It was an easy and simple plan. It had also not worked very well. I have misjudged her, I think.

“How dangerous is Canterlot, really? Be honest with me, Luna.”

Luna looked down. “It is perilous. The Houses will be fighting soon, I think. They may yet avoid it, for they have not always been as predictable as my sister and I have hoped.” She almost mentioned Spike, but swerved out of the way just in time. “The bandits and raiders are organized, as I’ve told you. We won at Morningvale, but… only technically. There are new soldiers coming from the East and South that I do not know anything of at present. I fear they mean to do my city harm--”

“I know most of that. The last part, no, but I’m not talking about that.” Rarity put her hooves over her eyes. “Is Sweetie Belle already in danger as it is? That’s what I’m wondering now. Could having access to a keep and maybe guards make her safer, or just make her a target?”

“Safety is not the only concern,” Luna said, grimacing. “Yes, safety is desirable. But safety in any time is mostly an illusion. Sweetie Belle is safe. My Dusk Watch--ah, you remember them, yes?”

“I… I don’t know. Truthfully, I’m not sure if I have heard that name before or not.”

“I will explain some other time. But they are beyond capable. The Nightshades also watch. Both of my greatest cadres of warriors keep a steady vigil over the families and loved ones of the Element bearers, including yourself.”

Rarity seemed to wilt. “Really.”

“Yes. Of course. Is this so strange? You cannot be here to watch over them, and I considered it my duty as your friend,” she said, hesitating only slightly. “But with or without the House of Belle, that safety is only insured to those who have seen very little strife. I know enough of it to say that the more we fear danger, the more we shy from it, the more we present our necks to be ripped asunder. You cannot quake.”

“But... “ Rarity groaned. “Luna, this was cruel of you, to tell me this only now. When I am ruined physically, my sister is so far away, and… and…”

Luna could not look at her anymore. “I thought you would be pleased. I confess my plans oft go awry.”

“I think you’re right. About asking her. About safety… well, after the last month, I think maybe you’re right about that too. Can you do that? Can I talk to her? I don’t know how this all works.”

“I have already prepared for that, my friend,” Luna said, and turned towards the hall’s great oak doors. They opened, letting in an immense light, and from the illumination a shadow appeared. It coalesced, but Luna knew that it was Sweetie before Rarity’s eyes could catch up.

Sweetie gazed around herself in completely undisguised wonder.

Rarity seemed frozen beside Luna, and so the princess gave her a light touch on the shoulder. Startled, Rarity jumped, and finally her little sister noticed the two standing off by the side.

Rarity’s composure broke--Luna had long ago discovered it was not so uncrackable as Rarity liked to imagine--and she ran to Sweetie, wrapping her up in an embrace and saying her name over and over. Sweetie blinked over her sister’s shoulder, puzzled by this strange, vivid dream she was having. But she hugged back. It was a good dream if Rarity was here, wasn’t it? Luna felt her happiness in the Aether. It was infectious.

Luna even smiled. These sisters had some catching up to do.

TWILIGHT

Running. The city. The dream changed and did not change.

The buildings did not melt, but now great hulking ponies in armor stalked her through the streets. They wore armor, and on their shoulders she saw lances and harness-mounted rifles. If she was too slow to dodge, sometimes they fire at her. She alway heard the shot crashing through some window or breaking the cobblestone.

Her hooves ached. Her head was on fire. She turned right, coming out into a plaza, and knew she’d made a bad turn immediately. Two of the monstrous hunters charged right at her across the fountain’s plaza, jumping right through the climbing jets of water. The two behind her were catching up.

She was surrounded. Every exit was blocked.

And, as must happen, She appeared.

Twilight thought that She was Celestia. Of course she was. Had Celestia not saved her again and again in this tortured city? Was Celestia not her shield and her hope? But with startling swiftness she saw that it was not Celestia. This pony was an alicorn, true, but as she descended from the sky on a beam of light--as time seemed to stretch and slow--Twilight saw her coat was a pure white. Celestia’s was pink in the same way that the horizon is pink. Her hair was blue as a starry night. She was taller, and unlike Celestia Twilight felt no peace in her but only a sort of crushing sorrow.

She cowered.

The newcomer let out a bloodcurdling scream and the city was distorted. What happened to her pursuers, Twilight could not guess.

And then they were alone.

The Alicorn--the Goddess--stared down at her. Twilight barely managed to look up.

Why do you cower before us?

“Who are you?” Twilight squeaked. Her voice sounded wretched.

I will tell you by and by.

“You… you looked like--”

I look like what I look like. I am that which I have been since I was born in Song. Rise, Twilight.

“How… how do you know me?”

Twilight looked around her. There was only blank whiteness. Was she good? The thought came unlooked for and only half-considered. Was she evil? Was she beyond both, and was there some space for her there beyond them?

“I’m dreaming. I’m in the Dreaming. This is like when I’m with Luna, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“Then she knows I’m here. Or does she? Why hasn’t she helped me?” Twilight suddenly felt angry. “I’ve been having nightmares on nightmares all this time, for days! She hasn’t once helped me. Aren’t we friends?”

You tell me.

Twilight faltered. “We are… we are. But why not help me?”

You cannot help those who hide.

Twilight felt a chill run over her body. It felt real. Solid. Not like the Dreaming at all. “What did you do? Who are you?”

But the alicorn was already gone. Ahead of her, out across the nothing, she saw a speck of… something. It grew larger--no, she saw that she was hurtling towards it, or it towards her. She braced herself against the oncoming color.

The light shone through her closed eyelids and through her hooves which shielded her eyes. She looked out.

She was in the Golden Oaks. Twilight sank to the ground, blinking. Her library. It was pristine. If anything, it was more organized and spotless than it had ever been in her real life. Before her, standing next to the table where she’d kept that strange pony bust, was Luna. Luna looked at her like a pony who had seen a ghost.

“Twilight! Are you injured? Are you alright? Did it… did it touch you?”

“What?”

“I was in the Aether and suddenly you were there for just a brief second, screaming and I heard you… Oh, Song, oh light…” Luna was fretting over her, checking for… damage, allegedly. Twilight numbly wondered why physical damage would show up in this world. She also wondered why she felt so numb.

“I’m fine,” Twilight said softly.

“It… appears so.” Luna let out a ragged sight and sat back on her haunches, much as Twilight realized she was doing. Funny. She hadn’t remembered doing that. “I was overcome by worry. Forgive me. When I heard you, I thought for a moment that the shadow had fallen over you. But surely it wouldn’t. Surely you are immune.”

“The shadow?”

“Yes. We spoke of it briefly before, didn’t we? Do you… do you not remember?”

“I do. Yeah, give me a moment.” Twilight rubbed her temples. She felt as if she was forgetting something. “What was I just doing? Where was I? Do you know what that dream was?”

Luna shook her head. Twilight looked up to catch this, and saw something strange in Luna’s eyes. She felt something strange in the Aether around her.

“The infection of dreams is the infection of the mind,” Luna went on. Twilight categorized this speech as nervous, and filed the impression away. “Whatever tugs at these strings… oh, damn it all. Twilight, I am tired of riddles. I liked playing at them, but it was my sister who loved thinking in them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I keep hinting at what is Jannah or what I believe to be happening in our world. I cannot seem to simply tell anypony the truth. I fear the whole truth, that’s plain enough.But I am afraid that if I don’t withold what I know, not a soul will keep on going. I fear they will all give up.”

Twilight stirred. “What… what do you mean?”

“I misjudged your friend Rarity earlier. Severely. I tried to manipulate her, use her greed to achieve my careful ends, and before I could even lay out my stratagems, she had already shamed me for a craven. She did not say such, not exactly, but she thought it. She is quite right.”

“What was your plan? Tell me.” The numbness had worn off. Twilight frowned with concern. “You can tell me, Luna. I won’t be made or anything. Honest. You realized your mistake.”

“I am revitalizing the House of Belle.”

Twilight blinked. “Come again?”

“You knew your friend was the scion of the House of Belle, did you not?”

Twilight blinked again. She was an avid reader of history, of course. She knew the Belles. Every pony historian worth an ounce of salt knew the Belles. She had studied three dozen battles in which they had personally shown extraordinary valor. She had read about Three Belle’s library building scheme. She even remembered the exact wording of the preamble of the Fourth Resolute Assembly of the Center Province’s Address, written by a one Copper Belle.

But… Rarity?

And suddenly she felt like an idiot. The family trees didn’t go that far, but she had never even bothered to ask. Why would she? Everypony figured the family had died off or the descendants were nobodies.

“No,” she answered, breathless. “How could I? Oh, Celestia, how could I have not?” She scrambled up on her hooves. “But… but this is--”

“If you say ‘historically significant’, Twilight Sparkle, I will groan and be rather unimpressed.”

“Well.” Twilight paused. “Wait, how did that make you manipulative? I’m missing some of the story, I think.”

“I had hoped to appeal to her greed. I know that when she was younger she dreamed of nobility, of marrying into some house or another.”

Twilight found herself grinning widely. “Yes, the gala cured her of some of that.”

“My sister filled me in on that after the fact,” replied Luna, mirroring her smile, if with a bit more reserve. “But her concern with not with her own gain but with her sister. I was asking her to do what I had felt like Celestia had done to me. It is not a nice thing to realize. I should never have been so flippant about putting her sister in harm’s way.”

“I--wait, no, I think I can piece this together. You’ll need somepony to be the face of the House in Canterlot. I’m sure they won’t be a House Major, but... “ She searched Luna’s face. “Oh. Wait, how?”

“Celestia left us all her decree in law. She could, at her leisure ‘draft’ the House back into service of the Kingdom in dire circumstances. At the time it seemed an idle whim, and so nopony really bothered with questioning it. The Belles themselves had been in decline for generations at that point.”

“I had no idea. Apparently absolutely nopony cared.”

“And Celestia did not go out of her way to broadcast such news.”

“No, of course not… Wow. So, what happens now?”

Luna smiled again, this time more easily. “I shall relate that. But first, might we walk? The sun might do you well, even in a dream.”

Sweetie Belle

Rarity left but before she did she hugged me probably a million times. I didn’t want her to go but she needed to, and you and I needed to talk, didn’t we? I know she’s worried. I think having me there, talking about it, made her feel better.

For the record, I think this is crazy and I’ll wake up and it’ll just be a really weird dream. A nice one though! So that’s cool. And, real or not, I saw Rarity. I miss my sister. I bet you miss yours too, huh? I mean, duh, of course you do.

When she left, it was a little awkward. You kind of shuffled around. I was surprised. I assumed nobility and royalty and ponies like that were just graceful by default. Rarity always made them seem that way--so did her books. The ones I wasn’t supposed to read until I was older that of course I read anyway. I learned quite a bit about the world from those books.

So I decided to get you on a safe topic. I asked you about House Belle.

Well, what did I want to know? Good question. See how easy it is to talk?

Let’s start with the basics, I said. I don’t know that much. I never cared like my sister did. A major house. Did they have land and big houses, I guess? Where? Did they live off of farmers paying rent, or did they sell or make things or what did they do? Tell me about what they were like.

That’s what I asked, and that’s what you did.

You told me about how the first Belles you knew of popped up a little before Discord. They weren’t nobles then. They were in charge of a village. Basically, the first ancestor I have that you knew was kind of a bully, but a nice one. If thats a thing, which I am not sure it is? But that’s how you described it to me. The world was big, and frightening, and he decided that he had to protect everypony, and he did it mostly by bossing them around and building a big wall around his village and posting a watch. You thought he was a bit silly, but you liked that he was at least prepared.

Then they entered the service of the King of Equestria. He gave them land, and they were good. More or less. A bit greedy here, a bit lazy there. Indolence, pettiness. But they didn’t hurt anyone or anything.

But then Discord came, and you told me everything changed.

You told me how a pony named Yule Belle led a great revolt against King Discord, and even though he was beaten easily, he sacrificed himself so the rebels could scatter and live. His daughter was named Sweet Belle--almsot like me! How about that?--you told me that she was one of the first ponies you ever met in Equestria who you considered your friend, and that she was the one that convinced you it was your destiny to help defeat Discord… and then be Princesses.

You told me my family had so many heroes that ponies had lost track of half of them at least and still had volumes to fill with exploits. Explorers, poets, artists, warriors, strategists. Builders and destroyers, but always generous… and always ready to be a little indolent on the side. You told me less changed than ponies usually thought. But you painted such a picture.

The Belles weathered every storm. They were the walls that could never be taken. They were the lance that was never broken. In their wake was left light and they were Lightbringers--in their wake they left the darkness broken, and they were a bane to every lie. They uplifted the weary and fed the hungry. A pony would see a few foolish dandies who enjoyed wine and poetry a bit too much, but in a moment’s notice they became like lions. They defended the honor of the low and the high alike. They cared for a pony’s merit and not his power. They spat in the faces of robbers and stared down Lords. Their songs mystified the ones who sought power and uplifted the hearts of the virtuous.

You remembered through me so many lives.

I think that we are not what you and your sister remember.

I’m sorry. I’m just one mare. My sister is probably the most impressive pony in our family on both sides going back a few dozen generations, and none of us are what you’re describing My parents are a bit absentminded--I am too!--but they are good. My sister is good. But we aren’t heroes. We’re just ponies. We just do the good we can do right in front of us. We make friends with the ponies we have around us, and we help as we can, but we don’t go on quests or route foreign invasions or discover lost ruins. We just… live, I guess.

And you told me that I underestimated myself, and I told you that I think you did the opposite. I said that whatever we were, we weren’t that anymore. I think we’re still good. I believe with all my heart that my sister and parents are good ponies. Good with a capital letter in there, even, official and everything. But what can normal ponies do?

You told me that the Belles used to be fond of grand boasts, but sometimes--you said when they were honest--that they said what I said. Just do the job in front of you. Just help your neighbor. For Star’s sake you have to be kind.

If you think that sitting in that chair can do that, I’ll do it. I’m not like Rarity. I’m a singer! I’m a musician. I can sing a mean solo, but I don’t know the first thing about leading ponies. I can work a crowd, but not like this. But it’s the job in front of me, I guess. Show business gets you used to thinking on your hooves. I guess I can handle change. Maybe?

I just want ponies to be happy again. I want them not to fear each other. I want the nobles to be good, to stop trying to kill each other or hurt each other or burn each others stupid buildings and just be friends. I wish that the sun would be normal and that I was back home and that Applebloom and Scoots and I could just… you know, do nothing. All the time. Just wander around being kids again. Or maybe do something, I don’t know.

If you think that me sitting on that chair until my sister gets back will help that happen, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. I’ll do the job that’s in front of me.

Author's Note

Up and up and up and up

A Song of Degrees

The ships over the gorge, the reflecting of a blazing sun, the tune is Ebenezer, the song is the one that war plays to accompany the slughorn that calls the End.

XXXI. Walk On, Melchizedek

SWEETIE BELLE

It was amazing, the work that went into the maintenance of a noble house.

The staff must be vetted, selected, compensated. Not just any pony would do. There are rules and boundaries not even the noble can cross, and the iron law of the servant is one of them. In fact, Sweetie Belle found herself being asked to inspect and approve of things which she was also expected to blindly accept. The Head Maid knew what she was about, and she’d not have anypony short of Celestia herself tell her any differently.

Celestia had, in fact, been the mare’s former employer. A lesser pony would have been lost in such circumstances. But the Head Maid was not a lesser pony. She had kept her maids moving and busy. She had kept everything in decency and order in a world that slowly went mad around her in all directions.

At the moment, she was explaining all of the things that Sweetie Belle would need to sign off on.

“And, furthermore, we will need a dozen workers to spruce the place up. At least. I would prefer more, but at the moment our sources of income will require us to be very, ah, economical.” She sniffed, and adjusted her ornate reading glasses. She squinted at her notes on the paper she levitated before her. “Ah, yes. Decor. I have several interesting choices for you, my lady--”

Sweetie tensed. “Please just call me by my name… I mean, it’s really Rarity whose the… uh,” she faltered under the maid’s eyes. Her eyebrow poised in a question, as if asking if Sweetie were quite finished, thank you.

“Madame, you are the Lady of House Belle in your sister’s absence, and you must remember this. If I may be so bold--”

“You’ve been pretty damned commanding,” Sweetie whispered.

The maid continued unrepentantly. “You cannot afford to be simply passive. I can do what I know to do, but you simply must sit up straighter. Hold your head high. You are a Lady of a noble house now, madame.”

“I’m Sweetie Belle. I was born in Ponyville and my mom and dad are as common as you can be,” Sweetie countered glumly.

“Then perhaps you will actually deserve this,” the head maid said, smiling mercilessly. That was a frightening look. Sweetie sat up a little straighter. “I am here to aid you, madame. You are being tossed to the sharks, and I once had a little filly your age. When they come knocking on your door, we shall greet them in a style worthy of kings. My Lady, you must act a Lady.”

“I know,” Sweetie said.

“Good. Now, if you would, the decor…”

The head maid spread a few sheaves of paper onto the desk in the study Sweetie Belle had chosen. Another maid nearby silently helped a stallion in light barding move another bookshelf in. One of the pony-at-arms. Her pony-at-arms. Wearing the Belle insignia on his barding. A bell, just like on her cutie mark. It was beyond her to contemplate.

“This is… this is pretty fancy,” Sweetie said, looking them over.

“As befits a house of your station, my Lady. Now, if I might suggest… this one seems to me a bit older fashioned, but your house is a very old house.”

“You want us to look like we never left?” Sweetie asked.

The Head Maid smiled. “Yes, madame. You catch on. See? But, in my humble opinion--” she ignored Sweetie rolling her eyes at humble, “we may do well to capitalize on House Belle’s past glory. The tapestries, for instance, are in place as you asked for them to be, and they are quite out of fashion. But an older style would accent them well, and pull the look together.”

“I’m still trying to figure out why decor is important,” Sweetie interrupted. “I mean, we’re… like, at war, basically?”

The Head Maid smiled. “But conflict is the exact moment. You see, appearance is always important. Soldiers are just ponies. Ponies get frightened. They can be inspired. A bright flag waving proudly can get them to do amazing thing. Cutting the right figure on the battlefield and off? Why, it can make ponies be greater than they ever could have been, turn farmers into heroes. Apperance matters.”

“You sound like my sister,” Sweetie said with a sigh and a smile.

“I do so look forward to working under her. She seems like a wonderful mare, my Lady.”

“She is. I think I will go with your suggestion.”

“Excellent. The materials have already been ordered and we will begin after lunch.”

Sweetie blinked. “Wha… how?”

“I knew you were a bright mare, of course,” said the Head Maid.

Sweetie laughed, genuinely and openly. “I think this might even be a little fun, Ms…” Sweetie paused. “This is awful. You know, you never told me your name. You introduced yourself as…”

“Head Maid, yes.”

“So… um. What’s your name? Sorry.”

“Head Maid, ma’am.”

Sweetie stared. “No way.”

Head Maid grinned back. “My mother was, ah, ambitious. In her own way.” She coughed. “Now, on to the list of visitors. We have received correspondence from several houses, which I have already taken the liberty to reply to…”

AMARANTH

Amaranth did not worship Luna. She did not kiss her hoof to the stars, nor did she know more than two or three of their names. She had never read a single scrap of religious prose or verse, and beyond other’s whispered benedictions, she had very little contact with such things.

She wasn’t exactly hostile. Or, wasn’t intentionally hostile. Batponies had a troubled history with Equestria’s faith. More specifically, they had a troubled past with Supernalism. The Supernalists, in deifying Celestia had made her sister into the Mother of Lies. Understandable, and they had reverse that position after the war, but not before the Scouring. Celestia’s armies had been too exhausted, and her officers were themselves prejudiced against Luna’s treasured tribe. Many batponies had been killed in wholesale slaughter. A great pogrom which left them scarred and cautious. Celestia had saved as many as she could. But in the wake of such a war as the Schism, her influence had weakened and her desperate, fever measures had not saved them all.

But time had moved on. Supernalism had changed. Batponies had repopulated. It was hundreds of years ago. But she felt a sort of old tribal anxiety about overt signs that were even vaguel associated with the worship of the sun or stars. The Moon… was a different story. It was complicated.

None of this stopped her from struggling to rise and bow in the presence of the Princess of the Night. She felt again a fragment of the primal awe which had moved her ancestors to follow Luna across the great ocean to a new land. She was, without a sliver of doubt, in the presence of her Lady and Master.

It is hard, however, to prostrate oneself when crippled. She was learning this.

Luna coughed, and Amaranth looked up in horror.

“I’m sorry, I should be standing. Or sitting. Saluting.” She did so, in the manner of the Nightshades, crossing her wings awkwardly. “I… I’m sorry, I cannot greet you as I should--”

“Please, peace. Be still,” Luna said, and Amaranth obeyed instantly.

“I am honored by your presence, my Lady,” Amaranth said.

“And I by your service. If you feel strong enough for talk, I would have your company for a time.”

“Absolutely, my Lady.”

Luna smiled at her. Had Amaranth not been fully engrossed in the reality of this visit, she might have noticed how ponies shied away from them both instinctively, giving the diarch space. Partially, of course, out of respect. But also because any pony living in the capital of Equestria knows that sometimes it is better to not be in a position to listen. They develop a sense for such things.

“I had your file pulled yesterday, and spent some time reading it. You have only been in my Nightshades for a brief period.”

“I would have wished to serve a much longer time, your Grace.”

Luna’s smile changed. Somehow, it deepened in a way that transmitted a mirth that was… both warm and not warm. Amaranth struggled to read her features. She struggled to anticipate what would come next.

“Ah, ah, ah--I do not recall any discharge having been ordered. And I have not received your resignation.”

Oh. Oh. Amaranth wilted. Were it possible for her to fade back into the bed, to disappear, she would have done it. She would have did rather than be stuck on that bed looking up and knowing what she would be asked to do. It was for the good of the many. She was deadweight. Dead. Weight.

“Forgive me,” she said, and then took a deep breath. But whatever she would have said next was gone as soon as Luna interrupted.

“Whatever for?

“I… beg your pardon?”

“I see no reason to forgive you, as you have not really wronged me. Unless you have been profaning the name of my Nightshades with any public indecency or larceny I have not heard of, of course.” Luna chuckled. Not that anything happened in this city without her receiving some sort of intelligence on it. At least, a far as Amaranth knew. Had it been a reference to the Captain?

A little pinprick of righteous irritation punctured the brass skies of awe. Captain Ice Storm was more or less incapable of indecency. She was mostly sure of this. Almost positively.

“Ma’am, I don’t understand. I had assumed you were here about my commission.”

“I am,” Luna said, and her smiled faded.

Yes, awe was nice, but Amaranth’s mind could be somewhat pedestran at times. Fuck. Of course. “I did not resign my commission, my Lady,” she said. Ma’am. Stars, Amaranth, you are an idiot. Ma’am. Ugh.

“I’m aware. Might I ask why?”

Amaranth had no idea how to answer. She knew why, of course.

“I couldn’t.”

“Physically? Have you been incapacitated?” Luna asked, incredulous. Her tone mocked. Or, to Amaranth, seemed to mock. Her heart beat loudly and ominously in her chest.

“No, my Lady. I could not because…” She hesitated. “May I speak freely? I will ask your forgiveness, but it is a matter of the heart.”

Luna recognized the phrasing. She nodded stiffly. “As you opened your heart to the Night, it listens,” she responded by rote. The Nightshades spoke their minds. It was part of what made them invaluable. To Luna, any Nightshade might request a sort of verbal asylum, trading their insight or frankness in return for clemency and forgiveness for otherwise grave insult.

So she would go ahead. “I know I’m useless. I am completely worthless as a warrior. If I were in the regular guard, I could still be a quartermaster or maybe even work at a desk. But I’m a Nightshade and I’m very proud of that. We’re all prepared to de. I didn’t die. I failed at that, even. I”m just stuck here, useless.” She gritted her teeth. “But if I resign I’ll have signed my own death warrent. I can’t kill who I am. I’m a Nightshade until they come and tear it out of me. I will not kill myself. They will have to come and finish me of, so I can die as I was meant to.”

“So, despair.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“I am not that when you speak thus. Remember,” Luna said softly. “You know, it is an old rule. My first Nightshades often spoke frankly with me. The new ones do so seldomly, it seems.”

“I have only been in your presence a few times, myself. You touched my head and blessed me when I was sworn in, and you walked by me in the Palace before I was reassigned.”

“I know. I remember you then. You had a much shorter mane, as I remember. I quite like it now. It is much better, if we are being frank and honest.”

Amaranth was startled into laughter. “Thank you.”

“So despair has kept you from resigning. A sickness, my sister said once, unto death. Is that it?”

Amaranth shook her head. “Not entirely. Being a soldier, a warrior, a Nightshade, is really who I am, but resigning is more than just losing that. I say its like killing my self… and that must seem really melodramatic, but it feels that way. It feels too easy, too clean. Like I get off free and my brothers and sisters have to struggle and suffer.”

“You have already suffered greatly.”

Amaranth shifted. Her wings had been cramping all day, but she would not be distracted. “Not productively. Only because I was careless. I failed.”

“The reports I read last night seem to indicate that you are, and I use another’s word, a hero.”

Amaranth sighed. “We call ponies heroes to make up for them getting old and fat and useless, I think. I don’t want to get medals. They tried to give me one yesterday.”

“Did you take it?”

“I felt bad, cause they were just doing their jobs. I stashed it under my pillow.” As if to prove this, she dug under the pillow and produced a golden medallion.

Luna seemed to absorb this.

“I did not come here to make you resign your commission, you know.”

Amaranth started. “You… you didn’t?”

“No, not at all. If anything, I wanted to know why you held so tightly. I have seen gravely wounded Nightshades retreat in complete shame. You have always been a very honor-bound sort, often to a grievous fault. My old Nightshades told me, every single one of them, that I was completely wrong and they were disappointed in what I had done. This was before the great schism between my sister and I. Rather, during it. They all died for me.” Luna looked over her, off into an uncertain distance. “It was the only time I have ever doubted what a Nightshade told me under words of the heart. But I do think that you are not in despair.”

“You don’t?”

“Not as you think you are. You do not wish to be the you that you are. That much is plain, and it is a kind of despair. But despair would have fled companionship. I know that you and your Captain have shared many days since the battle together.”

Now Amaranth looked away. “Captain Ice Storm and I fought side by side. He’s charitable like that.”

Luna arched her eyebrows but said nothing about it. “Regardless, I came here today because what I have read, heard, and now seen has brought me here to ask you a question.”

Amaranth stared. A wild idea came into her mind. She gaped.

“You can’t… Princess, I--”

“I see that you have guessed.”

Amaranth paled. “I am unworthy. I can’t do that. I can’t.”

“Everypony has said that they could not. I do not ask your decision. I only inform you of your candidacy. Your answer can wait. Will you think on it?”

Amaranth stared at her.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to think of much else, your Grace,” she said weakly.

SPIKE

Recorded nearly verbatim, the Account of Spike the Dragon, Companion of the Moon and Captain of the Night’s Watch for the duration, witnessed here by Princess Luna, her aide Page Turner, and the Court Scribe, Bestseller.

The Dragon had to be sedated twice during the proceeding interview, and was highly agitated before he was bid to relate what he had seen and done. Against convention, the Princess ordered me, Bestseller, to prepare two separate documents in the aftermath of the report. One was to be completely unedited, tangents left intact. Even the more distressing and disturbing portions were untouched. A second document was to be prepared with light edits, specifically to passages deemed unnecessary, overly descriptive, or which sounded unhinged, for lack of a better word. The third version presented was not an official record but was a highly edited digest distributed to a few select ponies in the Princess’s service, the identities of which were not made known to me.

After I finished speaking to you, I left quickly. It was easier than you’d think to get up on the wall and climb down. The guards are lax. I don’t remember whose guards they were. I don’t really care. I don’t think it matters anymore.

Even in the dark I knew where I was going. Besides a dragon’s sight, I remembered the way from when I was young. Dragons always know how to get home, I guess.

I didn’t make it the first day, which I figured I wouldn’t. There were a few scattered patrols and hunters, just like we expected. I avoided all of them. They seemed organized, but not professional. Most of the patrols were made up a hooful of ponies in ragged gear led by one in mail or old antique guard armor. They have leaders now, like officers. I didn’t hear about any ranks. But when you’re the only one around with a helmet that used to be shiny steel you make the rules, I guess.

I remember lying flat on a hill watching them move down the road. Their weapons clattered in the dark. They made no attempt to be subtle or secret, and I remember being confused as to why. Weren’t they afraid that some other group of bandits would attack them? Maybe not. Maybe the little bands really were uniting, and the one at Morningvale wasn’t a unique situation. I had so many ideas about them then. I was taking notes in my head, ready to come give you a report.

We had no idea. Every theory we had was wrong.

I thought about how if you took the armor off of them, gave them a bath, they would fit in pretty well in Canterlot. They’re just ponies. Normal ponies, anatomically the same as every single pony I love. They’re unicorns, earth ponies, pegasi, a couple of batponies. I even saw some zebras a long way from home.

But, generally, I didn’t see anything of note until I entered town.

RARITY

They took tea in a terraced garden on the central spire.

Rainbow Dash shuffled her way through proceedings. Rarity found it mostly endearing. She was out of her element, yes, but she did try. To her credit, she had a natural charisma. It was hard not to at least like Rainbow Dash. How boorish a younger me would have thought her--how boorish I did think her when we were both younger. I was the fool then, I think.

Of course, they had both changed.

“The city has come back to life,” Rarity said quietly and sipped her tea.

“It’s starting to,” Shining Armor replied. Unlike the rest of them, he did not look at the city but at Cadance.

Of course, they were all looking at Cadance in reality. Sideways glances caught her for a moment and then hurriedly turned away. Anything longer than a momentary sight seemed a bit presumptuous at the moment. She was recovering, but her body seemed frail. Rarity had been raised to believe it was not polite to stare.

Besides, she had problems of her own. Her prosthesis was working well enough, which was nice, but it clanked loudly on the tiles and cobblestones and Rarity loathed it fiercely.

“It is strange, I know,” Cadance said. “Sitting her. With tea.”

“After all that,” Rarity said quietly.

“With a view of the city,” finished Shining.

“Life continues even after it really ought to be done with,” Rarity grumbled.

“It does continue, at least. I know that you have not had long to recover, but… what are your plans?” Cadance pressed. Gently, but she pressed. Rarity wondered why.

She shrugged. “In the short term, I have none. I am not yet in a condition to brave any journeys. My magic has been unpredictable and my damnable leg takes getting used to, and those do not bode well for my survival on the roads. Not in these days.”

“But in the long term?” Shining asked.

“I aim to return.” Rarity looked at him with a flat, blank expression. She felt it on her face as she felt it in her heart. “I don’t need Luna to tell me that Canterlot is going to go through all of this…. this horror. With or without help, emptyhoofed or laden with supply, I will be going home. I would like,” she added, smirking, “to choose the place of my dying.”

Shining looked away.

Cadance spoke. Or tried to. “Rarity…”

“No, it’s alright. I quite understand. I do, and I’m not simply saying I do. You have to feed your ponies, and even the surplus can be used. You would give it to me only for the wagons to be lost to raids on the way. I know this.”

“No, you don’t understand--”

“I will find another source. I will keep going until--”

“Rarity, please, wait.” Cadance rose. The talking stopped. “Rarity, we wanted to say that we have discussed your mission. We want to help. You fought valiantly to defend us, and the least that we could do is give you our surplus.”

“You’re right about the raiding, though. Which is why we have a second gift… and a request,” Shining said. He sighed. “We want you to take the Ninth Legion with you to Equestria.”

Rarity blinked.

“I…”

Cadance smiled. She shook her head. “No, we have enough. The Mitou have been broken. The Ninth is far under strength, but it is fit at least for caravan duty. It’s leader… it’s legata Opal, is very injured. In fact, her injury is somewhat similar to your own, if far worse. Our request is that she be taken with you. She can no longer fight as she did, but she is a brilliant military mind. She knows how to lead ponies, and she will be the best gift we can give to the defense of Aunt Celestia’s favorite city.”

She was speechless. “Your Grace… I had not expected any help at all, with all of this war and rumor of war. Can you…” She hesitated and bit her lip. She needed what they had to offer. But she could not take what they could not afford. Not after all this. Not anymore. “Can you afford to do this? I will not leave you unshielded.”

Shining shook his head. “I’ll be honest. The Ninth would make me feel much more secure. But without them, we’re pretty safe. Our food stores are big enough, and even if they weren’t, two of our other emergency stores have enough to cover the deficit. We’ll be fine. Equestria, however, won’t be. You have to take them.”

Rarity nodded numbly. She hadn’t dared hope. She hadn’t. When the maid had come and told her that the Empress and the Prince Consort had requested her presence, she had spent an hour steeling herself for failure. She had practiced her lines with care, with quiet and gentle care, gazing at her face in the mirror, with a scar over her right eye, her mane growing oddly, her eyes still bright.

She had a whole speech planned.

Now she was just staring.

Her voice broke. “Really? You’ll… really? Soldiers, food, what’s next, medicine?”

Cadance tilted her head and hummed. “Well, I think we can spare some. Not tons, mind you, but some--”

Rarity covered her eyes, humiliated at the sudden moisture there. She was not going to cry. Dammit, she was not going to. It was the complete opposite of dignity and she was not going to do it!

But she hadn’t expected this. She really, really hadn’t.

How do you expect good to come when it never comes? How do you expect triumph when you’ve recieved nothing but defeat? Yet, she was alive. Rainbow and Fluttershy were alive. They were getting the food they had come for, and on top of that they were getting reinforcements. Ponies would not starve in the cold and the dark.

Over a year of suffering, of hopes that were dashed and bonds that were severed. She had watched Equestria’s great cities swallowed up in rioting and then she had watched them slip away into the night, unwilling or unable to communicate. Luna won at Manehattan only to find her coming had made things worse. No victory, no triumph, only a stay of execution.

But she could find no hook here, no poison sprinkled on the offering. She could find no defeat for Rarity of Equestria.

She sniffled. When they asked if she were alright, she nodded. She was not alright, of course. But maybe she would be--after this, what could be possible? Anything, maybe.

SPIKE

In and out the Whitecloaks go, talking of… gods, how should I know?

See, I’m rhyming because I really don’t want to talk about it and I’m trying to make myself laugh because I don’t know. I don’t know.

Look, I’ll get to it. I’m sorry. I know I’m agitated. Hell. Agitated is not a good enough descriptor.

Let me just tell the story, I guess.

When I got in sight of Ponyville, the first thing I noticed was the light. The buildings were bathed in sickly green. The air smelled… I was going to say foul, but it wasn’t so bad, was it? I kind of liked it. At first. When I was ignorant. I thought it was oddly nice, like something you expect to find distasteful when a friend gets you to try it… you know? Does that make sense?

There were a lot of ponies rambling around outside. But after watching for awhile, I began to see them gravitate towards the center of town. Eventually, there wasn’t a soul on the outskirts. That’s when I slipped in. The time? After midnight, easily.

I was so sneaky. I was stealth given form, but hey, why even bother? There was no one to see. I tried anyway, though. Might as well.

But I gave up about the time I came to the first buildings. Why? Because I saw things.

The streets were clogged with blood. Dried, wet, I don’t know. There were bodies. I don’t know who or even why. Ponies kicked them as they passed and laughed as they made their way to townhall. When they passed, I peeked out from my alleyway.

The walls they wrote on and bled on, the streets they littered with bodies. Do you ever dream about the lowest levels of Tartars? I will now. I think I’ll dream about it forever. They chained torsos to the walls. Somepony had made a little shrine in the street. A pony’s head sat on a pike byried in the ground, and below that was a table. On either side, they had… had parts. Parts of ponies. Some of them were sown together, I think. I don’t know why. I don’t know why for any of it. On the table was a mound of… something. I don’t know what. It was dark. There were torches burning, so I could have seen, but I didn’t want to.

I kept moving.

There were things all over which I cannot unsee. The sofa and quill shop was filled with raiders. I smelt the cooking flesh before I saw them. They were eating. These ponies were the most normal in Ponyville, I think. How messed up is that? The raiders were the normal ones. I was expecting them. I didn’t even panic or freak out when I realized they were probably eating a pony.

Becauase why the hell not? The buildings were decorated with blood and torsos. Fuck. They used the blood to paint on everything. Spirals. Spirals that go on and on and on. I stared at them. Sometimes I think I got lost in them for more than a moment. Like, I felt that I was leaving myself and falling into some… something. Something big and moving and blacker than a new moon night, colder than ice. Like it wanted to swallow me up. Like it was sand. I kept expecting to feel the feeling of drowning. I expected my lungs to burn, and then I would start to fight free, I guess. The… whatever it was. I don’t know. Sand? Shadow? Would fill my mouth and stop up my lungs and keep filling me until I was just a container for it, a convenient thing to store itself in.

But that didn’t happen. I would snap out of it. I would fall over. Usually, just startled. Once I screamed.

I started to get paranoid after a while. Everywhere I looked there was another spiral, or another wall full of things that looked like… like letters? Inscriptions? I don’t know. The world felt like it was stretched. It shouldn’t have taken that long to walk across town, but for some reason it took ages. I kept… I kept walking and walking and walking. I got nowhere.

Everything was wrong. Like, you would look at a house, right? And it was just a house. But you felt like there was something wrong about it, something small but big enough for your subconcious to notice and hate it. Like, the angles were off, or there was something asymmetrical about it, or maybe… I don’t know. The streets, the little street signs, everything. It felt wrong. Stretched. Warped. Like Ponyville was some sort of toy a foal could pull apart and put back together.

I remember feeling that way, but I couldn’t figure out why. I couldn’t point to something and say--this! Reality is warping, look at this big fu--obvious sign. Sorry. Yes, I know… I… But the worst thing wasn’t the feeling, but the fact that I couldn’t prove it was right or wrong. I saw nothing. I felt so much. The bodies, the blood, the writing.

I found a house with nopony inside and that’s when I scrawled my runes. Everywhere. On every part of me, whether it showed or not. I barely remember doing it. I think I was losing it the whole time and that was when I really lost it. The ponies there didn’t even look at me. When I ran in front of their eyes, they stared blankly.

I was drawn to what they were drawn to. It took time, but it happened. Have you ever watched a fly be drawn in by a light? I have, if only for a moment. That was what happened. I found myself compelled. Something compelled me. I was drawn in. Drawn towards the towering spire of Town Hall. I tried to leave. I told myself I would come back in the morning and do a headcount, look for signs of armament. But I didn’t. I kept walking and walking. The streets went on forever. Everything was greenish, or it was red. There was no source for lights where I saw light and around torches I saw darkness. The closer I got to the… the center, the less the world made sense. I just… I tried to think and I couldn’t think. I cant think. I can’t--

Alright. I’m sorry.

Just let me…

The glow of green fire. The throng began to move as one great sea of flesh and blood. They were painted in letters and pictures that swirled and glowed green as if they were filled themselves with an arcane fire. The smell of meat cooking on an open fire. Screaming. Laughing. Something like singing if screaming could be singing, a wailing that was somehow as full of ecstasy as it was full of horror. Words that were bigger than castles, which tied the tongue, which could not be pronounced except at great cost. I saw them written on the air.

Revelling. Dancing. A pony in seizures on the ground, his eyes gone, his face in a permanent grin, smiling and smiling. A wailing, singing pony pulls out a knife and another rushes to him and they fight, laughing, singing. One dies and the other kicks his body into the flames. This is what the crowd wanted. They cheer. There is a chanting which is wordless. The sounds are not the sounds of ponies. They do not come from the throats of ponies.

A platform beyond the fire. I see it now. A stallion in a white cloak. His hood is pulled to hide his face. The fire burns so high and so bright and so green now. The dancing is all around me, pushing me along. It is not a circle but a mob. Ponies fall out of it. Some of them come back. Some of them spin around on the ground, in the dust. Some of them find one another and they… couple in the dirt. One of them stares at the crowd as if waking. I cannot see what happens to anyone. I am carried.

I see a pony on the platform. He is dressed as a rich pony would be. I cannot see his face.

The flames are high. Raiders are here. Ponies with no armor or clothes. A few in battle barding I do not recognize. An endless array. So many different kinds of ponies are here. So many different sorts. I see zebras. Donkeys. Every pony tribe. Griffons. A Yak whose fur is mangled and cut. They are streaming endlessly. The mob grows. This is their time. They fill the streets and no one cares that I am a dragon. They care about the green flame and the darkness and the blood. A few die horribly but quickly. Their blood splashes on the crowd. A cut throat, a gurgling, a sacrifice. The blood is on my face and on my neck. I feel sick. I feel hungry. Others feel these things. I hope they do.

The pony in white raises up and opens his mouth.

I hear words. I think they are words. But I do not understand them, but I love them. These are the only words that are. They consume everything else. If I think about them I can’t think I can’t think I can’t think

There is a song. It is grand. It is full of discord. It is nothing but ruined half-chords and stale bars that goes on forever like a mockery of time. I hear it even now, faintly, in the back of my mind. I will never wash it out. It will stay forever. I… I can’t think. I can’t think. It takes away my thoughts if I think about it too much. It hurts. Everything hurts. Luna, I want to sleep but I’m afraid to sleep. I’m afraid to sleep. Is that enough? If I think about it I can’t think.

I left, okay? The throng pushed me away. Eventually I was pushed outside and something broke and I started running. I was covered in… in everything. I don’t even know what. But my runes were there. I couldn’t hear the voice anymore and nothing stopped me. I ran and I ran. I just kept running.

TWILIGHT

She walked endless pristine corridors. The architecture was bizarre. It was empty.

All in all, she found herself unfazed. Was it because she was dreaming? Probably. She was quite aware of when she dreamt these days. Luna’s meagre tutlege had helped, but it was the last week of nightmares that had done it. A barrage of strange and twisted dreams, revolving around the same elements, the same stories… and here and there the alicorn who would not say her name or her purpose.

Twilight was no fool. She had been a brilliant mage, but she had been a better student. She learned. Hard to believe, but she did, even when she was shadow of the Twilight that had been.

It was not Celestia. Celestia would have simply revealed herself. Her teacher was a chess player, a planner of moves far in advance. But she was not cruel. Her subtlety was not subterfuge. It was simple judicious choice.

It wasn’t Luna. Luna could be subtle and sneaky, yes. Sneaky. She smiled in the Dreaming. What a delightful word for Luna. But no, Luna’s “sneakiness” always ended in violence or in some kind of brute force. Simply refusing to identify herself was not her style. Where Celestia plotted, Luna stalked--this felt like neither.

It felt like somepony just… watching.

Well, Twilight decided that she was fine with that. “Watch me,” she grumbled. “See how boring I am?” She said it through clenched teeth. She would not be toyed with. Past raider and rebel, over the long ocean and through the halls of memory she had come and she would not be somepony’s little dream experiment. She almost snarled that. But she didn’t. She just walked.

Instead she talked. Calmly. She commented on the architecture. When she came to a room of artifacts, she inspected them and gave to each in turn a cheerful, humorous lecture. Ah, this bore signs of the Pre-Classical Western Batponies. Rare, rare find, wasn’t it? She was very impressed. And in pristine condition, wasn’t it? She was so grateful to see something such as this. In fact, she said a few tmes, it was so wonderful to be in such a clean place, wasn’t t? So empty of intrusions. Wouldn’t it be a shame if someone blundered into all of this?

Passive aggression is the stupidest thing that ponies had ever invented. It was also satisfying on a deep level.

Twilight bore her shackles a little farther.

Predictably, she appeared.

Twilight saw her as she turned a corner. The alicorn stood in a sunlit patio, amidst the columns. It was beyond picturesque. Breathtaking, even, seeing her there.

Inside, for a moment, Twilight was torn back and forth between shock, anger, and joy. Celestia! It wasn’t Celestia. Different face, different colors. She settled for ignoring the newcomer.

“What a lovely room,” she murmured, meaning it. It reminded her in a small way of the Palace. Except this was far more grand. “I wonder what it was used for…”

“It was the antechamber to the market of--”

Oh, it hurt not to get the actual answer but Twilight kept going. “It’s a shame somepony isn’t here to have an actual conversation with me. About it.”

The interloper seemed perplexed.

Twilight wandered around, humming to herself. Just had to keep it all up a little longer, and then she would show this stranger she would not be led around by the nose--

Twilight was shaken from sleep. Roughly.

It was one of the former Blues. She saw his face in the light of her dying candle and she screamed. She tore the pillow from beneath her head and flung it in his face. She had to distract him--

But he dodged and caught her. “Miss Sparkle, please! I’m sorry I scared you but you have to listen!”

She froze. “What?”

“The ship… There are ponies down the river, and they aren’t friendly. The captain saw them. He said to wake you immediately, that he needed to prepare for an attack with your help.”

Twilight did not wait to have a conversation. She was up and out of bed in a heartbeat, and in another she was gone.

Twilight made quick time up to the deck. The early moments before dawn greeted her. Applejack, Tradewinds, and Main Sail were were whispering fiercely. Crossbeams approached as Twilight marched to them. He gave a little mock salute to the captain and then chuckled. Twilight was in earshot when he spoke.

“Got what arms we have passed out, like you wanted. Crew is ready, more or less,” he grunted. Twilight noticed that he didn’t mention they were his crew. She filed this away for later. “Only got two carbines between us. Several hoofblades though…”

Twilight joined their group. “I’m up. What are we looking at?”

Main Sail grimaced. “Trouble, lass. You heard of train robbers, ye ken? Ye know the way the operate?”

Twilight gave a thin smile. “I’ve read a few tales of them galloping beside trains and jumping on.”

“They’ll try it. They can’t follow us far, but they ain’t following. They’ll start ahead of us, build up speed, and then probably try to get some grapples on.”

“That sounds insane,” Twilight said.

“Is very insane,” Tradewinds offered. She grinned, genuinely… amused? Twilight wasn’t sure what to call it. “Da, they come and I think they can get up. Will be all knife work, quick and quicker.”

Applejack chimed in. “We don’t know how many will get aboard, but… Twilight, there’s at least two dozen of ‘em. Hell, there may be three or four dozen. Main Sail can see ‘em, and I can see ‘em, but none of us have Abdiel’s nightvision. He says…”

“Still don’t trust him?” Twilight asked, softly. Her eyes looked in all directions. “Where is he, anyhow?”

“The prow,” Crossbeams said, and pointed. Twilight saw him now. He was bent over, watching intensely.

“Twi, he says there’s at least a hundred,” Applejack finished, breathless. “Now, you know I ain’t no coward, but this is too much.”

“We can’t fight off that many, no,” Crossbeam said. “It’s not a matter of your skill or bravery, girl. It’s a matter of numbers. Even if half of them make it, we’ll be deader than a snail in a salt factory. But I think we have something they don’t.”

“What is this being?” Tradewinds said. Twilight realized she had been struggling to slip on hoofblades this whole time, and now she stopped.

“Magic.” Crossbeams turned to look at Twilight. “Now, I don’t know all that much ‘bout the West, but I know that magic is rarer out here. Could you do somethin’?”

Twilight stared at him. Her mouth hung open a moment. Magic. Magic. Battle magic was not her specialty. She could do it, but true battle magic was an art. It required skill and focus. What did she know? Fire, she could do fire. Light. Blind them and then fire? No, they had nothing to fire with and she would be shocked from the strength of the spell. Arcane blasts were effective but not for this many targets. She was getting back into the stride of using her full magical power, but even then it took a moment to aim and fire. Ponies like this, surviving out on the plains--

“Twilight, hello?” Applejack waved a hoof in front of her face.

Twilight jumped. “Oh. Oh! Sorry. I’m thinking. Yes…” All of her options were brutally lethal or useless. She saw the docks at Vanhoover again. The great fireball as the ammo supply went up. The out of control fires, the dying soldiers… It took a herculaen force of will to stay up right. No. She would not slaughter these… these idiots. She couldn’t think of a word. Thinking was for more important things than insults. She needed information. She needed a plan.

She turned and galloped over to Abdiel.

“I need to know what you know,” she said breathlessly.

“Should I start with my first kiss or with being born? Maybe teach you to read some Ultharian.” Abdiel said, smirking. She saw his stupid smirk and rolled her eyes.

“Neither. None of those. These ponies. Obviously migrating. Nomadic. Magic is rarer here. Are they afraid of it?” He had to hurry. Something formed in the back of her mind.

“Every non-unicorn is a bit unsure about it,” Abdiel said carefully. “They are doubly so.”

“If they saw something… big, something impressive but not actually lethal, would they run? If it was loud and bright and, uh, on fire?” she added the last bit in on impulse.

Abdiel blinked. “They might, friend. I don’t know--”

“Then I won’t… Okay, okay, okay, I can do this. Give me a moment.” She said the last for everypony on the deck. There were a dozen of them, she saw now. Waiting by the rails, waiting for the brief rush and what Tradewinds had called “knifework”.

“Twi--” Applejack took a step forward.

Twilight shushed her friend. “Hold on! I’m… I’m thinking!”

She snapped her eyes shut. Ponies moved around her. She heard the boards creak.

Think. Think, Twilight. you can’t let them stop you. You can’t kill them. It’s wrong. You can’t just… just slaughter them. You could. You can’t do that. Don’t do that. No arcane blasts, no fire. Think, think.

“Hurry, girl,” hissed Crossbeams from beside her. “We’ll be on them soon. I think I see them starting to move. If you’re gonna do something…”

Okay, maybe a little fire. She saw something suddenly, in her mind.

She thought of her first encounter with the myterios interloper. The alicorn. She had come in light and brilliant… fire? Twilight struggled to remember. Awe inspiring. Huge.

She turned around. Twilight had a crazy grin on her face--she felt how insane it was. Good, good! She was thinking, she was planning. She had the idea. It would work! It would completely, totally work. Just had to time it right. Had to be big and perfect.

Twilight took a deep breath. She almost heard Celestia in her ear, telling her not to tense up. Luna telling her a story of some battle. Spike trying to get her to make him a stupid mustache. Magic. Potentiality. She had used it like a hammer. She could use it like a brush--a paintbrush, a chisel to free the form within the marble.

So when she flared her magic, she pulled deep, deep within. She felt enveloped in her thaumic field. The magic she called forth hummed in the air audibly. Even ponies without horns would hear the hum, feel the static. She opened her mouth and let out a howl as her blood caught fire.

It worked. The ship shone like the sun. It looked like it was afire like the sun, too. Magical fire--not hot but only cool, comfortable to the touch, washed over the ponies on board. Twilight felt their little life signatures now as well as she felt her own. Tradewinds was by her side, a hoof on her shoulder. She felt some of the strange warrior’s magic, the innate energy of her soul, seep through and merge with Twilight’s. Twilight shivered.

Their ship was a horrible, awe-inspiring sight. Flame and light and sound like the roaring of a thousand oceans crashing in a thousand caves. She put as much effort into it as she could muster. Wheels within wheels, eyes in the flames, great hulking shapes that seemed almost ponylike before they changed.

She felt the nomads on either bank. She felt their tiny forms around her. She felt them quaking.

This was what it felt like to have power immeasurable.

She realized how much she had underestimated her own strength. Twilight could turn these flames deadly still. She could wipe them out. No casualties on the boat. No risk. No ploys. Just clean victory. She could end it. It would be over. A moment. Only a moment of furious hell and then nothing, only peace. A desert called peace.

She opened her mouth and her magically-enhanced voice boomed over the veldt.

“I HAVE RETURNED. THE SUN IS COME BACK TO YOU NOW. BOW OR FLEE. KISS YOUR HOOF AND OFFER YOUR APOLOGIES TO THE GREAT LIGHT IN EXCHANGE FOR MERCY, LEST I BE ANGRY AND YOU PERISH.”

Twilight shook. Her illusions, her thaumic fool’s fire, all of it hesitantly shook, and then exploded in a brilliance that frightened even her allies, who shrank away from it, falling on their faces around her.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? BOW BEFORE THE GODDESS WHO WALKS AMONG YOU, WEAK THINGS OF FLESH AND DUST. LEAVE THIS PLACE, OR I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN.”

Twilight let out a little cry. The voice amplification hurt. The spell wasn’t meant for this level of output. Her throat burned. Tradewinds was squeezing her for dear life, whispering something that sounded like a strangled prayer in her mother tongue.

She felt the nomads freeze.

And then she felt them run. In every direction but towards her. They fled, screaming, screaming as if they were being killed all around her, but no pony fired a shot.

For emerging from the flames came a pony--the illusion of a pony--that was Twilight Sparkle, but larger, an alicorn of immense age and power, her horn flaring, her brow knit together in holy fury. The kind of being ponies could and would worship given half the chance.

They fled and fled. Crossbeams yelled behind her for Main Sail to get them down river and fast. The captain scrambled for the pilot box, relaying commands to the engine room. The ship picked up speed slowly,but then they were powering down the river. They left the raiding nomads behind.

And Twilight held her illusion. The great alicorn looked about, scowling, intoning the same message back towards the fleeing ponies… and then it all vanished. Twilight opened her eyes and stumbled forward.

But she was caught in two sets of strong hooves. Tradewinds and Applejack held her. Pinkie had finally made it. Her eyes were wide and she smiled in a strange way. “Twilight, that was…”

“Terrifyin’,” Applejack said softly.

“Chyort,” Tradewinds offered bluntly.

Twilight felt lightheaded. She smiled. See, it was so late. She should go back to sleep. In fact, she would go back to sleep. Sleep sounded nice.

“See, Spike? That’s way cooler than a mustache…”

She went limp in her friend’s embrace, slipping back into a sleep uninterrupted by the tiny static sparks of thaumic energy that ran down her horn and coat.

SPIKE

I saw things, Luna.

I saw a great snake. No. A… what did Twilight call it? When I was small I saw a picture of one, once, and she told me the name. Lamprey. Lamprey, that’s it. Like a massive one, bigger than Canterlot. Big as… as big as the world, coiling endlessly in on itself. It was dark, but it was a visible dark, a darkness you could see in, see everything. I wish I couldn’t see, but I did.

The vision was so long, but I know I wasn’t there in town for very long.

It seemed like days. To feel it crawling around you, over you, under you, it’s great teeth inches from your head. It whispered into your mind. There was howling. Gnashing of teeth. Screaming. Somepony crying for his mother. Words I did not understand, languages I did not. Chains. The eternal chains. I saw the letters from Ponyville, and the spirals. They were everywhere, always present, always right in front of your eyes. Even now, they are seared into my memory and I hate them. I hate them so much.

But I think… oh… Oh Celestia. I think it knew I was there. I think it knew who I was. I think it let me go. Or maybe it couldn’t do the same as it did to the others, because… because I’m a dragon? I don’t know. I just don’t know. But it’s coming. No, it’s here. It has always been. So. Close. It is coming. It wants Canterlot. It wants Equestria. It wants the whole world. I think it wants to tear the sky open and let in the darkness above until everything is like what I saw and felt. There was a song there, but it was not music. It was… it was Noise. Endless noise. Forever and forever, just meaningless noise with no direction or purpose. It wiped out thought. It wiped out who you were and it tried to put something new in. You were just going to be an arm or a leg, the appendages of some greater thing. Something so big that when I try to think about how big it is… I just can’t. I can’t think.

It's... agents? It's creatures. They are among us. It is every where. It is waiting around every corner and behind every dream. I think its winning.

It is coming to devour.

Author's Note

XXXII. Love is the Currency of the Land

TWILIGHT

Twilight walked again in the strange and empty halls of the Dreaming. Her nightmares had stopped. She was… grateful, at least. The issue at hoof had not been solved, but it was nice to have a reprieve from the horrors of the wasteland that was Equestria and its environs in the embrace of sleep. If you could call this a rest.

Well. She supposed it was peaceful. Right now, at least.

Sometimes, she turned a corner and she thought she saw things. Ghosts. Ghosts were the best word to describe what she saw in those brief flashes of motion and color.

She studied them with interest. How could she not? She was lucid and trapped here until she woke, so there wasn’t much to do besides observe. She had tried willing herself awake, but had stopped when she realized that her body needed rest more than her mind needed freedom from empty halls.

Most of the shadows seemed rather busy. Shadows? Not the best name, as they were colorful as ponies should be--Ghosts? Morbid. Apparitions? No, Ghost was shorter and easier to say and use. Regardless of what she called them, they all seemed quite absorbed in their tasks. Walking in pairs, doing what seemed like… talking, she guessed. They made no noise. She guessed by the gestures. They walked all around her, through the halls, and then left. She would turn, and find a whole room of them milling about.

Most, she noted, were clothed. Odd, but not that odd. That was how it had been in Canterlot, when Twilight had been a foal. She hadn’t had much of a vain streak, but she had still been surprised at how seldom ponies in Ponyville wore more than a hat. What was curious was the manner of dress--she had seen things like these robes before. She knew she had.

Slowly, Twilight realized that she knew these halls. No, she had not retraced her steps. At least, not in this dream.

Same as the last one, she thought to herself. That was interesting. Why? Furthermore, why any of this? Twilight wasn’t sure, but her mind had found a delightful puzzle. One on the precipice of dangerous things she knew nothing about, yes, but it was still a puzzle and she was still Twilight Sparkle, after all.

What purpose would controlling Twilight’s dreams serve? Torture was unlikely, despite the unpleasantness of her previous misadventures. She had had plenty of nightmares before this new player had made her, well, play. Twilight would have done enough of that to herself. Intervention had in fact only made those nightmares less hurtful. Whatever this farce was, it had not dragged her back to Manehattan. It had shied away from Vanhoover, which she was thankful for--

The walls shimmered.

Twilight bit back a curse as through the now translucent walls showed the stark Vanhoover skyline.

The smell of smoke. The little deathly flowers of fire, little tongues of flame that shot at her. The roar of cannon. The Alicorn underneath her hooves.

“Don’t,” she said, trying to sound calm and slightly failing.

The image passed. Twilight shut her eyes, willing image away. So, maybe torture. But she still doubted it.

Observation, then? She stopped and sat down. The floor was cool, and she found the air pleasant. But why observe her? What could be gained? Think carefully.

Her mission, for one. That might interest some. Her companions? Possibly, but Twilight had the feeling she was the target, not the conduit. Who would want to know? Strike that. Who would want to know that was in position to tamper with memories? Precious few. Luna already knew, and this would be pointless for her anyhow. She had mentioned in one of their dream-talks that few in Equestria possessed the skills to truly walk as she did in the Dreaming. There had been a much larger number of Dreamwalkers in the young days of Equestria, but the art had fallen out of favor and into obscurity. Twilight herself was very much a novice, and after the trouble she had simply leaving her own Dreaming, she felt that there was a very small pool of practioners out there indeed. So who?

Twilight had no idea. Well. She had one, but she didn’t like it. It was preposterous that Celestia would do this. Mostly because it made Twilight feel… uncomfortable, on multiple levels. Some of her dreams had been unpleasant. Compromising. Humiliating. Dying, running, making mistake after mistake. Being an idiot. Saying things she would not have ever said in waking life.

No, certainly not Celestia.

Twilight really wished she had something to write on, take notes on. She really, really wanted to study this place. History had always fascinated her--she and Luna had swapped letters before Equestria corroded. Much of the time, Luna had been writing stories from the past. Twilight had loved all of those letters. She now suspected that Luna had used the Dreaming to get the details right. But here, walking in what was probably something of immense historical importance, she had no way of recording any observations. Frustrating, to say the least.

Also strange. Had she been like this, before everything had… well, happened? Memory was fickle. It was easy to paint the past in broad swathes of color. But this did feel more like what life had been like before, and she didn’t know how to handle it. Being inquisitive. Wanting to solve the riddle. Learning. Twilight had not thought in these modes in some time. Or had she? Maybe Equestria was an equation. She just needed to solve it, all this time. Figure out--

“Twilight.”

The voice was foreign, tinged with an accent Twilight did not recognize and halting, as if the pony who wielded it had not used it in some time. Twilight stopped short.

“That’s my name, yes,” she found herself replying.

She turned, and found the Alicorn standing in the hall behind her. That face… she had expected inscrutability, unreadability. What she got instead was a look of abject bafflement. This pony, this alicorn in the shape of her own teacher, seemed absolutely lost.

“I have not spoken to anypony in some time,” the Alicorn said haltingly. So Twilight had guessed correctly. Nice to know.

“You should have tried sooner. Had a chat,” Twilight commented, but with no heat. She wasn’t angry. Not even annoyed. That had faded. Now she was simply puzzled. She felt something in the Aether, something awfully like uncertainty. Over what? Not fear. But close.

“Forgive me. I have not handled this well.”

“No,” Twilight said. “You haven’t.”

“I am sorry.”

Twilight sighed. “Who are you?”

The Alicorn fidgeted. She smiled. “It would depend upon who you were asking. Or when you were asking.”

“Well, what do you call yourself? Or think of yourself as? What was the last name?”

The Alicorn looked at her. The aura of uncertainty did not vanish, but it diminished. “I am Eon.”

And what a talker. But Twilight Sparkle now found herself fascinated. She would simply have to carry the conversation. A hard task, but knowledge required sacrifice. “Eon. And you’re obviously an alicorn.” She paused. “Or are you? Can you change your form in here? I forget.”

“Yes.” The Alicorn changed right in front of her in a way that Twilight could not describe, let alone comprehend. A whirlwind of shape and color, localized and bizarre. She was a pegasus now, and the same height as Twilight. “If this is more pleasing, I can be this.”

“Do you want to be this?” Twilight asked, blinking.

“I am that which I am, and can be no other,” the Alicorn said, being extremely helpful like all Alicorns were.

Twilight sighed. “Look however you want to look, Eon. Will you tell me what you want with me? I get that you don’t want me to know what you are.”

Eon cocked her head to the side. “I wanted to know who you were and what you were like.”

“Also something you could have talked to me about. Ponies usually talk to get to know each other,” once again, her voice was without heat. This pony felt strange. Like she was… not a child, but something else. A pony unaccustomed to seeing another. Or out of practice, perhaps.

“Yes, I know this. But ponies lie.” Eon’s face twisted, growing darker for a moment. The moment passed. “I had to know if you were as She said you were.”

“She? Who is she?” Twilight felt her heart skip. “Was it Celestia? Did you see the Princess? Where is she?”

Eon backed away. Her ears were pinned back to her head and a stray bit of mane fell before her eyes. “I am… which do I answer first? I do not understand.”

Twilight groaned and facehoofed. “Look… okay, I’m sorry. I got excited. Who is ‘she’?”

“Celestia.”

Twilight wanted to do a victory dance. She tried not to. She failed to restrain the urge. “Okay, okay. Celestia,” she said, feeling out of breath. “When did you talk to her?”

Eon blinked, and seemed nervous. “I do not understand. Or… I do understand. But I cannot tell you that anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Time is…” she seemed trying to say something. She also seemed to fail at doing so. She sighed. “I do not know how to say it. I am unused to this. Everything is happening but only in pieces. One at a time. I do not know how to do things that are… one at a time. Anymore. I am remembering.”

“One at a... “ Twilight frowned. She filed that away to ponder later. Lots to ponder. “So you’re used to everything at once. Non-linearity. That’s fascinating.” She shook her head. “But I have other things to worry about right now. You haven’t told me who you are yet and I really, really want to know. Also… Celestia. When? Where? Was she alright? Tell me.”

“I am Eon,” said the interloper, cocking her head to the side. She seemed confused.

“Yes, I know your name. Why are you here? There are few Dreamwalkers, and fewer still who can do what you have done in my dreams. So you’re not just some random pony. You were an alicorn earlier, and I know there were other alicorns. Luna made it sound like they were all gone, one way or another, except for Cadance’s mother in the North. Henosia. No, that was the place…”

“I am Eon. I am the First.”

“The First…?”

Eon shrugged. “I am the First.”

“Okay. Fine. My other questions?”

Eon smiled. “Over a year ago. Jannah. She was physically fine, but unhappy. The city has an effect on all who traverse it. Considering this, she was in good condition.”

Twilight slumped. Over a year. So, basically that meant nothing. A lot can happen in a year. Twilight knew this very well. So basically, she learned nothing.

No, not nothing, she told herself. Celestia made it to Jannah in one piece. They had followed her trail all along--the orb given Twilight at the beginning of her quest confirmed this--but for once she felt like she was walking in her teacher’s footsteps. She came this way. She travelled by these waters and laid down to rest by them. She may have drank from them. This was it. This was the right way. Suddenly she felt more focused, more alive than she had felt in ages.

But then it passed. She was calm. She was not in Jannah yet.

“Thank you,” Twilight said, and smiled. “I wish I could know more about you, but I’m sensing you’re being obscure on purpose, not because you actually don’t understand.”

Eon smiled back.

“But I have to know,” Twilight continued, “if you’re on our side. Or, at least, I have to know you aren’t trying to hurt me or give information to those who want to stop me from doing what I’m doing.”

“I am not. I received Celestia as a guest in my home, and she enjoyed my hospitality. You too, if you come to me and survive, will enjoy that hospitality. Come to my city. Come to Jannah and climb the great acropolis, and then you will meet Eon by the Well of Creation.”

Twilight woke with a start, thrown from the Aether.

It was night--not so late as one might suppose, for the day had been short--but it was still dark. She had slept most of the day, and retired early. In the distance, she heard voices raised and perhaps music. Blinking, she sat up and rubbed sleep from her eyes. Before she could process what her crewmates were doing, the knock on her door came.

Twilight took a guess. “Pinkie or Tradewinds.”

“Is Tradewinds, your most beloved of pegasi,” chortled the husky, heavily-accented voice. “I am come that you know of celebration below. We are having a day of party, and pink one wishes you to come. So you can, yes?”

Twilight rolled her eyes. Pinkie threw parties at the edge of the world. It was confirmed. “Sure. I guess so, I mean. Give me a moment. Come on in, if you want. Just gotta make my bed…”

Sh did so. Of course she did. Tradewinds wandered in and leaned against the wall, smirking. Twilight ignored her scorn. She was neat. She had spent a lot of time not doing the small, silly things like making her bed and hygiene and she had lost her grip. Over time, she began to think that part of being a pony was in the small things like waving at neighbors and keeping to the right side of the street. The little things which kept the world balanced. The little rituals. So she made her bed and smiled about it.

When she was done, she followed Tradewinds down to the cargo bay and was greeted by a sight that was both familiar and utterly arresting.

It was a party. She had seen lots, all of them thrown by Pinkie. They were usually the same. This one bore all of Pinkie’s usual style, itself. But it was also different. There was less to work with, on a steam boat on the wide, desolate veldt--on top of that, there were more strangers than she had come to expect. When Pinkie put together a shindig, it meant the whole town. She knew everypony there.

It was the fact that there was a party that caused her to pause. A party. How inane. How normal!

“What is all of this even for?” Twilight asked.

It was actually Pinkie who answered by jumping right up into Twilight’s vision and hugging the breath out of her. “For you! That was so awesome and you were so cool and you’re better now so we’re celebrating because we’re safe and you’re safe and everything is awesome!”

Twilight was startled into laughter. “Wha--what? Pinkie, I know you like parties, but--”

“An’ nobody died. Think of it,” Applejack said as she emerged from the crowd. “Not a single pony. Twi, you know I try to be levelheaded, but with all the death we seen and rained down…”

“A day when nopony dies is a good day,” Twilight finished. And she smiled.

SPIKE

How do you go back to life after seeing the heart of darkness?

Spike found that the answer was simple. You do. When he woke up the day after his long interrogation, the sun was shining. Breakfast was served and he took it in his chambers at the palace. They made bacon and he loved it. Luna provided a wonderful, sweet rubellite as a bonus. When he stretched, his joints cracked and he was satisfied.

It was a blessing, really, how the mind could move on past, well, just about everything. One way or another. Perhaps soon it would all catch up with him. Maybe Luna had done something. You know, Twilight said something about shock to me once, when I asked about… Manehattan. Yeah, there we go. There’s the shivers.

It wasn’t that it scared him out of his mind. Because it did. If he thought about it, got through the lingering mental static and really focused on what he had seen and heard and felt, then he could feel panic creeping up on him. Panic’s swift, sharp footsteps beat against the floor. Wolves at the door. He ran out of metaphors quickly.

But if he didn’t think about it, Spike felt nothing. No fear, no terror, no half-remembered visions of… whatever the hell he had seen. He had expected nightmares, but had experienced none. Well, none that he remembered. He forgot most of his dreams, to be fair. Where was all of the suffering?

He waited by the door. The Head Maid mare had looked him over, sniffed with something between disdain and amusement and left him here to wait. It was waiting he found difficult more than visions of horror. Waiting gave the mind chances to linger, and weakened its usually wonderful ability to ignore, forget, and disassociate.

But she came before long. Sweetie Belle was hard to recognize at first. Her hair, her coat, everything about her was different. Better. No, not better, he knew better than to imply that she had looked worse before! But different. Refined? He gave up on qualifiers. She dressed in dark purple, and gave him a weary but earnest smile. He returned it and bowed deeply as she made her way across the long great hall.

“My Lady,” Spike said with as much gusto as he could manage. “I humbly request merely the image of your grace to, uh, grace my eyes?” He snickered. “Lost that one. Sorry. I’ve been kind of out of it.”

“I’d imagine so, Spike. I mean, after what you’ve been through…” She shifted her weight as if dancing around something. Physically. Someone should explain that it was just an expression. Spike was cracking himself up today, he really was.

“Nah, I’m good. Super great. But let’s not talk about me. It’s you I’m here to see about. You’re the interesting one.”

“Interesting. That’s an… drat you used interesting already.” Sweetie rolled her eyes. “As you can tell, I’m not really a noble. I look the part though, don’tcha think?” She did a little turn. “I think it looks great.”

“It does.”

“Thanks! Thanks, I mean, it’s silly, but thanks.” She gestured. “Come on in. Wanna see the new pad? That means--”

“I know what it means, dictionary.”

She giggled. “Just wanted to see if you remembered. Oh! Guess who else is here?”

He raised an eyebrow. Or well. He would have. If he had hair there. “Who?”

“Oh, you’ll see. Sorry, getting ahead of myself. But you’re the first visitor I’ve had who wasn’t really boring. You have no idea,” she said, leading him away, “how awful and boring it can be meeting ponies.”

The Head Mare--Maid, Spike corrected, while also being stunned that he hadn’t noticed her stealthy approach--coughed politely. “Milady, those meetings were very important. They also went very well, I must say. You know this Sir Spike?”

“Sir Spike,” answered Sweetie Belle with barely controlled laughter, “is one of my oldest friends after the Crusaders. Heck, he would have been one himself if he were a pony and could even get a cutie mark.”

“You say that like I would have been in your gross girl club.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. Up at him, anyway. “You hung out with like nothing but girls. Shut up.”

They had left the great hall behind and come to a much smaller corridor. Sweetie led the way, chattering. This was her library, still under construction, it seemed. There would be a smaller reception chamber. Some storage. On and on.

She came to a door and looked back at him with barely contained glee. “And this…”

She pushed the door open.

Scootaloo stood proud, her back straight, her wild mane tied back in a firm ponytail. She wore barding emblazoned with a golden bell, and suddenly Spike saw her. She was older. He knew this, had known it for some time, but it was a shock to see her… well. Here. Older. Taller. Grown up. All around her,weapons hung from pegs, armor shone in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and all at once Spike began to appreciate his old friend’s newfound martial capability.

She was locked in conversation with a guardsman wearing House Belle’s insignia. “Look, I know you know your business, but I need flyers. Flyers need weapons. These hoofblades,” she held up her hoof to show them off, “are heavy. That’s great! If you’re on the ground, that’s ideal. I want my groundpounders to use these. But my pegasi? Hell no.”

“Light hoofblades are flimsy, ma’am--”

“Only if you buy them cheap. Let me show you.” She turned, saw Spike and Sweetie, grinned wide, and kept turning. Spike saw that she had put her old saddlebag against the wall. Out of it she pulled a light set of hoofblades. “Test and see, pops. Check it.”

The older stallion did. He grunted. “And how expensive were these?”

“Cheap as hell.”

“Where?”

“Stars and Bars,” Scootaloo said, and shrugged with the smuggest little smirk Spike had seen in a long time. “See, you gotta look around, yo. Can’t just go to the same six smiths or merchants or whatever you bunch go to. Gotta get out and walk the streets. Remember that, Quartermaster.”

“Please visit the establishment and provide me with your projected expenses,” Sweetie added. “Might I borrow my marshal for a moment?”

“Certainly, your Grace,” said the other pony and bowed. He nodded to Scootaloo. Spike searched his face for resentment and found none. “I will visit the place in question and ask around. I have to admit…” He turned the hoofblade over and over, humming in between words. “This is fine craftsponyship. I am highly impressed. I am ignorant, sadly, in typical pegasi armament. I was usually assigned to earth pony and unicorn units. You will have to enlighten me.”

With that, he returned the hoofblade and left. Scoots watched him go and then sighed. But before Spike could ask about it, she straightened back and smiled warmly at them. “Hey, Sweetie Bell. And hey, ya big lug. Heard you took a nasty fall in training awhile back. Good to see you up and about.”

Spike smiled awkwardly. That had been the cover story. A training exercise gone wrong. Incredibly flimsy alibi, to be honest. “Yeah. I’m all better now,” he replied without much conviction. “Tons. Anyway, what are you doing here? Did I hear that right? You’re the head honcho here?”

“Marshal Scootaloo of House Belle.” Sweetie was positively glowing with pleasure. “Luna told me to choose someone I trusted, who could be relied on through thick and thin. Of course I picked Scoots.”

“And I’m glad you did. You know how crazy I was getting doing nothing day in and day out?” Scootaloo said, and hugged Sweetie Bell. Despite being taller, Spike found himself drawn into the embrace. “It’s good to see you, Spike. It really is. You should stay in touch, got it? Don’t wander off again. You know…” Spike gulped as he saw her wicked grin. “Apple Bloom is helping with the renovations.”

Spike sighed. “You’re a jerk.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s not some secret you gotta look all grim ‘bout. It ain’t tragic. Just go say hi before you leave, got it?” Scoots said. Her tone was cheerful, but Spike thought for a moment he heard a firm command.

“What do you know about fighting, anyhow? And not the back alley brawling kind,” Spike added.

Scoots chuckled. “How shall I put this? Directly. Bum fuck nothin’, ‘cept what I picked up from Rainbow and my Uncle who was in the Cloudsdale militia. He was a captain, don’tcha know? But whatever. Point is, I know a lot about fighting on a small scale.”

“Kind of.”

“And you’ll just have to help me with the rest, won’t you?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “If you’ll even listen.”

“Oh, I will. If you go talk to Apple Bloom later, of course. But seriously, man, I’m sort of making it up as I go along.” For once, her cheer seemed to falter. “I’ve been reading up, asking questions, trying to make sure ponies trust me, but I’m definitely not the best general or marshal or whatever. We won’t be an army.”

“For starters, we don’t have the funds for an army,” Sweetie said.

Scootaloo nodded. “Right. On top of that, and my inability to organize more than a few dozen at a time, I’m pretty sure that would make us look like a threat and I would like to wait until we are a threat before we look like one.”

“So Scoots here is training them in little, ah, what was your terminology again?” Sweetie asked.

Scootaloo had the decency to look sheepish about it. “Got ‘em all in little gangs. Gangs, yeah, that’s what I call them. Five to seven ponies who work together. I have them training right now, actually. Two gangs, trying to find each other in the lower city. Not sure who will win.”

“So training games? That’s not such a bad start,” Spike offered.

He wasn’t sure he liked just how relieved that seemed to make her. “Really? Good, I was hoping it wasn’t a bad idea… I mean, yeah, I figured it would be, but…” She coughed. “Anyway. What’s up, Spike? What brings you to our motley outfit?”

There was a polite cough that sent shivers down all their spines. As one, they turned and found the Head Maid with a neutral expression that still seemed to carry a city’s worth of malice. “A noble house is hardly a ‘motley outfit’, marshal.”

“Uh… right, yes ma’am, got it, sorry,” mumbled Scootaloo, looking everywhere but forward.

“Madame, I have business to attend to. Tea will be delivered to your private study in fifteen minutes.” She looked to Spike. “Miss Bloom is on the second floor. She is supervising the laborers there.” With that she left. Disappeared, more like, Spike decided. A dangerous mare. He liked her, in a sort of terrified way. But she had been sure to pin him to the wall. Now he would have to see Bloom.

Why didn’t he want to? Because he did want to, at the same time. Life was strange.

“Damn, she gives me the heebie-jeebies, Bell. I mean, she’s hells of smart and I know she’s useful, but she’s so damn cold.”

“Only temporarily. She approved of you, actually.”

“Don’t mess with me, girl.”

“She did!” Sweetie insisted. “Immediately, actually. Said you would secure… uh, what did she say?” She rubbed her temple. “You had the common touch that a good marshal needed, and you weren’t big on rules.”

“True, true. I guess. I don’t want a bunch of drones. My ponies are mine because we trust each other. That’s the idea.”

They both looked to Spike, who suddenly felt like third wheel.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he grumbled.

“Yup!” Sweetie said.

“Thanks for tumbling stupidly into the trap, big lard,” Scootaloo said and stuck her tongue out at him. “Bloom made us do it.”

Spike groaned and left.

He found her working. Of course he did.

This was how he would describe her: Like an oak, like a well worn saddle, like horeshoes which have beat at a thousand doors and walked ten thousand miles, like a trusted rope and a beloved orchard. She was a pony who shined in use. He meant this and found it strange to think. She gave orders like lesser beings breathed. She was the master, but was not a master. She simply knew what must be done, and she worked to do it. You were invited to help, but she would not force you to help. He had seen her handiwork many times--Spike had been there when she got her cutie mark for her woodwork. That had been a good day. A very good one. He thought about it sometimes, in the quiet.

She was beautiful. He thought she had surpassed her sister.

He watched for a moment, letting her work as she wished, enjoying her presence without the pressure of… doing anything about it. Like talking. He was not great at talking when it came to--

“Don’t jus’ stand there, idjit. Come over here. And close your mouth, y’look dumb.” Her tone was not unkind. He had been staring, hadn’t he? He entered and stood beside her.

“You know, I wondered if you were gonna bail on me.”

“I wouldn’t,” he lied.

“Don’t.”

“Sorry.”

“My brother’s still alive, I see,” she said, her voice flat. Spike wanted to crawl out of his skin. Since he was actually capable of doing so, he found the wish somewhat pedestrian but still wished it.

“He is.”

Bloom sighed. “I’m happy to see you, Spike. I also kinda just a little bit wanna murder ya with a carvin’ knife.”

Spike gulped. “Not an axe? My scales are getting harder, you know…”

“If you start actin’ offended by that, I might just actually stab ya,” Apple Bloom said. And then she laughed. “I’m done here. Can we talk?”

“Yes,” Spike said. His stomach dropped.

Apple Bloom and he had not talked since Macintosh had joined his little group. Of course she would know that Spike had planned the arson at House Rowan-Oak. She would start asking questions. There was no way he could keep the truth from her. But what if she asked the real questions?

Questions were hard. Eventually. They started out simple, like, “What are you and my brother doing?” and “Is he gonna be okay?” and ended up with “Why are you a lying bag of refuse?” and “Are you avoiding me because you hate me, or you’re a coward, or some combination thereof?” or his favorite “Why didn’t you and me work?”

Suffice it to say Spike did not want to have a conversation. But when Applebloom pulled him into another room--empty, and he wasn’t sure if that made this more awkward or not--he found himself without a choice.

“You know I know,” Apple Bloom began. He loved how she didn’t waste time. It also made him uncomfortable sometimes. Like now. “So we’ll move on. Did you do it, or did my brother? The fire.”

“He did it.”

“Where were you? Did you send him to do that?”

There was another part that she didn’t say, and Spike felt something hot flash across his heart. “No, I was doing my work and he did his. I was--”

“Missin’.”

“On a mission,” he hissed. When he did it, the sound was much more convincing. This silenced her. “I was outside.”

“Outside? Doin’ what?” she asked, some of her heat gone.

But he didn’t want to go there. He felt it in him, the need to not go there. It was physical. So he did something stupid. “You seriously thought I was just gonna let him do dirty work and sit on my butt and stay safe? Is that what you think about me?”

Apple Bloom backed away, and Spike remembered his teeth. He was about to apologize, but she came back just the same.

“Well, what do you expect me to think? When you came and picked him up, I thought you were gonna be right there by him and I thought you were gonna keep him safe. Next I know, nopony knows where you are and some stupid warehouse is on fire and I knew you were behind it. It looked like you left. How do I even know you’re tellin’ me the truth, huh? You’re different.”

Spike blinked. Different. All of the anger, all of his steel died away. He looked down. “I’m not different.”

They were quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Apple Bloom said just as Spike said the same.

They looked at each other. Spike chuckled first, but she followed. He sat down so that they could look at each other face to face.

“I didn’t want to let him do it without me, but we needed intel. Luna needed it. She told me that her spies were giving her reports of ponies moving over the walls and she needed to know where they were going.”

“I know he’s safe. I just… I thought you lied to me and I was so angry. I’m still kinda angry. Not at you, just…”

“I won’t lie to you,” Spike said softly.

Apple Bloom gave him a half smile. Spike noticed that she was wearing her bow. How had he missed that? She undid it and let her mane fall. Idly, she ran her hooves through it. “Don’t say a word,” she said, but without heat. “You keep your promises, then?”

“I’m trying,” he said. “I honestly wasn’t sure I was going to send him at all. I was going to go instead until Luna pulled me off the op.”

“All these secrets… I don’t like ‘em. I know my brother don’t either. Spike, secrets hurt ponies. Even when you gotta keep ‘em. They make you change.” She seemed to hesitate, and then retied her mane. “Okay, I’ma be blunt again.”

“Aren’t you always? At least, you are with me,” Spike said.

“You know I like you still, and I think you like me still.”

Spike said nothing.

“Well, I don’t want all these secrets to mess with Spike, the one I like. I don’t like the Spike who keeps secrets and hides in the dark and lies to ponies. Even to do good things. I like the Spike I know.”

“I’m still the same Spike.”

She hesitated. She came closer. “Spike, ain’t no pony that ever lived that’s the same after what you saw at Mornin’vale.”

He stiffened. “That was awhile ago. I’m fine now, I’m--”

“Can you tell me what you saw out there? Sweetie knows, I think, but she won’t tell me nothin’. She didn’t even tell Scoots. Said it was your story.”

And Spike didn’t want to tell it.

Denial. The mind was blessed with an amazing capacity to disassociate itself from things which were unpleasant. It forgot, it avoided, it reacted.

Spike took a deep breath. He let it go.

“It’s painful.” Apple Bloom said. “I know it is. I’m sorry. I want to know.”

“Why?”

“Tell me and I’ll tell you.” A silence, a short one. “I can see in your eyes thats somethin’ is wrong. You’re gettin’ eaten alive in there, Spike, and I don’t think you know it. Tell me.”

Spike didn’t even weigh the options--the story, a lie, some combination--he simply told her everything. He didn’t even bother to make it concise. It poured out. It burst like a dammed river, washing everything before it. Somehow, he did not die. He was not overcome with anxious panting or terrified shaking. All he was aware of was that Apple Bloom was listening to him, really listening. Not because he had intel, or because it was her job, but because she cared for some reason and she wanted to know because it hurt him and that mattered to her.

When he was done he felt exhausted. She seemed stricken.

“Gaia, mother… Celestia....” she sat down herself. “An’ I believe you. They… our home…”

“Is a portal to hell, yes,” Spike said numbly. “It’s why I was late coming back. I got pulled in to their madness. I don’t know everything that happened. It’s kind of a blur.”

“Spike… An’... An’ I yelled at you. I called you a coward,” she said, like a foal lost in a market.

Spike waved this away hurriedly, speaking fast. “No, no, you didn’t know, and I deserved it. You didn’t really yell, either. Uh… I mean you didn’t say I was a coward but…”

“Spike,” she said, and he stopped. She shook slightly. “Spike, when somepony treats you like shit, don’t just let ‘em. Even if its me. And you just recovered and here I was gonna make a scene and put all my little…” she sucked in a breath.

She was going to cry. Maybe.

Spike panicked. He caught her up in a hug.

She was so shocked that he was afraid for a moment she would fight it, but she didn’t. She hugged him back, tightly. “You didn’t know. I deserved that. I could have held off a day or two. If I had been smarter or more cautious, we might have had a bigger window in which to act.”

Apple Bloom was silent. She didn’t cry. She also didn’t return to her gruff manner. They separated awkwardly after a while, both looking away.

“Sorry,” Spike said at last.

“Don’t be. It was nice. You’re warm,” Apple Bloom said. Spike glanced at her. She was a little flushed. Probably from the heat. He always forgot about that. Fire and all.

“I’m sorry anyway.”

“I know you are. Big… dumb purse.” She snorted. “Why didn’t we really try, Spike?”

“Is this the best time?” he asked, hesitant.

“No time is good. Everytime sucks. So yeah, might as well,” she said, and smiled at him so sadly that he felt again an urge to hide.

“I’m… I mean, I’m a dragon, Bloom. You’re a pony. You know I eat meat, right?” he asked, trying to make that sound funny, but there really wasn’t a way to tell a vegetarian of a species you are capable of eating that you eat meat. There really isn’t. “And I didn’t want you to get stuck with me. And I don’t really… I mean, I don’t know what to do. I didn’t learn how to deal with… this kind of thing. There are so few dragons that Twilight never thought I would need to know.”

Apple Bloom was shaking her head. “That’s dumb, Spike, and even for you. You knew I didn’t care. I still kinda don’t, long as you ain’t eatin’ ponies. Please don’t tell me if you do,” she added, and once again there was not laughter. “Spike, we coulda been a lot happier. All that stuff is bull. Let’s just be happy. Can we try? I know you don’t want me to ask you again, but I need to do ask.”

He shifted. “Now? The world is falling apart.”

“Ain’t no better time.”

Spike chuckled, at last. “Maybe not another time, either. Why would you want to?”

“Cause you have a great big heart and it has a lot of room for ponies like me, Spike. Maybe ‘cause you’re a nice space heater. And ‘cause you’re gonna laugh at that joke, on account of that ever present humor o’ yours. Not to mention the way you keep doin’ little things for me. Remember what I said to you about my bow when you came for Mac?” When he nodded, she sniffled and smiled. “Sometimes, I felt like maybe I wasn’t good enough. I’m not exactly prime dragonness material,” she said.

Spike laughed, openly and honestly. “I don’t know, with that fire you breathe…”

And she laughed too, a little less openly. “But I just knew it was you bein’ dumb. You don’t gotta say yes. But can’t we? Can’t we jus’ try it? You an’ me, together? For a lil while, ‘fore whatever comes?”

Spike wanted to say no. He was suddenly very afraid.

“Yes,” he said, before he could take it back. “Yes. I have no idea what to do,” he said, apropos to nothing.

She hugged around his neck with lightning fast speed.

“Uh… I don’t know what to do with my hands?” Spike blinked, feeling shocked. He said yes. He hadn’t meant to. Had he? Everything was confusing. But he was glad, too. Very glad. So glad.

“You’re not funny,” Apple Bloom said into his scales.

He hugged her back. “Yes I am,” he insisted.

She came back to look him in the face. “Scoots is gonna give you a hard time, jus’ to warn you.”

“I’m a big dragon. I can handle it.”

Apple Bloom carefully reached out and touched his face. He let her. It felt nice. “I don’t really know how this is gonna work. I jus’ want it to work.”

“I’m clueless.”

“Always,” she agreed.

“We can start by getting back to wherever that study is. Will you come with me? Afterwards…” he grinned sheepishly. “I have an empty day. Recovery, I guess. Calm before the storm, maybe. Would you want to, uh… I don’t know. Do something? I have a lot to catch up on, with all of this stuff and me being cooped up and…”

Apple Bloom surprised him with a kiss above his eyes. A small one, chaste and light. He wouldn’t call it timid. She was not a timid sort. “Sounds lovely. I need a break, anyhow.”

“You know, usually jumping into things like this the way we are is a bad idea,” he said softly.

“Ain’t everything a bad idea these days?” she said. “At least we ain’t both third wheels to Scoots and Bell.”

“Are they finally open about that yet?”

Bloom rolled her eyes. Spike was amazed how a small shift in topic made such a difference. He felt relaxed. Happy. Normal. They were close, touching, and it was normal. This was new. It wasn’t bad. He felt… lighter. “They ain’t at all open ‘bout it. I told ‘em it’s the worst kept secret ever, but now that she’s all fancy and important its kinda awkward timin’. ‘sides, I think Scoots is sensitive about the whole ‘Rainbow Dash’ thing. Always bein’ the same. Likin’ fillies just like her, all that. She was the only one doin’ the comparin’, but she don’t see it that way.”

“But she will. She knows we don’t think about her as just a shadow.” Spike stood, helping Apple Bloom up. “She seems like she’s excited to be the marshal for Sweetie.”

As they walked back into the hall, Apple Bloom laughed. “Terrified, more like.”

RARITY

This is your army, Rarity thought. She turned the words over and over in her mind.

Yet, no amount of repetition would make that simple statement normal. It was her army. These soldiers--beleaguered, exhausted, weary, but soldiers still--were hers to command. They would fight and die for her aims. They would follow her south. She had felt so powerless for so long, and yet now here she was. With an army. She had power. She had a weapon forged of iron and blood.

And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Rainbow accompanied her, as always. Rarity snuck smiles at her every now and then, and they were always returned.

It was strange. She didn’t even need to be specific, as just about everything was strange in these strange days. What was next? Would the dead walk? At this rate, Rarity wasn’t going to completely count it out.

She and Rainbow had been more or less inseparable since Rarity had been cleared to walk unaided. They had talked--but not much. Not as much as Rarity would have liked, or as much as they probably needed to. There simply hadn’t been enough time. Between relearning to walk, constant treatment for her magical malady, preparations for the journey home… there simply hadn’t been much time to really discuss, well, them. Whatever they had.

She grimaced slightly, then smoothed her face into a neutral expression. She had lost some of her old composure after all of this… whatever it could be called. She would call it “all this mess” but it seemed a vulgarity after what she had seen, what she had done.

When she and Rainbow had had the time to talk seriously, both had been exhausted. It was no way to talk about something as intimate as, well, intimacy. Yet, whatever awkwardness was between them in the wake of their unlikely survival, when she was ready to collapse from the strain it was Rainbow who she rested against. Rainbow had helped her when walking on her new leg had become painful, when she had almost ripped the thing off in frustration Rainbow had soothed her. That last had been a little shocking. Restraint, yes, she could see Rainbow holding her back. But she had spoken softly, reasoned with Rarity’s rage.

The world had, it seemed, become very strange indeed.

“So… she is gonna be here soon, right?” Rainbow asked, scratching her mane. “I mean, we’ve been here for awhile, just, y’know, waiting.”

Rarity smiled. “Well, they did say it would be some time… to be honest, I’m sure her condition has made transportation a bit trickier.” She sighed. “But I may have arrived a bit earlier than needed.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps I wanted a moment to catch my breath,” Rarity said.

“Sounds like a good enough reason to me. I kind of wanna grab a cloud and catch a nap like old times.”

“I remember those days. Well, you still sleep on a cloud sometimes, but I know what you meant.” She was distracted, looking this way and that. For some reason she wanted to know if they were watching her, looking at her. Or her leg. She wasn’t sure which she was more concerned with. Rarity let her mane fall over her face. It had taken a little time, but adjusting the style to conceal at least some of her new scars had been worth it. She felt safe now. Hidden.

“Wanna crash in the command tent?”

Rarity glanced back at her. “The command tent? That’s a bit too public for a nap.”

“No, I mean like, uh…” she hesitated. Rarity focused on her now, curious.

“Hm?”

“Uh, I mean, your tent.”

“Oh.” Rarity blinked. She thought. “That would be nice,” she said carefully. “They’ll find me easily there, once they know I’m not in the command… yes, that will work.”

She strode off, not knowing how else to finish her sentence. Another strange thing: awkwardness. Had she been this awkward, this unsure? She thought back to her previous loves, and everytime she had been so… collected.

They entered the tent, and Rarity found two bedrolls. She knew they both saw them.

Was it just… did they just start sleeping together? Part of her felt that would be delightful. Hadn’t they been sleeping in a little huddle the whole journey, staying close out of fear of the dark or the cold? And now she would share Rainbow’s company without fear driving her into it.

But another part squirmed. It balked. How dare they simply assume. She was her own pony. She was an individual. She had learned, damn it all, and grown up from that pony that needed to be attached to feel complete. Now here she was… a part. A half. Or was she?

It had occurred to her that Rainbow and she had been rushed into intimacy by the threat of death. It was cliche. Pathetic, really, wasn’t it? Would Rainbow regret? She had searched her own heart, and found very little regret there. She loved Rainbow. She could say that and felt like it was true.

Rainbow did not seem quite as burdened. She simply unrolled the mat and plopped down with a happy little grunt. “Army issue, my favorite,” she said. “Uncomfortable, colorless unless gray counts as a color, and wonderfully spartan. Perfect, really.”

Rarity tried to use her magic, but found touching her reserves painful. She winced, and tried a new approach: bending down and doing it manually. This resulted mostly in stumbling, trying to balance on her new leg.

She growled. Stupid. Stupid leg. Stupid bedroll. Stupid day. Stupid.

Rainbow was there. “Hey, hey what?”

“Bed. Leg,” she said, gritting her teeth. Then she took a breath. Decorum. She really had to regain her sense of decorum. “I’m having a spot of difficulty,” she said carefully. “Could you help me?”

Rainbow Dash looked frustrated, but it lasted only for a second before she rolled the bed out. Rarity wondered why, but filed that away for later. She laid down, and felt instantly better. It was amazing, what even the promise of rest could do.

Rainbow laid away from her. A little pony in her head wanted to scoot over, said that warmth was better than any sense of propriety--also more fun. But she didn’t cross the gap, not right away. Giving Rainbow space would be best.

“Uh…” Rainbow was looking at her, biting her lip. She looked so much like a foal looking down from a cloud, getting ready for the first jump, ready to fly but not quite sure if she really could, wings or not. But she seemed to recover. “Do you mind if I come over there?”

Rarity didn’t mind at all, she found. She smiled and opened her forelegs up, and Rainbow cuddled beside her. It was awkward, but it was nice. It was enough, for now.

Maybe. Rarity remembered, and rolled her eyes. “Actually, dear, I think I require your services if you are to partake of my warmth.”

“Wha?” Rainbow scooted back a bit.

Rarity chuckled. “Nothing major. Could you dig through my bags? I have an alarm. I would do it, but…” she gestured to her horn, and sighed. “I am having a spot of trouble, as I said. I’m not as dextrous with hooves. Also, when you return, I need to tell you something.”

If this last made Rainbow nervous at all, she did a remarkable job of not showing it. She grumbled--Rarity quite understood, as she also despised being dragged from any comfortable place--and did as she was asked.

“How long?”

“Oh, an hour should suffice. We may not need it.”

Rainbow returned, and set the alarm on the other side of her bedroll, which she then scooted closer to Rarity. “May I return?” she asked, trying (and failing) to match Rarity’s absolutely perfect delivery. It really was marvelous. She was rather proud of her manner of speech. She was proud of it when she wasn’t speechless or awkward or generally out of her element, at least. Which seemed to be most of the time, these days.

“Yes, thank you for your great service to your motherland,” Rarity said dryly, and Rainbow returned to her soft embrace.

They lay together for a time, enjoying the warmth. There were no kisses or caresses. Just the feeling of Rainbow’s warmth breath on her chilled coat. Once again, she decided that for now, it was enough.

“We will need to talk eventually,” she said, as much to herself as to Rainbow.

“Hm?”

“You and I. About us.”

Rainbow shifted. She was quiet at first. So quiet that Rarity almost repeated herself, thinking she’d not been heard. “Are you going to…? I mean, you know.”

“I don’t, but I can imagine. No, not unless you’re having second thoughts.”

Rainbow shook her head against Rarity’s chest. She pulled away, just so Rarity could see her do it. “No! I’m not. I may be kind of… I don’t know, reckless? At least, Twilight used to say that sometimes. And you. And kind of everyone--not important, skipping that part. But when I make a decision, I try to stick with it. I’m here through thick and thin. Or danger, or whatever.” She paused. “What the hell does ‘through thick and thin’ even mean? That’s dumb.”

Rarity snickered. “A poet, you.”

“Whatever.” Rainbow returned to her little pocket underneath Rarity’s chin.

“But we should talk. Not now, unless you really, really want to. And it need not be a bad conversation. But… we rushed into this. We skipped a few steps.”

“Like a first date,” mumbled Rainbow.

“Yes, among other things.” Rarity tentatively stroked Rainbow’s mane. When she didn’t move away, Rarity continued. She hummed. “But for now, I think we both like each other’s company, we are both a little chilly--well, I am. You and your… pegasus...ness. Agh. My control of language has slipped, it really has. I believe either the cold is beginning to freeze bit of my brain, or you are starting to pull me into the muck, dear.”

“See, I figured it would be the other way around, groundpounder.”

Rarity kissed the top of Rainbow’s head, through her mane. It felt natural to do so. She liked that she could. “I confess that I’m a bit at a loss. You know I’ve… had others. I just realized that my knowledge of your own romantic past is hazier, really. Regardless, you know that. Yet this is rather different.”

“No saving the world?”

“More like, most of my former romances have not been whilst dancing on the knife blade of apocalypse,” Rarity grumbled. “But yes, as you say. For once, I am unsure how to handle myself. Or you. It is strange for me, but so is everything that’s happened recently.”

“Well, this is nice.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she said, feeling lazy.

Rainbow kissed her neck gently. “Is this alright?”

Rarity honestly didn’t know. She liked it, if that helped. She made a little humming noise to indicate this.

They laid like that, quiet and happy, for awhile. Rarity wasn’t sure how long. The alarm didn’t go off--Rainbow had forgotten to set it.

What woke them instead was a polite cough at the tent flap. Rarity’s eyes sprang open, and she looked down to see if Rainbow Dash was asleep. She wasn’t. Their eyes met, and they shared a smile that was closer to amused embarassment than true sheepishness.

“Yes? What news?” Rarity asked, loud enough to cut through the omnipresent hubub of the army camp on the verge of campaign.

“The Legata has arrived. She is at Command, my lady,” replied the voice which she did not recognize. A runner, he guessed lazily, her mind still fuzzy from half-sleep.

“Thank you, ah, sir,” she said, and rose, untangling herself from Rainbow carefully.

“Um… it’s, ah, nevermind,” said the voice she only now recognized as being deep but obviously feminine. Rarity hated the moments right after being woken up. She longed intensely for her couch and a lazy Sunday morning. “If there is nothing else, my lady, I can send word that you are on your way.”

“That would be wonderful,” Rarity replied, knowing her face was flushed. A faux pas and she’d only been awake for a moment. Wonderful. She had hoped to be a bit more composed when meeting the Legata, but time waited for no pony at all, not even a lady.

When she was back on her hooves (with a little help from Rainbow, as she was getting used to the steel leg) Rarity found the mirror she had smuggled into her tent and frantically fixed her hair again. It was a mess, but that was simply part of the cost of sleeping in such conditions. Neccessary. Not really that bad of a cost, to be honest.

“You know she won’t be impressed by primping,” Rainbow said before she yawned and stretched behind Rarity in the mirror. “She’s like, some badass warrior mare or something. Kinda like me.”

“Ah, but you’re impressed.”

Rainbow coughed and looked away. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Um… but she probably doesn’t swing your way.”

“Perhaps. That’s not my intention regardless,” Rarity said, as she admired herself. As much as she enjoyed having that effect on ponies… she would need to start, well, not having that effect as much. At least, on fewer ponies. She would save it all for one, maybe. Except as a game. She didn’t know. Her thoughts were more on meeting the Legata than on the subtleties and ethics of flirtation. (Though she was very well versed! These things were an art, of course.)

“Then why?”

Rarity made sure her mane covered at least some of the scars. They were horrid. They were so… obvious. She grimaced and then took a deep breath. Steadying herself. She would be a Lady, so help her Celestia, and she would not seem a frazzled know nothing in front of one as sharp and as unforgiving as this mare was rumored to be--not for anything.

“Because, Rainbow, appearances do matter.” She gestured, and they left the tent. Outside, the wind had picked up a bit, but it wasn’t enough to be bothersome. Except for the cold, of course, which it accentuated, but after a certain point more cold was just sort of a mild annoyance. After a certain point, you barely noticed it was below freezing. That point was when it was freezing in the first place. “Tell me, when you think of the Wonderbolts, you think of their skill, yes? And their daring, of course.”

“Well, duh.”

“Ah, but what makes you think of them? What immediately makes those images come to mind before they do so much as shake a feather?”

Rainbow followed, and thought.

“Maybe I’m wrong, I’m not exactly Twilight, but I think I get it. Uniforms, right? You see blue and yellow and you immediately think about the Wonderbolts, and already…”

“Exactly. So if I appear to be the kind of mare who is in command, in control, ready and immaculate in my appearance, as much as I can be in such a world…”

“Then ponies assume you are.” Rainbow finished, but then she seemed confused. “But you are already.”

Rarity smiled warmly and looked back at her. They were almost there. “Thank you, Rainbow. I fear I am much less well put together than you think. But… thank you.”

The Command tent was not enclosed as their own tent was. (She was aware that she thought of the tent as their tent now, but decided that it felt right to call it that and did not feel any chagrin.) Several of the officers she had met the previous day were in attendance, and they saluted her as she approached. She returned their salutes in her own way, nodding to them with what she knew would seem a gracious sort of smile. Rainbow crossed her wings before her in some outlandish pegasus salute. Rarity would have to ask about that later. The last time she had taken an interest in pegasus culture, it had led to many interesting discoveries.

The Legata herself was on a stretcher, but she sat up. Were it not for the blanket over her lower form, there would have been no way to tell she was in anyway injured. Rarity took her in quickly, sizing her up at the same time as she nodded and greeted her officers. The blanket revealed part of one of her hindlegs, looking much the worse for wear but still there. The last bit she thought of with only a small reserve of bitterness. Her eyes were hard and bright and dark. Her horn was long--much longer than Rarity’s, who felt intimidated in the way only a unicorn would understand. Rarity could feel her thaumic aura from across the table laden with maps, and knew this was not a pony to be trifled with.

Legata Opal of the Ninth Legion regarded with no smile, no frown, no words. Her expression was stoic. Flat. Fully reserved, but waiting, judgement.

“Legata.” Rarity curtsied--or attempted to. Her leg betrayed her, but she caught herself. Good--she could learn yet. “It is an honor to meet you when we have more time to speak.”

Opal made a little grunt of affirmation. “Likewise.”

“You have come highly recommended, as does your legion. I must say, I have seen for myself and judged that praise deserving. These ponies have survived the abyss and come out still willing to fight for the cause. I know that you must be proud of them.”

Opal cocked her head to the side, as if weighing this. There was a beat of strange silence. Another. Another.

And then she smiled. “Yes, I am. I have the feeling that you aren’t just saying that, and I am surprised. You went out and saw them, did you?”

Rarity nodded. “We did. Rainbow and I spoke to quite a few. I didn’t wish to disturb their work, but I managed to talk to many of the Decani and several legionnaires. Of course, I met your staff--” she didn’t dare say her staff-- “and visited the Quartermaster this morning.”

“And you know much of the art of war, hm? In the south.”

Rainbow moved forward at her side. Rarity was afraid for a moment that she had taken offense, but Rainbow’s voice seemed steady. “Honestly? A lot less than you. Rarity and I know a lot about avoiding battles we can’t win and living off the land. We’ve had to learn. I know more about handling myself in a fight, but I’m not going to be stupid enough to say I know how to lead a wing into battle yet.”

“Yet,” Opal echoed. “Candid. Rainbow Dash, yes?”

“That’s me.”

“I hear I have you to thank for how I find myself,” Opal said. “Alive, mainly. Which is a mixed blessing--yet I think I owe you my thanks. I too have spoken to my troops. They say many things of both of you. They think you are heroes,” she said, and made a gesture that suggested she perhaps thought otherwise. “A goddess of white light and magic who banished the darkness and a pegasus out of the old tales, riding furious down from Neighvarro to smite the plain! I had my share of chuckles over it.” She rested her gaze on Rainbow, who did not flinch. Much. “I am wondering, now, if perhaps they were not quite as crazed as I thought.”

Rarity moved back in. “I was and am still moved by the way in which your legion fought tooth and nail to keep you from that same darkness, Legata. I was shocked to recieve your aid, and am grateful. We all are, Rainbow, Fluttershy, myself--Equestria thanks you.”

“I will treasure greatly the thanks of the southern tribals,” Opal said. When Rarity was taken aback, she laughed--and Rarity found no malice there. “I jest. I am aware that much has changed. This campaign sounds like it will be very different from my previous forays south, and perhaps just as eventful. I am pleased to be at the helm again.” Her eyes wandered. “I see that you too have been left with reminders of wild magic.”

Rarity flinched. Her eyes darted away. She retreated beneath her mane, drew herself back as if she could hide her leg. “Yes,” she managed, her composure cracking. But she recovered. She tried. “Yes, I bear reminders of what happened here.”

“Then do not hide,” Opal said, her voice a little harsher. She used her magic to lift the blanket away. Her legs looked awful. Not as atrophied as one thought of when one thought of words like disabled, yes… she was rambling. She realized that she had been jealous of this pony’s ease of magic and she was shamed. Deeply shamed. She wished to melt into the snow.

“I will not,” she said softly.

“I have decided that I too will not.” Opal smiled at her. It was a cold smile. “We will not be avoiding or hiding as I am sure you had cause to on your way here. When the Ninth marches south, my lady, it marches loudly, visibly, and with the high banners of the Empire. It has been a millennia since a legion marched south to do battle in what you call Equestria.” She laughed, as if to herself. “It is high time that such happen again.”

AMARANTH

“You came quickly. I’m impressed,” Amaranth said.

Ice Storm smiled in response, and simply gestured. They walked into the gardens, as had become their custom. There wasn’t really anywhere else worth going. Not that she minded, because she didn’t. They really were nice.

“It’s not often I’m roused by a night guardspony with a hoofwritten missive telling me that the sender needed to talk in the garden, and that I would know where to find them. You forgot to sign it, by the way.”

“I was a bit distracted.”

“I see.”

Ice Storm did not ask right away, which surprised her. Slightly. She had expected curiosity, but she also knew his patience. Idly, she wondered how long he would wait. He would ask eventually. He would have to. It was how the world worked, and she toyed with the idea of waiting him out. But no, she hadn’t come here to tell him something but to discuss it.

She cursed the the frame. It was unfortunate, being stuck in one pose. Unfortunate--she wanted to be furious. Like that was good enough. Unfortunate.

How to go about it? How did you even begin to talk about something like this? It was like trying to wad the whole world up and stuff into a tiny little box. Like trying to eat so much you choked. No progress. Before she could even get to the which she would have to deal with the what, and--

Fuck it.

“Luna--the Princess came to speak with me today,” she said, catching herself. It would do no good to talk as if she were already a Duskwatch.

If Ice Storm noticed her impropriety, he either didn’t care or had decided that it was more important to know what they had talked about. He nodded encouragingly. “And?”

“We talked.”

“I’m sure.”

She rolled her eyes. “You could at least pretend to be interested, jerk.”

“But I am.” Ice Storm was so close. She thought she liked it. Made her a little nervous, yes, but it wasn’t so bad. A good sort of anxiety. In her defense, he was handsome and it had been a long time. But that was a fleeting distraction. She was avoiding looking at him. “I’m very interested, and I would like to know… but I get the feeling that this is more important than a mere chat. I can wait for you to figure out how to say it.”

She cringed. Now I feel like a wimp. Thanks, Stormy, your Captainness. “Do you know about the Duskwatch? I mean, you’ve heard about them, I know you have.”

“I have. I know very little. They are an elite force, I know that much. I’ve never seen one myself--but from what I gather, I probably have without knowing it. Masters of concealment, watchers in the shadows, eyes in every room and wall…” He smiled. “The tales are tall and frightening at times, but I expect legends to follow the skilled.”

“Trust me, if you saw a Duskwatch in the light, really saw, you’d know,” Amaranth said softly.

It must have been the way she spoke, or the way her face screwed itself up in… whatever the knot of emotion in her stomach could be called. Ice Storm’s demeanor changed. The smile that had rested ghostly on his face was gone. His brow furrowed, his eyes all but flashed. It reminded her of their night-flying reconnaisance.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean… I have permission,” she began again, haltingly, “to explain this to you, so I guess I should just explain it and stop asking around it. The Duskwatch are not normal ponies. They are different. Altered.”

“How so?”

“I’m getting there. I just want you to know first that I’m sorry for forcing this on you, what we’re about to talk about. But you’re the only pony I trust that’s around to talk to. I can’t exactly get word to my family,” she said, and smirked. “On account of… well, you know. But you’re a pretty smart guy, I’m sure you can figure this out.”

“You’re beginning to worry me.”

“Good, because I’m really freaked out!” Amaranth said a little too wildly. She laughed. “I think a little concern is appropriate. Actually a lot of concern would be a good idea. Like tons.”

“Amaranth, please, calm yourself,” Ice Storm said. His voice was different. It took a tone she did not immediately recognize. What was his problem? Was he okay? It wasn’t like--

She realized only now what she must look like. Her forelegs shook slightly. She knew her eyes must look wild, afraid. Her cheeks were flushed. Hair, unwashed--there had been much more serious things to worry about.

Amaranth took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Really.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. The Duskwatch are magically altered by the Princess herself and have been since they were first founded. The first Duskwatch was a companion of the Princess before she became a princess at all. The spell was something Luna developed based on other work… I don’t really know how it works. I’m not a unicorn, and I doubt most of them could really tell you. She says that she turned bad ideas into something that could be used for good.”

“I’ve heard rumors of such things. There was a tale once about ponies made out of pure flame.” He chuckled, and she marveled at his calm. “The tale went that Celestia’s chosen volunteers would be changed permanently into beings which never slept or ate.”

“The Duskwatch isn’t mythic,” Amaranth continued. She felt… not defensive, exactly. He needed to understand, so that he could help her think straight. She liked that calm strength but she feared it came from ignorance. “They eat and sleep and drink and mate like any other pony, all the normal functions. But they are also different.”

She paused. What to say first? Should she just go in for the worst things, or focus on the benefits? The small changes, or the large? The aesthetic ones?

As she thought, she more felt than saw Ice Storm move. He left her side--which she didn’t particularly like, as he sort of radiated body heat as did most living things in small amounts, and it was nice to have that in the cold! He walked ahead of her a bit, circled, sat in front of her. He waited, perhaps. Waited how? Good question. She thought it was patiently, but suddenly she was struck by a sense of foreboding.

It was the feeling she felt on patrol. The feeling was one of potential--there could be nothing. There could also be a raider encampment. This time? You had no way of knowing until you, well, knew. Until you saw it? Little warning because you were the warning, and your job was to be the one to face the surprise first. You bore the burden of turning the light on and seeing what was in the next room.

Something clicked on in her head. Recon. This was recon. The anxiety remained, but she felt steady now. Ice Storm cocked his head to one side, as if asking for her to continue. She did.

“The change is permanent,” she said, a bit stiffly. Clinically, or that was what she was hoping to sound like. “First, there is minor wing growth, as well as other small, mostly aesthetic changes to the body. It differs from subject to subject. It’s mostly irrelevant, but they do look different. One major noticeable thing is eye color. You see mine?” She pointed. She also remembered just at this moment that not every pony could see as well as she could in the dark. Amaranth grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“Hm?”

“Uh. Nightvision. But my eyes are yellow, right?” And like that, broke her cool. Great. But she would soldier on. “Well, the Duskwatch have red eyes. Like, really red. Different shades, but always red.” She drew herself up as best she could in the harness, and resumed some of her former attitude. Business. “Now, the change comes with heightened senses and heightened strength. A single Duskwatch batpony is easily a match for any big earth pony brawler. They can hear whispered conversations in a crowded room through a thick wall. They can sense magical usage, to a degree. I’m fuzzier about that part.”

“I sense there’s something else. You seemed to think it was a weighty choice. So far, it seems like the yoke is light.”

“Sunlight,” she said quickly. “Sunlight.”

She pursed her lips, but said nothing more.

“I am going to make an inference, if you’ll allow me. I think its obvious that the Princess approached you about this.”

She nodded.

“I also,” he continued, “think that you want me to tell you what to do. Essentially.”

She grimaced, but she nodded again. Didn’t she? As much as she hated to say it.

“Why? If I can ask.”

“Because you’re somepony I trust,” she said. “You’re smart, you can think in a crisis, and you’re older than me, so I guess you have more, uh, experience? You’re my friend,” she finished.

“And our Princess has asked you to join this illustrious group?”

“Yeah.”

Ice Storm seemed to consider this, to roll it over in his mind. She saw his tail swish behind him and had to fight down the urge to laugh. It was such a childish gesture--it surprised her, seeing him being anything but a stoic defender. She smiled, despite everything--or maybe because of everything. It felt right to talk with him about this. She had made a good choice, come what may.

“There is a downside.” It was not a question. “But you haven’t mentioned it yet… which is a bit worrying. More than a bit.” Amaranth chuckled nervously. “But, let’s both agree that it’s better that we talk about this calmly. Tell me the rest. Then we’ll discuss. I’ll help you think and offer what help I can.”

“Thanks,” she said. She smiled at him.

“Also,” he added, looking a bit put out, “I’m not that much older than you.”

“Ancient.”

He rolled his eyes.

“The Duskwatch are sensitive to sunlight,” she said, letting it go at last, her last secret. “Severely.”

“What do you mean? Sensitive in what way?”

She looked past him, out at the sky. The stars shone brightly over the city. They framed his face.

“Sunburn. You know how if you just lay out on a rock all day in direct sunlight, no shade, eventually it can burn you even through your coat?” He nodded, and she continued. “And you know it can happen on long flights too, if you aren’t careful with cloudcover. But… imagine you were like that just by being in direct sunlight. You couldn’t go outside at all in the daytime. It blinds you for hours.”

“At first, it’s just a light burning sensation and your eyes hurt. Headaches. But then it becomes dangerous. Then exposure is lethal. I’ve heard that sometimes, after a long time, you can walk around with a hood on and manage… more or less. But I don’t know how long that takes. If I say yes, then I’ll… I may never see the sun again. I might not walk around outside during the day again. Like, ever. Everyone I know lives in the daylight.”

He was silent.

“I’ll be stuck. I’ll be that nocturnal sort of creature that is the stereotype that ponies tell their foals to scare them into obedience. I’m going to be the kind of thing… the kind of thing that batponies were hunted down for maybe being. It’s like proving them right.”

“You think you would be proving them right?”

“Kind of? I don’t know. It feels… I don’t like it.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Yes.”

“Your legs.”

“Not a question. More of a statement.” A breath. A pause. “Yes. The magic is pretty powerful. It would more or less… I don’t want to say it remakes. My legs will work.”

“Does it change you?”

She looked at him blankly. “What?”

“You. Being you? Amaranth.”

“That’s…” she smiled sadly. “That’s kinda ambiguous. Who is Amaranth? Can you sum up yourself into a few neat little sentences?”

He nodded. “That’s fair. More than fair. I suppose I could not, if I were truly being honest. I could try! But it would probably be fruitless. But I am curious: are you concerned with forsaking the day, or is it something else that troubles you?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

He nodded again. “Yes, yes it is enough. Maybe. It would be a huge change to how you live, of course. It would make having breakfast hard.” He paused, chuckled. Smiled. “Which is truly a pity. I do love pancakes, I’m sure you do.”

She groaned. “It’s not funny.”

“No, but even I can crack a joke in the face of enormity.”

“I really want to say yes,” she blurted. “I wanna walk again. Of course I wanna walk again. Why the hell wouldn’t I? I don’t mind the part about serving the princess, because I already was serving her. I was in the damn Nightshades. I’d have to go back and fight or do whatever it is they do. I don’t even know all of it! It’s hush-hush. I mean, I don’t… Morningvale… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to fight. I don’t exactly like hurting ponies and I don’t want to do it. I will if I have to. I’ll fight until they tear me to shreds if the world needs it. But I’ll be all alone. I’ll be waking up when other ponies are settling down for the night. I’ll be all alone in the dark up on the wall, waiting, waiting, for something. Something, whatever it is. I don’t… I’ll be without…”

“You’ll be alone?” he asked, his brow furrowed. She looked at him now.

“Yeah. I mean, nocturnal?”

“You know that we don’t all go to sleep with the sun. I know you know this.”

“And? I see other ponies besides other Duskwatch for a few hours…”

“No, I mean… I’ve done my share of night duty. If nothing else, I’ll be around. I’ll stay up. You can see me. The night has as many merits as the day, I think.”

“You’d go with me? I mean… I’m gonna look kind of scary. Will you be there waiting when I come out?” she felt foolish. It was a foolish request.

“You’re sure that you want to do this?” he asked. “To become one of the Duskwatch?”

“Yes. I think… I think I already was going to say yes. I just wanted to hear what somepony else thought about it. About me becoming different,” she finished, lamely.

“Then I’ll be there. It is the least I could do. I’ll stay up,” he said. “Perhaps we can take a walk somewhere that we haven’t memorized.” He smiled at her, and that smile made her feel weak… and stronger at the same time. “I like this garden, but it would be nice to get you out of the infirmary--”

She wrapped him up in a hug, and she ignored his half-hearted protests. She just squeezed him tighter.

Author's Note

this chapter is gross

Love is the Currency of the Land

XXXIII. In the Shadow of that Hideous Strength

XXXIII. The Shadow of That Hideous Strength

TWILIGHT

She watched and she waited.

How long had she done both? How many times, in the agony of impatience and the anxiety that comes with potentiality--how many times had she waited and suffered? Would Celestia return? Would the world be swallowed up? Would she wake up in the morning? Would Spike be real tomorrow? Was she real? Would she be herself tomorrow or somepony else? A mare, a stallion, a gryphon, an idea--

Twilight chuckled and shook her head. She had been in a morbid mood recently. It was hard not to be, in fairness. Not with the news she’d received.

There were two things the poets were silent on, Twilight found. The first was, of course, the matter of cheese. But the second was on the passing of hours. Oh, sure, so much had been written on how they stretched or lingered or died, whatever. Child’s play. But the fact that time moved at all was something to ponder. The hardness of it, or the lack thereof--that was something to contemplate, but what got her attention could be summed up as potential. With every passing second anything could happen. A non-zero chance of anything at all points. This was obviously an exaggeration, but the fact that potentiality was a part of time was itself unsettling.

It had made waiting a maddening experience for her. Ever moment held the possibility of Celestia’s return. Every single step could be echoed by her beloved teacher. Every courtyard and walkways could be filled with her sacred visage. Every single shadow could be Her resting place.

She was lost in stupid circularity because Abdiel had been the one to waker her this morning. After some halfhearted teasing--”Always, always you are the last to rise, my fair lady!”--he had informed her in a strange dull tone that Jannah would be in sight tomorrow or the next day.

Was she waiting for Celestia, or was she waiting for Jannah? Were those the same things, even?

The city had been in her mind since the night before the journey had begun. Luna had brought her into the dimly lit chambers of her own private sanctum, her home, and spoke in hushed and weary tones.

Jannah, she said as one spoke of nightmares. Jannah, in the West, the city that birthed all cities--the universal from which the concept of cities sprang. Urban sprawl which grew like the roots of a tree from a great tableland upon which the Alicorns themselves had come. She spoke cryptically, always cryptically. At the time, Twilight had not understood, but now she felt she did.

How much did Luna know, really?

There were gaps in her knowledge. Twilight knew there had to be--or rather, things she chose not to remember or think about. Because she would say Jannah was haunted, but not haunted. That it was cursed, but not in any sense that would make sense to Twilight’s thaumaturgic knowledge. Things walked its streets but not walking in any sense that would, well, make sense.

Foolishness. Or so she’d thought in darker moments on the road.

But now, looking at the swift rising sun, she wondered if it were all true. If what she found would be beyond her understanding.

The world made sense. It was a puzzle. She had begun to doubt that but she was sure now. If enough evidence could be gathered, if enough data could be recorded, if due diligence was done--then the Truth would be teased out from the tangled threads of creation. When she had thought of Jannah, that had been her final conclusion. Over and over, every time so very final. When she had thought of it directly at all. It had been on the horizon of her thoughts, as it was now on the horizon that her eyes could see. On the edge. Something which wasn’t close enough to harm, like the sun was not close enough to burn you to a crisp, but close enough to be inescapable. Or maybe so big that it warped everything about it, pulled everything down and down into a gaping maw--

Twilight closed her eyes and laid her head on the deck. It was cool to the touch.

She had to stop thinking so much. Impossible for one such as her, yes, but she really really had to stop thinking.

SPIKE

The air was cool. Spike noticed, but it did not bother him overmuch. Fire slept lightly in his belly, and a dragon could endure many things. So could a pegasus, he had found. Soarin’ and he made good watchmen over a quiet winter’s night.

Quiet. That was such a funny word to him now. It implied peace. At least it implied peace to the ignorant. But Spike knew better now. Oh, he knew better. Quiet meant deserts. Quiet was the moment before the axe fell.

He tried not to think too much.

Instead, he and Soarin’ had enjoyed this brief respite from intrigue and plots. It had been Soarin’s idea, really, not that Spike minded. If anything, the air would clear his head. He’d never had a chance to know Soarin’ as much as he would have liked to.

Conversation had stayed tame and safe. By tame and safe, Spike meant that neither of them had cared to discuss the obvious topics and had instead moved on to deciding how many House Iron guards Spike could deadlift. Spike said five. Soarin’ said two. Spike found this highly insulting but also probably more accurate than he’d like.

When he came around to the topic that had plagued him since the walls had come in sight, he did so in the most eloquent way imaginable. “So, like, you’ve been with mares before, right?”

Soarin’ gave him the look that that question deserved. “I was and am still technically a Wonderbolt.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Wonderbolt,” he insisted.

Spike got the picture. “Right.”

“Tons. Like literal mountains of mare--”

“I have recieved,” Spike interrupted, “the message, loud and clear. Got it. Crystal.”

Soarin’ laughed. “Sometimes I forget that you’re younger than you seem.”

“I seem older?”

Soarin’ shrugged. He ruffled his feathers a bit. “You’re big,” he said, after a short pause. “It makes you seem older, at least to me. But you’re like, what, nineteen? Twenty? I guess? I… wow, I’m not sure. Do dragons age the same?”

“Yes, that’s why the live basically forever and take naps that last decades.”

“Right.”

“But,” Spike continued, “it depends. My, uh, subspecies? That’s a weird word. Our lifecycle is pretty similar to ponies for the first few decades, and then it slows down a lot. So, yeah, basically. I’m not actually seventeen. I’m sixteen, actually. Similar, but faster growth.”

“I mean this in the most friendly way imaginable, but that’s super weird.”

Spike smiled. “It is. Life is, they tell me, strange.”

They walked on. They nodded to the guards they passed. Most were Lunar guards, and Spike trusted them. A few were house levies, and these he did not trust. He gave a pony wearing the insignia of House Blueblood a hard glance and felt both pleased and chagrined when the mare flinched out of his way.

“Why do you ask?” Soarin’ said. “I’m sensing you don’t want to hear of my amazing escapades in the bedrooms, backrooms, hotels, and clouds of Equestria. Which are all wonderful places, I might add. Also, I tend to exaggerate, but not about clouds.” He whistled. “Great things, clouds. Glad we invented those.”

“We didn’t invent… agh. I asked because I figured you knew more about romantic things than I do. To preface, my motherly figures growing up were Princess Celestia the shiny and perfect and Twilight, the librarian. Who really, really liked being a librarian.” He had also liked being a librarian… assistant. “Because I’m way out of my depth.”

Soarin’ seemed to process this. He flared his wings, looked at one of them--Spike tried and failed to deduce why he did this, exactly--and then folded them neatly. “So, seeing as how I have never seen a female dragon like you, I’m going to assume it’s a pony. Who? I’m curious.”

Spike was beginning to be more than embarrassed. He worried, but the thing was out in the open, after a fashion. He would have to continue. “Applebloom. Uh, Applejack’s--”

“I know her,” Soarin’ said. Spike focused on his tone. It seemed… thoughtful? Maybe.

“We grew up together. I don’t know, it just sort of happened. Probably because the world is ending,” he said as he passed a guard who looked like he did not wished to be reminded of this fact. “I’m not really sure what to do.”

“With your hooves?” Soarin asked.

“What?”

“Sorry. It’s a stupid, old joke. Well… what do you want to do? No, strike that. I mean, you two are kids. Sort of. In that weird boundary between kid and adult, where you get treated like your grown but you’re not really grown all the way. You don’t have to rush. Just…” Soarin’ paused. “I feel a little hypocritical talking like I know what I’m doing. I’ve had a lot of mares, Spike. That doesn’t mean I loved them. I appreciated their fine legs, maybe, but...”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. But I think it’s both more complicated and less complicated than you think. Spend time together, you know? Go get something to eat, take a walk, get away from the world. Be together, and you’ll figure it out.”

They walked in silence for a bit.

“That sounded terrible, didn’t it?” Soarin said. “What I said. Not the last bit, what came before it.”

Spike was honest. “Yeah, sort of.”

Soarin’ sighed. He no longer looked ahead as he walked along the wall. “I’m not the best pony. I’m not… I don’t think I’m a bad one. I’ve changed a lot. I’ve been happy-go-lucky my whole life, and I’m aware of that. Most ponies think I’m a chump who loves pie and eats too much. They are actually totally right about all of those things. Just because I didn’t really love them didn’t mean I… most of them were friends,” he said, haltingly. Like he was figuring it out as he went along, as if this line of thinking was like an old wound. “I didn’t really get most of them from being a Wonderbolt. I stretched the truth a bit, mostly for comedic effect. There were a few. Spitfire gets most of the tail from fans,” he added, and chuckled. But it faded. “Or well, I guess that should be past tense. Mostly I got food, which was awesome. I got the best pie once after a performance. We were in Hoofington, and I swear it was the worst show of my life that I didn’t end up injured at the end of, and I come back to the rooms and find that some little old housemare sent it to me with a note about how much her son enjoyed our flying. That thing was heaven.” He sighed the way one sighed about a long lost lover.

Spike laughed, feeling lighter than before. “I can only imagine.”

“Yup, cause I ate that thing in about four bites and they were pretty great. I wanted love. I mean, I really wanted to find somepony that I felt I wanted to live with, but I just… never did. I found ponies who were attracted to me, that I was attracted to, and we enjoyed each other. It wasn’t hollow. Mostly. I don’t know. But Applejack changed that.”

“She’s pretty great. Also crazy about you.”

“I’m crazy about her,” Soarin’ said. “Spike, I was actually… I mean… could you do me a favor?”

“Sure,” Spike said, curious.

“It’s true that Luna can enter dreams, right?”

Spike nodded. When he remembered that most ponies didn’t have his nightvision, he spoke. “Yeah.”

“Could she… you know. Take me with her?”

Spike was a step ahead. “Take you to Applejack’s dreams?”

Soarin’ nodded.

Spike thought, and then shrugged. “I’ll ask her. I have no idea. But, asking can’t hurt. If she can, I’ll convince her. I think Applejack would like that.”

“As would I,” Soarin’ murmured. After a few beats, he groaned. “And now I don’t feel like making any innuendos or asking off-color questions about your preferences. What a waste. It’s tragic.”

“I’m sincerely glad about that.”

“You would be. Bleh.” His tone shifted. “I keep looking out there. Do you?”

“I try not to.”

“I can imagine why,” Soarin said.

“No,” Spike said, and looked out quickly, and then down at Soarin. “You really can’t, actually.”

“It’s tightening. I’ve been reading the reports. Have you? The ones you didn’t more or less write yourself, I mean.”

He had. “The noose, you mean. Yes, it’s tightening. Did we really have to start talking about it that way? Noose? Who the hell thinks of this stuff?”

“Ponies have great imaginations so they can talk about things they don’t want to think too much about,” Soarin’ offered. “Like hiding in plain sight. If you talk about it you don’t have to actually examine it. Well, for most folks.”

Spike listened to the clack of his claws on the stone. “You know, we could sweep them away. Just set up a battery of guns in the valley and blow the town to bits. March a division of rifles down there. Two or three, even--it would work.”

But Soarin’ shook his head, as Spike expected. “It wouldn’t work. I think you know that.”

“Bogged down,” Spike grumbled. When a dragon grumbles it sounds like an earthquake, or molten rock knocking on a wall with a coiled fist. “Yeah. I get it.”

“We could do it, under different circumstances,” Soarin’ continued, as if he hadn’t heard that rumbling. “I understand your feelings about what’s going on down there. And yes, I know it would be ideal to break up the party before it gets bigger.”

“Which it will.”

“Also something I believe. Spike, please, trust our judgements.”

“I’m trying.”

The air was thick now. How quickly that had happened!

Spike thought of Luna grimacing as he argued before the table strewn with maps. It had been a long week, hadn’t it? Returning from the abyss, having a dozen strange conversations--each stranger than the last, culminating in a walk down shady boulevards with Applebloom--the numbness of survival, two lovely breakfasts, and at the end… An argument over Luna’s strategy (or lack thereof in Spike’s opinion) and then now, this walk.

Soarin’ spoke slowly, not as if to a child, but as one who wished to be understood. Who needed to hear himself say something as much as he needed it to be heard--or so it seemed to Spike, at least, who was reminded for the umpteenth time that intention was opaque. “We can’t rely on the House levies outside of the wall, and we can’t leave them unwatched here. Even if the houses that don’t like Luna aren’t up to a coup, imagine what they might do to the Houses they don’t like.”

“And you really think they’ll be fighting in the streets? Luna said it wouldn’t go that far. Which is why I was so frustrated.”

“To be blunt, I think Luna forgets that no one remembers the old rules. It used to be that Houses almost never fought out in the open… but that was when there were hundreds of years of codes and rules--unwritten, but still important--and open warfare was beneath them. As in,” he said, waving a hoof, “it wasn’t just something they said with a sneer, it was really a waste of their time. They were masters. They did with spies and parties and a few good lies what Wonderbolts do in the air. Easily. At least, if you believe the history books.”

“Twilight always did,” Spike said mildly.

“Librarians always do,” Soarin’ replied. “But now? The Houses are so…”

“Childish.”

“Yes. Foals. Angry and loud and useless at the best of times, let alone the worst.”

Spike sighed. “I get it. It only takes one.”

“It may even start as an accident, or a brawl in the streets between some hotheaded levies or something. Anything.”

“And we come back to the city up in smoke.”

Soarin’ nodded.

“But maybe not,” he said. “And if we wait… More come every day. The pegasi agree with me now, you know. I saw reinforcements marching when I got there and a whole troop of raiders wandering in when I left.”

“I don’t doubt you.”

It would go nowhere. It wasn’t really his choice to make anyhow, he knew. He could only do what was in his power to do. He said as much to Soarin’, his voice flat, his eyes ahead, his steps lazy on the great wall.

“Well, that was some nice exposition,” Soarin’ said. Spike smiled. Briefly. “Why bring it up? I mean, it goes--”

“Nowhere.”

“Yeah.”

Spike shrugged. A very pony action, he had been told by Luna. “Because talking is what you do instead of thinking?”

“Maybe.”

“I just wanted to fill the silence, then. And put off bed, maybe. Prolong a walk with a friend. Maybe I don’t even know,” Spike said. “The last is probably the best of those.” Or maybe it was he had felt a noose around his neck in Luna’s war room, its rough un-cared for rope on his scales, and he could feel it again now.

They came to a watch tower, tall and imposing in its frightful spire. He could see in the dark, but he still experienced it as darkness, and so was impressed by the shape of lighter darkness against the void. The Out There, that void.

There would be much to do in the next few days. Maybe only two, maybe as many as a week. If they were lucky. They were never lucky, of course.

“Thanks,” Spike said at last.

“For what?”

“You’re a good stallion. Whatever happens, I’m glad you and AJ got together. I’m glad you said yes to me, too.”

“I’m glad you grew up to be a big scaly badass.”

Spike snorted.

“We’ll see what tomorrow has in store for us, badass or not,” he said.

IXIL

The walk to work every day was difficult, to say the least. She walked slowly, as one did under a great weight. Her steps did not proceed so much as miraculously manage to find their places. She was a mountain climber in a body not meant for sheer cliff faces. Sometimes it felt like staggering into a headwind.

She was very tired.

Also, starving. Not literally, not yet. Her pay would have been enough to secure a nice life in another time, but the world had become small and dark and crowded.

She groaned but did not stop. She hated this street. Every day she walked it, and she could feel how it weighed on her. It was a cancer, a whole street of cancerous growth that looked like the miserable old and the uncomfortable young, the cracked stoops and the bleary eyes of addicts peering from their holes in the alleys. One could feel, with the right imagination, the despair like one might feel rain or sleet beating on the back and head. It drained her. It made her want to stop and go home.

She hadn’t been attacked here, not ever. Not a single molestation had been enacted on her person--but the threat was always there. One day, she thought, some drunk would see a mare with a tavern uniform and he would do what the broad barkeep would not let him do before. Some child would delay her, and she would be alone in the dark. Beggers would turn into cutpurses.

She did not fear this as much as she simply hated the air, but she thought about it. Sometimes. It made her feel smaller to think such things, as if it hurt her as much as it might hurt them.

But soon the street that the sneering patrons called Saddlesore was behind her and she was on another street, a street that was a little brighter. She felt that it was easier to breathe.

The Antean Inn was up ahead, with its happy little sign of a giant green pony with a mop of hair towering over a little farmhouse. She liked the sign. The giant pony was a myth, obviously, but he smiled and the little pony coming out of the farmhouse was waving to him. She wished he was real. What a strange thing that would be, to see giants in the land! Giants that smiled and waved and were your neighbor. Most of the giants in this world did not smile or wave, and they were not the neighborly type, in her experience.

When she entered the warm little pub, she was greeted by at least a dozen voices. The cleaning lady from down the street said something in her strange northern argot which she did not understand, but she smiled regardless .A greeting is a greeting, and she accepted it. The other barmaids chirped at her--she enjoyed that mental image for a moment, as a few of them were pegasi--and she responded much in kind, her voice light as clouds and bright as the sun. Their genuine cheer at seeing a friend washed over her. She felt better. It would be a good day, she thought.

And it was. She worked in the late mornings and early afternoons normally. She worked nights when she had to, but she preferred not to. She had things to do at night, she said, or she needed her sleep. Health concerns, she would say with a wave, and give a little smile. She knew it made her seem just a little bit more fragile, that smile. She was good at it.

There were things one learned living as a transient that were miraculously useful living a normal, settled life. Lightness of navigation she had learned, and not once did she stumble along the floor, even in the crowds of laughing ponies. No lunch crowd took the edge off of her streetborn alertness, nor did her sharp sight miss anything. But she needed no tense watchfulness. A transient, a tramp, she knew how to appear nonchalant. A vagabond running with the land knew how to hide weakness, potential or actual.

But mostly she just enjoyed her job. History was never dead, but for the moment simple enjoyment was enough.

Lunch came and it went, there was more beer than before the collapse. It was one of the few things that managed to flow in troubled times. Oh, sure, ponies talked here and there about there being a shortage, but anypony working in a tavern could tell you without a shadow of a doubt that there was no such thing. Some taverns and bars just charged more now cause they were nervous and they could. Of course, this was because few knew about the caskhalls. She knew about them. They were like wine cellars, and she knew quite a bit about those. She had a warm place in her heart for dark, quiet, safe wine cellars.

The afternoon creeped in as it tended to, like a foal on his way to school after a beautiful summer. It was a good day indeed: the sun had been up all day. That was becoming more rare. Winter, on top of the peculiar state of the world, had made a good sunny day even more of a blessing.

Personally, she preferred the evening. Afternoon was just too hot. The sun left the highest place in the sky only to feel somehow hotter, and her uniform never seemed to fit as well after two compared to how it felt at nine in the morning.

“Amity, you still living on the other side of that eyesore?” grumbled the pony at the bar. He was large, and his voice always seemed muffled by a mustache she found highly unusual.

Amity Fields. That was her name. Twenty four, single, spoke with a slightly rustic accent that became more noticeable with heightened emotion. Bright blue ice eyes, shades of green for mane and coat, like a big bush. Smiled a lot. She thought these things rapidly. That was who she was.

She spoke as Amity. “Yessir. Still living in old lady Saffron’s building.”

“Lady,” scoffed the stallion as if that was the biggest lie he’d heard all day. To be fair, he hadn’t had many drinking ponies today so it was possible it was the most stretched truth he’d heard all day.

Amity thought Saffron was nice. In a cranky, old sort of way.

“It’s cheap,” she said with Amity’s characteristic optimism shining through with a smile that was double-meant. “It’s convenient for me, and it’s not so bad. Any place can be a good place if you make it good.”

That part she believed. That last part. Her apartment’s cheapness was not in question, but its convenience was debatable.

She felt more and more alive. Everyone here was happy, even with the outside so close. The barmaids chattered when the lunch crowd cleared out. The old ponies smoking their long pipes in the corner, sitting in their accustomed places, the bar keep who treated Amity and the others like a great herd of sisters, the regulars who knew names and enjoyed banter over hayfries and dark brews… there was an easy, rich flow of affection in the Antean.

She hummed as she wiped the tables down.

Time continued, as it always did. She swept, she cleaned, she walked food out and she served drinks when the sun began to fall.

When night came, the atmosphere changed. It became less like a happy family outing and more like a race. The ponies came in from the streets, putting off the work of day and slipping into worn booths, clutching cold mugs and complaining.

Marigold came to relieve her an hour before the first hints of the dinner rush. She said goodbye to all of her coworkers, who smiled and chirped, and to the barkeep, who told her to look after herself, and the patrons who did not seem to mind her going.

It was time for dinner, wasn’t it? Amity disappeared. She had never truly been there, anyhow, had she? Just a mask, a coat one put on and then could slouch out of at will.

The pony who wore a cloak called Amity smiled as she stepped out into the darkening streets. The sun was gone, just a hint now, and the street was filling up. She licked her lips. She never had a lunch break, because she didn’t want one--she would eat later, she had explained with Amity’s smile. Always later.

She was so very hungry.

She felt it more and more these days as heat and an aching emptiness. It was a little like how the throes of sexual need struck the ponies around her. She knew what that was, but did not experience it as they did. They felt it in their loins, but she felt a tightness in her chest. Like a hot vacuum, she felt her hunger. She felt it along her tongue, long, pointed, coming out as hot breath. She had only sipped. She could not say why, but she had not drunk deep. But it was time now.

The wearer of the Clock took a deep breath, tried to steady herself. It would not do to pant like an animal in heat on the street. She hoped no one had seen. Some things were hard to explain. She knew this painfully well.

She walked down the street, breathing steadily but deeply. Where, where, where? Anywhere could do, but tonight she was starving. She chuckled to herself. She was hungry for something wholesome, which ruled out going to about half of her haunts. That meant a neighborhood. A nice stroll through a residential zone, like any pony might take.

It took a few moments, but she found a perfect street. Idyllic, well-lit, safe and warm. Perfect. She walked under the lights, looking from side to side.

There.

A direct observer would have seen what happened next as one saw a dream--impossibility that happened anyway. One a smiling Amity walked the street. She became haze, a blur. She was gone--it took the single blink of an eye.

She was herself now. She was Ixil, and Ixil laid flat on the sloping roof of a family home, and she felt the little lives below. They were warm! So warm! Endless and burning like tiny suns!

She fed. She sated herself, dipping and absorbing a family’s love, strong as iron and life-giving like the sun which had left them all behind. She did not take--she tried never to take--but she skimmed and she let it passively sustain her.

It was not enough to feel the power and the godlike ecstasy of the old life. But it was good and she was happy and a little drowsy. She laid spent upon the roof, unwilling to move for a moment. She would not need to feed again until the next night, but that was alright. She had grown more accustomed to feeding regularly. She would not destroy lives to put off feeding for a week. Even in these days there was enough love and happiness and hope for one like her.

She slipped away, and became Amity again. Amity hummed, her pony throat approximating the eerie sing-song of the Hive, the great Gestalt. The song had no words. Most of the songs she knew had never had words. But pony songs often did. They were strange things, pony songs. So short, small, like little worlds cut off from the whole--

She noticed the guard come down the street and only with practice and skill did she avoid flinching away in mindless terror.

They passed by. Ixil thought briefly of two armies passing each other with no light, no moon. She tried not to hold her breath. But nothing happened. He had nodded to her as he might any other citizen, and she had nodded back. Nopony was coming for her. She was safe. She would go home, she would sleep--

When she turned towards the “eyesore” and home, they caught up to her.

She had a moment’s warning. Her ears, her eyes--her senses were sharp, yes, but in ways beyond a pony’s ken. She had a sense for danger, and she used it. But it was not enough. Not even a long warning would have helped her, for they moved swiftly. Her own swiftness, so greater than that of most ponies, was dwarfed in the same way she had lorded it over her neighbors in secret.

By the time she realized that they were upon her, it was almost over. They had hauled her into an alleyway. A hoof was over her mouth. She bit it, but barding repelled her serrated fangs. She tasted cold iron and writhed. Something--a hoof, a hammer, something--hit her between her back and she went sprawling. Amity vanished in a veil of green flame and Ixil was laid bare again, chitin cold in the winter. She stopped moving long enough to find her attacker.

Any hope of escape that she had vanished when she looked up. Any struggle she had left in her simply died. She looked into the face of a nightmare, a myth out of the darkness, something she had heard of in the Gestalt as only an echo of a memory of an echo.

It looked like a pony but was not a pony. The physical similarities to a batpony were there, yes, but they were immaterial. Eyes that were red as hell glared down at her, glowing faintly in the night. A sneer, fangs smaller but somehow just as frightening as her own, features somewhere between the fragile haughtiness of royalty and the hard lines and savagery of a beast. It was hungry. Ixil knew she was going to die. This thing would devour her.

“Are you done?” it asked. Its voice was a lie! Soft and feminine, like music. Like a brook. Ixil knew about traps and lies! It was a lie! This was a beast, she knew this deep down, in the dark parts of her mind where she herself was an animal on the run.

She did not respond.

“Looks like it,” said another voice, another mare. Not a mare. Huntress, monster.

“Can’t talk? I thought changelings could speak,” said the first. She bent down. Her eyes, like little fires, were right in Ixil’s sight now. She wanted to squirm.

“I can talk,” she said. Keep them talking. Stay alive.

“Oh. I guess you can.” The first smiled at her. “Well, good evening, miss…. Amity, is it?” The smile died. “Tell me something. Be honest or I’ll know. Trust me, I’ll know. Was Amity a pony you hurt? Did you steal her life?”

Ixil wanted to bite her face. Just a little bit. “No. Amity was not a pony,” she hissed back. “Amity is Ixil is Amity.”

“Ixil,” the first huntress said, letting it roll over her tongue.

“Well, rook, you done talking to her? Give her the choice and lets go. We need to make tracks.”

“Fine, fine. Sorry, it’s my first night on the job,” said the first hunter conspiratorially. She winked, which was rather non-threatening, Ixil had to admit. She admitted this grudgingly, of course, and with a dab of bewilderment. “Yeah. Whelp! Coming with us, you are. Sorry, no way you can avoid that. You can either go with your head in a bag draped over my shoulder, or you can go without a bag pumped full of sedatives. If it helps, I’ll cut an airhole in the bag.”

Ixil whimpered. Dangerous and confusing.

The huntress cocked her head to the side, looked up at her companion, and then sighed. “Look, its not bad. Just take the pills. Go quietly. I’ll carry you myself and you’ll be fine. I swear to you that you won’t be hurt. Alright? If you struggle, you will get hurt and this time it won’t be the nice rookie catching you, okay?”

Ixil had no choice. She took the pill when it was offered and waited for sleep. It came, without dreams.

TWILIGHT

Twilight stared at the wall.

She couldn’t sleep. Night was gone, the crew was sleeping all around her, and Twilight Sparkle wanted to sleep. Yet she could not force herself. Not even with magic. She’d tried. But an hour later, her eyes had opened.

Twilight knew what insomnia was like. She’d suffered it before. Insomnia felt like a waking dream, where nothing connected and everything was a sort of borderless haze, where you walked from room to room looking at nothing and waiting for sleep. But she did not feel that flat, miserable waiting. She felt…

What did she feel?

Maybe she was afraid. To sleep? That was stupid. She was not afraid to sleep.She was not afraid of how it was right on the horizon. Yes, it. Jannah.

When she woke, it would be visible at last. Small, way off in the distance, but undeniably there. And here at the end, she wasn’t sure how that should feel. Or even how it felt at all. It was so immense. But it was really too late to be thinking about that right now, wasn’t it? She groaned quietly into the darkness. Why couldn’t she just… not be here? Just for awhile. Everything kept dragging her back out and making her think and do and she would do and think but right now it was night and she just wanted to sleep. She would be responsible and wise and useful tomorrow. Why couldn’t her stupid body and her stupid brain understand this? It was very simple.

She pulled the pillow out from beneath her and dropped it on her face.

Yes, that was better. Lots better. It had covered a multitude of problems, both figuratively and metaphorically, as all of her problems were her self. Twilight Sparkle was smart like that.

She would just try magic again. It had worked before. But it took a little out of her and kind of defeated the purpose of resting if it only worked for an hour or so. But still, she had to to try. So she did. Her horn glowed in the darkness for a moment.

Twilight lay in the grass.

She blinked, and knew at once she was in the Dreaming. It was too bright--unnaturally bright. Everything about her felt too real, just a little too real, enough so that it was overwhelming. She had to focus on one thing at a time here.

And in that vein, she rose quickly. She found herself in the courtyard of a castle that she did not recognize. She gazed around, humming. Of course, Luna would be here. Twilight couldn’t yet will herself into Dreaming without her help… or could she? Twilight paused. Had she done this herself? But then why the castle? She hoped Luna was here. Dreamwalking was nice, but it was lonely if one could not leave the confines of one’s own dream.

But Luna was easily found. The courtyard was overgrown, and the castle itself was ruined--had been ruined, in fact, for centuries by Twilight’s estimate--and Luna had found an apple tree on the grounds. When Twilight approached, she was picking one of the shining red fruit from the boughs with a smile that could only be called cheeky.

It vanished quickly when Twilight greeted her. Luna jumped, the apple forgotten. Her wings flared out, and her horn glowed. Twilight felt the world around her tremble and for the tiniest second, she could almost feel herself bound in deep chains.

But then the feeling passed, and Luna relaxed. No, she slumped. “Twilight! By the Stars above me, your presence was not expected! You startled me profoundly.”

Luna sat back on her haunches and searched for her apple. Twilight, rooted to the spot, wasn’t sure if she was… welcome. Luna had attacked her. Just a little bit. Only now did she feel afraid. She wondered what would have happened if Luna had been a little more frightened. Those… the feelings of chains. What would have happened to this world? To herself?

“Are you… alright?” Luna asked her. Twilight realized that she’d spaced out again. Dreams reflected the outside world. Art reflects life, she thought in Celestia’s voice.

“If I startled you, you startled me. I’m sorry,” Twilight said, shaking her head. “I just… wait. How…? But you brought me here, didn’t you?”

“I swear to you on my sister’s--”

“Please don’t.”

“--majestic white fine. It’s not really white anyhow. Ponies these days.” She bit down on her apple. “Even a fright will not deter me. You know, I do love apples. I didn’t bring you here. On the contrary, my bosom companion,” she continued, rising and walking towards Twilight, “I must confess that I am very, very confused as to how you arrived here. This dream should have been closed.”

“Closed?”

Luna seemed lost in thought for a moment. “It is closed, I have just checked. Yes, closed. I may lock dreams from outside interference. Very useful, believe me! Considering what once roamed the aether and stalked the dreams of mortals… and what may yet still. It is an old trick, but it does have limits. For instance,” she gestured to the castle’s courtyard, “I must be within a dream to seal it, and whilst the seal is there I cannot escape. To leave, I must first undo the seal. It takes time, and I am vulnerable.”

“Couldn’t you just break out?” Twilight asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Alas, no. I have tried, but magic is not so precise as you and my sister like to think. The world, in fact, is not so neat.” She smiled. She took another bite, swallowed, and then looked Twilight over. Closely. Twilight flushed a bit.

“Uh, what--”

“You are Twilight, aren’t you? I doubted, but you seem in every way either the most perfect of illusions or my own Twilight. My beautiful lover, it has been so very long since you shared my bed,” she added, her voice changing. It was so obviously fake, so obviously over the top.

Twilight fell backwards, scrambling, confused and horrified. “Luna, what? I--hold on, what? Are you--”

Luna fell to the ground, apple once again forgotten, laughing loudly. She rolled, tears streaming from her eyes as Twilight recovered her now shattered dignity. “One last chance! An illusion would simply parrot and adapt to my suggestion that thou and I had--oh, my sides!” Finally, she lay on her back and breathed deeply.

“Luna, you really freaked me out. It’s me.” Twilight frowned. “You could have just believed me, you know.”

“If it was indeed you,” Luna countered. “You admit that this is odd.”

“Yes.”

“But if you were truly an illusion, I would know. To be honest, I will be very concerned about this later. At the moment… I am glad to see you. Come lie in the grass? It is awfully comfortable.”

Twilight did so. Not reluctantly, but feeling a bit silly. Luna was right--it was nice and soft, and there was even a slight breeze. The sky was full of big, puffy, beautiful clouds. Great towers of them, even.

“What is this place?” Twilight whispered, as much to herself as Luna. She felt like being quiet here. It felt… it felt like nothing bad had ever happened here. Ever. It had never been anything but a ruin.

“It is probably gone now,” Luna said. Twilight felt the barest tinge of sadness in the Aether. “This is where Celestia and I played when we left the Well behind. You know we are not born as foals, yes?”

“You mentioned that before.”

Luna nodded. Her mane spooled about her like a dark halo in the soft, green grass. “Well, I have said we were born adults, but that is not entirely true. My mind, firstly, was not a child’s mind--but it was no true mare’s mind. Too empty, too vacuous.”

“I can’t think of you as being vacuous,” Twilight said, smiling. “You’re so focused.”

“I am distracted now. How ironic,” Luna countered, softly. “But I was also different. Hm. I will show you.”

She rose, and while Twilight looked on, she changed. She shrank--her wings and horn became smaller, her long legs still long but now they seemed less regal and more… adolescent. Her face softened, and her mane was short now. Twilight oggled. She looked younger. Much younger. Nineteen? No, maybe? Ageless, but young. And her mane! Like some tomboy at school! Twilight laughed. “Wow,” she said.

“What a grand reaction,” Luna groused. “A laugh and an offhanded ‘wow’.” She posed. “Come now, are we not the very image of youthful joy, of all things carefree and courageous?”

Twilight smiled. “An image, to be sure.”

“Bah.” Luna laid down again, a little closer this time. She did not change back to her older self. “I was a child. This was where I played. It is in the west. If there were time, we could see if it stood, but I doubt it. The creche lives on in my mind, regardless, and that is good.”

“You do look nice though. It’s an obviously younger Luna,” Twilight said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “But I can’t pinpoint an age.”

“Few could.”

Twilight smiled. “This is a nice place. I like it a lot. Were the apple trees there when you were young?”

“Aye,” Luna replied. “They were, and I did love them. There are others outside. I planted a whole orchard. It was a right mess, I confess. The lines were haphazard, but the apples were good.”

Twilight closed her eyes. What was this like? The turn from spring to summer, she thought immediately. The grass near the road to Ponyville. Applejack and Rainbow Dash in some silly play argument over some feat of athleticism, Rarity and Fluttershy chattering on over tea on a neatly placed blanket. Pinkie Pie doing cartwheels and Spike being impressed by said cartwheels. And Twilight, sunning herself, feeling drowsy in the sun. As she often did.

Luna spoke. Her voice was slower, lazier, at ease. “I am amazed--truly!--at your time, Twilight. Such wonders, and yet I am told that you no longer roll upon the prank like yon cats are wont.”

“What?”

“You’ve never rolled in the grass, then?”

Twilight laughed. “I mean, I did as a child, but--”

Luna bumped into her, and when Twilight opened her eyes she found that the princess of the night and stars, the shephard of the moon, Luna Songbourne… was rolling in the grass with a fool’s smile. Like a foal.

Twilight laughed earnestly, without fear. She felt younger herself.

“Well, come on!” Luna said. Twilight joined her without a second thought.

“You seem younger,” Luna said.

“I feel a little younger. I feel like I’m a teenager again, except I’m a little happier than back then, and a lot more energetic. I wasted quite a few nice summer days back in the day.”

“Ah, but the acquisition of knowledge is not a waste, my dear friend!” Luna wobbled.

Twilight took a leap of faith. Her hooves found the step across the divide, and Luna clapped for her. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Bravo! You have braved these stairs like the warrior you are!”

Twilight stuck her tongue out. “Where are we going?”

“I wanted to explore the keep, and you tagged along,” Luna said. “You didn’t bother to ask before, so I figured you would eventually.”

Twilight fell into line as Luna proceeded. The keep was tall, its walls fallen but not uniformly. The stars were a maze of hazards, but they proceeded without a scratch or with any sense of peril. Twilight, not content to follow all of a sudden, moved up and walked by Luna’s side. “I’m really glad I found you.”

“Hm?” Luna stopped, and Twilight felt a little surprise in the Aether.

“Oh, I meant… I was having trouble staying asleep. I’ve woken up all night and this is the longest I’ve managed to stay asleep… I’m glad. I was worried I would be exhausted.”

Luna seemed to understand. She smiled. “I am glad to be of service,” she said with a little bow.

Twilight snickered. “So formal, have we not earned a little easy companionship?”

But this seemed to mean something different. Luna’s eyes bulged for a moment almost comically, and then she turned around. “Ah, but we have a ways to go.”

“So, you think that my need may have been the trick?” Twilight asked. “Like, if I’m following you, I tricked myself into coming here somehow because my subconcious knew it work?”

“I know little of the psychological arts these days.”

“Science. It’s a science.”

“They were not divided when I was sent away.”

“That’s right,” Twilight said, mostly to herself. “It’s strange to think that philosophy--” she stepped gingerly over a rather sinister looking crack in the masonry--”and science were all just philosophy one way or the other, back then.”

“I wonder if it was such a good divorce,” Luna said.

“Hm?”

“Do you wonder sometimes, if reduction does not, well, overlimit?” Luna asked.

Twilight frowned. “Elaborate.”

Luna nodded, and then looked about. “I think this is the way. There’s an observatory up here…”

Twilight blinked. She grinned. “And I don’t suppose you could make night come?”

Luna grinned. “Absolutely.”

And Twilight did a little dance of victory in the manner of a sprightly child. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Please, lead the way. Also, you still have to explain.”

“Well, I was baffled by this idea when I awoke, that only those statements that could be empirically verified were meaningful--”

“But you see, the field of opinion is rather wide,” Twilight said, shrugging. “The Positivists really don’t have that much to say these days. I’m a scientist and a thaumaturge, but beyond a simple rationalism, I have issues with that sort of thing.”

They sat against the wall in the grand observatory. Or, well, it had been grand. Perhaps. Now it was only a moderately large room with an ancient telescope that seemed to Twilight to be the epitome of mystery. It was ancient, obviously so. It was also vastly more advanced than she had anticipated. The excitement of youthful stargazing was coming back to her.

“I think I begin to understand. My reading was a bit out of date, I see.”

“Subjectivity as the basis of truth is a more modern concept, to be fair,” Twilight said. She paused. “Well. Kind of. Newly fashionable, maybe? Certainly reformulated.”

“I did not know you read the philosophers until now, Twilight. I thought your learning was more grounded, or magical.”

“Well, really it is. I majored in Thaumaturgy after all,” Twilight added brightly. “But I read other things. I make it a point of honor to read a little of everything. From the worst to the best. I have to collect it all. Somepony put a bit of themselves into it, and… its sad, how the old books fade away. So many ponies disappear and no one remembers them. I want to try. For a little while. Before I go.”

Luna nodded. “That is a beautiful sentiment.”

Twilight felt her face and found it warm. She looked away, but smiled all the while. “Thank you.”

“That time that you speak of is a long way off,” Luna said. “I promise you.”

“I believe.”

“Good!” Luna sprang up, and grinned. She was young again. “Come, the great telescope awaits!

SWEETIE

Sweetie steeled herself. She took a deep breath, felt air filling her lungs, and let it go slowly. Rarity had taught her that deep breathing could calm even shattered nerves. Count to five, Rarity had said. A Lady, if you forgive me saying so, must always appear calm. Breathe, breathe slowly, and then let it go. Look the part--

“And soon it shall not be a part,” Sweetie whispered.

“You say something?” Scootaloo asked.

Sweetie glanced over at her. Scoots had taken her new role surprisingly seriously. When Sweetie had come looking for her in the early morning, she had found her friend polishing her light, colorful barding. Singing, unfortunately, but Sweetie knew better than to say anything. Sometimes a voice’s beauty wasn’t in its ability to hold a tune but in its willingness to try to hold one.

“Nothing really,” Sweetie said. She sighed. Deep breathing helped, but it did not make one’s problems vanish.

“You’re gonna do great, Sweetie,” Scootaloo said. “Seriously. You’ve got this.”

“For the record, I agree with your marshal,” Head Maid added. “The last week of preparation has put us into a good position. If anything, we have been far better accepted than anyone could ever have expected.” Sweetie noticed how she paused just a beat too long. It was a small thing, but she noticed. “You will be accepted into the highest council of the land in a fraction of the time it has taken some of the greatest ponies to walk these halls. My lady, please, keep your wits about you.”

Scootaloo shook her head. “Nah, she’s got it. What are they gonna do, sneer? They can’t do anything. Luna’s got us.”

“The Princess does indeed, ah, have us,” Head Maid acknowledged and then pursed her lips. “And yet, and yet. You will be best served by caution regardless. If nothing else, we would rather not bother her overmuch.”

“Agreed.” Sweetie looked to Scootaloo. “Thanks, Scoots. I wish I could take you in with me.”

“Yeah, I’d rather be there too,” Scootaloo replied. She frowned and looked away.

They had already arrived, but Sweetie Belle had asked for a moment to prepare herself. To that effect, they had stowed away in an unoccupied cranny. Sweetie idly wondered what purpose it had, but regardless she was glad for the quiet privacy.

“I’ll be back soon. Well,” she chuckled and then continued. “Not soon. It’s going to take forrreeevvver. But as soon as I’m done listening to the most boring thing ever, I’ll be back. You’re gonna be busy while I’m gone, right?”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo said.

“Take AB to lunch or something,” Sweetie continued. “Stay busy. Don’t worry, okay? I know you’re going to.”

“It just sucks, Sweets. Sucks that I can go in there with you. I mean, I’m not an idiot. I know this is really important and I know you’re nervous.”

“I know you aren’t dumb. I’ve never thought so,” she replied. She smiled, as softly as she could. It was time to leave. “I’m serious, try not to worry too much. Nothing is going to happen to me. If I make a fool of myself, I’ll come home and bitch about it, okay? We’ll figure it all out. But nopony is going to touch me while I’m in chambers. Promise.”

Scootaloo grunted.

“If it would please my lady, I could keep watch for the two of you,” Head Maid said flatly. Sweetie glared at her, and Scootaloo fidgeted. For her part, Head Maid seemed untroubled by both of these things. Sweetie couldn’t tell if she was serious sometimes. “To keep your dalliances sub rosa as it were.”

“It’s… uh,” Scootaloo, so easily embarrassed. Surprising, but true. And so selective, that embarrassment.

What the hell? Why not? Sweetie nuzzled Scootaloo, cheerfully touching their noses together, and her marshal went stiff with surprise. “No one sees, I promise. I won’t let your secret out,” she added in a little singsong. Scootaloo growled.

“It’s not… ugh. You two are lame.”

“And you’re a fillyfooler.”

“That’s a stupid word.”

“I concur,” Head Maid said, with a kind of dead seriousness that was impossible to take, well, seriously.

Sweetie laughed. “Yeah, it is. Wish me luck. Time to go.”

“Good luck,” Scootaloo said forlornly. “I guess I’ll go count hoofblades or something.”

Sweetie began her retreat. “Go bother Bloom! Seriously, now you can tease her about you-know-who like three times as much!”

That seemed to work. A little. “Huh. Guess so.”

And she was gone. Sweetie approached the guarded door. One of them looked at her, seemed confused, and then spoke.

“My lady? Lady… uh…”

“Belle.” Sweetie said in a very different voice. A lower one. Her Rarity voice. “Sweetie Belle, of the same house, coming in place of my sister Rarity who is serving the realm abroad.” She gave the guard a firm and iron smile. “If you would be so kind as to be the one who announces me?”

“Oh, yes’m,” the guard said, practically tripping over himself. Hm. Not bad. I knew practicing that voice was a good idea. Scoots can suck it, she thought with a little satisfied smile.

The morning session was not as boring as she had expected. It was open to all of the Houses, as well as to the upper echelons of Canterlot’s merchants and her leading citizens--there was no voting or litigation involved. Rather, it was an open forum. In theory, any citizen owning a home in the city (and in the realm at large) could attend and bring an issue to the assembled nobility at large. Further, it was a rare moment of truly even-field play: no noble, no matter how great or powerful his house, could silence even the lowest dirt farmer who had gained the floor by proper procedure.

If anything, Sweetie would have found this bedlam rather fun, if the situation had been different. There were only a few commoners here today, and all but one were from the larger mercantile joint-stock ventures still operating in the city. That one (not including herself, she realized. She had already begun to think of herself as… something. Nobility.) was rather loud and incensed.

The morning had passed mostly with this one pony, Stardust, trying to find some support for her complaint: there was a new gang of some sort in the lower city, very organized and mysterious. They wore white, and talked to a pony like strange itinerant preachers. Sweetie was reminded of the wandering priestesses of Gaia that Apple Bloom had told her about once, the ones who called earth ponies down to the river to sing and remember their ties to the land.

But Stardust contended these new folks were nothing like those itinerants. Ponies had disappeared, some only moments after talking to these newcomers. No great robberies, no arson, no extortation (that could be proved) had been traced to them, but missing ponies was no simple thing. Their rhetoric was confused but revolutionary. Violent, even. Often violent.

The reaction to her tales was mixed. Some of the smaller houses seemed enraptured. Sweetie herself felt a sinking feeling. Luna had not revealed all of her cards, so as to keep some things in as few minds--so easily plundered!--as possible, but she had mentioned something like this.

“The evil that lives beneath creation works through others, a snake that slithers into puppets formed like ponies, hollowed out stallions and mares and foals. It invades dreams and thoughts. I am not sure of all of its ways. Perhaps it could corrupt by words?”

Luna’s voice left her. She ground her teeth together. Well, at least that bit made sense now.

None of the great houses seemed to care. Houses Epona and Iron asked questions, but mostly to Sweetie it seemed they did this more out of a sense of duty to the whole process than out of any actual interest. Lord Blueblood--that Blueblood, the one her sister had fumed about so long ago--openly mocked the commoner. It made Sweetie want to levitate him and drop him on his stupid overfed ass from high up. To this slime, Stardust was barely a pony. She was just a commoner after all, wasn’t she? Dirty, uncivilized, without graces or money or title, and thus too ignorant to know her own business.

Sweetie never wanted anypony to ever think of her or her sister that way. Ever.

When Sweetie had asked Head Maid what to expect, she had received one very clear directive: never mention Luna. Outside of that, Head Maid had said that she should speak. At least a few times. Don’t be invisible, that had been the idea. But don’t try to clamber up on top of everypony either.

So she waited for a good moment. Lord Dawn asked Stardust, who still held the ancient medal that bore Celestia, the symbol of the right to speak, if any of this had anything to do with them. Who cared? Wasn’t she being a bit presumptuous? A few ponies ran away from home or joined a club, or maybe just moved. It was a big city, filled beyond reasonable capacity. There was no crime to be seen, no conspiracy. Just a foolish mare who thought too much.

When he finished with a sweeping gesture, there were a few chuckles. Sweetie stood immediately, wincing. Stardust was a bit too distraught, a bit too emotional. Dawn was a bit too funny, a bit too much like one of those rock stars who can get a crowd to watch his every motion. She felt bile rise in her throat and burn.

“Arbiter, if you would, I would like to ask a few questions, as well as make a general comment,” she said with as steady a voice as she could manage.

“We welcome both,” said the old pony who sat on the high bench. He wore a wig--she found it ridiculous--and seemed about to nod off to his final sleep at any moment.

“Firstly,” Sweetie began after a deep breath, “I would think that the concerns of any pony would be worth listening to, at the very least. Assuming the pony in question to be reasonable, sane, and willing to tell us, obviously. I would remind certain ones among us that nary a pegasus waffles in the wind that we should not be concerned.” She smiled. It was a cold smile. “But I understand that strength of heart and character are not as equally distributed to ponies as I would like. Perhaps, like rain, it avoids the heights and floods the valleys.”

If there was chattering she did not notice, because she focused on Stardust. She was a batpony, the same height as Sweetie, a similar build. She stared Sweetie down. Exhausted. She’s exhausted, Sweetie realized.

“You have good reason to believe these ponies are dangerous. You’ve seen them on multiple occasions with multiple ponies that later went missing. How long have they been gone?”

“It depends. None of them have come back, but some have only been gone a day or two. The longest time is a month or so.”

“What do they talk about? You mentioned it was strange. What do they say?”

She danced from hoof to hoof, as if not wanting to say. “It’s… uh…”

Sweetie waved. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. I just want to know.”

“Sometimes they just talk about how bad the streets have gotten. They want them to be better…” she began. A murmur rose, but Sweetie focused on Stardust’s eyes. There were only two ponies here. Stardust continued. “But they talk about how it isn’t just bad ponies doing bad things. That someone is making them… no, more like… I don’t know. They talk as if all of the crime in the lower tiers is all the fault of the highest one.”

More voices, angry and incredulous. Sweetie continued staring. “And what do they want to do with that?”

“I don’t know. They never say.”

“It’s almost as if we’re all connected, living in the same city in everything,” Sweetie said, loudly, to the air while staring a fuming Lord Dawn down. It was easy to hate that face. But she continued. “We don’t have enough information to act efficiently. Would you think that investigating the manner, simply a concerted effort by the denizens of the Celestial tier to gather facts, would be warranted?”

Stardust nodded.

“I think so too,” Sweetie said. “I’m done. Thank you, Stardust. Your honor,” she said, nodding to the Arbiter. She sat.

Lunch involved a lot of mingling, and Sweetie Belle did alright. At least, he felt like she did alright. Only a few sought her out to talk to her, all of them minor houses. They seemed friendly enough--she had met a few of them already. A few of them mentioned her indirect address in the general assembly, and they spoke of it glowingly. She felt that it had not been persuasive at all, but she supposed that anything said against somepony that you hated sounded like music in your ears.

On the advice of Head Maid, she inserted herself briefly into other circles of larger houses and spoke to most of the mercantile representatives. All the while, also as she had been advised, she remembered names and tied them to impressions. Few if none of these seemed to resent her presence. While no house who could afford a true compound or keep went out of its way to speak to her, none of them rejected her. Neutrality, but a friendly sort. It was a start. A good one, even.

Lunch passed and the High Assembly began. The Houses Major gathered in another room, each with their own place set in a circle.

Sweetie walked among the grand chairs, raised above the ground slightly. They were really beautiful. She had to remember what they looked like. Applebloom could make something just as grand as this.

But she also counted them. One was missing.

Sweetie blinked, confused.

“Have you noticed yet?”

Sweetie turned. Lord Dawn smiled at her. Blueblood was at his side. It was Blueblood who had spoken.

“Perhaps,” Sweetie said, cautiously, but also automatically. She knew exactly what he meant. Immediately, it came to her as if it were lightning striking a tree. Burning it. She felt oddly cold. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

She was trapped. They wanted a reaction. What kind?

She honestly didn’t know. If she was indignant, would they respect her demands or mock her for a childish display? If she was cool and collected, would they say she was weak or accept her patience?

Lord Dawn was grinning besides Blueblood, waiting. What a joke he had helped in! What a good way to show an upstart to talk to him so rudely.

“Why, there seems to be a chair missing,” Dawn said at last, his giddy cheerfulness shining through. Blueblood glanced at him.

Sweetie Belle’s mind raced. Jokes. A laugh. “Oh!” She turned, and made a show of counting. “You’re right. Forgive me, you caught me quite by surprise. I’m so glad you noticed. It would be dreadfully embarrassing if one of us found himself without a place to park himself.”

Blueblood’s smile froze. Then it died. He tried to resurrect it, but something was different now. Dawn kept on babbling.

“But there’s just enough for those Houses that are supposed to be here, aren’t there? All the ones that deserve to have a seat in these chambers have a seat, don’t they?” he said.

Blueblood and Sweetie Belle realized together that the joke was not a joke anymore. It was an embarassment. Dawn had been too loud and gone too far. They locked eyes. Blueblood shrugged and left. Dawn looked at his retreat with confusion.

“Hey, where--”

“My lord, I believe he’s off to his seat,” Sweetie Belle, and idea overtaking her. “As I am to mine.”

She plopped herself right down on the chair marked with the Dawn heraldry. The Lord of the House stared at her. The action had drawn attention. Everypony in the chamber knew what had occurred. Why not say something? Because they were all curious as to what she would do. And so she did it.

“It’s very kind of you, really, to alert me to this accident. You saved me quite a bit of embarrassment, and I’m sure you were only ever motivated by the most gentlemanly and honorable motives. Especially in offering me your seat to replace my own, which has been so rudely forgotten, of course by accident. I accept, obviously.” She leaned on one hoof. Acting, acting. “And you, being a gentlecolt, offering your seat… I am very impressed at how generous you can be. A lesser lord would have greeted me with a foal’s vindictive glee, but you have safeguarded my dignity. Thank you. Sincerely.”

He gaped. Across the circle, the Lady of House Rowan-Oak snickered. Everyone heard it. Sweetie Belle smiled at Dawn the way that one might smile at an intruder at the end of one’s rapier. Right, of course, before stabbing them. She waited, and when it became clear he would only humiliate himself, he left to find the chair made for her that he had stowed away.

IXIL

Ixil groaned.

The sedative had been a pill, innocuous, simple, and brutally effective. It had only taken a few moments to work--she suspected it was magic. Now, as it wore off, her whole body felt sluggish and drugged. It took a lot to knock a Changeling out, but when you did… A Changeling did not wake quickly. They lingered in dreams.

But there had been no dreams. She realized this and shivered. It was… confusing. Frightening.

Her legs did not work. This was not mere sleepiness or the hazy moments after waking. They physically refused. Her whole body did. Damnable drugs. But the hunters had not harmed her. Ixil grimaced, and was glad that if nothing else, her face still obeyed. What frightening things. It had not been so much what they looked like so much as the aura they gave off. She wondered if it was because she was a changeling. Would other ponies notice? Was this an instinctive emotion preserved in the Gestalt? Perhaps. Probably. It still felt like her own unique fear.

She let out a low whine. She chittered, as changelings were wont to do. It helped to make noise, somehow. No, it did not make her feel better. Not really. But it was somehow good.

She was in a cell. It was well furnished--a real bed, a spartan sink. A privy, she thought, but wasn’t sure. But the bars were there as well. Beyond them, her nightvision had no need to adjust to the lack of light and see a surly guard in Lunar barding. So. Luna who saw all things had finally seen her.

Ixil knew she was going to die, but a new thought occured to her now. What if they didn’t simply let her die? What if they paraded her out in the streets? Don’t hate and fight, look, a new thing for you to all hate together! The monster in your midsts! She wanted to cry, but Changelings cannot cry. But they can sing so she sang. There were no words, only her voice without the burden of language, so foreign, so alien to ponies but the only one she had that was really her own.

When she was done she laid on the floor. She thought of moving to the bed, now that her legs were moving, but decided against it. They would just come for her soon, anyway. This was temporary. They hadn’t even bothered to light more than a few candles.

She did not know how long she laid there before She arrived. The only pony, in retrospect, that could arrive.

Luna entered without an ounce of ceremony. The Princess waved the guard away with a “thank you for your vigilance” and sat in front of the bars. She did not light any additional candles. She didn’t speak or do anything at all. She simply… watched.

And Ixil watched back, knowing her eyes shone in the darkness like little fires.

Luna cleared her throat. She made several attempts at saying something, always coughing and wincing. Ixil stared, confused. One moment the Princess was all steel and ice and the next she was… well, not intimidating at all--

“Ah, yes, I remember again,” Luna chittered in Ixil’s creche-tongue, the insectoid chittering that she had never heard a pony make.

If Ixil had been standing she would have fallen in shock. “But how?” she asked in the same way, frightened.

“When you live as… ah, as long as I do, you learn many things,” Luna said. “I know many things about you. Some of them approximate, some of them exact. Your name is Ixil. Is this correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Luna coughed. “I should have brought water. This hurts my throat a bit, but it will not stop me.”

“You shouldn’t be able to do this at all!” Ixil said, a bit too loudly. “How? No normal pony can do this. They aren’t built the right way.”

“Who said alicorns were built the same way as regular ponies?” Luna asked. She smiled. In the darkness, Ixil saw her teeth like a flock of sheep rolling down a hill. Or gravestones. Honestly, she was too flustered to handle metaphors. Or images. “But, if it will calm you, I have dealt with changelings many times. Most of those times involved… violence.” She sniffed. “A few required discussion. I can think of a very few that were actually rather pleasant. So I learned. It was a little difficult, I admit.”

Ixil didn’t even know where to begin to respond. This was not how she had seen this conversation happening.

“I do not understand,” she chittered.

“I know. This is a bit unorthodox. I wanted to ask you a few questions. We’ve known of your presence in the city for the last four years. When did you arrive?”

Ixil groaned. Four years. She had tried to be careful… she had tried, honest she with the Gestalt she had left behind! “The wedding.”

“And you escaped the destruction of that army how?”

Ixil barked a laugh. “I was in a wine cellar. I was seperated from my wing during the first rush and crashed in an alley. When I woke, I wandered until I found a house. When the Hive was defeated, I hid as Amity and said I was hiding in the safest place I could find. I had hit my head, you see?” Ixil rapped on her head softly with a chitinous hoof. “Yes? I did not need to act afraid.”

“You were afraid.”

“Yes.”

“And why have you stayed? Because you would be a traitor for not joining in the exile?”

Ixil shook her head. She chittered, but not saying any words. Just a sort of uncertain noise, a way to fill a void. “I wanted to go back, but now I do not. I would be welcomed as a long lost sister, princess.” The word was not princess. She hoped that Luna understood. There was no word for princess. There was only broodmother or queen. “The Gestalt sings to us, and we sing back. We dream together and wake to find ourselves still dreaming. Even now I am dreaming. Dreaming is everything. We feed on the happiness of others and find our dreams are bright, we starve and the dream becomes dim and it hurts us with its needs and its great hunger. There are dreams, and there is nothing else. But for me, who cannot touch the Gestalt as I once did, all of the dreams are my dreams.” She paused. “I like my dreams.”

“So you are no spy, no fugitive. Just a mare living in the city like any other,” Luna stated. She raised an eyebrow.

“I have an apartment and a job,” Ixil said as if that cleared the whole matter up.

Luna looked at her. Or rather, Ixil thought, the princess looked through her, as if she weren’t there at all. Could Luna see her as she really was? As a dream inside a shell? Would Ixil even want it to be seen, this private dreaming?

“My sister issued a pardon,” Luna began, “for all the changelings willing to identify themselves. We left the rest of them alone, unless they gave us a reason to detain them. You? I believe you. You indeed have an apartment, a job, and friends. You have favorite restaurants. You’ve even gone on a few dates, or at least, so the report says. Do you feed or do you skim?”

“Skimming is safe,” Ixil said. “Is sad when love is gone, it grows back slowly.”

“Acceptable. You will never feast here. Do you understand? To us it is punishable by… well. It is punishable.” Luna smiled. Ixil did not like that smile. “But you know that. And you have not done it, so I will not bother you about it anymore. So we may turn to the real reason my Duskwatch brought you here.”

Ixil’s wings fluttered. “What? I am not under arrest?”

“No.”

This time, she spoke in Equestrian. She was more used to it now. “Oh, thank you,” she said with a tongue not made for pony words. “You are merciful.”

“Sometimes. I brought you here so that you would know what I have not done. And… so you would have deniability. If you do not say yes, you may go, and you will have been picked up by us, so they will assume it was because you are a changeling. What they make of that? I care not. But your new home needs you, changeling. It needs the services only one of your kind can provide.”

“You need me to be somepony?” Ixil chittered.

“I need you to be yourself, or rather, Amity. Have you seen the strange ones who wear white?”

Ixil, startled, shrank back. “Yes! You want me to go to them? Ponies disappear… they vanish and never come back…”

“We need to know what they are doing. I think I know, but I need confirmation. I need to know when,” Luna said. She stomped on the stone. “I will not be blind. No longer. If you agree, the Duskwatch will help you join their ranks and will try to extricate you from their clutches in the event you are discovered.”

“Who are they?” Ixil asked. “They scare me.”

“Revolutionaries,” Luna hissed. “I have seen their types before. Ponies say the word freedom… they think that they know what freedom is, but what they want is license. They know nothing of what a republic looks like. That is what they are preaching, changeling. As if they know what that word means.” She ground her teeth together. Ixil scooted away. “As if they had seen the Federation with their own eyes and known its good soul… no, they are just clinging to anything that looks like hope in a vast darkness, but they will find that the Good Pony is not either of those things. You! You, Ixil, if you will aid Equestria, shall be the knife I set against their soft loins. I will be ready to plunge it right into them, cut up and spill their life on the floors of every market and in every dusty street. If they wish to buck me off my chair, they will be made to fight for it.”

Ixil thought, as she nodded dumbly, that Luna seemed like Chrysalis. Like Mother.

Luna smiled then, a grateful smile. She unlocked the door with her magic and beckoned to Ixil, who came out. They were close now. It felt a bit like standing next to the open maw of a tiger.

“If you will allow me, I will explain what I know. It occurs to me that a changeling knows little of revolution, or of any ideals it might have. You will need to know a bit, before we thrust you into the middle of it all.” And with that, she was led out into the winding catacombs below the palace, where Luna instructed her, and Ixil again felt she was with Mother, and that perhaps Luna was more like her than she thought. The Good Mother who taught and sang, and would slay without mercy anything which came into her Hive without her blessing. This was good. It was nice to be under Mother’s care again.

TWILIGHT

They looked up at the stars and Twilight felt… strange.

She already had felt strange, but this strange was different. There was anxiety, as before, but it tasted like other things. She was apprehensive, yes, but less. She thought of Jannah, but in her mind it had shrunk.

The strangeness was something like happiness. It was warm to the touch. It had made its nest in her heart like a foreign bird of paradise. If she reached out and touched it, feeling its warmth, she noticed that it was also shy and did not wish to be caught, pinned down, examined too closely.

This obviously made her want to examine it even more. Twilight thought that truth was interrogation and confession, either one or both.

So she chased it, and it fed her clues. That it wanted to be named, but would not name itself. That Twilight had to figure the world out for herself, that she had to find the truth that was true for her, for which she would sing or die. Morbid, but she felt that the warmth in her breast was important.

“It will be dawn for you, soon,” Twilight said once.

“I know.”

“Will you go?”

“Not right away,” Luna said. She sighed. It was such a heavy sigh for such a young and lithe form. “I have to raise the sun. It is still mine to do. But I will return. If you wish me too, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Luna, are you afraid of death?”

“Alicorns think about death constantly. I daresay we have thought more of death than all of the mortals that have ever been have thought about it.”

“The constellations are different now then they were for you.”

“Yes, partially because of my own influence.”

“So not totally.”

“They would shift on their own.”

“Would the sun and the moon move without Celestia and you to guide them?”

“Eventually. But the world would be different. No mare steps in the same river twice. It is a different mare and a different river everytime.”

“Who said that?”

“Someone. It was a long time ago.”

“If things can change, Twilight, perhaps the meaning they hold can change.”

“But how would you measure such a thing?”

“I suppose by experiencing it. In my day, experience was how one knew the world was real.”

“You know, Day Carts wondered if the world could be proven real, or if you could disprove that it was all a very intricate dream.”

“He sounds like a fool. I have seen the Dreaming and know the difference.”

“So, what’s that one?”

“That isn’t one at all, Twilight. But you see, the line I draw with this hoof? It goes… there, guess.”

“It looks kind of like a stick.”

“All constellations look like sticks.”

Twilight laughed. “Weird sticks, Spike said that once. What is it, Luna? What did you call it?”

“It was Bootes, the herdspony.”

“We still have one called that. It looks very different. You mean there are two? That’s amazing! I didn’t know. How old are these skies?”

“They are not old at all. They are young. A mare and a river, my friend.”

“You know, the only date I’ve ever been on was stargazing?”

“You speak the sooth?”

“The sooth,” Twilight said, giggling. “It was nice. He was a little too shy and I was a lot to inept at social interaction, but I’ll be damned if we didn’t mind at all.” She paused. “Also, he was a colt, and it would have to be a pretty special colt for me to be interested.”

Luna mumbled something that sounded pleased.

“Did you name this place?”

“Of course. And, of course, being as I was a child in the spring I named it after myself. Celestia rolled her eyes, but youth does not notice such things.”

Twilight laughed. “It seems fitting. Here you are again. I love it, Luna. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“How could I ever turn you away?”

“This feels like that night, that one date I had.”

“Do you like this night? I did not make it. This is one of the ones I remember, but…”

“No, not the night. Well, yes the night. Enjoying the stars and laying out next to a telescope. I like it. I enjoy… doing it with you, especially.”

“I am glad you that you found my younger form pleasing. Do you prefer it?”

“Not really. I like both. Younger you has its charms, but older you is the one that I always thought was grand and mysterious and full of…”

“Hm?”

“I’m not sure.”

“And you find my forms pleasing, hm? That is good to know. Time has not changed so much that a mare does not find herself flattered in every age that is and shall be.”

“Well, you know I think you’re beautiful. Surely you’ve felt that in the Aether. Have I never said?”

Luna hummed. “Perhaps, perhaps not. To hear a thing is to savor it, maybe. Thou are no burden to my ancient eyes either.”

“How kind.”

They laughed.

Have you ever asked yourself how connection to another mind is measured?

Had she weighed out the bonds of love? Could she measure them? Could they be inspected in situ, or dissected to discover their inmost secrets? If a light was shined upon these threads would they shine or remain dull, absorbing all light, ambiguous and uncertain to every faculty and to the knowledge of knowledge itself?

Chasing the lump in her throat, the longing in her chest, she found herself catching and releasing. Warmth became fire. It escaped, leaving a little of itself behind, little gifts.

And Twilight was no fool. She knew that she had felt this way before. She had felt some of this ease, some of this anxiety before--she had talked with Luna at length in the Dreaming and felt herself feeling much the same as she did now. She had read her letters underneath the birch and by a candle, she had feasted on stories and grown drunk on poetry written in tongues which perhaps only they remembered.

Before Ponyville, they had shared many days together in hope. Drank from the same wine at minor victory and mourned together in the terrible dark night of the soul as cities fell or turned their backs on their countrymen and were lost to silence. Those times had felt so intimate. Much as this did.

Twilight Sparkle had an idea of what it was she felt.

And that feeling was the most terrifying thing she had ever felt.

How did one wrestle with something that had no substance? How did one investigate something that was so elusive that to touch it was to see it wilt? Or, rather, something that you were afraid would wilt if you touched it, because Twilight could claim no certainty. Not now. Perhaps not ever. She had always known that anxiety was somewhere towards the center of life. Anxiety was as much the fear of the guillotine as it was the breathless anticipation of a foal at Hearth’s Warming. She felt a little of both. She felt potential--the potential for chance at all, the possibility of possibility.

She felt dizzy.

Anxiety. The dizzying height of freedom, the point at which all things done and undone are laid out and paths stretch out into the horizon. One could go any direction, try any route down. Crawl and carefully navigate, or be a boulder careening. But she found this mountain was hard going for the careful, always with another danger for the slow. The quick and the dead, the quick and the dead--she thought about that phrase a lot. She knew it meant the living and the dead--the quick meaning those with the quickening of life!--but she thought it was true as it was now understood. The quick and the dead.

She had never liked the idea of a leap of faith. You had to gather data. You had to calculate.

Yet Celestia had encouraged both in her. Learn, gather the lore and science and magic of all bygone times, forge new ones on the foundation of your intellect, she had been so very supporting of this.

Twilight, there will come moments in your life when you will have to stop thinking so very hard. I don’t mean you do foolish things… no, I take that back. I mean exactly that. If foolish is something spontaneous, something that is alive, then do that thing. A pony must learn to think, but most ponies already know how to feel.

“Princess, I know what emotions are. I have them, even, I promise!”

“Yes, Twilight. You are alive. You are a wonderful pony, and you are becoming a wonderful mare.” Twilight smelled a library where the sun shone in through high windows. “But you simply must learn not to simply be alive. You must live! Take a leap of faith. Talk to someone new, that’s the smallest sort of living I can think of, really. And I know how huge that is. Trust me, I too was a stranger to many once. My sister and I… well. I was once mostly alone in this world. If I had counted every risk, I would have never left my bed in a thousand years. If I had taken them seriously.”

“Luna,” Twilight said quietly, “I am glad you taught me to dreamwalk.”

“I was very glad that you wished to learn,” Luna said.

“And… thank you for letting me stay, again. For letting me sleep.”

“So close to Jannah, I had found you hard to pin down. But now you are easy to find. Strange, but I will accept any blessing.”

“Luna, did your sister ever tell you to take risks? Leaps of faith? Anything like that?”

Luna paused. She did more than pause, she hesitated. She rolled onto her side. It was very dark. There was not even a candle to be had--Twilight relied on her nightvision, which was surprisingly mediocre.

“She did, once or twice,” Luna allowed.

“I was thinking of that earlier.”

“Why? If I might ask.”

Twilight sighed. Do or do not, either way--regret. She’d read that somewhere. She believed it.

“Can I ask you a question, Luna? Honestly. And you answer me honestly. I know you will, I just want… to hear.”

“I give my most solemn vow. You have my word of honor.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Do you like me, Luna? You know what way I mean.”

She didn’t take a deep breath before saying it. In fact, she barely steeled herself at all. It just happened. The words left her as any other words might. They were alive in the air like fireworks, destructive and bright and… and…

“Twilight?”

“Luna?”

“Yes.”

Twilight shook a little. Yes. She had been right.

“Why?”

“There are a lot of reasons. I have been in love many times and still I cannot tell you all there is to know of it. Love is not… it is not a feeling, not totally. It isn’t a disposition, a sentiment, so much as it is an exchange. I could no more explain why I love you then I could explain who I am and what I am. I could say that I love you because of your earnest seeking heart, the way you smile when you discover something new, the way you became the friend of a lonely mare like myself lost and adrift in a new world… I could say many more things. Did I love you because of those, or because of love did I appreciate them twice as much?”

“I don’t know.”

“I also do not know.” Luna sat up. “Twilight, I did not plan to say this to you. I am… thou hast--you have caught me off guard. Very off my guard.”

“I know I have. I’m sorry, Luna.” Twilight also sat up. They sat facing each other in the dark.

“I have felt this way for some time,” Luna continued. “But the world was different, and I was afraid. I have been afraid every time, because love is not something one measures in ‘times’ or appearances. You were Twilight, and so I wanted everything to be perfect.”

Perfect. Then I will be perfect and Celestia will love me.

“I think I know what you mean.”

“Where are we? What now shall we do? Will there be a lovestruck confession under the stars? Shall you reject me, or shall I run? What story are we playing out?” Luna asked. Her words came quickly.

“This isn’t a story out of a book, Luna. It’s just… it’s you and me. Here. Do you think I’m upset?”

“I do not know. I fear you may be.”

“I’m not.”

“I am relieved. My attentions… I know that they can be burdensome.”

“Hardly. I’ve missed you.”

“I am glad to hear this.”

Twilight sighed. “I don’t really know what to do or say. I’m sorry, Luna. I’m not… not good at this sort of thing. I’m really, really not.”

“Is anyone? I think not. And I would know after so long, I think.” She smiled. Twilight made it out barely and it lifted her spirits a bit out of the muck of her own uncertainty. “What a world is this, love blossoming in the middle of battlefields, talks on the edge of hell, symposiums by the chopping blocks? What a world.”

“What a world.”

“Beautiful, yes. What do you feel? About me. I would ask you to do as I have done and be honest,” Luna said.

“I…” Twilight groaned softly. She regretted. There wasn’t enough time to prepare. What would she say? “I don’t… I don’t know. I love being with you. I like our talks and this dream has been the best I have had in… maybe forever. I’ve never been in love--”

“Please love me,” Twilight whispered. “Please love me, Princess. Please, I’ll do anything. I would be happy just to be your slave, to lick your heels. I will do anything. Please love me.”

“--but I think this may be just that,” she finished, a little breathless. Why now? Why remember that now?

“You are uneasy,” Luna said. Her voice… what was she thinking? Twilight couldn’t tell. She felt… she felt so little through the Aether now. Did Luna guard her heart? Did Twilight just not see?

“I’m scared,” Twilight said, practically spat. “I’m scared, Luna. What if I say yes, and this is all just… just the end of the world and danger and you leave me behind? Or I make the wrong choice? What if it’s the right choice, then what? A whole… a whole lifetime of being with someone, of walking right beside them… I don’t know. I’m just scared.”

Luna touched her cheek and Twilight shivered. When Luna retracted it with a look of alarm, Twilight grabbed her and held the hoof to her face. It was comforting. Her heart beat so fast in her tiny chest. She was so small. Luna towered over her, and Twilight wanted her to be that tall, imposing warrior, like a tree to hide in.

“I am not worth your fear, my love,” Luna said, and Twilight looked at her with wide eyes. Luna flushed, perhaps, for her face screwed up into a look of utmost embarrassment. “I’m not going… I wouldn’t hurt you. You know that.”

“I’m not afraid of you, silly,” Twilight said. Was she…? No. She was not going to… “Dammit,” she said. “Damn. Damn.” There they were. Had those tears been hiding all along? Who the hell cared? She was pathetic. She had risked, asked a question, and now she was crying. Like a foal. Like a miserable, useless foal. She was so useless and she hated herself.

“Then of what, sweetest Twilight? What is there to fear?” Except the obvious.

“I think I’m afraid of everything.” Twilight sniffed. She tried to furiously wipe the rogue tears away. There were not so many. Luna stopped her and made soft, shushing noises. Twilight wanted to die. Luna knew she was just a child now. But the princess who watched the night, her friend and her confidant, brushed the tears away and gestured for Twilight to scoot closer and Twilight obeyed as she always did. This time it felt…

A hoof brushed her mane. Twilight was reminded of how Rarity would play with her mane when she was upset. Or how Fluttershy would make her tea. Or maybe how Applejack would let her have some of the cider reserve and a nice chair and listen, eyes like green emeralds dancing in the evening light.

“Everything?”

“All of it. I’m afraid of tomorrow and yesterday and Jannah. I’m afraid of my friends and the ponies who don’t like me. I’m afraid of what I’ll find and what I left behind with you. I’m afraid of you and I’m afraid of me. I’m afraid of what Celestia will say when I find her, and I’m afraid of what… if I don’t…”

“My sister lives,” Luna said. Her voice sounded so strained.

“I want to be happy but I’m afraid to,” Twilight continued. “One of the reasons I worked so hard, studied so hard, was that I hoped one day I would understand. I would get it. The whole… stupid… damn world. It would make sense and then I wouldn’t have to be afraid. I would know what would happen.”

“You cannot understand the heart in books of lore, Twilight.”

“Maybe not,” she confessed like one confessed a sin on the lip of hellfire’s pit.

“Twilight, do you love me? Could you? What do you feel? What do you think?”

“I think you make me happy. I think I don’t really know what I feel. I think I could. I’m sorry they’re not in order,” she added with a sniffle.

Luna sighed. “I have always wished to make you happy.”

“I’m not leaving. Twilight, calm down. Let us talk about this…”

She was filthy. Dirty. Impure. She felt the corruption in her heart, in her mind. On her skin. In the heat that creeped from her loins up her spine. In the way her legs shook and her head throbbed.

Unclean, unclean, unclean.

“I’m not good enough,” Twilight whispered. “Of course you wouldn’t… Of course… but please, Princess, have mercy. I know I’m worthless. I know I would never be a lover worthy of you.”

“Twilight, you’re a wonderful mare. I—”

“Take me anyway. I would be a plaything in your hooves, a throwaway and I would be pleased.”

“But what if you can’t? What if I can’t, either?”

“I can give my whole self to it.”

“But you can’t just… you are a pony too. Ponies can’t just empty themselves like that. It’s too much. It’s too heavy.”

“I can lend myself unto death, Twilight. My reserve of strength is great. But you are right, in some ways.” Luna continued to stroke her hair. It made Twilight happy. It was a very simple feeling. “But I love you, Twilight. I wish that you would love me also. I think… I think I could make you happy, and I know that you have made me glad. But… I also remember what it is to feel frightened in the face of life. I would never push you. Not intentionally.” Luna nuzzled her. “Even this is perhaps too much. I wish I could bring you the comfort your friends could.”

“I like it,” Twilight said like a child.

“Good.”

They were quiet for awhile. Twilight did not move.

“I have something big to do. Something really big. I need to see with my own eyes, Luna. What’s… what’s in there.”

“In Jannah?”

“Yeah.”

“I understand. You must see my sister. Do you feel for her? I think you do. Do not be afraid to tell me, Twilight. I have long suspected.”

“I don’t know. I… I’ve dreamed about her. But I felt so… so awful. I was so dirty.”

Twilight’s tears returned. She felt her throat seizing up, stopping.

“Dirty? Unclean? Twilight, I had thought the world had moved beyond--”

“It’s not because she’s a mare,” Twilight said, or managed to say as she sniffed and shuddered. “Like… I mean… but she’s like my mom! And I feel… but… I don’t know.” Twilight closed her eyes. Do or do not. Regret, regret. Regret. Everything. “Can you love more than one pony? Can you love a pony but be afraid of ever telling them and never tell them and just bury it? I’m awful. I’m worse than awful. And here I am telling you.”

“I asked. Twilight… sweetest Twilight, I am ashamed. I had no idea that you held all this.”

“I don’t… I don’t talk much about anything, do I? She wanted me to. I don’t want to be the Apostate. It’s a cold word. I want to talk and laugh and maybe love and I don’t know anymore.”

“There may yet be time in which to know. Or approximate that knowledge. How close is Jannah?”

“Tomorrow? Maybe? The next day?”

“Close. It weighs on you. I cry your pardon a thousand times that I am not there to help you with that weight. I wish that I were able.”

“You helped a lot,” Twilight said. She rubbed her eyes. “Just by being here.”

“And I will continue. I will watch over your dreams. Those in Jannah are not lost to me. My friends should not wander into the abyss alone. None of them.” Luna squeezed Twilight tighter.

“Are we still friends? Whatever… whenever I figure out what I feel? I don’t know. I can’t give you a good answer right now. Not with all of this. Not with Jannah, and the world, and… its…”

“I have never even entertained the thought that it should ever be otherwise between us,” Luna said as gently as a pony could say anything, it seemed.

“Thank you,” Twilight said.

“I will wait. I have waited long for lesser things. We shall always be friends. I shall love you always, in one way or another, and the world will move on. I shall be sad beyond any normal sadness. It is my… right. But even I may survive a great wound. I hope for you to see your own heart and know what it is you want, Twilight. I would only wish you to come to me a whole mare, or mostly whole, not a slave but a lover--without tearing your self to do it.”

“Thank you,” Twilight said, because it was all she could say, and the hour was late, and Jannah was there.

“You are welcome. I am sorry, Twilight. I do not know if it is wrong to fear, but I wish you could rise above that fear. We will talk… when you come back from that place. Is that alright? And if you have an answer, I will gladly take that answer.”

“Okay.”

She looked up. Luna smiled down at her. Twilight smiled back, and then she laid against Luna. Yes, this was alright. For now. But then… Jannah. Celestia. Eon.

And when she woke up it would be there waiting. And there was more. Beyond it, above it, this did not matter.

She was in the shadow of that hideous strength and Luna held her and she knew that she would not be the same, that she could not be the same, for a mare crosses the river and cannot do so again, for it will be new water and a different mare. And she trembled. Fear, and trembling, and working out her own heart, and all of this she knew would end, one way or another.

Slave, lover, friend, penpal, whatever, liege and lady. She thought of her sordid dreams. She thought of Luna’s gentle touch. She thought about Applejack telling her she was blind and she couldn’t revel in her own misery. She thought of Tradewinds who wanted to be her druhznik, her fealty-sworn, and she thought of Pinkie the bard who just wanted her to smile.

It was enough. It would have to be enough.

Author's Note

I want to say that, for the record, I am apologizing for the TONS of shipping in the last two or three chapters. I know that's not what some of you signed on for. I know.

But all things must see their completeness in decency and order.
The couplet in question, "The shadow of that hyddeous strength, sax myle and more it is of length", refers to the Tower of Babel.[3]

There are no nights now when I don't dream & wake in the darkness to find I've been weeping. But it has been ages since I've cried while awake, cause centuries wear on the heart, they erode it away.
"They would say," he answered, "that you do not fail in obedience through lack of love, but have lost love because you never attempted obedience."
Jannah is next. I need to lie down. It is coming and I will need my strength.

XXXIV. Jannah I: A Prolegomena to Charity / Outremer

XXXIV. Jannah: A Prolegomena to Charity/Outremer

CANTERLOT

The attack comes thirty minutes to dawn, but it is not yet dawn. A city sleeps fitfully. It does not wish yet to wake but it will. The air will carry voices and the wind will blow frightfully through the compacted streets. But not yet.

It is night even still.

High in her chambers Luna lies dreaming. She is asleep but not asleep. Awake yet not awake. She both walks and lies upon her bed unmoving. These things are not exclusive for those who walk between.

There is upon the spirit a chill, a fear. Eyes see but are thwarted by darkness, ears hear hoofsteps against unyielding stone but mistake themselves. There is no march but rather a proceeding, the laidback pace of the nightwatchman which rings the bell that all is well this hour of the clock. But they do not call this because the world’s cover is blown and all is not well and not even the pony who walks the streets, torch held high, can live with himself and say it is.

Canterlot is not dead, nor is it even dying. It drags. It’s pace is heavy, petty, plodding, mean. But it is alive. Take solace in that.

The attack comes before dawn, and it is time.

Luna trades one sight for another, but all others must simply be content with blindness, deafness, dumbness, weakness. They sleep and put themselves at the risk of the night and forget after they are grown what a horrible prospect this is. The foals have the right of it. They know that darkness is not their friend and never will be--any pony can be smiled at and talked to, but this is not a pony. It is primordial, darkness. Visible, empty, hungry. It will kill you. It will help others kill you. When ponies in Canterlot sleep they are lambs for the slaughtering. They leave themselves upon to a cornucopia of terror beyond ken. The push into the canal--that’s the hobby of the weak and the simpleminded. Yet darkness is very simpleminded, isn’t it? It only wants to get in. It only wants to do one thing to and with and for you.

The attackers shatter the door of House Belle with an explosive that blows them right off of their hinges. Wood shards go everywhere. A passing night staff cleaning mare is caught through the throat by a long jagged wooden stake and dies within seconds, rolling in her own blood and trying to scream that she didn’t do anything, it wasn’t her fault, why is this happening, who will tell the sleeping, who will clean the tables, where is she going?

They are not here to be subtle. They are not here to be skilled. They are here to reap. These attackers wear no barding, they have no insignia. They wear heavy hoofblades with serrated edges and on their shoulders they bear repeating rifles with devilish machinery made to kill, mechanics that pull back the bolt and pull the trigger and make the darkness’s work easy as pointing one’s body.

The noise wakens most of the house, but few react as they should in order to save themselves. The House staff blink in the darkness. They wipe the sleep from their eyes and a few stumble out of their beds on well-worked legs and turn their honest heads from side to side. They do not know what is coming.

The attackers spread out. Many wear white. They do not know why. Or they do but it is purged from their waking minds. They are more ant than pony, they are the limbs of an implacable something. One squad towards the library, another towards the servant’s quarters, one to head off the guard.

The first levyponies of House Belle encounter the first wave of invasion. They are not well armed. Scootaloo has put up light defenses--who would attack? And she has so few spread so far. Two Belle ponies die when bullets rip them open and they bleed on the stone. A third comes around the corner with a singleshot pistol in his magic’s grip and he fires once. An attacker spins, a piroutte of blood and vengeance, he goes down. The guard throws the pistol because loading it takes more time and charges because running is death and charging is death and he knows this and he will die with his horseshoes on and he does.

Sweetie Belle wakes up first and she spends precious seconds trying to rouse Scootaloo.

Head Maid is wide awake. She knows what is happening. She is miles head of any pony she has ever met. There is a shotgun under her pillow because she is hard as steel and she will be damned to an unsung hell if she will let anypony blow her house’s doors down, tramp their filthy hooves around on her pristine floors, hurt even the meanest pest under this sacred roof--she is in the hall and waking servants up.

Everypony has heard gunfire.

Scootaloo rolls off the bed, stands. Sweetie was not sure, but now she knows what is happening and she is beyond terrified. She is no Rarity. She is only Sweetie Belle and she falls off the bed and she cowers against the wall. Scootaloo has no time to comfort. She tells Sweetie to hide. She leaves through the door, cursing. The air is full of panic and the voices of the damned and the damning. She hurtles herself through the halls to the armory.

More gunfire. A maid is shot in the leg and stares at the stump with confusion and looks up to ask what has happened and they erase her from the mortal coil. Her friend behind her panics and flees.

The other night guards have gathered. The squad in the servent’s quarters is pinned between two patrols. They have the weapons but the lights are out and the guards know the terrain. Confusion is the art of war and they are painters. They know how to run in the backstreets. These guards were born to be urchins in the alleyways and sleep in the sewers and steal from the passing market carts. They strike in the darkness. The attackers fire randomly. Bullets cut through the air and hit nothing or hit flesh or pierce right through a door sending shards everywhere and peppering a crying colt who has worked there for a week with splinters and he prays clutching a medal of Celestia but she is silent.

Scootaloo bursts through to the armory like a storm for she is a storm, she is fire and heat and it is the second coming of Commander Hurricane, his time come round at last. She kicks the armory door down and searches. Some of the servants have followed and she throws things at them. Take them! She tells them to arm themselves and they do because there is no arguing with her. Her hoofblades are gone. She does not know where they are. She does not know that the quartermaster is missing because he has taken them away with him when he fled to his masters.

She leads a frightened squad of ponies through the halls.

The whole of the House’s levy is awake. They are swarming. There are too many pegasi among them and they cannot maneuver in tight spaces. Several die without a chance to fight. Several are blown out of the sky but not finished off.

Scootaloo meets the host in the library among the new shelves, she hurtles a lance as best she can and it grazes one and a cook’s colt fires a rifle beside her ear and he misses widely. Scootaloo throws him into the library, cursing him for taking her hearing, and she follows. The attackers pursue. They do not go up the stairs and they do not find Sweetie Belle cowering.

Because she is not cowering, for one. She is weeping openly, her magic like a great fist, and she is coming down the stairs. What has happened? What is this world, where the darkness does not wait but beats down the door and takes you?

The fight in the library is furious. The rifle-bearing cook’s boy dies when he trips over his own gun and even in the darkness the attackers can hear and they light him up and he is unrecognizable after a volley. Scootaloo takes his gun and she curses him for not bringing ammunition. She has four shots left. Maybe. She doesn’t know.

An attacker comes around the side of her shelf and she hears him. She tackles him and uses the butt of the gun like a club.

Head Maid has cleared the servent’s quarters. They did not expect her. None ever have.

Sweetie Belle hears something in the library and she follows her ears.

Scootaloo hears another pony entering but has no time to investigate or listen because another has found her. She has led them into a maze and they come one by one but she is lithe and they are powerful and this new foe is stronger than she is. But she is faster. Even with weak wings she is faster on the ground. She leaps, he cannot see to dodge, she brings him low and cracks his head against the carpet.

One of the attackers clad in white runs right into Sweetie Belle and pins her in his falling. She kicks blindly in the dark. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she flares her magic and the room is filled with startling white light. There are cries of alarm. A gunshot, a curse, a second shot. A bullet clips a shelf beside Sweetie’s head and sprinkles wood shards all over her. She lies flat on the ground.

Scootaloo is there, roaring, firing again. Three shots left. She catches an attacker in the shoulder. He falls back, his bullet hits the stone ceiling and ricochets harmlessly. Scootaloo searches for the last attackers. One. Two? She doesn’t know.

The Head Maid is on her way. Her shotgun slung on her shoulder, her teeth grinding. She continues on. The Gods could come down and she would blow past them like they were smoke.

A rifle peaks out from behind the stairwell that leads to the library’s upper level. Scootaloo fires. The bullet goes wide. The gun retracts. Scootaloo hisses a curse. She pushes Sweetie out of the way, turning her back.

There are two attackers. The second comes from her side, illuminated in the lone library’s candle for only a moment before he is on Scootaloo, cutting with his hoofblades, trying to bite with his teeth, his gun forgotten, his mind no longer his own. She kicks back. His blades connect. Sweetie Belle screams. The riflepony steps out into the open and aims.

He is knocked back by the roar of Head Maid’s shotgun like the sound of some lonely god’s heartless revolver. He is torn and dead instantly.

Scootaloo throws the attacker off. She cannot see. The dark is too overpowering, too covering. Her ears ring. Her body protests. She coat is wet with blood.

Head Maid finishes off the last attacker in the keep with a shot to the head and not a shred of mercy.

Candles are lit.

Sweetie cradles her marshal’s head. Scootaloo groans, and tries to rise but she is restrained. The doctor is called for over and over again. Sweetie Belle weeps over her lover’s ruined face, her eye destroyed by a serrated edge even as Head Maid searches the bodies and finds the weapons stamped with a maker’s seal that will lead her in the morning to the House Dawn’s major suppliers, who has been making guns a long time and does not remember making these guns. He will not remember until Head Maid has applied a hot poker to him that he did in fact make many repeaters for the house but that several were sent elsewhere and he was not told why and she will thank him and be on her way. But that will happen in the morning.

In High Canterlot, Luna weaves together scattered friends and knows nothing of the carnage below. She will. She will know in full and they say her rage bore away with it years of the poor messenger’s life. But that is still to come. For now she is weaving dreams together and ensuring that none who walk in Jannah will be alone in the night.

JANNAH

When you talk about the City, you must do so carefully and with skill. It is hard to describe. The task is impossible. Describing things as they are itself may be, in the end, an impossibility. The philosophers are divided on that, and the jury has been out for some time.

But, regardless, mortals try.

See its walls, high and strong, “six miles wide and white as purest snow”, or so a poet wrote in Valon before Twilight was born. The walls stretch upwards towards the sky like the world tree, holding the sky up and off the backs of the ponies who grovel in the mud before it. Imagine yourself looking up and seeing a sheer wall that goes up and up forever, or seems to, for the closer one gets to that place the greater it seems. It grows on you. This is usually a joke. No one jokes about Jannah, no pony or griffon, no beast or thing that stalks or flies or swims can do so in this world. When they try, out of their mouths come only the starkest truths told with a wry smile and the taste of arsenic.

It’s crenulations were formed before most tribes had heard of the alphabet. When the world was young its walls’ foundations were laid by expert hooves aided with magic that shook the earth.

Imagine a city made by the Gods from which to see the world, know the world, and from which they might with leisure make that same world a footstool.

There are many maps of Jannah. They are every one of them wrong, not in totality but always crucially. Some fatal flaw prevents each chart from baring its owner to safe havens. Oh, a map will aid you from street to street. You will begin to feel that you know where you are going and the city is revealing itself to you--and it will, won’t it? Yes, you begin to see the sense of it. What brilliant planners, the Ancients were! You will coo over their genius which you suppose you have encapsulated in your imagination, compared to your own, and left feeling that you weren’t so bad after all. But you are wrong. Of course. The maps will fail you. Has the city moved? Did your cartographer fail?

Is there even an answer that you would understand? Why ask? Few do, when night falls. They have other concerns.

Can cities dream? This one can.

TWILIGHT

There were a few options for entry. Twilight considered them. Or, at least, she did her best to consider them. Her mind… she felt…

Off. That was the best word she could come up with. Which, frankly, was terrible. She was a Scholar, for the love of the Stars! A Scholar with a capital S! Words were her life. She breathed, lived, ate, loved words and the stories they told, the lore that they bore.

But she had been sluggish. Ever since waking up, she had been so slow. She strained her eyes in the sun. It helped her feel more concentrated, more stable, to go over what she did in her head. She could keep her thoughts clear. She would not be hazy or confused. She would not be as the Blues were, staring at each other in the hold.

That was harsh. They were not exactly blithering idiots. Just… listless. Lost.

Abdiel had spoken to them all in hushed tones that morning, as if he was afraid that the city would hear him. Honestly, Twilight had a feeling that he was justified in his fear. The problem of entering the city was an old one. It was kind of astounding, she thought, that everypony struggled and agonized and feared getting here, and never once did they seem to consider how they would actually get in until this point. But Abdiel had chuckled. He said that it was no mystery.

Twilight looked down at the water below. It looks peaceful, but somehow it made her uncomfortable. She could not put her hoof on why, so she let the matter go. It was not important. She would not need to think about it much longer. The dock was near.

“There are three ways to enter, generally. Yes? Listen carefully, and you will understand why I say what I do.”

Twilight chewed mindlessly on her lip. The ship creaked. The engines were off. The Blues paddled, churning the water below as the steamship came closer to… Jannah. After a fashion.

“The Gates are barred. No, magic will not work. Explosions also fail, but seeing as how, ah, we have nothing with which to make a boom… yes, well. Going over the walls is one option. Easy for me, difficult for you. Going under the walls is an option. I will explain why this is bad in a moment. Ostyallah is the third and best option if one has a boat. We, my dearest and most beautiful companions, happen to possess such a craft.”

The port of Jannah was empty, in that it contained not a single soul that could be seen. Twilight did not like that she felt the need to qualify that thought.

It’s waterfront was surprisingly normal. The roofs were a mixture of thatched and slanted ceramic tiles, all of them tapering to sharp points with walls of stucco and wood beneath. All in all, it was foreign but not alien. Twilight frowned at it.

The morning mist, yes, how could she forget? He had mentioned that in passing. It rolled through the streets ahead. It laid lightly upon the waters which waited. Sometimes mist rolled through the lower parts of Canterlot, but not often. Many mornings it had lain gently on Ponyville and she had thought it was charming, or soft.

Now she thought mostly of fire and smoke. But she knew enough of burning to know that real smoke was darker. This was more like the ghost of a city razed, waiting. The mist obscured, but it did not hide. She saw the orderly streets with their cobblestones, the little trees along the main highway. She saw how every door was closed, every window shuttered, and everything perfectly still. She noticed now that the wind was picking up. The fog did not seem to have noticed.

“Climbing the wall is hard for ponies, for obvious reasons. It can be done, but it requires equipment and time that we do not have. Why not dig under the city? I’ve heard that it can be done, but the main reason is similar to why we can’t go through the gate. Stasis. Ah, if this were a normal ruin I could just fly up to the gatehouse, turn the levers, and you, my fine friends, could waltz into our beloved nightmare. But you see, even if I hit that lever, nothing would happen. Even if I cut the ropes.”

Applejack whistled from somewhere behind her. “Whoa nelly, gives me the creeps.”

Twilight mumbled something like words.

Abdiel chuckled hollowly. “Yes, doesn’t it?”

“Imagine… yes, anything you wish, but imagine it on a leash. A collar and a chain and a stake in the ground. Now imagine you wish to move the thing that is bound. At first, everything is fine no? Works like a charm. But soon the thing you are holding or pulling will run out of rope and then pow, if you are not careful it snap back into place. Stasis. The Holy City is in stasis. It is changeless. What you change will be undone, slowly at first and more quickly later. Hoofprints fade, doors close, the city resets and it watches. So you dig a hole in the ground? Will take magic to do it, but it will close back behind you and if you do not go fast enough? Well, if you do not go fast enough…. The Holy City is not a pony. It does not make decisions as a pony does. It does not think as you think or as I think. It simply does.”

“So,” Tradewinds said. She was at Twilight’s side, her good wing unfolding slightly as if preparing to flee. “Who is going first, da? Because Tradewinds will go but Tradewinds is also very bad at luck and would hate to endanger all by large foul-up. Would be terrible.”

“Well, wouldn’t want that,” Applejack muttered.

“Please be quiet,” Twilight said firmly. They were. Well, not totally. Pinkie shifted. It would be Pinkie, Twilight was sure. Pinkie would be the only one who would have problem with silence on the edge of hell. She looked behind her and confirmed this.

Pinkie’s eyes raced from point to point, frantic, looking. Twilight opened her mouth to say something, but then her friend’s head snapped up and she stared right at Twilight.

“I don’t want to go there,” she said.

“What?”

“I really, really, really think we should definitely not... “ Pinkie paused. She shivered. “Twilight, are you ready?”

Twilight shivered too. Gods. Stars, whatever. She wanted to leap onto that dock, but the thought of doing so made her want to crawl below deck. There was no place safe from the creeping dread that danced on her spine its slow funeral shuffle.

“Not really.”

“Because you really need to be, Twilight. Really, really, really need to be ready. Everypony. I feel…”

“Do you feel the past, then? Already?” Abdiel’s voice was soft as velvet. They all looked at him. He did not seem as on edge. If anything he seemed to be, for the first time, completely calm. There was no manic gleam in his eye, no energetic smile. He nodded. “If you have not prepared your hearts, it is a bit too late. I will go first.”

They looked at him and then they looked at the dock. It was closer.

Imagine a port. Not extravagant, but lively. Prosperous and alive. Colorful signs in a foreign tongue point the way to establishments along the docks, sitting side by side with vast warehouses. One of those buildings, the biggest? The customhouse. Ponies with boring, tiny worlds checking and rechecking every package, enjoying their immense but narrow might like a child god with new playthings. But with a neutral expression, of course. One must remain professional. Sailors, coming off and loading on. Girls from the port, some of ill-repute, mooning or calling, or perhaps just looking at the new wares brought up the river. The streets are surprisingly well kept, for such a place. The docks excluded, of course, but what can one expect? Wood stained by work and toil, a thousand thousand hauls. It all goes up hill, this port. A great central road marked with flags and markers bearing strange alphabets, but there is no need to read them to know what they say.

Welcome to Ostyallah, Twilight thought to herself.

She could almost see them, the ponies who lived by the water. But of course, she did not see them. She felt like they were there--no, that wasn’t right. Like they should be there, as if they were supposed to be where time had left them but they were obviously misplaced. There, shouldn’t there be… She shook her head. She had to focus on the now.

Only a few went ashore, and then the ship left. Abdiel, Applejack, Tradewinds, in that order. Twilight and Pinkie stepped off together. Crossbeam and the Captain saluted them, and then they got the hell out of dodge. Twilight felt no bitterness over this. She hoped they were far away by the time they climbed the hill. She hoped many things.

They were on a mission, and still she couldn’t suppress the desire to wander aimlessly like a foal might in some vast museum. This was history itself. The thought sent a thrill through her. Living history! It was such a find! Such a miraculous thing.

The feeling faded a bit as they walked until only the word history remained like a drum in the distance.

“We have plenty of light, and I think we could breach the city today easily, but I would like to linger here awhile,” Abdiel said when they had assembled at the foot of the highway. “Twilight?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sure you’ve gathered the reasons that I have acted as I have by now.”

She had. “You’ve been here before, obviously. You wanted to come back.” They were not questions. Her tone was flat, but she felt no emotion at all about it. “I’m not sure why. Do you intend to go home?”

“I am unsure. I may remain… I may remain,” he finished, as if continuing would be too much. “I have been here twice. This will be my third time. I have heard the first strains of the Calling. Do you know what that is? The Captain knows of it, but I doubt he told you.”

“Why?” Applejack asked, butting in. Everypony present looked at her. “Cap’s a good sort. If it was something that could help us, he woulda told us.”

“It wouldn’t help you in any practical way. It would sate curiosity, maybe, or be an interesting bit of lore, but knowledge of it is useless for the purposes of prevention. I have not said anything myself for two reasons. The first? Selfishness. I did not wish to be deprived of my journey back to this place. Second?” He sighed. “This will be hard doing, lovely mares. I do not mean hard as in strenuous, though it shall be that. Nor do I mean that it will be simply frightening, for it shall be that.”

“You want to stay in the port for today, I’m guessing. Right?” Pinkie asked, cocking her head to the side.

“A step ahead, pink one. Yes. There is a… ritual to these things. A correct way to proceed. I do not know if it helps. It probably does not help. But it is comforting, or can be. Ostyallah is a special place. A holy place.” He suddenly chuckled softly, as if to himself alone, as if he had found another world to chuckle in. “I shall fill in gaps for you. This is the last homely place in the west, I heard somepony say. He was a fool, but I understand his feeling. Will you come with me to the customhouse?”

As he left, so they followed. He led them down the waterfront. The custom house was in perfect condition. Time had not touched its facade. They entered.

Time had not touched anything in this place, as far as Twilight could tell. It wasn’t just the outsides. The custom house was a bit disorganized, full of the outer shell of activity, but there was nopony here to be active. Paper left on desks, packages half open on tables in the back. They followed Abdiel past desks with inkwells that Twilight suspected still had ink. It could have been built only a year ago, this place. Twilight shivered.

At last, they came across an empty place. Not artificial, Twilight noted immediately. There was nothing unusual about the spot… and yet Abdiel approached it with something approaching religious awe.

“Here it is,” he said quietly.

From the saddlebags he had brought--Applejack insisted on carrying most of the weight, but Twilight had still had as much of the load distributed as she could without overburdening any of them--Abdiel produced a few statutes. One looked like a batpony, its wings spread wide. Another looked like… well, Celestia. Twilight stared at that one until the third had been depositied. This one was strange, tall and almost cylindrical, with something at the top she dimly recognized as approximating a face.

“Sit,” Abdiel said quietly.

They did.

“What’s this all about?” Applejack asked. “I don’t mean to intrude, but you’re getting me antsy here.”

“I am doing as all the Seekers do. We are not the first to come here looking for something, and we will not be the last.” Abdiel turned and looked at each of them in turn. He spoke, which was a mild way to put it. Or he intoned, which was probably more accurate. “The city will outlast us. It has already outlasted everything else. When the world was so young that the sun itself was young, Jannah’s foundations were set. This was the city at the Edge of the World, though it is not the city at the cusp. It is the First City and it shall be the Last City. You have seen its preservation.”

“Scary,” murmured Tradewinds. Twilight couldn’t help but nod.

“I will tell you what I know. Perhaps Twilight knows parts of this, but I suspect that it will do you all well to hear it from one who has walked the Last City’s streets.” He cleared his throat. “Jannah shone for four millennia and more, beautiful and transplendent. At its height, the years that held its end and its beginning, it was the home of five million souls. Thousands of years of rulers who were honest, fair, or tried to be and succeeded, ah, as ponies can hope to succeed in such things. Yet with victory we find ourselves sometimes with nothing left to conquer. The cities of the plain bowed without a fight. My people made pilgrimages. The nomads worshipped at the feet of the great tableland at the city’s heart and never touched a single hair on a pony who bore the mark of Eon.”

The name sent a jolt through Twilight. She opened her mouth and considered saying something, anything. But she didn’t. Something told her not to mention her dreams.

“Mages ruled here, though not alone. They were virtuous and good, born into a bright world that ponies still thought was young. But they did not know that the world was no longer as young as they would have hoped. Creation was growing up, and with it came new things.

“One mage, maybe more--we do not know, perhaps it is better not to dwell on the how--discovered a way by which he might see into other places and times. It is hard to describe, yes? Other possibilities. It was enough to drive some ponies mad, but these ponies… ah, they were brave loremasters. They would look infinity in the eyes and dance with her. And so they did. They watched and watched. Perhaps they took notes! Like you, fair and noble apprentice,” he said to Twilight, and smiled. Genuine, that smile, but it still made Twilight frown.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“They saw things which no other pony since has seen. Or, at least, has seen and told another soul. And in every place they would find Jannah’s correspondant. That is the word passed down to us, captured in notes and stories. Her copy, her sister. Several planes had no Jannah, no glorious city that moved and lived and breathed, no empire of magic and law. This troubled the loremasters, but they pressed on. Perhaps they thought these places were simply flukes.

“From there it grows hard to see. Perhaps they saw Jannah burning, or Jannah turned into a ruin, or Jannah head of a vast and terrible empire, a reign of blood and madness. Perhaps they saw into the country of the Gods, if they live, or the land where the stars repose in the daytime hours.” His speech had changed again. Recitation, Twilight recognized. “Perhaps the saw the end of all flesh and felt the warmth of other suns. But we do know that the last place they found was not Jannah at all.”

“What?” Twilight stirred. “You mean it wasn’t recognizable?”

“No. It was not Jannah.”

“Then what?” Tradewinds asked. “Not new name, but new city?”

“They saw the isles of blackest stone, suspended by arts the could not comprehend. They saw Empyrea, and knew that five thousand years of toil had been surpassed in a moment. Nothing they could do by themselves would ever compare to the arcane secrets in Empyrea’s floating libraries. They could not suspend the earth in great islands of black and verdant forests, could not sustain life on them, could not hope to do even half of what they saw without…” He winced. “Cheating. So they saw two roads.”

“And they took one,” Applejack said.”

“Yes. They chose poorly. They would not be content with the beautiful world they had made. They felt the compulsion to surpass, to overwhelm, to dominate. They wanted to control instead of nurture, and so undid all. Years they spent working on a way to not only see but enter these new places. They tore at the fabric of creation, the Song itself, like foals kick in a tantrum. That is what it was, no? a temper tantrum. They had seen too much.”

“What did they do?” Twilight asked, and found that she had been holding her breath. Luna’s information… she had guessed it was something like this, but seeing into other worlds? There were other worlds? Many had theorized, postulated, but to have confirmation? Was this even confirmation?

“In the course of experimentation, they turned to blood magic. They used criminals at first. At first. Then orphaned urchin children. Ponies from the street. Hundreds did not seem like that much in such a sea of thinking life. They captured the nomads and batpony pilgrims and drained them of blood and life, used their souls to power great grinding machines which went on and on, and they plunged into the darkness between worlds. And there they found something.”

“The shadow,” Twilight said. Luna’s words came back to her now. It was coming together.

“In the dark they found darkness had taken shape and spoke. And it was very civil, if unnerving, and they listened. It had its own world, it lied, and they had succeeded! But the one they wanted to breach was still a ways away. But if they would open the crack they had made, he would help them.”

“And they did,” Applejack said.

“They had not created the crack. They had stumbled blindly into it, but they did created the Bore. The Tear was the result of their great engine’s unholy work, and they were rewarded by being twisted in their moment of triumph into things which cannot be described with words and which should not be described with them. These first monsters, the Fallen, rampaged through the city in the night. They sang, so we think, as they do now. The air was filled with song, and the ponies of Jannah wandered out to meet the song which blanked all thought, all soul from them, and they were destroyed. Devoured. Consumed without thought, without intention, without remorse. Eaten alive as they stood by the thousands. Some were immune or too stubborn or too far away, and only a few of those discovered the danger. Others woke in their beds to a city that had become hell. For the first monsters brought more, and the Shadow which Twilight names reached through the Tear and began to toy with the Song as perhaps he had always wished.”

They were all silent for awhile. Abdiel seemed to gather himself. The others sat in a sort of ragged circle around him. Waiting, perhaps, she thought. Simply resting. Was there a waiting that had no one object in mind? Anxiety was the only concept that she could think of that fit the description.

Twilight let herself be distracted to fill the gnawing silence.

“Abdiel.” Tradewinds broke that silence.

“Yes?”

“Why does it look so…” Twilight watched her as she screwed up her face, as if struggling. “The words, I am not knowing.”

“Preserved?” Twilight supplied.

She nodded. “That will do, da. Not the right one, but is good enough.”

“The Ward. The last hope,” Abdiel said. “I tell you now what every child on the Veldt knows by heart. Eon, the mother of the city, she sealed it. Like… As one might salt meat, or freeze it to keep it fresh.” Noting their grimaces at the suggestion, he chuckled. “Do you not eat much of it, in the eastern lands? A pity. A shishkabob is not to be refused.”

Pinkie made a little noise of disgust. “Uh, gross.”

“Agreed, sugar,” Applejack said, smiling. But her voice sounded so flat.

“Ah, well, I who have tasted bacon will keep its wonder to myself.” His smile faded. “But, to answer your question, Eon did this. To keep the breach from widening, from changing, she set the whole city apart. It cannot change. Any changes made to it--things moved, broken, on and so forth--it fixes itself. You will not see it happen. It will. The air is still. Or it rains. Rain is good for us. It will keep the fog away.”

“Who is Eon?” Twilight asked.

“Eon? She was the first.” He paused. “I believe. I am not sure. No one is. It is not exactly possible to ask her.”

“Was she killed?” Applejack asked.

“No. We do not know what happened. She was seen on the tableland, glowing bright like a second sun. Nopony who lived in this place had time to turn and observe, yes? There was much running to be done by those who knew there was anything to run from.”

“So she froze the city to save the world, then. Basically.” Twilight hummed. “Well. That makes sense.”

“Makes sense. It is funny that you say this, apprentice of the sun. You will not feel this way when you are inside. About anything.”

“What is it like?” Tradewinds asked, gesturing vaguely over there. “Inside.”

But Abdiel shook his head. “I do not know how to tell you, and you will see. But I can tell you why I am stopping here. I know it will be your next question. I am stopping for tradition’s sake. Ostyallah is… different. It was the last place touched by Eon’s final scream. It is the place least touched, of the city. This was where the last survivors, some of them my ancestors, fled the doom of all flesh. It is a holy place, for those who seek the city and what is inside. There is much inside. Treasure, memory… some think they will see into the deepest heart of things here. There are many reasons.”

“So its kind of a staging area,” Twilight mused.

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Alright. I’m… I’m fine with that. It’s safe to stay here, I assume? In the custom house?”

“Also yes.”

“Then we will. I’ll want to go over what we can expect, topographywise, with you. I need to think about how we have the kits organized.” When he nodded, she continued. “AJ, I’ll let you take some of the load off of us, but I need to spread essentials around.”

“Sounds like a straight deal to me, Twi.”

“Good. I’ll… Um.” She blinked. Her thoughts had spiraled off. Where had they gone?

“You feel the city. Do not be dismayed,” Abdiel said quietly.

She closed her eyes. “Lay out the packs. I’ll distract myself, then.”

“You were the last one,” Cadance was saying.

Twilight blinked. She felt… clear. Distinct. Everything was so orderly here, obvious. She blinked again. All at once, it occurred to her how different it felt to be unclouded, unburdened by something outside of herself, something that weighed down on a already weary mind.

What was that place going to do to her?

“Twilight?”

She jumped. “What? Wh--How? Cadance?”

Cadance chuckled.

They sat in the outer chamber of her suite, the one that led to a balcony overlooking Imperial Center. Cadance sat with a cup of tea floating lazily beside her, and more on a small table. As Twilight continued to stare in bewilderment, she reclined on the couch beneath her. Twilight saw there was one for her.

“Come.”

She approached and laid on the couch.

“Tea?” her sister-in-law asked.

“Yeah.”

Cadance served it with magic, of course. Gracefully. She had never been without charm.

“What were you saying earlier? And before you say it again, if I could make a few observations, questions, whatever.” Cadance nodded, and she plunged right in. “I’m Dreamwalking, and so are you. This is my dream, but it’s not. There’s something… artificial isn’t the word that fits best. But its not inaccurate. I’m assuming that Luna did this. Why? Can you tell me?”

“I was saying, Twilight, that you were the last. Yes, Luna made this. She made a structure in the Aether, and we inhabit it.” Cadance sipped her tea. “You know, I can change what sort of tea it is with a thought? Have you ever started with tea and thought to yourself, ‘damn, I really should have tried the green’?” She gave Twilight a lopsided smile. “Dreamwalking is wonderful, really. Aunt Luna did teach me a bit, around the time when I was foalsitting you. But I never dreamwalked much. It takes a far more logical sort of mindset than I usually like to have.”

“And you’re, what, illogical?”

“Wonderfully irrational,” she said. “Love is not a calculation. Mating, in the animal sense, is very much a calculation. Dominance, pride, territory, a thing that once could conceivably model. Aunt Celestia told me once, in that voice she uses--you know, the one she uses when she says strange, otherworldly things-- that somepony had said ‘Credo quia absurdam.’ which I am told means something along the lines of…”

“What language is that?” Twilight couldn’t help but ask. Not getting a chance to grill “Eon” on the particulars of the history she’d seen was still a sore point.

“You know how Celestia can be. Saying things in languages nopony’s heard since forever. It means something close to ‘I believe it because it is absurd’. Or impossible.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I said so too. I’ve thought too much and felt too much to be too sure.” She stopped smiling. “Far too much. You were always the certain one, Twilight. Why were you the last? There are good reasons. There are also troubling ones.”

Twilight shifted. She sipped her tea, and found that yes, it could be changed between sips. Now that was an interesting experience. “Last of what? Of who? I’m lacking in context.”

“Of your companions. I greeted them as they fell into the dreams they inhabit. Explained what Luna has done for you all, and given you some of her last warnings.”

“I won’t be seeing her, then, I suppose.” Twilight’s heart sank. Her ears folded against her head without her wishing them to do so. “I had hoped--”

“Oh, you shall see her, little ladybug mine,” Cadance said. She snickered. The lighter mood had returned. “Oh, I see you trying to avoid my eyes. You know my magic doesn’t work through eye contact! Remember when you had that crush when you were--”

Twilight groaned. “This is ridiculous.”

“And I believe it,” Cadance needled. “I thought you were a little too old and a little too shaken up in general to greet you with our little rhyme, but I figured you wouldn’t mind a ribbing.”

And she didn’t. Not really. Twilight sighed dramatically, and then smiled. “You remind me a bit of my brother, honestly. You rubbed off on each other--don’t you dare have picked up on his ability to turn what I say into innuendo.” Cadance shrugged. “But, uh, yeah. Where was I? You got a little of him and he got a little of you. The two of you were a good match.”

“Thank you. I am glad you let me steal him away,” she said. “I’m sure you’re curious, though. About all of this.”

“Yes,” Twilight admitted. “I am. Extremely so, in fact. I have a few guesses, some thoughts, but I’d like clarity over a chance to exercise my reason. Simpler that way.”

Cadance rolled onto her back and gestured lazily about them. “Well, here you are. Aunt Luna called this thing the Annex. She said that she’s been wondering if it were possible for a very long time, but never got around to trying it. Too much work, and it needed a reason keeping it alive. Magic works differently when it comes to this sort of thing. It requires intention and emotion, or it won’t come out right. But she had a reason now, and the Annex lives. Imagine it as a sort of… airship, if you will. Moored in the Aether, closed off but not in such a way as to be a prison. Outside is a storm, and inside you can come out from the rain. Or so she told me to say.”

“An artificial environment, but a stable one, created from Luna and her… emotions? Soul? Heart?”

“Intention, potentialities, yes. Her heart. Language, as you must have come to understand by now, is limited the farther you go into the arcane.” She paused. “She also said to say that, but I honestly forgot the rest of that whole tangent so don’t try to follow it up with me. Save that for her.”

Twilight nodded. “And she can visit, as can you. The others?”

“All of them can. They are all here, but for the moment it is best to keep to yourself. Luna still needs to triple check all of the connecting parts and such. Make sure it is still stable, or as close as anything in the Aether comes to being stable. For now… just you and me.”

“How did you greet the others? Did you travel?”

“I did not. I am in all of their various compartments.” She smiled again, this time… differently. “I am everywhere and nowhere, at once, you could say. I am changed, a bit, from when we last saw each other.”

“A good change?” She asked and felt immediately stupid.

“A change,” Cadance said. “Those who walk in the world between life and death do not come back the same. But! Enough of that. Your other friends are also to have access to the Annex. Rarity, Rainbow, Fluttershy. Applejack’s Soarin’. We tried with Spike but Luna is having trouble accounting for him being a dragon. She’ll figure it out, I’m sure. Rarity’s sister and her two friends also are locked in, though they haven’t arrived yet--ah. One of them has. I’m greeting them now.”

“That’s… kind of weird,” Twilight said. Lamely.

“Very. I’m calm about it because it’s already happened several times now, but it is very weird. I was convinced it was possible until I was already doing it.” Cadance took another sip. “The next question is, of course, why? I would never say I could fathom all the contents of my aunt’s mind--there are alicorns and there are alicorns. But she did me the favor of offering an explanation. You’ve entered the city, haven’t you?”

Twilight shook her head. She took a sip of her own tea, following suit. It was what you did. “Not exactly. The city is connected to a port called Ostyallah. We’re staying the night here before we make our grand entrance in the morning.” She chuckled at herself. “Grand entrance. From the descriptions Abdiel has given and the hints Luna shared, I would rather a stealthy and undetected entrance. Not something I’m going to get, I assume.”

“It isn’t something anypony has when it comes to Jannah. Or so I’ve been told. But you’ve noticed the city’s aura already. It has a sort of numbing effect on the mind. You will be lost to it if you aren’t very careful. Luna came up with all of this to stave that off. The Annex. It’s purpose is two-fold. It will take the edge off of the trial… and perhaps keep you sane whilst doing so, while also providing a safe haven from dreaming.”

“But… from dreaming? That doesn’t make sense.”

“There are always dreams in Jannah. She said you would say something about that not making sense.”

Twilight sighed. But the company was alright, and she felt clear now. Steady.

They stood before a gate. It was not quite as impossible, not as indomitable as the main gate, but it was still tall. It still cast a shadow over all of them with ease.

The doors were open. Abdiel had explained that they were rarely shut in the city’s days of glory--why slow down the great trains of wealth that came without ceasing into such a place? Why indeed, Twilight though.

They hesitated at first, but there was no need for a repeat of the docks. Twilight stepped forward, and they entered the city of Jannah.

The markets were first. It was as it had been the last day of Jannah’s empire. The stalls where fruit had been sold, where grain had been weighed, where mares had bought fine cloth. They were perfect. They were whole. Entropy had made no inroads here at all.

But beyond them, the city was. She could not say it loomed, for it would leave a place in its existence for herself. The city did not loom becuase to loom would be to condescend to acknowledge that she was worth even an iota of notice, even a second of its time. It was all white marble monoliths, high twisting spires that touched the sky. She saw great rails lacing to and fro through the sky not so far above her and she wondered at them. When the great market ended, the city truly began. She could not tell if these were the houses of nobility or commoners, for even though she suspected that the houses on either side of her were merely simple dwellings… the magic she felt radiating from every single stone was overwhelming. It was a warm numb glowing, a background noise, a fuzzy whine. The craftsmanship was perfect. They preferred houses built with simple shapes, sturdy and practical, but to say such a thing about them was almost blasphemous. If magic existed that could assure a rigid perfection at the level of the atom, than it had been used here for the most mundane things. Blue paint adorned the sheer white walls, in strangely happy, blocky designs. The slanting rooves were blue, and she saw that every window was closed. Blue windows. Blue and white, pure and--

They kept walking.

It was hard to not to go overboard staring at everything. Something about the craftsponyship, perhaps? Or just the effects of the city’s magic? The malignity that lived within its walls? She had no idea.

An hour passed in silence. Except, of course, for the sound of their hooves. Twilight thought she heard a cry in the distance, but every time she searched around her only to find that she alone had heard. Abdiel… hadn’t he mentioned such things? She was sure he head. And so she said nothing. She told none of her companions. And yet she heard the cry again. And again, fainter ,farther.

They came to a great portico, with beautiful marble pillars with bases shaped after flowers. The carving was intricate. She thought at first that they were real flowers simply enchanted, but there was simply no way. Such things would have proved to delicate, being pressed together and enchanted this way. These were not flowers but the ideal of flowers, the archetype--

“Twilight? You comin’, hon?” Applejack’s voice was jarring. It was so unmusical, so prosaic. She almost shuddered.

“Oh? Yes, sorry.” Twilight scurried to catch up with the others. “Got distracted.”

“Don’t,” Abdiel said quietly.

“What?”

“Get distracted. Don’t get distracted.”

They left the pillared walkways behind and continued to a square adorned by a fountain shaped in the form of a pony rampant, holding a great banner. Twilight almost asked who the pony was, or if Abdiel could read an inscription describing the subject, but his sudden pause drew her attention.

He grit his teeth.

“Look,” he said, and pointed, and Twilight did look. She saw, as well. Cutting through the strange slowness of thought was a sudden sense of dread, for there was a tent behind the flowing waters of the fountain.

APPLEJACK

She is standing on a great plain, mountains behind and mountains before, but the ones yet to come are distant and the ones she has left behind her are close. They are like the comforting floor of an otherwise foreign house. Something to lean back on, to use as an anchor--something she can point to and say, “This is where I am, this is the boundary of home and here am I” and it mean something.

The tall grass is blowing. She hears the wind whistling. She feels the wind in her mane but her mane is not moving. Is that the grass that touches her legs, caressing them lightly, almost lovingly? Or is it her imagination? Is this the good earth?

“Seekers? Like you?” Tradewinds asks Abdiel. “Is likely, yes?”

“No,” Abdiel is shaking his head, poking at the tent with a frown. “This… Seekers would know better, even those who enter for the first time. This is a mistake.”

She has a mission. Rarity is there. Somewhere, here with her, among the flowing and singing grass. Rainbow Dash is here too. They are just out of sight, but she feels their presence. So close to her, with her, ready to face the unknown plains beyond Equestria. A friend in need of solace and medicine--aye, she’ll go a long way for that. To find a flower that grows at the end of the world.

Applejack stumbled slightly over a rock--a bit of loose masonry. When she righted herself, she looked and saw that the offending stone seemed untouched, immaculate still. It had been uneffected by her passage. She looked at it with lethargy, and found herself trying to move it. It moved. She blinked. Had it moved? It looked like it had never shifted position at all.

“AJ?” Twilight asked. “Now I know what I looked like a moment ago.” Twilight was beside her, looking from AJ to the rock as if trying to figure out what it was that held her friend’s attention.

“Sorry.”

She runs wild among the great herds that rest anywhere and everywhere. She feels the pulse of the earth beneath her hooves as she knows Rainbow feels the song of the lightning as Rarity must hear the thrum of thaumic miracles.

“Is any of this stuff dangerous to us?” Applejack asked, her voice strange in her own ear. “Abdiel, hey? You listenin’, fella?”

“Hm? No. This is all long abandoned. I doubt the pony who set it up is alive, actually. If only because they were foolish enough to set up camp here on the street. It’s curious… and I have suspicions. Let me think on it.”

She has raced the wind itself and she fights ponies who have never known defeat, eyes like stone and bodies like oaks. She has tasted of the wheat of the gods and drank of their ale. Here she is on the field of battle, wearing barding guilded, padded, formed of leather? Clothe? She has no idea, she cannot care. She is weaving out of the way of a earth-shattering hoof. She is kicking back, a roar of bloodlusting joy escaping her lips. Her hooves connect. She feels bone beneath them, the shock of contact! Another dodge, an arrow that sails through the air.

Flashes. Rarity hovering over a pool of water, her eyes lidded but glowing with gold.

“We’ll move on,” Abdiel said. “If it is acceptable to you, lavender’s apprentice.”

“I have a name,” groused Twilight, but she smirked. “Yeah, let’s go.” They continued.

Twilight lying in bed, her face withered, her body withered, drawn taut.

Applejack knew she was walking stiffly. She saw things but she knew they were not there. She saw them and said nothing, did not react to what she saw and felt. Yet she shook. She was painfully aware that Twilight had taken her at her word and given her a lion’s share. Usually, this would have pleased Applejack--she was the tough one, the hard one, she was the one who should bear the weight. But all of a sudden she felt trapped. The city was so wide but the streets so narrow. One moment she was on an endless plain--she almost felt she could name it! If she could focus on the visions, she could understand!--and the next moment she was walking among the lowborn of Jannah and their households. Except they were gone. She had to remind herself that. It was strangely hard to remember. She kept expecting for some normal pony to stroll out of each house they passed, whistling in the morning sun.

She could not hate it, not yet. It was so green! Houses had little box gardens filled with colorful flowers and herbs she recognized. Thyme, rosemary. She imagined the smell of pie wafting through an open window, passing the sky-blue shutters (open now, allowing her to see a normal home, why wouldn’t it be normal? Shouldn’t it be?).

Rainbow Dash with wings and hooves and the sweat of her brow calling the Storm. Roiling clouds and rain coming down in sheets, lightning flashing, a great tempest.

Her head ached.

Abdiel was saying something. How did he think? Applejack felt like she had walked through a thousand years. She shook her head. No. She was clear-headed. Strong willed. Applejack. She was herself. She wasn’t those pictures. Born in Ponyville, and by the Good Earth she would die in Ponyville or be damned. She repeated such things over and over. The hallucinations seemed less vivid the more she murmured.

“Seekers, yes, druzhinnik of the apprentice. I believe there is one nearby, but I am steering clear of him. That is why we are leaving the main road.”

“Is this safe?” Twilight asked. “This… forum, I guess you could call it. You and Luna both mentioned that the buildings were less than safe.”

Abdiel shrugged slowly. “Nothing is safe here. But it is not enclosed. It will be fine. We have the daylight.”

The mist was still present. Applejack was reminded of sheep’s wool on a spool, absurdly. Was it flowing out from the forum begirt with columns? No, it was everywhere, drifting without direction.

The forum from the outside was two rows of great etched columns and then a wall, all of it rooved over. Within the walls, past great open doors, there was a vast campus of mixed green and white. Small paths snaked through well-trimmed grass and around cypress trees and neatly trimmed bushes. Near the middle of the great clearing in the urban sprawl there was a small building that looked older, less perfect and trimmed. A shrine of some sort? A long pool of water, walled off in stone, sat beside it.

As the others spread out wordlessly, Applejack found herself drawn to the shrine. She was sure it was a shrine. She felt that it must be one.

It wasn’t a simple matter of finding the way through. Twilight, in the distance, called out that the door to their left led out into a public bath house. Dead end. She heard Tradewinds trot towards the source of Twilight’s voice, her hooves clopping along the path close enough to catch Applejack’s attention.

But it was hard to draw her attention away from the structure that she now stood in front of--it was so homely, so simple compared to the world around it. She poked her head inside, brimming with curiosity.

RARITY

“So, where do we hit first?” Rainbow asked.

“Hit implies a bit more violence involved than would be ideal,” Rarity replied carefully. “But, to answer the question… I believe the first major stop would be Stalliongrad. We’ll pass by Lunangrad on the way, but we won’t stop as long. From there, Manehattan.”

She paused. There was a general pause, in fact. Rarity hadn’t meant to dwell on it, but memories came to her unbidden. Manehattan. The things there… the mistakes, or perhaps they were not mistakes. Would things have always been as they were? Was there no stopping the burning of the tenements?

“Are you sure?” Fluttershy asked.

Rarity glanced across the table at her. Fluttershy did not flinch under her gaze. Rarity couldn’t read what was in her eyes at all. She noted this for later. It wasn’t the time to worry about her friend. Not in front of the Legata. She nodded.

And Fluttershy nodded in kind. “What then?”

“From Manehattan, we’ll so south, through Fillydelphia, and visit Hollow Shades if possible. That way, we can avoid the mountains.”

“Reports suggest that some of that territory is hostile,” the Legata said. The three from Canterlot turned to look at her. She sat upright, her spine straight as a sword.

“Possibly,” Rarity stressed. “It is possibly hostile.”

“Possibly is as good as decidedly,” countered the Legata, her stone gray eyes flickering towards Rarity. “You must account for it.”

“I have,” Rarity said.

“You want us to run from maybes?” Rainbow asked, bristling.

“No, I don’t. I wished to be sure that possibilities were accounted for.”

“It’s fine,” Rarity said. “I was actually going to bring that up, so we might as well discuss it. Yes, Baltimare cut ties with Canterlot on rather bad terms. Fillydelphia… to be honest, we’re not sure of its status. Most of the major rioting during the Long Night was in the south and west, but with how Baltimare more or less… seceded,” she grimaced. “We are likely to be watched. If nothing else. I would hope it would be nothing else.”

“You intend to visit the city regardless.”

“I do.” Rarity sighed. “Caution is imposrtant, but so is the food we are bringing. I’ve checked and double checked the calculations with the Quartermaster and his staff. We have enough to relieve some of the hardship in those three cities. Obviously, I am saving the lion’s share for Canterlot. For one, it is overburdened and to be blunt it has far more mouths to feed. At the same time, we must prove to the ponies of the outerlying provinces that their Princess, their nation has not forgotten them.”

“Will you be bringing it all then?”

“The food?” Rarity asked.

“That’s stupid,” Rainbow growled. “Of course not. Don’t ask questions just to goad,” she added.

Opal and Rainbow glared at each other across the table.

Rarity sighed. For her part, she was beginning to tire of this tension. Rainbow had taken an instant dislike to the soldier mare, and Opal had responded in kind. Opal thought of Rainbow as an undisciplined barbarian, a primitive. Rarity would argue with her on most of that, but comparatively Rainbow was lax. But that had more to do with Opal’s rigidity than a fault on Rainbow’s part.

She wished they wouldn’t goad each other.

“Please,” Fluttershy said. It was quiet. Too quiet. Rainbow swore.

“What is even your problem? You know we’re not stupid--”

“I have never implied Lady Rarity was and if you were a bit less full of yourself--”

“Me? You’re the one who keeps giving everyone the evil eye--”

“If you two would--” Fluttershy tried again. No doing.

“I have done nothing but my duty, Miss Dash. If you even understand such things--”

“What the hell? You don’t know anything about me!”

Fluttershy’s wings flared open. She slammed both hooves on the table, disrupting the maps, the charts, even the candles. Rarity caught the candles before they could fall in her magic’s hold, and backed away from the table. Rainbow backed away as well, staring at Fluttershy, who breathed heavily. All of their eyes were wide, even the Legata’s.

“If you two are quite finished,” Fluttershy practically hissed.

They nodded dumbly. There was a tiny uncharitable pony in Rarity’s head that was pleased to see the Legata cowed. But that voice was in the distance. The rest of her was shocked. She tried to speak--it was what she did. “Fluttershy, I--”

“No, I’m not done,” Fluttershy interrupted her. “Firstly, ponies can hear what we say right now. They can hear the two of you girls fighting. This is pointless. Rainbow!” Rainbow backed away, and fell back on her haunches. She raised both her forelegs as if pleading innocence.

“Hey, Flutts, I--”

“Don’t. Don’t finish that. Rainbow, you are being unreasonable. I know. Don’t explain it, I know. And it’s a stupid, stupid problem to have right now. Okay? It is. I haven’t said anything, but that’s the truth. I am so, so tired of you fighting. All of you. This isn’t the time. It isn’t the place. Especially,” she added, in a lower voice, a slightly more viscious one, “where everypony from here to Manehattan can hear you. Okay?”

“O-okay…”

“Thank you. And you,” Fluttershy turned her baleful eyes to the Legata, who had regained some of her steel composure. “I know you’re doing this on purpose. You need to live in the present and stop trying to force everypony into the past with you. Dash isn’t a barbarian on the frontier. The world is not the legion, and not everypony you encounter has to be the legion. And you know that. I know you do, and I know you’re doing this on purpose because it makes you feel like you’re right. Dont’,” she said, showing her teeth. If the Legata was about to say something, that stopped her. “And I know you’re going to say that you are just doing your job, but we both know that you could do it and be a lot more cooperative and better natured about it. Do you like being the Iron Bitch?”

Opal said nothing.

“You had better decide if that is what you want to be,” Fluttershy said. She was shaking. “You had better decide if you want to be alone or not. Because nopony can depend on a pony who won’t stop trying to be something that they aren’t, somepony who can’t do what they need to do. Okay? Okay. I’m done. Mostly.” She looked at Rarity. Most of the fire was gone. “You should have said something,” she finished.

Fluttershy, shaking like a leaf, left the tent.

They stood there in silence.

“We can put this on hold,” Rarity said, shakily. “Legata, I--we will come to your tent tomorrow night. I’ve put together some tentative plans for how to proceed, but I want…” she blinked. Her words were failing her again, as they had before. Surely she was past this. She felt her leg so obviously now. She resisted the urge to hide her scars with a hoof. She could still be Rarity. “I would like you to look at the city maps and help us plan for the worst case,” she finished. Lamely. Unconvincingly.

“Yes. I can do this,” Opal said. She looked at each of them in turn. She and Rainbow shared no moment of reconciliation. But they didn’t glare. Neither of them could look at each for more than a moment. “Your friend… Forgive me. It has been a long march. I will retire for the night.”

She called in the guards, and they took her stretcher away. Leaving just Rarity. Just Rarity and a very deathly silent Rainbow.

What could she say? Fluttershy was right. Rarity didn’t know what this “reason” was, but the whole march from the capitol to Fort Forlorn, these two had bickered. It was why she had limited her contact the last two or three days with the lower level officers. She didn’t need them seeing that.

Should she say something? Should she let Rainbow be silent a moment longer?

“What do I do?” Rainbow asked. Her voice sounded so different. “I think I fucked up, Rares.”

Rarity nodded dumbly.

“Fluttershy… she… I mean, I haven’t seen her pissed like that in forever. Like, really forever. And when she gets that bad… oh gods, she’s probably been sitting there between us just…”

Rainbow hung her head. And Rarity wasn’t sure what else to do, so she slowly crossed the space between them and wrapped Rainbow up in a tight hug. Was she frustrated with Dash? Yes. But it didn’t matter. She would ask for reasons later. She would try to understand later.

Rainbow hugged her back. “Should I go find her?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I think I should. I… I haven’t... “

“She’s been alone with distressing frequency,” Rarity finished her thought for her. “Go find her. I’ll wait for you in our tent. Don’t worry about waking me up. I want you to tell me what happens, alright?” She shifted her weight and winced. The leg was acting up again. She felt the pain lance through her body. Damn wild magic. Damn it to Tartarus.

Rainbow nodded. “I’ll… I guess I’ll be back.”

Rarity released her, and Rainbow--head bowed, ears against her skull, walked outside the tent and took to the air.

Rarity was alone. Night had fallen early on Fort Forlorn.

It was an old fortress, and she had been surprised to find that even Opal knew of it. Or, knew of the places it had replaced. Forlorn was the northernmost point of Equestria, and along the most clear path from the Empire to the southern lands, at the mouth of a mountain pass. Fortress after fortress had been built here. Before the empire, petty warlords and kings built here and were overthrown. After the empire, a lonely mage’s castle and then a failed colony of Equestria, and then finally a fort against the monsters of the north.Over and over and over.

Luna’s Rangers operated out of the small fort, as did a regiment of the Lunar Frontier guard. When Rarity had asked after the status and whereabouts of the Army of the North, she had gotten ignorance and resentment. Gone, or stragglers here and there. Of course. How could she have guessed anything else? They had fallen apart after Manehattan. Mass desertion, food shortage, low morale. When the tenements burned, it was as if all at once the dream that was Equestria had been itself burned. She shook her head. That was a foolish thought.

Rarity sighed, and walked towards her tent.

TWILIGHT

She was to be married soon. What was she doing here? She would be late! And after all of the hard work Rarity had put in, arranging and planning! Or Big Mac, would he think she had abandoned him?

“This is a lot slower going than I expected,” groused Applejack.

“All walking is slow,” Tradewinds grumbled.

Twilight chuckled. “I’m sure it must seem so.”

A heavy atmosphere. Had she made a mistake? She was so happy. So happy. But Fluttershy…

They were below the window, on the steps that led into the house that Twilight had grown up in. Lover and Beloved, locked in an embrace in the night. The stallion would say his goodbyes and be off into the night, back down the hill to where he was staying with one of his groomsponies’ uncle.

Twilight trembled with barely contained excitement. “Just a few days! I’d say that I had butterflies in my stomach, but I don’t think it adequately describes this.

Big Macintosh simply smiled and nuzzled her. “Eeyup.”

“I can’t wait,” she said, kissing him gently under the lamplight before nuzzling back under his chin. “I really can’t. I’m not even sure how I’ll get to sleep tonight.”

“I reckon that you’ll find a way. It’s been a long day, Twi. Besides, you girls are gonna need your rest for tomorrow,” he drawled as he stroked her mane with his forehoof. “But I know what ya mean now. I’m right wound up myself…”

He smirked. “If I can get over those fine legs of yours and get some sleep, I know you can.” Twilight blushed furiously, swatting at him halfheartedly. They both laughed. They quieted and stood still for a moment, ignoring their surroundings. The night was quiet, and the streets of this part of the residential area were all but abandoned. For all intents and purposes, they were alone here with each other, happy as they could be.

Fluttershy’s eyes bored into them.

Twilight stumbled. She felt such… it was bitter. It tasted so bitter.

What was this? What was this place?

They came to something which for all the world reminded Twilight of a great ferris wheel. It was a sort of wheel of platforms, connected to the rails that laced through the sky here and there. She could imagine how it was meant to move. Each platform would be attached to the rail, sending it off to… wherever. It was hard to imagine the scope of the city. How could something be this big? How could a city be so endless? But she saw now how other platforms would be brought back in, collected, and then sent back out. Like a heart, it would move these strange flat monoliths. Rails begirt the sides. Had they carried ponies? It seemed reasonable. They had been walking an hour and it seemed that they had made less progress than she would have liked. She could only imagine what it would be like to traverse such an expanse through crowds.

She looked up, shielding her eyes. The sun was moving fast today. Twilight growled to herself softly. Perfect. They needed to make tracks. Abdiel had made it abundantly clear: nopony who wanted to live was on the street when darkness came.

After some time, Rarity spoke again. “Twilight, I need to ask you something.”

“Yes?” Rarity’s tone put her on the defensive.

“It’s about Fluttershy.”

Twilight sighed deeply. “Yes?” she repeated, a little defeated.

“Why? I need to hear it from you why you made her a bridesmare. You must know how she’s been these last few days.”

“I do,” she admitted. “I made a mistake, but I’m not sure there was any really good course of action.”

Rarity waited for the rest of her explanation in heavy silence.

“I… we all knew that Fluttershy liked Macintosh. You know just as well as I do that how much she liked him was always a mystery. She never discussed it at length with us and we had to pull it out of her bit by bit. Remember, by the time I talked to her about Macintosh and I dating, we all sort of assumed she was moving on.”

Rarity nodded, and her expression softened. “Yes, darling. I remember all that. Continue, please.”

Twilight knew she was starting to ramble, but she couldn’t help it. So much had built up inside her and she’d had no one to talk to. “I guess I wanted something, and I was willing to fool myself into thinking it was more attainable than it was. I grasped at that straw—that she was getting over him. When he asked me to marry him and I asked all you girls to be bridesmares in turn… I was deluding myself into thinking that she was sad but no longer truly in love. I thought this would be closure. I didn’t want her to be all alone in Ponyville without any of us. She’s my friend...” Twilight faltered, then stopped.

Rarity stopped as well and considered this before answering. “I’d say that I wasn’t sure how wise that decision was, Twilight, but I think that’s obvious by now to both of us. But you have a point. Fluttershy at home, these emotions festering with no one like Dash or I to check them…”

No, no! No. She shook her head violently. This was all wrong! She hadn’t said those things! She hadn’t had those conversations! She wasn’t getting married! Macintosh didn’t even like mares.

“Abdiel,” she said. Her voice shook, just a little.

“Yes, Apprentice?”

“I… this place.”

“Has it begun, then? Do you hear things?”

She shivered. “I… nevermind,” she said. How does one say, “Oh, I think I’m having hallucinations about things that never happened!” and not sound insane? It was impossible. She focused on the here and now. She would will it away.

Abdiel looked at her for a long moment, and then shrugged. “It was easier to traverse the city in the old days,” he said, turning to Applejack. “I have avoided the main roads. The Lost are greater in number. Some of the Seekers who have not heard the Calling have become more, ah, defensive.”

“You mean they’re violent now.”

He shrugged. “Yes.”

“The Lost? The ones who…” Pinkie’s voice trailed off. She was poking the platforms on the great wheel.

Abdiel shrugged again. “The ones who lose themselves, yes.”

“What do they… I mean, how do they survive?” Twilight asked, trying to stay engaged, stay here.

“The city sustains them, perhaps? I do not know. None of us do. Perhaps they do not survive but are already dead.” He smiled, and it was not a happy smile. “Regardless, let us not be caught by them. We must move on.” Abdiel looked around. “We’ve already lingered here too long.”

“Is hard, not to linger,” said Tradewinds. Her voice sounded slower. Was it? Twilight studied her, but her eyes seemed as sharp as always. Her wing was still unready for flight, but otherwise she looked fit and alert. So it’s just me, then.

“Yes, it is. I find myself… interested,” Abdiel finished. He looked away.

“What is the Calling?” Twilight asked. She had wanted to ask in Ostyallah. Why hadn’t she?

He did not answer. Instead, he scanned the rooftops. “We must leave. I begin to feel that I am being watched. Call it, ah, nerves. Of course,” he turned and flashed them all his lopsided smirk. “One is always being watched in Ja--”

There was a loud crack, and Abdiel spun. Twilight saw the arc of his blood and his body crumpled in the mist.

Twilight stared at him.

“Won’t fly again, won’t fly again… What if they’re right? Rares, you gotta let me go! What if they’re right? I gotta know!”

The whispering transformed into laughter—discordant and sinister. Rainbow, struggling against Rarity’s hooves and magic, screamed against the void and the mocking. “I’ll fly! You can’t stop me from flying, you fuckers! Just you watch me! Shut up! Don’t you dare laugh, don’t you even dare!”

The laughter only intensified. Twilight tried to help, not even sure if Rarity’s fears were warranted. All she knew was that Rainbow was out of control, for now she could feel the voices gnaw at her own mind.

Twilight reeled. Applejack roared in her ear. What was she saying? Everything was so dark now.

It wasn’t just flashes. She saw herself now in a great labyrinth, dark, lit only by an invisible, ill light. Nothing was wholesome, nothing was hopeful--she was trapped. She would run forever to please a malignant joy. Twilight began hyperventilating. Where were the others? Where the city, where the wheel? Rainbow lay in mist--no, there wasn’t mist here, there was only the dark maze. She bled into the smooth, featureless ebony surface.

Twilight stumbled towards her, shaking. “Rainbow? Rainbow? Get up!”

“Twilight!” Rarity was bawling. “Rainbow!”

“I can’t… I don’t know… I don’t know much about medicine. I can’t do healing magic, I’ll screw it up,” she babbled. There was no seperation. The city was the dream. Only this was real. Rainbow dying on the floor. Rarity bending over her, screaming

“Twilight! Please!”

She felt something touch her in the darkness and she jumped, lashing out with a hoof.

“My wings, my wings!” Rainbow repeated in horrified stupor.

Rarity rounded on Twilight. “Hurry up!”

She tried. The second one was easier, and the third came out quickly with the dexterity of her magic.

Rainbow hadn’t let up, and Rarity snapped at her. She left off of applying pressure to Rainbow’s gushing wounds suddenly and Twilight did her best to keep the bleeding under control.

“My wings! My wings! Rarity, oh Celestia, I’m so cold! My wings!”

Rarity shook her, voice tinged with madness. “How dare you! You never listen! You just do whatever you want, fly wherever you want! I always give you room, don’t I? You look at me! Don’t you dare close your eyes, Rainbow Dash!”

Rainbow looked up, terrified and uncomprehending. Tears streamed from both of her eyes. She tried to speak, but Rarity wouldn’t let her. Twilight tried to pull the unicorn back, but Rarity shoved her off.

“Rares? Rares, I’m cold.”

“TWILIGHT, GET YOUR ASS UP!”

Who was that? Who was screaming? Just the voices in the maze, the tormenting voices, dragging her this way and that, trying to keep her from her friend.

There was a loud crack, and Twilight felt pain lance through her shoulder. The maze was gone, all of it was gone. She was falling towards the perfect, preserved cobblestones of Jannah. The mist was everywhere. If anything, there was more of it now, roiling and churning as if it were alive, as if it knew exactly what was happening.

What was happening? Twilight tried to stand, and found herself roughly pulled back.

“Hurry!” Tradewinds hissed in her ear. “We must withdraw, Twilight!”

“R-rainbow…” She tried to reach out. What was happening? Where was Rainbow?

Abdiel. Where was Abdiel? He’d fallen. Had he been shot? Who would be shooting? She had missed too much.

“Twi! I could really use some magic right now!” Applejack thundered into her vision, dragging a groaning Abdiel with her. She let go of him long enough to speak, and then continued, pulling at his saddlebag straps with her teeth.

Twilight called on her magic. It sprang to life, and violet lightning along her horn. The mists seemed to get thicker around her, as if they waited. She could not see any targets, but somehow she knew they were there. She cast her magic out like a net, letting it wash over buildings and streets. They all felt awful, like beautiful food rotten on the inside, it was to her thaumic sense what rancid butter was to her taste. She shuddered, but she found two targets--two ponies on the roof. She arced her lightning at them.

“Is that it? You see ‘em?” Applejack asked her, shaking Twilight’s shoulder. Twilight cried out--the pain flared up again. Had she forgotten it already? Applejack jumped. “Aw hell. Let me see it.”

“Um, I’m all for checking up on Twilight, but…” Pinkie flitted into Twilight’s vision. “We really, really need to go. That was really loud.”

Applejack growled. “Twilight, are we good? Can you like magic somethin’ up?”

Twilight sucked air through her clenched teeth. Stars, but her shoulder hurt. She tried to move the foreleg and to her relief found that she could. But it felt a little stiff. Pain, she thought. Nothing more. I got lucky. “I can get a rudimentary sense quickly, yes. There’s nothing in my range.”

“How far is that?”

“Fifty meters.”

Applejack nodded. “That’s good to know. Okay then, lemme patch you up. Abdiel, is he doin’ alright Pinkie?”

“Yeah! Abby’s okay!”

“That… that is not my name, pink one.”

“His ear’s littler, though,” Pinkie said, and then grunted as she helped their guide to his hooves.

Twilight watched Abdiel touch his mutilated ear gently. He winced, and traced a shallow wound along his shoulder. “I was… lucky.” He shook his head. “Too distracted. I am ashamed.”

“I didn’t notice anything either,” Twilight said softly. She whined as Applejack’s bandage was tightened and then her friend mussed her hair.

“Abdiel, were those yer fallen? Twi, keep lookin’. If we have time… Pinkie, can you and Trade go grab their guns? Thankya.”

“Yes, those were Fallen, I think…” He sighed, and gestured for them to move out of the middle of the street. Pinkie and Tradewinds had left quickly towards the houses where the gunfire had originated. “Guns with them are very rare. Guns are rare on the Veldt in general, yes? Now, it is not like the forgotten never use their old tools and weapons…”

He was quiet. “I should have gone and checked the bodies. There is another possibility, one that came to mind when I saw the tent.”

“What?”

“Ponies coming here who are not Seekers or Fallen. I would allow that it is, ah, not impossible.”

Twilight looked down at her hooves. She had no idea what to think of that. At no point had she even considered the possibility that somepony would be here before her. Did it matter? Who were they? If nothing else, she no longer felt safe. That got a grin--safe. She hadn’t felt safe in a long time.

Pinkie and Tradewinds arrived a few moments later. Pinkie carried nothing. Tradewinds carried, strapped to her back, two carbines. They were new--Twilight recognized that right away. Bolt action, well-made, practically worthy of the Lunar Guard. Expensive. “Ammunition?” she asked, hollowly. Something felt wrong. Something was wrong. These weren’t the weapons of scavengers, picking at the carcass that time avoids.

“Plenty,” Tradewinds said, and dug through her saddlebags to pull out a clip. She tried to say something around the bullets, presumably something like “Like this,” but Twilight couldn’t make it out before Tradewinds had replaced her prize. “They had harnesses. I could not carry both.”

“I’m sorry, Twilight. I…” Pinkie looked away. She smiled. “Uh, it clashed with my mane? No, that’s dumb.”

“I wouldn’t want to wear it either, Pinkie.” Twilight said, without thinking about it. Pinkie still didn’t meet her eyes.

“Well, Tradewinds, you mind takin’ one? Can you shoot?”

“It can be done, da,” the pegasus said with an almost feral grin. “They will be full of holes if they are returning.”

“I ain’t much of a shooter. I mean, I can, but I’m better as a brawler. You want it, Abs?” Applejack asked, gesturing with a hoof.

They huddled against a house. Abdiel rolled his eyes. “That is not my name.”

“Well, Twi ain’t Apprentice either.” Applejack smiled. It was a genuine, warm smile. “Gotta take and give in equal measure, sugar.”

“Whatever you say, Yeomare. I will take the rifle.”

“Now that’s just a plain dumb name.” Applejack looked to Twilight. “Let’s move then. We need t’ get out of here. Pinkie’s right. That sound’s gonna draw ‘em all out. If they’re are more.”

“I have a feeling there will be,” Twilight said.

The sun had left quickly.

How far had they penetrated into the city? A mile? Two? their early progress had been swifter, but the encounter with the… whoever they were had spooked everypony, even Abdiel. Discussion had been sparse, concise, but useful.

They weren’t Fallen. From the description, if they had heard the Calling it was very recently. Tradewinds suggested treasure hunters, which Abdiel conceded was a possibility. Pinkie wondered if it were a half-dozen threats of the world before the fall. Everything from brainwashed minions of discord to changelings to the Mad God.

The Mad God. D’Jalin. How long had it been since Twilight had heard that name? When was the last time she had even said his name? She thought back. Luna. Hadn’t they spoken of it? It felt like another world.

He had risen from the sands of the north Zebrahara, a blood mage, a fledgeling lich. There had been many like him throughout time, with their mystique and their wild magic--they raged and raged, but few survived for long. But he had been different.

D’Jalin had no dreams of power and lost lore. He was not interested in old books for the sake of reading them, or old magic for the sake of knowing it. He did no careful experiments. No, he reveled for the sake of revelry. The dance of blood was his only joy and he worshipped it and himself.

Macintosh outlined in the fires of a foreign village, running as fast as he can. Fire everywhere. Above him, a strafing pegasus is blown out of the sky. Macintosh hits a zebra with a skull helm, gore fresh even now on his shining bone armor. They go down together, Mac’s hard hoofblades piercing flesh. His eyes are wide, his breath is ragged, his heart beats like a snare drum, everything is fire everything is ruin the world is a squirming mass of flesh and this is the end of all flesh Luna save him another fighter comes and he destroy them. He sees Fluttershy in her broken form. He wants to go home. He wants to go home but there is no home everything is on fire the world is iron and ash.

Twilight shook. The visions returned. No, not now! Not like this! Macintosh hadn’t been in the Zebrahara! None of these were real.

Celestia sent two brigades to help the Emperor of all Zebras to quell the “revolt” that was aimless and formless, a sweeping madness of blood and death. It had been a few months before she had left on her sabbatical. And Maciintosh had been fixing plows and carrying cider into town all that time. The brigades had been pulled back a long time ago.

It had just been an off-handed comment--one from Pinkie, even--yet the germ of certainty had caught hold in her mind. To Twilight, in her weakness of heart, it felt as if an outside force pressed the knowledge of the mad god upon her.

“Does it matter what we pick?” Twilight asked.

Abdiel shook his head. “No, not at this point. We need one with many levels.”

“Then it’s fine,” Twilight said, and sighed. “Let’s get out of the street.”

Abdiel had found a house on the outskirts of a grand park. In any other city, Twilight would have enjoyed it. As it was, she found the pristine purity of the greens and blues beyond the house unnerving.

“Keep going,” Abdiel said. “We needed height to be far from the street, Apprentice. Farm mare, when I have found roome you will help me make barricade with our packs. Do not touch anything if you can help it. Pink one, I have a frivolous request.”

“Sounds like the best kind!”

“Sing, or hum. Humming is good. No words. Just… distract us, yes?”

Pinkie hummed a bright tune on command. Twilight found it jarring as the mist rolled in through the front door.

The house went by in a flash. She barely had time to notice anything except for empty chairs, an empty table, a painting on a wall, a long reclining couch.

They ascended the stairs. The passage up was small and cramped, forcing them to walk close together. Twilight found that she had almost forgotten how badly her companions and herself smelled for a long time until just this moment. In another world, she might have laughed.

The second story passed. The third story was wide open, a sort of studio apartment, perhaps? Abdiel sighed. “I had hoped for something more easily defended,” he said.

“Is fine,” grumbled Tradewinds. “Streets give me… ah… chyort. Vypolz,” she grumbled. At least, that was what Twilight heard. Tradewinds was shedding her pack. They all followed suit.

The studio apartment was roomy, even comfortable. She saw a bed and moved towards it. Abdiel said nothing to her, so she supposed it was alright. She touched it lightly with a hoof, running her touch along the carefully made blankets. It looked… not quite modern. But not as old as it should have looked. A hundred years, maybe. It was the sort of furniture she would expect from an old mare’s home, not an ancient ruin.

Something bothered her.

The couch on the first floor… ancient in design. It was made for reclining in a style familiar which the central continent during the classical era. Her mind’s eye returned to the table. Empty? Only devoid of ponies. The earthware on it fit the time period. Didn’t it? Her head hurt.

Behind her, Applejack was laying triplines with rope across the stairs. Twilight could hear her. Twilight could hear all of them, moving or not moving. Nopony said much. Suddenly nopony seemed able or willing to talk. It was so dark outside. The twilight had come and gone in only a fraction of its proper time.

Twilight considered bringing out the lamp she had taken from the ship. As she reached for it, she felt Abdiel come to stand at her side.

“Is light alright?” She asked. Her voice sounded so loud.

“Away from the windows,” he answered. “Here, I will take it. Be weary of everything. Do not sleep in the bed. You may lie in it… but do not fall asleep, yes?” Abdiel took the lamp and returned to the center of the room. The fire came to life--she heard that too.

As Twilight lingered, staring down at the bed, imagining that once somepony had slept here, she found that her head felt clearer. Her thoughts felt more sturdy, more productive. Her dread was not done away with, but it had diminished. She turned, and found Abdiel watching her. The others were laying out sleeping bags, chatting more animatedly than they had since entering the city. Their eyes met, and he nodded before walking back to her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” Twilight answered.”Much better. I feel like up until I’ve been half asleep. It’s the mist, right? There isn’t any up here.”

“You are correct, Apprentice. The mist saps the will and poisons the mind. I had said as much… but I understand that it is jarring enough to have made you forget.” He sighed and then stretched. Twilight, amused, thought it looked much like how a cat might do it. “You are seeing things.” It was not a question.

She wouldn’t lie to him. “Yes.”

“I have seen how troubled you look. You know that these things…”

“Aren’t real,” she finished. “I figured that out. I saw Applejack’s brother twice--once when he was sent as a soldier to the Zebrahara, and again where he was, uh, marrying me. The first I know is factually inaccurate, and the second… well.” She smiled, knowing it was an awkward smile. “Neither of us would go for that.”

Abdiel nodded. “Your friends no doubt have seen things themselves. Well, perhaps not. I believe the farmer has.”

“Applejack.”

“Hm?”

Twilight poked him in the chest with her hoof. “Applejack. Use names.”

“Names are precious,” Abdiel said, as if this explained everything.

“Whatever. I think you’re right. She looked really out of it earlier. I didn’t think much about it before, but now that my mind is clear…”

“Yes. Do not be too alarmed. Know they are not real. Dreams, perhaps? Illusions. I met an old pony who was sure that there were other worlds than these. I laughed at him, but when I come here I wonder about him. Either way, be on your guard.”

Twilight nodded. She looked outside, into the mists. “It was a short day. A shame, really. I’d have liked to make more progress.”

“Ah, it was a normal day.” When Twilight gave him a questioning look, he continued. “Time is… how you say, soft. It is soft here. Its flow is distorted in Jannah especially, but they say that the closer one is to the edges of Creation, the stranger time is.”

Twilight’s mind raced. “So… bare with me here, but how long have we been here?”

“A day.”

“By outside standards?”

He shrugged. “A day? Two, perhaps? No one knows.”

Twilight’s heart beat in her chest, she could feel her own pulse race and it drove her crazy. “We… but if we spend a few days inside, it could be weeks out there. Right? Is that possible? It can’t be.” She tried to massage her temples. She turned away completely, staring outside. “Celestia… the longer we’re here, the more the world out there… this… I thought you were just being mysterious about the whole ‘things work differently in Jannah’ thing!” She groaned.

Abdiel shushed her. “Apprentice, it would not do for your friends to see you in such distress. It will not be weeks. I promise that we will make good time. We will be stealthy, but I will give you my best. I was overly cautious today after the attack.”

Twilight was barely listening. Days. Weeks. How long? Time was relative. Any practioner of the higher magics knew this well. But now Twilight lived it, and she found that the idea was horrifying. How long? If there was no way to calculate it… but there had to be. Anything could be measured.

She heard a sound. It was like a whimper. A familiar whimper, a familiar voice. She looked up and saw Rarity.

Rarity trembled in an alleyway down the street. Rain had fallen, and she was soaked. It was only dripping now off the roofs, collecting on the unholy pavestones below. She shook, but it was not the rain or the cold that had settled in her bones that caused this.

She heard It again, or rather, Them. Thought died; all desire to move or exist vanished. She was a leaf, and the report of the nameless Horror’s passing was like the wind. She looked away, the aura of its wrongness hitting her like a tidal wave. She knew it was there, slithering along like some awful adder in the street. That was the wrong word. There were no words. Wait until it passes, wait until it passes, wait until it passes...

“Apprentice! Ah, Twilight, move away from the windows!”

Six miles wide its side, all pulsing life and unholy maw, it has no eyes, it has no heart, its only thoughts are to devour. It cannot speak, it cannot kill itself, it has forgotten all but the Noise. It is Noise burrowing into the city. It will undo all light, it will suck the marrow of Creation on the last day. It does not know this. It slithers along the city and its noise-hymn is unbroken.

She was entranced by the sight outside. She took a step back regardless.

Rarity wanted to look up, towards the great tableland. She wanted to think she was looking for Rainbow. She wanted to be strong. She had to be strong but the world was stronger. She could only squeeze her eyes shut. It was here. It would find her. Rainbow was gone. She would die. Rarity would die. Maybe one day the gates she could not force open would open themselves. These things would crawl out from the sewers and then the world would end. She knew they would find her. She knew they would eat her alive. She knew it they would--

Twilight stumbled. Abdiel was calling to her. “Apprentice,” he hissed, “put these over the windows. Damn it! I should have done this sooner.”

Twilight fumbled with her magic and found the bedrolls he was carrying. She put them over the windows and added a spell to keep them still. The moonlight was gone. The street and the Rarity who was not real were gone.

Twilight closed her eyes. “The… was that…”

“That part was real,” Abdiel said. His voice sounded so muted now.

Twilight felt a buzzing, far off in the distance. It was so faint, and yet it grated. She did not want to know what it was.

Author's Note

This great evil - where's it come from? How'd it steal into the world? What seed, what root did it grow from? Who's doing this? Who's killing us, robbing us of life and light, mocking us with the sight of what we mighta known? Does our ruin benefit the earth, aid the grass to grow and the sun to shine? Is this darkness in you, too? Have you passed through this night?

Thanks Carbon for the help with my Russian. I now know what the singular of druzhina is.

Go then there are other worlds than these

XXXV. Jannah Interlude: Last Ticket Home

LUNA SONGBOURNE

Luna looked at each of them in turn with pursed lips and hard eyes. Their perfect images were in disarray--nobility afraid and running, even as they stood. A pony didn’t need to run to flee, after all, not when they had power and money. They could throw others in harm’s way. They have the thing you spoke of, Sister, with your sardonic grin and your sweeping gestures. They have infinite money, the sinews of war.

“Something must be done,” chattered Lord Dawn. He was fidgeting. No, that was a bit too kind. He was practically trying to hide in plain sight. Luna barely registered him as a pony at this point. She wanted to spit at him, for old times’ sakes. How the Lords and Ladies of old had decayed! Withered! They had been like steel in her day, good and bad alike, bold and capable. She thought, as she sometimes was wont to, of the children of Belle--the battle over the great crag where the progeny of that House went down screaming defiance in her face, refusing to be eaten alive by flame before their task was complete…

And now they were like this. Mewling.

“And what would that be?” Luna asked him. She raised a foreleg, and he flinched, only to snarl--not at her of course! Somepony like him couldn’t even meet her eyes when he was bold!--as she gently rested her head on her hoof.

“We have… we have armies, don’t we?”

“More like one army, subdivided by division and such,” Lord Iron said with a little smile. He seemed… bored. This failed to impress the Princess as much as Candescent Dawn’s mewling had. If one was withered, the other was a point--a tiny dagger with a smile and a shapeless ruin of worry. She didn’t trust him. She barely trusted him to be in this room. He was a snake, and Luna knew much of snakes from her long life. The real ones she had no fear for, not anymore. The ones who wore the faces of ponies, however, she still had a healthy caution about.

“Quit your whining, Candy,” growled Lady Brigantine. Rowan-Oak. An old and illustrious house. Luna found the mare who led it to be a wholly distasteful personnage, but at least she had a spine. If there was one pony among her detractors whom Luna could see in any form as worthy of her respect, it was Brigantine.

“Do not call me that,” hissed Lord Dawn. “You… Agh. This is pointless, you stupid bitch. You can insult me all you want, but I’m right. We can’t let them get any closer.”

Brigantine Rowan-Oak shrugged and sat back. “It isn’t like we’re going to, ah, abandon you,” she continued. “So they’re here. All of them. We have artillery. Why offer battle afield when we can pick them off the whole way here? By the time they get here, one good charge will send those animals packing.”

“You seem confidant in the new technology,” Luna said quietly.

Brigantine flashed her a wolf’s grin. “Of course I do, your highness. I’m a pony of the Earth, and what we make works. I personally invested millions into the technology now guarding this city.”

A challenge. Luna did not move to counter it. Instead, she nodded. “You have, Lady Rowan-Oak, and once again We are thankful for your efforts.”

Brigantine huffed, but didn’t seem to be too put out. Luna watched her as the others spoke again.

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up!” Dawn put hooves against his temples. “We have to send the army out there and keep them away.”

Lord Epona coughed. “Candescent, if you need to calm down, I’m sure we can handle the next few minutes without your company.”

Dawn glared at him. Luna waited for somepony else to intervene, and she was not surprised when Iron spoke.

“It’s fine, Candescent. These are times to, ah, try pony's souls,” Lord Iron said with a smile, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. “Please, go and collect yourself.”

Trembling, Luna watched Lord Dawn lose his last ties.

When he had retreated wordlessly, Luna returned to the map on the table before them. Every House Major had gathered, with the exception of House Belle, who had been attacked sometime before dawn had come. Luna had only recieved the news as she was entering this meeting, and beneath the cold exterior she was squirming to get out. She had sworn. Her word was her bond, and she had sworn that Sweetie would be protected.

She had sworn the same of Canterlot. So she grit her teeth and concentrated on the task at hand.

“Lord Dawn’s plan is, of course, out of the question,” Iron said, when he was sure the noble was well out of hearing-range. “If you can call his panic a plan, that is. I’m sure you will agree, Princess, that our forces are best spent holding the high ground. My friend, Lady Brigantine, is quite right. I’m sure you see this.”

“Yes,” Luna replied, ignoring the way he spoke to her. Like she was a child. She also resisted the urge to reply with a snort and an explanation that she had been young when the world was young, and she had seen more battles in a century of that time than he had seen in his entire life, counting every book and play he had experienced. “There is plenty of merit to controlling the high ground. However, I have certain concerns.” She looked at Brigantine, and spoke only for her. “Lady Rowan-Oak, I know that you invested heavily in Martel Foundries, but how knowledgeable are you on the specifics of their guns?”

“I know enough. I couldn’t aim one of the damn things, if that’s what you meant. But I know which side the shell comes out of.” When she smiled grimly, Luna smiled back. Yes, there was something she liked about Brigantine Rowan-Oak.

“No, I had in mind their effective ranges. I have been studying our defenses rather obsessively the last few months,” she said with what she hoped looked like a sheepish smile. “I am glad to see that the level of technology has returned at last to what it was before my fall. I had hoped to have more airships available in such a crisis, but time caught up with us. There are a few problems with artillery in general, effective as it is at controlling the tide of battle. The first is its weakness to assault on hoof by concealed forces. While that is a concern, our only method to counter that is to increase the guard on them. Would you be willing to lend the crown some of your forces to act as guards for Our guns?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Apart from that, I will show you why--panic or not--there is something worth considering in what Candescent Dawn was saying.” Luna placed several bronze markers on the map. “This was the disposition of the foe as of yesterday, roughly an hour before midnight. It is… ah, it is now nine twenty-four, if the clock on the far wall is accurate. The disposition of the enemy is now more akin to this.”

She quadrupled the markers, pushing them into new positions. They had covered most of the distance to Canterlot already. They would be at the gates by evening.

“How many? What is the scale?” Blueblood jumped in. “This is a bit abstract.”

“I concur,” Epona added, leaning in. “My report was a bit rushed, understandably.”

“Of course. We did the calculations based on several reports Ourselves on the way to this very room. Each of these may be as few as a hundred and as many as a thousand.”

“Stars…” breathed one of the other nobles.

“That is… discouraging,” Epona said. He sat back again.

“Highly,” Luna agreed. “The lower estimates were made as dawn was breaking, and so are not as reliable as those made during the more lit hours. I have tried my best, but the sun may not give us as much light to work with as We would wish.” Brigantine and Iron seemed to doubt that it was that out of her control, but Luna ignored them. “They are moving fast, and more join them as they march. More than we had anticipated, crawling out of every conceivable hole and house between Ponyville and Canterlot. The raiders in the warrens, the remnants of the attacking force that was at Morningvale, have been reinforced.”

“The warrens?” Epona spoke again. “What?”

“Mines,” Brigantine cut in. “They’re old mines near Morningvale. Haven’t been used in ages, and folks say they’re full of monsters and such. It’s all a crock of shit, obviously.”

“Yes,” Luna said, feeling less amused by her description than normal. Sweetie… I wish you would come through the heavy doors. And yet I don’t want you to. I could not see you now and maintain myself. I have already failed, and the battle has not yet begun. “The real problem of relying solely on the power of our long range guns is simply that they will have to aim at moving targets at extreme ranges. Effectiveness will be minimal until they are within sight, and by that time they will have scattered mortar teams close enough to answer.”

“A few mortars--” Epona began, only for Brigantine to cut him off.

“I get it,” she said. “We need them to slow down long enough for us to blow them to bits. So we send out a decoy. Dig in, keep them attacking a static front, and if they don’t break through immediately, we keep bombardment up.”

“Yes. Also, I would be sending the First Air Fleet as support.”

“It’s not ready yet,” Iron said quickly.

“Neither are we,” said Luna, and sighed. “At all. Morale is low, lords and ladies. We have seen the despair in the eyes of our soldiers first-hoof, and that is more deadly than any volley of bullets or arrows. Committing the air fleet will no doubt cost us lives and material, perhaps even the fleet itself. But if it can deal enough damage, the carnage may give our sagging forces hope.”

“A moral victory,” Brigantine said like she was spitting.

“Yes, but more than that. An actual victory. Morningvale was a stalemate.”

“I’ve got reports of soldiers out there, in strange barding. Do you know who they are?” Epona asked. Nervous now? Luna felt like a wolf. Weakness only made her want to lash out. But she did not.

“We have suspicions,” she said.

THE CANTERLOT LINE, CENTRAL

Eyes front! Rifles up! comes the call down the line. Those who wait in the mud move slowly, not wanting to look over the edges of their hastily-dug defenses. Down the line, ponies are reared up on the hind legs next to rifles cradled by the earth. The cold is omnipresent, but not unbearable, not yet. Winter comes later for the central province. The earth is not pliant and soft as it is in the summer, yet it is not frozen yet.

The Lunar Guard’s fortifications can barely be called such. Their bulwarks are mounds, most unsupported by wood. Their trenches are shallow and simplistic, just lines in the dirt. The levies do not help to dig much. They stand out like kicked-in teeth.

A Lunar soldier grumbles under his breath that he is glad that they are so brightly arrayed--somepony has to draw the eyes of snipers away, after all.

Celestialist clergy wander down the trench, chanting in time to their stumbling hooves. There are prayers that are incoherent to all but those who whisper them into the earth. The Supernalists have already come and gone. There are no other chaplains. To the rifleponies who wait, the priests are a sort of white noise, but a protective one. Surely they will not come in the middle of this last rite, or so they think. Surely not. This is a moment where one’s guard can be relaxed a bit. A unicorn carrying boxes of ammunition in saddle bags to the unwieldy gun-turret set in its own hole uses his magic to find a cigarette and lights it with a tiny brush of flame. It seems to ignite of its own volition. A few watch him, all Earth ponies, entranced by magic as they have always been.

The unicorn reaches the small dugout separating the front trench from the gun emplacement.

“This is what they gave me,” he grouses as he sits and unloads his cargo. “I told him it was enough ammo for a few minutes, maybe.”

“If we live long enough, I’ll hold him so you can tickle ‘im with that horn of yours,” replies the smiling, manic Earth pony mare as her head emerges from the doorway.

“What’s with these damn things anyway, Curry?” The unicorn takes a drag.

“You really should be smoking ones with filters,” Curry, the gunner, says.

“Yeah, they’re killing me, blah. Cliches ensue. Why does this thing have to be so fucking heavy? Why the shell?”

“Because I’m a sitting duck in here,” Curry replies. She frowns. “You wouldn’t want me hurt, would you, Terry?”

“Terra. For the love of Lyrae, please stop trying to change my name.”

“But it’s so… well. Unless you like having a mare’s name. I mean, I don’t mind.”

“I hate you.”

“Yup!” Curry disappears in the gun. “If it makes you feel any better, you can hide behind the turret. Wouldn’t want you shot either, you know.”

“Thanks.”

Curry continues on amicably. “You just feed me those rounds, and I’ll keep ‘em off ya, Earthy. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it…”

There are five turrets on the mile-long central trench, with one placed at each end where the dugout ends and natural boundaries begin. Hills and trees. Useful, if not as helpful as one would hope. They are spread out too far. Celestia was hesitant to approve their issuing at all. She told an aide once, in confidence, that she made them heavy because she didn’t want them to be comfortable or easy or convenient. Consequently, it takes so long to move them and set them up that by the time the last machine gun is operable and armed, the scouts sent out are returning. Only half of them return. The enemy has a skirmish line ahead of the main horde.

But they take the bait. Of course they do. They must, really. If they try to go around, the Lunar Guard and the House Levies will wheel around and strike them from the flanks. Without machine gun support, yes, but rifles can kill just as well.

A house levy, another unicorn, grips a pistol in his magic. His pike is laid at rest at the back of the trench.

Old and new. How does one learn to use technology not tested in real conditions? So they mix and mingle and officers make orders and push paper and pikes rest in riflepits. The levy knows his job well. When the wave gets too close, the order comes and he sets the pike to impale the already charging foe on his own momentum. His pistol will swing over the trench and do the rest. And then he will cower in the dirt.

The enemy has slowed. The great formless, shapeless horde is denser now. They will come in waves, testing at first, prodding, and then at last the time will come and they will burst from the treeline. Down from the hills between Ponyville and Canterlot they will come screaming and wailing, mortar shells flying overhead. Grown stallions will piss themselves at the noise before they cower at the sight. Rifles will crack and machine guns will pop and blood will water the fields and they know this in a distant sort of way. But care is far from their thought. These are not normal raiders and brigands. These are the legions of night eternal born again, with no Nightmare to lead them or shape their savagery.

Curry hums an old tune to herself as she runs her hoof over the gun. It shoots 8mm Haybel cartridges at an effective range of just a hair over two hundred yards at a rate of roughly two hundred shots a minute. That is, of course, assuming that the gun doesn’t jam, which it does not uncommonly, and assuming that one survives long enough and doesn’t particularly have to aim, which she is beginning to suspect won’t be an issue.

She is cheery and impetuous in the manner of those who do not fear death because they know it is certain. To be the machine gun in the middle of the line is to cover the retreat. Hastily put together military doctrine stipulates this rather clearly. She and the few rifles assigned to her squadron will be the last to abandon their posts. She fully expects to be gunned down and to bleed out in the mud. Or, at least, she exepcts most of them will be. Perhaps she will live. Who knows? The world is wide and she is very small. She certainly doesn’t know.

The first wave is disorganized and amorphous, bursting from the treeline as was expected. Few of them held back to fire at all--they are here to maim and devour. Hoofblades cut the grass under them as they run. Fire from the Lunar trenches cut down charging raiders left and right. The machine guns come to life, inefficient, laborious, but still effective against a wall of flesh.

The guns on high Canterlot perches begin their introductions. You hear a shriek like a riding valkyrie, a crash like lightning, light and thrown earth. The shells dig up the trees and the open earth, unmaking all that is made. The wave falters in its rush, still a hundred yards or more away from the line of firing guardsponies.

The crazed wave breaks upon the rocks. The spell is lifted. The painted masses stream in every direction, screaming--their screams were for victory before but now they are for survival. They just want to go. Anywhere but here, anywhere but hell. Machine gun fire destroys limbs. Rifles find anything that stays still for more than a moment. There is nothing to do and nowhere to go. Where do you run from artillery that blankets several square miles with constant fire? You cannot hide, or you’ll be shot. You cannot run, because there is nowhere to run. You are in No Man’s Land.

The inexperience of the gun crews becomes obvious. A shell drops too close to the trench and opens it to the new no man’s land. One of the panicked, fleeing raiders finds his way inside, where he latches to a levy armed with a rifle and kicks at him until his face his gone, blind to everything but the idea of escape. Another levy with a revolver finishes him. Their officer is furiously trying to get the division HQ on the line, correcting their aim. The radio is a newish invention. It is, of course, not working. He punches it, knocking the radio from the table it sits on in the dugout behind the line. One of the support mages who can scry is brought to him, and he makes his plea.

WE ARE PARALLEL TO THE TREELINE MARKED CLOVER AT THREE HUNDRED YARDS. OUR ARTILLERY IS CRAWLING A BARRAGE RIGHT AT US. FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE STOP IT.

In Canterlot, the words are scrawled in fire in the air of the division HQ.

The guns fall silent again, adjusting their aim.

High above all these things, the First Fleet sails through the air. Clouds pass by just above them, thick and ponderous like great bears wanting only to sleep.

Admiral Clover grimaces as she looks downwards with her field glasses. She hardly needs them, really. The movement of pony and material is obvious and dismaying. There were so many. She had seen the first wave fail in the center, but it was only a tiny fraction of the force gathering in the valley. It was barely a fraction. It was a scouting party.

“Number one,” she grumbled. The little stallion snapped to attention beside her.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m assuming that the picket ships have yet to find the enemy guns.”

“Uh… yes, they’re hiding them well. If they have them.”

“They do.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her first officer had been with her since she had sailed the open sea. He had seen her guess the plans of Zebra pirates before they could even make them.

“This is a terrible idea,” she added, as much to herself as to him. “Shock and awe my colorful ass.”

“I’m sure they’ll find any guns on the ground, ma’am.”

“If they survive long enough,” grumbles the admiral.

“Of course.”

The second wave is larger and denser. The guns start before it comes, and they do not let up even when it has passed. They must draw out the enemy. Destroy, yes, but enrage the nest and you draw out the hornets and that is what Luna wants as she sits on the walls of her city, listening to the thundering.

Fire, she thinks, glaring at the vista before her. Fire. Try to reach out and touch my walls and reveal yourselves. I will find you.

Third wave.

Curry screams in frustration. The gun is jammed. Terra is there as she backs out of the turret, falling flat against the mud behind her as a cursing unicorn unjams the gun with magic.

Above and around her is the sound of gunfire, incessant and endless. Someone throws a grenade. She can tell by the sound of the explosion. She would flinch away, but her body simply refuses to budge. Moving would require effort, and Curry is exhausted. It is amazing how tired one can be, sitting in a chair or leaned against a wall. Feeling the rattling, the kick of the gun firing again and again, the way ponies hundreds of yards away fall. They fall in so many different ways. Like snowflakes.

Where is her canteen? Did she lose it again? She feels so thirsty.

Above her, the clouds blocked out the sky. The sun is gone, like it doesn’t want to see what is happening. Curry feels a very distant anger. Shouldn’t she witness this, the Sun? Shouldn’t she stay and see what it is like when you pull out the Cornerstone? This is what happens when you vanish.

The third wave and fourth wave come so close together that they are barely separated. Terra yells for Curry to come back, the gun is unjammed, she needs to get here quick and pick up the slack. Curry picks herself up. How long has it been? An hour? Two? She doesn’t know. Time flies when you’re having fun, she thinks to herself in the kind of way one thinks about hallucinations.

She enters the turret when Terra leaves. She calls for more ammunition and begins firing again. Ponies die. She knows they are dying. When Terra comes back she makes a joke, some petty gallows humor which she forgets as soon as she makes, and jams another clip in. Clips. The griffon machine guns have big drums for their guns. Stupid stupid stupid. A stupid design with a stupid turret killing ponies stupidly running straight for her.

That is when the mortars start. The first few minutes don’t do as much damage--they land harmlessly in front of the trenches, a few dozen meters away. But the barrage gets more accurate with adjustment.

The guns fall silent from High Canterlot as the mortars find their targets. A few rain in and strike the floors of the trenches.

One hits the machine gun dugout. The turret waivers as the blast dislodges it. Inside, Curry is thrown against the wall. She never wears her helmet. It is in the dugout, buried now in mud and Terra’s blood. He scrambles for the turret and finds Curry crawling out, trying to speak. Her eyes are unfocused. He pulls her out with his magic. His heart is racing. He hears it in his ears. He doesn’t hear much else--having busted eardrums is a hell of a thing. He clings to her weakly struggling body. Damn her! Damn her for not wearing her Luna-fucking damn helmet. Fuck it. Fuck. He props her against the wall of their dugout and tries to get her to speak to him, look at him. Anything. She stares up at the sky.

He loves her. He doesn’t have time to wonder if she even knows that. Of if she would even care. He looks over his shoulder. The mortars are slowing down the rate of defensive fire. If they can’t keep up the withering wall of bullets, the trench is lost. The guard is outnumbered four to one, if the rumors are right.

He secures his helmet, bandages Curry hastily, and returns to the gun. He has to keep them away. He will keep them away. He will keep every single bastard out of this fucking trench and away from the fucking stupidest mare he knows and the only one he likes even a little bit.

Curry stares up at the sky. Sound returns in the whine and applause of mortar shells, the rolling snare of rifle fire, and in the rush of a sudden breeze over the top of her hole in the bloodied ground. Her thoughts are a mess. She is not quite undone, but she is stunned.

Up above, dark shapes move along the darkening clouds. Fire blossoms in the sky, and she watches slack-jawed as the First Fleet begins its bombardment.

Terra is calling to her. What is he saying? She tries to focus.

“--running! Whole lot of ‘em running like a bitch with its tail between its legs!”

“What?”

“Fleet drove ‘em off! See them come after all that, by Lyrae.” Terra was leaning out of the slightly damaged turret with a cigarette and a grin. “The Fleet’s here. The bastards are running for now. If we’re lucky, they’ll pull us back.”

“Lucky,” she echoed.

“Ah, right. We’re never lucky.” He laughed and crawled out into the dugout.

The Fleet above had found enemy guns moving through the woods along an older road. They pursued with cannon and the front lines of Canterlot’s defense did not see as they dueled with the guns of Ponyville and the mages below. Nor did they see the airships begin to fall from the sky, one by one. The day went on, and no one was lucky. Wave after wave crashing against the rocks, bullets spent and blood spilled.

The Admiral pulls the fleet back when the last gun falls silent. The mages weren’t a shock, but their number had been dismaying. The whole picket was gone. The pegasi troop carriers had been empty, but now they were gone too.

They were going back through all of that arcane fire. She grins. Despite it all she has done what she came to do. She had plunged her dagger right in and watched them squirm--she had attacked like a Griffon did. One did not punch with claws spread but with a fist.

Rockets and shells rain down. They crush and splinter the trees. They tear up the ground. They destroy ponies running in all directions, snuffing them out like a candle in the range of God.

The remnant of Equestria's first and last air fleet sells itself dearly. The mages have done what they can below, but no magic they possess can turn back mortars and howitzers. They cannot fight with the iron scorn of the Valkyrie. They run just as the mindless savages do. The soldiers in their barding who follow the Manichean have already dug in, and they stay put in their holes and dug outs. All around them, there is death, but they are not overly dismayed. There are more of these mindless fools, the brainwashed and the gullible, the ones given over to despair but not strong enough to embrace it. They were the strong ones. They knew this. They were no brainwashed mass, they all thought together, not like those. They all had the same thoughts and felt the same pride. They were the new wave, the final wave. A final empire in freedom. Let the decadent past burn them with fire, and it would only be the dross that they destroyed, leaving at last their own glorious revolution.

Author's Note

Fahrkarte bis zur Endstation

XXXVI. Jannah II: Have You Passed Through This Night?

JANNAH

Only fools think that they enter and leave Jannah through anything as mundane as a door. Only a pony with no grasp of herself thinks that something as simple as leaving out the gate to Ostyallah is enough to shake the City off, as if it were something like rainwater or dirt. As if that City on the Veldt was something outside of their bodies!

There is no circumnavigating infinity. Ten thousand thousand blades cannot cut through the wilderness of the endless. Days and days and days and still Jannah will stretch on. Oh, you’ll reach the Tableland if God wills it. Great Heart, they say, cannot be denied. And many a pony has passed this holy place and gone on to the far western outer walls and passed over and away into the lands of the Batponies who abutt the end of the world. But those with eyes to see and hearts to feel among them know they have not left Jannah behind at all. They are still within it, trudging. When they are resting at home, they are still wandering in its vast vaults and peering through its darkened hallways. If they are lucky--if such a word applies to those who have walked in Jannah!--they will lie in their beds, a spouse murmuring warmly beside them and all around them feel the pattering of rain when it rains in Jannah, and feel the cool breeze that wafts through the columned promenades.

Is this a haunting? Is the City following you home? Or was it you who finally have opened your eyes? They City is a yawning open wound in the flesh of Creation, and it has bled and bled and bled and you have slept in your bed and kissed your loved ones and worked and played whilst you stood in rivulets of the world’s lifeblood staining you. Only now do you realize it. Abjection takes over. What is seen cannot, as they say, be unseen. What is felt, they do not say, cannot be unfelt. They say repetition is impossible, but they have not walked the City which Remembers. It repeats and remembers everything.

And Jannah will make sure you feel everything with it.

SWEETIE BELLE

“For the record, I really am glad that you’re out of the hospital,” Sweetie said quietly.

Sweetie and Scootaloo sat back to back in the now ruined library. Sweetie looked down at the torn books by her hooves. She had been on her haunches too long. It was really going to suck when she got up. She hated when her hooves fell asleep.

“Sure seemed glad,” grumbled Scootaloo.

Sweetie sighed. “You left because no one was willing to use force to restrain you. When you showed up at the door you were bleeding through your bandages.”

“Really only one,” Scootaloo countered.

“Two, actually.”

Scootaloo was silent. Sweetie sighed and turned. She kissed Scootaloo’s shoulder. “I was scared, Scoots. You were gone. This whole thing… this is all my fault.”

“Maybe,” Scootaloo replied. “A bit.”

Sweetie hung her head. She felt small and alone. One moment, she was walking among the high and mighty, safe and secure. So happy in her smugness! And then one morning your house is in shambles and your girlfriend is in the hospital and a bunch of ponies who believed in you are dead or hurt really badly. Oh, and an army shows up and it really wants to kill you, you know the one that everyone has been worrying would show up and kill everyone? Yeah, that one. And they can’t even figure out who blew off your door and also your wonderful, amazing, beautiful, stupid girlfriend reopened the wounds she got because you couldn’t just stay still you stupid, stupid--

“You know, I didn’t show up at the door,” Scootaloo said. Sweetie blinked and made a little inquiring noise, so she continued. “Y’know, ‘cause they blew it up, so it isn’t there anymore.”

Sweetie couldn’t help herself. She giggled. “You’re an idiot. Almost as big of one as me,” she said.

“You aren’t an idiot, Sweetie. Did I say something? I mean, uh… or not say something? I don’t know. You’re like way smarter than me.”

“Not as quick as you, though. Or as good at not dying.”

“You didn’t die. Also, I’m a cyclops now.”

“Only because you saved me.”

A pause. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Man, that was badass.”

A snort and a light punch. “Stupid.”

“Or cool.”

“Stupid,” Sweetie said firmly. “I wasn’t worth you almost dying.”

Another pause. “What?” Scootaloo had turned to face her, but Sweetie Belle didn’t meet her eyes. She went back to looking at the books on the floor. One of them had blood splatter on it. Perfect. Wonderful.

“Hey, what do you mean?” Scootaloo shook her a little. “Please answer me, Sweetie.”

“Look at all of this, Scoots. I’m not who they need doing… whatever the hell I was doing. Whatever plan they had for me is kaput. Gone. Our mansion just got bombed and raided. All these… all of our staff is either hurt or dead or shaken up so bad they probably won’t come back. How many soldiers do you even have left?”

“Most of ‘em.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Well, some of them died and the didn’t have to, and its because of me. I’m supposed to keep us from being in this situation.”

“Why you? Why not me? I’m your Marshal. If you even want me to be anymore. I should have had more patrols. I know I should have. Coulda grown our forces faster so we had more ponypower to spread over a wider area…. Hell, it’s my job to keep us safe from, you know, armed invaders.”

Sweetie shook her head. “But I was supposed to be the Lady of the House, Scoots--”

“And I was your marshal.”

“You’re still my marshal,” Sweetie Belle said. “If I’m even the Lady of a House anymore.”

“I think you are still.”

“Luna… she made me think I could do it. I mean, I don’t blame her, but either she was desperate or she and my sister vastly overestimated me. I got so excited about what the House of Belle was like in the past and I thought for a while that we could be like that again, me and Rarity and you.”

“Belle’s not my name, silly. I’m a mutt from Ponyville.”

Sweetie realized she was crying. It was a strange and detached feeling, brushing a troublesome itch on her cheek only to find that her foreleg came away wet, realizing that, oh, these are tears--connecting those to herself. She was barely here at all, in her own library. If it was her own.

When she replied her voice sounded dead in her own ears. “I was going… I mean, when Rarity came back I would step down, and I thought… I mean, it’s not the best name combo, but…” Stop and start. Stop and start.

“Sweetie… Aw hell, c’mere.” She felt Scootaloo embrace her from behind. She felt her most loyal friend kiss the top of her head. “I get it. I’m… aw geeze, I’m flattered.” Sweetie cried a little harder, really feeling it now. Scootaloo panicked a little, fumbling with her words. “I didn’t say no! I’m bad at words, you know that. You’re the…” She sniffed, and Sweetie wondered if crying was still infectious when you weren’t a filly anymore. “You’re the friggin’ dictionary.,” Scootaloo finished.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Sweetie said. She repeated it over and over.

“Don’t be. Please, c’mon, you… I probably was gonna get hurt anyway, filly,” Scoots said. “You were just trying to help me. That’s not bad.”

“But I made it worse.”

“I really, really friggin’ don’t care. I care that you tried,” Scootaloo said. “See how badass my eyepatch is?” She pulled away and pointed. Tears streaked down one cheek. Sweetie Belle supposed they coursed down her own. “Let RD come back and top that,” Scootaloo said, trying to smile.

“I almost lost you.”

“You lost me? Sweets, girl, I’ve been thinking about how I almost lost you before we were even tellin’ everybody. Not that everyody didn’t already know.” Scootaloo wiped the moisture from her eye, careful to avoid her bandages. “I was so dumb. I’m so stupid and insecure about being like RD, and liking mares, and ponies thinking I’m a boy when they don’t look hard enough, and, and… ugh. This whole thing is stupid. I don’t want to sit here and cry. I want to go kick somepony’s ass.”

Sweetie laughed. It was a sort of gurgly, choked sound, but it was still a laugh. “You’re dumb.”

Scootaloo rested her head on top of Sweetie, touching her girlfriend’s horn with her nose. “You’re dumber.”

“I’m not the one whose a cyclops.”

“Well I don’t have a dumb horn on my head.”

“My horn is wonderful and ladylike,” Sweetie murmured into Scootaloo’s now much damper fur.

“Yeah right, you’re always horny.”

“Ugh.”

“Ugh,” Scootaloo mocked with a lopsided grin, and then coughed.

Neither of them really wanted to move, so they didn’t.

TWILIGHT

Rainbow Dash standing alone, the wind howling around her. Below, the landscape was twisted, altered, dying or dead. The horizon glowed with a sickly light. The trees were dead. The sky was black from the thickly laid cloud cover. Everything was gone and it was her fault, her and her friends. They had done this. They had pushed the world over the edge. No, she wasn’t going to accept that, she would be the--

Twilight twisted out of the way of a Seeker’s rusted hoofblades. The fallen pony stumbled and fell, hitting the wall of a house.

All around her, the Fallen were chanting. Singing. Whatever the hell it was, it was unpleasant and it felt like somepony was slowly drilling into her head and letting her brain leak out. The hallucinations came faster now, more vividly She saw--

Twilight hunched over a desk of paper work, trying to gather her wits. This was important. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by regrets. Her friends could work things out on their own, in their own time. She was on Equestria’s time and--

She saw with two sets of eyes. Before one pair, the Fallen who had attacked her was getting his bearings and turning to make another attack. The mist was rolling in and she was in Jannah, somewhere in this city that the universe had spat out. Before another pair of eyes she watched other lifetimes, other worlds, ones darker than her own or different, ones she barely recognized. She was in Jannah, but not in Jannah.

Her magic came almost unbidden. She formed it into a fist and slammed the Fallen back against the wall. He crumpled, unconscious. Stars, she hoped he was unconscious, but she didn't’ have time to worry about whether she’d killed him. There were more coming. She could hear their lively, endless song.

Her other friends were locked in their own struggles. Pinkie was dancing around another Fallen, avoiding his broken lance and taunting him. Tradewinds was yelling at her to move, to get out of the way of her shot. Abdiel was leaning against the wall beside the alleyway that this pack of Fallen had come from as he waited for their fellows to arrive. Applejack dealt with two foes at once, her forceful kicks missing by a hair’s width.

Twilight charged for Applejack. “AJ, on your right!”

A pegasus like rust, guns on his saddle, a hat like Applejacks, landing long enough to fire. A short unicorn throwing debris at a raider trying to take him down from behind, calling out his name as she did. She brought a pistol to bear in her magic’s grip, aiming it at another one of the savage--

Applejack dug her shoulder into one of the Fallen, and he fell back. As soon as he was seperated from the melee, Twilight was ready. She caught him with a bolt of arcane lightning and he went rigid with shock and agony before cumpling to the floor.

His companion didn’t notice at all, or if he did he made no sign of such an acknowledgement. He kept swinging wildly, still singing, “Jannah ilyae! Ik’ilus barrach Jannah! Eloi! Eloi!” over and over.

He was screaming even as Applejack finally caught his face with a powerful hindleg kick. “Eloi--” and then he said nothing. Twilight heard the snap that could only be his neck, and she could not look. She couldn’t spare the time to even shudder. Pinkie had pushed her own attacker over and Tradewinds fired her rifle, silencing the madpony.

The party stopped, panting in the side street.

“Too damn close,” Applejack muttered.

Big Mac in a trench, trying to keep watch at the same time as he watched his companion die. It was too close, every engagement was so close to being his last. Damn it. He had to protect them all. He had to stop this.

Twilight shook her head in a vain effort to clear it. A chorus of voices and images sprang up again and again, unbidden, bypassing any feeble attempts at resistance with little effort. She felt less hazy than the day she had entered the city, but not as clear as she did when out of the mists.

“We have to move,” Abdiel said, and then left his vantage point with a grunt. “We are lucky, none of them are coming.”

“Y’know, you coulda helped me a bit quicker,” Applejack drawled, glaring at him.

He glared back. Twilight looked from face to face, unsure, but it was Abdiel who sighed and covered his eyes. “I thought… The city gave me sounds of hoofsteps and I thought they were coming up the street.”

Applejack opened her mouth, as if to call him out, but then she faltered. “No, I get it. Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Just… Just focused,” she said, and turned quickly. She pushed her hat down and made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Well? We gonna move on?”

Twilight realized that the noise, the song, had stopped. She was about to say something when Abdiel replied, his voice low and a little harsh.

“Yes, we will.”

Sometimes, Twilight would look at a tall spire and find herself disoriented. Only focusing hard on what was before her eyes could straighten out the lines and beat back the illusion of warped space. The streets would seem infinite until, of course, they ended. Buildings would seem almost concave for a moment until she blinked, and then they were back to normal.

A hundred voices argued in her head.

They weren’t here. Here was an illusion, a bad dream. Nothing more, nothing less. They were back in Ponyville, or they were in the Empire, or somewhere called Sarnath, or in a high eyrie. Twilight’s head ached. Sometimes, she would try to think and find herself lost in a flash of vision, a peek into some other world.

They aren’t real. I’m the real one, and all of that is just… it’s just a trick. It was this damn city. It was awful.

In the corner of her sight she caught motion and turned her head to see Scootaloo facing a setting sun where the wind was rising, knowing that something had changed and it could not be put together again. She would simply restart everything. She would win back the dead from the grip of the grave, she would find the--

Twilight tore her eyes away.

Days had passed in rapid succession. Days in Jannah were not the same as days outside. Trying to think too hard about how the sun rose and set at a different time from the outside had… had been a little too much for her, honestly. The idea would have bothered her even without the almost inebriating effect of the omnipresent mist. Omnipresent wasn’t just a figure of speech, either. The damp, cloying mist clung to almost literally everything. She felt sometimes that it was worming its way inside her, seeping through her mouth every time she opened it. Every now and then, when Abdiel paused to get his bearings, she imagined that it her eyes might absorb it and its poison, or that she would build up so much of it on her coat or mane that it would begin to suffocate her.

She walked beside Pinkie. Tradewinds took up the rear, grumbling softly to herself in her own strange tongue. In front of her, Applejack hung a few steps behind Abdiel, glaring at him. Abdiel hadn’t talked to any of them since the ambush.

Twilight’s eyes wandered from building to building, all down the row. They were back in dense residential areas now. Abdiel had grumbled something that morning about finding a good place to scale the wall, whatever that meant. Hadn’t they already done that? Kind of? Her eyes twtiched. She rubbed them. Almost immediately, she thought of the mist and she panicked. Slightly panicked. All she did was make a little noise of dismay and try to wipe her hoof on her saddlebags, but the outsides were wet.

“Twilight?”

Twilight ignored Pinkie. She didn’t have time for that. There had to be some way to be clean. She had to be dry, keep the mist out. All the way out. She kept walking--if she stopped then they would notice and she couldn’t have them stopping her, they were too stupid and slow to understand!--but she didn’t need to stop to search. She had magic! Magic was wonderful, wasn’t it? It was. Her magic found something dry and she pulled out her bedroll, unfolding it enough to reach her eyes.

Only to find that it was damp too. It had been outside, even if for only a moment, but the mist had gotten it too. She growled at the bedroll and stuffed it back into her pack. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Yo, Earth to Twilight? Come in, Twilight?” Pinkie waved her hoof in front of Twilight’s face.

“Ah, don’t! Mist!” she hissed. “It’s covered in it. Don’t touch me.”

Pinkie retreated. Twilight really saw her now, the mist forgotten just long enough to see that little glint of surprise and hurt in her eyes. “Whoa, Twilight, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad…”

Twilight just stared. She still felt unclean, but her irritation drained away. “Pinkie, keep walking. Don’t let the others think we’re stopping, okay?”

Pinkie nodded. They kept their pace. She didn’t look at the others. Her shame was enough to handle without their gazes.

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said softly. “I just… I started freaking out about the mist and being dirty and…”

“It’s doing this to us,” Pinkie said, matching her soft tone. “I’ve been scared all day, just constantly. I… I haven’t wanted to be me. I worry about everything, like when ponies are mad at each other.” Here she glanced at Applejack and Abdiel up ahead. “Or at me. And then I worry about whether one of those nasty Fallen guys are gonna jump out and get me. Or if those… other ones, the ones with the g-guns… I mean… I’m miserable.”

Twilight almost said, Why didn’t you say something? But she already knew the answer. Because no pony alive wanted to be the weak link. Why did she insist they keep up appearances? And to make things worse, this was Pinkie. Happy-go-lucky Pinkie, smiling and laughing Pinkie.

Did the city do this? Poison you like this? Did it make you into something else or strip away all the lies to what you were already?

“I’m sorry,” she said instead. “I should’ve… I don’t know, but I could have helped. I’ve been sluggish and uncertain. I couldn’t say anything earlier when those two were bickering. Abdiel and Applejack are angry and Tradewinds…”

They both looked at Tradewinds. For her part, the mare from Petrahoof was looking around, humming a little song. She waved.

“And Tradewinds is Tradewinds,” Twilight grumbled. Pinkie couldn’t help it, it seemed. She snickered. “But we can’t forget who we are,” Twilight continued.

“Who are we?”

“Twilight and Pinkie. You and me. You’re the laughy one and I’m the booky one. Wow, I sounded like you.”

Pinkie giggled softly. “A little bit. That isn’t all we do.”

“Yeah, I know.” Twilight sighed. There were a few moments of silence as their party moved into an open space. Yet another square, yet another fountain. She grimaced. “I’m really starting to hate fountains.”

“Over and over and over and over,” Pinkie said in a little sing-song, as if reading her mind.

“Ugh, don’t. Please, Pinkie, it’s bad enough seeing it.” She glanced over to see Pinkie grinning.

“Well, you did want me to be the laughy one.”

“I guess I did say that.” Twilight hummed. Abdiel didn’t seem to stop to consult a map or anything. He picked a path and they followed.

“Hey, Twi?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think… if this place is doing things to us, do you think it’s adding stuff?”
Twilight blinked. She shivered at unbidden thoughts. “Adding stuff? Could you elaborate?”

“Like, me being afraid and nervous and you being freaked out about everything being perfect and AJ bein’ mad and all and Tradewinds--”

“Being Tradewinds. If we say her name again she’s going to notice.”

“Sorry. But hear me out, is this us?”

“You mean, is it making you feel this way, or were you always feeling this way?” When Pinkie nodded, Twilight sighed. Again. “I don’t really know, Pinkie. I think you’ve been suffering a lot more than me, so far. I don’t know what that means. Have you been hearing and seeing things?”

“Not that… many times? I mean, like once or twice I thought I saw somepony or heard something weird.”

“Well I’ve been having full blown hallucinations. Like I’m here, but I’m also there.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Yeah. Very.” Twilight sniffed. It took a moment to get over the stab of panic at the thought of having sniffed in the mist. Being unclean. PoisonPoisonPoison.

“I won’t tell anypony if you don’t want me to. Pinkie promise,” she said solemnly. “Cross my heart and--”

“Cupcake in your eye, I remember.” Twilight chuckled shakily despite herself. “No need. I trust you,” she said. It felt good to say that. “You’re Pinkie. I trust you.”

“Thanks. I don’t know about your or AJ, but… I think I’ve always been this way.”

Twilight looked at her. She frowned. “But… but you’re…”

“Always a little nervous, deep down, about how happy ponies are around me. I’m not miserable all the time, don’t go making that silly face.” She smiled, and Twilight felt a little less heavy. “I mean, I’m not panicky about it usually. I just… I’m silly ‘cause I like being silly, but also because I want everypony to be happy. Like, all the time. It’s kind of selfish.”

“It’s understandable.”

“Still a little selfish, but Rares is the generous one. I’m the party one. I don’t know how understandable it is or not, I just know it’s true. I really, really want other ponies to be happy. What does joy feel like to you?”

“A stab,” Twilight answered automatically, and then coughed. “Uh.”

“Morbid, geeze!”

“Sorry. You know, that sort of stab of… joy… ugh. Ask me when I’m not in the m-mist.”

“Is it getting to you?”

“Gods. It’s vile.”

“I’m sorry. I was going to say that to me, joy is a lot like a hug. When others feel joy, I feel joy, and I feel like when that happens, when we’re both doing the same thing… we’re kind of together, you know? Like, for just a moment…”

“You’re not alone,” Twilight said, and looked at her closely.

“Well, yeah!” Pinkie said, and laughed. “Nice mindreading, bookworm.”

“Thanks.”

They were quiet a little longer.

“Think we’ll make it?” Pinkie asked.

“I do,” Twilight replied. She smoothed her mane, and then freaked out when she realized her hoof also was sullied. “I do,” she repeated with a little more force. Even as she said it, Twilight felt her thoughts race through every possible way that they wouldn't make it. Every way they would find their final end in Jannah. Going mad, eaten alive, lost and starving, killed by Fallen, shot by those other ponies... Or maybe just Twilight, left alone, the last one. What if they left her, or she got so distracted by trying to get the mist's poisons off that she got separated? If she never saw them again what would she do--

“Me too,” Pinkie said.

They had to set watches now, armed and waiting. Not all Seekers attacked on sight, but the mystery of the snipers had yet to be solved. Abdiel would take no chances, and when he had suggested--no, demanded--that they set three watches. He would take the first, but then Applejack offered to. They glared at each other. And then Abdiel relented. He sighed and thanked Applejack, and Applejack in turn said that it was nothing, and that was that.

Twilight had offered to stay up with her. Applejack grunted her acceptance, and while the others lay down to sleep, a farmer mare watched boarded windows and a nervous librarian watched the stairs.

It was a different layout this time. It always was. They had holed up in some sort tenement building or hotel for the long night, on the fourth floor. The rooms were small, barely big enough for two ponies to sleep in comfortably, and so they had spread out slightly. Abdiel had grumbled, but he seemed to speak less and less as time went on.

So they more patrolled than kept watch. Sit, wait a while, get up, wander to the other side of the hallway, and then wait again.

After a long while, Twilight found Applejack slumped against a wall, staring. Twilight looked down at her, really looking.

She looks so tired. How much has she slept, while she was here? Though I’m one to talk. Er, think. Even with the Annex to rest in, I still feel drained. But Applejack looked far worse than a simple insomniac. Had she always been so frail, so thin? So strangely still?

“AJ?”

Applejack didn’t respond at first. Twilight had a horrible thought then. Was she seeing things, now, away from the mist and in the safety of this haven? Was she losing the ability to tell between fantasy and reality? Was this Applejack?

How would she even tell?

“AJ?” she asked again, breathing quickly. “Hey, AJ? You awake? Are you okay?”

“Mm.”

Twilight twitched. She nibbled on her lower lip and stepped closer. Then stopped, then stepped back. Maybe she’s just… asleep. It would be bad to disturb her, right? Rude.

But she was on watch, and she would be upset if she slept through it after volunteering.

But maybe, I mean I’m just saying that if I bother her--

Then you won’t have to see if you’re losing it or not.

Well. Yeah.

Twilight, the Apostate even a little, even now, retreated a few steps. Every step sounded like coward. She sat a few meters down the hall, waiting. Applejack was breathing. That was good. See, she cared.

Why am I so afraid?

Ahd she found that she was afraid. Truly, deeply afraid. It had been easier to pass this off as mere nervousness or mere uncertainty. No, she was afraid. A simple emotion and a powerful one. But why? Well, why not? If this Applejack was a lie, then were any of them not a lie? How would she know? If this Applejack were true, then her own fear frightened her. What might she doubt? Everything? Maybe she already did.

And if it was Applejack, then it was even worse. The only thing more frightening than absence was presence.

It’s just Applejack. She’s your friend. You love her. She loves you.

She was another mind, another pony outside of herself. Ever word Twilight said would be received and translated into another’s frame of reference. They would be putting her together. They would, without a single shred of doubt, be putting her together wrong. And what could she do? She couldn’t see what they did or thought!

Twilight closed her eyes. Why was she thinking about this? This was a recursive circlejerk. It was speculative, pointless, even a little juvenile. The real question, the more immediate question, was the source of all of this. The city was pressing on her. All day she felt nervous and uncertain, hazy and ambiguous. She felt sullied constantly, violated by the mist’s touch. Abdiel and Applejack’s anger grated. Everything, in fact, grated.

Maybe it’s just stress. Maybe she was losing her mind bit by bit. Maybe this is how it happened to the Fallen. It occurred to her that Abdiel had grumbled something about the Fallen never sleeping. Maybe not sleeping made it harder. Sleep was supposed to help with anxiety, wasn’t it?

Twilight made a decision. She inched closer until she was in Applejack’s reach and touched her shoulder. “AJ? Are you okay?”

Nothing awful happened. See? You’re paranoid. The thought that she might actually be growing actually paranoid as well as simply anxious and nervous in this city grabbed ahold of her for a moment, but then she soothed herself with a deep breath. Applejack stirred. She groaned softly.

“I was awake,” she said. When Twilight didn’t reply right away, she took her hat off and shook it out, as if it would be dusty inside. “Honest, just spaced out a bit.”

“Really?”

Applejack cursed. “Naw. Don’t tell, please? Consarn it, I’m sorry. I ain’t gonna lie to you, but don’t breathe a word of it..”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Twilight said. She paused, then decided that she had come this far. “Are you alright?”

“In what way, sug?” When Twilight tapped her head, beside her horn, Applejack made a face. “Ugh, thought you might mean that.”

“Well?”

“Do you want me to be honest or tell you somethin’ worth actually hearin’? No, I ain’t alright. Of course I ain’t. We’re in a dead city where the sun works even less like it should in a world where everythin’ is fallin’ apart and nothing I do makes a damn lick of difference to it. I’m a bit frustrated. Just a tad.” The last bit came out as a snarl.

Twilight winced. “Er, yeah.”

“And I ain’t dumb.”

“Didn’t say you were. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. But, like I was sayin’, I ain’t dumb, I know this place is getting to me. I know it’s getting me all riled up like a cat in a bubble bath--I get it.” She waited for Twilight to grin, and only then did she grin back. “That one wasn’t even good!”

“Maybe it made you bad at countryisms.”

“Now that would be a bleedin’ tragedy,” Applejack said and dipped her hat.

“It’s just… I mean, I understand what I feel. I guess I can kinda see how Pinkie is--you remember the one and only time we tried to throw her a surprise party?”

“I have tried rather hard not to think about that whirlin’ pool of madness.”

“Hehe, me too. But I can kinda see Pinkie being way too concerned with keeping everybody happy and…. however she would describe it. But you being angry I just don’t get at all.” When Applejack looked at her in a hollow, blank sort of way, Twilight felt her words dying even as she rambled them. “I mean, I’ve seen you irritated and mad before, but it’s not like you have a problem with it or anything.”

“Don’t I?”

Twilight blinked. “Uh… I never…”

“Not in the way you’re thinkin’, Twi. It’s more a frustration problem than a anger problem. I ain’t punching or kickin’ holes in things and I ain’t never touched hair or hide of my kin in wrath. Excepting the time I gave Apple Bloom a whoopin’ after that whole… debacle. With the barn, and the flamestones, and the scrap metal.”

“I… Could you?”

“Rocket ships.”

Twilight blinked.

“It’s a long story that I suddenly don’t feel like tellin’ at all. In hindsight, it's funny, but I was pissed as hell at the time. Point is, I don’t have a problem with being angry. I have a problem with how darn frustrated I can get. You know my mama and pa died when I was filly.”

“Yeah,” Twilight said, unsure where this was going. She coughed. “Yes, I remember.”

“Mama with AB, Pa when she was two years old, durin’ the Great Flood. It’s just me now, in a way. The only one who keeps that big farm runnin--or well, I guess kept it runnin’--was me. Macky is strong and hard-workin’ and he weren’t a slacker. He even has a head for numbers! But he don’t got the drive. Bloom’s just a filly, or was. Granny is old as sin. Or was.”

Twilight winced.

“So it was me. The middle one. I push Mac every year and drag AB along with us. I keep one motivated and I make sure the other keeps up. I did as much as I can. But even before everything went to hell in a big ole handbasket, I knew it weren’t ever enough. I can’t buck enough, I can’t sell enough. I’m just one pony. I can’t… I have to do it but I can’t. And I feel so small all the time, so useless. And it makes me so mad, cause I’m tired of feelin’ that way. My farm’s gone, and my family’s in Canterlot, and we ain’t making progress like I had hoped and Celestia might be…” She shook her head. “She’s alive, but we gotta actually find her, and I don’t know how long that’s gonna take if we spend weeks in this place.”

“And your family…”

“I’m fed up. I’m not quite at my limit, Twi. But I feel like it. I feel like if I have to feel weak or helpless or useless one more time I’m gonna snap an’ with how irritable this place is makin’ our guide it’s gonna be me and him in a right fierce brawl.”

“I… I hope not,” Twilight managed, anxiety clawing at her.

“Well, for what little it counts, I don’t exactly hate him, and I hope I can stay calm and collected tomorrow. But right now I just feel plum defeated.”

Defeated? Applejack? Twilight was taken aback. Those were not words she associated. “What?”

“Yeah. I was about this close to packin’ my bags for the coast all day. If I’m just gonna be a waste of space meathead, useless an’ all, slowin’ y’all down, then why not just bail? That’s what I kept thinkin’. I mean, I would never do it. But I thought about it over and over. And it just made me feel worse and worse, cause I knew y’all would be fine without me around distractin’ Abdiel and tickin’ him off. I mean, it ain’t like you got time for my lil sayings, and now with those guns and with your magic back up to snuff, it ain’t like you need my hooves. Y’all don’t need me at all, do ya?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Except cookin’, cause yer a plum awful cook, Twilight. I love you girl, but it’s true.”

Twiligth was trembling. Why was she trembling? What had Applejack said?

Applejack trudging off under an endless cycling sun in the dead city, her companions left behind. Far behind, in fact. Tossed aside like baggage. And she was back again. Twilight blinked, disoriented by the sudden flash of her vision. What? Where?

“I ain’t one for magic or quests. You’re lightning trick gives me the willies, Twi. Er, no offense, I hope. You don’t gimme the willies.”

Twilight responded only because Applejack seemed to expect her too. “No worries,” she said hollowly.

Twilight under a dying sun, and the Apotheosis of All Deserts. Twinned pistols, one on either flank, the dying strains of a slughorn chasing her as she chased a Mare in Black endlessly over and over. Alone, she was alone, her country awreck. What were friends to the pony only concerned with a dark one-mare crusade? An endless awful quest? What were companions but deadweight or cannon fodder? What could other ponies be but weak to the pony who could have been an archmage? She--

“And it just makes me so mad, cause not havin’ magic or wings and all that never bothered me before, but now I feel plum useless. You’d do better to just leave me behind. I ain’t smart enough for all this crazy vision stuff. Next there’ll be prophecies and magical artifact-like things and time travellin’ shenanigans or a crazy cult or--”

“You’re not useless,” Twilight stumbled. “Or weak. You’re… I mean…”

“Hm? Spit it out Twi.”

Twilight gestured futilely, and then edged closer. Her words came quickly. “AJ, you were what kept me going! You kept me strong when I was falling apart. Over and over on the way here, when I was fragile, there you were--knowing what to do. Or, if you didn’t know, you were always a rock. Please… please don’t think you’re useless, or weak, or… or…” Twilight shivered. A cold breeze hissed through the hastily constructed barricades over the windows. “Or any of that. You’re Applejack. You’re the toughest, most dependable pony in Ponyville. You still are.”

Twilight sat back down on her haunches, breathing a little heavier than before. Why was her heart beating so fast? Wasn’t she done? But she felt a compulsion to speak. To say something. “I don’t know what to say,” she said finally. “This is the kind of situation that… that wants some kind of speech, but I can’t think of one. I don’t know what to say, and I don’t know if there is anything I even should say. You don’t know either, I know. I know that. But I’m so tired of my friends being there for me and I can’t be there for them.” And she found, to her shock, that her eyes were wet. “You scared me a little, AJ,” she admitted, and she had no idea why. Something was wrong. Something was off. Why did she feel like any moment she was going to collapse? Why did she feel like any moment Applejack would leave? Because hadn’t she thought that more than once? “Today. I was so used to you and your laugh and that tough way you just sort of shrug off hard stuff and make us all feel like maybe we can do it too, but you were so busy bickering with Abdiel or keeping your distance. Somewhere along the way… Somewhere along the way I started worrying you were mad at us. At me. Cause I dragged you out here to the end of the damn world to help me find Celestia and I never seemed to ask--’Applejack, is this okay?’ or ‘Should you stay with your family?’ because I’m not… I’m so bad at being…” She was staring holes in the floor.

“Whoa, whoa nelly, I wasn’t serious about the whole fightin’ thing, Twi!” Applejack was shaking her slightly. “Hey, hey, calm down.”

Twilight shivered again. It wasn’t the cold. The twisting in her gut was back. It had creeped up from the city streets and found her high above. “I’m trying. It just… it just happened.”

“What happened? Aw, sug, hey,” Applejack placed her hat lopsidedly on Twilight’s head and grinned at her in the darkness. “See? Got my hat on, can’t be crying with the stetson on, looks silly.”

Twilight cried for real now. Applejack sighed, took the hat off, put it beside her and hugged Twilight tightly, nuzzling into her mane. “Well, it works with Bloom,” she muttered.

Twilight’s heart was trying to kill itself by breaking through her chest. Her head ached, and her thoughts drowned under their own entropic weight. What weak things, she thought--a thought that came and went in a flash of agony--what weak things are knees and legs, failing at the wrong times. Like now. She shook--oh, how she shook. Applejack’s mild alarm become something fiercer as her attempts to communicate went unanswered.

Twilight felt that she was watching herself, and felt a vague emotion like disgust. She was so detached now. She could feel, and see, and think, but also her self, that part of her in relation to all of those things, felt as if it were on the other side of the hall, just observing.

Objective, Twilight diagnosed herself. Panic attack. It’s been a long time since I had one. The last time was--

--Canterlot, a startled Celestia thundering regally down the hall, led by a nervous attendant at a loss for words. Trying to explain that one of the students she had offered to help with a paper had found her on the floor, curled into a ball, a heap. A mess. Something less than pony. Something small and fragile and sick.

A while ago, she concluded, feeling nothing about the incident. There was no pull at her heart thinking about Celestia, not this time. A relief, really. It was better that she have this dissociated self who could look at this without being destroyed. It was good to have a part of her that could look--

And the objective chill shattered as Applejack cradled Twilight. “Twi, Twi, please… I don’t know what’s goin’ on. Please jus’ talk to me. Aw, hell. Aw--Pinkie,” she hissed. “Anybody?” She was loud as she could be without giving them away. Twilight felt her panic, her confusion. “Twilight, I--”

“No.” Twilight managed, her body shaking. “No, I… I-It’s just…”

“Sh,” Applejack crushed her and Twilight accepted mutely. “Sh, sugar. I got you.”

SPIKE

If there was a god of dragons, he was laughing. No, he was roaring with laughter.

Spike held the long Griffon rifle awkwardly, feeling like the worst and--dare he say it--lamest dragon ever. He had fire, dammit! Claws that could tear flesh! Strength beyond any pony who could face him!

Unfortunately, he knew arming him on the walls in this fashion made sense. He still carried his sword, now with the name Hope engraved on it, but the rifle was what he was expected to be using. At least the sword had been up close. A dragon hunkering behind the wall made sense. He would rather not be a target in the air with this many firearms, and there was a lot of space between the Canterlot lines dug just outside the city gates and the entrenched foe. He also didn’t really have much faith in the machine gunners on his own battlements, to be blunt. The ones who were loyal were fine, but trustworthy or not, they all stunk. Their weapons were bad. Everypony on the walls or below in the trenches and dugouts of the last line knew it by now. Of course they were bad. An army who had never fought a modern war had never truly tested their arms. It was so laughable.

Almost as laughable as a dragon with a gun crouching behind a wall. Almost.

Soarin’ waved a hoof at him a few steps away. Soarin’ grinned, and Spike felt himself smirk as much by habit as by actual feeling. Actually, no, with way more habit than feeling.

“Well, it’s quieter,” Spike grumbled, the bass notes carrying well over the now howling wind.

“Yeah. Storm’s comin’,” Soarin’ offered. He looked up. “Mighty good one, too, I think. Gonna be great.” He returned his gaze to Spike and his grin became a little more manic. “You know we can--”

“Ride the lightning? Feel it in your feathery bones? Something like that?”

“Er, yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

“Now that’s a tired line of inquiry,” Spike grumbled. “Nevermind. Hung out with RD too much, I guess. It’s your turn to look.”

Soarin’ sputtered. “Now, Spike, I’m positive--”

“A dragon never forgets,” Spike said. He flashed a very toothy grin. “Ever.”

Soarin’ groaned, rolled his eyes, and dug through the saddlebags he had set on the wall previously. “Glad we relocated,” he said. “Okay, lessee…”

Soarin’ took a deep breath and then looked out over the battlefield. He was silent for a time, and Spike simply watched him. What strange creatures, ponies were.Soft, pliable, feathered or furred or both. He found them alien. Yes, Spike had grown up among ponies all his life. Ponies had raised him, taught him to speak the common tongue, how to count and do sums. Table manners they gave up on after awhile, but was he so different from colts? He hadn’t been, at some point. Yet somewhere between then and now he had shifted. Was it simple height and thickness that made him feel as if he were no longer Spike of Ponyville?

Well, no. He was still of Ponyville. In a way.

Soarin’ came back down with a grunt and sighed. “Still don’t see many fliers.”

“A good thing.”

“Maybe. Where the hell are they? Spike, I say this knowing it’ll sound ridiculous, but if anypony was gonna be in on all this raiding it would be us.” Suddenly, he snorted. When Spike raised an inquiring eyebrow--or what counted as one, in his mind--Soarin’ explained with light laughter. “All pegasus parties, like the real ones? The old saying goes that they always start with a raid. If you’re partying it’s because you stole all the ingredients. Makes ‘em taste sweeter. Spoils of war.” He waved a hoof dismissively. “It’s a really, really old joke in Cloudsdale. One day, you and me and the Wonderbolts, we’ll have us a real symposium and then you’ll understand.”

“I look forward to it,” Spike said, and smiled as he leaned back against the wall. “Are they doing much over there?”

“Besides clogging the road and hiding behind every rock from here to the valley? Not that I see. Been a whole day since they stopped here, and all we’ve had is some pretty piss poor mortaring and potshots.”

Spike looked at him and narrowed his eyes. “They’ve tried to break through to the gate at least twice.”

But Soarin’ was shaking his head before Spike finished. “No. They tried to keep us from attacking first. Now we’re all nice and passive, all complacent. Those weren’t real assaults, Spike.”

“They sure felt real,” Spike said, and he shuddered. “All that…”

“Yeah.” Soarin’ grimaced, and they both fell silent for a few beats. “But, no, they didn’t mean those. Now, if they had worked, then they woulda meant ‘em. Maybe. I tend to think they wouldn’t have committed. Just let the stupid crazies die.”

“As if there is someone out there who isn’t?”

“Trust me. Remember the ones all prettied up out there? In barding and uniform? In tan and white?”

Spike blinked. “Oh. I had…. I had forgotten all about them, honestly. I was so focused on the raiders.”

“Yeah, well they haven’t committed a single feather or hoof to an attack. They got sharpshooters in the rocks--I saw one watching the line, actually, I might take a potshot at him before we bail--but they’re keeping the good stuff for later.”

“The good stuff.”

“In a manner of speaking. Any word on our white-cloaked friends inside? Or on the attack?”

The attack. Spike felt something very frightening and hot inside him at those words. He growled wordlessly before he answered. “No, because I haven’t torn any ponies into tiny bloody shreds today.”

“Yeesh. Remind me not to watch or I’ll lose my lunch and dinner.”

“They’ll lose theirs too.”

“Gross, man.”

“Justice,” he said fiercely and Soarin’ didn’t contradict him. “But no, no news. Luna is dealing with tracking them down, but the Duskwatch and Nightshades combined have turned up nothing we can follow through with yet. Just scattered half-clues. These guys are good.”

“Nothing can hide forever.”

“I don’t think they want to. Which is, of course, fine with me,” Spike said. He opened one clawed hand and flexed his clawed fingers. “Very fine. I’m ready for when they finally decide to move, because they’re in for a rude awakening. Me and the Duskwatch together? It’s gonna be a monster freakshow Canterlot won’t ever forget.”

APPLEJACK

They stood quietly on either side of the room, staring at each other. Fidgeting. But mostly, they stared.

Applejack swallowed hard. This was, of course, pointless because she was in a dream. But habits die hard, especially in Earth ponies. Dreams should make other things easier, in theory. Such as reuniting. Shouldn’t she not feel the long distance and the great gap of time between them here? Didn’t dreams wash such things away and leave only the rush of emotion?

It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to see Soarin’. The exact opposite was true. What she wanted more than anything in the world at that very moment was to cross the distance between them, pull him into the biggest, tightest hug of his feathered life, and kiss him until his lips fell off. She just wanted to be held. Preferrably by him. At this point she might make do with Tradewinds in lieu of a nice stallion in Jannah. She had nice muscle structure, right? Applejack looked away to conceal the awkward smile forming. Gonna scare the poor fella off if you start jokin’ too hard-like with him right away, AJ.

“Uh…” Soarin’ shuffled, and Applejack looked back at him and smiled.

“Um, yerself,” she said and grinned even wider.

“Hi.” Soarin’ shifted his weight from hoof to hoof like an awkard schoolfoal trying to ask a mare out to prom and Applejack found it endearing. Ridiculous? Absolutely. Eye-roll inducing, even. But endearing.

“Hey, sugar. Long time no see. Thought you’d found some better tail already.” She paused. “Don’t look so glum, Soar. I’m really glad to see you. You caught me at a rough time.” She sighed, and like that her hat vanished. Her hair came untied, and fell back along her neck. She knew that he watched this. She knew he enjoyed it, and she enjoyed his enjoyment.

They stood again as they had long before under the shade of the apple trees, with the sun sinking down into its resting place and the shadows lengthening into night. Soarin’ began to walk to her as she began to walk to him.

They met before one of her trees and held each other. They said nothing at first. There would be time for that. For now, presence was enough. Presence was almost too much. Applejack trembled slightly, as if it were hard to believe, as if it were very hard to accept. He was here. She hadn’t seen him in… how many days had it been? How long since she turned away from Canterlot? She hadn’t looked back, not even once, leaving Ponyville and Luna and her family behind. And how long had it been? Months, at least.

And she knew that Jannah was stealing more than the number of days she had spent abroad. In a flash, she knew that it was sapping the form and the meaning of those days. She squeezed Soarin’ tighter.

“I missed ya,” Applejack murmured into his chest. “Somethin’ fierce.”

“I’ve missed you, AJ. Terribly. It’s worse than when you left. I think about you everyday. I worry every--”

“--I’ve been plum terrified that Luna or Spike had got you killed or--”

“--the roads are full of raiders and nopony knows what’s out there--”

“--this damn city and Twi and…”

They stopped, looked at each other, and Applejack laughed even as she felt tears roll down her cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re in one piece.”

“I could say the same for you.” Soarin’ rested his head on top of hers, and they rocked back and forth.

Two ponies, sitting under an apple tree with the retreating sun ever retreating and the crickets chirping.

“Now, I’m gonna ask you a weird question.”

“You? Weird? A question not about apples?” Soarin’ shivered. “Here we go…”

“Hush, big fool.”

“I’m just saying, I’m not sure I’ll be able to take what comes next! When you reveal your inner depths!”

Applejack seriously considered making an inane and dirty joke out of that statement, but she moved on. “Serious, tho, Soar’. I… well. Do you know what a panic attack is?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“Well, cause I didn’t. I had heard of that before, but I thought it was somethin’... crazy ponies did. Or something made up, an excuse. And--”

“Twilight?”

“Wha? How’d you…”

Soarin’ sighed. “Who else? Pinkie? Nah. I doubt it. You? No, it doesn’t fit you, I think. But Twilight? High strung former student of the princess of the Sun, Equestria, and everything else? Yeah, it’s almost more of surprise that its only happened now.” He held a hoof up to cut off her protest. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying anything bad about your friend. I think she’s alright, if a little too high strung. I’m just saying that she strikes me as the type that would happen to.”

Applejack wasn’t entirely mollified, but she went back to leaning on her coltfriend and looking at the blazing sun in the distance of the Dream. “Well, yeah. We were on watch together, and the whole day everypony had just been… not fallin’ apart, that’s too melodramatic. Somethin’ Rarity would say, no doubt.” She rolled her eyes. “But we’re fraying on the edges. I’ve been angry as a flea-bit bull all day. Pinkie’s been on edge. Twilight was anxious and freaking over completely pointless things. Our guide an’ me came close to blows at least once, and I know it’s not really because we’re mad at each other. It’s the city.”

Soarin’ stroked her mane. “It’s getting to you.”

She nodded. “I don’t like it. I don’t like that it’s reachin’ in there and toying with my feelings. Those are mine. They’re mine as much as my body is, and I get to choose how they come out and only I get to do that. Not you, or Twi, or some stupid city that shoulda crumbled already.” She looked back at him. “You know what I mean?”

“You’re an independent mare, and I’ve always admired that. You feel like that’s under fire.”

“Damn straight.”

“Well, as you would say, ‘it ain’t’.” He chuckled. “The fact that you can tell me this says that much, I think. You’re you, and you’re in control. I know you can keep your head.”

“Well ain’t you all supportin’ and sweet,” she murmured. “But Twi was so… it was so, so bad. She was shakin’ like a leaf, cryin’ and shiverin’. Her eyes were so… her…” Applejack closed her eyes and shivered. “I didn’t know what to do. I was useless again. I didn’t know where it came from.”

“How is she now? What did you do?”

“Just held her.” Applejack hummed softly as Soarin’ kissed her head. “Don’t get used to all this mushiness, featherbrain,” she warned without even an ounce of heat.

“Why not? Not so bad, once in a while.”

“Maybe. But all I did was hold her. Rocked her like I used to rock Bloom when she was little and had nightmares. Pinkie was there in a flash. Hell, everybody woke up. I had Tradewinds take over and me and Pinkie were with her ‘till she tuckered herself out. She and Pinkie are asleep in a corner, now, sharin’ a blanket. Twi needed somepony cuddling close, said it would help. I figured I’d want that too.”

“I’m sorry that happened, hon. If it helps at all, I’m not sure you botched that. There’s not much you can do. You’re not her. It’s an internal kind of thing.”

“You seen this before?” She looked up at him.

He looked down at her with a strange sort of look--soft, liquid, tender and yet with a depth she did not recognize. Remembering? She thought it looked a little like relief. “I have,” he said. “A few times, and with varying degrees of seriousness.”

“I felt bad, because I didn’t understand. I thought it was something crazy ponies did, all that shakin’ and panickin’, and Twi isn’t crazy. Not a lick. She’s rational as you or I. Little more so than Pinkie.”

“Lot more, I’d think.”

“Hush, you.”

They were quiet a bit more.

“Jannah’s awful big,” Applejack said. How could she not talk about the City? It was a bit impossible to not discuss it at some point. “We’ve been in the same city for days now. Short days, too. Time works differently. That’s what Twilight says.”

“Differently?”

“Differently. Melty clocks or some such bull. It could be possile that we get out and we’ve been inside shorter on the outside? I mean, uh, the time is shorter. Aw, hell, I don’t know. It makes my head hurt. It’s weird. It’s huge.”

“A good description.”

“Not really. It’s more like…”

LUNA

Beneath High Canterlot the forge of the moon and the stars bellowed and roared. Hammer fell on iron like meteors striking the earth. The impact echoed through empty halls that only two ponies had walked in a thousand years.

Sweat streamed down into Luna’s eyes, and she paused to wipe it away. Her breathing came more calmly and steadily than a normal pony could hope for, but more ragged than she was used to.

She was almost done.

You know, this isn’t going to help.

“It’s all I know how to do,” Luna said quietly. She was not surprised by the voice which seemed to echo throughout the great forge. She knew that a pony in the catacombs would hear nothing. The complex enchantments that kept this place working also insured her privacy, should she want it. Which she always did.

Little Luna, runaway. Crawling to your hole to hide from your sins. How typical. How boring. This whole exchange is boring and overplayed. Dull.

“Then you can be silent then, and not be missing anything, yes?” Luna hammered on. Her horn glowed brilliantly, casting her face in a strange light as it conflicted with the fire’s glow.

She stood now in the heart of Canterlot’s mountain, in the Songforge. When Everfree had been the capital, long before her fall, Celestia had helped her dig deep channels in the mountain and brought all of her lore and learning to bear on making it into a wonder of the wide world. A hidden wonder, a secret between the two of them. Luna’s heart leapt within her to think of the day and night they had worked side by side, under a great strain and with unyielding joy.

“Sister, I hear it! I think at last I hear it. Something like a song.”

She closed her eyes and paused, but only for a moment. It had been a wonderful day, hadn’t it?

And then when you were gone she covered up the mistake she had made. You abuse all your gifts, don’t you? Turn Twilight’s sweet little dragon into a murderer. Rarity gives you her sister and her honor and you almost get her killed and get her girlfriend severely wounded. Celestia gave you the kingdom on a silver platter and you ran it into the ground.

Luna began to hammer again. The forge was a gift from one sister to another, made with magic, kept by magic, fed by magic. Things had been strained some times, back then, but they were always sisters. She had known, watching Celestia grinning at her own work, that her sister loved her--and she had loved Celestia. For your birthday, Celestia had replied cheekily, as if either of them even knew when that was.

And now it’s just you and me.

“Yes, Nightmare mine, it is thee and I.”

And Luna’s magic had been there too. The place was attuned to her. In a mystical sense that Celestia would have better been able to explain, it was apart of her. It was her. And echo of what she was, perhaps? That worked well enough for Luna.

She had come here to make the armor of Nightmare Moon, and what had been only a foreboding shadow on this place had transformed forever into a sinister cutting voice. Her voice. It hated her. It wished for her to climb back into the shriveled husk of the old mare and despair.

There were many versions of the tale of Nightmare Moon. Jealousy driving her to rashness. A long-planned coup. The intervention of an outside evil. The list went on and on. Luna had not bothered to clean up the mess after she had settled in. Oh, she had wanted to, but what is possible and what one wishes are not the same. Rumors often grow when one tries to squash them. So she said nothing, and ponies stopped talking about it after awhile. It is hard to talk about a pony’s inner evil when she is building orphanages and smiling at foals and such. Not impossible, just harder.

The truth is uglier.

The truth is more mundane. There is a nadir of the soul, a place at the bottom of sanity and virtue, so far from salvation that only miracles can reach. There is a dark night below the surface of the world, and Luna found that place and languished in a long dark night without stars or her own moon to grant light to see by. Luna was familiar with despair.

A Lover.

A student. The hammer clanged. If a pony could have sat in the ancient hallways of Luna’s most private sanctum, it would have sounded like a storm at the end of the world, the howling of the lowest pit of hell. But Luna was sequestered in wards and magic so thick that to her it was loud, just a bit, no more.

She was student of the concept of despair. It was a sickness, a sickness unto death but not death itself. Death was Sleep and what she knew of Sleep she would not say to any who lived for their were no words to say what she would say. Despair was a sickness inherent in the self, a sense of loss that came with having, with being a Self. Despair was the worm in the apple that was in despair over itself--the sickness which refused to see itself, leading its host to live normally before her peers as she rotted beneath.

This is not thinking. It is stolen words. Think and accept.

Luna ignored the voice. Perhaps it would be easier as she continued, but perhaps not. Either, or, it didn’t matter. Her hammer rose; her hammer fell. Her magic flared and her teeth ground together.

That self which is in despair is in despair over itself because it is not what it wants to be. The Moon is in despair over the Sun, for it cannot be the Sun. To be the Moon was no sin. In being the Moon, that self would have been happy and fulfilled, it would have found the opposite of despair, which Luna had found no one name for, as of yet.

She expected the Voice, the Nightmare, to say something, but it did not. She looked up, momentarily caught off guard.

You miss me.

“You are my shadow,” Luna said softly. “And I have accepted, to answer your earlier protestations. I have accepted Luna.”

You are my Shadow. I was Truth and you were mewling weakness.

“We are Luna. You and I.”

I and I. Thou? Nothing. Malinger on, crippled smith.

“I will sing. If you would like to sing with me, Self, you may.” She smiled. “Would you like to know what I read, once?”

Silence.

“‘Pony is spirit. But what is spirit?’” Luna wiped sweat from her brow. Her magic found among the tangled web of arcane threads and found the right one. Cool air blew from the ceiling, and she let it blow over her face with a sigh and a smile. “‘Spirit is the relationship of the self to itself.’ Twilight Sparkle gave me that book, Luna, though she would not remember it. Celestia asked her to provide a list of things for me to read and she went overboard. Art, philosophy, literature, even something mundane as a jokebook. Twilight Sparkle, thorough and organized.”

That isn’t my name.

“It is our name. My name. Luna is you, and Luna is I. We are not separate. I know what you are, though I do not know if you know yourself, despair.”

A long silence, and Luna returned to her labors. She sang a song with words that nopony had heard in hundreds of years. Sometimes she thought that perhaps--perhaps!--there were two voices in unison. But she could not be sure. But Luna hoped. While she breathed and swung the hammer she had not swung in so long, Luna hoped. There was little to hope about. An honest assessment would be a bit more blunt: there was nothing to hope about in sight. But Luna knew what despair was.

The myths of the Nightmare had faded because they were wrong. Ponies had forgotten them, or forgotten parts of them, because something in the hearts of little ponies knew that, no, that wasn’t it. She had not been taken over by a nameless darkness. She had not lost her mind to virulent madness, seeing things which did not exist. Jealous beings did not become Gods--jealousy made small monsters, petty ones, vicious but short in reach. But it looked like jealousy, despair. She was the Moon that did not wish to be herself, that had wished to be the Sun, and the greatest secret she held was that throughout all of her “madness” she had been horribly sane. She had meant it. She had meant every single bit of it.

No. I did those things. You would steal my glory.

A little weaker than before, Luna noted. The voice that leaked from the walls sounded less sure, less sharp.

“You are Me. I am Thou. I am the real thou and you are the real me, or you should be. There is no--” her words were cut off briefly by another hammer swing and the fly of sparks. She grunted. “There is no isolation.”

Why are you even here?

“To create. The defensive line has been abandoned, and the enemy guns decimated. The siege lies before the laws. I shall need a new set of armor.” She smiled. “And so will Spike. Do you have any ideas, Luna? We’ve never made armor for a dragon before.”

Dragons already have armor. Making them armor is foolish and pointless.

“But you think on it, do you not? Would you not rather abandon your posturing? It would be a challenge for us, Luna and Luna. How to supplement our companion’s natural armor, while also capitalizing on his fearsome demeanor. Hm?” She smiled even wider. “Would that not be a joy? To be as we were meant to be, Luna? You are not the Nightmare. You know you are not. You are only touched by my despair because you are me and I am you, a soul in two forms. I am no longer that false self, and neither are you. Please.”

Silence. But she felt that it was not a bad one.

His front is weakest, Forge Luna said quietly. The Nightmare’s rough edge was leaving. So armor that focused its protection on his softer belly would be most wise.

“I happen to agree,” Luna said. When she sang again, the walls sang with her.

PINKIE

Her eyes jumped from companion to companion, studying, worrying. How were they faring? Was Applejack frustrated? Was Abdiel sinking into bitterness? Was Twilight anxious? Because she knew herself already, and she was filled to the brim with a rather un-Pinkie-like worry.

Well, not Un-Pinkie. Just un-Pinkie as defined by her Ponyville life. She had done such a good job, too.

Nopony had talked much since the night before. What was there to say? They all knew that the City was worming its way into their minds. It was obvious. As soon as a pony got out of the mist, her mind cleared, and with a clear mind came realization. There hadn’t been much discussion of it at all--what was there to say that didn’t sound like a pale excuse? “Oh, sorry I almost hit you earlier, the creepy mist stuff got to me.” “Oh that’s alright, it makes me a nervous wreck unable to smile or communicate!” It helped that she gave the two little voices in her head particularly pathetic little voices. It was the sort of detail Pinkie liked to pay attention to.

Pinkie hadn’t seen many things. Well, not like Twilight. Or Applejack, she added silently. Sometimes, she would look at them and their eyes and they would be staring off at nothing. She could see it even when their faces were out of view in how they walked haltingly, as if in a deep sleep that lasted only a moment.

In other circumstances, she would have found it amusing. She might have chuckled at Twilight’s silly dream face--said something like “Hey, Twi, forget your coffee?”--though, obviously way funnier than that. Like tons funnier. But she just wasn’t in the mood. Also, Pinkie wasn’t cruel. She could be a little too rambunctious, yes, she knew that. But she wasn’t a dumb pony. On the contrary, she was sharper than most gave her credit for, especially when it came to her friends. Twilight wasn’t a pony Pinkie could poke and bother right now. Not that she was in the mood, but Twilight was off-limits. Like Fluttershy. Always had to tone down the loud noises with Fluttershy, she always panicked.

Pinkie frowned.

And then her tail twitched in a certain way and Pinkie froze.

Her eyes were wide as saucers. There, yes! Her ear flopped on its own.

There are miracles here and there. Ponies step back from the brink of oblivion. Foals are born. The Rockville Drudgers beat the Dredgemane Miners and win the pennant. And, just maybe, Pinkie Sense was a thing that worked deep in the maw of Hell itself.

Nopony noticed that she had stopped. Pinkie was waiting for her ear to stop flopping. The next thing would tell her what the combination was, she felt it. Other ear? Somepony was about to trip. Tail twitch again? Falling objects, small ones. Hoof itch? A smile stretched across her face as her anticipation swelled.

And then nothing happened.

She stood stock still. It wasn’t that Pinkie didn’t understand what had happened. She understood perfectly well. It was just that what had happened was impossible. Pinkie Sense didn’t just… stop. That’s not what it did.

Pinkie wilted. Her friends noticed her absence and she stumbled forward so they wouldn’t ask questions.

A few moments of silence passed. More buildings. More mist. Pinkie was still reeling when she felt the back of her left hindleg’s hoof itching and her heart leapt. There it was! Just late! So that meant… nothing. She had no idea what that combo meant.

Or it wasn’t a combo. Could this place really mess with Pinkie sense? Why? What could it possibly gain from--her other ear flopped. Her tail twitched on its own. For the first time in a very, very long time, Pinkie found her own quirk a little unnerving. She wasn’t causing any of this. She hadn’t made any of it happen. What did it mean--

Pinkie heard something akin to a growl of frustration. It was louder than a trumpet in her ear, and she stumbled. Yet the others seem uneffected. She stared at them, and then heard the noise again, like sharp agony in her ears.

Pinkie dug at her own hears. What did it want? What was happening?

HELLO?

Do you hear me, strange one?

Pinkie stopped again. “Yes.”

Twilight looked back at her. “Pinkie?”

Yes, Pinkie added mentally. “It’s nothing, Twi. Sorry, just muttering to myself!” She smiled.

I have caused you distress. I am unused to contact.

You scared me half to death! I thought my Pinkie sense was going haywire!

Pinkie kept up with her friends. Now that the painful noise and the crazy fake Pinkie Sense were something sane, like a voice in her head, she felt a lot more secure in her own safety and sanity.

I do not understand.

Well sometimes, I get these weird feelings or my hooves itch and my ears go flop. It’s all very complex. Twilight tried to study it once and she went craaaaazy.

I have met this Twilight Sparkle of Ponyville. This one is Pinkie?

Yupperooni!

I am glad that you answered. There was a rasping sound everywhere, like a pony out of breath. Or in pain. Pinkie’s sense that she understood what was going on faded. It… it hurts. Remembering… I… I am glad that you answered. Please, I must tell you and then return.

Return? Where are you?

I am Everywhere, I think. There is no way to explain. Please… please listen to me, Pinkie.

Pinkie shut up. Or, well, she stopped trying to talk. In her head. This was awfully confusing, but she knew when it wasn’t cool to mess with a pony. Even if that pony was a voice in her head that sounded pretty but also unhappy.

The City is dangerous enough, but there are other dangers. You must tell Twilight that Eon told you to… Oh, love, I-I can see his face! I… I’m sorry, I have to go. Eon said there is danger ahead. There is another group seeking what she seeks.

And Pinkie heard a great big sucking noise, and there was a gust of very real wind that caught them all by surprise, and then she was alone in her head. Pinkie blinked.

After a moment, Abdiel shrugged, and they all began to move. All of them but Pinkie.

“Hey, Twilight.”

Twilight turned.

“Who is Eon?”

TRADEWINDS

Tradewinds was tough. Petrahoof winters were not kind to the weak of heart, frail of body, or any other thing that was less than hardy. Those who did not learn to endure the cold and to ride out the food shortages died or left for the sunny south. On the edge of Equestria, in a place where hearing the common tongue of ponies was rare, Harmony meant everypony working in the same direction against an all-hungry winter.

She was no stranger to hardship, then, but she was also no stranger to violence. Petrahoof was civilized, but the highlanders were not, and they still worshipped the twisted visage of Nightmare Moon. Ponies trained with the militia early on. Tradewinds first fired a gun when she was nine, as a part of her weekly drill day with the Young Filly Pioneers. Her marks were exceptional. The goofy smile, the warm--if abrasively worded--demeanor, all of it rested over the kind of soldier generals drooled over.

She laid flat on the roof of what had probably been some sort of shrine. She didn’t care what it had been or was. Sightseeing was for ponies out of range.

Pinkie huddled behind her, trying to be as inconspicuous as a bright pink pony with a huge floofy mane on a stark white roof in dimming light could be. To be fair, she was doing a much better job than Tradewinds had anticipated.

Below, battle had been joined. Tradewinds kept her gun silent. She watched. If she had to, she would pick her targets off at leisure. She had the best vantage point of this small battlefield. She had the high ground.

The Fallen, the broken and wandering Seekers, were easy to identify. Some had armor, and some did not. Many were armed, but a few were not--yet for all of their differences, they all moved the same way. It was a jolting, unnatural gait, as if they were empty puppets propelled by unseen hooves or magic. A normal pony would probably have been unnerved, but Tradewinds had found that it was hard to be unnerved when she clung to the icy pit somewhere below her heart and above her stomach. She gripped that ice, curled her body around it, and it was no longer its own thing. She was ice. She was the snow that buried Petrahoof, that could and would outwait anything.

The Fallen streamed into the killzone, and the rifles of the mercenaries flashed. They were mercenaries, she knew this without thought. She knew their type. Fallen fell, but others came. With them came their strange alien tongue, screaming and screaming, the only intelligible word being that damnable name. Jannah! Jannah! Jannah!

She watched expressionlessly as a mercenary unicorn hidden behind a perfectly preserved foodcart was overwhelmed. He called up a shield, but it was too faint. She knew he was panicking. He swung the butt of the rifle with his magic, hitting one of the Fallen on the head and sending the husk of pony sprawling, but there were others. Two of them held him down and throttled him, stamping on anything soft, anything not covered by his barding. He screamed, and then one of them beat his head against the ground and then he did not scream. His companions did not seem overly concerned. They were still winning, and easily. The two Fallen who were still beating the weakly struggling body were killed in an instant, and the ones behind them also died.

It was, for the most part, a massacre. The Fallen had no guns. Most of them were unarmed, and the mercenaries below had rifles and plentiful ammunition. Their barding was good. She’d paid attention to that. Reinforced, too. Bullets and magic would cut through. Hoofblades might, if one got the kick right. Hooves? No chance. Well. Applejack was strong. A good kick might not get through the barding but the force would still send one of them sprawling.

Behind her, Pinkie shivered. “Is it over?”

“No.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Like, really soon? Like, super soon, please? This… this isn’t fun at all,” Pinkie said. Tradewinds imagined… she couldn’t imagine what Pinkie’s face would look like. Soft, fat southern sunlanders. She thought this without much heat. It was no crime to be gentle. Death sentence? Yes. But not a crime.

Another mercenary died. Tradewinds watched carefully now, noting their placement in the failing light. Three lines, spread out so so as to split the Fallen and keep their sheer mass from overwhelming the defenses. She approved of their use of cover and the environment to funnel the enemy into the square and force them into tight lanes. She did not respect, only approve. A Petrahoofan did not respect the enemy. She killed them.

Another mercenary died, but the last Fallen was also disposed of with a shot to the leg. It fell over, writhing and madly chanting as it tried to run. It succeeded only in spinning pitifully in a circle, spreading its blood on the perfect marble floors of a pavillion of stone.

A mercenary who looked different than the others strode out from behind the pillars. He was a unicorn with a patch over one eye and a mane shaved completely off. She saw something on the side of his head--

The ice melted a little. “Chyort,” she whispered. She knew that mark.

The unicorn pulled a revolver from his side and shot the Fallen twice, once in the chest and once in the head. He chuckled and spoke in the northern tongue. “That’s the last of those fuckers.”

“Da, captain, do you want us to check?” asked a mercenary among the carts as he stood.

The captain spit. “Nyet. These ones dance when you wound ‘em. Conserve ammunition. Everypony!” he shouted to the air and Tradewinds marked every head that turned. She could take them all. Before they returned fire she could kill five. A whole clip. She was good. They were targets and it was snowing and this was Petrahoof. “Five minutes! I want us inside before night comes. Check the idiots who bit it, strip the good stuff, leave the bodies. We’ll get back to the Preacher tomorrow. No sermons tonight.”

There was a ragged cheer, and a lot of not-so-good natured laughter as the mercs mercilessly stripped their fallen companions’ equipment and kicked at the bodies of the slain Fallen.

“Trades? Tradey?”

Tradewinds heard Pinkie but she did not answer.

Mercenaries. No, she had known that from their cold demeanors, from their… no, she supposed somewhere she had always known. The Black Hoof. She swore, more so than usual. The Black Hoof was here, of all places? Here, at the end of the world.

How fitting.

Tradewinds had never wanted to murder anything so much in her entire life as she did right then. She could kill that ugly suka. Then she’d put holes in the heads of the ones dragging the clips off the body of the first slain merc. Then her last bullet would go right through the eyes of the one smoking by the--

“Tradey!” Pinkie’s hoof was on her flank, shaking her. Tradewinds blinked and looked back.

Pinkie’s face was pale. Her eyes were big as saucers. “What happened? You were saying words I didn’t know and--”

“Sh.” Tradewinds realized she was shaking in rage. She took a deep breath. Pinkie was her friend. Friend, Sun’s Mercy! She had to calm down--

“Think the preacher’ll be done with whatever the hell he’s doing?” one of the mercs below asked.

“Who the fuck cares, man? I hope not. Know why? Long as he’s here, plenty of shlyukha, da?”

Tradewind’s fury did not burn. It froze her features. It was a miracle it did not freeze the very air. She could end his words forever. She could kill him. She could do what she had not done in Petrahoof they would not touch her they would not--

“Tradey,” hissed Pinkie. “What’s going on?”

Tradewinds shut her eyes tightly. “Pinkie,” she managed. “Pinkie, please be quiet, da?”

Pinkie was quiet.

She did not return to looking. Her whole body shook in rage. Perhaps with something else.

After a few minutes, they left, and Tradewinds remained. After so much time, some things remained the same, it seemed. She took the rifle harness off.

Pinkie was at her side, fussing. “Tradewinds, please. What happened? Was it the city? We need to get back… are you okay? Please, talk to me--”

She was rambling. It was hard to translate the words when they came to fast. “Zatknis’,” Tradewinds hissed. Pinkie wouldn’t understand the words, but she would understand the sentiment. She stopped her babbling. Tradewinds stood and shook herself. “We return,” she said, and then paused.

Pinkie’s head hung, but she nodded. Tradewinds felt the stab of guilt, but the ice was still around her, keeping her going. Regret was there, but it was far away for now. She would apologize when it was safe.

“And you… you recognized these ponies?” Twilight asked her.

“Da,” Tradewinds said, staring at the wall. Another false night, another empty room. “They are…” She fumbled slightly for the common word. “Mercenaries. Black Hoof. Are from Petrahoof.” She spat. “Were from Petrahoof.”

“Your hometown,” Applejack said softly.

“Disgrace,” Tradewinds could form sentences, but not now. She didn’t care at all if she spoke proper common or not. She was seething. “Murder, torture, rape, is all they do. Sell themselves like whores to any pony with bits so they can do what they would do anyway.”

“Whoa, nelly, calm down a bit,” Applejack said, gesturing with both forehooves. “I believe ya, but you gotta calm down. Gotta think with a level head.”

Tradewinds ground her teeth together.

“What are they doing here? You say they’re mercenaries. Why would mercenaries be here?” Twilight asked nopony in particular. Her gaze wandered.

“Somepony paid them,” Abdiel said from across the room. “It is not that uncommon for foolish treasure hunters to employ guards… but not this many. Not like this.”

“These ponies… are not guards,” Tradewinds said. “If they are here, who has hired them, he is evil. They live to kill. They live to… to…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Twilight Sparkle, you have seen raiders.” It was not a question.

“Yes,” Twilight answered regardless, her voice… strange. Strangled? Was that the word?

“Black Hoof make Raiders piss themselves,” Tradewinds said. “Black Hoof do for fun what raiders did for food. Raiders wish eat, da? Black Hoof thinks new world is a paradise.”

Twilight shivered. Good, she understood. “You’ve encountered them yourself, before, then?” she asked.

Tradewinds did not know what to say to that. She did not… she could not-- “Yes,” she said.

They followed the Black Hoof the next day. Tradewinds and Abdiel took point, keeping watchful eyes on their foe and a respectable distance. Tradewinds imagined sullenly that she was hiding in snow drifts.

She thought about shooting them. She thought about this the way some mares thought about making love or a nice bottle of champagne. No, not like those things. She was more excited about them dying and then screaming that Petrahoof sent its regards. But she did not shoot the filth that walked before her. No, their times would come. She would give them to this city as a gift to the gods of hate.

More and more, however, her thoughts returned to Pinkie. Stunned Pinkie, frightened Pinkie, asking over and over in her mind, echoing--Are you okay? What’s wrong? What happened?--and she felt something that was an almost physical pain in her stomach. Twisting in knots? Yes, that was the phrase. She remembered now.

Tradewinds thought she heard things. Voices, scrapings. Bits of song, most unknown, but a few familiar. Once she thought she saw a little green filly scurrying across the thoroughfare from alley to alley. She was not impressed. Such things, they worked on the sun-dazed and the soft. Not that these things were bad. Simply that she was from Petrahoof and made of sterner stuff. Sometimes, on the verge of exhaustion in the snow, one saw things. Vague shapes loomed in the distance. An extra companion among your fellows that was always just out of the corner of your eye. She had experienced this as a young mare on mandatory Youth Militia training exercises once. All in all, if this was the worst Jannah could produce, then she would laugh at it. They should have brought a few dozen of her kin here, just so she could laugh at this place with all of them.

Bravado did not carry one on forever. It was exhausting, keeping just out of sight. Finding new perches every few minutes, making sure to signal to the others when they could move up. Her wings were finally working, but Twilight had been very insistent that she not strain them. So for now, she kept herself to brief flights. A few seconds at most.

Even this was painful. Her wings felt weak. Shameful.

TWILIGHT

She slept and Dreamed.

Twilight wandered aimlessly through swiftly changing aether. Where would she go? It was an interesting question. She could go anywhere, really. Anything that her little unicorn heart could conjure up, the Annex would provide.

What would it have been like, to traverse this city without Luna guarding their dreams? She could imagine. Or, rather, she could try to imagine and decide that she would rather not find out that her postulation paled in comparison.

Presently, she walked in the door of Golden Oaks Library, perfect as it had been in the days when she had first moved in. She smiled at everything in an absent way. Books, the pony bust she had inherited from the previous librarian and hadn’t had the heart to move, the stairs up to her room. The door to the reading room was half open, and on a whim she trotted in.

A little table. She had tutored foals in here. Cheerilee was a wonderful teacher, or had been when there was a school to teach in. But there was only so much an earth pony could teach young unicorns about their magical abilities. Twilight had offered to help and the long suffering and always smiling Cheerilee had been grateful.

She could almost see it again. The Aether began to reconstruct a scene: Two foals, still misty as her memory tried to put them back together.

“No,” she said quietly. The mist did not usually respond well to spoken commands, but it sensed her intent and the two foals disappeared.

She did not need to relive a memory half-retained. Instead, she circumnavigated the table and crossed to the window. She gazed outside and found that Ponyville had been reconstructed for her. She smiled at it wanly.

“Twilight?”

Twilight turned and found Luna poking her head through the doorway. It was a silly sight, and Twilight chuckled at it warmly. “Hello, Luna. I’m glad you could make it.”

Luna grinned sheepishly and stepped inside the reading room. “I am sorry. Things… things are dire now in Canterlot, or I would have come much sooner.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Dire?”

“Violent, even.”

Twilight felt something akin to her stomach falling right out of her body. Oh, violent. She could imagine that. She could imagine it very well. Violent like Vanhoover’s docks on fire, maybe.

She shivered. “How… do I even want to know?” She did want to know. More accurately, could she afford to know? “Is Spike…”

“Spike is alive and well.” Luna paused, as if considering something. She looked over Twilight’s shoulder, and then returned her eyes to meet Twilight’s. She offered a lopsided smile. “My companion is rather put out by the idea of shouldering a fire arm. He grumbled something the other day about the God of Dragons laughing at him. I didn’t have the heart to inform him the dragons of old were rather stringent atheists.”

Twilight paled. “Spike has a gun?”

Luna opened her mouth as if to respond, and then closed it. She tried again. “I… I didn’t want... “ She grimaced. “I am sorry,” she replied, looking down. “I am a fool. I know hearing of Spike as a warrior distresses you, Twilight. I should have said nothing. He is adamant, and the city needs all of its defenders. I could not let him risk close enoucnters, where his claws or fire or sword could be useful. Not as things are. So I found a rifle fit for a griffon.”

Twilight swallowed. She shook her head, closed her eyes, sighed. “It’s okay. I understand.” She opened her eyes again and offered Luna a weak smile. “I do understand. I know you love Spike and wouldn’t risk his life without, how did you put it? Dire need. I know Spike can take care of himself.”

Luna nodded. “May I approach?” She asked, with a tone somewhere between joking and pleading.

It tugged at Twilight’s heart. “Duh,” she said, doing her best Rainbow Dash impression. “Know what this room is?”

“I confess an unfortunate lack of familiarity with this place. It is your library, is it not?”

“Mhm.” Twilight hummed and stroked the table in the center of the room. “This is the reading room. I mean, I guess you could read out in the main room, or in the other rooms, but this room was meant to be quiet. The walls are thicker, and it has carpet so its less prone to noisy echoes. I used to write letters to Celestia in this room sometimes. I tutored foals here, too. I was just thinking about that.”

“Tutored? Ah, young apprentices. Fancying yourself to be a princess, Miss Sparkle?” Luna asked with a little laugh. She still stood a little ways away, but Twilight understood why. “I jest, of course. With your grasp of magic, I am not at all surprised. I’m sure you were a wonderful teacher.”

“Eh. I did okay. It’s hard to slow down explanations. Or, at least, its hard for me. I get excited pretty easily.” Twilight sighed. “It was fun, though. For awhile there, I was really thinking about actually teaching at Celestia’s school. I probably… would have.” She pursed her lips. “Hm.”

“Is it… unpleasant to be here?” Luna asked.

“I don’t know.” Twilight walked to her, and with a smile offered her a hug which Luna accepted and returned. It was quick, and she did not linger. Their conversation was between them. Twilight hated that feeling of separation… but she still couldn’t give an answer. Not now, not here. But there was no need to be distant. She was still Twilight and Luna was still Luna.

Back in the main room, Twilight gazed around at the legions of books. “Luna, this is going to sound… asinine, honestly, but I think I get what it must feel like for you to see the future. Like, our present. This place is so different now that to think of it as it once was feels jarring. Thinking of it how it is is jarring. I loved my library.”

“This is a good place. Or was. And shall be again,” Luna said.

Twilight nodded. “It was a wonderful library. My quarters were small but snug and warm. It always felt like home, and that’s what a home supposed to feel like, I guess!” She chuckled. “Circular logic’s fun. See that desk?” She pointed with a goofy grin. “That’s where I wrote letters. Most of them to your sister, but a few to you. Several to older mages in Canterlot. Scientists at the university in Hoofington. Always learning, always studying. Finishing up my thaumaturgy grad work.”

“I may have read some of your work when Celestia was distracted,” Luna admitted.

Twilight turned to find her leaning against the doorway to the reading room, having not moved. Twilight managed to look bashful. “Really? Aw, geeze. None of that was near ready for anyone to read. I wouldn’t have let the Princess read them except I knew she would scold me if I didn’t let her help me. She was my thesis advisor after all, and also one of the only ponies who could really half of what I was doing.” Twilight paused. “Wow, that sounded arrogant.”

“Regardless, it was the sooth. I understood it, and was very impressed. In my day, Polydimensional magic was rather new.”

“You actually managed to make it useful?” Twilight asked, incredulous. “You’re joking, right?”

“I kid thee not!” Luna said, and raised her eyebrows. “Surely my sister told you this.”

Twilight felt a little foolish. “You mean… No, she didn’t. Oh, stars, I probably seemed like a child. She didn’t have the heart to tell me somepony had already done it all.” She was surprised to find that she felt a little hurt. After all this, and she actually cared about her damn dissertation?

“I’m sorry, Twilight. I don’t think it was that. After the… war, much of our knowledge was lost. Celestia couldn’t know everything, after all. Some of it she let die. Flight, for instance. I was shocked at the state of Equestrian air travel. Airships when I was new to this time were rather primitive. My sister…” Twilight watched her brow furrow. “Celestia informed me that she did this purposefully. Memories of my fleet were rather new, and many of the best minds of a generation were gone. It was best to keep her ponies away from such things. So my sister said.”

“Maybe.” Twilight wandered over to her old writing bench and touched it reverently.

“Twilight, I have waited, but I am very… anxious. I wish to ask you of your sojourns in Jannah.”

Twilight shivered again and looked at Luna. “Do I have to?” She said, somewhere between a sigh and a whine.

Luna blanched slightly. “No, of course not! I am sorry, I cannot seem to mind my own tongue.”

“No, it’s okay! Earlier was okay. It’s just… I mean, you’ve been here.”

“Yes.” So much darkness was in that single word! Twilight was a little afraid.

“I want to talk about it, but I’m a little afraid to talk about it. Does that make sense?”

“More than you would expect.”

“And,” Twilight continued, gesturing a little wildly, “my head is clear now, but it isn’t like it’s clear. I can think now, but now my mind is full of very legitimate worry instead of the crazy mist… craziness,” she finished, lamely. “That one got away from me a little.”

“The mists? Ah. Yes, they affected us as well. I have never forgotten them.” Luna’s turn to shiver, and somehow that made Twilight feel simultaneously worse and better. “Would it be forward for me to suggest we retire somewhere we might converse at length in comfort? Forgive me, I do not wish to press. I have no intentions… I mean…”

“I know.” Twilight smiled. “It is a bit forward in context, but you’re also right. I’ve been on my hooves all day.”

Twilight lay on the bed and Luna sat on a pallet in the corner.

“When I was younger, I was a very excitable pony.”

“I can hardly imagine.”

“Shush. But it wasn’t so bad. Eager unicorn fillies excited about magic is standard, par for the course. But when I had been in Celestia’s school for some time, I began to realize I was… I don’t know. I got worked up so easily. I panicked over little things. At first I chalked it up to stress, and I was right. I just didn’t realized how badly I would take all that weight.”

“You feel this again in the mist?”

“Not the school part. The crushing weight, the anxiety. That part. I had a panic attack a few days ago.”

“I am… unfamiliar with this term.”

Twilight paused. It had always been hard to describe a panic attack. How did you describe something that you knew and had lived through to somepony who had no way to understand and it not sound like a life threatening experience?

But Luna would appreciate honesty, so Twilight was honest. “It depends, but generally I guess you could say the body overloads? That’s not right at all, but whatever. For me, I usually end up curled up in a little ball somewhere, hyperventilating and crying like an idiot. I’ve lost my ability to stand at times. It’s psychological, really. Your mind just refuses to work like you want it to for awhile. So I end up crying, freaking out, unable to get up and go… at least for twenty minutes. Sometimes longer. Shakes, too. I forgot those.” Twilight held her hoof up in the light and gazed at it. “I feel like I’m dying, or have a sense of impending doom.” She chuckled softly. “That’s a silly phrase.”

“Twilight… there’s nothing funny about that at all.” Twilight looked over at her and saw Luna’s face twisted in something like agony. “I… This affliction, surely Celestia could have--”

Twilight waved a hoof at her. “It’s okay, Luna. No, she can’t do that much. It’s not a disease she could magic away or give me penicillin or something. It’s a problem with me, with the way I handle things. It’s not important,” she added. “It’s not. I was just one pony.”

“An important one.”

Twilight smiled. “Thank you. The Princess was actually there for my first one.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

They were quiet for awhile. Twilight hummed a few bars of a lullaby. Luna hummed something strange and haunting.

“Were there Fallen when you were here?” Twilight asked.

“Fallen?”

“Ponies under the spell of Jannah so long that they’re kind of like zombies. They chant and sing and generally are rather frightening. Prone to attack on sight if you get too close.”

“Ah, those unsung profligates.” Luna’s voice became harsh. “Yes, they were there in force. Jannah draws all kinds of treasure seekers, and it preserves them all, does it not?”

Twilight grimaced. “There are tons of them. At first I thought they were terrifying, but I almost feel bad for them.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s hard not to when they just run blindly into gunfire or magic blasts. Those mercenaries--”

Luna interrupted her. “Mercenary? What band?”

“Tradewinds said something about the Black Hoof.”

When Luna didn’t answer right away, Twilight turned over on the bed and saw that her eyes were wide and her expression blank. It was only now that Twilight began to think about that name. It had sounded familiar, but why? Where would she have heard it? From the way Tradewinds talked, some atrocity, but…

“The Mad God is in Jannah,” Luna said breathlessly.

And Twilight jolted upright. “What?”

“D’Jalin. The Mad God. The Blood Mage of the Zebrahara. Set loose to ravage the sands before my sister’s departure. We sent troops to help the Emperor contain or stop him. His… his followers died. We had hoped he was dead somewhere in the ruins of his fortress…” Luna groaned. “Twilight, this is an ill fate. The Duskwatch reported rumors of the Black Hoof moving through the central province months ago, and followed them into the Zebrahara. Before I recalled them, one of the Watch advised that the only group or individual in the desert willing to hire those scum was the Mad God himself. I… I meant to follow up, but things…”

“Fell apart,” Twilight finished for her.

Luna leaned forward. “You must be cautious. He is mad. Beyond mad. He is the embodiment of agony and death. He dances in the blood of the innocent and drinks the marrow of the weak. You must avoid him. His blood magic is formidable, and if he has mercenaries, I am sure he will also have followers, all of them crazed with his madness, all of them willing to die to do his will.”

“Well, it looks like I’ll see it firsthoof, because they’re between us and the tableland.” Twilight swallowed, her imagination filled with visions of blood and fire. “We’ll have to meet him eventually.”

TRADEWINDS

They reached the inner wall early in the morning and found the doors open. Tradewinds, who had never actually considered how they were to gain entrance to the inner city did not truly appreciate their good fortune. Mostly she thought about how far she could could hit a pony-sized target.

Five hundred yards reliably, by the way. So she was rustier than she liked to admit and the harness was weighted for a pony heavier than she was! Tradewinds grumbled about these things in her own tongue.

Twilight was with her this time. Tradewinds tried not to think about why, but this only ended in her thinking about nothing else but screaming at Pinkie to shut up, and then how her friend had… what was the word? For once, she was stumped in both of her languages. Wilted? Deflated?

“Will they close gate, Twilight?” Tradewinds asked.

“I think not. Actually, I’m not even sure they could if they wanted to. That door’s taller than two of my library stacked on top of each other. Moving that thing would require either some insane machinery or a lot of magic, and I don’t think the old enchantments will work.”

“So we can just be dancing in,” Tradewinds said with a grin and looked back at Twilight, who held a pair of binoculars to her eyes.

Twilight hummed distractedly. “Waltz. The phrase is ‘waltz on in’, Tradewinds. Yes, more or less, though I think you and Abdiel had better get up on the walls and make sure they aren’t readying an ambush for us.”

“You think they noticed us?” Tradewinds asked, somewhere between nervous and mildly insulted. It definitely wouldn’t be her fault. She was sneaky like the encroaching winter cold! Which, come to think of it, was less sneaky in Petrahoof. It was more or less the norm nine months of the year. So the analogy fell apart, whatever. She was way sneakier than that Abdiel.

“No, I don’t. But I’d rather not be wrong and die horribly,” Twilight said with a smirk. “You know, I meant to say this earlier, but your common is getting a little better. You’re starting to use more idioms, for instance.”

“Thank you, pasiba. I am trying,” Tradewinds said and she smiled back. “We learned very little.”

“Petrahoof was still in Equestria, wasn’t it?”

“That is complicated.”

Twilight made a little sound of surprise. “Looks like they’re stopping.”

Tradewinds looked back to her scope. True enough, the Black Hoof was stopping at the gate. Two ponies came to meet them, both dressed in strange rags. Tradewinds noticed with a start that they were zebras. These two had a short conversation with the captain, who stormed off and yelled to his troops. There was some sort of conference.

“Trouble in paradise?” Twilight asked.

“This is not Paradise.”

“Just a saying. In this case, I mean it ironically.”

“Oh.” Tradewinds blinked, and then memorized the phrase. “Trouble in paradise,” she said a few times.

“What are they doing?” Twilight asked.

“Drawing lots,” Tradewinds replied softly.

“What?”

Tradewinds shrugged as best she could on her stomach, eye to her scope. “I recognize it. See how they stand in a circle? It is an old game the Highlanders play that we still use to decide who is stuck with the worst job. If I am making a guess, I would say the zebras at the door want some to stay behind.”

“Why?”

“Us,” Tradewinds said simply. “I think they know somepony is here. They must have heard us shooting or being shot at when we were closer to the outer wall.”

“Or maybe they're just nervous. It is Jannah, after all.” Twilight crouched back down and laid flat beside her. “Alright. We’ll wait them out a bit more.”

TWILIGHT

Two Black Hoof mercs stood on the wall, rifles trained on the benighted streets below. On the opposite side of the wall, two zebras crouched and glared at them. The Black Hooves did not care. They were still on the payroll. Maybe when they were off they would do something about these weird striped freaks, but for now--

Violet magic gripped both of their heads at the same time and slammed them together. They were unconscious before they hit the ground, and the zebras outright panicked. One of them produced a flask and he brandished it, chattering in madness tinged Zebra--

Only for the violet magic to grab it out of his mouth, throw it over the side of the wall, and then push him down.

Over the crenulations, a beleaguered batpony carried a purple unicorn with light barding and a cloak. In the low light, she looked like an avenging spirit, her eyes bright and nothing else.

The zebra still on four legs bolted. Twilight threw an arcane bolt which hit him on the flanks. He spun, and a second bolt caught him in the chest. He fell.

The zebra with the flask rose shakily, shook himself, and then charged. Abdiel dropped Twilight and rolled along the wall, gasping for air. Twilight was alone before her attacker, and she sidestepped his wild charge without a word and caught him in her telekinesis.

“Demon! Demon!” he screamed before she silenced him with magic.

“Nope,” Twilight replied lightly. “I would enlighten you, but its sleepy time.”

She worked her magic and then bound all three of the living guards together. With a few quick spells, Twilight kept them still and in a deep sleep as she laid enchantments on the stone around them. “How long will enchantments on things hold, Abdiel?” Twilight asked lightly.

He wheezed. “You… You are very… very heavy, Apprentice.”

She frowned at him. “Thanks, Romeo.”

“No… problem… enchantments… should last… a day or so.”

“Good, so about half of the normal time.” Twilight finished and stepped back. Only then did she approach the still body of the second zebra. She gazed down at him. Dead. The second shot had been too forceful.

Abdiel recovered and sluggishly walked over towards her. “What… are you planning?”

“Hm?” Twilight did not tear her eyes away.

“Why spare them?”

“Because… Because of Vanhoover,” she said quietly. She looked at Abdiel, still breathing shallowly. “I’m sorry for being fat,” she declared, and he rolled his eyes. “In a city named Vanhoover, I used my magic to save myself and my friends and set off an explosion that killed a lot of ponies. They burned. It was horrible. I don’t even know how many died, but somehow I feel like it was all of them. Every pony. I have killed a lot of ponies. I didn’t mean to kill most of them.”

Twilight looked down at the zebra. What did she feel?

“Is it not just to slay the wicked? I would prefer we kill these as well.” He paused. “Tradewinds will not be pleased.”

“That’s why I’m not going to mention it. I don’t know what beef she’s got with these Black Hoof guys, but her eyes were like a crazypony’s. I am not going to contribute to that, if I can help it. I’m not killing them, and if you try to kill them, I will stop you so long as they are bound and non-threatening.”

When she glared at him, he backed away with raised hooves. “I abide, I abide. I stated my desire, not my plans, Apprentice.”

She huffed. “Is it so bad to not want to kill ponies that you have the chance to not kill? I haven’t had a lot of chances to pull my kicks. Usually, they have guns or hoofblades and it’s use my magic or immediately die. I try not to kill, but when being off with one of my bolts means death, I can never be sure. I killed dozens of raiders, I think. Probably. A few griffons. A whole dock worth of ponies. Now a zebra. I am very, very tired of killing things,” she finished.

Abdiel looked at her, and his expression was hard to read. Suddenly Twilight felt exhausted and did not care. She lay down, facing the zebra. “Abdiel, I need you to dig through my pack. I brought a blanket to sleep under, and I need you to hold it up for me.”

Abdiel blinked at her. Twilight met his gaze languidly. Feelings bubbled up. Why had she… but she had to do this. As soon as she had remembered.

He did as Twilight asked and brought blanket, hold it up and then raising an eyebrow. “So, what do we know, Apprentice?”

“I need you to be between the dead zebra and the other side, towards the inner city. I want to minimize the light.”

“What are you doing?”

“Zebra believe that the dead go to the ancestors and run with the Spirits after they leave us.”

“And you believe that, hm?” Abdiel asked.

“No. I don’t. I’m not sure what life after death looks like. But I’m not a zebra, regardless.”

“So what are we doing?”

“To be freed from the earth, proper burial rites must be given. At least, one of them must be.”

“And that rite would be? I confess, I am puzzled.”

Twilight sighed. “Zebra cremate their dead.”

CANTERLOT

The guns batter the mountain road and, as is the new norm, death holds dominion over yet another patch of Equestrian soil. There is nothing for it.

The barrage continues for hours. In the lower tier, civilians huddle in their homes with hooves over their ears. Foals cower under beds or in the arms of their parents. Soldiers in trenches shivered here and there. Others slept, too exhausted to be kept alert by something as trivial as mechanized slaughter.

It is a short day, and the guns fill it. All fighting along the front grinds to a halt. In Morningvale, new trenches are dug and old ones are reinforced. On the mountain the weary guards see campfires as they pause their digging. Up above them the raiders dance feverishly for tomorrow they shall die. The echo of the guns reaches them and somewhere in a part of their minds not yet rotted by corruption and alien influence they know that this play they call life is in its final act.

Night comes. Night always comes, softly and gently even in the most violent of worlds. Day always fades away into cold and darkness, over and over, world without end. It’s how things work.

But this is not a normal night. Somewhere in the West, Twilight Sparkle’s friends slept quietly but fitfully. In the east, Rarity’s army made camp on the edge of Manehattan. In Canterlot, Spike and Soarin’ were on the wall again and Sweetie Belle was bullying a scowling Scootaloo into taking her pain medicine and lying down. And Luna, high above them all, Dreamed.

What is this night? It is a breath. A deep, shaking breath on the rim of an abyss, a long and hollow look down into the deep pit beneath. This is not about calculation, not for those who pray for the sun’s returning. This is about breathing. It is about being alive another life. In their own ways, they are grateful. Life and love go on. Even under the thundering guns they are not snuffed out like brief candles.

Where did this night come from? Where did the evil it hides come from? How did it crawl into a world of light? Did it bubble up in Jannah? Did it seep through the cracks, or infect the stones? Did the winds carry it out from there in all directions?

Where does this dying come from? It is easy to think of guns and the ponies who make them, but that is looking at bread and asking why ponies eat. These monstrosities, these anathema were made not to fling shells but to alter the flow of time and fate. These die, and not those. Is it not easy to understand why? The greatest temptation is, after all, the greatest treason; to do the right things for the wrong reason. Perhaps, too, one might add to those old words that to make the wrong things for the right reason might too be anathema.

But surely this is easy to feel, if not to understand. Have you not also felt what it is to know evil? Canterlot reflects on this on the last night, on the last night Canterlot has before the beginning of the End. Under the roaring guns Canterlot finds itself, sober and drunk, rich and poor, reflecting on how evil is a circle. For a pony is wronged and in turn wrongs, and the wronged will wrong another and the evils of the world devour themselves and everything in between tail and mouth, which is much. They think to themselves quietly that they have done nothing to deserve this, whether it is true or not. Their evils are petty evils. The sneer across the table, the insult hurled into the street, the petty hatred of housewives and the small vicious ambitions of salaryponies. They have inflicted pain in small degrees, and even a hill built one handful of dirt at a time will be tall eventually. Yet these things do not deserve amelioration at the barrel of a gun. So the little ones in their little glass houses think to themselves.

Night does not seem to mind either way. All things that can die do, and those yet protected will not be next time.

The darkness beneath the endless Song roils and works. In the world above, its puppets dance around campfires or wait stoically in hastily dug holes. It sinks into everything it can, uses every purchase it can find. Night is the perfect cover for the sneaking of despair. And is not darkness, substanceless even in the form of the Shadow, the perfect picture of that sickness unto death? Night, darkness, these things conceal and hide. That is the thing that frightens ponies huddling together for warmth in Canterlot. Anything could be out there. The possibility of possibility itself. This darkness is the veil that evil wears.

Do you also feel this darkness in you? Have you also passed through this night?

Author's Note

I am weary, very weary. I do not know how much longer it will go. I know it will be accomplished. Kyrie elaison, I continue.

XXXVII. Jannah Interlude II: The Six Vigils of Tradewinds / The Stations of the Dragon’s Watch

Six watches in the Night. In Jannah. Tradewinds and a friend each time. Seven questions.

Applejack asking around the last of her tobacco: Where do you come from?

From Petrahoof. The sun shines seldom and the cold grips the world nine months out of twelve. When you live in Petrahoof you live on the northern edges of Equestria, and it feels like you live at the end of the world. The snows that come with this long winter make life harder than any sun-blessed pony in the south could ever imagine. Many die. Every winter they die in great heaps, and in the warm months many foals are born, and Petrahoof hopes that these things balance out. Little grows. The only farming done is done carefully in the warmer months, or done deep underground with the help of hot springs. The coal in the mountains is unreachable. The city runs on thermal energy, kept alive by the still beating heart of the earth.

Petrahoof is a city of hardship, but it is not drowned in misery. Foals are born and their birthdays are celebrated. The young build snowponies on the streets sometimes. The lovers love and the old drink vodka by warm fires and play chess in cozy taverns. The factories build and the shops sell. It is a city, even under all of the strain. It is still a place to live.

Twilight asking: Where did you learn to shoot?

In Petrahoof, you grow up knowing that your city is constantly under threat. Petrahoof is only half of a greater whole, and the other half lives in the mountains. Once, they all served the moon and worshipped it, and though they were a rough people they were not evil. But the world moved on, and now the Highlanders are only interested in death. Specifically, Petrahoofan death.

When you are a child it is mandatory that you join a Pioneer troop. In the sunlands they have filly and coltscouts. In Petrahoof, they have the Young Pioneers. Many things are the same. You make friends, learn virtues and self-reliance. Some things are different. The Pioneer learns to shoot before he has a cutie mark. She learns how to take apart, clean, and assemble a firearm shortly after her cutecenara. It is not what the ponies of the True North would wish, but it is what must be done. All must be ready. The young are not expected to patrol or to fight. Those who volunteer or who are serving their militia time patrol and fight. The foals of Petrahoof learn, and their parents do not pray they will never use these things because that would be a wasted prayer. They pray only that they need these things seldomly, or that their beautiful children will be happy, or that they will live long enough to see their grandchildren.

Pinkie asking: Tradey, did you like Petrahoof?

It is hard to ask if the totality of everything you know is something that you “like”. For one, it is not relevant, and wasted anything is anathema to Petrahoof. But, yes, she was happy. Her mother was a high spirited mare with wings and her father was a merchant, different as could be, but they loved each other. They loved her. Her mother taught her how to preen her wings properly. Her father tried to teach her mathematics, but she never quite got the hang of it. He did manage to improve her reading. But it was the trying that counted. It was how after a rather bad few weeks of business, he came home and smiled when she hugged him and watched her when she flew without help for the first time. He built snowponies with her on the sidewalk. Her mother told her stories when she lay snug in her warm bed and taught her how to read the treacherous currents of winter air.

Tradewinds loved Petrahoof. Life was hard, but life was wonderful. When the sun shone for days on end in the brief summer she would rocket through the tiny neighborhood streets, and when the snow and the grey returned she could always count on a friend and vodka, or her mother with tea and a meal. In short, she was among ponies who knew what it was like to live together, to be together. She loved and was loved. And yes, Pinkie, there were parties. Quite a few! She very much enjoyed those.

Twilight asking whilst looking at a window uncovered: Whatever happened?

Petrahoof heard little news from the south even in the best of times. They were Equestrians, through and through, but it was a mostly autonomous city. The guard came and went, rotated out when the sun-fat found the harsh environment too much. Celestia visited every year, and the ponies of Petrahoof loved her. Luna visited twice a year upon her return, and the ponies of Petrahoof trembled at her hooves in something wholly different. Awe and fear stand close together, same like chess pieces except for the color of the squares beneath them. What had Luna thought, then? Tradewinds wonders aloud if perhaps the alicorn who loved the moon thought that these remnants of her legacy were afraid of her, for they wept at her coming. But they were not afraid. The world had moved on and their long wait was over. The Moon had returned to them.

But the Sun had left, had it not? Petrahoof went on as normal while most of Equestria slowly began to panic. What was their to panic over in the True North? The Highlanders were a little more aggressive than normal, a little more reckless, but volunteer militia kept them far away. They did not even notice the day of no sun. The Long Night, those days when Luna struggled to free the sun from the grip of something beyond her knowledge--Petrahoof did not notice at all. How could it, through the cloudcover?

But they did notice something was wrong when the fresh guardsponies did not arrive. There was confusion, hurt, but they refused to believe they had been abandoned. Petrahoofan ponies did not abandon those who lived. They were more loyal than that.

The Highlanders became more than just aggressive. They were almost suicidal. They no longer seemed interested in personal warrior’s glory. They did not seem interested in the plunder to be found in the tiny burgs. They wanted only… what?

Death.

And then Death came. But Tradewinds did not blame them. Blame was useless, and Petrahoofans did not believe in wasting life and energy.

Applejack: Who are these Black Hoof folk, really?

In the midst of this tide of slaughter, something changed. A few ponies took up the cause of Petrahoof’s defense readily, and they called themselves Black Hoof. It was a joke, at first. The first Black Hoof had lost his foreleg to an industrial accident and had a prosthetic.

The Black Hoof was brave and organized. They were heroes. Tradewinds wanted to be them. But she could not. Her mother had the feather flu--how mundane! Domestic. Her father was overworked, trying desperately to outfit the neighborhood militia with no new supplies coming north. Tradewinds took care of her mother.

The Black Hoof changed and changed. They became deadlier, better. They drank more, they laughed louder. But it was not the sort of drinking and laughing she knew. Then they did these things there was no warmth, but a further coldness. Instead of coming in from the storm, she felt she was being pushed out. They fought, sometimes, amongst themselves. After one of them killed a pony in a drunken brawl, Petrahoof started to fear them and what they were becoming.

The Black Hoof became monstrous. Useful monsters are still monsters. They trapped a few Highlanders, mad as mad could be, raving and screaming. Then they burned them.

Petrahoof defends. It is a proud place. It does not torture. It kills to live, not to watch the fires consume.

There was talk of stopping them, or keeping them outside. There was talk.

It was the Black Hoof that killed Petrahoof, not the Highlander. The Highlanders swooped in, entering the city in the night. The Black Hoof killed all the sentries. And when morning came, they slaughtered the raiding horde. And then the city was theirs. Every single pony who would have stopped them was dead or dying or afraid for their family. Her mother had died in her sleep. Her father was gutted. Tradewinds lived under the shadow of the gun.

Abdiel, face in shadows, asks: Warrior, warrior, burning bright, do you think about death when you hold it in your hands?

How could she not? The Black Hoofs thought that the city was holding out on them. They thought it was as bad as they were. That it stole and witheld and lied. The rations were hoarded for the weak who sent the strong to die.

But this was Petrahoof. Was this true elsewhere? Tradewinds supposed it was, here and there. But in Petrahoof they believed in Harmony. In LIving Together. And they really, really meant it. They did not need leaders to bully them into compliance, or thick tomes of philosophy to convince them. Petrahoof gave and loved on the edge of Night because it believed.

The Black Hoof hoarded rations. They stole in the name of requisitioning. They beat those who hesitated and they fought off the Highlanders and the Royal Guard. The bounties they had expected to find and pillage did not exist. The Black Hoof had not understood their own home. Petrahoof conquered nothing. It was the city that would not bow. It held the line. When Luna fell it held the line, and its stubborn loyalty only ended when Celestia came in person to beg them to stop fighting, for Harmony’s sake. Mismanagement cost the city. It began to starve. They had expected to inherit a fortress, but for all of its appearances, Petrahoof was no citadel. It was a place to raise foals.

They took what they wanted. The city began to fight back against them. Houses caught fire. Streets ran with blood. Harmony wavered. They had violated her. They had violated everything. And when a Highlander attack came during a riot, Petrahoof ended in a single night. It scattered in the darkness. The line had not held. And Tradewinds, bleeding and sobbing, had gone off into the night.

She knew everything died. One way or another, the grave hungered for them all. Always. She would fall into her own in time. Tradewinds breathed this day after day. Her family was gone. Her beautiful mother and her smiling father were ashes and corrupted flesh. Her neighborhood was a hole in the ground. The old stallion who had first taught her to bite into a pickle after a shot of vodka in the manner of stallions, laughing at her as she fumbled at it--oh, he had died hard. The first filly she had ever kissed had been used again and again and then been gutted and left to bleed on the steps of the Temple of the Moon. The Highlanders were dead. Petrahoof was dead. All things wither. All things die.

Did she think about death? She already was dead. She was a smiling corpse. It was hard to say in her own mother tongue, let alone another she knew poorly. She smiled and she laughed because in Petrahoof you greeted death with a smile that curdled the blood of Gods. All the world was her last rite.

She would die soon, Tradewinds thought. Very soon. At some disputed barricade, or on some open patch of cobblestone, or running or flying or eating she would die. The long joke, the one she had been laughing at, was almost over. The punchline was coming, and how could she not laugh?

When the bombardment began to slow, Spike visited Apple Bloom at her home.

Macintosh was there, and Spike and he shared a quiet greeting.

“I’m sorry,” Spike said simply. He was weary unto death. “I was actually going to find you earlier. Tell you that you can drop the whole--”

“Ain’t nothin’ doin’,” Mac said. “Waiting for orders, chief.”

Spike smiled. “That is the dumbest thing to call me. Don’t call me that. You’re the one I should be calling that. Maybe boss.”

“That’s AJ.”

“Yeah.”

Apple Bloom came downstairs and hugged him tightly. Macintosh raised an eyebrow and Spike managed something like a sheepish grin. Which was hard, as he had a mouth full of sharp teeth that put ponies on edge and he was trying not to.

Mac huffed. “Ain’t none of us single. Maybe this is why the Apples are everywhere.”

“Hush, you,” Bloom said into Spike’s scales.

Spike closed her in an awkward hug, finding his wing mimicked his arms. She was in a tiny canopy of scale and leather, and he wondered what she thought of it. Did it scare her? Was there that tiny spark of creature fear?

When she stirred, he let her out. Mac looked at him with a smile, and Spike felt small again. But it was not a bad feeling. “How are you?” Spike asked Bloom, looking down at her now as she wiped her eyes.

“My head is ringing from those damn guns. Mac was out earlier and I was sure he was gonna get smashed by some stupid shell. You’ve been on the walls so long… I’m makin’ it,” she finished.

“I am too.”

“Are ya hungry?” she asked, doing her best to recover quickly. “I could make somethin’. I got some… gems, I guess? I don’t know how good they are. Do you even cook gems? How would you?”

He had smelled them as soon as he walked in, but he feigned surprise. “Gems? Sounds awesome. No need for any of that. I am kinda hungry, actually…”

Apple Bloom left briefly, and Spike sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. He groaned quietly. “Wow.”

“So, you and her? Again.” Mac was still smiling at him.

“Yeah. Sorry,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Why? AB was gonna be worried anyhow, you or no. She seemed a little happier. You’re a good kid, Spike. Both of y’all are.”

Spike looked down. “Thanks,” he mumbled. Somehow hearing that from Macintosh was… He couldn’t put a claw on it. But he smiled as he avoided the gaze.

When AB returned, Caramel came with her. He went to Mac’s side, and they embraced. Spike felt embarassed watching them standing there quietly, so he looked to the gems Bloom had brought him. Not amazing, but…

“Cripes!” Apple Bloom backed off, laughing as he took them from her greedily.

“I’m starving,” Spike said, giving her a big smile. She paled, and he cursed himself as he stuffed his maw with gems. Teeth. He always forgot about… teeth. “Sorry,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

“Don’t do that, it’s rude. It’s okay,” she added. She laid down on the couch and groaned as she stretched. “Will the guns start again?” she asked him, and then when he shook his head and stood there awkwardly, she rolled her eyes. “C’mon sit by me, big purse. You goin’ anywhere?”

The look in her eyes brookered no arguments. He’d be staying right here. And you know what? I think I’m alright with that, he thought with a smile. He laid down against the couch and she stroked his scales from above.

The night continued. Macintosh had retired already, leaving him a sleepy Apple Bloom. He tried to sleep, but it was hard.

She hummed softly. He caught snatches of a tune, but did not join it. Instead, he simply listened with a smile. Sweetie Belle was the singer, but it didn’t mean Spike didn’t like hearing her voice regardless.

She murmured something that was too garbled to understand with even his hearing. He blinked. “Mind saying that again?” he whispered.

“Too wound up to sleep?”

He grimaced. “A little,” he said. “Sorry. I’m trying. I’ll get there, don’t worry. You can go ahead. I don’t mind.”

“I do, a lil,” she slurred in the way that only the inebriated and soon-to-be-asleep can. “Spike?”

“Hm?” he smiled up at her, careful to do so without teeth.

“Have you killed ponies?”

He felt like she’d stabbed him. In the eyes. “Yeah,” he said quietly. He swallowed. “Uh…”

“Do you think about it?”

“I try not to.” Well that sounded friggin’ wonderful, didn’t it? “I mean, I don’t want to. I mean--”

“It hurts,” she supplied.

“Yeah.”

She shifted. “I’m cold. Fire out?”

Spike glanced over at it. “Want me to relight it?”

“Would you mind bein’ a space heater?” she grumbled. “Fire’s nice, but I’d rather more than just my face be warm.”

He smiled and turned towards her. “It’s fine. If you’re okay with it.”

“Mm.” She rolled off the couch and he curled around her. “Yeah, that’s better,” she said.

“Good.” He nuzzled her.

“I wanted--” she yawned, her face contorting as Spike tried not to chuckle. She smacked her lips. “Ugh. Wanted to know if it was why you… Mm. Couldn’t sleep.”

He blinked. Was it? “Not sure. But I do feel tired,” he lied. “I’ll be asleep soon. I promise.”

“Mm. ‘Kay,” she grumbled. Sleep took her a few minutes later.

It came for Spike an hour or so before morning.

Spike saw Canterlot burning.

All of it. Everything. He ran through the streets, sword in his hand, rifle strapped to his back. He was torn. He was bleeding everywhere. He saw horrors. A tavern window exploded and cut him with shards as a mortar shell landed inside it.

He saw horrors. A mare running into the street, her body a solid flame, her mouth trying to scream but failing. She fell and crawled, and he jumped over her body and did not see her die. He was running. He had to… He didn’t know. He had to do something. A panicking, screaming guard pony fell out of an alley, his rifle spinning across the street. The raider who had pushed him laughed. Spike’s sword could finish him. It would be just a moment. But it didn’t. He tried. Nothing happened. The Raider brought both bladed hooves down as Spike passed.

He saw more. A scattered few House levies easily killed by raving raiders. They ignored the dragon. Strange white and tan ponies with blank stares firing into buildings already on fire. Raiders feasting on a still screaming pony. A park ablaze, pockmarked with craters. A house torn asunder with the remains of its occupant on the doorstep, half blown away. Blood in the streets, blood on the walls. Horrors. Others fled, and Spike wanted to save them, to corral them towards the upper levels, to keep them alive. But he did not. His body was not his own. He only ran.

Canterlot became Ponyville before his eyes, yet he kept running.

He saw… Amaranth. Amaranth shivering in the street, her legs withered beyond belief. He was running right for her. He knew her! He knew her! He could pick her up and run with her, he could save one. He could save this one. Just this one!

But he didn’t. He remembered clinging to her in the Selene. He remembered thinking, over and over again: It could have been me. It could have been me.

He was at the gate to the next tier of the city. His eyes scanned the portcullis, knowing there would be guard ponies here, rifleponies, House levies. Anypony holding the line, keeping the way open for the defenseless. Doing what they had to do.

There were none. The door was closed. Nopony on the outside could open it. Civilians crowded around it. Spike realized he was barreling right through the crowd, pushing them aside.

He flung his body at the door, and felt the jolt of pain go up his spine. He did it again. Again. He raked his claws against the frame.

The doors did not open. Gunfire.

He spun, throwing the sword to the ground. The civilians were scattering. They were mowed down as Spike gripped the rifle. He roared fire and then aimed. He got one shot off.

They were the white and tan ponies again, marching in absolutely perfect unison. They parted in flawless unity, and from behind their ranks emerged a great hulking raider carrying a gatling. His face was not a face, but a mask of bone and flesh. Freshly made. Spike aimed.

Bullets punched through him. Dozens. Hundreds. He danced like a marrionette. He bled like a fountain. He--

Spike woke and froze. His eyes were wide as saucers. Already, fire was roiling in his belly, ready for release. His claws were spread wide to tear.

But Spike only laid there. Presently, he realized he was alone. When he sat up, he found a note on the couch. He looked at it, then shook his head. It was just a dream. He was in a warzone. Some stress dreaming was acceptable.

The note was from Apple Bloom. She’d gone to see Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. The fighting had ground to a halt whilst he slept, and she wanted him to know she loved him. She apologized for not waking him, but he needed the sleep more than they needed one gun on the wall. He frowned at that, but honestly, she was right. He was a bad shot anyway. God of Dragons. Laughing.

Not that he was going to go to the wall. He had to report to Luna first. It had been awhile, and she had been wanting him to keep a close eye on morale.

“Luna, do you ever think about… I mean,” he faltered. She looked up from her reports with a distracted expression.

“Hm?”

“Do you ever think about the ponies you’ve killed?” Spike asked. “Or… coming close to dying.” He shrugged. It wasn’t exactly the right gesture, but asking about this, right now wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of appropriate time and place, so what the hell? Why not. Go all the way. Boot ‘em, don’t splatter ‘em.

Luna blinked at him. She looked around, though Spike wasn’t sure why. These were her private apartments. They’d been alone for an hour.

“I sensed your dream, young drake,” she began. He started, and she sighed and held her hoof up. “Let me finish, I pray you. I sensed it. I am sorry I did not intervene, but... “ She shrugged. “It is easier with ponies. And nightmares are with us for a reason.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Not every nightmare must or even should be purged. Tell me, did Twilight Sparkle ever tell you why creatures have the sensation of disgust?”

“So you know what’s safe to eat,” he grumbled. Yes, Twilight had been fascinated with the new psychology in the day. A passing concern. Magical study consumed all other pursuits with time.

“More or less. Nightmares are how the mind… processes. It is like digesting a rather heavy, rich meal.” She rolled her eyes. “Except, I suppose, that it is awful experiences and not an abundant feast. What I mean to say is that they have a purpose. Tell me, Spike, and answer your own question. Do you think about the raiders you slew in Morningvale? Or the ponies you saw die there? Do you think about mortars and bullets?”

“I…”

He really hadn’t. Why hadn’t he? The fact that he was only now absorbed in seeing the ponies he’d… killed. Killed with his fire or his sword… He remembered their faces. Not all of them. Not even half. With growing horror, he realized that he didn’t even remember how he had killed a few of them. How many? Three? Four? He had taken a few potshots from the wall. Did those count? He hadn’t been in a good position to see if he’d hit target. Sniper conflicts required relocation frequently. He remembered the manticore.

Spike closed his eyes.

Luna had risen from her desk and Spike started slightly as her hoof touched his head softly, then rested on his shoulder. “Spike.”

He looked up at her. “I can’t… remember some of them,” he said. “I haven’t thought much about it at all. Maybe I would never have really... really thought about it, but Apple Bloom asked me. And I couldn't stop thinking about it over and over and over... When I was in the Selene on the way back, I was messed up. Bad. I think I snapped. It was just so much. And then afterwards, I was fine. You spoke to me. I was just fine. And then I went to Ponyville and I got back and I just sort of swallowed and I was fine. I left the wall and spent time with Apple Bloom and her family and I was fine.” He shook. “Luna, what’s wrong with me? Why is it only now, when it’s me I dream about dying, that suddenly I realize what it is I’ve done?”

“Spike…”

“I mean it. I… I know I had to. Please don’t tell me that. I don’t think I can take it.” He looked away from her. “That sounds so cold. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so screwed up? I kept running. In my dream I just jumped over the body of a burning pony. I didn’t help… I could have helped so many. I could have saved one. Even if it was only one, one would have been better than just running. But I kept running, even when I didn’t want to.”

“Dreams can be.. ornery. Your body was not your own.”

“But it was still me,” he said firmly. “Am I really just worried about myself? Was I treating it like a game? I sent Mac and Soarin’ into danger just to mess with a House and keep them from being comfortable. I recruited Mac in the first place after his family had already suffered enough. I sent Rainbow Rays into the jaws of hell and then I left him there and let him be in danger. Every. Single. Day. If I had been faster, or gotten those villagers to run earlier, then maybe Amaranth wouldn’t have lost her legs. Maybe if I had been faster I could have stopped that Manticore from killing…”

He didn’t just falter. He broke. He didn’t cry. He didn’t sob. He just… stopped. He stared ahead.

Luna was quiet as well. Her hoof left him, only to be replaced by her body as she hugged him tightly. He accepted it numbly. Even now, he was numb. In that moment, Spike hated himself more than anything on earth.

“Please, let me say what I am about to say,” Luna began softly. “You are a good dragon, Spike. A brave one. You did what you could. Your friends took risks and believed in you, but they made the decision. You went to Ponyville alone when nopony in this city dared to go beyond the wall. At Morningvale, you faced a Manticore and killed it on our own, saving countless lives. The Lunar and Solar guard gained hope through you. You have not seen the reports I have seen. They still talk of you in Morningvale. You are a hero. A shining, scaled hero. They look at you, and they see neither dragon nor pony. They see Spike.”

Spike shook again. “Then they’re stupid. Because I can’t… I don’t feel anything.”

“Then why are you so insistent?” she asked. “War is hard on the minds of those who fight it. We were not meant to bear too much reality, Spike. Not even I. War and rumors of war. The dark, the piercing sunlight--we were not meant to bear very much reality. I have seen this so many times that my heart is heavier than anypony could understand, save perhaps one or two who I have not seen in… a long time. Young warriors, good ponies, good zebras, others. They kill and they feel nothing. And then like you they realize that they have transgressed, or they feel that they have transgressed the Right and the Good because they are not overcome. But it comes for them as it has come for you, the feeling.” She raised his eyes to meet hers. “What do you feel, Spike?”

“I hate myself, I think,” Spike tried to smirk. “Just a little.”

“No,” Luna said firmly. “You are on the verge of despair, but you will not yield. I know you will not because a lesser pony or a lesser dragon would, but you will not. I knew this would come. Death comes for us all, Spike, perhaps even I with time and luck. She has come now for you, in one way or another, and you must let her remind you of the value of life. But you must turn her away.” She grit her teeth and hissed. “Not today. Not today. You kill because you have to. And everytime you… you look at those bodies, everytime you remember, you must remember--you must remember--that they chose to do what they did. They donned their raider’s mantle. In another world, in a brighter world, one unbroken by guile and sorrow, they would have been a pony you could have waved to on the street. One you could befriend. But this is your world, and that pony did not.”

“So I just… what?”

“You mourn every single one of them that falls. The good and the bad, the awful and the righteous. You mourn them. You grieve that the good are cut off from us and you mourn that the evil have been lost to us. Cry, Spike, if you feel you must. There are no tears that are shameful in a warrior’s eyes. I have said this since before Equestria was an idea. Weep over the fallen, but do not stall. For we do not wail and grieve as do the lost, Spike.” Spike looked up at her and felt again the awe he had felt when she had spoken of weilding her hammer against the monsters of an age of legends. “We do not weep and lie down to die as do those who have no hope. You and I must be strong against this… this tide. You and I are alone, yet not alone. You have friends.”

Spike nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“You have your love, newly discovered and fresh to the touch. I, too, have had such things and have them and will have them again when the Sun is restored in full glory and the Night has passed.” She chuckled, and to Spike it sounded strangled. “I thought I was prepared for this. Truly, I did. But even I wish for the night to pass.”

“It is,” Spike said quietly. “One way or another, though I don’t know who will see the sun.”

“Perhaps neither of us. But somepony will. Somepony will see what comes after, and for that I am grateful unto tears. Spike, preserve. Love. Weep and do not grow hard as the drakes of old did with time. Do not forget what it is that you do.” A shadow crossed her features. “Whether death comes for you or not, do not forget what it is to be Spike. Spike who cursed himself for not mourning the dead, Spike who served Twilight faithfully, Spike who went to Ponyville because no other could. Spike, who was and is my friend,” she finished. And she smiled. “Reports can wait. I can have tea brought. You look… well, you look rather terrible,” she said sheepishly. “Had you noticed?”

“No,” Spike said quietly.

“Even we must rest, ere the ninth hour is upon us,” Luna replied. And then she sighed. Again. “Spike, think of me when in battle. Through me you will find the strength of the Companions, and feel them with you. You are not alone. They who have lived as you now find yourself… Remember the companions, wherever you make your stand, and I have no doubt that you shall be victorious.” And then she rose. “For yourself as much as anypony.”

As she went to summon the help, Spike felt… strange. And somehow, in the back of his mind, he suspected he felt the bond of the Companions. Somehow he knew… he knew that this was not the first time she had said these things. Perhaps it was she who had had it said to her first.

Author's Note

I am weary I am weary

I have much to write and miles to go yet

XXXVIII. Jannah III: Beloved

JANNAH

The inner city of Jannah is different from the outer districts. In the outer ring, the Fallen roam chanting and singing their praises to a city which ignores them. But inside? There are Fallen, but the inner ring is home to things which do not appear in any other bestiary because Celestia kept them bound in Jannah. They would scour the earth if they could. They would devour all things if she would only let them do their work.

What is evil? Celestia once asked this question on Jannah’s tableland. The city remembers--it remembers all things, after all--the four ponies who sat on holy ground in a dead city.

Celestia, younger, but still ageless and the lightest pink imaginable, the first rays of dawn. Luna with a scowl, a dark gaze, the voids between the stars sometimes, the stars themselves at other times. A young unicorn mare with a bobbed mane and a pipe named Harmony. A batpony from Sarnath named Kristoff.

It was not grand symposium, but simply a rest. They had seen things. They had endured the lonely streets and the dread and the dreams and the visions. But Celestia had kept them going. She had business here, and she included Luna in that business almost by default. The cracks between them were widening, but she did not know that yet. It would come with time.

What was evil, really? She asked dully as they huddled around a pathetic fire made from the cuttings of one of the temple’s trees. What made places like Jannah? Why did pirates raid and steal? Who created monsters and set them on foes?

Of course there wasn’t an answer. Because that was easy, wasn’t it? Maybe it was mindless, grasping impulse. Luna did not care, because motivations matter little to a good and heavy hammer.

The mistake that most sojourners in Jannah make is to think that Jannah is mindless impulse. Celestia can be forgiven, perhaps. The mist blurs thought and reason, and even Alicorns born in Creation’s Song would tire after the city’s trials. The city does not help anyone to see the truth, of course. Truth is just another weapon in its infinite arsenal. If mindless malice works, then that is what the city is. If malevolent personality is what works, then that is what the city is. What is Jannah, anyhow? A being? An idea? An answer? Questions like this are foolish because the answer is really rather simple. It’s just a step from that answer, just one step, but its one that Celestia did not make. A pity. A great pity.

What do you do to an animal or a pony who you do not wish to be free? What do you do with somepony dangerous to ensure they can do no harm?

You put them in a cage of course.

What do you do with something that has no body to trap? What do you do with something that has Will but no Form?

Some cages need to be bigger than others.

TWILIGHT

Of course Tradewinds was losing it. Could Twilight blame her, really? With all the blood on her hooves, was she in any position to judge the madness, the violence of another? No, but she did anyhow.

Twilight jumped back as one of the Black Hoof missed her head by a fraction of a second. She formed her magic into a great block of energy and punched the snarling mercenary in his face, sending him flying.

They were lucky. It was just a four pony patrol, and Tradewinds had of course made that two ponies by the time they could fire back. Twilight had just finished one. Applejack--

There was a sickening crunch and a breathy, drawled curse. And Applejack had finished the other.

Twilight sat on her haunches and rubbed a hoof over her face. “Those gunshots are going to carry,” she said, suddenly exhausted. Had she stopped being exhausted? The outer city had made her anxious, on edge, panicky. The inner city? Mostly she felt tired. But why wouldn’t she with how long they had traveled, how many times she had called on her magic to defend herself?

“They fight Fallen every day,” Tradewinds said as she landed. Twilight’s ire did not completely shove aside her better instincts. When Tradewinds winced in pain, Twilight took a step forward.

“You have to let that wing rest,” she said. “Please. Seriously.”

“Rest when--”

“You’re dead,” Applejack finished. “Stupid as hell sayin’,” she said and sighed. “Even when I say it. Don’t matter now, Twi. Mine’s dead, and yours looks mighty dead.” She looked over at the others. “And Tradewinds got two more notches to make. If she does that.”

“Da.”

Twilight’s stomach lurched. “Ugh. Just... “ She groaned. “We could have… I don’t know, if we had rushed them and tried to force them to surrender…”

“No,” Tradewinds said curtly. “No surrender. Death.”

“Why?” Twilight yelled, suddenly more than just sickened or frustrated. “Why?” She was in Tradewind’s face now.

“You would not understand.”

“Because you won’t… you won’t…” She seethed, and shook Tradewinds. “You wont f-fucking tell me. Why do you need to kill them? Why do you have to keep… looking like that? I’m so tired of ponies suffering and not knowing why because they don’t think they can tell me. Because that’s what it was like, before I left. And I’m so, so tired of killing.” She pushed a wide-eyed Tradewinds and fell back. “There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to care. Just… let you murder them or whatever. Why not? They’re bad ponies. You said that and I believe you. But I’m so tired of that just being enough.”

“Twi,” Applejack began, but Twilight shook her head vigorously.

“Twi nothing, AJ. You aren’t any more comfortable with shooting first than I am.” She looked at Tradewinds. She looked her right in the eye like she could dig it right out of her friend’s head.

Tradewinds’ mouth was a firm line, and Twilight knew she wouldn’t explain. They were bad. They were from Petrahoof. She could have figured that much out on her own after watching them laugh at their dead companions and speaking the northern tongue.

And Tradewinds had personal issues with them. That much was obvious. But she didn’t want to explain. No one could stonewall like a Petrahoofan, Twilight had decided. And why should Tradewinds tell her, really?

She was the Apostate, wasn’t she? The one who decided all that stuff Celestia tried to tell her was bullshit, that the world was awful and she would be awful too. Why should anyone tell her anything?

Twilight sniffed, feeling her eyes stinging with tears. She’d killed somepony. A lot of them. And Tradewinds had just made her kill two more. Twilight wasn’t angry. She was, somewhere, but mostly… she was sorry. She was very sorry. She was tired, and she was sorry, and she was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with her. Something wrong with Tradewinds.

Maybe she was right all along and something was wrong with everything.

It was not until Twilight and her friends camped in the buildings at the Citadel’s edge did she truly understand how massive the tableland was. In a strange way, it reminded her of a hoof jutting out of the ground. From what Luna said, she expected some sort of temple compound on the top. Miles of hallways inside like honeycomb. Around the whole outcropping was one final layer of wall, with evenly placed towers and watchful Black Hoof snipers. From the bell tower at the top of whatever building this had once been, Twilight had seen flashes of black, hooded figures. But observation meant being in the crosshairs of rifles, so they’d abandoned the tower for now.

There wasn’t much discussion. Twilight and Tradewinds didn’t look at each other. Applejack had tried to talk to both of them and gotten grunts or sighs for her troubles. Pinkie wouldn’t look at Tradewinds and stayed close to Twilight. Abdiel said nothing and stared at the heart of Jannah.

Maybe it was for the best. She had to think of a way, anyhow.

“How--” Twilight coughed, and everyone looked back at her. Great. Perfect way to smoothly start the talking up again, Twilight. “Sorry. How much light do we have?”

“It will be gone soon. Why?” Abdiel said before turning back to the window.

“I was thinking of walking around, trying to see if they have any holes we could slip through.”

“They won’t,” Tradewinds said.

Twilight really wanted to ignore her. The Apostate wanted to ignore her. “I figured as much, but still wanted to try it.”

Tradewinds looked at her and Twilight--not the Apostate, but Twilight--looked back. They locked eyes for what felt like forever, and then Tradewinds’ cold demeanor seemed to slough off. Her ears drooped. “Would you like company while you walk?”

Twilight didn’t, honestly. She wanted to be alone. Both Twilight and the Apostate wanted to be alone. “Sure,” she said, regardless. Because it was right, one voice told her. Because you’re an idiot, the other one said.

LUNA

When she stepped through the scaffolding around the blasted door, Luna felt ill. Days later, and the damage from the attack was still obvious. The bomb that had destroyed the door had charred much of the facade and shattered windows. The detritus had been swept away, but now she saw bullet holes drilled into the walls as she walked. They were small things, easily overlooked, but Luna still saw them.

Her visit had been entirely unannounced. It was better that way--the last thing she needed in coming to House Belle was fanfare or hangers-on. If anything, she had left the Princess behind at the palace. At this moment, she was Luna and only Luna.

A few of house staff saw her as she walked the long length of the main hall. They stared at her with wide surprise and then bolted. Luna pointedly ignored this.

She had come here at the edge of night after meeting with Twilight in the Annex. They had talked a long time, and Luna had laid her failure bare before her beloved. Twilight had given her advice. Luna was here. Most of her found this as frightening as sitting on the wall.

The fleeing maids had summoned their mistress, and so Luna found herself face to face with Head Maid. Luna blinked, remembering the mare for a moment as Head Maid brought her up short by bowing.

“Your Highness,” Head Maid mumured.

“I am glad to see you safe,” Luna said. And she was. When Head Maid had come to House Belle, it had been a relief. Celestia had told her stories about this mare’s fierce nature and by all accounts Head Maid had been a right terror.

“And I am glad to be safe,” Head Maid said, and then straightened. “You will be looking for my lady, am I correct, your Grace?”

“Yes, if… if Sweetie Belle is here, I would like to see her,” Luna said, suddenly feeling extremely out of place.

Head Maid sighed. “Forgive me, I am lacking in diligence. I am unsure of my lady’s exact location, but I will find her for you. If you will come with me, we will provide you with--”

“If you don’t mind,” Luna cut in, and then paused. “Ahem. If you do not mind, Head Maid, might I look for her myself?” Please? she didn’t add, but thought it hard right at the mare.

Head Maid paused, as if weighing this, and then sighed. “Of course, your Grace, I would not impede you.”

Luna smiled. “Thank you, Head Maid.” She blinked, remembering. “Oh. Spic and Span send their love and inquired after you.”

“Those two?” Head Maid wrinkled her nose. “Those louts asked after me? My legs ached from kicking them about the palace, your Grace.”

Luna chuckled. “I remember. I profess that I happened to overhear them cleaning in my chambers before I left. They thought me asleep, but I was not. I spoke to them, and they were very insistent I send their good wishes.”

Head Maid snorted. “Well, if you would, you may tell them that I accept those wishes. And, of course, if they are lax in their duties to your Grace, I will personally come back and return said good wishes with swift kicks to their rears.” She cracked a smile, and then curtsied with a small goodbye and vanished.

Luna looked about, sighed, and then strode down a hallway.

She found the library and simply gaped at the carnage within. It had been untouched by the cleaning staff. torn paper and maimed books littered the floors. Shelves were overturned. Bullet holes marked shelves and walls alike.

Luna found no sign of the Lady of the House, and so she continued, crisscrossing the halls of the old manor. She found the barracks, and returned the levies’ salutes with one of her own. She meandered in the garden. She peeked into the great dining hall. The armory was empty of Scootaloo or Sweetie.

Feeling defeated, Luna lingered in the armory. Scootaloo had done a fine job, she thought. The quality of the barding on the walls was substantial. It was a bit light for her tastes, but still strong. The hoofblades she found fascinating. She had missed ages, but street ruffians were always the same, and she recognized a brawler’s weapon easily. It was an interesting choice. In fact, re-examining Scootaloo’s chosen armaments, Luna realized that she had been very deliberately different. The Houses chose bright colors and flashy arms and armor, anything to make them easy to see. Anything to show off. But House Belle wore muted colors, fought with what worked, and wore only a silver bell somewhere on their person. They were not beautiful things--Rarity would be quite put out!--but they were functional ones. Quite so, she thought as she grimaced at the hoofblade’s serrated edge.

Luna left the armory and found a house levy standing at attention beside the door. She glanced down at him with a raised eyebrow.

“M-my lady and her, uh, she invites you,” he managed, his face a little flushed. “To her, uh, chambers. Up there.”

Luna smiled. “And you could take me there, could you?”

“Oh! Yeah. I mean, yes, your Highness,” the jumpy soldier said, and she followed him with a chuckle.

Luna let her mind wander on the way. Twilight’s voice echoed about in her mind. You need to go see them, she said. You promised, and you feel awful, and you need to go see them. Don’t just punish yourself alone, Luna.

But Twilight, how can I face her? If I had just posted my Duskwatch there that night… the one night… she had begun to say, but Twilight had shook her head vigorously.

No, it doesn’t matter. What happened happened. You should go see her. Celestia… told me that it was wrong to flee when your friends needed you. And she was right. They’re your friends! Sweetie Belle was counting on you, and you messed up. Is it your fault? A little. But the ponies who bear the most fault are the ones that blew up her door, Luna. Don’t blame yourself and let them get off scot free. They blew up her door. They started shooting. Not you. Just go see her. You owe her that. And afterwards, you can’t keep bottling this up.

Luna smiled. She was glad to see the Apostate had been destroyed at last.

The guard had brought her to an ornate door, untouched by violence. She smiled down at him. “I believe this is my stop, master…?”

He blinked up at her. “Wha--”

She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t teased a flustered guard in ages. She giggled. “Your name, sir.”

“Oh! Uh, Go Fish,” he supplied, blushing. “I’ll just get back to my post.”

“Carry on,” she said as he retreated, and then turned back to the door. Her mirth died.

Well. It was time.

She opened the door, and within she found a sitting room not unlike her own. A couch, a table, chairs. And on that couch, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle sat together, their bodies close. Very close. Luna averted her eyes, face flushed as Sweetie was frozen in mid-kiss.

The two separated, Sweetie babbling an apology and Scootaloo laughing. “I didn’t hear you at all!”

“Rarity would murder you, Sweets,” Scootaloo said and jabbed her in the ribs. “Kissin’ in front of princesses.” She looked back at Luna, and behind the mirth the princess sensed something else there and she wasn’t sure what it was. “Damn, that’s awkward.”

“I am happy that the two of you are happy,” Luna said. She paused. Why not? She grinned. “Also, might I say: Finally. One felt the courting phase would drag on forever.”

Sweetie laughed, and this time it was Scootaloo who went red. “I thought I was sneaky,” she grumbled.

“No one has been fooled. At all. At any time,” Luna added.

“Ugh.”

Sweetie Belle rose. “It’s good to see you, Luna. I was surprised when Head Maid told us you were looking for me.”

“She knocked first,” Scootaloo said.

“Well… yes, that was perhaps unwise on my part,” Luna admitted. “I have been wandering the House on my search. To be honest, it was as educational as I had hoped. May I sit?”

Sweetie nodded, and she did. “Educational?” she asked.

“As to the extent of my failure,” Luna said, meeting her gaze.

Sweetie Belle’s brow furrowed. She mouthed the words, as if not understanding them. Scootaloo looked from mare to mare, her own expression too much for Luna to read, for all of her attention was on Sweetie Belle. What would she say? Would she reject Luna? She would perhaps be right to.

“Your failure? Like, you messed up?” Sweetie asked.

Luna winced. “Yes. I failed you spectacularly. I could have spared at least two of my Duskwatch to watch the manor. I was so caught up in in the plight of the Elements and chasing the whitecloaked ponies in the lower tiers that I neglected you. And you paid the price for my gross negligence.” She hung her head. “I am in your debt, Sweetie of House Belle. I have stained my honor and am unworthy of you and your sister’s trust. Even my sister's, I feel, for failing her beloved House.”

There was silence. Luna, confused, looked up to find Sweetie staring at her with something approaching fear.

“Is this… but… I don’t get it,” she said.

“I cry your pardon. What eludes you?” Luna asked, frowning.

“But it was my fault,” Sweetie said. “I failed my House, and I couldn’t save any of the cleaning staff or help my soldiers at all.”

“I didn’t train them well enough, and I should have had tighter patrols,” Scootaloo added, avoiding her gaze. “I was so caught up making sure my guys could fight like they were in a back alley that I totally forgot about, you know, rifles and guns and sh--stuff.”

“You… you are not angry with us?” Luna asked.

Sweetie shook her head vigorously. “No. I guess you could have done more, but… but I didn’t do enough and I live here. How could I be angry at you when I screwed up so bad? You trusted me and Rarity trusted me, and I’ve really fouled it up.”

“We were not wrong to trust you,” Luna said quickly.

“Ponies died,” Sweetie said, her voice rawer than before. “And it was my fault.”

“And mine,” Scootaloo added.

“Both of us,” Sweetie said. “We screwed up. These ponies paid a price for our screw up, and they still… they stayed. All of them. Our soldiers died for us. Head Maid went on a one mare crusade to find out where they got their weapons and track down who did it, and she’s not done yet. They all stayed.” Sweetie Belle sniffed. “We don’t deserve this. I don’t. I’m going to get them killed and I only know one way to not get all of them killed.”

“Sweetie…” Scootaloo laid a hoof on her shoulder.

But Sweetie shook her head. “No, I was considering this anyway. Luna--sorry. Princess, I think it would be best if I surrendered the title and privileges of House Belle to you until my sister returned. I am not fit to lead, and I am not fit to have anypony’s allegiance.”

Luna looked from mare to mare. Their pain was real. She had spoken to many nobles in many lands, over countless years. In her short time back on Earth, Luna had seen many more, and their complete lack of sincerity had bored her. Fury over their pettiness drained away with repetition. The banality of evil is really rather startling. But this? She was reminded of another Lady, a long time ago. She too had been a Belle. Like that, she was back before her exile, before her great war had burned the House of Belle, and Clarion was doubting herself. Manticores had attacked a settlement in her lands, and Clarion and her levy had driven them off. But she had lost several soldiers. Luna had spoken to her upon her return to Everfree.

“Clarion,” Luna said. “Clarion Belle. I’m sorry. I simply remembered her.” She blinked, shaking her head to dispel the sense of disorientation. “She said something similar, once upon a time. Do you truly think that you are unworthy?”

“I very much think that.”

“Tell me,” Luna began, “how many died?”

“Fifteen,” Scootaloo said, and Sweetie Belle nodded.

“Fifteen, and most of the staff has at least minor injuries. Even if it’s just some bruises from tripping while they ran,” she added, and smiled a fragile sort of smile.

“And you think surrender would serve them best?” Sweetie did not respond. How did one answer that? Surrender? Luna continued when the young mare had no answer. “It would not. You would be abandoning them, Sweetie Belle. You care for these ponies who stand with you. I know you do, for I hear it in your voice. If you love them, serve them. Protect them. Do better than you have before. Rebuild. You have seen what can happen--do not let it happen again. Rise out of this ruin and be the House that Equestria needs, here in her darkest of hours. The Houses watch you. The ponies in the streets whisper.” Luna looked out the window, where the slowly dipping sun shone in. “They do not know you yet. They know you are injured, but the city asks what you will do. There is a place for the House of Clarion Belle, defender of the plain, in the front lines of this war. There is a place for Silver Belle’s descendants in Canterlot, protecting ponies as they always swore to do. Once, Belle was the light in a great and long darkness, longer than even this darkness. What stops it from being so again? The sword that is broken…”

“Can be reforged,” Sweetie whispered.

“And the house that is dashed may be rebuilt. Even from what looks like ash a fire may yet spring.”

“We don’t have enough troops. We don’t have a levy to draw from,” Scootaloo said.

“You do.”

Sweetie paled. “The old… the old titles. I looked at them, Luna. I can’t do that. Not…”

“House Belle owned large tracts of land in the central province. She led those ponies to war when war come for them. She led them against monsters and bandits when those came. Now you are here, and they are waiting. Speak to them. Be honest with them. You are their highest hope in sight, or you could become so.”

“But we already lost Ponyville. I can’t ask my neighbors to fight. There are so few of us left.”

“Ponyville is the biggest settlement in the lands the crown saved for such a time as this. There are other villages, of course. But who else? I ask you both, would you not rather work for the salvation of your home beside your own people? Would you not fight for a future Ponyville with those who will one day live there?”

Sweetie shuddered. “But…”

“She’s got a point,” Scootaloo croaked. “We don’t have to conscript them, Sweetie. We can… we could just ask. Let them choose.”

Sweetie swallowed. “I could ask. But what if they say yes? Then what? We’ll just send them into a meatgrinder out there. You heard the guns.”

“Then we don’t,” Scootaloo said, standing. She flared her wings and continued in an excited tone. “Sweetie, I can see what we could do. We could focus on the whitecloaks. Their traitors, we know that now. They’re the ones that came here and killed our ponies, attacked our house. Luna’s right. Let’s ask for help.” She turned and grinned at both of them. “Let’s show those assholes how tough Ponyville can be when pushed.”

TWILIGHT

Two mares walked through Jannah’s streets side by side. Twilight’s mission so far had been a bust, not that she was really all that focused on finding a weakness. She’d really just wanted to get out of that room. She’d wanted to walk off her restlessness and her restlessness had simply followed her in the form of a grim pegasus toting a high-caliber rifle on a battle saddle.

Neither of them spoke, of course. Twilight could tell herself it was because caution was prudent, but even if they found a safe place, she doubted that she and Tradewinds would talk.

And she wasn’t completely convinced she wanted to. What would she say, really? Please tell me what happened to you in the last few days? Yeah, insult her. Did they hurt you? That brought her up short. Tradewinds was walking ahead now, and Twilight was glad for it. The worst thing that could happen was for her to see the horror that spread over Twilight’s features. Did they hurt you?

It would make sense, wouldn’t it?

Twilight felt very small all of a sudden. She had been so angry. She still was kind of angry. She didn’t want to kill ponies. Tradewinds had forced a pitched battle twice now, ones that had probably been pointless, and in doing so had forced Twilight into situations where being non-lethal had been too dangerous. So yes, she was pretty sure her anger was justified.

But at the same time, this was Tradewinds. After Vanhoover, Twilight had laid in bed without light or companionship. She had turned everypony away. As those ghosts had wailed at her from the walls, it had been Tradewinds who had finally broken her isolation. Applejack had tried, but she had been busy helping keep the ship afloat. Pinkie had tried, but her cheeriness had only pushed Twilight deeper into darkness. But Tradewinds, with her tenacity and her oblivious smile…

An earth pony buck with a battle saddle ran past, shouting something. Following him were crazed ponies in ragged armor and makeshift weapons. He--

Twilight saw the hallucination. She also, for once, could not care less.

Where did you go? Twilight wanted to say something. It was like Applejack all over again. She won’t leave, don’t start thinking stupid things again, Twilight. Keep it together. Now she had to say something, yet still she wasn’t sure how. In the corner of her eye, she saw a short alicorn with a cheerful smile and a sunflower cutie mark trotting through an open door, but looked away.

Celestia’s letters had spoken about the benefits of companionship. Friendship. It’s magic, Twilight thought with a smile that did not reach her heart. It had been, hadn’t it? But there wasn’t exactly time to deal with the little bumps now. There might be time later. She hoped there would be.

Time waits for nothing. It has not waited for me, and it will not wait for you, Twilight Sparkle.

It took her a moment to notice. She continued on several steps, berating herself for a dozenfold foolishness, and then it hit her.

“What?”

Tradewinds looked back at her sharply, as if expecting an ambush. They locked eyes. Twilight shook her head and thought fast. “Sorry,” she said softly. “I was trying to figure something out.”

Tradewinds visibly relaxed. “Ah. Is fine.” A pause. “We should be heading back now. Darkness falls.”

“Yeah,” Twilight said. The whole trip had been a bust, really. She hadn’t found a single gap in their defenses, just as Tradewinds had predicted. Even worse, the two hadn’t said a meaningful word to each other and as far as Twilight was concerned, they probably wouldn’t on the way back either. Suddenly it felt like Tradewinds was leaving her. Which was stupid, because she wasn’t leaving, Twilight, she--

You. Twilight thought. That wasn’t my thought.

No, it was not.

Let me guess. Do I get three guesses? Cause my first one is Eon.

I am Eon.

Twilight let out a sigh. It was all in her head, all her own voice. Was this it? Was this how she started losing it? Didn’t Jannah make you crazy?

I assure you, you are not mad. Not yet, her own voice amended in her mind without her will behind it. It was a creepy sensation, like something moving your legs for you, and frankly it made Twilight more angry than frightened.

You can’t just invade my mind and steal my… uh. Mind voice. Thoughts. That’ll work. I thought you were finally willing to talk.

I was, but then Luna made the annex, and I speaking to you was difficult.

Twilight hummed. You tried to warn Pinkie about the Black Hoof, didn’t you?

Yes. I am sorry. I tried, but you were far away. I had to… unseal things. Unseal parts of myself. Memories. It was agony and I let myself wallow in it and failed to warn you as I should have. I am sorry.

Whatever you did hurt?

Yes, it hurt. It was awful.

Twilight grimaced. Does doing this hurt?

She felt that the answer was no, and so she sighed and smiled. Twilight thought, okay then. I’m glad to hear that. You tried to help us. Thank you.

You are welcome. But I wanted to warn you about more than the Black Hoof. There is a zebra here, with other zebras. His name is D’Jalin. I could have learned more, I know I could have, but he frightened me. I did not want to touch his mind at all. His followers scared me. It was like… like their minds had thorns in them, veins of darknes--

Twilight jolted. Veins. Darkness. Why was that familiar? She dug through her mind frantically. It felt important. Who--

Luna, both of them thought together, arriving at the same memory.

Twilight had forgotten everything but her mental communication with Eon. Luna said that the dreams--

--were infected. Raiders, rioters, nobles, commoners--

--Axiom! I didn’t think--

--that he was serious, but he was. Things fall apart. What pushes ponies but--

--souls. Hearts and minds. Dreams. The Mad God--

--when he was in Zebrahara he spread death everywhere he went. He danced in their blood and coated himself with it and--

He was horrible but that wasn’t the point. Nopony knew where he got all that power so quickly.

Twilight picked up speed, lost in her excitement. Why had Celestia left? Why? It was a question that had plagued her. If she were honest, it had brought her all the way here. Why would she leave, right before the world fell apart? Why would things fall apart at all? The sun fought, the ponies of Equestria fell into chaos--it was impossible. It was too perfect. It had always been too perfect. Arrive at Manehattan too late to parley. Food riots are calmed and order restored in Las Pegasus, and then suddenly the grain stores are destroyed.

A Mad God in the background. They had thought of him as insignificant and far away in the scheme of things. They had hoped he was dead. And yet here he was. Vaguely, she remembered him dancing in her imagination at the beginning of this adventure. Twilight had ignored him. How could he be a problem at all?

Vanhoover. Blues and Grays. A city with working infastructure and with order falling into civil war and anarchy because… why? Had there been any explanation but a shrug? And just the city she would need to get across the sea. The only captain left around who knew the way about to be summarily executed.

Assassins in Valon. Mercenaries from far in the north with ties to one of her companions this far west.

I’m paranoid.

Paranoia isn’t just paranoia if you’re right. She’d said that before. She would probably say it again.

Luna’s observation in the Aether suggested a disease or some sort of malady of the soul… I thought maybe it was just, I don’t know, despair? But I knew. I knew when she told us. Something was taking them away and doing things--

Soarin’ diving out of a blinding desert sun. Zebras refuse to scatter but wait for him with glazed-over eyes ready for--

I can’t take much more of this, Twilight said. Her head was aching and her body felt strange. Eon? Eon, is this hurting me?

I am sorry. I have talked with too much force. You will recover, Twilight. I promise. All you need is to lie down, and you will be fine.

Twilight nodded to herself, not noticing the looks Tradewinds was giving her at all. She saw another vision, knowing this one was of that other future, or past, or whatever--the one where Big Mac went to war in the Zebrahara instead of being a farmer. The one where he wrote broken letters home from where the mad god danced. In the corner of her eyes she saw him trying to compose letters by candlelight. She saw him lying on his side, staring at a point beyond mortal eyes. Tears stinging her eyes, Twilight watched him staring down at his hooves as they shook, and Twilight found that she did the same.

I know what its like, Twilight said. I don’t know if you’re real. I’m sorry.

They are real in their own way. Are you real, Twilight Sparkle?

I’m real, she thought dully. Even if her own voice asking that question in her mind without her actually wanting to think that thought was… well, it muddied the issue. It was not an ideal condition to answer a question like that. That’s a stupid question, she added.

Not really, Eon told her in her own voice and Twilight thought she felt light amusement. For what it is worth, I am sorry I cannot use my own voice.

It’s okay.

Zecora scrambling over mountain roads, evading the rebel patrols and keeping one step ahead of the Mad God’s hunters. In her pack, under her potions and talismans, she bears a letter from Celestia, a sign of divine and royal favor. With this she will bring hope back to the besieged emperor and with it she will bring her kinsfolk together with the promise of aid and blessings from the sun herself--

All of those visions are true. They are not the future, nor are they the past. Nopony sees their own world flash in the streets. They see others. They see--

Celestia, somber and muted as she watched the sun rise. Luna, exhausted and battered, standing by her side. The Mad God in his keep among the crags. They are so tired. If he had been a pony or zebra with a mind, they could reason with him. Celestia wants to weep but she cannot. Why won’t he just talk? Why can’t he just give up? Doesn’t he know that if he doesn’t, all of his followers will die? Doesn’t he care? She would lay down her very life for her little ponies. She loves them so much. Every time one of them dies to save the zebras and the world from this monster, she feels it like a knife in her stomach. No! No! No! She writhes as they die. She tries to save them, and she saves some. Why won’t he love his zebras? Why won’t he love them? Why won’t--

Twilight stumbled. Tears were in her eyes. No, that wasn’t enough--they streamed down her face. Tradewinds was on her in a moment as she began to shake. I can feel… I can feel what they feel. How?

I don’t know! I don’t know how! Eon was panicking. Her own agonized refrain--I don’t know what’s happening!--joined in and her thoughts were riotous. Tradewinds was shaking her. “Twilight? Twilight, what is happening? Twilight!”

“Tr-tra--”

“Do not die. Not you too.” Tradewinds was trying to pull her to her feet. “What is happening? Your eyes, they are… oh, chyort,” she choked. She let Twilight go and turned towards some other source of noise. Twilight lay on the ground, blubbering, seeing--

Fluttershy in the mobile medical center, trembling as she kissed a dying forehead. “I’m sorry,” she was saying. He was coughing. He was drowning in his own blood and all she could do was say sorry. They were low on everything but time and horror. They--

The city is… I don’t understand! Twilight, I am trying to shield you. Please, get up. Your friend needs you.

Tradewinds reaching over a table in a dusty desert tavern and planting the most inebriated, sloppiest kiss she can on the stallion across the table. Golden Field is suitably horrified. Their companions are laughing, falling out of their chairs laughing. No one thought she would actually do it! She’s crazy! Don’t hurt ‘im, he’s just a kid, they mock beg, as she bowls him over. His virtue’s all he has! Not sure he’s ready to be a stallion yet, Trades! Cries another. But she lets him up and she laughs and she tossles his hair and he won’t ever forget the feel of her body and also the burn of vodka that reminds him of her--

I can’t… thinking is hard. Does the city… does it think?

My connection to you is at fault. I am fixing it. Please, Twilight, you must get up. I am shielding you as much as I can.

This was better? Twilight wanted to scream. She felt what it was like to be male, to be Golden Field. She felt what it was like to be Tradewinds and Macintosh and Celestia. What had she done, how had she set all of this--

She was dreaming. She had to be.

Celestia was smiling down at her. “Really, Twilight?”

“Whatmr?” she grumbled. Because grumbling was, in fact, a suitable form of talking when one has fallen asleep drooling all over the table. She stirred, and then realized belatedly what she had done. Twilight sat up and grimaced. Always with the falling asleep in the library and the drooling and the drooling on books. Every time. “Ugh. Seriously? I can’t believe…”

“Twilight, I told you not to push yourself too hard,” Celestia said quietly. She said that a lot, actually.

Twilight looked at the spot of drool--gross--and flushed when Celestia produced her own silk handkerchief to clean it. “Sorry,” she said, not meeting her mentor’s eyes.

“I wish that were true,” Celestia said. Shocked, Twilight risked looking up at her with wide eyes. Fear spiked through her heart. Just one, brief pulse, but it was so enormous.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t be upset, your Highness, I mean, Pro--I mean--” Twilight stumbled over titles and Celestia sighed until she quieted down. “I know you told me to take it easy over the break, Princess, but I just got so excited. I didn’t mean to defy you, or ignore you, or any of that. I just… I was reading, and I really like reading, and…”

“I know.” Celestia did something wonderful. She nuzzled Twilight. Her cheeks were so soft, her coat perfect. Her voice was so kind. “I know, my faithful student. I am usually very delighted with that.” Of course, her voice could also be sterner. “At the moment, I am not. I worry. There are others who have stayed for the holidays, but they have family abroad. Why did you not go home?”

Twilight knew she was about to skate out over thin ice. “I just… I wanted to…” Celestia had seperated herself, with no dissapointment or sternness in her eyes. Just… concern. She cared. It wasn’t about Twilight’s winter break plans. It was about something else, something a little bigger than her for-fun paper on sub-harmonics. “I wanted to stay,” she finished in a small voice.

“I understand that. I confess, it makes me very happy that you have enjoyed my school so much, Twilight. My students are my greatest joy,” she said, and she smiled. But her eyes did not smile. They said--don’t you trust me? Don’t you love me? Tell me, Twilight, tell me everything. Even that.

“I love my mom and dad… I like my house, and my brother, and everything… I was going to see my friends but we rescheduled,” she said, squirming. “I just… I like it here. I wanted to stay with you,” she said, and then froze. “I mean…”

But Celestia still smiled, though differently. It was… was it sad? Twilight didn’t know what to think. Why are you always so awkward? She asked herself. You really have to work on being confidant! You’re Princess Celestia’s personal student now! You’re like, the face of Canterlot now. Mare up.

“Me?”

“Yes ma’am,” she said, a little steadier. “You’re my teacher, and you’ve taught me so much. I just like being here, and I like talking with you sometimes, and I like going on walks in the palace, and I…” she flushed. “Hehe, I guess I kind of like all these books and that napping corner with the beanbag Shiney loaned me.”

Celestia snorted. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she admitted.

Celestia rolled her eyes. A little bit of her concern was gone. A little. “I shall let you keep that beanbag in my library only so long as you keep your snoring to a minimum, keep it here in the private archives, and you visit your parents and friends regularly. Shall we make ourselves a contract?” She asked with a cheeky smile, and raised a hoof.

“Pretty sure you need some consideration for a contract.”

“Ah, but see, I’ve let you use my real property in exchange for performance,” Celestia said. “It’s all quite square. Unless you have a counter-offer.”

“My brief foray into law hurt my horn,” Twilight admitted, once again. “Property was the worst.”

“And Contracts was the best! I should know, my faithful student--for I taught it,” Celestia said and then laughed. She still held her hoof out. “Come, come, all things in decency and order,” she said.

Twilight couldn’t help it. She surrendered, giggled, and to her mentor’s delight, fulfilled the hoofshake. “Deal, your Grace,” she said with mock gravity.

Twilight opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Or what she assumed was a ceiling in the pitch black darkness.

Her chest felt heavy, as if her heart were slowly being crushed. This pain… was it even hers? She had no way of knowing if it was her own sorrow, or sorrow shared with those visions. Maybe it was both. Her thoughts were still a jumble.

It was raining. She realized this only after a few moments of being alive and her self again. Somehow, Twilight was shocked that the sound of the raindrops falling on the roof above was still pleasant, even here. Even in Jannah, she liked rain. And besides, she added with a ghost of a smile, Abdiel said that rain curtailed the mist. That’s nice. Anything that gets rid of mist is good.

Where was she? As Twilight didn’t feel like moving at the moment ,there was only one other way to find out. Thunder interrupted her first attempt, and Twilight rolled her eyes. She coughed and tried again. “Hello? Tradewinds?”

She felt somepony’s hoof touch her forehead. “Twilight? You are awake?” asked a very familiar voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Hi, Trade,” she said. “What happened? Where are we?”

“I had to take shelter inside of a house,” Tradewinds muttered. No light. “You stopped talking to me and you were shaking very badly, so made due. Night is…” She made a noise of disgust. “It is unpleasant,” she said, absolutely clearing that up. Twilight wished she could see, but they had nothing to light their way. They hadn’t planned on this.

“You brought me here?”

“Was pulling you here little by little. When got dark, I found a house and I carried you on back upstairs. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“Good,” Tradewinds breathed. “I was very worried… You… You went somewhere else, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight tried to sit up and found that her head didn’t just ache in response--it pounded. She grit her teeth, but found Tradewinds and hugged her. Tradewinds stiffened. “It’s okay. You got me here. You saved me! Thank you.”

Tradewinds suddenly wrapped her forelegs around Twilight and squeezed a bit too tightly. “Was thinking you would die and be mad at me forever,” she grumbled. “I am sorry.”

“Whatever for?” managed Twilight as Tradewinds choked her with affection.

“I was not telling you of important things. Black Hoof. Me. Petrahoof. I put in great danger all of my comrades in arms instead of being controlling of my own emotions.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Twilight wheezed. “Uh… could you… can’t breathe--” Tradewinds loosened up, and Twilight chuckled breathlessly. “I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier. I was just so…”

“You were right,” Tradewinds said firmly, and then sniffled. “Any of my comrades could have been hurt because I was being fool. I will tell you about Black Hoof and Tradewinds.”

And she did. She told Twilight about how a small neighborhood militia rose, fought, and became enamored of their might. Envious of perceived bounty of others.

“When they controlled the city, they ruled as raiders,” she hissed into the darkness.

“I… We didn’t hear anything at all,” Twilight said.

“Of course not. Is just Petrahoof,” Tradewinds said a little too harshly. When Twilight wilted beside her, she hastily continued. “Black Hoof killed messengers we sent and also was killing royal guards of princess. They hid us.”

“Why did you go all… scary?” Twilight asked softly. “Was it that? I… I guess it would be enough. I don’t know.”

“They hurt me,” Tradewinds replied. Twilight felt her heart skip a beat.

No. No, you don’t have to tell me. Please don’t let that be true. Not there. Not in Equestria. She wasn’t foolish. She knew it happened, even in Equestria, maybe even at home. She knew.

“Used me,” Tradewinds said. “I escaped when riot came. Black Hoof kept Tradewinds locked in town hall, but gnawed through ropes when they… when they were not with me. You know, is hard to die,” she added suddenly, her voice breaking. “Fires were not big enough and was afraid of them. Find gun but was small unicorn gun with no bullets and could not hold with wings, da? And then could not decide to go hungry because love food too much. Rioting Petrahoofans not shoot me. Black Hoof in town hall remember me and only want to bring me back so after they…”

“Tradewinds,” Twilight interjected. “Tradewinds, I--”

“So ran away,” Tradewinds continued. Twilight held her as little sobs made her tremble. “So ran away far and fast and pray they never catch me. But everywhere was becoming home. Where was there to go? Just wanted food and bed and place to die.”

“And then we showed up,” Twilight grumbled.

“And then Twilight Sparkle blows up everything.” Twilight stiffened, and then she felt Tradewinds’ chin on the top of her head, nuzzled up against her horn. “Thank you.”

“What?”

“Dock was… dock was bad place.”

“But it was full of innocents!” Twilight said, shocked. “Tradewinds, what about the prisoners or--”

“Underground,” she replied.

“Under…” Twilight felt something twist in her. “What?”

But Twilight’s mind was quick. She spun out half a dozen alternatives, what-ifs that were wilder with each breath. As Tradewinds struggled to translate her thoughts, Twilight’s heart beat with a wild hope.

“When attack comes, Blues send… not-fighters down underground,” she said. “Attack veryfast, so maybe not all, da? But some. Some hide in sewers and things. Where they told to go.”

Twilight laid back and stared at nothing. Her heart throbbed in her throat. Her eyes burned.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice choked. “Thank you.”

When they returned with the morning, Pinkie was the first one to greet her. This she accomplished through a sharp cry and a hug that could crush steel beams.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh! Applejack was so worried but I knew you would be safe but it was taking foreeeevvverr and--”

Twilight hugged her back. “Good to see you too, Pinkie. Sorry.”

Pinkie lowered her voice. “Please don’t run off like that,” she said, and then let go.

Applejack was next, meeting them at the door. “Mornin’,” she drawled.

“Morning,” Twilight said.

“Wait, I though was ‘good morning’,” Tradewinds said, with a look that could only be described as betrayed. “Does mornings have multiple greetings?”

“Just a shorter form. Good morning to you too, Tradewinds,” Applejack said and grinned. “Knew you’d take care of her. Thank you.”

“Was what any pony would do,” she grumbled.

“Regardless, you’re a good one. Now, Twi, I wasn’t overly worried. I knew you would be smart and safe, but I can’t say I ain’t been antsy. Learn anything?”

Twilight sighed. “Ugh. No. I need time to think and work on a plan. I’m going to need to find a new place to use as a spotter’s tower.”

“Can help with that,” Tradewinds supplied quickly.

“And I can watch the door below,” Applejack said. She spat off to the side. “Never thought we’d have to sneak around a dern army to get there.”

“We never thought a lot of things,” Twilight said with a sigh.

IXIL

She was dead. She was so, so dead. Doomed. In the words of her friend Sunny Days the Barmaid she was fucked.

But she wasn’t Ixil. Ixil might be fucked, but Amity Fields was a whitecloak and nopony touched a whitecloak on her beat. Those few ponies who saw her in the streets shied away and tried very, very hard to forget.

More made sense everyday. The cloaks were enchanted--of course they were. The uninitiated, those of weaker or more pliable mind felt extreme abjection when they looked at the cloaks. Of course they didn’t remember. They didn’t want to remember anything about where the whitecloaked madponies went or what they did. The very thought of trying to remember made them feel positively ill.

So there was really no need to even sneak. Whitecloaks walked in the city freely. Ixil saw now how many of them there were. At least a hundred. Maybe two.There was at least one on every street somewhere, glaring at everything. Biding their time.

Amity’s job today was just to talk to a few of the watchers. Receive their reports. She had done this before, but then things had seemed much more calm and settled. Now? If you wandered towards the wall you could almost hear the sounds of the dying. The city was not bustling. Ponies left home and went where they absolutely had to go as swiftly as possible. A few milled about, but there was little of the usual casual fellowship that marked these byways. Just grumbling. Waiting.

Amity found that these streets made her very, very hungry.

But she had a job to do, and not the one the mean looking whitecloak with the scar had given her. That stallion could go die in a hole. Luna herself had given this task to Am--Ixil. And Amity too, she guessed. Whatever.

She was thinking about somepony else when she approached the napping whitecloak. She kicked him awake. Gently. “Oi.”

The stallion flailed, disrupting the precarious balance he had achieved on a broken wall. His wings tried to catch the air, but it was no good. He fell in the dust, coughing.

“Thanks a lot, ya great maleficent bitch,” he growled.

“Shouldn’t have been asleep on the job, O fried one,” she intoned.

The whitecloak cracked a grin. “Well, good to see ye know how to address a Trottinghammer properly even now, lass. Guess you’re here about the report?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, I have nothin’ for you, yer Grace,” he said, bowing and doffing a nonexistent hat. “Aint’ got a single bleedin’ thing.”

“I figured. Just a few stragglers on their business?”

“Yes. Though the absence of the guard is a little strange. I guess the Manichean was right. They’re giving up on us.”

“Or maybe we forced them out,” Amity said softly.

The watcher regarded her with a raised eyebrow, but he shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, try not to sleep too much, okay? You’ll get in trouble if it’s not me next time, Thames.”

“Right, right,” he waved his hoof dismissively and returned to his perch.

Amity moved on. Most of the others weren’t much more diligent. It was, in fact, why they were in the streets watching. Amity had learned a lot in the last week.

For instance, she had learned that there were whitecloaks and there were whitecloaks. There were former gangers, layabouts, malcontents--and then there were zealots. Each pony came to the White by themselves, separated early on from any friends joining at the same time and further isolated in service.

And this was significant. Amity was a barmaid and a smile, but Ixil was a student of the nature of ponies. Left alone, they floundered. Ponies--in general, most thinking, feeling things--needed others. Friends. On their own? Why, they went one of two ways. They withered and became shapeless ruins like Thames, layabouts slouching in a quiet despair. The alternative was that they sharpened to a point, like a knife. They became intolerant of touch and breath, infuriated by difference, their thoughts an endless looping routine. The first type was relegated to the grunt work, the boring duty. The second was tasked with the arduous and secret work.

Amity had proved to be very receptive.

More and more, Ixil found it harder to maintain her character. It was unforgivable. She was ashamed of herself in ways that could not be described to those whose life is lived only in their own skin. Her worth as a changeling was tied into her ability to maintain the mask, to be Amity. But it was hard.

She had feared death by those who called Amity friends, and then later mere rejection. She had feared that her sources of food might dry up, or that the temptation to suck a pony dry would ruin them or bring the law down on her. It wasn’t like Ixil had never faced danger. She had faced danger many, many times. She lived in danger. But that was mere violence.

She had met the Manichean himself. She had spoken to the Good Stallion. She would need more than to wear another’s face and walk as they did. She would need something special.

It was time to find a safe place. The alley between the Bottletree Bakery and the Brown Lending building was a good choice--it was not well traveled, and she saw a small mountain of trash. When she ducked into the alley, it was only when she was sure of safety. She would not be caught again, because it would not be Princess Luna doing the catching. She waited. A few ponies crossed the mouth of her sanctuary, but none entered.

She would have to do this very, very carefully. Amity leaned into the wall and listened. It was Ixil who deciphered what her now untransformed ears heard. She prayed for forgiveness, hoping Luna would understand, and then opened the door to Bottletree.

She knew all of the ponies here. Plain Bagel and Buckwheat were working today, which was a mild annoyance. She liked being a mare. Not that it was difficult to switch, just not her favorite thing.

She lingered in the corner of the kitchen. She didn’t need to see either of them. She could feel slight vibrations in the floor. She licked her lips. Just because she didn’t want to do this didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy it. She’d had her eye on Buckwheat awhile. He was a nice stallion.

It was, to her pleasure, Buckwheat who returned to the kitchen first. He lit his horn up, and Ixil watched him retrieve a tray of bread.

And before he could move, she was on him. Her lips were on his ear, her body draped on and over his own, her horn almost touching his. She changed, just her throat and lips.

“Shhhh. Don’t say a word, pony. I do not aim to hurt you.”

“W-who… what?”

“Ah, shh. Silence. Listen, hm?” She nibbled on his ear. That part had nothing to do with anything. She just really wanted to. “Now, you are going to help me. I need to be you for a moment. Do you smoke?”

“Y-yes.”

“You are going to lift your cigarettes out and put them on the floor to your right, yes? And you aren’t going to do anything else, because I think that you know what I am, and you are very afraid, aren’t you? I can smell it.” She really couldn’t, not like he probably imagined, but why not confirm his fears?

“Oh stars. Oh shit…” He was shaking, and she felt through her primal excitement a stab of shame. He wasn’t a bad pony. She… she was toying with him. “Please, I don’t wanna die.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said again. “If you don’t give me a very good reason to, I won’t. I promise.”

“What do you want from me? Or with me or--”

“I need to be you for five minutes,” Ixil breathed in his ears, the sultry edge gone from her voice now. “It’s very important. I don’t need to break any laws. Unless something goes horribly wrong, I won’t need to fight anyone or hurt anyone. I need you to tell your friend you’re going on a smoke break, that you really need one, could he watch the place for just a minute or two. Then I need you to go outside and smoke a cigarette. That’s it, okay? Just stand in the alleyway.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. Except I’m going to need one of those.” She lifted one out and levitated it next to her. “Got a light?” she asked with a little chuckle.

He gulped and nodded. “I can’t light it in here, the…”

“I figured. Now, you are going to sit here. Sorry. Can’t trust you.” She gripped him in her magic tightly, stuffed her hoof into his mouth to gag him, and forced him to the ground. She coughed, and then spat up a thick, sticky phlegm on his hooves that hardened quickly. She did so again on his mouth. “Sorry. Breathe through your nose,” she said, and then with a veil of green flame, she was him.

She stuck the cigarette in her mouth and whistled. “Hey, Bagel, you mind holding the fort for a minute or three? Need to have a smoke.”

“Already?” the earth pony at the counter frowned at him.

“Eh, feel like shit today. Sorry. Is it okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Just bring me that tray. I’ll get it.”

Ixil turned, retrieved the tray, and brought it to him. With a few mostly friendly gruff words, Plain Bagel waved her off, and she went.

She returned and undid her bindings slowly. “Don’t say anything,” she warned. He didn’t. He stared at her, wearing his form, and trembled. She felt shame again. She gestured with her head, and they walked out the door.

He lit a cigarette with his magic, his eyes wide and his body shaking. “What are you gonna do as me?”

She was honest. “I need to talk to an agent of the princess, actually. On the job.”

She had thought that would make him feel better but it only seemed to make him panic more. “You work for Princess Luna?”

“Eh.” She shrugged, and pointed to her own cigarette. “Get it over with. You have terrible taste in cancer, by the way,” she added as he lit hers. “I never got the hang of fire. Changelings aren’t big on it, you know?” She took a test drag and grimaced. “Awful, really, really awful. How much that pack cost you?”

She approached and tensed. A stalker’s body made it seem like natural shifting of weight. She was barely listening to him, just focusing on what was about to happen. She took another drag to give the illusion that she was having a conversation.

“Two bits, it was cheap and I--”

Was out of time, she supplied and as she levitated the cigarette out of her mouth and made sure it was going to fall a safe distance away. And then she lunged for his throat. Before he could cry out, her fangs had sunk deep into his neck. God, he was a heady draught. She wanted to just cling to him… suck and taste and feel his life squirming and…

She didn’t. Her poison was in him already. She let the poor stallion go and set him carefully upon the ground, hidden in the rubbish. Sighing, she made sure the fallen cigarette wouldn’t burn him, crushing it beneath her--his hoof, and then Buckwheat made his way into the street.

Ixil held the baker’s essence tightly to her as if it were another white cloak. And perhaps it was, in its own way. The White had mages of surprising strength and skill, and though she was not by any means an expert in arcane arts, she was no fool. There would be scrying spells at work.

And now for the complicated part. No time, only one try.

She pushed against the essence of poor Buckwheat, and it was pliant. His fear made it almost disgustingly rich. Ixil hated herself slightly for doing this, and that was only partially because she had begun to think like the furred ones. She tore the essence in twain, humming as if she were in dream, in the Hive, and did with souls what she did with her Self. She made one half into Amity, and she made one half as a cloak for Ixil. There was nothing left of Buckwheat’s warm, rich, decadent fear. She had denatured what little she had stolen from him. A purely primal, base part of her regretted that. But he would wake up with a headache in a few minutes, feel very, very tired, and be fine.

The humming stopped. She took a deep breath, and brought the still burning cigarette to her mouth, only to frown in displeasure at it as the tip had a long ashy reminder. She flicked it.

“Disgusting,” she said.

But what was done was done. She walked towards the meeting place, and any spell on her would see Amity with no changes, wearing her white cloak.

She felt the Duskwatch before she saw her. It was the abject feel of danger that alerted her. Buckwheat’s ears swiveled towards the darkened door and the yawning mare who occupied it. Buckwheat was not a changeling, so he did not hesitate. He trotted over calmly, still smoking--ugh, just because she could stand it didn’t mean she liked it. The things one did to maintain character--with an easy gait. But Ixil whimpered.

Buckwheat coughed as Ixil retreated inward. “Mind lettin’ me by?”

The hooded mare grumbled and shifted her weight. Buckwheat entered the store and found it, not surprisingly, empty. There were a few articles of clothing here and there, but it was either doing very poorly or a sham. Maybe both. He blinked, and where the counter had been empty before it was now occupied.

The Duskwatch that sat on it yawned again. She kept her thick robes on, but it didn’t detract from Ixil’s crawling horror in the slightest. Her bright ruby eyes burned in the shadow. Buckwheat melted away and Ixil was left in another’s form, her composure completely gone. Monster. Monster. Slayer. Devourer.

“Well, it’s silly, but I do need to hear the password,” said the Hunter of Souls.

Ixil’s voice may have been deeper and more masculine, but it shook like a terrified schoolfilly’s. “A-Amaranth.”

“Yeah! Say my name!” the Monster said and then she giggled.

“Seriously? That is horribly unprofessional of you, La--Amaranth,” said a pegasus, white as snow, as he stepped out from behind a clothing rack. Ixil hadn’t even felt his presence. She had been too busy staring down the nightmare her kind had almost succeeded in forgetting.

“Not a lancer anymore, cap! Heheh. Oh. You’re not Cap anymore, huh? Colonol really isn’t as fun to say,” said the Duskwatch, and she smiled. Ixil couldn’t understand. That smile--those fangs!--those eyes! How could this pegasus not want to run screaming back into the safety of sunlight?

“It’s not very fun to be either, I assure you. Nor had I expected to be transferred into the Lunar Guard,” he added with a deepening frown. “Hello, changeling. How am I to address you? My knowledge of your kind is woefully inadequete, and I do apologize.”

“She’s just a pony, same as you an’ me,” Amaranth said and hopped down from the counter. “Isn’t that right, Ixil?”

“Y-yes.”

“Ixil,” said the polite one softly, as if tasting the sound. “You have a lovely name, ma’am. I apologize for my companion’s rather lacking decorum.” He sighed, but made it sound almost like a chuckle. “So much changes, and yet so much remains the same.”

“Yup! Now, Ixil, you came to report?”

Ixil nodded dumbly and reached into her pouch to retrieve the scrolls. She held them in her magic’s hold and offered them. Amaranth took them and then immediately passed them to the Colonol. She opened her mouth to say that it was urgent that Luna see what she had written, and soon, but Amaranth said it for her. “Luna will want to see these,” she said. “Will you be alright? I would come with you, but…”

The pegasus smiled at her softly. “It’s alright, Amaranth. I’ll be fine. Sleep soon, alright?”

She nodded. “Sure, sure. Good hunting. Er, or not. No hunting. Try not to hunt.”

He laughed, and then left out the back door.

Ixil was alone with the Monster.

As soon as the pegasus was gone, those baleful eyes turned to her. “So, now that Storm’s gone, I have questions. Or, well, one question that will probably become other questions. You mind?”

She gulped. “I… I will answer.”

“Why do you seem… not you.”

“I… I had to hide. I don’t know if they have scrying spells on us or not. Some of the White said yes, others said no. So I took precautions.”

“How? Cause you smell different.”

That was not what she wanted to hear the most terrifying sort of creature in existence say. “M-my… oh… oh no, no no no…” Her breathing came fast. She lost control briefly and Buckwheat burned away to reveal a cowering changeling underneath. She held onto the deformed essences protecting her only barely. The Duskwatch could smell her? They could find her. There would never be any way to escape. When Luna wasn’t watching--

And the Thing That Should Not Be was touching her. Two hooves trying to pin her down. This was it. It would tear out her throat, she knew this, the memories of the ancients pulsed through her--this was how it ended, pinned and drained and devoured and--

“Calm down! What’s wrong? Ixil? Ixil, snap out of it!”

Ixil lay very, very still. “P-please, mo--please.”

Amaranth backed off slightly. “What the hell was that? What happened? Did they do something?” She grimaced, showing those fangs again. “Shit. Please don’t tell me it’s magic, I don’t get that stuff. I can’t--”

“It isn’t,” Ixil said softly.

The Duskwatch let out a sigh. “Good. Thank the stars. I’m sorry, you started freaking out and going all changelingy with the fire and stuff and I was worried.”

Her breathing was steady. The fear remained. “The memories know you,” she said, not knowing if this was the right choice. “The… the Hunters. The Devourers. They come in the night and they devour and drain… We live in memories, dread one.” She was a changeling once more. Buckwheat was gone. Her voice was ragged and alien, her words formed by a mouth not meant for pony speech.

Amaranth winced. “Are you okay? Your voice sounds bad, Ix.”

She became Amity again and felt infinitely better. Amity patted herself down and allowed herself a small smile. “A mare again,” she said. “It is nice.”

“Don’t like batting for the other team?” Amaranth asked with a smirk. She laughed when Ixil made a involuntary face of mild disgust. “Yeah, much rather be a mare. Way cooler. More aerodynamic too,” she added, nodding. “It’s because I’m a Duskwatch, isn’t it?”

Ixil--Amity--nodded.

“I’m sorry,” said the nightmare of her kind.

Ixil blinked.

“I… well, from one monster to another, I figured… ugh. Words are dumb. I don’t mean you’re a monster, I--”

“From one outside to another outside,” Ixil said softly.

“Yeah. I figured you’d be the last to be afraid of me becoming the bogeyman. Geeze, am I that scary?”

“Absolutely terrifying.”

“Thanks.” Amaranth groaned. “And now a lack of sleep catches up with me. Stupid day. Stupid nocturnal...ism? Whatever. If it were night, I could wink you out, but… well. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Ixil did not tremble as before. She felt even more ashamed. “I am sorry I was afraid,” she said, not looking up. “You smelled Buckwheat’s essence. I bit him and used the tiniest shard to mask myself. I am… not proud. It is not a good thing. To feed with fangs is dangerous because it is easy and too tempting. A memory comes to me from the long count now that the Duskwatch often took those who fed in such a way, and I feared. I did not harm him. I promise, Reaper,” she added, not knowing why.

“I’m not a reaper. I used to be… I’m still kind of a batpony. I don’t know. It’s okay. He’s fine, right?” When Ixil nodded, she sighed. “Then it’s okay. You’re fine. I like, absolve you or something. Also, I’m really friggin--” she yawned again. “Tired. Do me a favor?”

“What need you of me?”

“Don’t get yourself in too much trouble, Ixil. You’re my first mission ever in the Duskwatch, I wouldn’t want you getting all dead and stuff on me.” She smiled. “And besides, I think maybe if… if all you guys are so afraid of the Duskwatch, maybe it’s about time one of us wasn’t trying to like, off you or something. I’ll let you leach off of Ice Storm’s obsessive duty-mongering if it gets the stick out of his ass,” she added with a flashy grin.

And Ixil grinned back--waveringly, of course--but she meant it.

TWILIGHT

Eon came to her as she watched the citadel ring around the tablelands.

I am very glad to see you better, Twilight Sparkle, though I understand if--

You didn’t mean any harm. It’s okay. Honestly… that little spark of danger did me and my friend a lot of good, so I think we’re even.

I am glad to hear that, Twilight. You still intend to come to me?

Yup. She pursed her lips. Stupid Black Hoof. Stupid crazy zebras. Stupid--oh stars, that was him, wasn’t it? She focused the binoculars she held in her magic on the strange figure, large and more lurching than walking.

That is D’Jalin.

He’s freakin’ massive. Yeesh. How am I supposed to get in? Please don’t tell me that it’s all apart of some elaborate test. I will be very, very put out with you.

Twilight sensed something… laughing? Maybe?

Games were never my forte. Not the kind you are thinking of, anyhow. No, the problem you wrestle with I too am wrestling with, if in a very… different fashion.

What does he want? Why is he here? This is just… it’s weird. It’s uncanny. It’s--

--Unfair. To have come this far and to be barred entrance.

Is Celestia even there? Honestly. Should we just… skip this?

There was a silence in her head that dragged on longer than Twilight was comfortable with. She fidgeted, lowering her binoculars and running a hoof over her face.

I am unsure how to answer that question for a few reasons. Partially, because the real answer would seem like a lie or a ploy. Partially, because time is… difficult. Partially, because I fear you would take far too many risks if she were here.

Tell me the truth, then, Twilight thought. I’ll deal with it. I have to.

She is here and she is not here. She is here in one sense, in a very real sense, but not in the sense you are hoping for. I cannot explain. You will have to see.

Twilight expected her heart to leap, but it did not. She only felt still. She said nothing.

Thanks, she thought dryly.

I am sorry. But there is a more immediate threat. D’Jalin’s followers fill the most holy sanctum of my city. They have defiled it with their presence alone, not to mention their further blasphemies. It hurts me, Twilight Sparkle. I feel them even now. I can stop them, but…

Twilight pulled away from the window. Tradewinds raised an eyebrow, but Twilight shook her head. Not now. She was thinking.

Do not mention me, Eon was murmuring. They should see anything I say as coming from you. They do not know me, but you are their friend.

Sounds suspicious.

I am more worried of what will happen if you do not hold your peace.

Twilight closed her eyes, put hooves to her temples, and thought.

She saw the tableland jutting out from the city, the ring of stone around it, the guards on that ring, the cultists milling inside. She saw the buildings which abutted the high place, she saw herself huddled in one of them, she saw the pattern of streets that were now seared into her memory.

There’s just no way to get in there without a fight. Twilight tried every plan she could think of. Waiting until dusk and then slipping over the wall--ponies were not built for climbing. Fighting their way in was suicide. Making a distraction somewhere else along the wall and then sneaking Abdiel over to open the gate near dusk might work… except that the only ways they could make a distraction were by using her magic or by sending ponies to do it, and that would leave somepony outside.

Would it help if something else distracted the foe?

Twilight opened her eyes. Yes it would help. Something big, loud, whatever, could draw not only attention… if it were loud enough or if it seemed dangerous enough, they might all move off the walls. If it were something that gave them no choice but to defend against it, then guarding the door from some wandering ponies would be far less important.

Abdiel could fly up and let the gate open, and then as soon as they were through he could close it and keep the night out. Under cover of darkness they could make a break for the tableland--

Look. I can… I can hold the illusion for a moment. Look and see.

Twilight, confused, did so. She lifted her binoculars.

Another one of the city’s visions. Rarity snuck across the great courtyard within the walls, moving from pillar to pillar carefully. Two earth ponies followed her. A dark shape moved ahead of her and she paused. Twilight felt her heart in her throat.

“Careful, Rarity…”

It was hard to remember that this wasn’t Rarity, and it was harder not to feel like it was, indeed, Rarity. The little vision-Rarity in my binoculars clung to the pillar she hid behind. Her small chest heaved in the distance as other shadows passed. But they did pass. None of them seemed to notice her.Twilight felt her heart beat in her ears as Rarity detached herself from the pillar and sneak forward to the rock face.

What? She was doing something--and then Twilight understood. She saw the door in the cliff face. Rarity fumbled with some small tool. Lockpicking? A version of Rarity that picked locks?

She restrained her chuckle of surprise for the others’ sake and watched as Rarity seemed to succeed and then vanish.

So a door, right there. I could find it.

Yes.

“That could work. But I’d need a distraction big enough,” she grumbled and scooted back.

“What?” Tradewinds asked.

Twilight rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “I’m starting to get ideas,” she said, as if that explained everything. Apparently, it did explain everything, because Tradewinds sniffed, chuckled, and then was silent again.

Well, Eon, can you do that for me? Something goes boom or roar or whatever? Is that something you can do? If you really don’t like these guys and you actually want to help me, this is your chance.

Silence. Twilight wondered, lazily, if she were finally losing it. Being the Apostate was a little better than being the Insane. But she wasn’t. Eon was probably trying to come up with a plan. Obviously. Communication via the mind wasn’t that bizarre, with magic in the mix. And Eon was in a crazy city, so her methods being a little… unorthodox? That was also understandable. Luna could make a pony hear her voice, but it was her voice. Maybe Eon was using an older version of that? Something she found in the city? Or had all along? Or…

Twilight groaned and squeezed her eyes shut again.

I can do this, Eon thought. I think I know what I must do. It… I am afraid. Will you promise to come to me if I do this?

Twilight sat up in a hurry. Yes! “Yes!” she said forcefully, lowly. “Absolutely. Totally. Please.”

Tradewinds just looked at her. As Twilight began to pace, her mind coming up with contingencies, Pinkie peeked her head in.

“Talking to herself?” Pinkie asked.

“And if I can just manipulate that tenebrae spell…” Twilight was muttering to herself.

“Da.”

Pinkie grinned. “Good.”

Twilight found Abdiel snoozing in the afternoon sun.

The building they had taken refuge in was, according to the whispering of Eon, a temple. The benches that Abdiel was sleeping on were pews. The great block to her right was an altar. All in all, the stained glass windows made a lot more sense now, as did the bell tower.

She thought about just talking to wake him, but something like a plan was happening and it made her feel a little giddy. So instead she tickled his hooves.

Abdiel woke kicking and fell off his perch, rolling into the tight space between pews. “Sun and Moon! Sarnath’s Grace, stop, Apprentice! Stop!”

She did, and laughed softly. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

He grunted and sat up. “Of course. Ugh. What need you?”

“I need to know what night is like in Jannah.”

Abdiel stared at her.

“Please?” she asked.

“You cannot be seriously asking. You… oh. Oh, you are serious.”

She had been grinning at him. “I have a plan,” she announced.

He stared at her. “A plan.”

“Yes. A plan. I have a way of distracting all of those Black Hoof losers and make sure nopony cares about a few sneaky ponies slipping into their little base.” She rubbed her hooves together. “So, do you think you could get a hundred yards right as night falls?”

RARITY

She awoke and lay still in her tent.

Rainbow stirred beside her, and Rarity blinked away the sleep in her eyes to just… gaze. Rainbow really was beautiful. When she slept, tension dropped away. More than a year--it was two years now, wasn’t it? Maybe. She wasn’t sure--melted away. Anxiety was gone. Just her snoring, peaceful face. The snoring wasn’t ideal, but to be honest, with all Rarity had seen and heard snoring was the least troublesome thing imaginable. She hardly noticed it.

Stifling a yawn, Rarity felt around with her magic for the little alarm clock. It hurt to do so, but not as much as it could. The clock floated above her head, and she gazed at it in the morning light that filtered through the tent flap. An hour before she would be expected to be awake and moving about. Wonderful. Just enough time to enjoy how awfully warm and soft Rainbow was and how surprisingly comfy these covers were…

It occurred to her, of course, that this was probably going way too fast. But thinking about improprieties did not stop her from curling around Rainbow. Things like propriety were important. They also took time, effort, and energy, and she barely had even one of those things, so it would simply have to wait. Maybe forever. Rainbow was awfully comfortable. Besides, even before they had… well, even before, all three of their little band had slept in piles.

She really should not be thinking about that right now. Oh dear.

Rainbow stirred. “Mmm?”

“Good morning,” Rarity whispered.

Rainbow grumbled something and then scooted closer. With a smile, Rarity nuzzled her and then kissed the top of her head.

“Morning is dumb,” Rainbow said. “I don’t want to go back to bed, but I also don’t wanna get up.”

“Well, we’re not due for awhile. We could simply lie here. That was my plan, actually,” Rarity said and then hummed. “Personally, I think it’s a fabulous plan. Why, Rainbow, I do believe it’s Sunday. This is Sunday morning, and as I’m sure you know, that means one thing.”

“Uh… nothing?”

“It means luxuriating, Rainbow.”

“So, like, doing nothing.”

She huffed. “Well, yes. But doing it wonderfully. Nothing, that is. Bother.” She kissed the top of Rainbow’s head again, and was pleasantly surprised when Rainbow looked up and met her lips with her own.

They stayed like that awhile, testing each other with kisses, enjoying the infinite alterations of that small intimacy. There wasn’t much urgency. That tiny nagging voice in the back of her mind continued to tell her that this was too fast--that whispered, shouldn’t you be worried this is hormones and adrenaline?--and other things… it was not quite gone. But it was quieter. It was manageable. She and Rainbow sent it away down the road, to stay somewhere else for the morning.

Rainbow nibbled on her neck boldly, and Rarity hummed in her ear. That little voice was about to ask if it was wise to think about the things she was thinking about--but, ah, it was far away, wasn’t it? Quite far away. A few blocks over. She wrapped her forelegs around Rainbow and pulled the mare over as she rolled onto her back. Rainbow obliged, letting herself be handled. And then she obliged. Rarity was as quiet as she could manage.

When they had finished, Rainbow lay panting on top of her, and Rarity played with her colorful mane.

“You know,” she murmured, “when we were younger, I was so sure you colored your mane artificially.”

Rainbow snorted. “Everypony in Ponyville thought that. Like, they didn’t even bother asking me. I coulda totally shown them a picture of dad.”

“Mmm. It made me think you were something of a rebel, as I recall.” Rarity smiled in the semidark. She continued to play with Rainbow’s mane idly. It was a pleasure of hers, fooling about with hair. She’d once entertained the idea of being a hairdresser, once. “I love you, you know,” she said.

“I know,” Rainbow said. “Working on why, but… I know.” Rainbow kissed her chest softly, not looking up. “I was kind of surprised you wanted to… you know.”

“That you of all ponies would be coy is perhaps the proof positive of the strangeness of reality. Irony is the heart of all things,” Rarity said.

“It’s kind of different,” Rainbow countered. “I mean, you and I act differently when we’re alone, in a tent, in, well… compromising positions.”

“Like with your head--”

“Yes. Yeah, like that. I mean, you gotta be a little different when you’re all alone and stuff. It’s just… different.”

“Do go on. I’m fascinated, actually.”

“Well… sometimes you come across kind of like you’re playing a part. Outside,” Rainbow began. “You try really hard to seem like a ‘lady’ or whatever it is at the time. But when it’s just you or me--heck, when it’s just you, me, and Flutters, or us and the girls--you’re different. Like, you still care about the same things, but it feels different.”

Rarity hummed. “That’s surprisingly thoughtful, Dash.”

“I can think, y’know.”

“Oh, I know. You’re not a fool, dear.” Rarity strained down to kiss the top of her head. “Not in the slightest.”

“I’m really good at flying and running and fighting. Usually, I’m all about being fast, being noticed, being on top of everything--if you laugh I swear--but I’ve always been weird about touch.”

“I knew you have an aversion to your hooves being touched. I have tried to avoid them,” Rarity said softly.

Rainbow squirmed. “Yeah. T-thanks for that. Like, remembering, I mean. But I get awkward about touch in general. I mean, not all the time. What kind of pony can’t hug her friends? Not a very good one.”

“Not a very happy one,” Rarity said, staring up at the ceiling of the tent now. She thought of her metal leg. She also realized for the first time that morning that she wasn’t wearing it. They had… and she… A chill went up her spine. It took quite a bit of the edge off the postcoital glow to be reminded she was down a limb.

“Yeah. But I guess its like… prolonged touch? I get… I mean, it’s not like I’m uncomfortable--”

“Flustered,” Rarity supplied gently.

“Yeah.”

“I can begin to understand.”

Rainbow shifted. She moved up Rarity’s body and kissed her. “You alright?”

Rarity thought rather seriously about deflecting attention or simply lying. Yes, Dash, I’m fine. “Mostly,” she answered vaguely. “Did you…” she bit her lip.

Rainbow looked down at her. Tentatively, she pressed a hoof to Rarity’s cheek, and then withdrew it almost immediately. “Was it… I mean, was I not--”

“No, no no no.” Rarity shook her head, and managed a haphazard smile coupled with a sharp tone of denial. “Dash, you were wonderful. Amazing.” Her voice softened. “You were.”

“I’m not like… good at this sort of thing.”

“Being good at it is not the point, good heart. Quite not the point.” She chuckled. “Don’t let anypony tell you otherwise. Though I do know how much you enjoy winning…” Rainbow rolled her eyes. “No, I shouldn’t have worried you. I realized just now that I didn’t have that ghastly prosthetic on. So my… ahem. My lack of a leg,” she said finally, as if this expressed everything.

Behind Rainbow’s eyes she saw the cogs turning. “Oh. I… Uh.” Rainbow flushed--she could see it even in the low light. “I sorta didn’t even notice? Like, at all. I was kinda preoccupied.”

Rarity blinked. She stared.

And then she laughed quietly, and hugged Rainbow tightly so that she wouldn’t see the moisture clinging to her eyes.

They still hadn’t gotten up, but Rarity found that she felt little urgency too. The army wasn’t moving today, anyhow. Today they prepared.

“Dash?” Rarity spoke into the comfortable stillness.

“Mm?”

“Might I ask you a question? An honest question. Not an accusation or a chastisement. I just want to understand.”

Rainbow was silent at first, but eventually she sighed. “Lemme guess. Iron Bitch?”

Rarity rolled her eyes, but nodded.

“Figured you weren’t gonna forget,” Rainbow said and snuggled close. “I’m sorry. I made things hard on you. I’m not sure I was wrong about her or what I feel, but I’m sorry about that.”

“I forgive you. I didn’t help much. Fluttershy…”

“Is really, really not holding up well, but if we get into that you’ll never get back to your first question.”

Rarity nodded again. “Right. It isn’t her arrogant air--I love you, Rainbow, but you can be a bit arrogant yourself. It’s never stopped you from developing friendly rivalries. At worst antagonistic ones, but you seem to take her very existence as a personal affront.”

“She’s a soldier.”

Rarity pursed her lips. “What?”

Rainbow sighed. Again. “Ugh. This is gonna be so hard to explain. Can I trade sexual favors for not explaining it?”

“There’s your boldness. And no,” Rarity said, even though she was tempted. Slightly.

“It’s just so permanent. I mean, Cloudsdale has a military history, right? Every pegasus has trained with a militia. I trained with Cloudsdale’s and I trained with, uh, Ponyville’s. Okay, Ponyville’s super lame five pegasi militia that wasn’t actually recognized by any of the cloud cities and also kind of was super embarassing.”

“We had a militia?”

Rainbow groaned, and Rarity repressed a grin. “See? Exactly. Whatever. But, that’s not a permanent thing. Pegasi… we do what we have to do. We’ve always been warriors because sometimes there’s stuff to be up. You’d be surprised how much trouble you can get into in the sky,” she added, shrugging. “But it isn’t forever. You don’t stay that way. When the fight’s over, you go home and you get a pint and you go sleep in your own house. Or on the bar floor. Or something. The point is, when its not time to fight, you don’t fight.”

“You think that Opal is not like this, then, I gather.”

“Warrior and Soldier. A warrior wars and the rest of the time she’s something else. But a soldier is always a soldier. Always waiting. I’m all for being prepared. But, like, there’s waiting and then there’s anticipating. I’m probably being super unfair right now, but its just how I feel. She freaks me out a little. Do you know why I resigned from the Wonderbolts before they pulled me off of the reserve and into the active rotation?”

“I had always wondered. You were so distraught… I didn’t know how to ask.”

“I was miserable, Rares. But I had to. They were soldiers. I had forgotten they were, and I just wasn’t. I don’t want to fight.”

“You were rather eager for a scrap when we were younger,” Rarity said, hoping her tone was light enough.

It worked, a bit. Rainbow chuckled. “Yeah, I was, wasn’t I? But it’s different. Warriors… Okay, me. I can get into a scrap and buy you a cider afterwards. I don’t really want to kill ponies. I mean, if I have to… If they’re crazy raiders and it’s them or us, then I will. And I’ll feel kinda bad about it later when nopony’s watching. But I try to give even them a good kick that makes ‘em stay down without like, you know.”

“Killing them.”

“Yeah. Opal? I’m like, eighty percent sure she would straight up rip a pony’s entrails out their ass just to scare his buddies. Like, at least eighty percent. She’s the ultimate soldier. She’s a killing machine and she can’t even leave her stretcher. She’s the ultimate soldier. Killer. I know not every soldier is Opal. Like, I get it. I don’t hate the Guard. But I don’t like what she represents. It…” Rainbow seemed to struggle almost physically, as if trying to cough up the word instead of saying it.

“She scares me,” Rainbow admitted. “Killing ponies is forever. And she’s seen a lot of forever. I don’t even think she cares anymore. I don’t know. Maybe she does. But I just see the soldier swimming around in blood, and I don’t want to be that. I don’t want any of us to be that.”

Rarity just sighed.

JANNAH

When night falls on the CIty’s heart, it brings with it mist and rain.

Things crawl in the streets. Some of them are formless, wraiths more mist than anything else. Perhaps they were never there at all, but to the pony who watches they seem to be there. Some are more solid, like masses of flesh that move when they should not, covered in bloodshot eyes and mouths that work but produce nothing but a sort of pained wheeze. Ponies that seem normal until their necks open up into slathering maws lined with teeth. It goes on and on.

But in the ring of the citadel, you are safe. That is the rule. Make it, and you are safe. The monsters will not go near the tableland, not for all of the quick feasts they could have. Something, or somepony, keeps them at bay. They will not go there of their own volition.

But perhaps that could change.

The rain falls gently. Sentries watch the mist curling and writhing. Do they know? Do they feel the first pangs of suspicion? Maybe. The mists do not clear away with the rain as they usually do, but ponies of weak wills find Jannah to be overwhelming. What is one more oddity, one more inconsistency with the world as it should be? But it is very important. Nothing in Jannah is overlookable. The stones you walk on are important. Each one screams forever and anything can and will kill you given the chance. It wants to kill you. Badly.

The first hulking monstrosities, great amalgamations of flesh, begin to crawl out from the streets into the circular plaza before the walls. A startled cry runs down the wall, carried from sentry to sentry. A panicked Black Hoof fires, but there is no effect. The creatures--are they creatures?--do not falter at all. They wheeze and crawl on oblivious.

A few sentries on the other sections of wall are sent to help.

Only when they reach the walls do any of the hulks begin to falk. One, it’s whole front half a red mass of holes, falls and twitches in the mist. The panicking sentries call for more help as they focus their fire on another, sending it falling from the wall. But others replace it, making their slow and agonizing way, oozing up the flat stone.

One makes it over. A unicorn holds his rifle in a tight magical grip, a bayonet held high, and stabs it over and over into quivering flesh. It advances on him, seemingly unfazed. Suddenly, from one of the ever-working mouths, ropelike flesh shoots out and grabs him by the throat. He screams as it pulls him in. He stops screaming when it rips his head from his body with powerful, unnatural jaws.

But with enough firepower, they died. The guards on the gates facing away from the great upheaval abandon their posts. There was nothing to fight there, and they needed every rifle and every blade they could bring to bear.

As soon as the last one left, Twilight Sparkle lets out a shaky breath and allows herself to smile.

TWILIGHT

Twilight pushed Abdiel hard, and he responded by falling out of the balcony window, flowing over the railing and out into the darkness. She watched long enough to see his wings unfurl, and then she turned.

There was no need to tell anypony to move. They were already on their way, and Twilight followed. They stood in the temple, all of them waiting for Twilight to give them the last signal to make the run on open ground.

“Do I even want to know what in the sam hill is goin’ on?” Applejack asked, chewing madly on a long tool. Twilight let her eyes linger on it a moment. She really, really hoped Applejack was serious about her skills with that thing. Abdiel had one, yes--

Wasn’t that convenient? But a lockpick would be useless their Batpony companion could get the door open.

“No, you really don’t want to know,” Twilight said, and took a deep breath. She counted to five.

The gunshots were starting to dwindle in frequency. Either they were losing or they were winning. Twilight figured that both of those things were bad in their own ways.

Really could use something that will keep them occupied just another minute, she thought.

And that’s when the horrible static started. It was low, unoffensive and far away. But they all noticed it.

“Okay, now it’s time,” Twilight said. She didn’t need to say anything at all. They bolted out the doors. The static whine grew as they ran, and somehow it made her… it was terrifying, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Even as Twilight ran through the mist she was only conscious of--

She was through the gate before she found herself again. The static was gone.

But Twilight had no time to recover. Inside the walls she found a forest of pillars holding up a strange sort of jagged roof. Lanterns hanging from pillars lit her way, but with horror she realized that she couldn’t see the door in the rock face.

Shadowy figures ran through the portico, calling to one another in a language Twilight didn’t recognize. She summoned up her magic, held it, and made a decision.

That decision was to charge. Applejack was at her left and Pinkie was at her right. She had lost track of Abdiel. When she stumbled over stairs in the dark, Tradewinds was behind her, keeping her face up.

Around them, cultists fled wildly. The infiltrating party was ignored. Twilight didn’t question--she didn’t have time.

They heard gunshots closer now. The sharp crack of rifle fire had never ceased, but whoever was firing was moving in on them. Twilight Sparkle made it to the rock and started to frantically illuminate the rugged cliff face. The door wasn’t here. She moved to the right, cursing. No door. No door.

“Twilight, what the hell am I lookin’ for?” hissed Applejack behind her.

“A door! Anything! It should be here! Stars, I got turned around in the dark.”

“Twilight, will have trouble with Black Hoof soon,” Tradewinds said flatly. Twilight heard her load her weapon. “Will be trying to keep them away. Please hurry.”

Twilight kept looking, her hooves running over the wall. “Pinkie, look going the other way from me, okay? Please hurry.”

“Got it.”

The world around her fell away. Her heart beat in her throat. This had seemed so much easier in her head. They were coming back, something had tipped them off, or whatever the hell Eon had done had stopped working or--

Twilight, be still. Wait.

Twilight froze.

Eon?

Rarity spontaneously existed in front of her and Twilight fell back, stifling a scream of surprise with a hoof. Rarity was haggard, scarred and dirty. Her mane was an unwashed mess and her coat had… oh, stars, there was blood there, dried but some of it fresh. Her eyes were wild and wide, and held a small knife and an older-looking scattergun.

She approached the wall ahead of Twilight and pressed her hoof to the rock. Twilight sprang up, shaking as she tried to wave at this vision, only for it to startle. Rarity stared at her.

Like she was seeing a ghost.

And then she was gone with a flash of white light. Twilight wasted no time. She felt the rock face where Rarity had stood.

“Girls! Girls, I found it! Applejack, I need you!” Twilight called, not caring anymore about stealth. She was losing it. Her breaths came short. She kept imagining a crack and then hot metal ripping through her--

Applejack was there, pushing her out of the way with a grunt. Twilight staggered. Rarity was there again, staring at her, mouth moving but not producing sound. She was gone. A small, gray unicorn struggling to lift something with her magic, something huge. Another flash. A pony she recognized from Ponyville in a black robe, what was her name? Twilight was shaking. She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t think. She was suddenly freezing. Where were the Black Hoof sentries? Were they here? Where were they?

Twilight! The veil… I pushed it too far open! I am trying to close it, please don’t try to use your magic!

Who? What? Her own voice addressing her was… it was too much. Twilight whimpered.

“Damn it! Twilight, I need light! Twi? Dammit, Pinkie, grab Twilight, somethin’s happenin’!”

“She’s shaking! I can’t… Twilight, please! Pretty please, stop shaking, you’re fighting me!”

Light. Someone needed light. She saw a pony calling hordes of insects, screaming as she commanded them. She saw an alicorn she did not recognize, gazing with sad eyes. She… somepony needed light. She used her magic and summoned that light.

But it wasn’t just light. It was blinding fire. Her horn seemed afire with it. Twilight felt like she was being burned from the inside out.

Stop! No more magic! The second vision of Rarity tore the veil too wide. No more magic, or you’ll push it further open! Please! I am sorry, I am so sorry! I didn’t know this would happen!

No more magic. She shut it off. The fire left her horn, but the shaking and the visions--she saw ponies in Jannah! Jannah alive!--those did not leave. Pinkie was trying to get her to be still. Applejack cursed and kicked the door.

“Try again! You can do it, AJ!” Pinkie said.

“Hurry! Please, if it is not too much trouble, would like to not be shot!” Tradewinds called. There was the first report of a rifle. “Chyort. Pizdets!” she yelled at the shooters in her own tongue, and they yelled back. “Will not believe me, but will not shoot for a moment. Take advantage!”

Twilight heard Tradewinds stalling, yelling at the Black Hoof in the darkness. They yelled back. She cursed, loudly, and then said something to them. Twilight saw a raider standing beside her, laughing, screaming. She put up her hoof, but the vision was gone before she could cry out.

“Jus’ gimme a minute!” Applejack bawled. “Stall ‘em! Where the hell is Abdiel?”

“Not knowing! This is very stupid! Why have we done this, yes? Am wanting to know!” She turned and yelled one last time. “Nyet, they are not believing me anymore. Not afraid of shooting own on accident either.” She whirled out from cover, aiming her battle saddle’s rifle downrange and firing at the shadowy Black Hoof who dove for cover. “Idi syvda! Schas po ebalu poluchish, suka, blyad!”

“Oh wow, Tradey can say all kinds of things!” Pinkie shouted over the roar of return fire. Tradewinds skipped back behind her pillar and laughed.

“Is good for the heart!” she called back. “Puts nice fluffy hairs on chest and makes wings beautiful, da?” She laughed again, and returned fire in a gap between volleys.

“Twi, can you help her?” Pinkie asked. Twilight shook her head vehemently.

“S-something’s wrong… Eon…”

“Okay,” Pinkie said, cutting her off. “Then let’s get you away from Tradey and out of the fire…” she began pulling Twilight, who squeezed her eyes shut. She felt nauseous, as if the world was swimming around her.

“I got it! Aw, sweet Celestia, I got it!” Applejack shouted. “C’mon! Pinkie, the hell--whatever, get Twi in here. Abdiel! Shoot, where is he?”

Twilight looked around. He was nowhere.

“Tradey! Tradey, c’mon!” Pinkie called. “We’re in! Come on!”

“I’ll see you all in hell later!” She shouted, flared her wings, and dove towards them. Pinkie shoved Applejack out of the way, pushed Twilight down, and ducked.

Tradewinds flew through a hail of bullets, and nothing touched her. She laughed in the face of death. She also flew through the door, hit her hoof on the doorway, floundered, and skid to a stop on her face. But, Twilight concluded dully, it was still pretty impressive.

Applejack pulled at the door, and Pinkie joined her. The two of them pulled it shut, and then they were all in darkness.

“Think they’ll start tryin’ to pick the lock?” Applejack asked.

“Well, they only checked the door once. I think they’re still looking outside.”

“Or looking for Abdiel,” Tradewinds added, glumly.

Twilight massaged her temples. The “veil”--whatever that meant!--had been shut. She could use her magic again, and so she did. Lighting up their surroundings took her only a moment.

The walls were much like the walls in her dream, the ones Eon had shown her. She looked at her friends. Applejack was covered in dust, she assumed from the floor and the door. Pinkie seemed somewhere between sullen and worried. Tradewinds was inspecting her saddle.

“What happened back there, Twi? You looked like you were… I don’t know.”

Yes you do. You just don’t want to say it. It’s okay. I wouldn’t want to either. “It wasn’t,” she said. “Eon… Eon is the one who told me about the door.”

“You mean that crazy pony who says she lives here? The one sendin’ you dreams?”

“The very one,” Twilight said with a sigh. “She was manipulating the visions, you know, the ones the city makes us see?”

“Yeah. Don’t trust ‘em. See all sorts of freaky things.” She grimaced. “You know, I saw a pegasus with a funny accent talkin’ ‘bout bacon.”

There was a moment’s pause. It was Pinkie, staring at the ground, who laughed first, and the rest of them followed.

Twilight grinned and laid flat on her stomach. They were probably safe here. The tableland was huge, and there was no way they could be found so quickly. “Well, I saw Rarity. Rarity in Jannah, looking for… well, I don’t really know, honestly. But she found the door and picked the lock. When I got turned around, Eon showed me the vision again so I could find the door…”

“And it was too much, huh?” Pinkie finished. “Geeze, Twilight, gotta go easy on the brain games.”

“I’m trying,” Twilight said sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I could’ve given you light, or helped Tradewinds, or--”

“It ain’t your fault. You didn’t ask for your horn to go haywire,” Applejack said flatly. “I feel mighty frustrated… but it ain’t your fault. Right?” When Twilight nodded, she sighed and continued. “Eh. Magic.”

“Weeeiiirrrd,” Pinkie agreed.

“Are we going yet?” Tradewinds asked.

“In a minute,” Twilight said. “For now… I need to make sure my magic is fine. If you don’t mind, of course, girls.”

No one did. She levitated a few things from their bags, and then smiled. “Back in the game. No more visions seeing me.”

“One of them things saw you? Naw, really? Like, y’know, actually looked at you and saw you.”

“I think,” Twilight said. She coughed. “Ugh. Dusty. Rarity found the door again, but then when I was running over there she turned and looked right at me and she obviously saw something. I guess I don’t have any proof it was me. It could easily have been something in her own world. If visions are other worlds and not, like, just hallucinations. I hate these things. I can’t… study them,” she finished lamely.

Moving up through the holy catacombs proved easy in some ways and difficult in others.

Easy, in that there wasn’t just few cultists or soldiers to watch out for--there were none. Difficult in that the structure seemed almost random. Small hallways led to huge open forums, and grand corridors went… nowhere. They turned a corner and ended in a solid unfinished wall.

Abdiel had not been found. That gnawed at Twilight. Was he a little shifty? Yes. But he was their friend. Sort of? Leaving him was pretty awful. But where had he gone? Was he killed? Did he die first, or did they effectively kill him when they shut the door?

Don’t suppose you can help.

Eon didn’t answer. Of course she didn’t.

“Think he made it?” Twilight asked softly. Her voice echoed.

“Yeah,” Applejack said quickly. “I wager he made it, one way or ‘nother.”

“I sure hope so,” Pinkie added.

Tradewinds, who had taken to “scouting”--which mostly meant walking ahead of them and being really intense about it--looked back at her strangely. “If he is dead, we will avenge him,” she said simply, as if this summed everything worth knowing on the subject.

They continued on. Twilight pushed half open doors aside with her magic, lit dark hallways, set wards to quiet their progress. Tradewinds kept them from wasting too much time on dead ends by flitting ahead and then returning. Twilight was glad to see her flying. She wanted to ask about it. She wanted to talk to Applejack, or hear Pinkie tell a joke. She wouldn’t even mind Abdiel saying something, if he weren’t… missing.

Instead, she thought.

Eon?

There wasn’t an answer. Twilight showed no response outwardly, but inwardly… She wasn’t crazy. The door had been there. Okay, she wasn’t razy about Eon anyway. Neurotic little Twilight.

She couldn’t help but grimace at that. Her friends had just accepted this so… easily. Her being all but incapacitated twice. She must have looked like a madpony, but they didn’t seem to press. Were they just trying to be careful? Or is this normal? That’s right. Crazy, crazy Twilight, twitch-twitch. Don’t wanna upset the crazy one, she’ll get her crazy all over you.

Did others look at her and see that? Did they see her falling apart and just figure that it was the end result of a long and steady decline?

She couldn’t really look at her friends.

Twilight Sparkle.

Ah. You’re back. Twilight wasn’t terribly enthused about that. Not that she was unhappy. She just felt very tired all of a sudden.

Yes, I am. I must apologize again. I… I have not manipulated the veil like that in a very long time. Showing a pony something specific that would help them… I used to do that, long ago. I tried to help. They always…

They didn’t leave, did they? Or they stole things, treasure-hunted, whatever. Or they didn’t get it and thought they were crazy.

Yes. I was helping them ransack my home. It is still my home. I wish they would stop coming here. I would be lonely, but it would be…

Safer.

Better, I think, Eon corrected. Sometimes they remind me, and then I cannot help them anymore, because I am afraid.

What do they remind you of?

A silence. To be expected. Twilight closed her eyes, opened them, kept going. It’s okay. I’m not going to make you hurt yourself for my curiosity. That wouldn’t be what a friend did, right?

What she heard next was not her own voice. She stop dead in the middle of a wine cellar--how had they found this place?--and stared ahead.

It is kind of you to say so. You are closer now. I can use my own voice, but it will be… well, not as confusing. But still confusing. The others cannot hear me.

Why?

“Twi?”

“Nothing,” she said hurriedly. “Are we getting turned around? Sorry, I’m tired and a little in shock from all the gun… shooty… yeah.”

“I’m kind of at wit’s end too, sug,” Applejack admitted, smiling. “Naw, I think we’re finally on track. Ain’t been here yet.”

“It is a cellar, so I do not think it is going anywhere,” Tradewinds said.

“Well, it’s progress,” Applejack grumbled.

I am… It is difficult to speak to more than one mind, Eon said in a way that left Twilight rather unconvinced.

So you’re just shy. Great.

Celestia made you seem very different.

Now that brought her up short. Not litterally, she wasn’t going to give anypony even more reasons to doubt her stability. No. You don’t get to say that. Don’t talk about… Just… Ugh. Don’t. Please.

I do not understand.

Yeah, well. You wouldn’t, Twilight finished. Look, it’s just that what she would say about me is kinda, just a little bit of a sore subject. Then Twilight thought back to what she’d said. Er, thought. Wait. So you’ve talked to Celestia. Right, you said that before. So, she knows you?

Oh, of course! We know each other very well.

Funny, her teacher had never mentioned knowing a disembodied voice with a severe lack of social skills and a penchant for breaking reality. Maybe because she had a student with minor gifts in both of those things and the thought of two of them gave her headaches.

She does not speak of me to any, Eon admitted. I am a painful memory. It is alright. I am a painful memory for myself, too. She visited. There was not much to catch up on. But I enjoyed her company. Time has not loosened the old bonds of love and fellowship.

Yeah. I bet you did. There wasn’t any heat to that. Twilight meant it. She would have enjoyed a visit from Celestia herself. Even a short one.

Well, if I’m going to be talking to voices… D’Jalin. I know a little, but I need to know more. What is he doing here? Why? How long?

They had left the cellar behind already. Tradewinds returned from a quick flight, shaking her head. Applejack cursed all things ancient and, uh, architectural. Even in her distracted state Twilight was less than impressed. Curses really should be more specific.

I know less than you, I think. He is very frightening. He reminds me of… I do not know. I think it is something I partitioned away, like Him. A silence. His followers do… they do things I do not want to talk about. But I know you will ask me. I think that D’Jalin is a blood mage.

Yup, knew that. Late to the party.

I was not aware there was anything to celebrate. There are also prisoners. Or, well, there were prisoners. He has executed them, one by one.

She ground her teeth. Not surprising, but still. It was his modus operandi, wasn’t it? Crazy cult, bloodlust, random stabbing? She wasn’t intimidated as much as tired. Too much evil and the whole thing became so… so banal. Stupid. Wasteful. Why?

Do you know what is at the top of the tableland?

A complex of some sort. Gardens.

Yes. The Well of the Firmaments.

And he wants that, I’m assuming.

Yes. He does not understand it. He has tried… he has tried sacrificing to it. He threw a few ponies into the well, but they were earth ponies or unicorns with weak magic and it… it burned them out hollow. It was awful. The voice sounded so small, so weak. I could do nothing. It was the past played out over and over. I tried screaming at them to stop, but they thought… they thought it meant the opposite. They were so crazed, in such a frenzy…

I’m sorry. Twilight didn’t even ask how or what she had done. She couldn’t. She saw in her mind’s eye what had happened so vividly… she could feel the horror and the pain, and she wasn’t sure if it was her own or Eon’s.

It is I who am sorry. My home… They came to my home, to the last good place here and they turned it into a charnel house. This was the last place that my happiness dwelt. My poor beloved gardens. My quiet walks. It is I who am sorry. When they first came here, I sent them visions and warnings in dreams. I thought they might be refugees from the chaos of the outside, maybe from the East. I hoped they would heed my warnings and leave. But it only seemed to entice them. I brought them here.

Didn’t you realize? I mean, if you can, like, read minds… Or is it like that?

At first, I was ignorant. But by the time I knew… I did not want them to die, the voice replied plaintively. I could not just abandon ponies to Jannah. I did not grasp their wickedness. I thought that if I helped them, they would listen to me, and turn from whatever evil they had planned.

You probably could have abandoned these. They seem to be doing fine, Twilight groused, but her heart wasn’t in it. Would she have left even bad ponies to die in this place? She didn’t want to know. But it would have been very, very convenient.

Convenient was not a nice word. It taste terrible on the tongue. As it should, perhaps.

Why do you not travel with your friend? He… oh dear.

What?

Your friend. The batpony, the one from Sarnath. I believe he is in gravest danger. My ability to discern from here is limited, but he is in the lion’s den. He is among the bloodletters on the top floors. No… not again. Please, not another!

Twilight’s heart beat in her throat. She swallowed. “Crap.”

“You say somethin’?” Applejack looked back at her, her face an almost comical picture of frustration that Twilight didn’t have time or inclination to laugh at.

“Eon. She says they have Abdiel.”

Author's Note

Anxiety is acting up bad. Already starting on the next chapter. Hope you like this one, and godspeed.

XXXIX. Jannah, the Last: What If This Present Were the World's Last Night?

JANNAH

The symposium continues. But it shifts.

What do you think of this place? It is safer to ask that of Jannah when you are not crawling in its streets--or thinking of what is crawling with you. It is the kind of question that any who reach the high sanctuary can ask safely, and one they are often compelled to ask. What is Jannah? What does it mean?

What do I mean?

Celestia thinks that it is like regret. It chases you and chases you, and you have to be strong. Luna thinks about loss--she knows loss well even now. How many lovers already has she lost to fire and age and violence? Many. There is a legion of the dead. She has seen them dying and living below in Jannah’s streets. Celestia sees old mistakes, and Luna sees what she did right.

Either. Or. Both things lead them to regret.

A thought occurs to the wanderer with them, the one with the pipe and the smile named Harmony. Bear with me, she says, but I have an inkling. When I was down there, walking, I thought like this:

What do you do with bad memories?

Well, you could deal with them. Work your way through grief.

Or, alternatively? You could push it away. Far away. Take those things you did or were done to and lock them up in a box and then bury that box and then build a house on it. In fact, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe you even built a city.

It’d be a mighty big, sad thing that you’d build a whole city to try and forget.

RARITY

She had felt a little like herself that morning. Being at the head of an army… not so much. But helping supervise the Quartermaster with the standards? Now that was her speed. She’d had far more fun than was probably warranted. But then that had ended, and she had returned to being pensive.

“You don’t have to come with us, Fluttershy. I won’t bother you again, I promise. I just…” Rarity sighed. “I worry.”

Fluttershy had suited herself in some light scout barding. The Quartermaster had been more than willing, but for Rarity it had seemed almost an abomination. Fluttershy was not a fighter. She was a healer. But she supposed a healer was still a target.

But it still didn’t feel right.

Rarity looked every bit the part. Thank you for that unfortunately sharp critique this morning, Rainbow, she thought with a spark of irritation. She was playing a role, though. Technically, it was Sweetie Belle who was Lady of House Belle, but that was temporary. For all of her interest and fantasizing, Rarity knew nothing of what a Lady at war was supposed to look like. Or be. So the Quartermaster had worked the whole journey from Imperial Center on the barding she wore, using spare materials from the Legion’s stocks and what she’d borrowed from Shining of his old Equestrian gear. He’d offered her that last. She’d been touched.

So she wore an iron tiara that held back a perfect mane, tied into a tight braid down her shoulder. Her armor was heavy--far, far heavier than anypony would have expected. But she was not fast anymore. If anything, she was rather sluggish now with her iron leg. The stallion with the hammer cutie mark had done good work. He’d actually thought of her leg--her armor fit around it well, almost as if he had built the rest of it around the idea of the prosthetic.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“I’m sure,” Fluttershy said. “I have to go. I can’t just sit around. Not anymore.”

Rarity bit her lip. “Fluttershy…”

“I will be fine,” Fluttershy said, her voice a little harder. She placed a hoof on Rarity’s breastplate. “I promise. I’m not that weak, you know? I can handle it. I was here too, you know. Just not on the front lines.”

Rarity looked away. “I didn’t mean you were weak,” she said carefully. Didn’t you? Cruelty. Or worry. “I just… you’ve been so troubled. If Rainbow had acted anxious I would have offered her the chance to stay behind. I didn’t mean to offend, dear, please don’t hear that. You’re my friend. I am a worrier.”

Fluttershy pursed her lips, and then sighed. “I know, Rarity. It’s alright. I understand--I do. I have been troubled. But I think I should go, even if it is really bad in Manehattan. I feel like I owe it to the ponies we couldn’t save. I feel like I owe it to myself to do it, no matter how hard it is. To prove that I’m not useless. And I know you want to talk. Rainbow has tried. I know I haven’t made it easy to talk. When we have some time… I’ll talk.” She smiled at Rarity. It was her old smile again. “I promise. You’ve always been my confidant.”

“I… I’ve always tried,” Rarity said, stiff and surprised at first when Fluttershy nuzzled her. But she loosened, and nuzzled back. “I really have. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.”

And when they pulled away, Fluttershy’s smile was still the same. It was a rare blessing. “You’re here now,” she said simply.

There wasn’t much to say after that. The honor guard had already been picked--automatically, in fact. The First Cohort of the Ninth was traditionally assigned to protect the persons of any important figures travelling with the legion. They bore before them a stnadard with a bronze dog head and a stylized crystal heart. Rarity thought about the dog, and decided that it wasn’t coincidental. She hid a smile.

The scouts who had entered Manehattan ahead of them had reported mostly good news, or as good news as could be expected. No fires, no fighting in the streets. If what Luna had told her, briefly, to supplement Twilight’s accounts of her own journeys was true, than they were lucky.This was not Vanhoover.

Rainbow, of course, trotted on her right side. Even she wore barding--after complaining loudly that it was too tight, too loose, too heavy, not cool enough, etc--and to be perfectly, absolutely honest, Rarity thought it looked nice on her. It was a foolish thought to be thinking just then, but she thought it anyway. It was somewhere between her own impressive regalia and Fluttershy’s sleek array. Flexible, but strong. Like Rainbow, really.

Fluttershy was on her left. Opal had stayed behind. Someone had to be in charge, and the Legata frankly had little interest in her mission here. Rarity didn’t care what she felt about it.

“So, like, you know what I really miss?” Rainbow mused.

“What?” Fluttershy asked, craning her neck to look past Rarity.

“You’ll roll your eyes, but I can’t help thinking that it’s gonna be, like, the most boring thing ever. Rarity going to talk to the mayor? Bleh. I graduated to heavier stuff a long time ago, but it’s probably the best time to have one of those old Daring Do novels.”

Rarity chuckled at the image. “You know, I read those when I was younger.”

“I’ll choose to ignore the implication that they were for younger ages because I made my peace with that like forever ago, and instead nod and grin because it’s cool we shared that,” Rainbow said.

And Rarity’s chuckle became an outright guffaw. “Rainbow! Honestly, you surprise me. I meant nothing of the sort! Well, not at first.”

“Gotta be one step ahead. That’s how you stay the fastest, you know, always a few wingstrokes ahead.” Rainbow grinned at her and Fluttershy.

“Do you think he or she will want to talk?” Fluttershy asked.

“I do hope so,” Rarity said. “It’s why I had the legion alter the banner Shining let me have. I wanted it to look fabulous. Not only because, and let’s not be coy, I quite deserve to be announced with such--” she waited with a patient smile for them to stop snickering, “but also to convince ponies here that we are the real deal. That they can trust us to bear Luna’s word to them.”

“If they wanna hear what she has to say, that’ll be great,” Rainbow said quietly.

Rarity didn’t comment. Rainbow had hit the nail on the head. Yes, if they actually cared for Luna’s words at all, this would be wonderful. But it might backfire. Luna had come to save this city, but she had been too late to protect it from harm.

They entered the city limits and found… nopony. Not a single one. She thought she saw a few watching from boarded up windows, but every time she turned her head, there was no trace.

An idea occurred to her. “Decanus? Ah, sorry. Centurion.”

The pony who walked ahead of her looked back with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, your Grace?”

“Bear with me, for this’ll be an odd request. Do you soldiers sing on the march?”

“Sing? Sometimes, I suppose,” he replied, looking puzzled. “What of it?”

“Anything that would be, ah, how should I put this? That is a bit more lighthearted. I would give off a softer air.”

He mulled this over, still walking. “If you wish, your Grace. Though, for the record, I state that it is hard to make a century of legionaires look like anything but.”

“Yes, I had noticed,” Rarity said dryly under her breath. The Centurion badgered one of his Decani to sing something which was greeted by a light chorus of genuine mirth, which swelled until it was the entirety of her hundred-pony strong bodyguard singing a song which frankly she found a little off-color. But it was happy, and they seemed a little less like armed invaders.

They encountered ponies a few minutes later. They were a sorry sight, but Rarity tried not to show them she felt this. They were skin and bones, hollow eyes and old scars, dirty manes and dirty coats. They were hungry. They were defeated.

When there were more than one or two, she stopped the column and strode out with Rainbow and Fluttershy to address some of them. She smiled warmly.

“Hello there!” she called. They stared at her. “I was wondering if you might help me for a moment--”

“Ma’am,” said one of them, shrinking away. “We don’t have anything left t’ steal. You should keep going.”

She pursed her lips. “Young stallion, I am not here to steal anything. I was simply wondering if you might help a mare find the, well, mayor.” She smiled at her own joke. They did not. The crowd was growing. There were a dozen of them now. Two more. Three more. All of them stared at her.

“What’s with the flags? None of the raiders had flags!” Someone said in the crowd.

“Shut up!” another said.

“I bear the standard of Equestria,” Rarity said loudly to the crowd, answering his question. “And also of my own house. House Belle.”

“Never heard of it,” the first pony said.

Rarity chose to ignore this. “I have urgent business regarding relief in the form of food, and would speak to your mayor.”

“He died in the siege,” the first pony said.

She sighed. “I had hoped that would not be true. Who rules in his stead, then?”

“Nobody!” said somepony from the crowd.

“Hey, she could talk to Red!”

“Can it! She’ll get pissed at you if you send these weirdos to her!”

“Look, she said something about food and I’m friggin’ hungry.”

“Mares, gentlecolts, please!” Rarity spread her forelegs in a calming gesture. “Let’s not be too uproarious now. This Red? I would love to talk to her. If you could give me directions, I would go myself.”

A stallion pushed through the crowd, lanky, with a nice mane and calculating eyes. “I can take you,” he said. His voice was soft. Rarity gave him a winning smile.

“Thank you, gentlecolt. Your name?”

“Mixolydian. I can take you to her,” he repeated. Rarity accepted this, and the century split. Only ten followed her, while the rest went with the centurion to retrieve the wagons hidden just outside the city. She would want to act on her promises of food soon. They would wait until word reached them.

It wasn’t that she wanted to hold food hostage. It was that, more and more, she was worried that bringing wagons of flour and magically-preserved produce was going to start a bloodbath in the streets as people rushed to hoard.

Mixolydian said little. They had been on thirty-second street, he told them, and the enigmatic Red was holed up closer to the bay, in the old King Hoofward hotel. He didn’t really need to comment on the city, for it spoke for itself. Most of it was fine, in theory. It wasn’t quite as… Well. It looked better than Stalliongrad had, in a lot of ways. In Stalliongrad, she had felt that the city was pressed on all sides--by nature, by raiders, by famine--but here? She did not feel any outward threat. The city was simply an empty, half-ruined shell. That building was fine, but its neighbor had taken a shell or a rather violent spell and sported a gaping wound. This street was fine, but its neighbor had been torn. There was very little real reason to any of the damage.

Fitting, she thought, for a place of madness. Except it wasn’t that, anymore. It was just sort of quiet. Empty. Or appearing empty. She saw ponies watching from the windows, waiting. Waiting for what? For her to begin the slaughter again, probably. For her to make her move, to begin the play. She didn’t know if what beat at her chest was anxiety or sorrow. She had come… to ask them what she would ask them, here? To this place?

How generous.

When they came to the Hoofward at last, Mixolydian’s neutral expression grew pained. “I’ll go up first and tell the boss you’re here. Do you mind? She… tends to sleep a lot these days.”

An old mare, then. Rarity nodded. “Of course. Decanus, I think I’ll be meeting this pony alone. Could the rest of you stay here in the lobby?”

The leader of her ten-pony honorguard scowled. “I would rather not, but your orders hold a priority. Try to avoid drawing fire, your Grace.” He saluted, and readied his battle saddle. The legionaires around him began to find windows to watch or desks to wait behind.

Rarity, Fluttershy, and Rainbow Dash walked to the elevator with Mixlyodian and then waited as he embarked on it alone.

It was Fluttershy who spoke first. “He seems alright,” she said. “The way they talk about this mare named Red… I think she might not want to help us.”

Rarity rubbed her temple. “I am ashamed, Fluttershy. I am not sure I would help me either. We’ll give them the food regardless, obviously, but I had hoped to gather some volunteers or rally what was left of the police and guard but…”

“But we haven’t seen any of either of those,” Rainbow finished. “Like, nothing.”

“Should I even try?” Rarity asked, strained.

“I don’t know,” Fluttershy said, laying a hoof on her shoulder. “Do what you feel is right, Rarity. You know I don’t like the idea. But I know that… that it may be something we have to do. All of us. Luna told you she needed every single pony we could find.”

“Everypony deserves the chance to protect their home,” Rainbow said. “Even if they can’t, or they won’t, you owe them the chance to make the choice.”

She snorted. “They really are not going to see it that way.”

“Eh. I do.”

“Yes, you do.” Rarity leaned on her, and then smiled at Fluttershy. “Well, he’ll be back any moment. I’ll just have to get back into character.”

But Fluttershy shook her head. “Or you could just be you.”

Red was not red. Her coat was brownish and dirty and her mane was really more pink. She was barely an adult, probably around Sweetie’s age.

That last thought hurt Rarity. Her heart was almost… sore, in a way. Sweetie Belle… was she okay? Were her parents okay? Would any of them be safe? Her parents. She was a noble now. She hadn’t had any way to talk to them about it. Oh, hello mother, father. We have all sorts of wonderful titles and a whole estate in Canterlot now. Also an army. Do you like my tiara? It really does wonders for the whole get up, doesn’t it, mother? I think it sets off my eyes. I mean--

She stopped her mental babbling when Red arched an eyebrow at her.

“Whaddya want, huh? Why’d youse come?” the mare asked. “Well? C’mon, I got a busy schedule of wallowing and hating to get back to.”

Rarity took a deep breath. “I am Rarity, of House Belle. I have come here for two reasons. The first, and most important, is food.”

“Food’d be good,” Red said. “But I know you don’t have any.”

“I have quite a lot, actually,” Rarity said. “Flour. Carrots. Apples. Crystal berries--those are the best part,” she said with a little smile. “They are rather lovely. My initial mission was to secure food and medical aid with our northern neighbors, and I have done so. This comes with the blessing of both Princess Luna and Empress Cadenza I of the Empire. I have it waiting at the edge of town.”

Red glared at her, and for a moment, Rarity almost thought she was about to lunge up in an attack.

“Bullshit,” she said. She settled back into her ratty chair behind her pilfered office suite desk. “Sorry, but I call bullshit. You couldn’t get food all the way from up there down here without it getting raided, and even if you did… it won’t be that much.”

“I have enough to feed all of Canterlot.”

Red blinked. “Run that by me again?”

“I have enough to feed the post-collapse refugee population of the capitol city with leftovers sufficient enough to allieviate the immediate hunger in Stalliongrad and Manehattan, hopefully getting both cities through the winter.” I also have medicine, though I have a lot less of that. And some, ah, scarves,” she finished, lamely. “Winter wear. To keep the cold out. Blankets and such. We had quite a few donations from the citizenry.”

The mare in the chair stared at her. Her hooves dropped off the desk. “And youse ain’t shittin’ me.”

“No, I assure you I am not, ah, doing that,” Rarity said.

“Why would we lie?” Rainbow broke in. “I mean, what would our angle even be?”

“Good question,” Red said, and back came the snarl. “What’s yours?”

Rarity sighed. “The food is not negotiable, in that I am not going to attach anything to it. You get food. Nothing that happens here will keep me from feeding my fellow Equestrians.”

“So ya do want somethin’.” Red almost seemed to relax.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s bargain.”

“I’m not here to bargain.” Rarity took a deep breath. Another. She ran a hoof over her cheek. This was where it was going to fall apart. “I’ve come to beg.”

Red blinked at her, and that was about the extent of her reaction. The balance of power shifted.

Rarity continued. “Canterlot is swollen with refugees, many of them from here. My own family is there. One of the reasons we were able to move our food so easily was because I have an entire legion at my back. The other is that much of the banditry of the north has left. The raiders have moved on. They have gone south. Canterlot is under siege by bandits, raiders, rebels…” She closed her eyes. “They have been kept at bay, but the noose around the city is tightening. It’s only… it’s only a matter of time. Luna is trying to keep them all together, but hope is slipping.”

“Canterlot? They’re… but it’s got walls,” Red murmured. Her lazy hostility was gone now.

“You can fly over walls,” Rainbow groused. “And you can knock ‘em down. The world changed on us. When I was a kid, guns were fancy and there were probably only a few dozen in the whole country. There was talk of them even being illegal. Now we can destroy whole city blocks with a bomb. Knock down walls with a shell.” She shivered, and Rarity--who didn’t give a damn what this insolent mare with the pink mane thought--touched her shoulder, then her cheek. “World got a lot worse, really fast. I talked to Luna too, Rares.”

Red spoke then. “You know, you look a lot like her.”

Rarity looked back at her, brow furrowing. “Who?”

“Sweetie Belle.”

“How do you know--” Rainbow began, but Fluttershy interrupted her.

“Babs Seed. I remember you now. You were Apple Bloom’s cousin. I remember when you visited Ponyville forever ago.” Both of her companions turned to her and she gave a soft smile. “It’s been a long time. You probably don’t remember me. We didn’t speak much.”

“Uh… Fluttershy, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, least I got it right.” Babs Seed sighed and laid her forehead on the desk for a moment. “Yeah, that was a long time ago, huh? How is Sweetie Belle, Ms. Rarity? And… when the hell youse get all noblesse-obli-gay?”

Rainbow snorted. Rarity sighed. “Oblige, darling,” she said automatically, mind reeling a bit. She tried to put a name and a face together, but--oh. Oh, right. She did remember this mare now. She had been just a filly then. What a strange world. “I, ah, Sweetie was fine the last I saw her. She is leading the House in my stead, back in Canterlot. The last I knew, she was alright.”

Luna was a little vague about what she was doing, but…

It suddenly occurred to her that Babs was grinning at them in a distant way. “You haven’t changed. I didn’t knows ya very well, but I thought ya were alright when I was a kid. I had to be sure I remembered right. You… you really have food?”

“A lot,” Fluttershy said. “Enough for the city to get through winter, we think.”

“Aw, Celestia.” Babs closed her eyes and grinned at nothing. “I can’t believe it.”

“We can start hoofing it out today,” Rarity said. I was actually coming to find the pony in charge to assist me in doing just that.”

Babs snorted. “Why the hell youse here then? I ain’t in charge of nothing.”

“Well, you were the mare on everypony’s lips,” Rarity murmured. “They seem to respect you, and consider you the closest they have to a leader.” The why was lost to her, but she didn’t say that.

“Respect? Nah, they just know whatever mess there is--I’ll clean it up. Didn’t respect us enough to join the resistance, did they? Fuckin’ griffons.” She spat. Rarity grimaced automatically. “You were here. You know.”

They all nodded.

“The stallion who broughtcha here, he could handle that logy-istics--”

“Logistics,” Rarity murmured.

“Yeah, he can do that. Good with numbers, good with his head. I can get ponies to come and put the fear of Celestia into ‘em so they behave all good like. Rest of it is up to you. But… what did you need to beg for?”

“I want to raise a volunteer levy,” Rarity said with a rush. “To aid me in breaking the siege.”

Babs opened her mouth, closed it, looked at the others. Looked at Rarity. “You’re crazy.”

“That’s why I’m going to beg,” Rarity said solemnly.

SPIKE

It had been a long, long day. It was growing even longer as the sun retreated.

He furrowed his brow and growled at nothing. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish more than you know that I was jesting,” Luna said.

Spike scratched with one claw at the table. He was glad it wasn’t one Luna cared about. There would be a deepish mark when he was done. At least. “A bomb.”

“Yes.”

“And she can’t figure out when?” Spike asked, and then groaned. “This is hopeless. Do you know how big this city is? Even if we know why those stupid white hat losers are so hard to keep up with, its not like we can find something like a bomb in any short amount of time. She doesn’t know, but it has to be within the week. We can’t find a bomb with no clues in that amount of time.”

“Yes.”

Spike wanted to scream, but he didn’t. He slowed his breath. “Whatever. I’m ready, my team is ready. We’ll find the traitors and their stupid bomb. We can narrow it down by looking for strategically important targets. They aren’t stupid, obviously. It took a changeling to get even this vague information, so they run a fairly tight ship. They’ll hit important things.”

He looked up at Luna, and she was smiling grimly at him. “Good. I’m glad that you have returned to the fight. Yes, I have an inkling of what they will hit.” She stood away from the table and retrieved a map from the cubbyholes full of scrolls that lined the annex. She had chosen an out of the way, little-used room for this. It was isolated, and easier to defend and seal off.

She spread it out in front of Spike, and Spike examined the map. He’d mentioned how big the city was, but even he forgot sometimes. He felt a tiny stab of hopelessness, but shook it off. No. Focus. Luna needed him. Apple Bloom needed him. She lived in the bottom tier now.

“The first target I can think of is the gate,” Spike said.

Luna had fetched a bit of charcoal, and she marked the gate. “Agreed, though it is not the most likely target, I think. The main batteries will also be targets.” She marked these as well. “These are the main barracks in the lower level. I do not think they are the targets, but it would be unwise to completely ignore them.”

“Soarin’ and I have been together fighting a lot, and we’ve been on the walls. The two of us can take a tour of the barracks and look on the side.” He pursed his scaly lips. “It’ll take a little while, but it will also look like we’re ignorant of a threat. Your real spies and forces are gonna be a lot more useful than the Bats.”

“The… bats?” Luna stopped, seeming genuinely puzzled.

If Spike was capable of blushing in the way a pony did, he would have. “Uh… heh. The Bats Out of Hell. We decided to call ourselves that.”

Luna chuckled. “A colorful name, to be sure. I think your plan is sound. But those are not the only target.” She marked a few more locations. “Here and here, stores of material. Shells, ammunitiion, replacement parts for the machine gun emplacements. Finally…” she tapped the wall.

“The wall? Isn’t it, like… I mean, you’d need a pretty big bomb.”

“Or, one would need to strike the foundations.” Luna hummed. “Which, unfortunately, is very possible. There are miles of tunnels, catacombs, cellars… all manner of spaces, all under our city. The warrens aren’t across the Morningvale gap, but under our hooves.” Another smile, a grim line. “I am beginning to think that it is the most likely target. If it is, we are fortunate.”

“Fortunate?” Spike drew back. “What? How? Finding a bomb in a building is one thing. Finding one buried in a pitch black ancient tunnel maze? That’s impossible.”

“Unless, of course, one can see in the dark. Have you met any of the Duskwatch? I introduced you to my Nightshades, but I don’t believe you’ve met the Duskwatch. It so happens the newest of their order is outside.” She stood, shook herself, and walked to the door. “Amaranth, could you come in, please? Just a moment.”

She stepped away from the door. Spike stared at her in dumb fascination.

“What?” he managed. He saw Amaranth flying at Morningvale. He felt the warmth on his cheek as the air thrummed with heat as mortar shells raked the earth. He saw her trembling in the fire-tilled craterland. He felt her in his arms. He saw her legs broken--

The door opened, and before his eyes… Amaranth. She wore a thick, strange cloak, black, and yet it shimmered like a field of stars. Her eyes--had they been the color of blood before? Her features were sharper, leaner. Aggressive. She looked almost as predatory as he did. For the first time in a long, long time, Spike no longer felt like the only predator in the room.

“No way.” It was the dumbest thing he could have said.

She grinned, flashing impressive fangs at him. Is that what he was always doing to people? Huh.

“Totes, Companion. In the flesh.” She pulled her cloak up, which for some reason Spike found rather embarrassing, and wiggled one of her back legs. “And I can walk. Crazy, right?”

“How?” he asked, staring. Not at her leg. Okay, kind of at her leg? But mostly just… staring. Confused.

“I gave Amaranth a choice,” Luna cut in. She smiled at Amaranth. “A choice I have given many others fallen or mauled in my service, whose hearts were steadfast even in ruin. She has joined my Duskwatch, and accepted the Change.”

Amaranth’s smile faded. “It’s kind of a lot to take in, Companion. I know it is--I’m still… I’m kinda still figuring it out.”

Spike worked his jaw. “I saw you get hit,” he said.

She nodded. “And you carried me all the way to the ship. You saved my life.” She walked to him and laid a hoof on his shoulder. It was freezing to the touch. He almost flinched. “I owe you so much. They tell me you kept me from flying out of the damn thing when you couldn’t find a way to strap me in.”

“Couldn’t… find one,” he said. “You changed? Change, like, how?”

“Well, got these big ole red eyes,” she said with a little smile that didn’t grow. “The sun burns. Like, really, really burns. They show you when the change is complete so you believe them and it hurt. It hurt a lot. I can see even better in the dark than I used to. A better sense of smell, better hearing… I, uh,” she looked down at her hooves. “I eat mostly meat now.”

“What, really?” Spike was not overly perturbed by the idea. Okay, ponies eating mostly meat was weird. But carnivorism was not exactly foreign to him. A thought occurred to him, and he chuckled.

“Have you had bacon yet?”

She stared at him, and then they laughed together. Behind Amaranth, Luna smiled.

“Yeah, I have. It was friggin’ great,” she said after a moment. “One of these days, I’ll get Stormy to try some. Just gotta bully him into it.”

“As Amaranth said before,” Luna said at last, moving forward, “the Duskwatch can see and hear and smell beyond you or I. Since ancient times, they have been extraordinarily good at finding that which others would hide.”

Amaranth seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if she wanted to ask some question, but no question came. “Your Highness, your aide came by earlier. He said it wasn’t urgent, but it was important. I told him you had requested that you not be disturbed. Should I send for him, or will you see him later?”

Luna pursed her lips. “I’ll see him later, I believe. Thank you for the warning, Amaranth. Return to your post for now. And be ready for a long night,” she added with a little predatory grin. Amaranth answered it with one of her own.

“Gladly,” she said, and with a wink for Spike, she turned to leave. Then stopped. “Oh.” Amaranth looked to Luna. “I… I have a request.”

Luna arched an eyebrow. “Of course, Duskwatch, speak straightly.”

“Would you permit me to continue working in tandem with Colonel Ice Storm, your Highness? I know the Duskwatch value independence,” she added hastily. “I understand that. It’s just…” She faltered.

Luna watched her--Spike knew her expressions well enough to see there was no coldness or judgement there, but he wondered if others saw those things. “The Colonel is very competent and very brave,” Luna allowed. “Though chafing a bit at his temporary transfer. I had promised him he would be returned to his own force in time.”

Amaranth sighed. Her ears drooped under her hood. “I know. He accepted for my sake, ma’am. I am sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Luna shook her head. “It would not do any harm to ask. If he agrees, then I give my blessing. Have him inform my aide if he is to accompany you.”

Amaranth perked up. “Yes! Yes, your Highness, I will.” And with that she left, and Spike watched her go.

“Think we can find it?” he asked Luna quietly.

“We have to,” she said, also watching the door.

BRIGANTINE ROWAN-OAK

She was not a good pony. To be honest, she didn’t like to think of ponies in terms of Good and Bad. She substituted other things, most of them a bit more stinging but less… well, important. You called those Epona bastards pricks, but you didn’t say they were Bad. If they could be Bad, then so could anypony.

They were the words that children and fools used. Children and fools had to categorize the world into tiny boxes they could understand. Brigantine was no child and she was certainly no fool. She had learned at her father’s side that the Will was the important thing. The Will to Power, the Will to Control, the Will to Create. Weak ponies called names because they were weak. They had no will.

Brigantine Rowan-Oak had Will in spades.

She showed this by kicking the door to the safehouse in the lower tier almost completely off its hinges. She also showed this by cursing at it and giving a look that could curdle a new mother’s milk at the wide-mouthed guards on the inside. Yes, try and ask what’s wrong or what I’m doing, she seemed to be saying. Try. Ask. Make noises. I’ll show you why they cower from Equestria’s finest house, her eyes almost pleaded. She wanted a fight. And by fight, she really meant she wanted to hit something until it bled and died. She felt like that a lot. There were a few less commoners in the world from when she had been younger. She too had wandered the lower tier of the city, rambling and gambling in the dark streets. Her idiot son did it for drink and cards. She did it to beat the life out of the ponies who inevitably thought a noble mare was a good mark. That was why she was strong and he was weak. Cards and drink? Cards and drink were the pleasures of ponies too easily happy with life, too easily appeased. Work, violence, dominance, creation--these were pursuits for the pony who would not be satisfied by piss and rain gutter water that just happened to have a smidgen of alcohol. Yes, she’d had a few drinks in the same dives her son did. She’d used the dullness of the warm liquor in her belly to enable her to take one more blow. Her son faffed around laughing on his stupid, miserable ass.

It’s not that she hated him. She was just disappointed in almost every way possible. He was weak. Easily pleased. He had little to plan for and little ambition with which to plan. He was pathetic on the sparring grounds and useless with the account books. The only things beside wasting himself in luxury that he was remotely good at was getting ponies--not that he had a preference! Of course not!--to lift their tails, and a penchant for the lyre. Both of which made her want to kick him. Not in the face. She had restraint.

She used this restraint to not break down the second door. She merely opened it. Forcefully.

What would become of her House? Ah, there was the question. That was the question, the only one that mattered. Preserve. Grow. Endure. Strengthen. Dominate. Leave nothing unturned and no passage unlooted. Rowan-Oak over all. Against all.

Yet, she had standards. She was not an evil pony. Not a bad one. She certainly didn’t think so, whatever pricks like Epona said.

She didn’t double-cross. She didn’t betray. When the realm needed Rowan-Oak playing along, she played along. She would work with Epona if the realm needed it, and lo and behold, the realm did. Fancy that. So she was willing to work with them and their mewling populism and their disgusting smiling and their endless, gods-fucking-awful weakness. Because Brigantine Rowan-Oak had standards, and even she understood the greater good.

Part of being strong meant picking your battles. Part of being strong was knowing what to fight about.

Equestria was worth fighting about. And for. Nothing dissauded her from this. When she had formed her entente with Coldblood and Iron, she had done so to array her House against Epona and nothing more. She did not oppose Luna. If Luna would pick the right house for once. If Epona didn’t have everyone convinced with their snide act, their obvious play.

And she was angry all over again. Wonderful. The third door she did not break. Barely.

Even in her rage, Brigantine noticed everything. The guards in their nondescript barding, more than before. The startled ponies peering out from bunks where there had been no bunks before. The crates marked with the same symbol as her own armory’s supplier. The stockpiles of material.

And understanding began to worm into her mind, but she did not face it yet.

She built Equestria the guns it needed. She watched Epona like a hawk because they were snakes. She gave her Princess soldiery when the walls needed them--and been alone among the ponies who called themselves her allies with oily grins.

She had questions. Actually, no, not questions. Questions implied that she would wait for answers, or that any answer they gave would satisfy her.

She wanted to know where her stocks had gone--she had a feeling that she had already found those--and she wanted to know why they had committed not even a token force to the trenches or the walls--she had perhaps already seen those reserves as well--and she wished to know what it was they planned. Because Brigantine was no scholar, but she could see a plan. See it’s shape like a boat rising out of the mist, yet could see no flag to hail her by. And it made her furious. To not know was to lose, and Brigantine did not lose.

She came at last to the room that Iron called--with that bored voice of his--the “Inner Sanctum”. It wasn’t a Sanctum, and he was an ass. It was a meeting room.

Brigantine Rowan-Oak opened the door.

Lord Iron sat at his accustomed place. Lord Dawn flinched at her arrival, but she had no time for worms. Lord Coldblood raised an eyebrow and smirked at her and she felt a little dirtier than she had. Lord Epona sat in her seat, a white cloak around his shoulders. And he laughed, his horn glowing and a scattergun held in his magic’s grip.

“Welcome,” he said.

She stared at him.

“Oh, Brigantine, it seems I was correct as to who was, ah, causing a ruckus. You know, I do own this building. I’m sure, of course, you can pay for the damages,” Lord Iron said in almost kind way. “But it is fortuitous that you arrived when you did. I was just about to send for you.”

“You.” Brigantine was a grenade and somepony had rolled her across the floor into a crowded room. Just another few seconds. “You. And You. All of you.”

“Yes, welcome, my good friend,” Epona said. “Welcome to the Revolution. The Manichean sends his regards.”

And Brigantine Rowan-Oak lost.

TWILIGHT

Eon had to choose between speaking and guiding Twilight with visions, and she chose the latter. Twilight saw Rarity usually--the same Rarity, she thought, looking like she’d been in the wild for months. Sometimes she hovered a worn flintlock pistol before her. Other times, she did not. Two strong earth ponies covered in strange markings joined her, or one did, or she was alone. Sometimes, she limped. Sometimes, she cried. Once, she sat against a wall and stared at Twilight.

Eon cut one vision short when one of the Rarities stumbled out of a side room, but Twilight couldn’t ask her about it. She wanted to know why. Something told her that, no, she didn’t. She wouldn’t want to know.

The others followed her lead without speaking. Why? It was easy for Twilight to tell herself they were all worried about Abdiel and trying to focus. That they were worried about guards or being heard. But sometimes, when she would pause while Eon found the right… whatever it was that she was looking for, Twilight would notice that Applejack was staring at her. Or that Pinkie seemed… Unenthused. No, that was stupid. Why would Pinkie be enthusiastic when Abdiel’s life was on the line? Why would she be that way here, of all places? That was the normal reaction. Dammit! Damn. This time it was not Rarity who was thrown into her line of sight out of nothing but rather…

Rainbow Dash hurtled down the the hallway, then spasmed and dropped--

That one vanished. Twilight trotted the way the Rainbow vision had come.

Another Rainbow.

Rarity and Rainbow, struggling through the hallways. Rarity crying. Rainbow’s wings spasm, but she grits her teeth. They hurt--oh, they hurt!--but she has to keep going. They almost made it! They almost made it! She didn’t have the energy to cry or scream or curse. Rarity needed to stop. Dash set her against the wall. One of her legs was broken--no, no it wasn’t, the bone was shattered. The leg was a mangled, ruined mess. Rainbow couldn’t take her much farther. She reapplied bandages. Rarity cried. Every time Rainbow touched her she tried to scream and ended up coughing violently. Rainbow panicked. She kissed her forehead, under her horn, her eyelids, her cheek, her mouth. Please, please be okay. Please be okay. This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to help I don’t--

Twilight reeled. But she had the sense of where to go. She had to keep going.

She kept seeing Rarity cry on the wall. No, she didn’t see it. She felt it.

Because she knew that even if it had not happened that way, it could. Hadn’t they all known that, so long ago, what felt like years, when they had parted at the crossroads?

Pinkie stopped, whirling about in the middle of the road. A huge grin covered her face, her eyes alight.

“I did it!”

“I remembered the song!”

Twilight followed another Rarity. She was thankful to every god and star ponies had ever prayed to or thanked that this Rarity was alive and whole, even smirking. She was fiddling idly with some sort of mechanism.

Humming to herself, an old waltz half-remembered from her undergrad phonograph. One-two-three, one-two-three, round and round, like the locks she learned to pick. You panic too easily, Rarity, you’re wound up so tight! Find a hobby! Find something that’s small and meaningless more like she groused but now she had gone further than fate had allowed. If small things with great could be allowed to compare, then Rarity had overcome this place with a half-remembered bag of college tricks. It wouldn’t be so much longer. She would make it--

This Rarity continued. Twilight followed after her, slowing her pace to match this Rarity’s still remaining grace. Twilight liked this Rarity. This Rarity wasn’t about to die or looked like she wanted to.

She found a stair, and they mounted it together. She walked alongside the vision now, mouthing Rarity’s thoughts, not saying them, just… mouthing them. Feeling them. Yes, she could be Rarity for a moment. This Rarity wasn’t troubled. This Rarity was confidant. She didn’t have friends who thought she was losing her mind.

“How much farther?” hissed Applejack, trying to keep her voice down. It didn’t work as well as perhaps it could have.

Twilight groaned quietly. “I don’t know. We’re making good time, I think. Come on, there--”

At the top of the stair, they found a vast vaulted chamber. No cover.

She heard hoofsteps, and their party scrambled back down the stair. Tradewinds pushed to the front, rifle ready. Twilight was at her right flank, trying not to breathe too fast, too shallowly. Applejack tensed, ready to bowl over the first pony to try the stair.

The vision continued, grinning, and walked out into the open. At the top, she turned, her ears flickering--she had heard something--and then a look of joy! And then she opened her mouth and--

The vision was gone as she spun to do… something? It had been confusing. What had she seen? Another dying Rarity? Or almost dying, or hurt, or wanting to die, or lost? Over and over. What did she expect? Did she expect victory in Jannah? Did she expect laughter in hell? Those hoofsteps were coming.

Twilight was going to hyperventilate. She felt it happening and she tried to stop it.

Not again. She was going to be useless to them. Again. She was going to fail. Again. Here, right here at the end, again. Again and again and again. She felt Celestia’s hoof on her shoulder again, as if she were twelve all over again. Breathe, Twilight. My good and faithful student. Breathe. It’s alright.

But it wasn’t alright she was always doing this! She was always so nervous and she got so worked up and she was just a huge burden and maybe those colts were right--

“What colts?”

“What colts? Twi, shh!”

“The ones who called me crazy! They said I was crazy and what if they’re right and I am crazy, Celestia? I don’t want to be crazy. I just want to be a good student and learn everything and be good at magic and and and”

“Pinkie! For land’s sakes, grab her and shut her up! Aw, Twi, sorry, honey!”

“They are near! Please, Twilight, be quiet! Oh, chyort, is she going to--”

Something was forced into her mouth. Pinkie. Pinkie singing at the crossroads--

Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea;
Over snow by winter sown,
And through the merry flowers of June,
Over grass and over stone,
And under mountains in the moon.
Roads go ever ever on
Under cloud and under star,
Yet hooves that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that fire and sword have seen
And horror in the halls of stone
Look at last on meadows green
And trees and hills they long have known.

--A valediction forbidding all mourning. She was--

Panicking. Reverting.

Twilight Sparkle pushed Pinkie off of her. She shook her head. The steps came closer.

She was not a child. She was herself. She was the Apostate, and the Apostate did not care what her magic burned. She reached out.

“Three zebras,” she said, and her voice made Applejack’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Three. I can handle them. Give me a moment.”

“Twi, hold on, let ‘em pass--”

“They’ll be back. They always come back. The ones you don’t want to,” she said.

She pushed past Applejack’s pleading and hooves and emerged. The zebras were there, as she had sensed. They stared at her. One opened his mouth to challenge her. Maybe to shout in alarm. Maybe to surrender outright to the outsider who brought down monsters. Maybe, if she were living in a fairy tale, they wanted her to free them.

Twilight Sparkle hit all three with rapid-fire bolts of purest arcane lightning. The bolts pierced right through their thick robes, through their warm and living bodies. She slew them in a second. The Apostate looked down at what she had done.

Her friends climbed out.

She would not be a child anymore. She had been a child before. Foals did things like burying their foes, as she had done, or waiting for their mothers to come back, as she had done. They listened to songs like she had done. They cared what simulcra of their friend bleeding in the dust felt. But the Apostate put off childish things when she became a mare, and so did Twilight. For the moment.

After a long hesitation--and the Apostate waited it out--another vision arrived. She followed it.

No more weakness.

The Apostate left. Twilight Sparkle returned. Nervously, she navigated other rooms, negotiated other passages. There other zebras wandering the halls. They were not difficult to avoid, announcing their presence loudly with the trinkets that hung from their ears and hooves, and by the strange tongue they spoke in that echoed on the dead stone.

They continued in silence. Even if they had had anything to say to each other, there was no time for it. This was no place for it.

Three, two, one. Like that vision’s waltz, and they were dead. What was three more on a mountain? What was three ponies in the scope of an ocean of blood?

Another stair, another ascent into another open chamber. Temples, she recognized vaguely. These were the antechambers of some ancient temples. She did not find anything in her that cared about that at all.

Another vision. She followed. This one was Twilight and her friends--Pinkie on one side and Applejack on the other. Tradewinds walked behind them without her rifle, she--

--hummed, seemingly unmoved by the trials of the city or the weight of the dead temples. Applejack smiled back at her. Twilight was excited despite herself. To be walking through such history!

Twilight followed, head hung low. Another Twilight that could have been. Of course. That Twilight probably hadn’t waited so long to go looking. She probably hadn’t yelled at Luna or let Ponyville be destroyed. Twilight saw her smile. No doubt nopony had ever called that Twilight an Apostate, and she had never been one. Maybe she had yet to kill anypony or hurt anything. Maybe when she came to Vanhoover, the city was still healthy and alive and a pony named Axiom worked on the docks and she met him briefly and he was alive.

The spaces became wider and more open as they ascended. The sun shone through easier and more brazenly with every floor. And how many floors were left? Twilight didn’t know. The levels were taller up above than the ones below. It was hard to judge from the inside how high those lofty ceilings climbed. More and more robed cultists walked the walls, but Twilight had not seen any Black Hoof mercenaries. They seemed to stay outside, and she found that she was okay with that.

Twilight watched a vision-Twilight walked down the hallway between two rows of columns. She herself hid behind one as he friends did, and waited for the cultist with a metal mask to wonder by. He passed her column, seemingly ignorant, and Twilight summoned her magic.

The cultist whirled, catching her by surprise as he lowered his shoulder and hit her in the neck. Gasping, Twilight lost her concentration and went sprawling, struggling to breath. She tried to get back to her hooves, but Applejack was there. She swiped with a foreleg but the zebra dodged it easily.

Not that Applejack expected any different. It was a ruse--she used the momentum to plant her foreleg hard on the ground and twist her body even as the zebra tried to bring his hoofblades to bear. He had perhaps a second-long view of Applejack’s tail in his eyes and then her legs had kicked him between two columns, smashing him against the wall. He tried to rise but collapse.

Twilight, coughing, stood. “He shouldn’t have been able to hear me,” she said. “He didn’t.”

“Well, he heard somethin’,” Applejack said, not looking at her. She kept her eyes on the fallen zebra. “Think, Twi, you’re smart. What else could some crazy magical zebras do?”

“Well, zebra magic is alchemical… I’m unfamiliar with their capabilities, but know what can be grasped from what I’ve read…”

“Oh, oh, can they be invisible? Cause if he has, like, invisibility potions, we should totally borrow those,” Pinkie said with a smile as she hurried back from her hiding place.

“I think they can brew such things,” Twilight said slowly, “but it’s not common or easy. Applejack, could you check the cultist for anything resembling a flask, canteen, anything that could hold liquid?” She tongued the inside of her mouth. “Actually, AJ, do you see anything like… exotic? A necklace or a hoof bracelet. Something that’s got writing on it.”

“Uh… well, he got plenty of these potion thingies. And yeah, here ya go, Twi.” She flung a hoofbracelet to Twilight, who caught it in her magic. She gave it a once over and then sighed.

“My zebra is rusty,” she said. “It feels like forever ago since I was teaching Spike rune-based magic. I wonder if he ever got the hang of it?”

Tradewinds shuffled to her side. “What is it saying?”

“Like I said, my zebra is rusty. But I do recognize enough keywords to make a guess. This thing gives the wearer the ability to read thaumaturgic signatures in its proximity. That’s not just me, by the way. It’ll just be easier for me. If Tradewinds flies, or Applejack tries calling on those endless reserves of hers…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Consarn it, that’s cheating.” Applejack spat. “How do we get around it?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said. “Using magic to mask magic is… circular. If this were unicorn magic, I could interfere with the enchantments themselves from a distance, but even then it would have to be quick. But this isn’t unicorn magic. It’s runes, and the structure of the spell comes from the words. I’d have to make new ones or destroy old ones.”

“So we keep hiding, and just assume they see us if they’re close?” Applejack asked.

“Yes. Yes, more or less. Wonderful,” Twilight groused. “We’ve been pretty close to others down below, so it may not be that common. Let’s just… be careful.” Twilight put the bracelet in her pack and they moved on.

JANNAH

When Luna leaves Jannah, her friends are gone. One betrayed them and only Celestia and Luna trudge on in the wake of that betrayal.

Luna is thinking now about Loss.

When one lives functionally forever, loss is an old enemy. Being an alicorn means that the last enemy you shall see defeated is death--if you can stand the wait. But the waiting, that’s the hard part. Imagine having to wait for anything and everything you wanted. Imagine the way you feel in a hospital waiting room, or in a long line for food or tickets or anything you’d like. Now imagine that you sit in the waiting room or stand in the line for years. Day after day. You have memorized every detail of every crack in the floor. You have imagined whole civilizations springing up on the wall, in the space between two windows. You have talked about every single thing you could possibly talk about with those around you.

How many lovers can you have before they begin to blur together? How many times can you lie with another before you mix two partners in your head?

Luna has thought about this a lot. With the shadow of Jannah’s walls only an hour behind her, she finds that it is all I can think about.

Her last lover was an earth pony named Topsoil. She grew up as a Triballi barbarian farmer south of the Everfree. She was one of the few ponies Luna had known who truly enjoyed meat. She swore in her barbarous tongue and was always eager for a fight. She haved the side of her head and died her mane solid black. She painted her muzzle with reds and blues. Her body bore more scars than Luna had seen on a pony before or since. She smelled of sweat and work. She liked to be bitten, right where her shoulder met her neck, and she liked it when Luna nibbled on her ears. She had a terrible singing voice. She liked to listen to Luna sing when they made camp.

So she remembered. But the comfort that came with memory was at best fleeting. Topsoil had been dead over a century. Her death had been much like her life--brief, chaotic, and involving an earth pony lance through her throat.

Did that make her sad? It did, but did she mourn? Luna is not sure. Maybe it was the brief span of time during which she had lain with Topsoil. Maybe it was true that time healed wounds.

Who before? Who before? Moonflower and Uriel and Quicksilver and Saphoof and Yuletide and Silver Stars and…

They all went away, didn’t they? One by one. These new friends were simply a few more motes on a mountain. Death came for them. Death, who none could excell, could not come for her but made her pay for her safety by watching. Her friends and loved ones succumbed to plague or poison. They died in battle, some horribly in a moment of awful terror, some over hours in her embrace. Some by their own hooves. Some by accident, meaningless and random. Some simply stopped and lied down after their allotted four score years. Again and again.

When would it end? When would she see death done? When would death no longer be proud?

And she begins to think of it as betrayal. The first bits of darkness worm their way in. One had betrayed them to save himself, but hadn’t they all betrayed her? Hadn’t they all left her in the end? Yet she had been faithful. Remembering them even when they traipsed off into the last sunlight.

Jannah was a city of betrayal, but it was just a microcosm of the whole world.

TWILIGHT

Twilight and her friends hid in the balcony while she feverishly scrawled runes on a scrap of paper torn from the logbook she had not touched since Vanhoover.

They had acquired three more enchanted pieces of jewelry. Sneaking was becoming impossible. It was becoming increasingly clear that they had not so much been unlucky going up but lucky down below. If she were honest with herself, she should have realized this earlier. They hadn’t been close to D’Jalin’s zebras before the first fight. But now it was hard not to be within the range of their enchantment. The zebra had brought at least a hundred with him. Maybe more. She had no idea.

How did Eon shepherd this many in? She thought as she scratched out one of the runes. Teaching herself zebra runology was desperate even for her, but they couldn’t afford to be caught again. There weren’t wandering sentinels anymore.

Below, in the great chamber, the followers of the Mad God mingled, speaking softly.

A few Black Hoof soldiers leaned against the far wall. One of them took a drag off of a cigarette, and the edge of it glowed like a small sun in the half-light. Torches flared on the walls, casting already dark figures as even stranger sights.

But Twilight didn’t have time to worry about them. She had runes to decipher.

Tradewinds was pressed to her side, sandwiched between Twilight and the balcony. Her battle saddle and rifle were reach. Every now and then, Twilight’s ears would twitch and she thought she could almost hear a silently eager warrior lick her lips, desperate to peer over and end the Black Hoof in a half of bullets. Pinkie was on the other side, watching Twilight’s attempts with a kind of focus Twilight only wished she could muster. Oh, Twilight was focused. She was focused like a madmare scribbling on a wall.

“That one’s upside down,” Pinkie whispered.

Twilight nodded and corrected it without a comment. Pinkie didn’t know runology, but she had a sharp eye for pattern and she was willing to help. And Pinkie’s just a little weird. She’s not, you know, freakin’ crazy! Like you are! Twilight compared the captured examples.

Applejack sat in front of her, holding her hat between her hooves. “How’s it comin’?”

“Swimmingly,” Twilight grumbled.

“Good,” Applejack said, as if she hadn’t encountered sarcasm in her entire life. Or, Twilight reflected with not a little shame, she was better than Twilight and wasn’t going to rise to the bait.

“I’m just… It’s been a long time since I was… translating,” she said, needlessly, almost to herself. “Princess Celestia told me I should know things about our neighbors, but if you don’t use a skill you start… losing it.” She compared the writing on the sheet to one of the bracelets and sighed. “Okay, I think I’m starting to get it. But I’m still not sure this will be fullproof.”

“As in, it won’t work at all, or…?” Applejack cocked her head to the side.

“As in, it’ll probably work, but it might be a little unstable. If we stick around too long or get too close it might not matter what I’ve written, it’ll sense anything we do anyhow. Just… I think this is the best I can do.”

“It’s okay,” Applejack said and patted her shoulder. “You did what you could, and you did more’n I could, for sure. Get to rune-ing, or whatever it is, and we can get a move on.”

Twilight acquired a blade from Tradewinds and started to enchant it when the crowd below silenced. At first, Twilight dropped the bayonet and stared ahead, her heart beating in her ears as she tried to tell herself that they couldn’t have felt that--they were too far away!--but when she picked the bayonet up again, they still did nothing.

“What are they doing?” Twilight whispered as she glanced down at her scratch paper and then duplicated the enchantment across her saddle bag. Where the enchanted bayonet touched, there was a glowing silver fire, tracing out the strange letters.

Pinkie moved from her side. Twilight heard her creep closer to the edge and assumed she was looking over the balcony.

Pinkie crawled back to murmur in her ear. “Those weirdo baddies are doing something. I think they’re waiting for somepony. Like, they set up a little stage and everything!”

“D’Jalin, maybe?” Twilight commented and bit her lower lip. She finished the inscription. “Applejack, give me something to enchant.”

“Don’t got… oh yeah. I got bardin’ now. Whoops. Ugh, does it matter if it’s--”

“Anything will do,” Twilight said absently, and when Applejack gave her one of her greaves Twilight began to inscribe again.

“I think so,” Pinkie continued. “I think he’ll be here soon. It’s that feeling of anticipation you get right before a party, except I’m pretty sure this isn’t a get together shindig I wanna be around for.” She shivered.

“Well, give me a moment and we can leave--”

“All done?” Applejack asked. Twilight hoofed the greave over.

“Yep. Here you go.”

“Thankya, sugarcube.”

Twilight smiled. That name was ridiculous. It always had been. It still made her smile. “Alright… next?”

Pinkie gave her an earring that Twilight had forgotten she had, but it was too small and Twilight didn’t have the skill so they decided to mark her saddlebags instead.

“Okay… Tradewinds, what do you--”

“AZRAEL! AZRAEL! AZRAEL!”

They all started as the crowd below began to chant, louder and louder. None of them moved.

“Party’s… started,” Pinkie said and closed her eyes.

“He is here,” Tradewinds agreed. She was the one who peeked over the side first.

“T-Tradewinds,” Twilight managed past the lump in her throat. “Give me something to inscribe on. I need to give you the enchantment…”

“Do I have to wear your enchantings?” Tradewinds murmured.

“Yes.”

“Well.” She ducked back down and rooted through her bags. Twilight only now noticed her lack of barding. Crazy and unobservant! Two for two!

“Is this good for holding silly letters?” Tradewinds whispered, and held out a strange… furry hat. Twilight really hoped that fur was collected in a far less painful way than her imagination supplied, and she took it.

“Yes, this will work. Thank you.”

“Dobro pozhalovat',” Tradewinds breathed and returned to her watching.

Only Twilight did not look over the railing, held in awful fascination by the sight below. But she could hear it as she tended to the hat. The crowd was calling, “AZRAEL! AZRAEL!” and Pinkie was whispering to Applejack, but Twilight couldn’t hear over the shouting.

And then it stopped abruptly.

Twilight paused and looked towards the balcony rail. Still, even now, she did not look over it. Her friends could tell her. She still felt… unwell. All of the Twilight that had come back to her on the way from Vanhoover to Valon seemed imperilled. She had killed in cold blood. She had thought of herself as…

Twilight squeezed her eyes shut. She hated Jannah. She hated this place.

“Yes! YES! Thank you, my children, for your grand welcome!” cried a voice, and there was an ecstatic roar. Twilight shivered at the sound. That would be him. That was D’Jalin, she just knew it was him. “I know that you have been waiting! I too have been waiting! But the dance goes on. The dance ALWAYS goes on!”

Another roar. Twilight didn’t even want to know what the hell he was talking about. She just wanted to go home. She finished enchanting Tradewind’s hat and then went back to closing her eyes and waiting for the noise to die down.

“And we will be dancing soon! You wonder, you wonder my children--” he held that word out like a hiss-- “why I speak to you in a tongue not my own! Well, I will tell you. Yes, I will tell you all why. Or maybe, perhaps, it would be better if someone else explained for me!” He laughed.

Twilight stopped ignoring him because all of a sudden, she realized that he was speaking common. Why was this odd? It really wouldn’t have been, normally. Ponies spoke Common on all three continents. Griffons spoke common. Dragons knew common. Deer, bovines, changelings, zebras. All of them spoke the common tongue or knew it a little.

But if his audience was zebras, why not use their own language? Why not--

“Please, please, my children. Be quiet a moment. I think our guests will clear that up. Ah, but you know them! You have heard of their brave progress!” He giggled below like a child. “Thinking they were unseen and unheard! Thinking they had fooled us! Fooled you, children of death! FOOLED ME, YES! EVEN ME! But they have not! They have not fooled me. I am no blind old matriarch droning on about suns and love. Did I not come to teach you the error of this world, children? Did I not come that you might have death in abundance?”

“That guy really needs to stop talkin’,” Applejack grumbled above her. “That voice is gettin’ on my last, frayed little nerves.”

“Could always apply bullet to problem,” Tradewinds whispered back.

“I’ll take it under advisement, honey,” Applejack replied.

"It's kinda like watching a really weird play. Least that's what I think," Pinkie whispered.

“BUT WHO? WHO ARE OUR VISITORS? OUR GUESTS? FOR YOU KNOW THEY ARE HERE BECAUSE I ALLOWED THEM TO BE HERE! They are a test for you faith! They are the last lights for you to crush into the rock! They are here on an idiot’s errand at the end of the world to recover a dead god and save things which nothing can save!”

Twilight could hear nothing over the hubhub. Her ears pricked up. She felt like somepony was watching her, but dared not turn or make sudden movements. They were all one edge. Abdiel must have talked. She felt a brief flash of anger, and then shame. He would not have parted with anything without severe agony. They had hurt him for her sake.

And she hadn’t trusted him. She had suspected him, and he was now injured and suffering for her sake. She wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

“COME OUT! COME OUT, TWILIGHT SPARKLE, AND I WILL TEACH YOU DEATH!”

Twilight would have jumped. She would have responded with a gasp of alarm or a whimper or anything at all, but for one thing.

The long, serrated blade at her throat.

Instead, Twilight let out a wheeze. Her hindlegs spasmed as the assailant dragged her back towards them, and one of her legs touched Tradewinds. Tradewinds turned, and she cried out--loud enough to be heard in the crowing--and swung her gun. Twilight stared down its barrel and she saw the cannons of Vanhoover.

“Predatel'!” She snarled. “You hold the mare who worried for you, who led us here and hurt her mind in of madness just to find you! Bastard! False!”

“Wha-what?” It was hard to breathe, let alone talk, but Twilight tried.

The others had turned. She saw the horror in their faces, but did not understand it. What was going on? What was happening? Did it matter? She was failing them again. First she started losing her mind and now she was captured.

But she had her magic! She began to call it up, screwing her face into a grimace… only to feel the blade press a little harder at her throat.

She knew the voice that spoke in her ear. “Ah, Apprentice, do be careful. I know what you can do. A theiftaker knows how to deal with unicorns. He knows also how to keep them from knowing many things.”

“But…” Twilight went limp. Abdiel. Abdiel. “But you’re our…”

He continued to drag her, and then from the hallway they had travelled only moments before came a dozen hooded zebras screaming.

“I’ll kill you!” Tradewinds screamed and she heard the rifle fire. Her ears rang as the noise bounced off of the hard walls.

“Don’t shoot! You’ll hit Twilight!” Pinkie cried.

She couldn’t see them. She couldn’t see what was happening.

Tears streaked her cheek. “Why?” she croaked.

Abdiel’s warm breath was on her ear. “Twilight, Twilight, I am using your name now. You wished me to, did you not? Well I do so now because I speak only the truth to you. Would you pick a traveling companion--even one as nice and powerful as yourself--over your beloved wife? If yes, you are a monster, and if no? Well. Well, then you will be silent, for it will not matter in awhile.”

And Twilight was pushed forward, the blade pulled away. When she tried to rise, tried to fight, she felt something heavy and hard hit her in the back of the head and she fell.

FABLE ROWAN-OAK

It was nice to not be a part of the problem for once.

Fable shared his mother’s dislike for House Epona, and like his mother he was mostly interested in keeping the smiling bastards down. So it was with a great relief that he had received the news from his mother’s mouth itself that Rowan-Oak would no longer be witholding its aid. Already, the compound had been emptied of all but the barest of garrisons, with the levy reporting to the wall to be positioned on the front as they were needed.

He had hated the endless sound of the guns, but he had also been proud. He had been proud of his House before, fleetingly, but this was different. This was something that reverberated in his bones. House Rowan-Oak--his own house, his family--was leading the charge. They were keeping the darkness at bay.

For the first time, he was glad to say that he was the heir of the House.

Rainbow Rays and Paradise stood by the door while Fable looked over his barding. He had not worn it in a long time. His pistol was in poor condition, as was the saddle and mechanism. He sighed.

“Perhaps, Paradise, I should have listened to you about maintaining my mother’s gifts,” he said. Behind him, he heard his bodyguard snort. “I shall have to find a replacement for the pistol in the armory, I think. My barding is fine, I shan’t be in the front lines. Just trying to keep the spirits up and coordinating.”

“Your mother really trusts you,” Rays said, as if this were the strangest thing he’d seen in his life. Maybe it was--he’d had a very different experience.

“Not at all,” he said flatly, without much interest. “She simply has bigger and better things to do. Also, she knows me. I am an eternal disappointment to my gracious dam precisely because she understands me.” He turned and smiled. “I have no head for war, leadership, money, or really anything else. But I am good at joking and jocularity, and I am excellent at raising the spirits. And, perhaps, she would concede that I have a useful touch with the common pony. Precisely because I do not put a capital C on that word,” he added, and chuckled to himself. “As if it was a distinction I care about.”

Fable hummed a few bars of an old tavern song as he gave his gear one last look. “Help me get this on, would you, Rays?”

The pegasus approached and with a bit of fumbling, helped Fable into the barding. The guard reached down to tighten his greaves on, but then paused. He came back up, looking a bit flustered.

“Problem?” Fable asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Er, you don’t need me to do the back legs, right?”

Fable snorted. “Uncomfortable, hm?” Rays snorted, as if this were ridiculous, but Fable had grown used to reading expressions. “Of course not,” he said smoothly. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, now would I?” Fable grinned almost predatorily and let his boundspony squirm as he finished the job.

“It fits you well, young Master,” Paradise grumbled.

“Thank you, Para. Think I shall be needing the helmet? Or would it be better to forego it?”

“It would be safer to wear one,” Paradise said.

Fable rolled his eyes. “My levy wouldn’t let me get anywhere near danger, old boy. Even if I weren’t useless in a scrap, as Rays here well knows!” He chuckled. “They are all too terrified of Mother. Now, which do you think would be a better choice to look the part, hm?” He said this last to himself more than his bodyguard.

“Helmets are safer, but you can’t see a pony’s face very well,” Rainbow Rays offered. “I mean, like, if you’re just there to be seen… shouldn’t you be seen?”

“Aptly put,” Fable said evenly, and turned. “Well, shall we go, lads?”

They did. The young Rowan-Oak hummed a new tune as he walked down the steps. Something martial. The kind of thing that went well with rolling snares and glistening armor in the sun. He had to look the part--Rowan-Oak led from the front, and he would be the best that his House could offer before his mother returned. His other siblings were too young, his cousins were not of high enough status.

The journey to the armory was short. The usual quartermaster was gone, but one of her assistants had a long revolver much like the one he had neglected for so long. Fable thanked him, and returned to the atrium.

He stood before the door, and took a deep breathe. “Well,” he said quietly, “let us see the adventure that awaits us, gentlecolts.”

He opened the door.

It took him a few seconds to understand what it was he saw. It took him a few seconds to recognize who he saw, stumbling up the many steps from the streets below. Her face was bloody, half of it red with blood and milled, ruined flesh. Only one good eye glared up at him. Her chest and back were scored and ruined. She should be dead. She should be six feet underground with a burial and weeping family.

But he knew that one good eye glaring at him. Oh, he knew it.

“M-Mother?” he breathed, feeling his knees go weak. It didn’t make sense. That wasn’t his mother. His mother was meeting with her allies to convince them to help. She wasn’t here.

Paradise pushed by him, barking at Rays to shield the young master and keep his eyes peeled. “Take him inside! Your Grace!” He tried to help her up the steps. She shoved at him weakly, trying to speak and failing. But Paradise ignored her. The batpony through force of will brought her safely inside the doors whilst Rays shut them. Inside, there was already the beginnings of a panic as the remaining staff and guards had been attracted by the shouting.

“Mother! Mother, what happened?” Fable was at her side, trembling, unmoving from where Paradise had laid her. She grunted and tried to rise. “Please! Stay still! The doctor is on his way. He is, isn’t he? Rays! Rays, get him here now, carry him if you have to!”

“Always… too late,” his mother growled.

He stared down at her. “What?”

“Too late for that. Took…” she coughed, and spat blood on the perfect carpet. “buckshot to the face, stupid… stupid colt.”

“Doctor Hayburn has magic, mother, he can close the wounds or remove any…”

“I’ll bleed out and he won’t be able to stop it,” she said without an ounce of force. She closed her eyes. “Shut up. Shut up for once in your stars-damned life and listen to me.”

And he did. Everypony around him moved in chaos and panic, but Fable lay next to his mother and waited.

“Epona’s not just… a prick, he’s a traitor. White… whitecloaks. They’re his. Or he’s theirs. I don’t--Oh, fuck! Could that damned hornhead bring morphine when he comes?--I don’t know. They’re all traitors. I made a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“A huge, bloody, fuckin’, mistake, child. I was so focused… hating those Epona bastards… didn’t look too closely. Didn’t ask any… questions. Seems like our disappointment can be mutual,” she added, and hacked up another batch of blood. Fable just stared at her, gaping.

“Talking is taking too much energy. Please, just lie still,” he said. His voice was hollow. Already he felt like he was somewhere else. This wasn’t happening.

“Listen,” she hissed, and she yanked on his barding, pulling him close. Her hooves were soaked in her own lifeblood, and now it was on him. All over his armor. Defiling his cheek. “Epona is with the whitecloaks. Iron and Blood are with them. Somepony… tell Princess. You.” She was stabbing at his chest with her trembling hoof. “You. House is yours. Give me… give me pendant. In pack.”

Horror can be an almost physical sensation, and Fable was learning this. He blanched. “Mother, I--”

“Now.”

He dug through her pack. The pendant--the Tree emblem of his family--hung on a silver chain. How she had managed to keep it safe was beyond him. He held it draped over both of his hooves, staring at it. This was an admission of death.

“It’s yours, son,” she said. “You are Rowan-Oak. You. Go tell.”

“Mother…” He tried to find words, but only one came. She began to slump against him, losing her grip. Ponies were yelling around him. At some point the doctor had arrived, and was already shaking his head. “Mother?”

“Don’t be a…” she said, and her hoof rose, as if she were trying to stand. But her task was complete. She was in her House and it continued. The will that had animated her ruined form was fulfilled, and she went still. He heard her breath catch, come out strangled, and stop.

His first thought was that somepony was crying, and why should they be crying? It wasn’t their mother. It wasn’t like they had anything to cry over. Who was it, anyhow?

Oh. It was him.

“Para,” he said, his voice raw. “Para, I need you.” He couldn’t yell. He could barely speak. He felt frozen. He was frozen.

“My Lord, we must move you to safety. Whoever attacked your Lady Mother will be here soon, no doubt, and we cannot let them harm you.” Paradise began to pull at him.

But he would not move. He stared at the emblem. “Do I put it on?” he asked flatly, in a voice that was almost calm.

“My Lord, please!”

“I probably should,” he said, pushing at his bodyguard with a firm hoof. His eyes settled on his mother’s blank stare. He laid her badge of office around his own neck. He tried to close her eyes, but his hoof shook too badly. “Para, close her eyes.” Before Paradise could protest, he cut him off. “Close. Her. Eyes. Bondstallion mine, as you love me, you will do this for me. And then you will help me stand. Then you will have my mother laid in her own bed, and when that is done, you and Rays will accompany me to… to see the Princess. My mother’s last words must be fulfilled.”

“Master, I--”

“I give you my command as Lord Rowan--” he couldn’t finish. His voice choked and lodged in his throat. He turned away. “Do it, Paradise. Now.”

His bodyguard did, and quickly. Brigantine’s body was carried reverently away under the manor doctor’s auspices, her eyes shut and a bit laid over each eye from Paradise’s own coinpurse. Shocked and confused house staff milled about him. The guards left behind all turned their eyes to Fable.

So he spoke to them. “My mother is dead. The situation has changed, but our course may not yet,” he said softly. “She would not want… she wouldn’t want us to…” he took a breath. He was here. He had to hold on to that. He was here. He had to be the one to speak. “You.” He pointed to one of the guards. “Go to the walls. Find our levies however you can. Warn them that the House has been betrayed.”

Rays stepped forward. “Your… I mean, my Lord, will you go yourself? I or another pony could simply deliver your message. I could take it.”

“It must be me,” he said. He considered. An idea he had dismissed came back to bother him… but he didn’t have time or heart enough for it right now. “But you shall accompany me, so worry not. I know you and Paradise can keep my person intact. You… You have my full confidence. Now… We need to go. I need to go right now. Immediately.”

He stumbled towards the door, with his calling guards behind him.

TWILIGHT

She lay on her side, staring at the wall. At least, she thought she was staring at the wall. There was no light to see it by, of course. Their captors had made sure of that. Why? She didn’t know. Twilight Sparkle didn’t know anything.

Abdiel had betrayed him. He had told her why, in his own way, but she found that it was hard to care about why. It mattered to him, she supposed. It might matter to her, if he had been her friend. But he wasn’t. He hadn’t ever been. He was a snake.

What are you then? she asked herself. If Abdiel was a snake, a traitor, what was she? Oh, you’re a murderer. Ah, well that was nice. Enlightening, even. It was nice to have that sorted out all nice and neat. Twilight was all about things being ordered and catalogued, wasn’t she?

She didn’t cry or beg. She didn’t vow revenge. She didn’t even move or speak. She just stared. D’Jalin would push them into the well, whatever that really was. Or he would just kill them. Or torture them. For a moment, Twilight was almost curious how he would do it. The why of the whole thing barely fazed her. Why not? Nothing made sense. Not to Twilight. Killing them would, if anything, simply confirm the pattern of the new world she found herself in. It was almost comforting. Finally, the new rule would be laid bare. Everything killed you or tried to. Simple. Sometimes your friends killed you. Sometimes your friends killed other ponies instead. Riveting.

And she was the one with the biggest hill of bodies, wasn’t she? If she were an alicorn, she would be Princess of Blood if she weren’t already Princess of World-Shattering-Mistakes or just… Apostate. That was nice and simple and easy to remember.

Twilight wasn’t even sure where her friends were in this cell, exactly. She was reasonable sure some of them were here, at least. Maybe only one. Maybe all of them. She hadn’t checked. A few hours ago, she was sure somepony had been making noise, but that had been a long time ago and also it had been hard to care.

She had failed. That was all there was to it, really. They had slipped a nullification ring around her horn and chained her while she was out. They had trapped in her the dark and there wasn’t really anyway to free herself. Jannah had won. D’Jalin had won, whatever he was. She didn’t care. There wasn’t anything worth caring about anymore. It was over. All of it had been for nothing.

All of those ponies running from the fires of Vanhoover.

Yup. Yeah. That was useless. Didn’t have to happen. She did that and there was no payoff.

Way to go, Twilight. Way to be Celestia’s number one student! No more dreams about falling asleep in the library. No more Luna dreams. Do you even want those? Would you go if she asked you to come to her?

Twilight felt something strange. Something that started in her stomach and moved up to her chest, like a dull ache. Like a hole. Like loss. What am I going to tell you, if I fall asleep and Dreamwalking works through the ring? How am I going to tell you I couldn’t bring her back?

It occurred to Twilight that she didn’t want to leave Luna alone. Not again. That she didn’t want Luna to be alone ever again.

I don’t want to be alone.

Finally, after the long silence, finally the shuddering breath came. She shut her eyes. She cared about one thing so far. She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want anypony to be alone.

“Is anypony there?” she asked the darkness.

“Jus’ me,” Applejack’s voice answered. She couldn’t tell where her friend was.

“Oh. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Same goes for you, except I did. Ya didn’t answer, so I figured you were still out. Asleep or something.”

“No, I can’t sleep.”

“”It’s good to hear your voice,” Applejack continued. “Was mighty lonely. Don’t… don’t know what they did with the other girls. Suspect they ain’t too far away.”

We both know they might be dead already. “Yeah,” Twilight agreed. “I’m sure they have them somewhere near.”

“Jus’ gotta figure us a way out.”

“Yes.”

“And… do whatever it is we do.”

Twilight wanted to laugh but didn’t think she could. “Whatever that is.”

“So… gonna get your noggin on a plan? That’s your department. I’m just the one with the big ole kickin’ legs.”

“I think plans are a little… Ugh. I don’t know. I don’t have one.”

“You’ll find a plan. I know you will, sugarcube. I believe in you.”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Applejack, do you think I’m crazy? Honestly.”

There was a long pause. Twilight shifted uncomfortably.

“Where’s this comin’ from?”

“Just tell me the truth. It’s your thing,” Twilight added. “Do you think I’m crazy? Do you think something’s wrong with me?”

“Do you?”

“Please answer.”

“An answer for an answer.”

“I asked first.”

“But you’re the one who wanted an answer first. You gotta offer money ‘fore you buy somethin’.”

“Fair. Quid pro quo. Yes, I think I might be very, very messed up in all kinds of fascinating ways.”

“I never thought you were crazy, Twi. I worry. Heck, I worry a lot. If Pinkie hadn’t heard Eon too… and if we weren’t makin’ such good progress, maybe I woulda thought you were going crazy and hearin’ voices that ain’t there. You can be high strung sometimes.”

“I’ll never live the Smartypants incident down, will I?” Something almost like a chuckle.

“Eenope.”

“Probably for the best.”

“I think you can be anxious and sometimes you’re a little more fragile than you wanna let on. I think… I think you scared me earlier with those three. I think you scared you too, didn’tcha?”

“Yes.”

“So I don’t think you’re crazy. Mighty distressed, though. Of course you are.”

Twilight wanted to turn and look her in the eyes, but she couldn’t see anything. “I’m so… I’m different.”

“Yeah, you are. Daresay we all are.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Didn’t say I did.”

Twilight closed her eyes. Not that it mattered at all. No light, remember? “Why did you even follow me after Vanhoover?”

“Why?”

“I mean, the docks.” She said, because it was really all that could be said. “Or even before that. When we left Canterlot, I was a mess. Even then. I avoided going home. I avoided Spike. I avoided the girls, you included, outside of official duties and things. I wasn’t in any condition to be leading anything or really doing anything. My magic had faded and I couldn’t explain it.” She stopped. “No. I can. I just didn’t want to.”

“I always wondered about that. It seems like you’re better now.”

“Some.”

“Magic always terrified me a little bit, on the down low, if you understand me. Ain’t really my thing. Not that I dislike anypony for it. Just made me nervous.”

Twilight pursed her lips. “I guess I get that. It’s okay. Magic is tied to who we are, Applejack. Not just unicorn magic, either. Our sense of Self, our sense of who Twilight is or Applejack is. When a pony loses herself, she loses her magic, see? It’s a gross oversimplification, obviously. It’s not really an immediate thing, either.”

“If you knew somethin’ was wrong…”

“But what? It didn’t mean I was wrong about how I felt, just that I had lost who I was before. Twilight before Celestia left is gone. I… I think she’s gone forever. I can be another Twilight,” she added, and her voice broke slightly. Just slightly. “I can be another Twilight. I can be me. I’m not her. I’m just me, Applejack.”

“Twi…”

“I mean it. And I have to be okay with that. Not that it matters. We’re not getting out of this, AJ. We’re just not.”

“We have to.”

“I can’t think of a way to do that. I was finally… finally getting my magic back, feeling like my old self. And now it’s gone. They put a nullification ring on my horn. I’m through. I can’t lift it off with magic, and even without chains it would be hard to get it off with hooves because they fit pretty tightly and get all messed up with the grooves and it doesn’t matter because I am all chained up and I can’t get my forelegs up high enough to pull it off.”

“So you’re just gonna lay down and die, Twilight?”

Twilight sniffled. “I just don’t wanna care anymore.”

The only sound was Twilight sniffling and crying in her corner. Applejack did not answer for what seemed like hours, but could be only minutes. It probably was only minutes.

“You know, when they first started callin’ you that name, I got so mad.” Her voice was so soft. Twilight strained to hear it. “Weren’t fair to you. It’s right awful to kick a mare while she’s down. You were grievin’ same as anypony else, and you didn’t have the comfort of knowin’ what had happened or if it had happened or havin’ a body to bury. I right about kicked the tar out of a few ponies for repeatin’ it. But something happened, Twilight, along the way. Somethin’ bad.

“You listened to ‘em. You were sad and hurting and you’d have listened to anyone who would tell you it was your fault, or that you were bad. You’ve always been so quick to hear that you weren’t enough. You started believin’ it somewhere along the way. You were this Apostate, this pony who didn’t care about anypony else, either cause she didn’t know how or didn’t want to. I knew both of those weren’t true. You knew they weren’t. You used to.”

“I used to.”

“But even then, you didn’t give up. You didn’t really stop caring. You got rougher around the edges, kept all your feelin’s in a little box, but you kept workin’. You did more than any other pony in Canterlot. I remember finding you runnin’ numbers on food stores and ammunition, or writing letters to nobles or trying to talk down some angry merchants. You were mean about it sometimes. You weren’t happy. But you never gave up. You realized we weren’t gonna make it little by little, and what’d you do? You didn’t give up. You went runnin’ West to do the only thing you knew to do.”

“And left a trail of dead.”

“I didn’t see any dead in that village with the griffons. You didn’t kill those Grays--they did it themselves, fair and square. And they woulda done the same and were gonna do the same, given even the smallest chance.”

“That’s not… that’s not an excuse.”

“No, it ain’t. You have a reckoning to answer for them, Twi. I can’t help you with that. You can try to forget but I know you, and you’re too good a pony to forget. You’re too nervous of one to be easy about it. Life ain’t about dragging around your chains trying to fix all the divots you dig behind ya. It ain’t about tryin’ to weigh up all the good and the bad you did and hoping it fixes itself. Know yerself, bookworm. Be yourself. The more you try to kill yourself over what you do the more you’ll do! Because that’s how ponies give up. They just keep counting and counting all the bad that happens one way or another, and then they stop moving, and then they die.”

“I can’t just… be okay with it.”

“No, and you shouldn’t be. What are you gonna do? I know you're sorry.”

“I am. Oh, stars, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s a start. I mean it. You say you can’t be Twilight, my Twilight, again. I think you’re right. But why do you think you have to be a worse one? The Twiight who hides in this stupid room? Be a better Twilight. Be a good Twilight. Be the Twilight that would have made the right…. who would have made right choices. I don’t know what to tell you. I ain’t a philosopher, Twilight. I’m just me. And you’re just you. I don’t know how to make you feel better. I don’t know how to make peace with it cause I don’t know how I made peace with the one’s I’ve sent on their way, and I know I’ve done it a dozen times at least. But I know I’ll find out. You’ll find out. Or maybe, somehow, we can make it a little better. But we can’t do it in here.”

“I’m still not sure I can get us out.”

“We can try. I wanna go home, Twi. I wanna go home really, really bad. Because I’m tired of all this walkin’ and fightin’ and this damned city and, consarn it, I really just want to have a farm again and have Soarin’ fly over sometimes. Is that so much?”

“I hope not.”

“Me too.”

RARITY

What is one pony in the scope of existence?

It was a thought, or a whole constellation of thoughts, that Rarity had had many times before. But usually, such questions were asked between midnight and morning. Those were the hours when a pony could question anything, and run circles around herself. Nothing was solved when morning came. Except, hopefully, the overlarge order that she had begun the day before. But the big questions? Of course not. Else they would not be so over large.

But she was thinking those sorts of thoughts now, as ponies milled about the square. They had come in droves for food and medicine and it had been, by and large, peaceful. Any pony who tried to take a bit extra under false pretences found themselves under the baleful eyes of the lean Babs Seed.

Rarity had figured out, bit by bit, why the offenders scurried off at her look. Some revered her. Some were terrified. Most just knew that crossing her wasn’t really worth it, and when you live hoof to mouth, you’re not inclined to go out on a limb. And Rarity understood the immediate risks. Babs had grown into a mare with what could only be called a “shooty” look and a body full of scars. Rarity hadn’t needed any demonstrations of prowess--she would probably believe anything that involved Babs Seed’s ferocity in battle.

Beyond legs meant for swift kicks to the face, Babs Seed had led the short-lived resistance. At first she had found it hard to believe, but the tale had come out. A young mare dragging her friends along on a harebrained scheme, making their tiny circle look bigger than it was until one day it was bigger. When ponies saw their tags on walls and flyers in the streets, it was easier to believe that a whole network of brave fighters rested somewhere just out of sight.

It had been mostly smoke and mirrors. Except Babs. Babs, fighting until they burned the tenements on the south side down around her ears.

Babs was looking up at her with a single eyebrow raised. “Well. If you’re gonna be talkin, now’s the time.”

Rarity gulped.

Fluttershy was at her side. “Are you alright? It’s just a huge crowd of ponies who don’t really ca--”

“That is quite alright, dear,” Rarity said, cutting her off. “Oh, I know. It’s not the crowd. It’s the words.”

“You’re good at words,” Rainbow began.

“And if you make that into a joke of linguistics I will gut you with my horn.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just… on edge,” Rarity said and sighed. “Just… be myself. I guess. You think this is the right time, Babs?”

Babs shrugged. “Good as any. For what it’s worth, I hope youse guys nab a few. I’m coming with, I know that. Nothin’ for me here.” With that, she trotted off into the milling crowd.

Rarity watched her go. “Well. There’s one.”

“See? A start,” Fluttershy pressed.

“A start. But we’ll need a lot of bodies to get the pressure off of Canterlot,” Rainbow groused.

“I’m aware.” Rarity massaged her temples. “Give me a moment, and then I’ll find the words.”

She walked off, hoping they would not follow, and found they did not. They waited on her. It was lonely, not to have her lover and her friend at either side, but the space was welcome. What would she say? What do you say? Oh, I know you’ve suffered but now I need you to suffer more! Or better yet, Here I am with my fancy flag and my fancy barding here to tell you, the peasants, what I need. She sniffed, and glanced at her standard. Her flag was fabulous, so that last thought was doubly silly.

Rarity groaned and sat by an overturned cart. She knew a few of the ponies in the crowd were watching her, wondering who she was. Part of her wanted to chat with them. But what would that look like? What would--

“Hello,” she said softly to a young mare trying to keep her foal from staring. “It’s quite alright, darling. I would have been entranced with such a silly thing myself at her age.”

Why speak? Well, why not? She felt generous. She usually did. It was nice to talk.

The mare scooped up her child and seemed to watch for some sudden change in tone, but Rarity only smiled at her. She seemed to let go of her bated breath. “She’s a real hooful of energy, uh, miss. Thinks she’s gonna be some kinda smith or something.”

“A smith? Hm. Is that so, my friend?” Rarity asked, smiling at the filly.

“Yeh! I’m gonna make all kinds of stuff. I bet I could make you better armor than that,” boasted the little sea green pony, and Rarity realized she was a pegasus only as her wings flared out in pride.

“Perhaps, one day. You think you can outdo the quartermaster of the Ninth Legion of the Crystal Empire?” she asked, injecting just enough haughtiness into her tone to elicit a giggle. “I wanted to work with fabric when I was your age. I had a lovely little boutique.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a store, Cheerful,” murmured her mother.

“Oh. Well I’m gonna have a workshop.”

“I’m sure you shall, Miss Cheerful,” Rarity said. “And I shall have my shop again, one day.”

“Thank you. I’ve been so worried,” the mare said. “Food… my husband has been ill, and this medicine can help him get back on his hooves again. You are a bringer of light, madame. What is your name?”

“Rarity,” she replied. “Rarity Belle. Of Ponyville,” she added, figuring that it was the time for formalities. Especially with what she was about to do. “Of House Belle. It is an honor to meet you, ma’am. And your name?”

The mare paled a little. “I didn’t know you were a noble. I’m very sorry, I wouldn’t have let my little filly have bothered you!”

“It is quite alright. It is good to meet another craftspony so far from home.” Rarity winked at Cheerful. “Perhaps in a few years I can teach you some color coordination if you shall teach me to manipulate the finer metals. I would love to one day include gold or platinum in designs. In moderation, of course.” The filly nodded as if this was perfectly reasonable, and in fact she was in the position to consider this a deal. She spat on her hoof and stuck it out.

“Proper bus’ness procedure,” she said.

“My, what big vocabulary,” Rarity murmured to the horror of Cheerful’s mother. She briefly considered simply shaking hooves without the… blegh. Rarity in a long gone day would have blanched. This Rarity decided that a child being happy was worth a little more than feeling clean for a few seconds. She spat on her hoof and awkwardly shook Cheerful’s outstretched limb.

“See, all proper. I’ll hold you to that. Gotta diversify. Uh… mom?”

“Oh dear…”

Rarity chuckled. “I wish your husband well, miss…?”

“Tree Song,” she said. “Your, uh, grace.”

“None of that! Now, off with you. I’m sure I’ve kept you distracted long enough.”

Song and her boisterous child departed quickly. Rarity sighed at their going. Reminds me of Fluttershy. And Sweetie Belle. Somehow.

If she malingered about trying to figure out what to say, she would say nothing. A lady knew when to act! Or, well, Rarity felt like she should. More and more she was less sure of what it was a lady knew and did. The masks were harder.

So a moment later, before she could really think about it at all and thus realize that she was making some sort of catastrophic mistake, Rarity found herself standing on top of a hopefully stable fallen cart. Already, she felt a great gaping absence in her belly. She felt the tell-tale way her breathing shortened, became shallower. Only now it occurred to her that her that the circlet she had worn pulled her mane out of her face and revealed her hideous scar, and it took every ounce of her considerable will not to frantically hide it once more. I’d forgotten. I was so busy with the food distribution and the crowds and…

Rarity took a deep, steadying breath.

She was not afraid of crowds. If anything, she adored crowds, especially crowds that were focused on her or on her creations. For years she had dreamed--literally and figuratively--of adoring Manehattanite crowds, of dazzling the high society of Equestria. Being the talk of the town.

The deepest of all ironies was that she had all of these things now. Here was Manehattan. Here was Rarity, before a great crowd, dressed in extravagance, with her own entourage, soon to be the center of attention. It was everything she had ever dreamed.

Rarity coughed. Some of the crowd had already been looking at her, waiting. Most of their gazes were flat, the kind of gaze one gives when nothing more can be done to make things worse. It was something past boredom.

“Excuse me?” She began, and cursed silently. Excuse me? Really, honestly. Rarity, you must be more confidant. She cleared her throat and tested her magic. The old vocal amplification spell that Sweetie’s foalhood had made distressingly useful was still with her, and lo, her magic was cooperating today. She felt almost normal, in fact.

“PONIES OF MANEHATTAN.”

Rarity turned the spell down significantly, and waited as every head turned to her. She smiled automatically, the same way that a cat arches its back and flattens its ears before the eyes of its enemy. She began to speak, her magic carrying her voice throughout the crowd.

“Ponies of Manehattan, today is a good day. When I left Canterlot, this was our highest hope. Our friends in the north, in the great Crystal Empire, were hard pressed. Yet, in the hour of their victory they generously shared their surplus with us. With you and with me, my friends!”

There was a quiet murmur. Rarity tried to wear the face of the Lady, of the Noble, of the… of the… none of them wanted her.

“You,” she said, pointing, “what news comes to Manehattan these days?”

The stallion in question looked around, as if some friend might help him, but the others shrugged. His reedy voice answered. “We don’t hear much.”

“I thought so,” Rarity said, quieter than before. “Manehattan, I want to tell you about the world outside of your walls and streets. I want to tell you about my home.

“I am Rarity Belle, of Ponyville. I do not come to you in the name of my House, newly forged in war. I do not come to you in the name of Luna or Celestia or the Empress, though I carry their blessings and their fervent wish for your health and safety. Rainbow, darling, could you help me?”

Rainbow, startled, heard the request and obeyed automatically. She flew over and hovered next to the cart. “Whatcha need?” she whispered.

“Remove my armor, if you would. The leg will give you trouble. It is… ah, it is bolted into the back plate,” she admitted, grimacing. “Thank you, dear.”

“Sure, Rares.” Rainbow began to work. Rarity stood still as she might stand upon another dressmaker’s pedestal, as if this were merely a fitting and she spoke to the mirror in measured tones. But she wasn't’ doing those things. She was in Manehattan at last, and she was no Lady out of the mind. She was Rarity. Just Rarity, whatever that meant.

“Ponyville is a wonderful place,” she said to the crowd. “Or it was. The fields were verdant. The houses close together and thatched, and the winding streets were dirt paths. It was a simple and rustic place, but I loved it with all my heart. Even when I complained of its smallness, of its lack of decor and grandeur… I would never abandon it in my heart. But it is now a grave.

“I owned a dress shop, a wonderful boutique on the edge of town. I sold dresses to clients all over the realm, but my favorite orders were the ones from my neighbors. The scarves I crafted for the pegasus who delivered my mail, to keep her warm on her lonely, meandering way. The dress for my dear sister’s cutecenara. A shawl for my friend Applejack, a gift for her grandmother. A list! What a long list I could make, but it is over.” Rainbow had removed most of her armor. Each piece was deposited on the street. She was working on the backplates now. “My boutique is gone. My memories remain, but the place is a shattered husk and my work is torn to shreds.

“The cities of Equestria are much as yours is, or worse. Vanhoover is a place of war. Las Pegasus was ruled by gangs and roving bandits, last we heard. Fillydelphia is silent as the grave, and nothing escapes from its borders. Stalliongrad suffers in the cold. Lunangrad and Petrahoof and Baltimare… so little news. All of it is bad. Fire and thievery, desperation and uncertainty.”

“Rares, I’m not gonna be able to get this plate off. It really is bolted to your leg. I’d have to…”

Rarity smiled at her as best she could, though her stomach twisted at the thought. “It’s fine, love. Will you stay with me?” Her voice was not amplified. Rainbow nodded.

She returned to amplification. “And Canterlot has gathered its lost and frightened children and it has fed them. It has tried its best. Love does its best, even in times such as these. The great needs of the city are what drove me north on my quest. But now that last hope of Equestria is under threat.”

There was grumbling. She heard one voice specifically.

“Who says they’re the last hope? We’re doin’ alright.”

“Silence, you!” said another. “Would you interrupt your betters?”

Rarity cut in, having found the sources of the dispute. “Let him speak,” she said, and the whispers died. “Do not quiet him. I am not his better anymore than you are, my good lady.”

A rather affronted mare in what looked like the remains of finer clothing sniffed at this.

The stallion who had complained shifted awkwardly. The crowd was looking at him, now. “I just… I meant, like, who says it has to be them? Just cause they got a princess? We got a lotta hungry mouths to feed and a lot of ponies that could do just as good.”

She smiled at him. “I hope there is less of the former, though the times are turbulent and to predict is to be proven wrong. But Canterlot has no greater claim than your fair city, sir. You look surprised.”

“Well, yeah, I mean, weren’t you just saying the capitol is the one in danger?”

“Oh, but it is.”

“Well, so are we.”

“And you are,” Rarity said. “But not in the same way.” She looked out at the crowd again.

She continued. “Canterlot is under a direct siege by an army of thousands. The great plans of a quiet evil have come to fruit! Once, I thought it was a tragedy when a lone malcontent set the grain stores of Las Pegasus ablaze on accident, but I no longer think it was an accident. Rebels have defiled my home. They have rounded up the raiders and malcontents of Equestria and set them against a city filled with refugees. How many of those refugees are Manehattanites? How many are from Fillydelphia, or the north, or the frontier towns of the south? How many from Vanhoover or Baltimare or Tall Tale? How many from the Zebra lands? Far too many. I could not count them all.

“And an army will devour them presently. The army of Canterlot holds the darkness at bay, but it is not eternal. It cannot keep the fires out forever.”

“What are we supposed to do about it?” the heckler asked, though his tone had softened.

“That is the question, isn’t it? Ponies of Manehattan, I have shed my armor before you. I remove the badge of my office.” She did so, lifting the circlet and placing it on top of the armor. Her mane fell forward, but she brushed it from her scar. “What are you supposed to do? I cannot tell you. I can only tell you what I have done, and I may tell you what your choices are, but I cannot tell you what it is you must do because it is, in the end, your own and solitary choice.

“I have given my beauty and my leg for the ponies of Equestria. I have suffered wild magic and even now it is infused in my bones and tainting my magic. The leg you see is not armored. Do you understand? It is prosthetic. It is fake,” she said, and her voice broke. “It isn’t mine. It is a lie! A lie that I am still whole!

“You may stay in Manehattan and your food will be yours. I have arranged for some of it to be taken to Stalliongrad, your neighbors, and the Legion will continue on to aid in the defense of Canterlot and the souls within. You may rest in your bed and know that in another place, under those beautiful and ancient walls, ponies are dying. You may walk your streets as I once walked mine and know that in Canterlot, in Las Pegasus, in every corner of this land there are ponies who live under the shadow of a loaded, outstretched gun. They tremble in the shadow of the slavery that comes with defeat, with the outrages of a looter’s victory, of the last silence of all arguments. In peace, in short lived peace, you may enjoy the sun and your children and your lovers’ forelegs until there is no more sun and the moon is red as your own lifeblood, for I assure that Luna will die before she abandons the foals of Canterlot. And then, in that night…”

Rarity shook. She shook, and no hoof on her shoulder could stop her. She saw Sweetie Belle, dead in the street, her eyes wide open in shock. She saw Spike crushed under a mountain of rubble. She saw Luna torn down from the sky as she kept a great formless darkness from the last safe room in Canterlot. She saw… she saw…

Rarity took a deep breath. Another. Ponies were silent.

“Friends,” she began again, her voice cracking. “Oh, friends. Ponies of Equestria, my own people, my own kind. We have been cowards, all of us. I was a coward when I convinced myself there was nothing to be done. We knew that things were getting worse, and instead of being kind to one another we panicked. We saw two loaves and thought of only our own security and our brothers starved or looked on enviously. Only when a chance was too obvious to ignore did I leave the safety of those city walls. I am no different than you. I am no greater. I am vain. I am selfish. My anger is petty and my generosity is too often faltering. I do not tell you to follow my example. I have not come here to cajole you or exhort you. Only to beg you. To beg you for your aid against the last darkness. It… I have a sister and a mother and father in Canterlot,” she said. Her cheeks were wet. “And I know that if we fail to break the siege, they are going to die. My darling sister will be run down and used horribly and then they will execute her. My parents will burn. My friends, the ones I left behind… I will have failed them. My world will be over.

“And every night, before I lie down for sleep, I think to myself: What if this were the world’s last night? What if this were the last chance to save my loved ones? To save anypony at all? What if tonight is the last night of Canterlot’s hope? I have tried to stand tall for the ponies of Equestria, but I cannot be the only one. If I am the only one, then I will be that solitary individual gladly… but it won’t be of any use, I fear. It will be a very short and brutish and futile stand.

“I haven’t talked to you about my House or our princesses or even your country because… because those things simply don’t matter to us, here and now.” She sniffled, and yet her voice grew firmer. “It is not Luna’s choice. It is not Celestia's choice in the far off western unknown. Babs Seed cannot tell you what to do anymore than I can. Canterlot needs your help. The refugees of Canterlot need you. They need everypony who will come. And that is your choice, whether or not to come to their aid.

“We have been, all of us, in a long and terrible night. Deep and dark and dreadful. Ghastly,” she added, with a broken smile. “And we have been in that night for such a awfully long time that I fear we are forgetting how to be ponies. We are forgetting what it is like to Live Together and Be Together, to be Kind, to Love each other, to smile at our neighbors and to invite a stranger weary from the trail to tea, to praise the sun and delight in the stars, to enjoy the morning walk and the sound of the wind whistling through the orchards. I am so afraid that we will never be that again, beautiful… and… so happy. So very happy. I have been waiting for the morning to come.

“And now I think… now is the last chance!” Now she was yelling. Her voice had lost its cultured grace. Her face had lost its civilized restraint. Her body trembled. A thousand eyes bored into her but she continued. “I am calling for volunteers to help the Legion and the House of Belle break the siege of Canterlot and break the power of the raiders while they are gathered together in one place! I am tired of waiting for the morning to come! And it will come, if we let it! I am tired of living in the night. Aren’t you? Haven’t you passed through this night long enough? We have a chance… I beg of you. Take that chance. Join me. Come with me to Canterlot, and help me push back the darkness.” She held out empty hooves. “The night is passing. Morning is so close. The dawn is… it’s so close. Please, don’t wait. Don’t hide and wait for later. You’ll just be waiting to die alone. The night is passing at last. The night…” at last, she faltered. Her knees felt weak. Her heart hammered in her chest. “You all remember what it was to love your neighbor. Please, for the star’s sake, for pony’s sake, please remember. Please do not go… please don’t go quietly into the night. Please. We have to try.”

They were silent. The whole crowd might as well have already been dead. Rarity despaired.

Babs Seed stepped back out of the crowd. She, too, had tears that lingered in her coat. “Apple Bloom’s in Canterlot,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if I believed you. Damn. Dammit, Lily, you woulda been ashamed of me. I said I was comin’, miss, you know I’m good for it. I don’t care if they come. I’m coming.”

Babs bowed in front of her. Trembling, Rarity dismounted and approached her. She laid a trembling hoof on Babs’ head. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, so much. Thank you.”

And when she looked up, others followed suit. They came and they bowed before her, one after another. Rarity stared at them. She would have continued staring if Rainbow hadn’t touched her shoulder and whispered to her to go. Talk to them. Do something. Say something big and grand.

But she didn’t. She went to each and every one of them. She touched their heads, holding each of their faces in her hooves so that their foreheads gently rested together, and she told them that she was grateful. She cried again. They were all going to die. She was probably going to die. It was the night before the Mitou again. She had to remember them. She had to remember every single one of them.

“Thank you,” she whispered, over and over again. “Thank you. The night is passing.”

“The night is passing,” some of them whispered back.

Where she went, she went under their staring eyes. She spoke to every single pony who bowed. Others came, brought by the first wave of volunteers, and Rarity repeated this for every single one of them. A thousand came and her voice was cracked and raw, and she said--over and over--thank you, thank you.

If she were going to die, what better company to do it in then these?

TWILIGHT

When the zebra cultists came for them, Twilight was silent. She was silent because there was nothing she needed to say. Also, because she was still working on something that in many ways resembled a plan.

When the guards weren’t looking, Twilight scraped her the side of her shackles against the tile and then subsequently tripped. The four zebras brayed at her in their own tongue, before one yelled into her face in common to stand up. She did so, looking down at her hooves.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m having trouble walking with these,” she said, her voice warbling. Her eyes were glued to the results of her experiment. Perfect. That might just work.

“You will have more trouble if you are not hurrying,” hissed the guard, and then they were on the move again.

Applejack looked at her, and Twilight looked back. They shared only a brief second, before the zebras could see them, and Twilight mouthed, Yes.

The halls were longer and more ornate… wherever they were. Twilight wasn’t sure if they had gone up or down. Applejack seemed to think it was up, but professed that she’d been busy fighting at the time and honestly wasn’t much more use than the unconscious Twilight had been. But it didn’t matter. Tradewinds would know, no doubt, and even if she didn’t, as soon as Twilight got the ring off her horn? In these cramped quarters?

She had a lot of ideas about what to do then. Spectacular ones.

Neither prisoner tried to speak. Twilight had been firm about this. Give them no reason to lash out, no reason to do any damage that might make their escape any more difficult. Play the defeated mare. Or, rather, play the one willing to cooperate. Let them forget you can still struggle and maybe they’ll oblige and forget.

They brought Twilight and Applejack into what was unmistakably some sort of reception area. A dining room, perhaps? There were long tables here. She was reminded of the large meeting room in the Palace at Canterlot.

Tradewinds and Pinkie were there. The guards with them seemed much more frazzled than the ones who had been with Twilight. Twilight fought a smile. She had no doubt that those two were the most unruly captives imaginable. This was confirmed when one of their guards came closer to talk quietly with one of her guards and she saw his rapidly-bruising black eye. Definitely unruly. That would be Tradewinds’ work.

And Pinkie… I have these visions of her just appearing all over the place, only staying in chains because its part of the joke. Too much to hope for, but still.

Pinkie smiled at her approach. “Hey, Twilight!” There was something odd about her voice. What was it? Like something stuck in her--

“Quiet!” the guard beside her ordered. He seemed at wit’s end.

“Oh, don’ mind Mr. Sourpuss here, it’s jus’ his job.”

The zebra reared and kicked her in the face, sending her sprawling. Twilight shrank back, but Applejack tried to surge forward to protect her. Her chains tripped her up, and she was beat as she tried to rise.

But then Pinkie did something strange. She looked up from the ground, in the second before the guard was on her, and she smiled at Twilight.

And when she did, a bobby pin was sticking out of her teeth.

You’re kidding me. Twilight blinked, and that was all it took.

Pinkie sprang from the ground, and her chains fell away--they had always been undone, barely holding on. She darted between the guard’s legs, and his momentum carried him straight into the ground. The others jumped to aid their fallen comrade, but Applejack tripped one and held onto his back leg. Twilight pushed--more accurately, she fell--into the one beside her, knocking him off balance.

It was chaos. Pinkie danced between two kicking zebras, and they only barely missed each other. She laughed, pausing long enough to gesture to a stunned, gasping Twilight as if to say, “Oh, will you look at that?” and then pushing one of them into the other.

“Pinkie! My horn! Ring!” Twilight snapped as the guard she had shoved pushed her off. She lay sprawled out on the floor. Applejack was trying to fight without her legs, but it was going poorly. She heard Tradewinds snarling--

“Gandon shtopanniy ! Gandon!”

--but could not see her. Pinkie was in front of her, fiddling at her horn.

“Hurry!” Twilight hissed. “Pinkie, you’re a miracle--”

“Ha ha! I eto vse na chto ty sposoben? Atron na tebya galko tratit!”

“Got it!” she cried, holding the ring up for a moment in triumph. “It’s mine! Hehe--”

“Vasha pesenka speta! Nahuy poshel!’

A guard tackled her and Pinkie was gone in a pink blur. But Twilight’s magic was freed. It boiled within her blood, it sang in her ears. She called on it and it answered in spades.

Three arcane bolts, queued in rapid succession, hit three different targets, sending them flying. She threw one of the zebras off of Applejack and heaved onto a table. The one who had attacked Pinkie she lifted and threw into a wall.

A door on the far end of the chamber opened. More zebras entered, and from the core of the mass emerged Abdiel, grimacing. He leveled his rifle.

“Cease! Apprentice, if you will cease this foolishness, I--”

Twilight picked him up like she had picked up Smartypants as a foal and tore the rifle from his saddle, tore the saddle off and threw it aside, and then used him as a bowling ball to knock over the first wave of attackers.

Applejack whistled, but Twilight had no time for complements. She forced the shackles on Tradewinds open, and then turned to Applejack to find Pinkie working on it frantically.

“How in tarnation did you do that, Pinkie?” Applejack demanded as she stood, free.

“Oh you know! I keep all kinds of things in my mane,” she said and laughed.

Twilight honestly didn’t care. Not only did she believe it, but she’d believe anything right just then.

The next wave of zebras approached. Tradewinds bowled into them, and Applejack mounted a table and threw herself at another knot of fighters. Pinkie slid across the floor to trip one who had gotten too close to Twilight.

And Twilight herself shot them down, with no time to pull punches but with no killing intent. She had little intent besides keeping them away. Arcane bolts, fire, ice, gusts of artificial wind and telekinetic force--she used everything.

It was all a blur of action and reaction. Twilight the Uncertain and Twilight the Apostate alike were swallowed up in Twilight the Tactician. This was the supreme end of her endless organization. Two dozen zebras against four ponies. Twilight thought they would have needed another dozen to make it fair.

And then it was over. Twilight sat down heavily, trying to catch her breath. Her magic had come to her--eager--and she, for a moment, felt like herself again. Magic is connected to the self, she thought, and then sighed. Which either meant she was supposed to be a crazed battlemage or…

Or maybe it just means you were meant to help your friends all along, Twilight. Time for this later. Go find Abdiel. Wherever you threw him.

She had thrown him on purpose--specifically, knowing that it would get him out of the fight with a higher chance of surviving it. She had questions. Her companions did not need to ask where she went. They followed her, no doubt with the same batpony on all of their minds.

Abdiel was crawling towards the door with a pained expression when Twilight pressed her magic down, pinning him.

“Ah, hello, Apprentice.” He winced. “It seems you are victorious. I cannot say I am completely disapointed. Make this quick, would you? I have someone to meet in the clearing at the edge of the path.”

Twilight wanted to do that spitting thing Applejack did when she was disgusted, but AJ did it for her, so she settled for a scornful grimace. “Seriously?” she said.

“Twilight, please if you would be giving his bullets to Tradewinds with magic, would be very good. Da?” Twilight glanced at her, and Tradewinds rolled her eyes. “I promise not to be shooting suka on floor without of being asked, ah… whatever word is.” She shrugged.

“Expressly? Specifically?” Twilight supplied almost idly as she rifled through Abdiel’s person, pulling several clips from his packs. It was a pragmatic move--she needed another pony who could strike at range. As much as she disliked the weapon, Twilight couldn’t react to everything.

“Whatevers,” Tradewinds repeated, and gleefully took the ammunition. “Will be retrieving of traitor’s gun. Hope is not too damaged.” She looked down at the helpless Abdiel, and her face grew very dark for a moment. She spat on him. “Your friends, the ones who lie with mares with threats, they did not save you, da? Will use your for target practice, and then you will rot in hell. I hope. Maybe something good will happen for final, yes?”

As Tradewinds stalked off, grumbling, Twilight and her friends looked down at the traitor.

“Well, now what do we do?” Pinkie asked.

“I ain’t sure myself. Twi, as much as Tradewinds wants to go ahead an’... I’m not sure I can feel right about it, with him all tied up and what not. It’s… it’s different.”

“Or harder to justify,” Twilight said softly. “You know, we ran through all of these hallways because we thought they were going to kill you?” she asked him. Abdiel did not meet her eyes at first, but when he did she found his expression… not unreadable. She wished it was unreadable. This was baleful. He hated. Her? Maybe. Something, certainly.

“Why would you go off and do this?” Applejack asked.

“You know, I was wondering,” Pinkie began, trotting until she was right in front of Abdiel. She sat down in front of him, meeting his hard gaze. “When? That’s really the question. Were you ever our friend, Abdiel?”

They stared at each other for a moment. Twilight wasn’t sure how long.

“This is a hard question to answer,” he said finally.

“Not really,” Pinkie countered. “Most questions are pretty easy. It’s just sometimes we don’t know when to say ‘I dunno!’ or ‘No’ or whatever. No, I think you can answer. I just want the honest-to-Applejack truth.”

“That ain’t a sayin’, Pinkie.”

“It is now! For serious, though.” She looked at him intensely. “You really should tell me. It’s kind of important.”

Abdiel licked his lips. “Fine. You want me to explain? I’ll explain, Jester. I was approached by agents of the Mad God when you first docked in the city, yes? You were being watched. You did not know you were being watched--”

“Kinda did,” Pinkie replied softly. “Thought it was just silly Pinkie being nervous.”

“Well. They offered me something I could not turn down.”

But Pinkie shook her head. “Nah. You just didn’t want to.”

The captured Abdiel snarled at her. “You know nothing! Nothing! They could give me the only thing in life I had! You fool! You laughing, boucning imbecile what do you know of loss?”

“My parents have been missing a year and a half now,” Pinkie replied flatly.

Twilight blinked. It was true--she’d heard nothing of Pinkie’s family in the chaos. Many of the farmers in their area had headed to Canterlot and Shady Hollow to seek refuge, but Twilight had found no definitive proof that her parents were among them.

To her shame, she realized that she had never talked with Pinkie about it once. Twilight took a deep breath and tried to school her expression.

Pinkie continued, her voice still flat. “I have three sisters, and a caring father and a wonderful mother. My father used to make us work because he had to, but he always made sure that he took every bit of the heavy load he could so that we could still be foals. Our mother made us sweet things when we could afford them, and sometimes when we couldn’t. She put up with my energy and my silliness and she sent me letters from home every month in Ponyville. They’re probably dead,” Pinkie said. “My sisters may be as well. The youngest was only a few years old. The oldest was going to go to college. She was going to be a doctor and I was very proud. She sent me a letter the month that Celestia left, and she said, ‘Pinkie, now that I’m a doctor, I have to give you lots of boring warnings about your health! You have to stop eating sweets for every meal,” and I wrote her back and told her not to be so boring, and if she wrote me another letter it got lost.”

Pinkie laid on the floor so that she and Abdiel were eye-to-eye, on the same level. Face to face. He did not flinch, but neither did Pinkie.

Pinkie finished just above a whisper. “Don’t tell me I don’t know what loss is, Mr. Abdiel. Because I do. Even if my parents are alive, I was friends with every single pony in ponyville and a lot of them are dead right now. I lost my hometown, and my second hometown, and maybe my parents, and my apprenticeship, and a lot of other things. So I’m going to be very rude, okay? Tell me what they offered you, or I’ll get Tradey to bop you on the nose with her rifle and I won’t feel bad about it for like, at least a few hours.”

“Gosh,” Applejack murmured beside her. Twilight was wide-eyed as well.

Abdiel took a deep breathe. “My wife died in Sarnath when the plague came. I was chasing a thief on the veldt and so was not allowed into the city because of the quarantine. She died alone. I had heard rumors of the Mad King’s magic, and the ones that say he can raise the dead from the blood of the living…”

“You missed her.”

Abdiel nodded mutely.

“So you betrayed your friends, made a deal with a crazy zebra who kills ponies and uses their blood for weirdo parties, and all that… do you think that would make her happy?”

“I do not really care, to be honest with you, if it would make her alive.”

Pinkie sighed and looked at Twilight. “I believe him. Do you?” When Twilight nodded, Pinkie stood. “I don’t think he’s gonna be our friend, Twilight. I don’t wanna kill him. Please? Just because he’s a bad pony doesn’t mean he’s a bad pony, you know? I think one day he’ll realize what he did, but right now… can’t you magic up something? If you can’t, I could juryrig restraints…”

“I’ve got it,” Twilight said absently. She levitated the batpony, gritting her teeth as she forced him, squirming, against the wall and applied a seal. “That should keep for awhile. Not sure if the city will warp the enchantment, but it’ll hold for long enough.

Tradewinds had returned silently. “We are not killing, I take it.”

Twilight shook her head. “No. This is good enough. I’m not killing a prisoner.”

Tradewinds shrugged. “Bullet solves all problems. He is problem. No pony, no problem. But Twilight is smart pony, will be trusting of Twilight.” She moved on to the door that the attackers had come through, deftly avoiding a groaning zebra who was crawling out of her way. “Keeps enemies all alive, would be terrible Petrahoof pony. Nopony is in the hall, but will change soon. We should go.”

Twilight looked at the zebras scattered here and there. Most were alive. “Yeah. Yeah, we should go.”

And so they did. Applejack took point, barreling down the hallways, flanked by Pinkie and Twilight, with Tradewinds watching their rear with her rifle. They had no destination. Twilight knew from the start that any escape would require flight away from the complex above… and yet she also knew that the complex would be where Celestia was. Or had been. It was the only place she could have gone.

If they abandoned their pursuit here, they could escape with their lives. But it would cost them the chance to follow Celestia. There was no way they would manage a second journey through Jannah. Twilight knew she wouldn’t. Her mind would break.

Any debate was stalled by the running battle they found themselves in upon breaching the topmost floor. To her horror, the choice had been made for Twilight: they had been held at the top of the great tableland. True escape would have been impossible. Too much area, too many pursuers.

“We need to get up into the air!” she cried, throwing yet another cultist running out from a side hallway into the wall. “AJ!”

Applejack corrected her course, heading the way the last attacker had come. “If y’all see a stairway, then I’ll take it! But I wouldn’t know how---there! Follow me, girls!”

Their charge carried them into a wide open basilica where a rag tag camp had been set up. Zebras ate and slept among the tents, staring dumbly at the four ponies who barged into their living quarters.

In the center of the small encampment, the stairwell to what Twilight hoped was the complex rose up into another room.

Somewhere in her mind, there was enough space for Twilight to reflect that if they had stopped in surprise, hesitated even a moment, they would have died quickly. Or been captured, at any rate. As it was, Applejack burst through their crowds and between their tents, roaring a wild rebel’s yell, and the shock of her advance destroyed any chance of counterattack. She didn’t fight. She simply kept going, whatever was in her path, like a castle wall that moved.

A few larger zebras moved to block their path up ahead, recovering from their disorientation, but Twilight saw them. Working fast, on the run, she summoned her magi and formed it into a wide plane in front of Applejack. The shield hit the zebras first, and when they pushed back, Twilight split her plane in two and sent both sides moving in opposite directions. Caught off balance, the zebras’ resistance ended in confusion and Applejack stormed through the newly formed gap with Twilight and her friends in tow.

They came to the stairs. Twilight heard something whistling through the air and ducked. A flask exploded in green fire beside her, and she felt tiny shards of glass rake her leg. She cried out.

“Twilight! You were not mentioning grenades!”

“It’s magic! Just don’t get hit! Tradewinds, stay with me! AJ, take Pinkie ahead and we’ll follow!”

Applejack didn’t answer. Pinkie did, but Twilight didn’t listen--she was already turning, her magic already burning as Tradewinds lined up a shot and fired. Down below, a zebra hoisting another flask filled with glowing green fire found it shattering in his hoof and spilling its corrosive contents all over him. His robes burst into alchemical flame, and Twilight lost track of him as he rolled between two tents. But she couldn’t have kept up regardless--she was intercepting another flask and throwing it back.

Tradewinds hovered, firing, re-orienting, and firing again. They fought side by side, advancing up the stairs quickly as the churning crowd below began to give chase.

They gained the top. Applejack yanked Twilight’s pack with her teeth and flung her out of the line of fire. She didn’t see what happened to Tradewinds, but then Applejack’s nose was digging into her side, pushing her back onto her feet. “Jus’ missed ya! Now, c’mon! We’re way up high and I ain’t sure where I’m goin’!”

She heard the cries of the cultists below growing louder and more frenzied. Blood was in the air. It was spilt. This was what they wanted. Twilight shook herself. “It… I…” And she looked around.

And found she knew this place.

How? How did she know this place? This room, these tapestries! The luxurious couches and the silver vessels she knew would contain Sarnath wine kept in perfection in eerie silence for millenia. This was home.

Twilight grit her teeth. No it wasn’t. The city had her still. She couldn’t let her guard down. This was not home! This wasn’t Ponyville. I can be crazy later!

“This way,” she said, and led them down a hallway lined with portraits in a strange style. Ponies dead for thousands of years watched her with varying looks of compassion of stoic caution, regarding her like gods from afar. She felt their stares as if she knew them, as if she could stop and name every single one. Things began to blur together. She thought she was hearing things again and her head and sight grew foggy, her limbs grew heavy, and she--

Twilight woke up on her hooves, panting.

The scriptorium. The library. It was dimly lit, but she could still see the walls filled with books and scrolls. Mostly scrolls. Twilight finally began to feel that her head was clear. She stumbled, and shook herself.

“How? How did we get here?” she said, looking around. She barely remembered. Where had they gone? What had they done? She remembered… using magic. Running. A pony in the water. She thought hard, furrowing her brow, and remembered--

--Pinkie, running alongside her, saying she heard somepony coming up behind them--

--a great dining hall--

--a music room where lay instruments more magnificent than any made since the fall of the world’s first City, harps made of solid gold, lyres fit for goddesses to strum, flutes she knew would be so soft in their complete perfection, argent horns and--

--through a bathhouse built above the lesser springs, right through a light pool with warm water that splashed around her, throwing off a startled Black Hoof mercenary who had been dozing in the warmth, Tradewinds crying a battle hymn as she stomped his face into the stone, blood on her tile, in her bath--

“What? What… what the…” Twilight reeled. She clutched the sides of her head. She was losing it. She was finally losing it. That hadn’t been her. She hadn’t done those things. Somepony else had done them! Sompeony else was pulling her along like a puppet on strings!

“Twi! You were right about barricading the door, but it ain’t gonna work like this. I need somethin’ heavier,” Applejack said behind her.

Twilight jumped and turned.Applejack was there with her other friends, moving furniture in front of a great onyx door with massive handles, obviously trying to block it. “Who are you?” she snarled. This wasn’t Applejack! If she wasn’t herself than she couldn’t know if Applejack was Applejack! Or Pinkie! Or Tradewinds!

“Chyort,” Tradewinds grunted as she pushed a couch in front of the door. “She is of the crazy, do not have time! Tradewinds will find another couch if Pink one will hold, da?”

“Nah, I got it!” Applejack said, squeezing between Pinkie and the haphazard mass of wooden fixtures. “Go see to Twilight, get her to snap out of it, Pinks. I need ya.”

“Yes’m!” Pinkie said with a salute.

Twilight was backing away in horror. Who was she? Was she even Twilight Sparkle? Could ponies just… just burrow in your mind and--

Pinkie was in her face, gripping both sides of it with her hooves. Twilight stared, agape.

“Twilight, stop. Please? You’re gonna be okay, okay? Pinkie Promise. If I thought you would stay still, I would do the motions, but it’s kind of a special case so I guess it’ll be fine this time. Breathe, please? There you go. I dunno what happened, but I don’t have time for you to tell me. Can you help us bar the door? It would be pretty super duper if you could.”

“Th-the handles,” Twilight said, realizing only now that she had been on the verge of hyperventilation. “Find me something long or thin that I can jam into them... thread through both of them… It’ll keep the door from opening.”

Pinkie nodded. “I’ma let go, but you gotta promise not to go all freak-out. Okay? Good.” Pinkie released her and turned. “Tradey! Find something that you can stick in the handles.”

“Already… already on it,” Twilight wheezed. Her magic searched the room and found a bench. She grunted as her magic snapped the legs off of the thing, and she felt three times the resistance she should have. “If… Abdiel was right, this should go back to normal somehow… later,” she said, and after a moment, the barricade was complete.

Applejack sank next to the pile, seemingly exhausted. “Don’t even care if there’s a whole dern army outside. Too tired.”

“Is much flying on tired wings,” Tradewinds agreed, and came to rest next to Twilight. “Is head on properly, Twilight? Tradewinds would offer something to drink. Usually makes everything better. But has nothing.” She said this as if the lack of alcohol was truly a tragedy. Perhaps, for her it was. Twilight just blinked at her.

Twilight shut her eyes. “Okay. We should be okay. Just… just fine. For a moment. And then we can go outside. We need to get to the Well.”

“The what?” Applejack asked. Twilight glanced over at her to see her lying flat on her back, hooves splayed, hat on her face. “What in the sam hill are you talkin’ bout?”

“The Well. It’s where… it’s important,” she said lamely. “I’m pretty sure it’s why Celestia came here. I think Eon will be up here somewhere too.”

“I hope she’s safe,” Pinkie siad softly. “She didn’t really sound like much of a fighter.”

“I think she’s in better shape than us,” Twilight responded.

“Not in better shape than Tradewinds,” came a grumbled boast from the floor. Twilight looked down to see an exhausted pegasus curled into a ball at her hooves. “Tradewinds is, what is word?”

“Superior? The best? Strong?” Twilight offered, more out of habit than anything else.

“Zadiraaaaaa,” she clarified almost drunkenly.

Twilight couldn’t help it. She smiled. “Adrenaline is one heck of a drug. I think I’ll--” and then she felt back on her flanks. “Yeah. Knees. Takes energy to stand. Pinkie, I don’t suppose you keep food in that voluminous mane of yours?”

“That would be silly,” Pinkie replied. “I mean, c’mon smart pony, there would be hair in the cupcakes. Manes are good for stuff like bobby pins and balls.”

Twilight gave a weak laugh. “Of course.”

The pounding at the door stopped shortly after it began. Tradewinds and Applejack passed out, but Pinkie woke both of them after ten minutes or so.

The library was vast, but it was very finite. Twilight looked at the massive doors that led out into the courtyard. The courtyard had rooms for sleeping on either side and another great door beyond and that led… Well, it led to the end. Of one thing, or another.

The layout of the complex was seared into her memory. She knew how many could sleep and live comfortably on the table land, how many gardens (four), how many paths weaved through the gardens. She knew all sorts of things that she shouldn’t know.

It was then, of all times, that she heard the voice.

There is not much time. You must come now, or never come at all.

Twilight took a deep breath and then let it hiss through her teeth. You did things to me.

Not the things you suspect. Not in the way you suspect. Your… it is hard to explain. You are leaking. That is a way to say it. The city and my own help has weakened the barrier between you and I, and you and the City. But I can fix this. Please, allow me to fix this.

You were in my head.

I found myself there, with your thoughts and memories. It was frightening. But I did not want you to be hurt because of me.

YOU WERE IN MY HEAD!

I had no choice in being there!

Twilight ground her teeth together. I have no reasons left to trust you and every reason not to. I am trapped, my head is full of things I shouldn’t know, and you won’t show yourself. Stop being vague. Where are you? What are you? Who are you?

Eon was silent. Of course she was. Of course she was.

Twilight was in the middle of a mental rant when Eon finally did answer.

Eon is what they called me in the city. This is my city. I was the one who stayed close to home. I never left our home when the song slipped away into the Wells. I was the firstborn and Celestia is my sister as all Alicorns are. I have the message of her presence, which she left for anypony who followed… but who she said would be you. She was sure of it. I have meant no harm. Please believe me. I did nothing to hurt you! I was…. I was rude, but I have had a single visitor in the last thousand years. I bungled my aid, but it was aid! It is the city that does this new indignity, not I.

Where are you?

Come to the Well and I will no longer hide. I swear to you. You will be the second to see me in these thousand years.

Oh, so I just have to get there. No big deal. Through the complex which I’m almost positive is filled with ponies who want to sacrifice my friends or stab me or whatever! No pressure.

I can do… I can help you, but only if you allow me to will I make an attempt. In my long exile, I have weaved magic slowly… bit by bit through the whole of my home. You need only run to the Well. I will fight your battle for you. Nothing will touch you if I can keep it at bay.

Twilight looked back at her friends. Applejack was their front line, and though Twilight knew she would go on, none of them had eaten in awhile or slept or rested. Tradewinds could kill from afar, but she would run out of ammunition. Pinkie was not a fighter. She was a dancer who caused unfortunate accidents and her strikes were weak. Twilight’ magic was coming back, yes, but it was not all back. Even with twice the magic she had left Canterlot with, she was still in danger of burnout if she kept slinging spells.

They would be herded into a corner and then they would be overwhelmed.

What do you intend to do?

I will use the floors and walls against them. There are several of those Black Hoof ponies walking in my home. I can feel their steps like drums against my head. I could… I do not know. I could throw them? I can crush them. But I am not sure I could make myself actually do this… But I can make passage impossible, and keep them trapped or far away. It is a matter of manipulating rock, nothing more. It cannot be anything more, or else I unmake more than I would intend to.

Fine. Give me a moment, and I’ll get them going. I don’t think it’s smart to trust you. But I don’t have any other choice. I’m going to the Well anyway.

Twilight walked over to Applejack, who smirked up at her. “Feelin’ ready for another gallop?” Applejack asked. “Cause I sure ain’t.”

“Well, I think we have one more in us. Can you be ready in a few minutes? I’m worried that if we stay here much longer, the ones downstairs will brew something potent enough to get through the door.”

“After seein’ those little glass things, I don’t doubt it. Fire in a bottle. Magic.” She said the last with something between resignation and scorn. She stood and stretched. “Fine by me. A mare’s alive when she’s movin’, Granny used to say. I’m ready.”

“Tradewinds would like to be outside,” said the indolent pegasus behind her. “Would like to see sky again. I am not a fan of small rooms and hallways.”

“Oh, a big blue sky would be great!” Pinkie agreed.

Twilight managed to smile at them all and mean it. Eon was far away for a moment. The cultists below didn’t matter. This was an adventure, she was younger, and at the end of the day she knew she could go back home and Spike would make her a nice pot of tea and her books would be there when she closed her eyes. She almost felt like it could be true.

“Then let’s go find it,” Twilight said, and after helping Tradewinds to her hooves, they stood before the great doors that led to the courtyard.

“So. Don’t suppose you know where we’re going,” Applejack said and whistled.

“Straight on ‘till morning,” Twilight groused.

“Sounds great!” That would be Pinkie.

Tradewinds just loaded her weapon.

Twilight cleared her throat. “Ready? Stay close together. Just keep going forward. If we can make it to the Well, we’ll be safe. I think I can get us out if we can just make it there. Don’t stop. Don’t get side tracked. It’s like… it’s a rotunda? That word’s as good as any, I suppose. A circle of columns, you’ll recognize it. Get there, no matter what.”

They all nodded, and then Twilight pushed at the doors with her magic and they opened.

The first thing she saw was the sky, cloudless and neverending. The sun was starting to rise, but it was not dawn quite yet. The heavens were caught at the moment where blackest night faded into a royal purple, reminiscent of Twilight herself. On the columns that framed the gardens torches burned and cast a warm glow.

But Twilight had no time for this. She had no time for the eerily familiar garden. No time for madness. Applejack was on the move again and they followed in her wake.

What followed was impossibility. When they stepped out onto the rocky roof of the city’s heart, they found Black Hoof rifelponies waiting for them, aiming… until the ground beneath them shook or turned soft. Columns from the gardens detached and stood on either side of them like great stoic sentinels. A potshot richocheted off one of them, chipping the stone.

More of D’Jalin’s followers milled about them as they jogged along a pathway marked out by statues of alicorns in various poses. Zebras hid behind these or jumped out from behind them, only to be tripped by rocky terrain or to find one of the pillars bowling them over. Beneath her hooves, the ground moved like it was alive.

“Twilight! Twilight, is this you? You’re scarin’ me! Applejack called as another Black Hoof was pushed aside from her path.

“It’s Eon!” Twilight shouted.

And then the howling began. There were no clouds, but she felt on the edge of a storm all the same. The wind picked up, blowing. And then it raged, blowing her mane everywhere, gripping at her bags. Applejack held on to her hat and hurried.

None of them were trying to fight anymore. Black Hoof, Cultist, Twilight and her friends, everypony on the plateau--they were all together in cowering. The sides began to break down as Twilight’s company broke into an all-out run for shelter. The others ran for their lives. The stones were eating them, the wind was trying to push them off into space. There was nothing to be gained.

The shrine was intact, obviously. Rough, unschooled stone gave way to pristine marble slab and mosaics. The Well sat before Twilight, waiting for her--a great pool of pure water, shining and beautiful, waiting like the edge of a larger sea--and she felt her grip on herself lessen. She had to get there. She had to touch the water. Celestia had been here. She felt it. It was the same feeling as the familiarity in the garden and the hallways. She didn’t just think her teacher, her beloved mentor, had been here. She knew it.

The earth stopped crawling. The wind stopped howling. The columns fell away. Tradewinds fell away to cover their flank but did not shoot. Twilight had only the well before her in mind. Nothing else mattered. If she could touch this… if she could be where Celestia had been, it would solve everything, it would--

From behind a column, out of the shadowed sanctum, stepped a massive zebra. He had stripped his robes. Every inch of his flesh was scourged and scarred. His eyes were red and his teeth as he laughed were filed into points. All over his body there were packs which would be filled with flasks and bombs and poultices, waiting to be used.

“I knew you would come!” he said, standing on his hindlegs with spread forelegs, as if preparing to greet her in a great hug. “I knew she would not fail me! She would bring you to her very doorstep! What a goddess is Manat that she provides her own sacrifice!”

Applejack didn’t waste time retorting. She charged the mad zebra, lowering her shoulder. But he was fast, despite his size. D’Jalin stepped to the side and then brought his whole weight on Applejack’s back. She fell flat, and with a sneer D’jalin kicked the startled earth pony aside.

Pinkie was next. He attacked, keeping her backing up even as Tradewinds turned to face him. She tried to dance around his blows, but she was only so quick. A hoof clipped her cheek and she spun and fell. Tradewinds shouted and fired.

The first shot pierced his shoulder. As Tradewinds worked the bolt, D’Jalin had pounded his right hoof against the ground and only now Twilight saw the runes that were cut into the skin. They flared to light.

“Tradewinds!” The Well was gone. Twilight was in the present again, and she was pushing Tradewinds out of the way with her magic as a great fist of rock erupted from the spot where she had been standing. “Fly!” she called, and Twilight began her own dance with D’Jalin.

Twilight arced two arcane bolts. D’Jalin danced between them, pulling a flask from one of his pack in the same flawless motion and throwing it at her. Twilight backed up, but the fire she expected did not come. Instead, red smoke poured out, clouding the air between them. It touched Twilight’s skin and it burned like it was eating at her.

Panicking, Twilight fell back and then rolled away, trying to brush the cloud off of her. Above, she heard Tradewinds strafing the blood mage, who laughed at her screaming.

“Mudak! Die! Bayonet in your ass!”

“Come to the ground, little lost soul! Come and greet us!”

Twilight stood back up and summoned up fire from the air. At least some of those potions had to be flammable. She threw it.

D’Jalin saw or felt it before her fire could hit him and threw himself flat. She heard the sound of breaking glass, but saw no explosions or clouds. Twilight tried to pin him with her telekinesis, but her magic slid off. Runes, like the ones she had shown Spike forever ago. She wanted to curse, but spent the energy attacking again. Fire would still burn him and raw power would still hurt, but she couldn’t manipulate his body.

D’Jalin tried to dodge her bolts and Tradewind’s fire, but a bolt hit him in the leg and he went sprawling. She was about to crow in victory until she saw the knife in his mouth. She opened her mouth, trying to warn Tradewinds, but what happened froze her.

He stabbed his leg and cut through the flesh. Blood seeped out of the weeping wound. And then it danced in the air as he chanted. It was only a moment, but the sight of it rising in the air transfixed her.

Blood Mage.

“Tradewinds! Get out of the sky!”

She did not. The blood arched out at her, hungry to cut and bind. But Tradewinds did not cower or dodge. She dove, rifle roaring. The blood formed ragged whips which broke her skin and scourged her legs, her wings. It formed knives which cut her. It tried to bind her wings but it could not overcome her.

But it didn’t need to. Her shots were wild and they went wide, and when she was close enough, a newly strengthened D’Jalin met her charge with a hoof and she went sprawling.

Applejack had risen shakily. Twilight saw her out of the corner of her eye. But D’Jalin, mercifully, did not turn towards her. He had eyes only for Twilight Sparkle. He smiled and showed every one of his filed teeth.

“Yes, yes. Yes! She brings her own sacrifice, of course! Of course she would, is she not worthy? And you came, escorted by her power! Escorted by the bride of shadows!” He cackled even as he dug through his pack.

“What are you talking about?” Twilight shouted at him, keeping her magic ready.

Twilight found herself backing up to keep those crazed eyes at a distance. She turned, hoping to keep her back from the well and his eyes off of Applejack, but he was quicker by far. He was herding her back towards the well.

And she was beginning to think that the City had played her for a foal.

“The Lady! The Lady of the Water!” he laughed. As he closed the distance between them, Twilight saw his antimagic runes flash. How had he cut those into his flesh? How had he borne the agony?

“E-Eon?” she asked. She had to keep him talking. Applejack needed time to get up. Tradewinds and Pinkie needed time to get back into the fight. They would, they had to. She couldn’t do this alone!

“You speak a lesser name for her,” D’Jalin said in an almost casual voice, as if Twilight were back at Celestia’s school and this was just another lecture. “When I realized that my soul was not within me, I became aware of her. And now she will help me reclaim that soul which is mine! I have been kept locked away so long, ‘Apprentice’!” His smiling turned instantly to screaming. “I WANT OUT! GIVE YOURSELF! INTO THE WATER!”

“NO!”

"I have waited so long! In a thousand forms! In a thousand voices! The plans were so well arranged! Everything has gone so perfectly! You are the last little puzzle piece and you need to play along you miserable bitch! I will be reunited with myself once more!"

He threw two flasks with lightning speed and then charged after them. Twilight deflected one, but her charged magic touched it annd it instantly shattered, blinding her with light. She reeled, crying out--a trap! He’d known she would try to throw them back!

Something heavy hit her and the next thing Twilight knew her face was resting against something hard and uncomfortable. Her face felt wet. Everything felt hot. She saw only white light, with strange moving black shadows flitting here and there.

Twilight tried to rise. The white light did not go away. Her head ached. She tried to wipe her eyes, but nothing changed. She closed her eyes--nothing changed.

She had no time to register what this meant. The shadows were moving, and Twilight concentrated her magic on feeling what was around her.

D’Jalin was a cold spot that she could see only by seeing the absence. Applejack was moving again, no longer stunned and charging. She dodged something thrown that felt sickly. She felt Tradewinds taking to the sky again. She felt Pinkie hanging back. No, heading for her.

Twilight felt hooves touch her and she panicked. “Who? What?”

“It’s Pinkie! Twilight, please, don’t go all kooky again!”

“I can’t see,” Twilight said. She was starting to breath to fast. “Pinkie, I can’t see. He did something to me. I have to see with my magic, but it’s… it’s ineffecient.” Talking hurt her face. She grit her teeth and continued. “H-help me up, Pinkie. You’ll have to help me walk.”

Pinkie did so. She felt surprisingly strong legs pull her up and steady her. She smelled a smell she recognized as being uniquely Pinkie, something between cinnamon and bread. She still saw almost nothing.

“This guy is tough, Twilight. He’s…”

“He’s crazy,” Twilight said. “Pinkie, something is in this city. Luna found an infection in her Dreamwalking, and I think that whatever did that is here. And I think this guy thinks that it is also somehow him. We can’t reason with him. He has to… he’s gotta go.”

Pinkie nodded into her cheek so that Twilight could feel it. “I’ll hold you steady, Twi. You do your magic thing, okay?”

“Right.” Twilight took a deep breath, summoned her magic, and fired an arcane bolt at the cold spot.

D’Jalin did not dodge. This time it hit him square on and he shook and fell. Applejack reared to fall on him, but then the cold spot expanded, and she fell back, writhing. “What’s happening?” Twilight asked, but Pinkie was pulling her away.

“He’s got some--ack!” Pinkie began to cough. The cold spot was expanding. Twilight felt colder. Nauseous. The cold washed over her.

“Pinki--ugh.” She coughed. The air tasted vile. “Get us away from it! We can’t engage him up close, he has too many tricks. We have a chance if--oh, Celestia!” Pinkie was retching, and Twilight felt dizzy again.

The cold was swirling around her. Pinkie fell away, but caught Twilight before she could stumble.

“G-gotcha!” Pinkie managed to say.

They tried to walk back towards the Well. Twilight felt its siren call again, but now she feared it. Who was she? There was no time to think about it, but it could mean everything.

The last pony I trusted betrayed me!

Pinkie fell again, pushing Twilight forward before she collapsed. Twilight could see her pink outline in her mind’s eye, shivering, curling into a tight ball and retching. Twilight stumbled towards the well. If she could find a pillar to lean on in the shrine… she could keep fighting. She could pull her friends out of the cloud--

Something grabbed her roughly. Twilight was being dragged forward. But she was out of the cloud at last.

D’Jalin had her by the scruff of the neck. She felt his teeth digging into her skin now and she screamed and flailed. This only made them tear at her.

D’Jalin threw her against something hard and flat. Twilight went sprawling, rising only to be pushed down again. He was forcing her down, forcing her to be still. She whimpered.

“N-no! No, please!”

She heard the knife. She squirmed, she tried to kick--it was useless. He was bigger and stronger than her. He had won. She felt the cold blade against her neck. She tried to pull back, but she couldn’t. Her head was against the floor. There was nowhere to run.

“Thank you, thank you!” he was whispering in her ear. “I have come to teach you death, Apprentice. I have come that you might have it in abundance! You have come all this way, just for me! Your teacher will be very proud! I shall send you to her, would you like that? Would you like that?” He was laughing. She heard the sound of water as he pushed her along the floor. “Would you like that? Together! Together always! Cut throat and ashes! Always always! And I will mix the knifeblood with my wine and you will taste so sweet on my lips, little pony! Oh, you will.”

Her head was against something read. She was crying. No! Please no! Celestia! Luna! LUNA!

And he cut her throat and then there was a great rushing wind and he screamed. And somepony else screamed.

“DOS VIDANIYA YOU SON OF BITCH! NOW WE FLY TOGETHER!”

Twilight couldn’t breath. She choked. She gurgled. She knew blood was pouring all over her front. She was going to die. No, she was dead. She was already dead.

She knew the well was there. She turned, and lay flat on her stomach. Seconds left. A minute at most. Her thoughts were starting to lose shape. She couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t hear anything. Something smelled like hyacinths. There was water here. She felt so filthy. Wouldn’t it be nice to be clean again? The water smelled like hyacinths. It was nice. No one would mind if she slipped in for a nice soak.

She pulled herself up and fell forward.

Good night. I’m sorry, Luna. The Answer was--

Author's Note

The story is not over. Please, keep with me awhile. Wait, and watch, and see.

Thanks Carbon, who helped me with my Russian. The faults are mine if there are any.

From John Donne's Holy Sonnets,

What if this present were the worlds last night?
Marke in my heart, O Soule, where thou dost dwell,
The picture of Christ crucified, and tell
Whether that countenance can thee affright,
Teares in his eyes quench the amasing light,
Blood fills his frownes, which from his pierc'd head fell.
And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell,
Which pray'd forgivenesse for his foes fierce spight?
No, no; but as in my idolatrie
I said to all my profane mistresses,
Beauty, of pitty, foulnesse onely is
A signe of rigour: so I say to thee,
To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign'd,
This beauteous forme assures a pitious minde.

LIFT UP YOUR HEARTS

ALL WILL COME RIGHT

OUT OF THE DEPTHS OF SORROW

AND OF SACRIFICE

XL. Jannah, Postlude: Gethsamane

--Yes.

Light! Light inside of light! I am swimming, or I am falling, or walking, or sitting, reclining, dying! Sense goes and does not return. The world is too much with me and there is Somepony approaching. She reaches for me and I am crying as I worship her she touches me--

I have never asked what the Song was because I assumed I knew what it was already. I had assumed it was like any other song. A melody. Counter melody. Harmony. Chord structure and timing. I imagined that the thing Luna talked about was just another tune. I thought that when ponies whispered hoarsely in awe--by the Song. The Song preserve me. May he rest in the Song, they say as they lay the old ponies to rest. May she sing in the choirs invisible.

I was so wrong. There are no words now or ever for how wrong I was.

Anything I say will be wrong. Given a lifetime of contemplation, if I return wizened and wise to write my experience, I will be wrong. I could not paint this if I worked a thousand years. I could not write a symphony that would match it.

How can something be so stately? So majestic and yet so whimsical at once! And beneath it all the quiet solemnity of good friends who know they look together into their last, long night--the quiet mirth of lovers! the procession of a King beyond all knowing in crimson robe! the agony of a hardfought victory! the relief that comes with decisive defeat, laying down the burden at long last! a kiss! a foal’s hug at your foreleg!

Between closing my eyes and entering the Well and opening them beneath, I lived a dozen lifetimes. I was born. I grew in stature and wisdom. I loved over and over. Mares and stallions alike. I lived alone or with several lovers or with a husband who smiled nervously at me through great horn-rimmed glasses when I asked him to stay with me forever. I was a scholar and a priest. A warrior and a healer. I administered justice. Once, I built a great empire of ilicit wealth and became cruel and was slain. Another time, I hid my family from a goddesses’ wrath. I gave up my magic and convinced others to do the same when it proved too detrimental to the world’s fabric of being. I searched for a lost filly, gone to rescue her mentor from the jaws of death. I was shattered and my apprentice searched the universe for me. I was a creature of strange lusts, draining a shy painter of lifeblood. I was a ghostly librarian, imprisoned in a subterranean archive for millennia. I was a faithful student many times. I taught physics on the third floor of the Starswirl Hall. Over and over and over and--

Somepony touched my cheek. I put my own hooves over theirs. I find that I’ve been weeping. The visions stop. I am me again, Twilight Sparkle. Only this life, this one and solitary life. I live only once.

I do not shy away from the touch. No, I cling to it because it is a lifeline--I feel like the right me now because somepony is here, touching me, grounding me.

“I can’t see you,” I say, before I realize with horror that I’m still under water. But nothing happens to me. The words are easy to hear in the great Music. My words are a part of the Music, perfectly fitting into the great shifting structure of Reality. It accepts my contribution.

“I know,” she says--sings?--sighs? “I am so, so sorry, Twilight.”

“Who are you?” I ask.

Her words are light--if I could see light beyond the blinding white. No--shade. A darkness to overcome this broken light that I see. So soothing. So sorry. So soft.

“You called me Eon. I called myself that. I was afraid, and so I hid, and now you are wounded. But you will be whole presently. No, you will be renewed.”

“What do you mean?” I felt my throat and found it cut… but felt no blood. I waved a hoof in front of my eyes but the shadows were gone. Now everything was white. I was blind. A lump formed in my throat. “A-are you sure? Really, really sure?”

“Yes. Do you not hear this truth all around you?”

And somehow, somehow I did.

“Where am I? Is this the Well?”

“Yes. This is the Well. It is, in fact, the lesser Well. Here there is only the echo of the Song, but there is the Song proper. This is looking through a glass darkly, but there we see and hear face to face. This has been my prison.”

I wished I could see. “Prison? What? But… but it’s just water! I can’t be trapped here.”

“And you are not. It is a prison I made myself, not one that the Song forced upon me.”

“For… why?”

Eon sighed. The sound was like thunder in my ears, and yet she did not wince or falter. Nothing could hurt me here.

“First, your sight. Pray, be still. It will take me but a moment…”

I was still as I could be and closed my eyes. Not that it mattered. I felt her touch the sides of my face, my forehead, my ears, and finally my eyes. I felt warmth there, and then the touch ended.

When I opened them again, I saw…

I saw. I am trying. I don’t know how to say what I saw. I would need another language, because this one is so very narrow. How do you say that something is vast as a city but intimate as a bed? How do you reconcile infinite size and personal warmth? Even asking those questions, which are the best I can do, cannot convey what I mean.

She was there, and in this place (was it a place?) I felt a twinge of something a little greater than awe. For a moment, I thought I knew what it felt like to sit before the shrines in the halls of the Celestialists and consider the Stars. Eon was taller, greater, more regal than Celestia--her eyes were like suns themselves. Her coat was fire and wind. Her mane was the flowing sea. Where she walked the earth would sprout and the earth would crack. Destruction and life. She was in the presence of something beyond her.

But Eon smiled at me. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” I managed after a second of staring. “Is… is this what you’re really like?”

“After a fashion,” she replied. “In this place you see me as I am with no veil. I am… embarrassed, I confess. If it makes you feel at ease, you too have a much changed appearance.”

“Me?”

“Yes. It is lovely. Not without it’s wounds,” she added, more for herself than me, I think. “But it is beautiful.”

“I… uh… thanks,” I mumble. “I’m not really sure what’s going on. I’m sorry. I’m trying to remember how I got here. I… D’Jalin and I were fighting, and he kept going on about sacrificing and…”

“D’Jalin is a fool, but not for the reasons you think. He was not lying about being in two parts,” Eon said. “But he was mistaken about my intentions. I was drawing you here. But not to devour you. I hoped that you would win your way here… but I had also hoped that if you were captured, he might simply throw you in without harming you. It took all of my effort just to plant part of the idea in his mind… and it almost cost you your life.” She seemed to wilt. “There is no way to express how sorry I am.”

“I think he would have done that anyway,” I said. I felt my throat. I remembered the feeling of the knife now and shuddered.

“That wound is also healed. The… the scar will remain. The blade was corrupted.”

“It’s just a scar,” I whisper.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s… it’s okay,” I said. “I’m alive. I can see. You saved me, more or less. Were those lifetimes…”

“They were true.”

The lump in my throat is back. “I’m alive, right? I’m really alive? This isn’t some kind of death-hallucination or the afterlife or anything? Please tell me the truth.”

She shook her head. “I do not know what lies beyond the veil of death. But… this is not it. I know I am alive. I know you too live.”

“Can my friends not get to me? It’s been… I mean, surely by now they would have…” I closed my eyes and held my head. “All that time… Oh, Celestia. Please tell me they’re alright.”

“From their perspective, only a few seconds has passed. I can show you.” I looked up at her, and Eon did not meet my gaze. She looked off into the distance, and before her opened up a rift in the swirling, roiling, endlessly cascading Song. I saw the inside of the shrine. Pinkie was frozen in place, running towards the water. Applejack was yelling, I thought. Looking past me. But she was not running.

“What’s going on?”

“Your other friend, the pegasus, took the Mad God by surprise as he gloated over you,” Eon said. “She has caught him in her grasp and flown them both off the cliff. I believe she means to send him flying at high speeds into the ground.”

I winced. “Geeze. That’s dangerous. Oh, Tradewinds… will she be okay?”

Eon sighed. “I wish that I could know.”

I sat. Or, I tried to sit. Movement… movement was odd, here. There was no floor beneath me, no walls on either side. There was nothing to orient myself with. A moment’s thought was enough to realize that there was no up or down here. Yet I did not feel overly lost or disoriented. Not really. Here, in the Well, these things were natural. They fit into the still present theme that played all around me.

“Now… There are things I must tell you. And one thing that you must simply be shown,” Eon said. “You have asked who I am. I will tell you. No--I can show you, can I not?” She hummed, and then before me she turned and opened another great scene in the churning, bright chaos.

EON

She did not know what had happened, but when her eyes snapped open in the semi-darkness before dawn, she knew that something was terribly wrong.

The Lady of Jannah lay still in her bed upon the temple mount. The only sound, the only motion in her simple quarters was her breathing. Hers, and Aegis. She carefully, carefully turned her head to look at him. Sleep still held on to her husband and captain. She smiled, despite the way her insides crawled.

Eon left her bed behind without noise. Her magic was a subtle magic when it wished to be, and it was as much a part of her as something she called upon. Her walk through the silent, calm hallways took both weeks and but a moment. Her being was both here and there.

Her grasp of time was tenuous, after a fashion. She experienced the present fully, and loved her life a day at a time. But she was also somewhere right after the foundations of the world. She was a few minutes ahead of herself. She did not know what would come or what had been. She knew sometimes what could have been or what may be. She saw other whens and other wheres.

So it was these she hoped that drug her from her bed and towards the Well. Or, at least, towards the outside. She wished to fly for a moment. To look over her city and put her anxiety to rest. She would soar over the homes of her myriad little ponies, smiling, and say to herself--There is nothing the matter. The sun rises as always and the days continue!--and then she would return to bed and her lover would nibble on her ears and she would enjoy another bright day in Jannah, in Paradise.

As soon as she felt the night air, that vision dissipated. All visions, in fact, faded. The worry that waited in her to bloom finally did so--and Eon was afraid. She was, for perhaps the first time, feeling the icy touch of terror. And she had yet to see anything wrong.

Because it hadn’t gone wrong yet. But it was going to. There was no other option. She had been trapped in a doomed world.

It took a whole minute before she could think again. She was an alicorn, and though her magic was great and her form appeared almost divine, her heart was a pony’s heart and it trembled. She staggered, sat on the path. Stared. What would it be? What was coming? What if this were just… what if she were just mistaken? Sometimes she looked at something that would not come and she would work herself into a panic trying to stop it, only for nothing to change and then… then nothing. Because it was never going to happen. But when that happened, it was tunnel vision that kept the truth from her. She searched fitfully for some evidence that the promised end was not coming, and found that she could not even understand the event itself. It was not a picture but just a feeling. Or it would be a picture, but one she could not comprehend, like looking through a glass darkly at something, far away. She was being--

Her eyes widened.

There were Alicorns and alicorns, ponies and zebras, a dozen things that walked and flew and talked and loved on the earth and above and below it. But there were only two things which could bind the magic of an Alicorn.

Eon stood and tried to press against the block of her foresight. It resisted. She turned and fled back towards her own bed.

Aegis was there. As she entered, he rose. Sleep fell from him instantly, a life time of martial service shining through. “Eon? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t see it.”

His brow furrowed, as if confused, but then he seemed to understand. He stared in a slow horror that mirrored her own. “But you see…”

“I see almost everything. Certainly everything that could be that would hurt my… my…” She leaned against the doorway. “Oh, no. Oh no, no, no….”

“What is it? Did you see?”

“No!” she whispered urgently. “I can’t! I just feel something. Something awful. Something I’ve… I can’t remember if I have felt this before but I know that I would never want to remember it.”

Aegis stood and hurried to her. He touched her cheek, her neck. He embraced her. “Calm, my lady. Be calm. I am here.”

And he was. But it could only keep so much of her terror away.

It was not one simple doom. More and more, she felt this and knew that she could not make Aegis understand. How do you explain that there are other whens and other wheres and other hows? That in this life you lie with him but in one next door you tease a knight called Blue Sky, and in another you are alone, and in another…

How do you explain that he is replicated and that you are not? That there are a thousand Aegis’s, all sharing, all approximating an idea, but that there is only one of you, and you are everywhere?

She clung to him. In other whens and wheres she clung to others. In some she wrapped her forelegs and wings about herself and shivered. Her mind and magic kept looking for some… for some other way, some other path.

There wasn’t one. All things that rise converge. They converge in one great blackness. There was nowhere to go but into it.

“Dear? Eon?”

She was shaking. She hugged Aegis tighter. “It is… perhaps it is a bad dream that lingers... “ she lied.

She could feel him stiffen. She knew he would want to say that yes, yes it could be. He would want to shy away from danger. But he wouldn’t. He was still a knight, still the martial of the Fountain Guard.

“Eon, you are not tricked by dreams,” he said softly. “We need to alert the guards. If you cannot see what comes, we must try to prepare for everything we can think of that may come.”

She shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do.”

He was quiet a moment. “I do not doubt you. I never have. But we must try.”

“It’s already too late,” she said.

The both felt the moment that the hubris and greed of unicorns tore creation. Everypony awake in Jannah would feel it. She endured, but Aegis groaned, holding his head as he began to lose his balance. She kept him steady, trying to tell him she was still here, to be strong, not to listen if he--

And then they both heard it. The low keening. The Noise. Like static, but not. Like music, but unlike any music ever played. It whispered, come out. It filled the streets below, but even high above on the acropolis they felt the urge. Come out into the streets. Come and wait for our devouring. Come out. Come out. Show yourselves. Give yourselves.

And then she felt it. She felt the Shadow somewhere in the city.

There are things that happen that you cannot let go of, no matter how hard you try. There are feelings that no amount of time or happiness will totally bury. The agony of a wound. The first time you touch another intimately. The strains of a song with connections you cannot cut.

She stopped being in the present.

It was, for a brief moment, the Morning of the World again. The song reverberated in newborn valleys and off of nascent mountain ranges. Eon was not called Eon, but wore her truest and first name, and she watched over her sisters and brothers on the great table land, where they sang in turns. And then the youngest was soon to come. She would be named Luna. The second youngest, Celestia, was very keen on her coming, and the rest smiled at each other. Another sister! What a wonderful thing it would be to have a new face smiling amongst the rocks and gardens! The moment of her foaling was almost here, and Celestia waited eagerly by the waters. She will need me when the time comes, she said very seriously when Eon sat beside her, smiling and waiting. She had greeted all life, and she would greet this one.

The others sing or wait to sing. The song is bright and powerful and unified. All in the world is beautiful. It is Dawn.

When the first discordance comes, it shakes them all to the core. It is a small noise. But it sways others. Luna’s head is visible below the water as a rogue sound becomes something more. There has never been anything but harmony, melody and counter melody. There has never been darkness. The alicorns panic. Celestia is rooted in place, sweat on her brow, waiting. She must be there. Eon’s heart beats fast in her chest. Her wings itch to fly. She sings aggressively, pushing back. Others hear her and join. The sun, which sits below the horizon, waiting to rise as it always has, sinks lower. Above they see not stars--they have seen stars--but nothing at all. There is a great Shadow born out of a few seconds of discordance, a few miswritten lines in the great oratorio.

Luna’s head breaks the surface of the water she is born singing as all alicorns are in the beginning. But her voice is not clear. Her song is mangled and her eyes leak… she does not understand. She will call them tears later. Luna is born crying with a broken voice. Celestia holds her, whimpering, comforting her. And as she does so, Luna’s song straightens, and then turns to a soft humming. The shadow goes.

She is in the present. Aegis is pulling her along. At some point, she told him they must flee. The Well. The Well is the only safe place.

The Shadow has returned--but the alicorns no longer sing the song. It sings itself inviolate. From whence did it come? Who called it? She had thought it gone away. And how did it steal into the world again without her noticing long before?

They race along the winding path through the crags and when they come to the shrine he stops her up short. She knows--she needs no second sight to see it--what he is going to say because Eon knows him. Her knight. Her brave, small knight, always flying so hard against the wind.

“No,” she said.

“I haven’t said anything,” Aegis replied, breathlessly.

“You’re going to go out there. You are about to tell me to wait for you in the safety of the Well, and come out when it is over to find you. Or perhaps you will make an empty promise to return to me.”

He tried not to look at the shrine. She could see the need in his eyes even as he struggled to keep them locked on hers. The Well has that effect. The fountain of the song itself is… intoxicating. Those not familiar lose their senses, becoming not dangerous so much as devoted. Those familiar with it find themselves dreaming of once more returning.

For a moment, Eon knew that she could stop him. She could force him to stay. As an Alicorn, she was stronger by far than he was--they both knew this. She could plead and beg, which might work. She could lie to him, give her mate some reason to stay away from his duty. In the second they stood silent, staring at each other, she considered dozens of various lies. She was pregnant. She could see enough of the future to know for absolute certain he would do no good, or that in fact he would almost certainly hinder the evacuation. She knew a way to stop this, but if she was distracted worrying about him she might not be able to complete her spell. Or, perhaps she could simply push him slightly to the left. Just… just say nothing, pull him into the aura of the Shrine, and know that once inside he wouldn’t leave. He would want to stay. He would want to be with her and--

Eon shut her eyes. No. She couldn’t do that.

“Please,” she said. “Please, Aegis. Don’t go.”

“I have to, my lady. You know that.”

“You won’t come back.” She said this with absolute certainty.

“Perhaps. But while I breathe I--”

“Hope,” she finished.

“Yes. I love you. Please, wait for me in the waters.”

“Always. Until I can bear it no more.”

TWILIGHT

Eon wept.

I tried to… well, I don’t really know. I want to comfort her, but anything I say would seem almost…

How do I tell someone that it will be alright when it isn’t? And she waited her alone, didn’t she? She’s been alone for so long. I can’t tell her I know what it is like--I’ve been alone for days or hours. She has been alone longer than I can guess at. I have never had a spouse. I’ve never sent one off to die.

“I am sorry,” she gaspsedat me. I recoil. I felt her sorrow. Yet even that is in its proper place in the Song. It too is woven out of the light inarticulate that surrounds me. “I… I must partition... “

“What? Wait,” I said. “Partition? What are you doing?”

“I exist…” She swallows. Tears roll down her cheeks. I can see them in perfect detail even from several meters away. I can feel them as if they were mine. They catch the omnipresent light like sunbursts. “I exist redundantly, is what you or Celestia would say. I cannot… I cannot bear it. After so long, I must partition those parts of me that discover his memory. I know of him, I feel him--all of them, all of their absences! But I cannot go to them and they cannot return.”

I took a hesitant step forward. “He was… he was your husband, right?”

She nods. “And so was Blue Skies, who I called my knight when I teased him. And many others. Many. Many, so many. I exist redundantly. I am all whens that I am in,” she said, and shuddered. “Please, it is time. I must partition or the knowledge…”

“Why do you need to forget? Don’t you… I mean, don’t you love him? Or you did?” I blurt out. I don’t know why, but this feels important. You can’t just cut the memories out! You can’t do that! You shouldn’t, even if you can. If I thought Luna or Celestia would endure the long march of years simply by erasing me from their memories when I passed… unless they would. What if that was exactly what they would do? I would be a few years of amusement and warmth for Luna, and then when I was gone she would erase me and what I meant. Or maybe I would remain, but only vaguely. As facts.

I shuddered. “Please,” I said. “Don’t erase him.”

She glared at me, her divine eyes flaring with righteous fire. “I am not erasing him! I would never erase Him. He is all I have to live by! Oh… Oh Song, but--”

“When you seal his memory--this memory--away… just stop! Hold on, at least think this over!” I said, as her horn glowed.

And I found at last a thing that did not fit in the Song. For as she began to work her magic, and the image receded, the world around me warped. This was wrong. Every single iota of creation was saying so. There was no general scream, no indignant shout. Just the firm proclamation.

“Please,” I said again. Don’t. “Don’t!”

And then, miracles never cease, she stopped. She stared at me. “Why?”

I swallowed. “Because… because if Luna or Celestia did that to get over it when I died, I don’t know if…” I shuddered. “I don’t even know what I would begin to say or do. It would be too awful. I would say they never loved me in the first place. I wouldn’t be a pony to them. I would be a toy.”

“If I do not partition Him away, then I will lose my hold here,” she told me. She approached. “I cannot do that.”

“Why? Why stay?”

“Because somepony must stay.”

“Why?”

“Because… because it is right.”

“No, unless you have a mission, it isn’t,” I said. I felt lighter here. I felt firmer and more myself. I felt like Twilight two or three years ago. This place hummed in me, and my words were half mine and half music. “But you have no mission, Daughter, you are hiding in despair because your helpmate is gone. But you must not hide forever. The time has come. There will be a tomorrow for you now or never again. Come out. Come out!” The last words were mine. I felt like laughing, so I did. My mouth tasted of angel food and hyacinths, the air smelled of roses, the tears coursing down my cheeks were lavender scented. My body was on fire with pleasure.

“You are touching it,” she said to me. We were very close now. She decreased, or perhaps I increased. We were face to face. “My… my goodness, you are. You are touching it. How strange. How do you feel, child?”

“I feel wonderful,” I said. My voice sounded both drunk and like the heavenliest of strings. “What is your True Name?”

“Do you ask or does the song within you ask?”

“I am my own song,” I said, and giggled. Thinking was hard. But not that hard. I knew that I felt strange, and yet I was not changed. This was not like how it had been before, when Eon had invaded my mind. This was me. It was all me.

“You are,” she replied. “I… and you say that I shall not partition?”

“Every chain will be broken soon,” I said. I felt like kissing her--not because I felt anything for her, but because her lips looked nice and kissable, and maybe it would make her happy, and mares were made to be happy. But I do not because I also know it would not be welcome. Or expected. Also, Luna would probably murder me and then unmurder me at the last moment and then she would cry and I would feel awful.

I laughed again. “What is happening to me?” I asked.

“You touched the Song, or it touched you. You are swept up in its joy,” she murmured. “I will not erase Him, as you say. I… I am frightened,” she admitted.

I felt her fear wash over me as a physical sensation. It was a great wave of cold, and as it passed the feeling of being dirtier, smaller, did not go with it. But that lingering feeling was not mine. It was hers. I was a fire, something sterner than happiness and brighter than smiling. I hugged her.

“Daughter,” I sang, “The singing will wipe the tears from your eyes. And there will be no more mourning, or sickness, or death, and the old way of the world will pass away. Everything is made new.”

She hugged me back. “Why did you not speak to me before?”

“You would not listen,” I sang. “What is happening to me?” I whisper. But I was not afraid. I am not sure that I could be afraid here, truly, even if I wanted to.

“You look as I and my family do, Twilight Sparkle. I suppose you are something unlike our children,” she told me quietly. “For now. Would you see?”

I nodded, and she created a mirror. Before I looked, she shivered. “Oh… oh. It is becoming hard to bear. I am.. the others… the other parts of me are beginning to realize something is wrong.”

“You must make all things new,” I sang. “Break every chain, for now is the hour of your deliverence at hand.”

“It is hard.”

“Reality is hard to the hooves of shadows,” I sang. I shook my head. “I don’t understand,” I added, in my own voice. “What you mean, or I mean, what I’m even singing about or… any of this. But if you aren’t guarding anything or have a mission here… you should leave. You should live. Nopony should be alone. I was alone,” I added. “Until Celestia helped me. She pushed me. Go and make some friends.”

“This seems like not a world to be doing that in,” Eon said.

“It will be again,” I said. “The night is nearly over! The day is almost here! The works of darkness will be cast off, and the hour of your deliverance is at hand, Daughter,” I sang.

She sniffled and shivered. “Are you alright?” she asked me at length. “Look in the mirror, Child. Would you prefer me to call you by your name? We called all of our little ponies children, once.”

“It would make me and Luna kinda awkward,” I said, blinking. She looked at me curiously. “I, um… Luna and I--”

Her mouth opened in a little O. “Oh, that is wonderful. So my sister has found a new helpmeet. You are not our actual children, of course. Your parents are… are gone,” she finished lamely. “You remind me of him. Now you look… come, see.”

I stepped to the mirror, singing, and I saw myself.

I was taller. Much taller. My face was longer, more slender, my eyes shining with a purple fire, my mane long and regal and tinged with starlight. My coat blazed with starfire and plasma and around me danced the debris of whole systems, the detritus of the nurseries of stars. I was a goddess. I looked like dusk, like a time of day--as Celestia had always looked like dawn and Luna had always been the core of Canterlot night. I stared in open mouthed awe. This was not me. It was another. I wanted to bow to her.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“You look so much like him,” Eon said again. She wiped a tear from her eye. “Like Thaumus. He had a sterner gaze, but his smile was soft and his words were always gentle. He invented the first letters, you know,” she said. “He gave you life from his own body. He would have been so proud--oh, he would have loved you.” She was weeping again. “You are him repeated, and a mare. He would have been so perplexed! Asked you all sorts of questions. Taken notes. Probably challenged you to some sort of duel of magic to see how quick you were, and then wanted to know if you… if you had any of those new book things,” she said and laughed, and then shuddered again.

“Are you okay?” I asked, like an idiot.

“No,” she said. “I remember more and more. Every… every time I have done this. The partitioning of myself into smaller and smaller parts leaves wounds. But so does thinking. Remembering. I will not be much use to you. Do I have to remember?” she whined.

“I think so,” I said. “I can’t make you. But you should.

I sang, “Finally you hear, you who have ears to speak, but you must make your own approximation with truth. Love never faileth, its quality not strained, it keeps no--”

“Record of wrongs,” I finished in my own voice. Because I knew those words. Because… because Celestia had some them to me.

“But delights in the truth,” Eon whispered, and then she vanished.

I reeled. Celestia. After so long, it was like hearing her voice. I knew those words. She had said--

Celestia, speaking softly beside a fire, tea before her, untouched. Twilight, listening intently. What was the matter? What was the meaning of her teacher’s watery eyes?--

I shook my head. There would be time for remembering later.

“Another approaches!” I sang, startling myself. I laughed again.

Even with the ebullient spirit which animated me, I was still me and I was still worn out by all of this. I closed my eyes and hummed, if only to enjoy the way I could feel my music being caught up in the greater music.Everything felt wonderful here. There was a part of me that wanted to stay forever. Maybe eventually one of my friends would come looking for me, and then we could be here forever. What would they think? Applejack would never be bothered by magic again. Not knowing that something like this created it and sustains it.

I feel Her before I see or hear Her. Each step she takes is like a distant thunderhead, or a far-off fanfare. When I opened my eyes, Eon had returned. She wiped her eyes, but her crying did not begin again. She smiled at me hesitantly. “She wished to see you,” Eon said. “She is… I should warn you that you do not see the truth but a shadow of the truth.”

“What?” I asked.

“Your teacher, Celestia, my sister--she left something here for you,” Eon said. She smiled at me. To be smiled at by a goddess, by the way, is an amazing experience.

“Eon, why did I sing at you about your true name?” I asked her. “What is it?”

She sighed. She looked at me, as if studying me, and then smiled once more. “I will tell you. I am called Eon, but I told you there were other names. Eon was what I was known by in Jannah. But my name in the beginning was Kyrie, and I was the firstborn of Creation.”

And then she vanished again, and I heard a voice say, “Twilight?” and my heart stopped because I knew that voice.

I turned slowly, feeling frozen in place.

Celestia stood in the brightness of the Well, smiling at me. She smiled that same way she had smiled before I watched her leave Ponyville for the last time. Serene, filled with ease and--I whispered only to myself--full of love, in one way or another. She was not as I remembered her because here she was far greater. Her coat had been the pink of early dawn, but now it was dawn itself. Her hair was multi-colored fire, the brightest rainbow of purest light. Her eyes shone.

I had nothing to say. I had been working towards this moment for so long, and now there wasn’t a single thing to say that didn’t feel pointless.

“P-princess,” I said, just to answer her.

“And faithful student,” she said, and in a blink she was right in front of me, close, smiling that perfect smile, smelling of vanilla and a swift sunrise. I shook slightly. She would overhwelm me if she came closer. She already was. “Twilight, before you ask… no, this is not me. It is…”

I swallowed. “A copy? An image?”

“Yes, more or less.” Celestia smiled at me. “But I am a part of Celestia. I am Celestia,” she said and sat. I left myself behind so that you might not go on without guidance, if you came for me. I had other messages for Luna or others, as well.”

“Then… do you…” On an impulse, I reached out and touched her with just the tip of my hoof. She felt solid and real. “I… may I…”

She cocked her head to the side, and smiled at me. “Might you what, dear Twilight? You may talk to me normally. I am Celestia, in a way that is hard to exp--oh!” She didn’t finish because I had rushed forward and hugged her tightly, burying my face in her chest, feeling something I didn’t even want to name. She hugged me back very gently, running a hoof along my back, between my new fake wings. I shivered, not used to them.

“I missed you so much,” I said. And then I started bawling because I’m an idiot. “You left and nopony knew where you were and I didn’t know what to do and you’re the one I always asked when I was confused and--”

“Twilight, it’s alright,” she said softly, stroking my mane.

“No it’s not! Everything went to h-hell without you there to help and we couldn’t hold things together and you never came back! Why didn’t you come back? Why? You left me.”

“Twilight… Shh. I did not abandon you, Twilight. There is a little more to the story than that.” I feel angry, and elated, and sad all at once, but no matter my confusion I still enjoy the way she strokes my mane fretfully.

“Then what happened? Where are you?”

“West,” she said simply. “I am farther west, at the Well in the Garden. If you find the Garden, you will have come at last to where I am. I left my shard with enough magic to take you past Sarnath to the edge of the world. Any more and you would have been in the outlands, and teleporting you there would be to dangerous.” She paused. “If… if you wish to continue,” she added.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked. “I’ve come so far. I have to ask you why you left. You won’t tell me, will you?”

“I cannot. I do not know.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said.

“But… but I have enough of Celestia in me to know this, Twilight: she did not abandon you. I did not abandon you. She loves you fiercely, Twilight Sparkle, faithful student, brave little librarian. She is so very proud of you. She would never abandon you--have faith for just a little while longer.”

“I’m trying,” I grumble. My anger is fading. Mostly because… this isn’t Celestia. I can’t blame this shard for her absence. “So you’re here to teleport me and my friends and tell me where I’m going?”

She nodded. “And… Celestia was worried that it might take longer for Luna to send you than she expected. She thought her sister would send the elements or some of the elements within three or four months. Counting after she was supposed to return, of course,” Celestia said, humming to herself. “She seems to have been right to worry. It has been much longer.”

Twilight didn’t stop hugging Celestia like a drowning mare clinging to a rock, but she did look away. “Things got… complicated,” she said. “There have been a lot of problems, and I have questions for you about some of them, but… I don’t suppose you know much if you’re just a shard, huh?”

“I know some things,” she said, a bit indignantly, a bit teasingly. Celestia stopped stroking my mane, but that was alright. I let go and stood before her as she continued. “The Shadow moves, does he not?”

I hesitated. “I think so, yes. Luna found a sort of infection or plague or something in the Aether, touching dreams and minds. Rarity told me in a dream about encountering a pony who sort of just dissolved into inky black ooze… creatures who have been gone for thousands of years suddenly reappear and society breaks down far, far too quickly. Luna has begun to suspect that it was what I guess you could call a… Shadow. So it is that, then? For sure?”

She sighed. “Celestia can explain its nature and its origin better. This Celestia can only say that yes, your suspicions are correct. The Shadow writhes under the conflict of this world as he beats against Jannah, his prison. Celestia came here after a month of travel and relaxation expecting to view the ruins and perhaps contact her long-lost sister. But it was here that she realized what was about to begin.”

“So she’s fighting this thing. Or stopping it, or…” I trailed off. Or she lost.

“She has not died, before you ask me if I know,” Celestia said. “If she had died, then I too would die.”

That was comforting. I smiled. “Happy will she be who knoweth the cause of things,” I sang. “What is that? Why am I doing that?” I asked.

Celestia giggled. As in, like, actually giggled. My shock at finding her was back again. I had found her. Well, not really. A piece of her. A drawing that talked, or a dream. But it was the closest I had come since she left!

“It’s the Song,” she told me in a beautiful voice. She opened her mouth, and sang in the way that I did. “An honest witness speaks the truth!”

“So… well. I think I can figure it out. So, the Song makes me do that. Or I want to subconciously, or something, because I recognize what its saying as true in some way?”

Celestia nodded, grinning. She sang: “Then you will know the truth, then it will set you free.”

I nodded back. “Right. Okay. I can understand that.” I sighed. “Celestia… I have so many questions, and I don’t think this you can answer them. I’m sorry. I know you would if you could.”

“Do not apologize,” she told me. “Celestia left me here and told me I was to do all I could if it was you who came for her. She sent her love, and asked that I tell you she was proud of you for coming so far.” She chuckled. “But she didn’t need to tell me! She gave me all of those feelings. I know how much she loves you firsthoof. I also know how proud she is of what you’ve done, and what you are yet to do. She told me you would make the right choice. And when you are ready, I will help you go to her.”

“What happens to you?” I asked.

“It is up to you, faithful student,” Celestia replied. “You may leave me behind and retrieve me on the way. You may take me with you, in your heart and mind, where I will be a whisper. You may use all of me up and gain a boost to how far I can deposit you. This is your choice, not mine.”

“Use… use you up?” What the hell? I grimaced. “That sounds awful! I couldn’t do that to you!”

“It would be alright if you did, I am just a ghost of sorts,” she said. “But thank you.”

“If… will you talk to me if I take you with me?”

“If you wish.”

“I don’t know. Eon--Kyrie. Kyrie didn’t mean to hurt me, but she did. I don’t know how okay I am up here,” I said, tapping my head.

Celestia raised her eyebrows. “May I see?”

I nod. “Be prepared. I’m a bit… yeah. I think I’m a little crazy.”

She stepped forward and placed her forehooves about my head while her purple eyes stared into mine. They were light, so light, the color of the sky at the sun’s first touch and I was again forced to recognize how beautiful Celestia was. How perfect she was in every way. I felt small and dirty in her presence, knowing what I felt. What I wanted.

Did I still want those things? It was hard to say. Her gaze still made my pulse race.

“There is damage,” she said softly. Her face twisted in something that looked like agony, but that the Song magnified a dozen times. “So much damage. Oh, Eon… Her partitoning sabotaged her magic. She couldn’t keep her eyes on you and keep the memory of her loved ones at bay at the same time, and so she has scored your soul. Oh Twilight, I am so sorry. Celestia never foresaw this. She should have… she should have… I don’t know!” Celestia backed away from me, which stung. Was I so awful? Was looking so painful? “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“I don’t understand. It can’t be… I mean…” I just sort of stare at her.

She closed her eyes. “Twilight, I am afraid you no longer have the options you once had. I must give you others.”

“What? I’m not going back, before you say anything!” I said, stomping my hoof. The echo was all around us, reverberating in the song. I sang, “Greater love has no mare than this, that she would lay her life down for another.”

She seemed shaken. “It is true, I hear the Song within your words. I know. I… I will not suggest that, then. Twilight, your visions and confusions will not go away when you leave Jannah. You are already affected by the Calling, but this is far worse than mere obsession. You will see more visions, more real visions. First, only of others. But then, more and more and more, you will see yourself until you are always seeing yourself somewhere else, over and over. You will lose control of yourself. Twilight, you won’t even remember who you are in a few weeks!” She was breathing hard, looking around as if there was some answer there.

I don’t have any immediate reaction. Why would I? That’s nonsense. You can’t just… poke holes in pony’s souls. That’s ridiculous. And yet Celestia is so troubled, so serious.

“What can you do?” I ask. There is a tremor in my voice. I hope she doesn’t hear it. Because I’m not afraid.

“You could go home and hope that distance from the End of the World will heal you. You may continue west, using my energy to the fullest to increase your chances of reaching Celestia and what healing she could give you. Or you could… you could allow me to heal you.”

“How?”

She looked at me in the same way Celestia had, so long ago, when I lay shivering in my dormitory after that panic attack. “I would plug the holes, to use a crassly physical metaphor, with my own essence. You would be you. Twilight would be Twilight… with a little bit of me.”

I swallow. “Whoa,” I say, stupidly, even though I would never say that. The Well won’t let true panic touch me. I know its right there, waiting to rush in, but I can’t feel it. “So you propose that we meld somehow? Fuse. You and me.”

“It is the best choice,” Celestia said. She paused. “It would be what Celestia would choose to propose, if she were here instead of I. If her nature was as mine. She would want to help you, heal you, save you.”

I swallow again. “And… I’ll still be me?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Does this make me an alicorn?”

She looked at me in utter confusion, and then she laughed. And I laughed, despite myself, because the Well was made for laughing.

“No,” she replied. “There are Alicorns and alicorns, and neither of them are made by mere spells. Not any that you would know, dearest Twilight. You remain yourself. Your body may be different when you leave the water, as your soul will be different, but not new. Not in the way you fear.”

I close my eyes. “And the alternative is… going crazy and then I die. Seems that I have only one viable choice, logically.”

“You could use me up and try to reach the real Celestia.”

“Dangerous and risky,” I murmured. “I would be useless on the trip, and right now I am very, very tired of being useless. No, you’re right to suggest what you have. It’s the best choice. Will you cease to be?”

“I will be you.”

“So, in a way, yes. But also, in a way, no.”

“Correct.”

“Are my friends outside alright? Do you know?”

Eon’s voice drifted through the blinding light. “Yes. I have prepared my final countermeasure before we leave.”

I blink. “Wait, we?”

“I, too, must see my little sister.”

“And what is this final countermeasure? Why didn’t you use it earlier?” I asked.

“When we are all free, then I will destroy the temple complex.”

I gaped at nothing. “Just like that?” I was reminded of Vanhoover, but the memory was ripped away from me in an instant.

“Yes. I will not allow the fountain to be touched by the unclean if I can stop it without harming the innocent. They have no more prisoners after your friends have been gathered.”

I bite my lip. “Then… then do what you have to. What do you need me to do?”

“We need to leave soon, before those below break the barricade your friends contructed at my command. Which I am very, very sorry for,” Eon said.

“It’s okay. Eon. Kyrie,” I corrected.

“You may call me either.” Eon reappeared and smiled at me. “As it pleases you. You must bring your friends here and then I will carry them away as I refine my home with fire and cleanse it with force. It is necessary,” she added to herself, looking down. “It is.”

“If I am to heal you, Twilight, it must be now. The well has healed your body and has stopped and restricted the corruption, and leaving would allow it to grow with a vengeance to make up for time lost. This is the perfect window. What is your decision?” she asked me, and bit her lip. It’s probably where I got that from.

I take a deep breath. I sang: “Your choosing creates yourself; choose Child and be shaped.”

And then I said, as carefully as I could, “Do it. Quickly.”

Author's Note

/z/zzzhffhf

XLI. The Last Enemy That Shall Be Destroyed is Death

CANTERLOT

There was a stylus once that wrote:

Who was the first who forged that deadly blade?
Of rugged steel his savage soul was made.

And if he had seen Canterlot under the pale moon and waning stars, that poet would have said so again. The road that leads up the rugged mountains of the Unicorn Range to Canterlot is like a pockmarked face. No, that is too poetic. It is like a sore, an open wound, the kind that lets the air in and stagnates, the kind that oozes vitae.

The ground has been torn by artillery. The dead lie in piles or alone, some of them in one piece and some in many. The raiders are fewer now, but not drastically so. They still dance, they still wait, they still chatter. Look, now, in the trenches of these hordes that rose out of the darkness: a stallion who filed his own horn off giggles softly as he scrawls strange swirling glyphs into the trench wall. A mare is sharpening a pole arm before she hooks it back into her saddle, humming. Two stallions fight in the mud, laughing, and then one drags the other off into a side-alley and then they aren’t laughing quite the same way. A single barded soldier in white watches these savages with flat eyes, his rifle at rest.

They attack every few hours, sending more and more with each wave. That tactic will end soon. Once the more unruly parts of the raider horde are gone, then they will move. A few more attacks. That is all they need.

When morning comes, one of the barded rebels blows a whistle, and others down the line do the same. Like ants surging out from their nest, so the no pony’s land is filled with the teeming, screaming life ready to be cut down. The first whistleblower, an officer, watches with an uninterested stare. The Good Stallion and the Manichean were wise, and this plan of theirs was perfect. He would feel pride in this but he felt nothing. The idea of freedom, the rhetoric of liberty--perhaps they moved his heart once, but they do not do so now. Now he is more machine than pony. He can wait for the final assault on the wall. Honestly, he could wait until the end of the world, because the idea of waiting does not bother him at all.

And then suddenly there is a change. Something in the implacable stoicism of the White-barded rebels snaps. In all of their heads there is a great screaming of frustration, of rage. Of pain, perhaps, but not in a way any of them can understand. Dozens die instantly, their minds bubbling out of their ears. Some are weeping. Some are left in heaps, seething. But then the great hands that move them grab all of his puppets and he throws them in rage at the wall. Up from the trenches rise in mindless rushing a thousand ponies. From their mouths comes forth a terrible thing that is a mockery of song, something that their own voices could never have produced. Not in life.

They are not quite alive, not like you or I.

Their assault comes at the end of the latest wave of savages and there is no recovery time. They shoot their raider fodder in the back to get to the scrambling, unnerved guardsponies. They run right into machine gun fire and take four or five shots before they stumble, and then crawl afterwards. They pour into the trench before the walls and there begins a struggle in the pre-dawn light to rival the clash of any gods.

Eventually, the rage fades and the assault is called off, and little is done by the surviving Equestrian line. They lie spent if they are alive. More than half are not.

There are hundreds of minds all thinking the same thing. This is not what ponies do. This is not what ponies are.Ponies are not creatures of war. Ponies do not devour each other. Even as they pull the bolt back and chamber another round, ponies do not kill each other, ponies do not hurt each other, ponies do not they do not--

Is this true?

What is the substance of an action? What it produces or what engenders it? A mare thinks of her children and kills a babbling ruin to keep it from the walls. She loves her children. She has kissed their hurts away and scooted over so when they have nightmares she might comfort them, let them sleep in the warm shrouding of her body. She has cut their hair and packed their lunches. She has walked them to school and encouraged them on the doorstep. She baked a cake for their cutecenara and read them stories to sleep. And now she beats a raider’s cheeks in so they will sleep tonight unmolested.

Ponies are not killers. They are not.

A fat unicorn in a canvas uniform walks among the ruins afterwards, a cigar burning in his lips, his revolver in its holster. A young earth pony stallion the color of amber wheat follows behind with wide, hollow eyes. The first looks to the second, and then back to the trenches.

“Hell of a business,” he says.

Around four in the morning, you can hear the first quiet songs if you too are quiet, in the temples of High Canterlot and in the filthy holes along the road, in the corners of taverns and in the warm homes of families.

Have mercy on us!
Celestia, protect us.
Luna, have mercy on us!
Celestia, protect us.

Canterlot’s fall is coming. Not tonight, but tomorrow. There are things yet to happen between the motion and the act.

AMARANTH

Amaranth found Ice Storm waiting for her when she woke that afternoon. Groggily, as she put on her scout-barding and yawned her way downstairs, she found him leaning against the safehouse’s counter. He looked up at her and tried for a smile, but it was a rather paltry kind of thing around sips of coffee. She returned it regardless.

She stood on the other side of the counter, and considered him. Even before her change, she had enjoyed teasing her former commander. Why? Was he dour? Sometimes. But not in a bad way. She just wanted him to smile, mostly. She still did. It was good for ponies to smile. But she also knew that such things had limits. Yes--perhaps the edge of hell was a good place to laugh, but the edge of a cemetary was not. So she did not jump on the counter and make innuendos, and she did not tease him about being a night owl now. Instead, she placed a hoof on his shoulder and he looked up at her.

She noticed the papers he had spread out on the counter. “What’s the news?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you in a moment, when I am done… coming to terms. Would you like some coffee? Do you, um, you drink that still? I assume.” He paused, and blinked. “Actually, you know, I never noticed you drinking coffee at Castle Watch. Do you?”

She smiled. “I do. And I would like some, actually.”

Ice Storm hummed and straightened up. Leaving his own cup behind, he walked back towards the kitchen behind the “store”. Amaranth stole a sip from his abandoned mug and grimaced.

“Ugh. Um, Stormy, could you bring some cream and sugar?” she asked.

“The mighty hunter in the night needs cream and sugar?” he replied, his voice echoing back to her. Her ears tweaked. “If you’re nocturnal, shouldn’t you be drinking your coffee black like the night?”

“You’re not funny,” she said. “Neither is your coffee. This is darker than Luna’s holy flank.”

He reappeared with a quizzically raised brow and a mug of coffee, sugar and cream already mixed in. “One lump enough?”

“Yup!” she said. “If it’s not, I’m sure I can just borrow some more. Princess keeps us in good supply.” She took a sip, not minding the heat--another nice thing about the change. Her sense of pain was diminished. Not gone. Things were just easier to bear. It made eating hot things a lot easier.

“Now, holy?” he asked.

“I’m not a supernalist or a celestialist,” she said lightly. “You know that.”

“I do,” he said quietly.

“I don’t think of her as holy like they do. It’s just… well. Batponies aren’t from Equestria originally, you know? We followed Luna here. So she’s important to us. Batponies on both sides of the civil war did what they did hoping it would help her.” Another sip. “So I feel a sense of… of awe, I guess. We don’t know the name of our progenitor. But we know Luna, and she might as well be.”

Ice Storm nodded. “I suspect a pony who embodied Mother Aurora would inspire a similar awe in myself.”

They were quiet for a moment. Ice Storm no longer looked at the papers, and Amaranth did not touch them. She knew he would explain, given time, and she wasn’t meant for duty right away. There was something nice about the quiet.

Not that she didn’t want to ask questions, because she did. Some of those questions were important--what did you read? What news did Luna get from that spy?--but most of them were not important. Did you sleep here last night? How are you adjusting to the schedule? Do you really not mind being in the Night Guard for now? Are you tired of doing this? Do you like my company? Do you mind what I am? Oranges or apples? Ever tried meat?

Speaking of that, Amaranth was thirsty. Her stomach felt empty. The Duskwatch treated her almost like a foal, and they had all warned her sternly not to miss breakfast. She had rolled her eyes. Whatever. She was a grown mare, she didn’t need them hanging over her. But she was hungry… and Ice Storm was here. He would know why she was going if she left, and Amaranth didn’t really want him to think about her doing… that.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Stormy, you look rough,” she said. And he did. Tired? Very. She wasn’t sure if it was adjusting to a more nocturnal schedule or if it was the near constant duty, but either way he looked dead on his hooves.

“I am tired,” he said with a smile. “Very, very tired, of spirit and of body. Coffee is helping.”

“Coffee helps,” she agreed.

“So is company,” he added. Amaranth liked the way he looked at her. She did not blush like a schoolfilly, but she did smile back as he continued. “Sleeping most of the day is hard on me, but not impossible. I am finding a new balance. Would you like to know what I’ve read? You’ve been remarkably patient.”

She grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. I’m kinda dying to know.”

“Well, orders, for one. You and me specifically have been assigned to work as a team. Do you mind?” he asked, as if he knew the answer already.

“Well, you are kinda stuffy. And you’re too pretty. You’ll distract me.”

“Yes, I’m rather distracting,” he deadpanned. “I hope you can keep that good cheer up. You may need it.” At her look, he continued. “There’s a bomb in the city.”

She stared at him. She took another sip. She cleared her throat. “Go on.”

“You’re taking this well.”

“No, I’m not. But the sooner I hear the rest, the quicker somepony can find it and get rid of it and then I’ll be fine. Now please please please hurry.”

He chuckled despite the situation. “Well, ‘Amy’, if you’re going to keep calling me that ridiculous name--we’re not sure. Ixil did her best, but they seem to not be decided yet themselves. Or they are very skilled at this sort of cloak and dagger, enough to fool a creature born to it. It doesn’t matter. Spike and Lieutenant Soarin’ visited several of the guardhouses in the lower city this morning, as well as the gate to search under cover of visiting the wounded of the most recent attack.”

Amaranth felt her stomach church and she wasn’t sure if it was revulsion or something else. The last attack had been worse than any other ten times over.

“And I’m guessing they didn’t find anything?”

“Nothing,” Ice Storm replied. “So Luna is sending the Nightshades into the lower city. And she is sending the Duskwatch, well… underneath the city. The catacombs.”

Amaranth let a breath hiss over her fangs. “Now this is gonna be fun.”

Ice Storm chuckled. “Interesting, in the very least.”

Amaranth watched Ice Storm drink her concoction while they waited. She knew it tasted awful, but he was trying not to shudder. It was dumb, but endearing.

“It work?” she asked. He nodded.

“I see,” he said simply, and then immediately looked up at the stars and stared with the same wonder she had seen in his eyes at Castle Watch. “Beautiful,” he said softly. “I cannot imagine how you lived your whole life with access to the farthest reaches of glory, Amaranth. I am envious.”

“Daytime is cool too. I’m glad you like it, though,” she said, feeling strangely shy. “Makes babysitting me a little worth it, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m foalsitting you. Perhaps the opposite. You could hogtie me with minimal effort, right now.”

“Well, yeah, but I would feel bad about it. Emotional suffering is still pain,” she whined.

“I see. Well, if you need somepony without all those troubling scruples, you may need another guard.”

They chuckled, more because of the nervousness than of anything said. She’d brought enough rations for three days, knowing she wouldn’t need that much. She was thirsty now, but she could wait.

“Ready to go, Colonel?” she asked.

He nodded.

Rainbow Rays

It really is amazing what unexpected flight does to the mind. And that is flight in the sense of flee, and not in the manner involving feathers, though both apply.

Paradise turned sharply, throwing their shared charge for a loop. As he stumbled, a flying Rays kept him upright and mobile. Ahead, a crowd blocked the way.

He saw white everywhere. Every bonnet, every clean cloud-white dress, every pure coat--they were all a threat. They could all be a Whitecloak about to pull a weapon from his pack or call up magic from his horn. Rays was sure they were right behind, but when he turned, there was no pursuit.

“How far?” he shouted.

There was no answer. Paradise was still maneuvering. Rays flew slightly higher, above the rooftops, and tried to gauge the distance himself.

He felt the air break along his cheek before he saw the sniper or the flash or even noticed the sound. He stopped in midair, blinking, confused, only to finally see the pony in a white cloak struggling with a jam only three or four houses down the lane.

Fable was yelling up at him. That was what broke his sunned paralysis. The gunner--a unicorn with white cloak and white rags tied across his face and wrapped around his forelegs--looked down at the source of the voice and lowered his now working weapon.

Rays dove, yelling. The gunner did not flinch. He lined the lordling up in his sights, aimed--

Rays hit him just as the unicorn used his magic to fire the round. Rays heart pounded in his ears as he and the attacker went sprawling. They seperated, and only now did he see the hoofblades on the unicorn’s hooves. He ducked underneath a two-hoof kick and slammed his shoulder into the whitecloak’s stomach. But the assassin did not falter. Rays felt a sharp pain in his side, and rolled away to find a serrated griffon blade coated with blood. His breathing hurt, but he would know if the lung had been breached.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, panting. The unicorn advanced wordlessly, his knife swinging first. Rays rolled out of the way, but felt the unicorn’s hooves hit him in the side. But it was a glancing blow. The blades caught on his coat, pricked it, but did not shred into the flesh beneath.

“Rays! Para, help him!”

He won’t and he shouldn’t. Get him out of here! Rays thought, even as he baited the assassin, managing a pained smirk. He was not winning this. At all. But he could buy time.

He was a traitor. He was a traitor and this was how he fixed that!

The sniper came again, and this time Rays remembered that he too had hoofblades. He met the griffon knife with one hoof and with another, awkwardly shoved against his enemy’s chest, pushing himself forward onto shaky hooves but the other onto his back.

He saw opportunity and he took it. Rays pounced, hoofblades ready to plunge into the sniper’s exposed belly. He saw the rifle in a blue aura snap to attention and come up to fire, but he was committed.

The gun fired as his blades stabbed into the sniper’s chest. He felt no pain, but the other pony writhed and then went still. Rays rolled off of him, his wings fluttering as he felt over his body for another wound.

But there was not one. He almost stopped there and sat back on his haunches. I could have died. I should have died. Like three times. There was no justice--the traitor was alive. This one time, he could not care less. He grinned like a fool.

But then he remembered his charge. Fable! No way he could fight off these sort of ponies. Panic swelled in him and he took off.

There weren’t anymore potshots, but it took only moments to find Fable and Paradise again. Paradise had done the right thing--he had kept the lordling running, he was getting him to safety. Rays dove again to catch up, whimpering at the agony in his side.

He saw another pony on a roof and did not stop to make sure it was an attacker. He flew over Fable. “My lord! Sniper on the roof ahead!”

Paradise heard and did not waste time asking him if he was alright. He stopped, turned slightly to catch the panicking Fable, and rerouted him down an alleyway.

The gates were close. If they could just get to the palace gates, out of the upper level merchant district… away from the maze…

When Paradise burst out from the alley into another main street, he ran directly into Solar Guards. Rays landed right beside him, stumbling slightly. They faced off, Paradise and Rays panting and wild-eyed, the guards confused.

“What is going on here? Give an account of yourself, citizen,” said one of them.

“We’re being chased!” Fable said. He pushed through. “Please, I must see the princess!”

But, against all odds, this didn’t seem to impress the guard. “And you are?”

Something clicked for Rays. He asked, his voice even. “Soldier, do the words, ‘bat out of hell’ mean anything to you?”

The guard in gilded armor blinked. “No? Son, you need to start making sense. Your friend here already came barrelling out of that alley and struck me, and I’m willing to chalk it up to an accident if you’ll just come with--”

“You aren’t a guard,” Rays cut in. “Luna made sure every patrol knew that code--Paradise get him out of here!”

The veneer shattered. The patrol lunged, and the two house guards bared their shoulders and formed a living wall before the protesting, terrified scion of Rowan-Oak.

Paradise pushed Rays back towards Fable, and he didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled Fable along, panting, desperate. He had to get him to Luna. He had to keep him safe. He had to!

There was a gunshot. He heard somepony using arcane attack magic behind. Ahead, actual guards began to pour out of the gatehouse garrison, streaming past the two of them until two Lunar soldiers stopped them at the threshold of the palace.

Rays, panicking, shouted at them. “Bat Out of Hell! Bat Out of Hell! I’m… I’m a bat out of hell, Spike… Spike made sure… just get him to the princess. Please. You have to…” He stumbled, and clutched his side, and the two Lunar guards moved the heir inside, and Rays lay in the gardens inside the palace walls and tried not to pass out.

SPIKE

They sat, once more, upon the wall. This time, however, they numbered three.

Rainbow Rays had not been formally discharged from his lord’s service, but in the chaos of Rowan-Oak’s arrival, he had been separated and told brusquely but not quite with hostility by Paradise that it would be best if he were not around. At least, for the moment.

So the dejected pegasus sat on the high wall of Canterlot between Spike and Soarin’.

“It’s your turn,” Soarin’ told the pegasus.

Rainbow Rays fidgeted. “Does it have to be?”

“You’re safe,” Spike said. “I promise. They stopped shooting up here a few days ago. We take potshots but never hit anything.”

“Speak for yourself,” Soarin’ said.

“We never hit anything,” Spike repeated with a toothy grin. “We’re really just here to keep eyes on the battlefield. If it gets too out of hoof, or they rush the trenches again, then we pick them off. But as long as they aren’t pushing…”

“Then we wait,” Soarin’ finished. “Which is boring. Also, safe. Safe is good. Safe means pie at the end of a long day and nice beds.”

“For you,” Rays said. He sighed and looked over the crenulations for a moment. Slowly, he balanced the rifle in the crook of his shoulder, leaning in to look at the scope. He left the large trigger on the gun’s belly alone.

They let him be. Spike had told Soarin’ to go easy on him, but not to let him wallow. Spike had an inkling of what it was like to feel like nopony wanted you. To be the odd one out, so it were. And it wasn’t fun. He also knew that, in a way, this feeling was his fault. He had signed off on Rays going undercover. He had been the one that received his reports.

“They don’t move much,” Rays said after a moment. He kept watching. “A few do. The ones in white.”

“Officers,” Soarin’ offered. “At least, we think.”

“Not all of them,” Rays said, evenly. “Way too many.”

Spike and Soarin’ shared a look. “How many is ‘too many’?” Spike asked carefully.

“Uh… I dunno. At least a couple hundred? They’re coming up the road, and there’s a bunch in the trenches. Theyre the ones that attacked last night, right?”

Spike stood and took his griffon repeated off his back to peer through the scope. He swallowed a curse. “How did we not notice the ones coming up the road?”

“It’s only been like twenty minutes,” Soarin’ pointed out.

Spike grunted. “Whatever. We noticed them now. Soarin’, fly down and tell the Colonel at the gate that they’re moving some of the troops from the valley up the mountain again. Maybe…” He grimaced. “It’s hard to tell. A lot. Enough for a push like last night.”

“I hope as hell not,” Soarin’ said, and then Spike heard a fluttering of wings and felt a light brush of air.

He settled back into sitting, leaning his gun against his scaled form. Rays kept watching.

“So we just… wait?”

“Yup,” Spike said. “You know, makes me wish I had something to read. I was a huge comic book guy when I was little.”

He glanced over and saw Rays smirking into his scope. “Really now?”

“Absolutely. I had something like… a couple hundred comics in a big chest in Twilight’s treehouse library basement… lab… thing. She called it the archives, which is a really fancy way of saying ‘the place where I stuff everything else’. Twilight was always organized… until it had to do with research and then organization looked like a bomb hit. She cleaned up later. If she wasn’t passed out after two all nighters.”

“Never could manage those,” Rays said. “I dropped out of Canterlot U, actually.”

“What did you study?”

“Literature. Theatre. Changed it a few times.” Rays shrugged. “Spike, have you ever abused somepony’s trust?”

And there it was. Spike sighed. “You were doing what we told you to do, Rays. You followed orders--the Princess herself signed off on it.”

“If she ordered you to eat a foal, would you?”

Spike was almost angry. Mostly because his first instinct was to snarl something about how being a dragon didn’t make him a pony-eater. That that was a stupid thought. But he held that in check, because it wasn’t the point. “No.”

“I betrayed a friend who didn’t have many friends because she told me to,” Rays said.

Spike clicked his tongue. He didn’t know what to say. “You saved his life. You got him to the princess and you got him through the doors using your connections to that princess. If you hadn’t, if they had had to wait a few minutes longer… you don’t know what might have happened. And you saved him from getting his butt kicked in that bar, and it wasn’t because of what family he was in.”

“I still lied to him, broke my oath, spied on him… after Soarin’ and Mac blew up the munitions, his mother was furious. She hit him. I made that happen.”

“No. I made that happen,” Spike said, a bit too sharply. “I did it. I signed the order, I came up with the idea. If you want to assign blame--”

“I don’t,” he said, finally looking at Spike. “I don’t wanna push blame around. I just… do you ever wonder, Spike, if you’re a good pony? Er. Dragon? Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know what you mean. I wonder that a lot.”

Rays slid down and sat awkwardly on his haunches. “Because I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop… I just…” He floundered into silence. Several minutes passed, Spike trying to find words that would help, Rays alone with his thoughts. He spoke again at length. “I keep asking myself if I’m a good pony. But more than that, what makes you a good one? If I’m not, can I be? I just don’t know anymore. Maybe I’ll know tomorrow. Or the next day.”

“Two more days alive? Ambitious,” Spike rumbled. “I don’t know, Rays. I have an inkling, but I’m not sure.”

“This is stupid. We’re under siege, ponies are shooting each other, and I’m sitting up on this stupid wall worried that he might never want to talk to me again cause he found out I’m a spy. Stupid.”

Spike smiled humorlessly. It was stupid, in a way. In the short term, there were far more important things to be concerned about. A sniper getting lucky--doubtful as it was, it was still possible. The whitecloaks taking to the street in retaliation for the Guard seizing the warehouse full of supplies that had once been a safehouse for House Rowan-Oak. An epidemic inside the walls. Sitting next to a dragon. The front line breaking and the enemy reaching the gate. Loads of things.

“It’s something you can wrestle with,” Spike said. “That you could feasibly fix by yourself. It’s probably best that you’re a little worried. Try to focus on the here and now, but… I’d rather you care then not,” Spike said. He shrugged.

They hadn’t told Rays about the bomb yet. What was there to tell that would help? Oh yeah, we know the whitecloaks are going to bomb something in the city and it’s probably the wall because apparently they freakin’ love raiders. If we were any closer to finding it, then I would tell him. But as it is, Soarin’ and I found absolutely nothing and I haven’t heard anything from Luna’s ponies. I’d just be telling him he could blow up whenever and not give him any hope at all.

He didn’t like withholding information. But he would. Especially with Rays already dejected.

They both sat with their backs to the enemy and their faces held up to see the spires of Canterlot.

Soarin’ would be back soon. Their turn on the walls would be up, and then he could finally go home. But Spike could not feel peace about that, not really. The prospect of seeing Apple Bloom made him less weary. Almost happy.

But he would just be back here again. Or somewhere else, searching for the flash of a white cloak in some dirty alleyway, or somewhere far below in the catacombs, searching the basement of Canterlot for a bomb that might just go off in his face.

This life was not life, creeping by at a petty pace, day after day of monotonous horror. Spike thought that one of the worst things about war was that when it came to you, it stopped being quite as grand or terrible. The first time he had seen violence, real violence--ponies trying not just to have their way but seeking earnestly to kill each other--it had left him terrified and feeling older. But now it was just something that happened. It happened a lot. Boom, boom, the rhythm of the artillery and there’s another dozen. The chatter of gunfire sounded less like lightning and more like a boring conversation he’d heard a thousand times.

Over and over. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow--

Spike scratched his claws against the stone in frustration.

“How long do you think this will go?” Rays asked.

“Forever,” Spike said sourly. “I’ve seen then numbers. They can’t starve us out, funny enough. We may be running out of food but there isn’t much on the side of a mountain either. Unless they have supplies we haven’t seen…” He shrugged. “They can make it a month more at most. They’ll be starving the last week. And then it’ll be over. And then if we’re still here, we’ll start the slow… you know. Starving,” he finished, wincing. What an ugly word. “Maybe more, if we can ration it well.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So they have to really attack. They can’t just pick at us.”

Spike nodded. “Yeah. Eventually. At least, that’s what I’ve been led to understand. Soarin’ says that they’re probing, trying to get us tired and nervous before they actually, like, try. For real.”

“Sure looked like it was for real before,” Rays said.

But Spike shook his head. “Morningvale was a real attack. Fewer ponies on both sides, but they weren’t just trying to keep us on off balance--they were trying to take the village. This isn’t anything like that. If they don’t make progress for half an hour they just leave. They try a new angle every time.” Spike yawned and stretched. “Don’t even use the road much anymore…”

They fell silent again.

Soarin’ returned some time later, his face tight with a palpable worry. He landed, shook his wings, and folded them flat. “Word sent, report made, yadda yadda. They’re going to move some more soldiers to the gate. Luna ordered them to start fortifying the streets around the main gate.”

“What? Like… building walls?” Rays asked, cocking his head to one side.

Soarin’ shook his head and grimaced. “Nah. Think more like barricades. Tables and things. Bags of sand or dirt. Anything you can pile up, really. Ponies are making a fuss about it, but it’ll get done either way.”

“Probably a good idea,” said Spike with a grunt. He tasted a little fire on his tongue, and part of him wanted to blow a little stream for the fun of it. But ponies always got jumpy about that, so he didn’t. “That way, when they get in… it’s a trap. I like it. Fire could finally help me some.” He grinned. “It’s like a weaponized barbecue pit.”

Soarin’ made a little snort of disgust. “Barbecue? Nice, man. Nice. Ugh, I’m gonna see that in my dreams.”

Spike played with the the little hinge around the trigger of his rifle idly. “I have a reputation to maintain as a fearsome carnivorous creature living among sweet, tiny, innocent ponies. Even though said ponies always forget that batponies and pegasi eat fish. And bacon, apparently. At least one does.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.” Spike waved him off. “How much longer are we here?”

“We’re done. I was about to get to that. Luna sent a Nightshade to the wall, and he saw me and passed on some news: first, we’re off the wall until that bomb is found. Second, she wants you to report to the Celestial Gate. Apparently we’re going hunting for white cloaks and such with a certain Marshal Scootaloo.”

“Scoots?” Spike smiled. “Sounds fun. You up to it, Rays? I can excuse you from duty officially.”

Rays looked at him with a wide bewildered look before shaking his head. “Nah. Nah, I’m fine. I’ll… I’m fine.”

Which was a lie, but Spike didn’t say so because lying helped. Sometimes.

AMARANTH

She stood, deep into the darkness peering, pondering what had come before.

They’d started around dinner time for daywalking ponies. She guessed it was the next day, by now. Around lunch, perhaps. She imagined lunch. A nice daisy sandwich. Some cider. Maybe a danish. She’d loved danishes. Her ideas of what “lunch” entailed was different now. Much different.

The daisy sandwich would still have been nice.

They’d stopped for Ice Storm to rest. She tried not to say it that way, of course. She acted as if she were beginning to be winded. Suggested lightly that it might be a good idea to stop and reorient herself. Maybe have a bite to eat, listen closely, whatever. Did he see through her ruse? Probably. Almost certainly, but she had to try.

The truth was she could have run the entirety of Canterlot at full speed even after all this searching in the vast dark and only then would she feel tired. The Duskwatch did not get tired in the way ponies did. Oh, yes, their bodies wore out with exertion and time, but the duskwatch pony’s endurance was beyond legendary. It was, bluntly, unnerving. Amaranth knew this because she found herself unnerving.

Ice Storm rested against a wall, eating field rations quietly. She perched on some abandoned masonry, fluttering her wings quietly, and watched him with a newfound focus.

Her tinctures of moonflower gave him the ability to see in low light and in almost pitch black, but they were limited. She, however, was not. She saw heat. She both heard and felt his heartbeat and the rushing of his blood. She could make it out small imperfections in his coat from ten strides away. Probably farther. She tried not to stare, of course. He was a beautiful creature, really. Not that she meant “creature” insultingly. She barely even thought it. Mostly she had decided that her new senses that quite convinced her that he was beautiful and also she probably wanted to lap at his lifeblood, but she tried not to think about that.

It was unpleasant.

She decided to talk so that she wasn’t staring at him with some alien mixture of hunger and lust. “How’s your sight?” she croaked. If you could call it that. Her voice sounded… different. A bit.

His ears shot up and rotated towards her, but his eyes did not follow. That would be a no. “Sorry, it ran out while I was eating. I was about to tell you, but decided I could buy a few minutes. I didn’t want it to spoil my lunch,” he said, and smiled into the darkness somewhere a few strides to her left. She didn’t chuckle at him but she wanted to. Even when she’d been herself, she’d still thought how helpless other tribes were in the dark was, frankly, adorable.

“I’ve got more,” she said. “And maybe if you wish really hard it won’t taste awful.”

He snorted and continued eating. She continued to watch him. She also considered, in brief, herself.

What was she? Duskwatch, but that was just a title. An office, if she was feeling facetious. It was a group. What was she? She was, for all intents and purposes, a nightmare. Batponies had always worried their neighbors. When your neighbors were mostly herbivores and you happened to enjoy meat occasionally, that was understandable. When you also happened to fit right into the tales that most ponies half-remembered, that lingered in their racial memory? Well. It was complicated.

Batponies were not vampiric. Fangs? Yes. She bared hers, folding her ears back, making a face she knew would cause Storm’s blood to turn to ice in his veins. Because, honestly, it scared her about as badly. She had an inkling of the effect she had on others. She had become the troublesome dream that had haunted her tribe since they first came to Equestria at Luna’s heels, wide-eyed and wondering.

And here she was, sitting in the dark, as still as a stone. Unnaturally, completely, utterly still. Silent. She saw everything perfectly. To an outside observer, this set up? This was a nightmare waiting to happen? Would she pounce? She could. She would, if you believed what ponies would think. Rend him. Feed. Etc.

She really needed to talk. It hadn’t been so bad, up above. Why was it bad now? Why was she so confused? “How are you in the dark?” she asked, knowing exactly how her voice sounded. Frenetic. Jumpy. Already she was calculating how he would respond, how his pulse and body language would--

“I’m alright,” he answered. She smelled no fear. A little nervous. “Honestly, you being here helps. It’s nice to know you’ll see anypony long before they can see us. If I were down here on my own…” He shook his head. “I am frankly not sure how I would be handling this.”

She smiled, despite herself. “Anything to help Cap. Colonel. Whatever.”

“I rather preferred ‘Cap’, myself,” he mused. “How are you?”

She hadn’t expected that. She tilted her head to one side. Her crimson eyes bored into him. “Me?”

“Yes. I know you can see in the dark, but we’re both winged ponies. Tight spaces are a bit, ah, unnerving. Even for those of us who are more at home in the night.” He smiled at her. It made her feel warm. Also it confused the part of her that was more predator than pony. Which, she supposed, was a nice bonus.

She should probably eat as well. She had totally forgotten, caught up in her observation. Feeling foolish, Amaranth dug quietly in her pack. She found one of the tightly wrapped lumps and unwound it as silently as possible, which for one of the Duskwatch was absolute. Meat, raw, still bloody. She grimaced at it even as her senses went wild and ate it quickly.

She was licking blood off of her fangs when it occured to Amaranth that she had not answered his question. “Uh. Yeah. Little tiny spaces.” How eloquent. “It actually bothers me less,” she said with a shrug. “I guess being basically a vampire pony helps with that?”

She saw him make a face at that. It was brief, but she saw it. “That is a boon, then,” he answered carefully.

“Dark gets to me though,” she admitted and licked her lips. “It’s… weird.”

His brow knitted together. “Strange. I would have thought you would be in your element.”

“I am.”

He seemed not to understand. And then he seemed to understand all too well, and it hurt her when she heard his pulse race. Just slightly. Just a little nervous. She broke her gaze. “Do you want the next potion?”

“Are you alright?”

“Wanna see?” she asked. And then she felt something ugly in her chest, and she pursed her lips. “You know. Keep tabs? So you can see me?” She had dug the bottle out without even noticing that she had done so. She was right next to him now. He smelled wonderful. He had before, too. She shoved the potion at his chest. “Here you go, free nightvision, thank your neighborhood dru--”

And then he caught her. She could have pulled away, but his hoof on hers was enough to pull her out of her sudden irritation.

“You noticed,” he said, making it a flat statement. “When you said that, it made me nervous.”

“I noticed,” she said, and it felt like admitting to wrongdoing. I can’t help it!

“I’m sorry,” Ice Storm said. “I am. It was a gut reaction. I had hoped you wouldn’t notice, but my body betrayed my heart and mind.”

She looked away. “It’s really that bad? I make you nervous now.”

“Not usually,” he said. He had taken the potion, but hadn’t drank a drop. His ration was on the ground. “In fact, rarely. I can’t think of a single time except for now and when I first saw you in your new form. You were still Amaranth. You’re still Amaranth now. I… Well. I asked the Princess if there was anything I could do to help you. She said that I should make sure to say that to you. I should have said it more. You’re still you. I have not forgotten that.”

Her ears folded back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. Nerves.”

“I am sorry as well.” He paused, and then brightened. “If it helps at all, I’m going to gag on this,” he said, holding the glass aloft.

She smiled. “It helps a little.”

THE CRYPTS

The hooves which walked uneasily on these stones were the first to touch them in years. Hundreds of years, in fact.

There were three of them in this group. There were actually several groups of ponies in now-dirtied white cloaks rummaging about in the bowels of the city, but this one was special. One of these ponies carried a great pack on his back, and strained under its weight.

They expected no pursuit. They feared it, yes, but they did not actually expect it. How could they? They only saw with the help of potions which had taken a whitecloak a week to find moonflowers for. The guards could no doubt acquire such things with more ease, but even then, the tunnels were practically endless. More than a hundred miles of tunnels, criss-crossing, on top of each other, some flooded. Some where digging had unearthed open veins of Thaumite, ready to mine. Some where poor, miserable souls had found Red Onyx.

Canterlot had been a mining town, before Equestria had been conceived of--few ponies remembered that now. In the long ago, when Luna and Celestia had visited, there had been a little village where Morningvale now sat, a rough keep, a petty warlord with a good sense of humor, and mines that snaked deep into the rock. The great riches of Canterlot had come at a cost.

They had been warned not to go near the tunnels marked with red X’s. Warned with rather gruesome detail.

The pony carrying the pack stumbles, and all three of them freeze in horror. But nothing comes of it. They are still safe and alive. He complains of the weight, and his companions bark at him to shut up, shut up will you? You’ll bring the whole guard down on us! But they know that no one is around to hear them. It’s not the guard they fear. It’s the bomb.

How much time passes? Minutes? They feel like hours. The pony in the lead, a unicorn, calls for a stop and they help the chosen carrier lay his burden down with care. The unicorn consults his enchanted map, making soft sounds of comprehension.

Not far now. Not far at all. Only a few minutes, he tells his companions. They react to this with muted relief.

Do they think about what is about to happen? Of course they do. They know what the bomb does. Why else fear it? Nothing can match its power short of an alicorn. They are carrying a godkiller and they know it. It feels wrong. Absurdly, it feels almosty as if the thing itself is alive in some twisted fashion, casually inflicting its aura of fear on them for its own amusement. Eat, drink, be merry, for tomorrow we die--except there would not be a tomorrow for it, would there? Or for many others.

They know the hordes of savage raiders will surge through the gap. They know innocents will be caught in the blast, die outright, or wish they had died outright as the raiders find them.

But these ponies also thought they knew something else. Sometimes, they said to themselves, each of them his own solitary individual, sometimes sacrifices need to be made. For the good of us all. For the good of everything. Sometimes sacrifices need to happen, and sometimes good ponies need to be… need to be made to join in on that. Against their wills? Unwillingly?

Whatever uncertainty they feel is small compared to the promise of paradise and the promise of agony. Do this and the world shall soon be right again. Do this one thing, and the Manichean will march into the city and free the ponies within. The raiders are a necessary evil and He shall dispose of them. Had he not already begun to keep that promise? After all, what other purpose was there in wasting those raving lunatics in suicidal charges up the mountain road? He was exterminating them and yet in his mercy he had let them contribute to the coming glory, to help usher in the eventual sunrise. Was he not merciful?

They also knew that if they failed, or tried to flee, that it would go badly for them. They did not know that their cloaks were being tracked magically, but they would not have been surprised. The escorts know enough: the Manichean and the Good Stallion did not take kindly to those who shirked from the light of the new day.

Unpleasantness now, murder now, and tomorrow sunshine and plenty to eat forever. It sounded swell, didn’t it? Like medicine. Grit your teeth, hold your nose, and it’s done just like that.

The first sign of danger is hard to hear. None of them, even in their hyperalert nervousness, notice the sound of a hoofblade scraping the rocks. Nor do they notice the intake of breath that follows it. But they do notice how the air seems to chill.

One of the wonderful things about the mind of a pony is its inability to correlate all of the various fleeting half-memories and suspicions into a single, coherent shape. It is a great mercy. The world is too large, and full of darkness too deep by half, even under all the joy, and sometimes mixed in liberally with it. And so the three cloaked ponies did not flee into the catacombs, even as they felt a thrill down their spines, all in unison. They did not begin screaming when she drew near them in the shadows, unseen because one does not see a shadow in the dark. They knew only that one moment, they were nervous. The next, they were terrified.

Usually, this ignorance is a shield against knowing. But this time it was just a blindfold on the way to the gallows.

The first one to fall was unicorn leading the way. It happened quickly: one blink, he was walking slowly, his head swiveling. The next blink, he was crumpled in the muck, gasping, bawling. His companions only heard the crack of bone breaking.

They did not see the dhamphir fly from the wall. They did not see her single kick--enough to knock a foe flat and leave him gasping when she had been herself, but her strength was far beyond her old might, and the sickening report of bone breaking from bone announced that. They did not see her move on, jumping from dark corner to corner.

The first pony was gasping for air. The other two stopped, and then finally the panic that had been building all along grew and released. They ran ahead.

AMARANTH

The feeling of his body breaking under her hoof was intoxicating and had she not been very, very focused, this would have frightened her.

Ice Storm trailed the bomb. He would keep them from retreating, and she would keep them getting away. Already they were passing her, but she had not yet moved from where she had landed. The half-seconds passed like hours to her. These ponies were so slow. So very slow.

The first pony… the wounded one--he bled. She smelled it. She felt his pulse beat against the inside of her head. She felt her own join it. Something changed.

She all but appeared before the second one and roared in his face. When he cowered, screaming, she advanced. He tried to rear up to fend her off, but she did not allow it. It was simple as will. She was lightyears faster, miles ahead of him in strength.

Amaranth bowled him over, hissing as the attacked pony lost his mind. The third one wasn’t even part of her calculation, she had forgotten him.

The food she’d brought was mostly still in her pack, uneaten. She hadn’t wanted to eat with… why hadn’t she? She couldn’t remember now. Some strange feeling. But now…

The trapped earth pony tried to kick her. In fact, feeling joyous, she let him get away with it. She hardly noticed. So weak. So very soft and weak. He did not smell nice like the white one did. But he would do. He would do for now! He kicked her again but Amaranth would not be moved. It did not even register through the haze of lust and thirst.

Amaranth’s fangs were not gentle. The care she might have practiced in her right mind was completely absent. She tore open the struggle whitecloak’s neck and lapped at his lifeblood. She hummed happily into his open wound through his death rattle. It was a blind blissful feast. Why had she been waiting? Why had she been so nervous?

The pony died quickly, at least. It’s hard to hold on to the world of the living when your throat is essentially gone.

After a moment, the haze over her mind cleared. Amaranth leaned back, letting out a quiet groan of contentment. It died in her throat when she saw Ice Storm with the third pony held beneath his hoof, staring at her. She stared back, confused. What? She almost chuckled and asked if she had something in her hair, but stopped because there was raw fear rolling off of him in waves. The pony underneath his hoof was crying and begging for his life. From Storm? Storm would never harm a pony who surrendered, whether they deserved it or not. Was there something behind her?

“Amaranth? Lancer?”

“I’m not a lancer anymore,” Amaranth replied slowly.

“Oh, stars preserve me. You’re back. Amaranth, don’t… just stay there, alright? The bomb… It’s doing something. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Please, just remain calm.”

“Cap? Cap, why are you--”

“Calm! Calm, Lancer, it’s an order,” he said quickly, and she stiffened. Something like horror was stirring in her chest, but she stayed still.

It was about this time that she noticed the smell of blood. Moslty because the tight corridor reeked of freshly spilt blood and it was all over her face and chest and some of it was on her hooves. Gingerly, Amaranth touched her face and looked at her own hoof. A sudden desire swept over her to bring it close and lick the coagulating life, enjoy it before it became cold and lost all of the merit.

Amaranth shook. She trembled. “Cap? Colonel, what…. how…?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know. Amaranth, are you of sound mind? Are you rational and in control? This is important. I can’t deactivate this. I’m not even sure how it was activated!”

She barely heard him. “What did I do?” she asked nopony in particular. She heard somepony whimpering behind her and turned. There was the unicorn. She stumbled towards him.

He was trying to crawl away. “My legs! Oh gods, I can’t feel them! Oh gods…. stars please…” His movements were so weak, so small… her stomach churned. Her head seemed hazy again. She fell back, realizing that her breathing had grown ragged just watching him.

She remembered hitting him just once. She’d broken his spine with a single blow.From the smell and the erratic pulse she heard very, very, painfully clearly, she had little doubt that part of his spine had torn through other things as well. She’d crippled him. She’d probably killed him in the slowest way imaginable.

Amaranth saw herself trying to move after the mortar at Morningvale.

She turned back and she saw the second pony. She tried to move to his side to see what she had done to him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to look, because she knew what she would find because she remembered now.

“Amaranth?”

She looked at Ice Storm sharply, her chest heaving.

He took a deep breath. “Amaranth, I need you. You have to focus. We… You’re you. You are still Amaranth. Come back. I need you to help me or we won’t make it out of here.”

She nodded. Years of training pushed at her horror.

“Do you have any way of contacting the other Duskwatch?”

She opened her mouth. She closed it, thinking.

And then she took a deep breath of her own and called loudly in a voice that was too high for regular ponies to hear. But her new brothers and sisters heard it, those within a few miles of them.

“We have the bomb. Please assist.”

She heard something, faint and far off, but growing stronger.

“Keep singing, sister. I am on my way.”

Singing? She wasn’t singing. Amaranth frowned. “Well, I think that worked. Let me…” she mumbled, shook her head, and continued, warbling a single ultrasonic note.

In a few terrible moments--still as the grave save for two whimpering, terrified ponies--another one of the duskwatch arrived. The dhamphir’s eyes blazed in the darkness in a way that left Amaranth mystified. He looked around grimly.

“You’ve been busy,” he said softly.

Amaranth flinched.

Ice Storm was about to step in, but the newcomer--it was Tranquil Sands, she saw--held up a hoof. “No, she could have avoided this. She resisted feeding earlier, no doubt. But it is done, and these are enemy combatants so there is no breach. Is that the bomb?”

Ice Storm nodded, and moved aside as Tranquil approached. The dhamphir ran a hoof over the bomb’s smooth, glowing surface. “It’s not mechanical,” he noted. “Magical, then. Unfortunate, but it is good that I was nearby. Give me a moment.”

The stallion’s hoof rested on the object, and Amaranth finally got a good look at it. It was a featureless orb, with crisscrossing lines of angry red light. The hoof began to glow, and Tranquil hummed. “It was much easier when I still had a horn,” he said to himself.

“You… what?” Amaranth asked blankly.

Tranquil did not look at her. But he did smirk. “Not all of the Duskwatch were born with leathery wings, youngest. Ah… Ah. This is a nasty thing, isn’t it, this bomb? Not what I expected at all.”

“How so?” Ice Storm asked. He moved the captured rebel away from the bomb.

“Stars, this is complex. I had expected something brute force. The cloaked ones have not made inroads among the mage’s college… ah. This would be beyond many of them, regardless. To construct, at least. Perhaps not to dismantle. Youngest,” he spoke and Amaranth went stock still. “You can also do this, you know. You will learn, with time. You will also learn why what happened here occurred, though I suspect you already know. You will talk to Luna and the Oldest. You have stumbled, but not fallen. Are you alright?”

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps that is the best answer. I require your aid, as I am preoccupied. Sing again, tell our comrades to leave the crypts. There is nothing more for them to do here.”

“Did you disarm it?” Amaranth asked.

“Sing first.”

She did, though she didn’t know why he called it singing. Go! The bomb is found! Everypony needs to leave the underground now.

When she had finished, she noticed Ice Storm wincing. “Can you hear that?”

“Almost,” he said. “It’s more of an… it’s an odd sort of pressure on the ear. Unpleasant but not overly so.”

“Sorry. I told them.”

“Good. Now you also go.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Take your prisoner and go.”

“Did you figure it out?”

Ice Storm understood first. “Amaranth, come. I need you to help lead the way.”

She sputtered. “Wait, hold on--”

“Go, youngest. One of us has to try. This is has an hour at best. I believe my efforts may shorten the time the spell has before the wards break.”

“You can’t stay, not if... “ But she knew immediately that somepony had to stay. Even if it was too late, somepony had to try. She shook her head. “I… yes. Yes sir.”

He smiled genuinely. “And now I feel old. Off with you. Fly from this place. There is an access point the way I came. Do not stop for the other one. He will not last much longer.”

Amaranth and Ice Storm fled.

CANTERLOT

In the last hour of wholeness, Canterlot was restless. A contingent of Lunar guard engineers had been building barricades around the gates, with additional makeshift fortifications further in. They had drawn up plans for how the city might be evacuated in an orderly manner in the case of sappers crippling the gate, and the results were promising. It would take almost half a day, but that was what the barriers were for--it was all a matter of buying time.

These engineers were proud ponies, and for good reason. It was their job to build, the constructive arm of a thing which excelled at deconstruction. An Equestrian military engineer turned a few tables and spare timber into a fortification worthy of the name. He made things work.

Some of the civilians had offered to help, and they had been put to the task of bringing in material. It was a morbid task, turning streets into fortresses, but somehow doing it together helped make the work go smoothly. It was almost a happy atmosphere, like a bizarre barn raising.

Engineers deal in facts. Numbers, precedents, measurements. They knew about bombs and extrapolated what might occur if one went off. They knew about gates and with that data they built accordingly with what might happen if one were sabotaged.

Luna had already begun the evacuation quietly a few hours before. Her guards moved slowly, securing one neighborhood at a time, starting with those nearest the wall and in the most immediate danger.The main thoroughfares were filled with carts and ponies who never seemed to look about them, but not yet clogged. Order was maintained. Few of them asked where or why--they knew perfectly well where and why.

Somewhere in the market district, two ponies--one pale as clouds and the other a dark grey--crawled out of the bowels of the earth. The sun had not yet set, so the white pegasus shielded his companion with his body until she could find a heavy cloak within her pack.

There were scattered ponies in white cloaks haunting the now empty neighborhoods. Waiting.

Moments passed in waiting. Every single pony seemed to be waiting, even the ones who built in the streets.

Outside, the besieged trenches were quiet. The reinforcements had arrived from the valley, and now the white-barded strange army outnumberd the raving savages they barely controlled.

It began to rain and no pegasus wanted to go out and try to corral the torrential downpour. Not in a storm of war.

It rained for five minutes, give or take. Ponies pulled in and donned cloaks and ponchos, or they waited under dry roofs and looked out sullenly. The ones constructing barricades called for unicorns to help them quickly cast some last minute fortification over the ramshackle constructs and then they sent the city dwellers home with thanks. Helpful apprentices and former salaryponies cantered home, their spirits lifted.

And then it happened.

Do you know what a bomb sounds like? Or, perhaps, do you know what fireworks sound like? The “pop” as black powder ignites and catches fire? The expansion of hot air and gas so quickly that it bursts the paper container? Have you ever heard a cannon? Heard the dragon’s roar before it trails smoke into the wind? If you have heard these things, you could try to apply them to the sound the bomb made underneath the great gate of Canterlot. You would try, and you would miss the mark by miles.

It does not “pop”. It does not shatter. It does not roar. It engulfs. One moment, an engineer wipes his brow and smirks at the work of his hooves, and the next the gate, the plaza before it, the main HQ of the guard on the mountain, several hundred yards of wall--all of it is vile green fire and undifferentiated howling sound, a wall of sound and heat and malice. It does not destroy--it annihilates. It burns things from the pattern of existence with hot coals. It takes the tall, proud gate which has never fallen to assault. It takes the neighborhoods, some full and some not. It takes the guards and the city-dwellers laughing as they flee the rain. It takes the old and the young.

Out of the raging green fire spout further fires which seek new things to burn. They alight on houses and streets. They find a cart in the market district as a stunned pair of guard ponies look on in horror, knowing that a member of the Duskwatch failed.

The earth shakes like a wounded animal. It recoils, and the ponies who stride upon it fall as well, shouting and screaming in confusion and alarm. Aftershocks follow the initial rumblings. Masonry cracks and comes loose. Windows shatter.

When the magic subsides, the fires still burn but the air has a great hole where there was once cacophany. There is screaming and shouting and order-giving, yes. But it cannot compare. There is a relative silence.

That silence is filled with a new roar.

From their trenches and dugouts, like a plague of monsters in an age of legends, swarm two thousand raiders and bandits and cutpurses and simple madponies, delighted with the new game before them. They charge up the hill.

Behind them comes a white wave of ponies in lockstep. Silent.

SPIKE

They had been in the tanner’s district on patrol with Scootaloo when the bomb went off.

Almost immediately, even as the aftershocks had washed over the lower city, Scootaloo had ordered half of her levies back to House Belle to keep Sweetie safe. Spike didn’t blame her.

When the initial shock had worn off, she and Soarin’ had reacted admirably. Neither of them had anything on Spike, who sprang to his feet with sword in hand.There was the bomb. They’d failed. He didn’t spend time dwelling on the enormity of it because for one he couldn’t see the enormity of it yet, and because he could feel Luna’s soul touch his own in that moment.

Go.

And so he did. Soarin’ tried to get his attention, but it was impossible. So instead, they followed him on either side, fanning out. Rays they sent back to tell Luna that Spike was heading to the gate. As they reached the first edges of the fleeing crowds, Spike parted them like the keel of a ship, cutting right through with his mere presence, and the levies of Belle stayed safe in his wake. Most of the ponies they passed weren’t running for the gates and to the safety of the upper level. Some didn’t seem to know where it was they ran. Some even ran towards the main gate.

Spike called out to them as he advanced. Many ponies stopped dead in their tracks at a dragon wading through their midst, barking orders. Many obeyed, streaming past him and towards the middle tier.

Others simply kept running. Spike couldn’t go after every single one. He would do what he could.

It took what seemed like an eternity to make it to the lowest point around the gate, and finally Spike witnessed the enormity of what had happened.

Here, there was no confusion as to where to go. Ponies clogged the streets, struggling to get past each other. Spike saw over them but here even his size and strength had trouble clearing a way. Past them, far down the main thoroughfare, he saw small fires burning and a great open wound in the ground. The gate was completely gone. The great plaza was gone. Whole neighborhoods gone.

After much struggle, they cleared the panicked refugees when a squad of solar guards flew in and began to help clear the way for ponies to move. Rubble from the wall and gate had arced through the sky and landed in the street, clogging the way through. Spike clambered over one great piece while the others squeezed around it, and he saw the guards left after the explosion.

The original fortifications were completely gone now. The secondary ones were there. Mostly. Guards were frantically rebuilding them. He saw no levies--many had probably done what Scootaloo had done, or been on the wall.

How many did we lose on the wall? he thought, horrified. We can’t afford to lose that many.

As he approached the barricades, Spike found Lunar and Solar contingents mixed together, scraping together material to finish their cover and setting up a sort of above-ground rifle pit. One of the barded ponies turned and stared for a moment, before letting out something between a curse and a prayer.

“Companion!” the Night Guard bowed hurriedly once he’d rushed to Spike. “Please, please tell me that more are coming.”

“Soon. Do you have ponies helping the evacuation?” Spike asked, scanning the surrounding buildings.

“A few. Three or four. Somepony else must needs do it, Companion--we’re hard pressed preparing for the rush. The front line is all but finished. They are trickling back as they can,fighting as they retreat, but…”

“We need to hold the gap,” Soarin’ said. “Yeah. Spike, do you have paper?”

Spike grinned. “Send a letter to the Princess? I can do that, but nah. If you have some…?”

“Captain Tenebrae, sir,” the guard saluted. “And I do. Give me a moment.”

Pen and parchment were acquired and Spike wrote quickly. Firstly, that Spike was engaged in shoring up the gap. Secondly, that whatever she could spare was desperately needed. He wrote her briefly that the crowds were beginning to grow too thick for their own good. Whatever she had envisioned as a successful evacuation, this wasn’t going to be it. They needed the guard or levies or some sort of official force with nerves of steel to corral ponies towards the middle tier.

He sent it with his green fire, and then inspected the barricade.

“Yeah. That’s not gonna hold,” he said, weakly.

Well. It did surprisingly well against an axe, Spike noted. He was always forgetting about magic. Which, he reflected, was pretty ironic considering he had grown up with the Element of Magic.

The last wave of survivors from the front line had arrived only minutes ahead of the raider horde, all of them half-dead and mad with terror. Spike had tried to stop one and put him on the barricade, but one look at the poor stallion’s eyes and Spike had released him immediately. They weren’t in any condition to fight.

The raiders had spilled into the gap, stumbling and shouting the whole way down into the silt and fallen masonry and all the way back up towards the street. And now they were kicking and chopping at the tables. Instead of going over them.

Spike took in a deep breath. He’d let enough gather in one place. Standing, he whirled around to face a small crowd of ponies with plastered, drunk grins who all looked up at him with confusion. It was the sort of confusion of an athlete who comes in first only to find he’s been disqualified all along.

Spike covered them in a river of flames. He didn’t watch if any were left standing. He ducked below and hoped one of the rebel sharpshooters hadn’t seen him.

The raiders weren’t acting as they normally had. There was all of the manic energy, but none of the cunning or the viciousness. They were useless. It occurred to him that whatever had twisted the first generation of raiders could very well have started infecting those they preyed upon. He didn’t want to consider that.

He heard bullets hit the magically-reinforced barrier and flinched. They were fine. He was fine. So far, they were holding off a massive force and doing it well--the enchantments were holding.

“Done!” the mare with the bandage over her eye called to him. Spike turned his head and locked eyes with her as she held up his rifle with both hooves.

“Throw it!” Spike said, and she did. He caught it with one hand and spun it until it was safe and ready to be used. He grinned. “You know, I think it’s me laughing this time, god of dragons,” he said to himself. To the civilian who’d stayed behind, he gestured towards the other weapons lying on the sheet beneath her. “Load me one of the pony repeaters,” he asked.

“Got it, scales.”

He took another steadying breath.

In the short time between his arrival and the first waves of attackers, they’d worked out a system. Ponies stayed where they were, keeping fire raining down while others loaded every firearm the little band could find and helped cycle through them.

The rebels in white had paused their advance at the mouth of the gap, letting streaming barbarians take their place as they provided blanketing cover fire from behind the jutting masonry.

Spike popped up from behind the barricade and sighted down at a clump of white clustered behind a surviving catacomb wall that had risen from the silt. When one moved out to fire up at the wall, Spike caught him with a bullet and chambered a new round.

Another cluster saw him and fired. He thought he felt the heat of the first shot fly right in front of his nose and he ducked back behind the wall.

LUNA

Page Turner was doing an admirable job of keeping up with her.

“Your Highness, what is going on? Where are you going?”

She did not answer. It would slow her down. He would see what she was doing soon enough, after all.

Luna threw open the doors to the royal armory, ignoring the questions of the quartermaster and the guards he was outfitting as she ignored the pleas of her own aide and confidant. They would all see, soon enough. The time had come for everypony in Canterlot to see.

She stormed through the crowded, organizing guards. Unlike them, Luna felt no confusion. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Another door, another chamber, and then a stairway down into the private store room of Celestia herself, repurposed for both sisters.

Luna came to the sealed door and channeled her magic to match her sister’s careful weaving. It was like a portrait of Celestia, one she could touch and feel connected to an absent sister. The door opened itself as she withdrew her touch from the warmth of Celestia’s signature.

Luna strode among the weapons of a goddess, surveying them.

“Page Turner,” she began quietly, “what does a monarch mean?”

“I… what?”

She did not smile or react in anyway as her eyes wandered over the trove of arms and armor. “Tell me. What does a monarch mean? Words have meaning. Twilight Sparkle seems to think that we give them meaning and that is that--in my day, the scholars speculated that meaning was inherent in the song and we simply ‘discovered’ it. My point stands. What does monarch mean?”

“A ruler?”

“Close. What does a monarch do?”

“Rules? She… She rules.” Page Turner said.

Luna approached the armor she had made herself deep in the core of the mountain. She smiled at it. Yes, yes it was time. Her smile held no mirth. Only a dark satisfaction burned in the heart of Equestria’s last princess.

“No, that is simply a reward or a fringe benefit. A Monarch--Queen or King, Prince or Princess, Lord and Lady, Burgess and Magistrate--the title does not matter, the thing itself is the question! A Monarsh is a bridge, my confidant and friend. A bridge. Do you not know what I lead ponies into?”

She levitated the armor all around her. “Attend me. And answer.”

Page Turner knew how to do this. She had made it part of the qualifications of the job, after all, and he was a studious and precise sort. She felt him borrow the shaped tantalum armor, banded to steel by her magic, studded with spikes. It was massive, heavy, seemingly impossible to wear. She hardly noticed.

“I do not know what you mean, Your Majesty.”

“A ruler is a bridge, Page Turner. Between this life and whatever is after. This we do in three degrees.”

He secured her greaves and hoof-coverings.

“First, in life, in peace we provide security and safety that the pony might live until death comes for him in his bed.”

Page Turner nodded, silent, as he lowered a shirt of mail over her head. She held her mane back herself, and then let it fall over one shoulder, shrouding her face in dancing stars.

“Secondly, in death, in peace, through faith. We are his bridge to the stars, the moon, the sun, his gods or his heroes. The king is high priest in peace.”

Page turner tightened the chest plate in place and the pauldrons, marvelling at how many individual parts Luna had created. It should not have worked as it did, and yet only a cursory examination showed that Luna had fashioned something bulky and also agile. Something dense but light. It was, perhaps, the greatest achievement of smithing since the age of legends.

“Thirdly, the monarch leads him in war, on the fields of death’s games. She holds the threads of their lives in her hooves and decides which ones she shall cut. And then she hopes the others do not snap as well under the weight of a great burden. Mind the shirt, keep it straight. I have attempted to fulfill the first two. Now I shall return to a much more familiar haunt. War is my domain, Page Turner, as much as art and music and the gentle night ever were. When ponies died it was me whose name was on their lips, one way or another, whether I wanted that or not. Thank you, my friend.” She shook herself, making sure the armor was well secured. It was. Luna noted he had not placed the circlet on her head and smiled. She would not have minded, but it was amusing that even now he was trying to bow to an ancient set of codes. She placed the circlet upon her own head, adorned with a shard of black onyx.

“So you will go down yourself?”

“My nightshades will help us keep the foe at bay. As for myself, I shall bring our subjects into order that they might not die today. Not now.” Luna’s eyes did not need to search. Her sister had kept the Hammer of Selene for a thousand years in pristine condition. It held memories both horrific and beautiful for both of them. Luna brought it to her and felt once again the presence of her sister.

Be well. Return to me. I would see your face and feel your kiss upon my brow as I did when I was young. I would once again introduce a lover to you and hear your gentle laughter. Twilight Sparkle will find you. She will not fail.

“Your Highness, someone will need to organize the Lunar Guard! And the Solar Guard! I must--”

“And that one will be you, scholar. I have already written the order. It is signed and sealed on my desk for such a time as this. You will find it. I trust you have the knowledge necessary to do as you must?”

“Yes, but--”

“Good. My trust in you is, as always, rewarded,” Luna said. “I am not foolish. A regent must lead, she cannot only command. But she cannot throw herself away--both are abandonment. One is simply more emotionally satisfying than the other. I will not be in the hail of bullets. But I must go out. I must do my sole duty as a princess. I must shepherd them into death, or away.”

SPIKE

The Nightshades came in fast, dropping grenades on the advancing rebels. The white-barded troops tried to find cover, but it was too late.

Spike used the distraction to rise again and fire into the amorphous mass. As soon as he ducked back below, he heard a dozen answering shots.

Soarin’ was back from the western barricade. Things were worse there--they had whitecloaks behind the barricade looting and taking potshots at defenders, fighting among themselves. The blue pegasus was coated in the dust still riled up by the explosion and the consequent fighting. Spike waved him over and watched wearily as Soarin’ crawled in the shadow of the failing wood.

“What did Moss say?” Spike asked.

“El-tee is dead, actually,” Soarin’ said numbly. “Tenebrae is gone too. Some… I don’t know what rank. Some mare was trying to get a count on the ammunition that the engineer brigade had left and its almost nothing. The Nightshades could only bring so much with them.”

Three batponies landed beside Spike and immediately collapsed in a panting heap.

Spike barely glanced at them. They’d made so many strafing runs already that he was losing track. “Who’s left then?” he asked.

“Hell if I know.”

“Any bats down?”

“Rays is alive. You and me are alive.”

“Speak for yourself,” Spike said.

“Aint’ funny. Funny is for when I’m not being shot at.”

As if on cue, another hail of bullets lapped at the magic holding the barricade together. They all flinched, knowing the enchantment could still fail at any time.

Spike closed his eyes and held his head in his clawed hands. He had no idea how long he had been here, shooting and hiding and roaring and flaming and waiting. Hours? Maybe days? He fell asleep earlier when the Nightshades pushed the raiders back into the gap, but that had probably only been for an hour. Had it gotten lighter at any point? He didn’t think so.

The rain had stopped pretty soon after the bomb went off, but the sky was still overcast. Which was probably for the best, he reflected, as it made flaming any attackers that got close a little easier and steam would just get in his eyes.

Spike was exhausted. He was beyond feeling and beyond excitement. All that was left in him was dread. Another volley of bullets, and he answered. Did he hit anything? The stars might know, but he doubted. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. He was there to delay. They were there to be chewed on while others were safe. Another hour or so. Just a little while more. He was losing track of time.

Did Spike think about dying? Of course he did. Not as much before now. He was a young dragon after all, and a young dragon thinks very little of death in a serious light. But now he could do nothing but think about it.

How does the end come? He could imagine many ways. He braved return fire over and over--law of averages. The rebels got close enough to throw grenades or improvise some sort of explosion. A hole in the guard’s constant fire might give the rebel mages enough time to turn their magic from casting shields to casting lightning and he would be one of their first targets. A pegasus from above catches him with a hoofblade to the eye.

Over and over. How would it happen? When would it happen? Now or later? Would he know it was happening? Would he simply step into a bright light on the street and never see the last moment he lived?

“Spike, we can’t stay here,” Soarin’ was saying. Spike looked down at him.

Soarin’ was ragged. He had bleeding cuts that were dirtied and swollen. He’d lost the rifle he had borrowed from the guard armory, and Spike had the strangest thoughts--almost an insane amusement that he would be in trouble for that, wouldn’t he?--and he just sort of blinked in response.

“Spike. Spike!”

“I heard you. Where would we go?”

“Further in, make them fight house to house. This is not going to work much longer. The west is going to give in any moment, and then they’ll just sweep through the alleys and take us all in one swoop and then there will be nothing between them and--”

A distant cry, and they all covered their heads. Outside, one of the rebel mages had managed to get behind a comrade’s arcane shielding long enough to recover his own strength and launch an attack. They heard his bolts of arcane energy strike the enchanted walls.

Spike looked to the Nightshades, but they were already standing. They took off without a word. Another run. Every time the rebels managed to get a mage into firing position, Spike lost another nightshade. He was running out of fliers.

“Spike! At this rate we’re going to leave the evacuation with no buffer.”

“If we screw up the retreat we let them run right up the center and they’ll do the same thing.”

“So we don’t!”

“They have the numbers to ignore us without the wall.” Spike said dully.

Soarin’ was in his face, shaking him. “Spike, we have to do something. You wanna be a hero? Fine. But do it and be useful. We started with two hundred guards and we have like eighty of them left. We had like twenty fliers and now we have like what, six?”

All around them, guards fired guns and spells to cover the ascent of Luna’s batponies. Spike and Soarin’ stopped arguing as Spike looked over the wall and joined them. Two shots. Both hit a shimmering shield of magic.

The rebels were throughout the crater in clusters behind great ruined hulks or hiding in little depressions. How many were there? He had no idea. Too many. Thousands, if you counted the ones beyond the wall, firing. Even with their best efforts, more and more rebels slipped in under fire.

Three nightshades divebombed the mage, who was very near the wall. His unicorn companion tried to extend the shield above to deflect them, but doing so broke the spell. One of the last guard unicorns grabbed him with magic and slammed him into another pony who was aiming upwards. The attacking mage tried to summon his magic, but he was tired.

It wouldn’t have mattered regardless. The batponies opened their mouths and let out a ultrasonic scream. Spike heard it, barely, and it was unpleasant but not awful. The ponies directly below the diving Nightshades writhed, holding their ears and groaning.

The Nightshades found their target. He went down almost effortlessly.

But as they rose back up, fire from the gap took one of them. One less flier. The one salvaged machine gun they had pulled off the wall fired in retaliation from a house above the barricades. Return fire hit all around the window, embedding in the enchanted sandbags the engineers had laid down.

Without the shield, Spike aimed past the exposed cluster towards an exhausted looking unicorn. He aimed only for unicorns--they were more tactically valuable--and every single time he saw a smiling Twilight Sparkle showing him a new spell.

Spike slumped back behind the wall when they were out of range of the enemy. Soarin’ was still determined. Spike stared at him.

“We have to move, man. There’s like a thousand of them right there and there’s like a hundred of us. If we can get out of here and hook up with other guard units. They’re going to get lucky and once we lose that gun or run out of ammo for it we’re done. We’re already done, Spike. We need to go. They’ll only listen to you.”

“What?”

“You’re the companion. You’re in charge here. Send them away! Pull them back!”

“Me? I--”

Soarin’ shook him. “Please! The wall will hold them for--”

“Stop.” Spike gripped him and found that holding Soarin’ off the ground was actually pretty easy even now. “I get it. I’m pretty sure I’m not in charge, but whatever. Who do I talk to?”

Soarin’ pointed down the way towards a mare with her mane tied in a braid trying to load a rifle with her teeth. Spike noticed hoofblades on her hooves and bandages on all four legs. Her barding was in bad shape.

Spike moved along the wall, careful to keep his head down. Soarin’ followed behind him. Overhead, the machine gun roared again.

The mare in question was a Solar--he guessed a Corporal? He wasn’t as familiar with their insignia. As soon as she noticed him she tried to struggle to her hooves but Spike stopped her with a clawed hand.

“Sir! Companion, I’m keeping the cycle up as well I can, but we’re running low.”

“How low?” Spike asked.

“At this rate?” She winced. “We’re really not going to make it. I mean, I didn’t expect we would, sir, but I’ve got literally three of these.” She gestured to a cast-iron box beside her which she knocked over. Nothing spilled out. “That one’s empty now. Delightful. Three of those left. And that’s for every rifle on this line. Save that griffon one you got, Companion. I’m out for that entirely. Sorry.”

“I’ve got a few shots left,” Spike said flatly. “Can you pull back? Fighting retreat? I’ve been convinced that we’re going to get wiped out here without reason and I’d rather try to pull them into running battles and ambushes in the city than just let them steamroll us.”

“Aye, that’d be a good idea. Good as any, really. We’re right fucked regardless. Suppose you’ll be wanting me to get the word out.”

“Yes, if you can,” Spike said, not sure how she would.

“Oh, trust me, I can. I’m the message mare, I am.” There was a pack beside her. She limped over towards it and pulled out a small glowing orb. “Don’t need a horn to do magic, sometimes,” she grumbled and then the orb glowed brightly. She spoke into it quickly, and Spike watched with surprise. He’d thought only unicorns could use scrying stones. Of course, he’d only seen unicorns use them. Even now he learned.

When it was done, she turned to him. Her face was cut into a grim line. “Sir, may I ask one last thing?”

“What?” Spike asked.

“Carry me to the gun nest above? I’m weak on my feet and I’d rather make my stand there with the gunners.”

Spike frowned, not understanding. “What? Wait, hold on, what?”

“I’m staying, sir. I…” She gestured to herself. “I can’t keep going. You need that gun alive and firing or you’ll never be able to withdraw.” Above them, the machinegun came back to life, tearing into the waves of rebels. “This is what I can do. Help me, please. Sir.”

Spike swallowed. “Alright,” he said, his throat feeling dry. He scooped her up in his arms and turned towards the house with the makeshift pillbox. She was so small in his arms, so fragile. How breakable these little ponies were.

When he set her down next to the gun and she took the place of the one gunner with no injuries, his world began to slowly drift, like sand on a shaking surface, tiny fragments shaken apart.

ICE STORM

Even after what he had seen and what she had done, they worked like clockwork. She dove, beautiful in the way only the deadliest things achieve, and he followed her down into the teeming chaos of battle.

The breach had been forfeited--not from choice, either. Most of the army left to defend the wall itself had been either annihilated in the blast or kept at bay by encroaching raiders… or the problem in front of Ice Storm.

Whitecloaked fighters spilled into the streets, fighting a two front battle. They fought the raiders that slipped into the streets, that trickled into the markets and alleys and thoroughfares. They burned the buildings that fueled their resentments. A courthouse aflame. The lower jail had been bombed soon after the wall. But soon they moved onto anything. They burned things whenever they could.

This time, they had been caught in the middle of torching a bakery. Why? Why do any of this? Ice Storm was a simple sort, but not a fool. He followed orders. He stayed inside of the lines. He was not too rigid, but he preferred order to a lack of it. None of this made sense to him at all.

This did not, however, stop him from landing hooves-first in the face of a yelling whitecloak.

The beleaguered Solar guard squadron cheered as they surged forward, going hoof to hoof, battering down the startled whitecloaks. The first pony was down; another had taken his place in Ice Storm’s sight, kicking with both hooves. Ice Storm dodged underneath the blow and applied his shoulder to the offending shoulder, toppling his attacker back towards the burning windows.

Amaranth, burdened with the heavy moon-weave cloak struggled to fight, and yet even then she dispatched a whitecloak in seconds. One of the looters got lucky and his hoofblade caught a gap in a guard’s armor. Any kind of coherency began to break down as they drove the panicking looters towards the building they had set ablaze.

When the small crowd had been reduced to three ponies, they tried to surrender. Ice Storm felt a surge of fury. Oh, it wasn’t fun anymore, was it? It wasn’t emotionally satisfying to have to actually pay for one’s crimes, was it?

He didn’t have to suffer it. When one of the Solars tried to apprehend them and bind one of them, the looter used the chance to buck his helmet off and run for it. The others also jumped to their hooves and bolted. Storm got one. Amaranth fell on another and lingered just long enough to send a shiver down Storm’s spine, but he ignored it.

The pony beneath his hooves was alive. Ice Storm wanted to change that. He couldn’t hide and say that it was his anger speaking, not that that wasn’t true. It was his anger that made him think that. His anger. It was a part of him. It was him. And he wanted to crush this skull and bring a little more balance to existence because it would be right. It would be good. It would be Just.

He slouched back towards the guards who saluted him.

“Report,” he croaked. “Where are you headed and what were your last orders?”

“Commander Violet ordered us and what’s left of Dandelion Company to push to the gate, sir,” said one of them--a lance corporal by the insignia on his barding, roughed and bloody--and Ice Storm nodded. Violet had a sound head on her shoulders mostly, but she was aggressive.

“And the others?” Ice Storm asked.

The officer grimaced. “We lost Dandelion a few blocks ago. Whitecloaks are coming out of the woodwork everywhere. We landed right in the middle of an ambush and there were less of us. We had to withdraw.” He pulled a map from the small pack on his haunches with some difficulty. “I have a map, sir. We were planning to meet up with them at the fallback point marked out.”

Ice Storm laid the map in the dust and sighed. They were a long way off. He’d seen it happen before now--the enemy was inside all along, and they had failed to thin their numbers before the deadline. Whitecloaks kept smaller groups of soldiers from moving to what could be called the front line only by approximation.

He looked the guards over. They were ragged but not beaten. Continuing towards the gate would mean high casualties. Falling back would be yet another failure.

Ice Storm gestured for the guard to come closer and began to gesture as he spoke. “There aren’t enough of you to make much of a dint in the rebels moving up the great thoroughfare, but they aren’t the only problem. See this? Good. Do you have anyone familiar with this ward?”

The lance corporal looked up, biting his lip as he surveyed the watching guards. “Diamond, Haybale, Gravel, aren’t you three from the seventh ward?”

A mare nodded. “I am, sir. So’s Gravel. Haybale’s from Filly.”

Ice Storm nodded. “Could the two of you come here, then?”

Four ponies crowded around the map. Amaranth watched the street, as did the other guards, fidgeting in a rough circle around the impromptu conference.

Ice Storm turned his attention back to the one in charge. “Lance, you know solar regulations as well as I do. You know I can’t countermand the Commander’s orders, but I can tell you rather bluntly that falling back is going to weaken our overall hold on the lower city. I have an alternative that gets you back to Highmarket and still allows you to help. What route were you planning to take?” The guard showed him, and Ice Storm nodded. “Good plan. I might have done the same--you’d make short time. If you make a detour here, you’ll have to go through another ward to get to your fallback point. A ward that just happens to be poorly defended right now and filled with panicking civilians. Are you catching my meaning?”

The pony before him gawked. It wouldn’t hold up, and they both knew it. The Lunar guard bent the rules, but the Solar guard was rigid in its adherence to protocol and doctrine.

“Yes sir,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “I think I take your meaning. It’s a much better route.”

“Good stallion. Where were you coming from?”

The lance corporal pointed back towards the gate. “Made it halfway through the tier, too. Orders stressed we not waste ponies we can use to hold the next layer’s walls.”

“They would, wouldn’t they? Let me guess: Violet is swamped with panicking nobles and their marshals?” The grim look he received told him more than he wanted to know. “Then I would make absolute sure your orders come from where you think they do, because Violet is a lot more aggressive than this. Good luck, Lance.” He called for Amaranth, and together they took off, headed towards another ward. This one was nothing but fire.

SPIKE

Luna guided him. Luna defended him. Her spirit burned with his in the dragon’s heart and his limbs did not grow tired.

It had been two hours since the wall and the advance had continued. But it did not continue unopposed. The guard did its best, but it could not bring its full might to bear in the smaller streets, and the whitecloak traitors harassed any detachment small enough to maneuver in the city, pulling the guard into a dozen skirmishes.

Spike felt something akin to the confidant fury of Morningvale, and now he knew it was his link with Luna. He was her Companion, her knight out of the harrowing of Night. He kept on his feet, always running, always moving. The last defenders of the breach had scattered but they had not surrendered. They set rifles against windows and fired until the enemy rushed, and then they fought with hoofblades or they moved again. Each time they pulled a few more white soldiers from the main force, spinning out running battles in all directions. And among them was Spike, Soarin’ with him, emerging from the ash and smoke like a nightmare.

Spike crashed into the vanguard with his long sword swinging in a wide arc, catching three of them. His reach was long--longer than theirs, his sword longer than their bodies and sharp enough to slide through padded barding. The others, shouting, tried to fight back, but once again--ponies had little chance against a dragon in close quarters. They were herd creatures. They were not made for the rage of tooth and claw. They could kick, and they could fashion horeshoes and hoofblades to make those kicks more effective, but they could only reach so far. They could only fight back against a dragon in dreams or in hordes.

Spike bathed those who had avoided his great sword with a veritable river of fire, killing one of them outright and sending the others crawling and rolling. They hissed and steamed--the rain had begun again, sometime. Spike almost didn’t notice at all.

There were more. There were always more. They were lining up shots already, but Spike was not afraid. He charged them, roaring as only a dragon can.

Did they quiver? Did they tremble? He did not see and did not know--the rain distorted everything. But he did see Soarin’ dive from above, crashing into the middle of the firing line, kicking wildly and throwing them all off balance, laying some low. The startled gunners turned to him, and as he retreated back into the sky one took aim--

Only for Spike’s claws to catch his face and send him into a puddle on the street. Spike’s fire was everywhere. His sword swung freely. His strength was vast--a unicorn tried to use his gun as a shield against a sword blow and found it shattered by the force, and then he found nothing because there was not much left to find.

They made short work of them. Spike felt only an ache in his chest and the itch of adrenaline. They had to keep moving, had to keep coming from unexpected angles. This had been easy, but it was only easy because nopony expected a dragon and a pegasus. But that would change.

Another skirmish. Mixed levies and guards at a hasty barricade. Civilians behind them, fleeing down the street. Raiders trying to climb over, laughing even as hoofblades caught them or hooves kicked them back down to the street below.

Spike didn’t feel tired, but his body was losing its strength. Even as he he loaded the smaller pony rifle he had taken from one of the fallen, he could not ignore the shaking. But he said nothing. There was nothing he could do.

Five shots. He missed all of them. The Raiders weren’t dodging or hiding. They barely seemed to notice that their delirious chase was even opposed at all.

Soarin’, panting, pushing Spike against the wall.

“Please, we’ve… oh stars, just calm down. We need to rest. Just a few minutes. You’re going to work yourself to death. They’re regrouping, we have a minute to--”

But he couldn’t. He had to keep going. There were ponies out there, trying to escape, and they needed him to guard their escape. He would stop when he was dead. He would rest when they were safe. But he stayed still. There was nopony to fight right just then. He could lie still. For now.

CANTERLOT

The last enemy is death. Every sapient thing knows this. Whether they understand the truth, know it for the truth… well. That’s different.

One sees it play out. Peaceful ponies become soldiers. Lovers make their bodies shields. Children dodge under a thousand bullets and disappear into any hole large enough to squeeze into. The ways go on.

A stallion named Swift is cursing his name as he flees before a crowd of raiders. They are laughing. They have been laughing since the wall was breached. Swift’s daughter is on his back. His wife lags only a pace behind, struggling to keep up. But he cannot slow down. He will doom them both if he does. He pleads with her to keep running, that there will be guards soon or the gate or another lie he knows somewhere inside him won’t convince her.

The raiders gain on them a hoofslength at a time until he can almost feel their breaths.

A unicorn among them uses his magic and Swift’s hooves hit something invisable and solid and he trips. His foal flies through the air, screaming, and lands in front of him. He tells her to keep running, and tries to stand.

He feels a hoofblade in his side. Where is his wife? His child is up ahead. Why can’t he get to her? What are they doing? Another kick and another. One of them tries to bite his ear clean off. His thoughts dissolve into struggle and blood and do not resurface.

The rain continues to pour down on Canterlot. The brief respite must be paid for, after all.

Canterlot, like all cities of stone, does not handle rain well. Normally, drainage is an annoyance. Now it becomes lethal. The water pools until the streets are swamps and rivers of water. Refugees and guards alike trip. Reinforcements trying to establish a defensive line in the city find the going brutal and show up to the fight exhausted and late. Rifles misfire and blows do not land as legs slip in the deceptive little currents.

In High Canterlot the nobles crowd the guard, rerouting them to protect their investments over lives. Luna arrives with a grim aspect and a hammer older than Equestria and some of them flee outright. She goes out into the city herself, flanked by a company of the Lunar Guard.

Civilians scramble through the ruined markets and find themselves in empty streets, safe or feeling safe for a moment. Some slow and are set upon. Others slow and are safe still. The legion of the White moves with slow deliberation, but the raiders have no semblance of plan or reason. They scatter in the neighborhoods and go to ground, appearing seemingly anywhere.

What is left of Spike’s impromptu command is hunted down, one by one.

Death is that last enemy that shall be defeated. That’s what they say, at least. Where is death more clearly reflected than in the blank stares of the marching White Legion? The rebels with no names and no battle cries. They push the guard and the guard cannot withstand them. It is not a matter of training--the Guard know as much of war as any rebel or more. It is not equipment--they use the same. But the white barded host has not been called to act until now, kept waiting for this final stage. The guards have been on the wall, have been in the street, the trenches, the alleyways, the barricades. They are exhausted. Even their retreats are slow, now.

Luna knows that the bomb has thrown her forces into disarray. The only chance is to retreat behind the high walls. She orders the guns on the lower walls destroyed and the guard pulls back.

And in the rearguard, an exhausted dragon and his pegasus companion face the might of a mysterious Manichean.

SPIKE

He still felt Luna with him through the link, encouraging and emboldening him. He was beyond thankful. Without that warm prodding, he was not sure what he would have done. Dragons are made for combat, after a fashion, in ways that ponies are not. What they were not made for is war. Spike suspected that no living creature was created for this sort of war and never would be made for it.

The bulk of the civilians had been brought within the middle tier already. A few stragglers here and there were still making their way in. They had done it.

Or had almost done it. Luna was sending Nightshades to extract large groups holed up in the city. Just a few more pockets of survivors, some of them with town watch trying to keep raiders out. A flier had brought Luna’s order to evacuate one of the pockets and then retire behind the walls, and Spike would have been lying if he had said the news hadn’t been beautiful.

Spike and Soarin’ didn’t sprint, but they did not walk. Both of them were tired, and Soarin’ needed to rest his wings if they were going to be useful later. Spike’s fire was off-limits now. It had started to dim and sputter half an hour ago and he was afraid it might go out.

He wanted his sword in his clawed grip, but didn’t retrieve the thing from his back. He needed to move without the weight on his arms. They were already pushed to the limit.

“How far?” Spike asked, his voice raspy from hours of fire.

“Another block,” Soarin’ said. He stumbled, but recovered. “Sorry. Damn water.”

The rain had not let up. Spike hadn’t been overly concerned before, but now… fire-breathing wasn’t exactly something that worked well in a wet environment. He rumbled.

“Just one more. Luna said this place had some town watch guarding it, so we won’t be alone. We just… we book it to the gate, and that’s it.”

“That’s it.”

They had said all of this before. Why? Trying to convince themselves that it was, indeed, “it”. That this madness would somehow be over when they got behind the walls. But Spike wasn’t fooled and he knew Soarin’ probably wasn’t either. It would just continue.

The street was empty and silent. The sounds of battle raged on, yes, but it was quiet here. All he could hear were echoes. Thunder crashed overhead, and Soarin’ shivered.

“That storm is gonna last awhile,” Soarin’ said, mostly to himself. But Spike heard and thought he saw Rainbow Dash for a moment, saying the same.

They came to a crossroads and Spike consulted his map one last time. The rain slid off the enchanted surface as he squinted. Yes, this was the street. The escape route Luna had suggested was simple. Just twenty more minutes and he would be out of here. He had done what he could.

He knew there was trouble as soon as he turned down the street. He heard somepony shouting, and then the great bray of an old-style shootstick.

“That’s the town watch! Stars, come on, Spike!” Soarin’ raced ahead, but Spike’s long strides caught up and surpassed him with ease. The sword slid from his back with a frightening ease he had not expected. He felt his fire return strong as ever in his chest. His weariness faded and again he was indomitable.

A raider dressed in rags fell into his range of vision at the mouth of the long, narrow street. Something had caught his slight clothes aflame and he rolled in the water. Steam swelled up as he cried out.

Spike was on him in a moment, and any doubts as to his identity were gone when he saw the spiralling runes cut into the pony’s haphazardly shaved coat. Soarin’ ran right over him, and the Raider coughed and sputtered but did not rise. Spike ignored him and moved on.

Before them was a storefront with broken windows. Two ponies in dinted and worn town watch uniforms struggled in the watery street in front of the door with a dozen raiders, four of which turned to meet the newcomers.

Spike cooled his fire and pulled his sword up. Soarin’ took to the sky and Spike almost grinned. Perfect unison. He swept it in an arc as he ran, catching a confused and laughing raider in the chest and throwing him against two of his companions even as the blade moved through him.

Soarin’ dove back in as Spike found himself with raiders piled on him, pulling, biting, kicking, laughing. He punched and clawed, roaring, but they clung to him.

Until suddenly they weren’t. Spike threw one of the raiders towards towards the shop, and then in the gap a pony in a ruined business suit headbutted one of the raiders and a new crowd began to fall on his attackers.

Spike’s sword was back in play as soon as they were off. He swung from high, right over his head. The blade crashed down into a raider who was struggling back to his feet.

Around him, a few of the braver civilians had begun to grapple with the raiders. One of the town watch ponies was lying face first in a pool of soiled water. The other kicked a raider in the face and then tried to pull at his companion.

Soarin’ and Spike finished the rest as they were distracted by civilians, and then Soarin’ ordered them all inside. Without a word, Spike approached the fallen town watch pony and her standing companion, who still tried to rouse her.

“C’mon. Get up, Northern… dammit! Dammit, Constable, on your hooves!”

“I can carry her inside,” Spike said flatly, too tired to do it any justice. But what he couldn’t express in words he could in deed; he gently picked the limp form up and cradled it against his chest as he came in from the rain. The town watch pony followed him in a daze.

There were two or three dozen ponies in the store. They came out from their hiding places behind displays and the aisles and stared at Spike with eyes wide as saucers. Even now, he managed a sort of halfhearted smirk that died quickly. He looked around, and found a table.

“Clear off the display,” he said quietly, but firmly. One of the civilians did so hurriedly, and Spike placed the pony of the watch on the table.

The other watchpony tore open her waterlogged uniform and put his ear to her chest. After a moment, he tried to check for a pulse and fumbled at her neck before sitting back on his haunches. “Gone,” he said. “Already gone. Knew it as soon as I opened the uniform. Hoofblade right under the ribs.” He closed his eyes. “Northern and I are all that’s left of the precint’s night watch, I think. You here with the guard, dragon?”

“Spike. Yeah. I’m here to get you out of here.” Spike swallowed. “I’m sorry. We were the closest ones. We got here as fast as he could.” He didn’t know if they were the closest or not. He didn’t know what to say.

“It’s not your fault,” said the watchpony. “It ain’t your fault at all. I’m glad to hear that, Spike. I remember hearin’ about some sort of dragon or something in the guard now. Don’t listen to rumors much. Prefer to see things with my eyes. If we’re going to move we should go soon. More will come.”

“Agreed.” Soarin’ stepped forward. “Do you have anything that still shoots?”

The watchpony shook his head. “No, sir. Just had one old shootstick--found that in the manager’s office when we got here. Nightwatch don’t go around armed with anything deadlier than some horsehoes. Ain’t killed a pony on the beat my whole career.” He stared at his companion. “Not a one.”

“You’re right, we should move,” Soarin’ said again, a little softer. “Watchpony, I need your help getting these people out of here. Can you do that? I need you here.”

“Right. Right.” The watchpony shook his head and looked away. “Alright, folks! We’re headed to the gate! Got some guards here to help us break through. I need everypony ready to go in two minutes! On your hooves, up! Come on then.”

The civilians shuffled into something like readiness. A few mothers clung to foals. Spike thought he saw somepony in ruined noble’s silk among them. They were from all walks of life, the weak and the strong, the old and the young.

It was the old and the few injured among them he worried about the most. This was not going to be as quick as he’d hoped.

They moved out into the rain again. Spike blinked against the water in his eyes, marvelling how it seemed to coming down even heavier than before. But that didn’t stop him--he gestured to the watchpony, who strode out into the street, calling the civilians to follow.

The plan was simple. Spike had given him the map and the old veteran hadn’t needed it at all. He knew these streets like he would the face of his mother, he swore, and no matter what he would get them through his precinct safe and sound. Spike would take the rear, looking for opportunistic raiders or any pursuing whitecloaks. Soarin’ would fly-hop along the roofs, providing overwatch and looking out for ambushes ahead.

The bustling, frightened herd surged behind the running pony of the watch, and Spike waited only a moment, sparing the store and the surrounding street one last glance. One last run, he thought. Just one more.

Spike slogged through the streets. Unbidden, he thought of Fluttershy, nervous about the Ponyville weather team making a tornado to bring water out of the reservoir to Cloudsdale.

He remembered the Crusaders stormchasing and Spike tagging along for the ride, hoping Twilight never found out he let them do any of what they did. He saw Applejack in the rain, her face stern as she said--

--Spike! I expected better of you. You too, girls. Coulda been dangerous! If Rainbow hadn’t spotted ya--

He heard Applejack running with him on one side, Apple Bloom on the other. Somewhere, Luna was giving orders, and he felt her hard and icy tone and felt faintly her fury. He felt her worry. He thought she tried to say something, but the link was weak and still new.

They made better time than he had thought they would, but nowhere near as fast as he had hoped. Here and there, a foal slipped or a pony splashed into a pothole and every time Spike’s heart skipped a beat. But none of them fell.

We’ve got to go faster. The front’s already collapsed. This is gonna get everypony killed.

Spike tried to call to the watchpony, but the rain drowned him out. He could almost hear Rainbow Dash in his head, groaning about how slooow this was. And then Twilight would remind her that there were more important things than speed, didn’t she know--and Spike shook his head.

Up above, lightning flashed, illuminating the dreary streets for a moment. Long enough for Spike to see a clear outline of Soarin’ on a roof, waving. The pegasus pointed behind him.

Spike cursed and turned. There, far down the street, he saw them: rushing rebels. The Manichean’s arm stretching out for this last pocket of refugees. Spike felt his fire flare in his chest. But they were too far. He turned back and began to sprint until he was right on the heels of the fleeing herd.

He took a deep breath and bellowed over the dull roar of the storm. “Go! Faster!”

And they did, as herd animals hearing a predator roaring in their ears tend to do. With satisfaction, Spike saw them bolt, pushing the whole crowd even farther out o the reach of their pursuers.

How much farther would it be? Spike was losing track. How long had it been already? Surely they were halfway there.

They passed underneath a bridge from one building to the next, an arch, and only in the quieter air did Spike realize how omnipresent the rain really was. But then they were back in it. The water pulled at his every step. It clung to him and weighed down the cloth underneath armor he wore.

And suddenly Spike knew where he was. This was Bit Street. He’d walked it a hundred times, riding on Twilight’s back while she trotted to the used book store with the friendly old mare who liked to give him peppermint. Donut Joe’s was only a few streets over. Rarity had complained about the uniformity of the low-end boutiques on… on Juniper, a street after Joe’s.

Memories crashed around him, but he kept running. He couldn’t afford to stop. But the visions kept coming. Twilight treating him to donuts when he was small. Showing Apple Bloom and the others all the sights, all of his favorite places. Carrying Rarity’s bags for her while she shopped, feeling helpful, feeling like he was a part of things. Worrying over Twilight’s obsessive studying in her observatory tower. Writing letters. Sitting on Shining Armor’s back while he did pushups. Twilight’s mother sending Twilight off to school, Spike on her back as a tiny, tiny drakeling.

Why? Where was this coming from?

It was only then, as the refugees came at last to the main thoroughfare, when the gate was in sight, that Spike finally remembered his dream the night of the long bombardment.

He had not been afraid before. Not because he was fearless, but because there had not been time. There had been no room for panic or terror because those things meant he died in the chaos. Without words, he had known that. The part of him that had not been tempered by softer, kinder pony ways knew that a dragon that lost his control lost his head.

But now it was upon him. He felt his fire die in his chest. Here, at the last, the warm confidence that he had felt in the Companion bond was completely gone. Spike felt for the second time in his life like a trapped and wounded animal. He was in the madness of Ponyville all over again.

This is my dream and I am going to die.

He kept running. He couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to. As the ponies before him began to tire, he only managed not to run them over by sheer force of will. No! No, I’m not going to… I’m not going to die. I’m not going to do what I did in my dream. I save ponies, I don’t leave them!

It wasn’t his dream. It looked different. He was running, yes--being pursued, yes!--but this wasn’t his dream. This was real. This was as real as his sword and his scales. The arches that led to the gate were real.

Another burst of lightning revealed the gate wide open before him, with guards before it and atop it. They fired their weapons, and as Spike opened his mouth to shout that they were friends, he realized they were shooting around him. Only now did he realize that they had stumbled right into the middle of a firefight.

One of the running refugees was hit by a stray shot and tumbled into a pool. Spike swooped by and grabbed her with his free hand and kept running.

The guard was right behind where they had entered the street, firing even as they fell back, propping up rifles against windowsills and barrels, one lying flat on her back to aim between her legs through eyes half-covered in blood from a head wound. He didn’t see what happened. He kept running, gripping the fallen civilian. She needed to get out of here. They all did. He’d led them right into a trap.

Another one fell. Spike tried to alter his course to retrieve the fallen stallion, but he slipped and almost sent his passenger flying. The pony was dead. He’d been hit in the neck just as he came to the beginning of the arched walkway in front of the gate.

Another fell. And another. Four in all. He couldn’t two of them, and one stumbled back on his hooves and limped ahead until a second shot hit him and he cried out miserably.

The gate was still wide open when the crowd made it to the soldiers who manned it. They had erected hasty barriers in front of the strong adamantine doors, and Spike dodged behind one of these as he passed, shielding his whimpering passenger from gunfire, magic, and rain.

“Am I the last one?” he shouted at one of them.

The guard he had yelled at glanced over, and then a shot glanced off of his helmet. He spun and fell flat, groaning. Spike stared, wide-eyed, his breathing ragged, until the guard coughed and nodded weakly. “My head… Dammit! You’re the last one. The last bloody one! Oh…”

The guard was pulled in a unicorn’s blue aura, and Spike looked up to see the magic wielding pony on the other side of the door, sprinting towards him. As soon as he saw the others with her, and the red cross emblazoned on their helmets, he held his injured passenger up. A unicorn caught her and helped her limp behind the wall. He stared at the absence for a moment.

Somepony shouted to close the gate. They had to close the gate, everypony was through, and they would lose the gate. Spike suddenly felt numb. In shock, he sat back down behind the makeshift barricade of sandbags and tables and stared at the open gate. Slowly, the doors began to close.

Soarin’ was at his side in an instant, tugging at him. “Spike! In you go! We’ve got to get through and get back to Luna. She’s going to need--”

Other voices began to drown him out as the gates groaned. Spike stared up at the arches above him, their pennants sagging in the rain, their bright marble dimmed without the sun.

“Faster, damn you!”

“I’m trying!”

“Try harder! They’ll take us in one good rush at this rate! Get it done, guard!”

The whites had been advancing up the street through houses but now they no longer bothered to hide. They poured into the streets, some of them with lances protruding from saddles, others firing as they ran. Finally, they roared, all of them in the same cacophanous voice, some un-equine thing that Spike knew only too well. Cowering, he saw it again as he had in Ponyville, a creature miles long, all coiled and spiralling and seemingly endless, all in a great blackness between worlds of light, a thing that lived in the in-between and whispered about the hatefulness of light and substance, of air and sound and music and silence. He whimpered, covering his head as he felt its chains on him again, his body hot and cold in turns. He lost track of what happened around him. Soarin’ was no longer there. The gate was no longer there. He was alone again before that great baleful eye, and Twilight or Rarity or Luna or Celestia, none of them were there. All alone before the face of Death.

It was speaking to him again.

It said, you’re going to die. I know, he told it. You never had a chance. All of this movement and struggle, and you’ll be snuffed out like a candle. You are a plaything in the hands of a child. Not even a clever one. Doesn’t that make you angry? Or maybe you’re too smart to be angry about it. Or you believe in fate, that this has purpose, that being shot has purpose. Hm? Sneaking into my children’s nest to spy on them. Talking to all of those ponies. This was foolish. It was and is stupid. You’re going to die. And you don’t want to die. And you know, that doesn’t matter, does it?

No, it doesn’t matter, he told it.

It laughed at him for eons. Then hate it. You know, that seems like the best choice to me. If you run and don’t stop, maybe you’ll prolong your life another few short hours. Maybe even a day or two! But here? Now? It laughed and laughed and screamed and wanted to die and it wanted him to die and--

And then he was no longer alone with it. Somepony was walking in the darkness towards him and Spike shied away from her, only to find the chains were gone.

“Are you afraid?” she asked. She was indistinct, hazy, little more than mist. Yet, somehow, she was more solid than anything else in this delusion.

“Yes,” he said.

“Why?”

“I think I’m going to die. I had a dream just like this.”

“What happened?”

“The gate won’t close. Or, well. In my dream it didn’t open. But it doesn’t matter what happens, exactly. I just… I think I’m going to die.”

“Ah.” The mare cocked her head at him. At least, he thought she did. “Unfortunate, perhaps. In battle then you aim to fall.”

“I don’t aim to fall at all.”

The chains and the coiling serpent and the despair--all of it was gone. It was only Spike and the shadowy mare.

“I did not aim to fall in battle either, and fall I did regardless. Against a dragon, no less! How curious is this: a dragon who fights for little ponies. Very curious. Exciting even. And you say you will die soon?”

“I think so. I don’t really know. I just feel like I will.”

“Then would you perhaps like to die with company? Your link has left you. Luna felt it like a blow. She does not understand it as well as she thinks. Elsewise, I would not be here, would I? I was left behind.”

“You’re… where am I? What the hell is this?” Spike’s numb acceptance broke at last. He looked around wildly. “Where is the gate? Where’s Soarin’? Am I just… I’m definitely going to die if I’m just standing there staring!”

“It will be but a moment to those outside,” the shadowy mare said with a wave of her hoof. “Think nothing of it. But I was asking if you would allow me the honor of fighting alongside you, young drake. If this is truly your last battle.”

“Who are you?”

He felt it smile. A chill ran down his spine. “That thing speaks of despair but it does not know what real despair is. I have felt that real despair. I am what is left behind. Call me Lacunae, Memory, Regret. Call me Nothing, in fact. I prefer no name at all. I am a remnant of your princess’s heart as she was. She cannot be with you. Allow me this honor in her stead.”

Spike blinked. He didn’t understand at all.

He held out his hand.

--Soarin was shaking him. “Spike! Man, are you there? Oh, shit, I--”

“I’m fine,” Spike said, gently pushing him off. “What?”

“The gate! They need time to close the stupid fucking gate.”

Spike smiled. “I’m not surprised. Rust from constant rains? Age? I don’t care. Luna will have to wait.”

“What? Sp--”

But he was already getting a carbine from one of the medics. Bullets flew overhead. Magic lightning flashed. Grenades were thrown with magic and thrown back with magic. The white tide had not stalled at all.

Spike felt something new where Luna had vanished. It was not her warmth at all but something darker and smaller and perhaps more cruel, yet not wrong or foul. It was something like acceptance. It purged doubt not out of confidence but because it was above doubt. It had moved beyond. It was eternally resigned.

It was free. And Spike finally felt free.

His hands were awkward on the shorter weapon, but he still fired with precision. When they came close, a panicking Soarin’ kept by his side, his wings flared and ready to take to the sky or barrel into the first pony to come over the barricade.

The guards began to panic around him, but Spike was calm. He was ready. When the carbine was out, he threw it aside and his hands found his sword again. The Memory within him burned, and then so did his fire as the first crest of the wave came within distance. He roared an surging river of flame right into their charging line, breaking it apart as they fell back from the heat or were caught and burned.

The rifles were abandoned. They came down on the guards at the gate around Spike’s fire with hoofblades and blunt force and lances which came over the little wall at head-level. Spike sidestepped a lance and then grabbed it, overbalancing the manichean soldier before he could detach his weapon. Spike threw him back at his companions and then let loose another geyser of flame.

The charge carried the rebels into the midst of the last guards remaining in the lower level. Guns were abandoned entirely. It was all hoofwork and slipping on the wet stone. Spike did not wait for ponies to come to him--he pushed into the squirming mass of ponies in white, throwing all of his weight into each sword swing. He stopped only to blow white-hot flames into the faces of the invaders. Every swing claimed a life or more, every spurt of flame sent hot steam up which blinded his foes and as they stumbled a guard dispatched them or they were trampled under the weight of their own comrades’ charge.

Spike had become something more. He was something beyond dragon or pony, something fighting with two souls. Spike and the Nightmare, Spike and Luna, Spike and another pony who knew what it was to be the only one who knew what she felt and wanted. He swung but she empowered his blade, which burst into blue flames.

He did not stop to ask what she was, for he knew already. She was telling him all along. Luna had felt his distress and in her own panic she had dropped her last boundaries. Spike felt the Nightmare that rested beside her heart and found it much changed. This was Luna’s magic now, not his own strength alone. Was that fire real? Was it simply the flickering torches along the columns and archways that caught the blade in their light and made it shine?

What was like him in its anger? Nothing. He was beyond anything the ponies around him had ever seen. One rifle was retrieved from the water in panic by a fallen pony. It tried to fire but jammed, and Spike picked the offender up with one clawed hand, claws digging into his shoulder, and threw him against a column. He dodged nothing. Hoofblades cracked and broke against the armor Luna had forged him. They cut into his flesh when they could and Spike did not flinch or acknowledge them. The Nightmare bore all of his pain and did so gladly for she, too, was Luna, and Spike was her Companion, her friend.

The crowds thinned out. Spike was dimmly aware that the jam in the gate mechanism was fixed and the guards behind him were beginning to withdraw back into the city.

But more of the Manichean’s troops were pouring into the walkway, bringing with them more unicorns that could batter the gates and walls, bringing more grenades that could be thrown into the midst of ponies beyond it. Brining more rifles that shot and hooves that crushed. They had to go. They all had to go. He would do what must be done.

He roared his defiance at them. He roared Twilight’s name as he threw them into the air and beat them into the street. He called his friend’s names. He screamed about Morningvale. This was for Ponyville. This one was for Applejack’s farm. This one was for Manehattan. This one was for Rarity, and this one was Rainbow Dash. This one was for Fluttershy, bearing the weight of a world of darkness. This one was sunlight and this one was for dawn.

And they fled before him at last, broken. A hundred of them or more, in full panic. Their master’s control had shattered and now they thought for themselves and the only thought they seemed to have was to flee. Spike stood in the archway, still roaring, still screaming. But he grinned. He laughed. They would come back and face him if they dared. And they would not dare. If they wanted to teach ponies death than he would be glad to help them in return.

Down the street, raiders and soldiers were still charging. They hit the fleeing manichean soldiers and ignored them or beat them if they would not move. The raider’s laughing seemed more forced and the steel glares of the rebels seemed less hard.

And for a moment, it seemed the night would end right there.

Down the street, a snickering raider appeared as the ranks of rebels parted way for him. On his broad back he carried a great gun or small cannon, and Spike saw him for only a moment.

He fired. The first shot went wide, and sailed through the air. It detonated above the arches, sounding like the blast of a cannon. The force of the blow sent the fleeing guards sprawling. Soarin’, in the air, found himself thrown against a column and struggled to rise. Spike was unmoved.

He fired again, as Spike sucked in air for another burst of flame. This shot hit the arch above Spike.

It broke. The ancient arch, erected a thousand years before, broke above Spike’s head and the great masonry fell on him, crushing him.

Spike tried to move and found he could not. He could not speak. His breathing was labored.

The mare was there, the shadowy one, the dark lack. She sat beside him in this new darkness, more empty than the one before it but somehow more wholesome. He tried to speak but could not. She rested a hoof gently on his head, and he felt that he had done well.

Twilight. Twilight, where are you? Luna? Where are you? I’m sorry, I tried.

It hurts. It hurts a lot.

Guys?

“Sleep, Spike,” the mare said, not unkindly.

Rarity? He saw her smiling down--down? Where was he?--at him. “I know, Spike,” she said.

Twilight Sparkle was there, holding him. She was saying something. What was she saying? He couldn’t make it out. Apple Bloom was there, and she kissed him over and over, covering his grimy, bleeding face with kisses. Was she crying? Was he crying? He couldn’t tell. It became less and less distinct. Everything did.

“I…” He coughed. His mouth felt full of something wet and warm. It wasn’t supposed to feel that way, not like that. “I didn’t want…”

“You have not died alone. Sleep,” the mare urged. “Sleep. You could not have escaped.”

“I…”

“The unicorns in that wave had mines. I saw them through your eyes and recognized them from what Luna has learned of war in your time. They would have destroyed the mechanism and damaged the gate. I saw this. Do you believe me?”

He couldn’t answer.

“Sleep,” she whispered. “Sleep.”

He wanted to.

Only Twilight and Rarity were left now. The mare was a voice.

His mother. His sister. His first love. She who pushed him forward into the light and she who he ran to.

Sorry, he thought one last time, and then he fell into darkness.

CANTERLOT

They fight over his body.

Rainbow Rays returns to the fight to late to do anything for Spike, who lies beneath the ruins of two arches, now. The raider with the cannons is silenced too late by a sniper on the wall. Everything is too late.

Soarin’ is screaming denials over and over. Too late. Rainbow Rays, confused, panicking, trying to understand what has happened only to grasp it as Soarin’ takes a hoof to the face and crumples. Too late. He dives in and kills the attacking raider with a hoofblade, trying to pull Soarin’ to his hooves, trying to keep him up.

“He’s dead! Oh, stars! Fuck! Kill me, he’s dead! He’s dead!”

Rainbow Rays is losing it. He doesn’t know what to do. This is not what he expected. He pulls at his commander.

“We gotta go! We can’t… They won’t hang back forever when they realize he’s really gone! Come on! Come on!”

“I can’t!” Soarin’ kicks him back. A few raiders are beginning to laugh more fully again. The dragon has not risen. Already you can almost taste the scent of blood in the air. There is no movement from the stones. “I can’t leave him!”

A bullet pings against a column, zipping past Soarin’s head.

“We have to go! Please!” Rays is back, pulling him. “For the love of Celestia, please! Captain!”

“He’s not gone! I can’t just leave him! He’s a kid! I can’t--”

Rainbow Rays feels the bullet that cuts across his cheek only after it has passed. He falls back, crying out. He panics. Soarin’ is lost. Spike is lost. The Bats Out of Hell are dying one by one now. He takes to the sky.

He never feels the second bullet, the one that hits him and steals his wings. A single bullet from a hundred yards, a sniper who had taken the stairs to fire from the roof at Spike but has found a new target.

Rays hurtles to earth, screaming until his face smacks against the stone surface with a sickening sound. His wings sag. He tries to move, but panic and shock have stolen his legs from him for this moment. He bawls like a child.

“I can’t move! Oh, oh Celestia! My legs! My wings! Soarin’! SOARIN’! PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF THE STARS PLEASE! Oh Celestia, fuck! Fuck!”

It’s enough. Soarin’ is at his side, putting the limp and bleeding Rays on his back. The guards are all inside, but for two prone earth ponies by the gates, firing around the grave of Spike. Soarin flares his wings as best he can with a pony on his back and jumps into the air, propelling himself through the small gap in the gate like an arrow, where he lands, slides Rays into the waiting grasp of a shouting medic, stumbles, falls. He lays in the rain, weeping.

Author's Note

any grief or anger or sorrow you feel I feel also we
feel it together we are perhaps one in this I have kept the race and faith
I am sorry Spike
I thought you were a hero
It was always meant to happen

I struggled to write this chapter. I agonized over its construction. It is not as it should be. My heart was not in it.

A gunslinger shoots, aims, kills with his heart. I am no gunslinger.

I'm sorry. If it is any consolation to your unhappiness I am just as unhappy. But it was the plan. I... I had to. I don't feel right about it. I don't like it. Necessity does not equal these things.

Good night, Spike. Good night.

Thanatopsis
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around—
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice—

Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,
The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man—
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

XLII. Celestia I: Author

CELESTIA

Dearest Twilight,

This is a long letter. Do not worry! (I know you’re worrying because you always worry about correspondence, so don’t worry about that either.) I hope for this to be a good letter. I also hope that I finish it before I leave for my journey.

You have been my student, my protege, my faithful one thing or another for an awfully long time, haven’t you? I remember when you were just a foal, when we first met. How dismayed you were! I remember thinking, even among the chaos, that it was so rare that my presence brought upon a child of any sort that look. I had felt such power. In that moment, when I invited you to be the one recipient of the Dean’s scholarship, I had no idea what sort of pony you were. You were only a child, upset and then ecstatic, excitable and in a strange situation.

Of course, you learned later that you were never meant to hatch the egg. It was only the first test, the one to see what you were like underneath the polish and bluster. And underneath you were very normal, Twilight. You were nervous, afraid, ashamed. Disappointed and very sorry.

You grew up. You struggled. Sometimes you were friendly and warm but mostly you were withdrawn, focused. Alone. I worried about you often, even as I was filled with pride at your accomplishments.

When I sent you to Ponyville, it was no trick. I knew you would need to make friends naturally, yes, and I hoped you would. But I had other plans just in case. I did not set you up for a failure nearly as great as you thought. You know I have limited foresight. I knew you could find others who you could come to love and cling to, and perhaps that is what forced my hoof. That hope.

Perhaps!

I was in my study a few weeks ago, thinking about the trip I am about to take. I’ll only be gone a few months, but I know you’ll be yourself--and please, know I am smiling as I write this!--excitable and perhaps lonely. Just a bit. I will ask you to write my sister in my absence, and this time I will reveal my plans within plans to you: I hope that you and my sister get along. She needs a friend, Twilight. And she needs to rule and feel the weight of her old responsibility or she shall never get out from under my shadow. To let her waste away, afraid of herself or what others might think would be wrong of me, and I shall not do it.

And maybe you could use another pen pal who isn’t me! I may be a Princess, my good and faithful student, but I am only one mare.

I am rambling. I know my letters to you are usually much more focused, but this is not a usual letter. You see, as I was thinking about my trip, I also thought about you and how I had worried about you when you were younger. I tried to encourage you, but every time you nodded emptily to my words and then refused to adapt them. Idly, almost as a joke, I wondered if I might not have had better luck writing it all down! Then you’d have listened. Or read.

And you know, that was a good idea.

I have lived a very long time, but that does not mean I will be eternal. I don’t plan on dying anytime soon, so please don’t worry! But there will be times when you cannot ask me for advice, or when you are far away from home. Or if I am to leave you, and you wished to speak to me…

I have decided I shall write all that I have to say to you down. A letter bigger than any other letter, a whole book, even--and perhaps this is a bit silly of me, Twilight, but I am very excited to write it. When I return, I will have the whole thing bound together and present it to you. When I’m done, of course.

In the meantime, I hope you and Luna exchange letters and grow closer. I think you would be wonderful friends, and if I’m honest with you, my sister could use somepony to talk to while I am gone West.

TWILIGHT

She felt alive. More than alive--she felt whole in a way that she could not describe.

Twilight opened her eyes and found herself in a strange new world, already on her hooves. This one was not as strange as the Well. But it was strange in its own way. She had never seen it before, and yet she recognized it.

The first thing, after opening her eyes, was to feel her neck. A scar was there, right beneath her coat, nasty and long. She winced, out of memory more than actual discomfort. She didn’t remember the pain of the knife at all, really. Just the fear. But that was over now, and she felt like it no longer mattered. She was free of it. In fact, her curiosity over her own coat’s thickness pushed out the horror of D’Jalin--as if something carried it away from her even as she thought of it. How strange. She usually kept her coat short and neat, but it was sort of wild and long now. Applejack could help her get in order. Maybe.

Hills rolled on before her, covered in a strange mossy grass. Here and there, Twilight saw trees, and found she recognized them: magnolia and poplar. In a dreamlike, soft wonder, she walked towards the closest magnolia tree, only a few strides away, and touched its hard, strong bark. It was real. This was no endless city.

She looked up, and found flowers there, white and in full bloom. Twilight smiled at them faintly. Wherever she was, it was a beautiful place. She laid out on her back in the grass and smiled up through the leaves at a blue sky. She watched the great fluffy mountains of cloud laze by, each in its perfect place.

And then she saw it--there, high up in the branches, was a hat. Specifically, a brown, wide brimmed hat she would know anywhere. She brought it down to her with magic. “Hello, Applejack,” Twilight said softly.

Twilight wasn’t tired, and yet she wanted to drift off to sleep under this tree. How long had it been, honestly, since she had relaxed? Ages, at least. Her mind searched, curious now for the last time she had felt this calm and peaceful. Something about… tea. Tea in sunlit rooms, a gentle smile, talk of books and a friend’s success.

Whether she would have surrendered to slumber then or not became irrelevant, as she heard something move behind her. She felt no alarm at this. She doubted she could feel alarm at something so small as movement. Twilight rolled on her stomach, stretched, and then saw the source of the sound.

Pinkie lay curled up, sleeping peacefully in the grass. Twilight watched her for a moment, noting the way her chest and stomach went up and down as she breathed, curiously wondering at her twitching ears and legs that kicked sometimes. If you blinked too slowly, you missed it. Had Pinkie always been beautiful as she was now? Her coat was immaculate. Even asleep, there was laughter in her face! Twilight smiled in response, feeling drunk on her own contentment.

She rose and left Pinkie to sleep, deciding that they could all use a little sleep. Applejack’s hat she rested beside her softly snoring friend. Her other companions would be here somewhere. She did not know how she knew this, only that she did in fact know it, and that she was rather sure.

Twilight walked in the sun, going from treet to tree in search of slumbering ponies. But she found none, and soon she turned back to see if Pinkie would help her search. As she crested one of the hills and looked down towards the first tree, she saw a familiar orange pony nuzzling her friend awake.

Grinning, Twilight galloped down the hill, calling out as she did. Applejack jumped, startled, but then waved back. The two met beside the magnolia, next to a groggy Pinkie, in a tight hug.

“Lands’ sakes. Twilight, we all thought…”

“What happened after--”

“You look so different--”

They both stopped, and then laughed. “You first, sugar,” Applejack said, releasing her.

Twilight sat on her haunches as Pinkie yawned and shook out her bedmane. “I’m fine. Now, I look different?”

Applejack nodded. “Didn’t recognize you for a second.”

Celestia. Twilight didn’t feel ill at ease so much as she felt… puzzled. Celestia left behind the shadow, and now the shadow was hers. Was she part Celestia now? Is that how it worked? Would it change her cutie mark?

That caused a minor panic. Twilight chased her flank desperate to see the familiar mark. It was unchanged. “Oh, thank Celestia,” she said and sat back down, ignoring Pinkie’s giggles.

“Ain’t that big a deal, Twilight. Your mane’s longer… a little wilder. Alright, alright, stop yer sniggerin’, Pinkie. It’s a lot longer. Are you taller?”

“She’s a little taller!” Pinkie affirmed, bouncing up to Twilight and measuring her relative to Pinkie herself.

“Your eyes… huh.” Applejack squinted. “Regardless, it’s minor. Guess that well’s magic, then, like we figured.”

“Magic,” Twilight replied with a smile, “does not even begin to explain.”

The three friends from Ponyville sat in the shadow of a magnolia tree under a gentle sunlight, somewhere only they knew, and Twilight told everything. She related how she had seen and heard and felt something like the beginning of everything. She told them what it felt like to sing in harmony with the heartbeat of creation. She struggled to explain what it was like to watch the roiling color and light of the well. About Eon and her multiplicity of life and time. Of the shadow of Celestia on the well.

Applejack took her hat back and examined it. “Now that’s a tale, Twi. I’ll be damned.”

“Explains the floofy coat and your hair and your weeeirrrd eyes and your horn’s a little longer and--”

Twilight chuckled. “I figured that out, Pinkie,” she said. “I’m surprised neither of you mentioned the scar.”

Applejack looked sheepish. “Didn’t know how to, hon. Seemed a bit rude. I’m jus’ glad you’re alive.”

“We were really, really worried!” Pinkie said, hugging Twilight, who hugged back, smiling. Wherever this place was, she liked it. The air felt lighter. Laughter danced right at the corners of her lips. “We were all freaking out because like what if you were gone and then Tradey went craaazy and Applejack had to keep me from swimming in that weird well thing.”

“Didn’t know if it were dangerous or not,” Applejack explained, placing the hat back on her head.

“Wise choice,” Twilight responded. “I would have done the same.” She blinked. “Wait. How did you end up here? What happened after D’Jalin threw me in?”

“Oh, oh well--” Pinkie began to explain, only to find Applejack’s hoof in her mouth. She made some muffled sounds that sounded like pouting.

Applejack cracked a grin. “Think it’s best if I get this one, Pinkie. After you vanished, Tradewinds lost her cool, just like Pinkie said. Hell, we all did. She’s faster. Got to him first, and I ain’t seen anything like it. That fella was huge, and she just caught him, lifted up, kept going...never stopped. She flew both of them out over the city and then dived down. Was tryin’ to divebomb him into a building, I think, just to be sure.”

Twilight shuddered. “That’s an unpleasant mental image.”

“T’ put it mildly, sure. After she went off an’ vanished too, Pinkie and I hurried for the gazebo thing with the well. Pinkie wanted to go in, I wanted to be careful, but I was about to dive in myself when the whole place started to shake.”

“It was kinda super scary,” Pinkie said, her mouth free.

“I was about to get me and Pinks here the heck outta Dodge when the well started glowin’. Couldn’t see a thing. I felt all… slow like. Like something or somepony was tryin’ to weigh me down, and then I heard something like the wind.”

“And then you were here?” Twilight asked.

Applejack nodded. “Caught up into the clouds, like. Strange, but somehow I ain’t as worried as I should be.”

“It’s this place, I think,” Twilight said. “It seems to exert a calming influence. I’m not sure why yet, honestly.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem dangerous. Ain’t harmed us while we slept, for one. Even brought my hat.” Applejack laid a reverent hoof on the hat in question.

“Yeah! And the grass is soft and springy and the trees are shady. It’s great.” Pinkie smiled, and then suddenly paused. She put a hoof to her chin. “Where are the others? Well. The one other,” she said with a frown. “Where’s Tradey?”

Twilight shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think that Eon brought us here, and if I’m right, then she brought Tradewinds… and wherever we are, I think it’s probably why I don’t feel as urgent about finding her as I should.”

They all absorbed that for a moment.

“So it’s like some kinda sedative, the air here,” Applejack said.

Twilight nodded. “I suppose so.”

“Well.” Applejack stood and dusted herself off. “Well, I can’t really feel too worried about that, but I do feel like we should find Tradewinds. You girls up for it?”

They nodded. Twilight hoped this place was simply good. Because if it were some kind of trap she was going to have way too hard a time feeling alarmed.

CELESTIA

Dearest Twilight,

I boarded the fine ship Sunflower yesterday, and now I write on the deck. I am, of course, in disguise. After you live as long as I do, sometimes you want to wear a new face for awhile, if only to get a different reaction than the last nineteen thousand times you entered the room.

So today I’m Sunny Skies the curious pegasus scholar, off to update Equestria’s maps of the Western shore and maybe learn something while I’m there. Which isn’t entirely untrue--on both counts. I do intend to pick up some maps and charts for my study while I’m there, and I do intend to share them with the cartographer’s guild in Canterlot. Frankly, I feel rather silly about Equestria’s relative ignorance of the West. You would think that the nation I rule and guide would know a bit more about my birthplace, but it is rather far away, and I have not exactly encouraged them much to cross the sea.

The West is full of all kinds of terrible memories, as well as a flood of wonderful and joyous ones.

Twilight, I think, here in my letters to you, I should be honest. I try to be as honest with you as I can be without hurting your feelings, wounding your heart, scarring your confidence. I worry even about writing that, for fear you will see fault in yourself where I see nothing but a good heart. Sometimes, honest hearts lead to less than honest actions. I tell you the truth, but not all at once. You know now in part, but later you will know in full.

Why do I do that? Well, partially, it’s because it's pretty bad form to tell a little filly that her handwriting is terrible, and it was better to just help you than to explain why you needed help. Some of it I blame on my own worry. My many years have given me much experience, Twilight, but only a fool thinks that thousands of years give one true and surefire answers. I have seen so many different kinds of ponies and seen almost exact circumstances turn out a dozen different ways. If anything, I grow less sure as time goes on.

And sometimes, not because I’m shielding you or afraid of what it might do to you, but because… I really, really simply don’t want to talk about things sometimes. Like now. I know my own purposes. Why should I write them down? I will write them down, of course, but not here. I don’t want to write about such things here on the deck of this fine ship in the light of my own sun.

But I will “tell” you this, even if this is a letter you may never read. When I left you in Ponyville, I was not lying--it was a sabbatical I sought. Not a long one, but simply a short time away from duties and stress, a time to catch my breath. Equestria has changed by leaps and bounds since my sister returned. She brought back with her some of the old technological knowledge of the previous age, and combined with advances in magic beyond her ken. Things in Equestria have changed and will continue to change. That is a good thing, Twilight. A very good thing! But it may be a hard thing, too. Change often is, and I foresee a lot of change. And I wanted a moment to catch my breath here at the start of it, go back to the homeland of my past, ground myself.

But because I am honest, I will tell you that I had other reasons--reasons that made an idle wish for vacation into a real plan to go West. I hope to be disappointed in what I find beyond Valon and the coast. That would be the greatest vacation of all, to be assured that all is well and perhaps see a pony I should not have left behind for so long.

I think I will ask her to come back with me, if my worries are unfoundedl. Luna will be delighted to see her alive and well.

LUNA

It was perhaps fitting that she sat now in a deep and abiding darkness. Very fitting. It fit her mood. It fit the mood of the city. It was fitting for their fates, collectively.

Luna had not moved in an hour at least. The palace was dressed for mourning, per her wishes, relayed not by her own words but by the words of her aide. The staff had left the halls empty. No guards walked either. Past the public parts of the palace there was only herself and perhaps Page Turner. If he was still working. She wasn’t sure. Honestly, she didn’t care. Had it been her, abandoned by her mistress to deal with the details of evacuation and lodging, she might have simply surrendered.

She had felt him die. No matter where her thoughts wandered, they always returned to that central point. She had felt him die. Spike was dead. Gone. Vanished. His body was mangled and his spirit caught up into the air.

She had no more tears--she had shed them all already. Hours of sobs. Her eyes burned slightly. Her throat was raw. Her body felt stiff. These things did not move her.

What did move her, at least in spirit, was the realization that she was going to have to tell Twilight.

Luna Songbourne, sole remaining regent, Hammer of West, Defender of Equestria, the Wrathful, the Vigilant, the Indomitable, the Revenant. Fear was not something she felt often. Not true fear. Anxiety? Worry? Often.

She had to tell Twilight Sparkle that Spike, her number one assistant, her dear Spike, was dead. He was dead and gone and no magic could retrieve him.

Luna shuddered.

When would she tell her? Soon. It had to be soon. That was the right way to do things--the world had not changed in that respect while she had been gone. How? Dreams. Of course. She would come to her in a dream.

Luna moved for the first time in hours. She stood and stretched. Her limbs still felt stiff, but it was nice.

Cautious despite the safety and the isolation, Luna wandered the room. It was Spike’s room in the castle. Of course it was. Where else could she have gone at this hour? Had she the energy, Luna might have felt bitter about her own presumption, but she was mostly just… nothing. She stared at the mostly spartan apartments. Blinked.

Luna returned to her corner and looked at it for awhile. No, it would not serve. She would lie upon Spike’s bed. She was weary. Regardless, she would need her strength whatever came next. And she did not wish to be here anymore--here being anywhere but the Aether.

How many loved ones had Luna lost? How many friends, acquaintances, enemies? They were like the stars in her sky or the sand on the beach that Luna walked in her own shifting, amorphous dream. The transition from wakefulness to Dreamwalking was seamless. Her body in that world no doubt slumped awkwardly against Spike’s old bed. No one would notice or see.

The sand crunched beneath her hooves. She liked the sound. Luna had always enjoyed beaches, in general. Celestia had been the sailor. Leave Luna at the shore, and she would be glad enough, as exciting as exploring the islands of the West had been in her youth. A breeze caressed her face and ran its cool fingers through her mane, devoid of its starry night or magic glory. It was short now. She rarely left it this way.

She pushed windswept strands of hair from her face, only for them to turn. Snorting, she turned her head towards the source of the wind and commanded it to cease.

It did not cease immediately, but it died down. Beyond, the dream was not fully formed. Luna pushed her mind into the chaos, and in a moment she was walking on the shores of the Midway island. Why there? Why not? Why anywhere, was the real question.

This is foolish. I am drifting in self-pity. I should be working to make Spike’s… She couldn’t even think it. Then how will you tell your beloved? she sneered at herself. For you surely know she will no longer be that. She is going to blame you, Luna.

She was probably right to. Or would be right to, when Luna told her. You could wait, she thought, but she knew she could not wait.

Spike was my companion. Twilight entrusted me with his person and his safety, to be his guide and protector as he was to be my confidant. His life and safety were my responsibility. I have failed her in the worst imaginable way. I have failed myself.

Crunch. Crunch. More sand beneath her hooves.

What could she have done? Much of her silent mourning had been spent trying to undo the day’s events in her mind. She could have shifted her Nightshades from the evacuation to finding Spike and bringing him back. She could have gone herself. She could have brought him back at the very beginning, assigning the levies from House Belle to search on their own.

But Spike would have suffered the weight of the potential dead, if he had even come back at all--and she had a duty to the innocent and he too had taken on that duty. Going herself was a bad option, though she could not help but regret her caution. Alicorns were durable beyond normal ponies, yes. Long lived, certainly. But not indestructible, not unkillable. Where disease found no purchase and magic struggled, brute force had more success. Shields struggled with bullets and lances, and her shields were no different. Dozens of times more powerful than even the veteran unicorns of her own guard? Absolutely.

But whilst fortune favored the bold, disaster delighted in recklessness. It waited for ponies to leave the safety of wisdom and then it lept. Luna knew that a mortar would leave her helpless if it hit her while her shield was down or weakened, and even with all of her power behind her defense, the shock… She would have needed a whole company.

Luna felt unclean thinking of her own safety. But she was practical, sometimes. A dead monarch was never a good thing, but for a city as fragile as this? For a situation as dire?

They would all die in the chaos.

So there was nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. Lost another one, Luna. They all leave, don’t they? You remain behind, and ponies pass you like a roadside shrine. They touch you with a hoof, briefly, functionally, and then they are gone down the road. Spike is gone. Twilight will be gone. Celestia is gone. Page Turner has vanished off somewhere. Just ghosts, or ships you see through a fog.

Luna stopped along the dream beach and gazed out at the waters.

She saw the port of Maldon to her right, further down the beach, hazy and indistinct. A ship sailed towards it, and Luna knew it. She almost smiled. “Hello, Sunny Skies,” she said softly. Celestia had wanted something cheerful to name her ship. Luna had meant the name as a joke. Her sister both laughed at the joke and stole the name.

Luna sat down and thought about wandering into the water. Instead, she laid her head down.

“I am going to lose her, Tia,” she told the wind, looking out at the Sunny Skies. Would a dream Celestia be there? If Luna wanted her to be, she would. “I have to tell her. And she will hate me, and she’ll be right. I hate me, I think. Sometimes. Often. I hate me right now. Only Twilight’s loathing could match that which I pour upon myself--I talked of loving her, and I could not save Spike? Or keep him away from danger? She expressed her worry to me and I simply… I simply kept going. I could have retired him from my service, or given him something boring and safe that would have kept him inside and safe.

“But I can’t… there is no way to hide this. Where are you, sister? Why have you gone away? Why have you stayed there? If only you... “ she stopped. Her breath hitched and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Why am I always the one they leave behind?”

CELESTIA

Twilight,

I have always wanted to protect you and to help you grow and mature into a wonderful mare. I have had mixed success! You have been in much danger, and yet you suffered through adversity and are all the stronger for your trials. Some of these things were great and terrible--Discord, Nightmare Moon, Dragons, Changelings… and some of them were smaller evils. Quarrels and misunderstandings, loneliness, frustration, anxiety. You have not always triumphed. You have had fights with friends that could have been avoided. You hurt others intentionally and unintentionally. I was disappointed with you along the way. At least once, you failed despite your best efforts--my cheeks burn with shame at the memory of the wedding of your brother. I would apologize again for doubting your good heart, if I had not already worn out the words through repetition on the subject.

But all along the way, I have hoped to protect you from the worst of things when I could. When you faced my sister in the Everfree, I had guards waiting in the wings, ready to distract Luna if things went horribly, horribly wrong.

Are you shocked? Perhaps you are surprised only because they were caught and incapacitated by my sisters long before you arrived at the castle, and her trap had already ensnared me in Canterlot.

Afterwards…

I regretted not trusting you, even as I did not regret trying to keep you safe. I only wanted you to be safe. You are my dear, faithful student, the one I watched grow up all of these years.

I am sorry for the tone of this entry, Twilight. I am a bit weepy today. When you live as long as I do, you carry with you a lot of memory. I have forgotten more tragedy than some of my little ponies have experienced in their whole lives.

And I’m glad. I want them to be happy. I only ever wanted that.

TWILIGHT

On a hill overlooking a vast and strange tableau, Twilight thought about Celestia.

Specifically, she thought about how long it had been. She wondered if Celestia would look different now, or sound different--did memory shift things like voices? Smell? Mannerisms? She had always wondered if it did. She supposed she would simply have to pay attention when at last her teacher was found.

And she would find Celestia. For the first time in a long time, Twilight believed that with a whole heart. Celestia was alive, if not well, and she was waiting. For Twilight herself? Perhaps. But anypony. Help or rescue. No matter what, Twilight would find her. Twilight would be there, no matter what the end of the road was like.

She felt no rancor or bitterness about what might be waiting at the end of the road. A younger Twilight would have wanted to go back to her little cabin on the Alicorn and hide. An even younger Twilight would have worried about failure, about making it all the way to the end and ruining it all. But this Twilight was a very different one.

Mostly, she pushed anxiety away and smiled. The hills and little groves were lovely, and the air was cool. A breeze kept the sun from being too unpleasant, and she was with her friends. Somewhere in her mind, she was aware still that this place was strange and perhaps unnatural, but mostly she was willing to let it calm her.

She also thought of Luna.

She remembered the words that had bubbled out of her mouth as she slid into the Well in Jannah. Yes. She thought about how they had sat in the fallen tower under a great and awe-filled sky together. She smiled, and remembered the warm feeling of touching Luna, of remembered embraces. She wondered to herself, still smiling, what Luna would say when Twilight delivered her answer. She wondered about many things.

“Think Tradewinds made it?” Applejack asked. She also looked out over the hills. Pinkie was rolling in the grass while they stopped. She’d already looked, she said.

“I’m sure she did,” Twilight replied easily. Pinkie rose and shook herself.

“Yup. Eon wouldn’t leave her behind! If she brought us here, then she brought Tradey here too. She probably just dropped her somewhere else,” Pinkie said. She flashed Twilight a smile. “I guess teleporting this far is kinda hard, huh?”

Twilight nodded. “Oh, very. I could never do this, not in a million years. The farthest I could teleport just me would be…” Twilight hummed, looking at a tree standing atop on a far off hilltop. “You know, I’m not sure. I really should figure out. Celestia wanted me to be cautious before, when I was testing the limits. The longest I ever got was a mile.”

“Well I’ll be… that’s a long way to just pop up out of thin air,” Applejack said after a low whistle.

Twilight smiled even brighter. “Mhm! It’s pretty far! But… it’s sort of unpleasant.”

“Like running really far really fast sort of unpleasant?” Pinkie asked.

“More like, ‘Everything feels numb and counting is hard for a few hours’ unpleasant. Almost straight up burned out. Had to walk home and didn’t use magic the rest of the day.”

“I don’t remember that at all. Why didn’t you ever mention it?” Applejack asked, still searching the horizon.

“Heh. I was a bit out of sorts. It kind of just slipped my mind.”

“Well, if you were that bad off…” Applejack stopped and leaned forward. “Think we got our mare,” she mumbled slowly. “The tree on the top of that hill, the one all by itself like a little watchtower.”

Twilight squinted and nodded. There, in the shade, she saw a shape that was suspiciously pony-shaped. Twilight chuckled. “Looks like it. Shall we go?”

And they did, heading off to another hill.

Twilight thought about the hill country itself. What felt like years ago, Luna had tried to warn her of the dangers of the west. Wild tribes, pirates on the coast. Great featureless plains. Treacherous cities and cursed ruins. Jannah. But of Jannah she had been too perturbed to be of help, and Twilight reflected that no amount of preparation steeled one for that place. What lay beyond Jannah she mentioned only in passing.

Luna sighed and shook her head. “There are things beyond, but nothing that would be helpful to you. I do not think you will have to go that far regardless. And what lies west of that cursed and evil city is… well. It would take more explanation than a brief counsel such as ours would allow, and you need to sleep for the road tomorrow.”

Had Luna been here? Twilight wished Luna was with her now, walking these rolling verdant stretches.

Twilight had always been a dreamer, in her own way. Not in the way ponies expected when they thought of those with vivid imaginations--aimless, drifting, caught with their heads high in the clouds. Twilight was none of these things. She was studious, focused (a little too focused), hard-working. Inquisitive.

She was also a daydreamer. She just didn’t let her imagination get in the way of research. But she indulged it often. Sometimes it was unpleasant--sometimes one didn’t want to imagine every single way Celestia could say “I’m disappointed in you” complete with perfectly reasonable scenarios and good impressions of the principal parties. Other times, it was inconvienent to find oneself staring off into space, daydreaming about what it might be like bury her muzzle in Celestia’s mane, have her beloved monarch kissing her shoulder. She had wondered what sunlight smelled like a few times. Those thoughts always left her feeling either shaken or uneasy.

She didn’t feel either of those things now, and she didn’t think about Celestia at all. She was thinking about Luna.

If she were honest, she wasn’t thinking about Luna so much as she was thinking of herself in relation to Luna. She had never been in a relationship. She didn’t really know how they worked. She was anxious.

Imagining what it might be like was, therefore, ridiculous. But it was enjoyable, and harmless, so she indulged herelf.

As they drew closer, it became readily apparent that the little dot that was now definitely a pony was in fact the mare of Petrahoof. It also became readily apparent that she was not alone. It was Pinkie who took the lead, bounding up the hill with a great smile, and so she was the first to come upon the stranger.

Twilight was second. She blinked down at the form that stirred in the grass.

“Eon?” she asked, hesitant, confused.

The alicorn in the grass was shorter than Celestia but taller than Luna, thinner and frailer than both. As her eyes opened, Twilight saw they were light gray, as if they would fade to white if she gazed long enough. It was strange, to say the least.

The alicorn nodded and stood on uncertain legs. “Hello, Twilight Sparkle.” She turned to the others, and smiled at them each in turn. “Applejack. Pinkie Pie.” She glanced down at the still sleeping Tradewinds. “She was the hardest to retrieve. It was all the moving. I’m sure you can sympathise, Twilight.”

“I can,” Twilight murmured, still confused. “If you’re here… are we in the Well?”

“No.” Eon seemed to consider Tradewinds further, and then she carefully, almost timidly, nudged nuzzled her into wakefulness. Tradewinds groaned and then stretched as Eon retreated.

Tradewinds smacked her lips, opened her eyes, and sat up. She saw Twilight and her eyes went wide and this was the only warning Twilight had before she was bowled over by an overexcited mare shouting in a language completely foreign to her. But it sounded happy.

Tradewinds kissed her face, hugged her, probably cried. Twilight was a bit too disoriented to understand what was happening before she was freed and laid dizzily in the grass, laughing.

“It’s good to see you too,” she said weakly.

“Twilight Sparkle, I thought you died!” Tradewinds said. “I was so, so angry! I was doing something very foolish and then… Poof!” she pantomimed her own flight down into the city, carrying D’Jalin. She paused, and a troubled look briefly clouded her face. “Is he here too? Where is he?”

Eon was shaking her head. “I did not bring him. He died in the street.”

Tradewinds huffed. “Good.”

Twilight spoke. “Eon… you left the Well? Finally?”

“Finally,” Eon said, and she smiled. It was a weak thing, that smile. Pretty, but frail. “I used quite a bit of power to move us beyond the Wetlands. After the trial of my city, I could give you no less. Welcome to Canna.”

“What? Where is that?” Twilight asked.

“Avoidin’ any place called the ‘Wetlands’ sounds mighty fine to me,” Applejack said. “Much prefer to be dry, really.”

“Oh, it still rains. Just not here,” Eon said. She looked to Twilight. “Canna is a special place. A haven. It is the last homely place before the End, you could say. It is always peaceful here, always tranquil. It is hard to even feel sad. Difficult, but still quite possible, I assure you.” She sighed. “I remember them all now, and in vivid detail. Even in Canna, I find only an adulterated relief.”

“I’m a bit lost,” Applejack said. “Who now?”

Twilight sighed as well. “It’s… a long story. Eon can tell if you, if she wants to.”

“I will. With time.” The alicorn tried to smile again. “In Canna, time stands almost still. In the old days, my brothers and sisters came here to rest or seek wisdom. Some came here when they birthed the races of this world. Your tribes.” She gestured. “All ponies began on these hills.”

Pinkie looked around. “This seems like a great place to begin.”

“It was,” Eon agreed. “They began outside of the world, and came into it when they had lived awhile.”

“Hold up. Outside?” Twilight blinked. She cocked her head slightly. “Run that by me again.”

Eon smiled at her, a little stronger than before. “Canna is a… the word you or Celestia might have used is a ‘zone’. I would say is that Canna is its own Dominion. If Creation is a tree, than this place is a fruit on its branches.”

Twilight nodded slowly. “Okay… a sort of pocket dimension? Reality? I’m not sure how to put that into words, but the picture works for me. Fascinating.” She laughed. “Regardless, I enjoy this place a lot. I’m glad you brought us here.”

“Same goes for all of us, I suspect,” Applejack chimed in.

“Yup!” Pinkie said. Tradewinds added her own thanks, and Eon seemed to be a bit bashful even as she smiled. Twilight was reminded of Fluttershy, but wasn’t so much sad at missing her as she was excited to return and see all of her friends--new and old--together again. Pinkie was going to have to throw some sort of party.

CELESTIA

Dear Twilight,

I left Valon this morning, and I am writing as I rest beside a river on the Veldt. I really should bring you to the West at least once. I think you would love the safer sorts of ruins that dot the landscape. Maldon especially--I forgot to write about it when we were in port, but we did stop halfway! Ha, because it’s Midway Island. Yes, that’s terrible. But I doubt you will actually be reading this, so it’s just myself, and I can tell myself silly jokes if I wish. I have lived long enough to enjoy frivolity.

Why then, do I address these entries to you? An excellent question! One with several answers. One of the answers is simple: you might read them after all, and wouldn’t it be nice for you to read letters as opposed to my own dusty travel log? I have always loved letters. Thousands of years, and I still feel excited about them. Even if the world were to change utterly, and we could talk at ease without magic across vast landscapes, I would still be sending letters. Partially because, once again, I am rather long-lived, and have earned my frivolity; partially because I am long-lived, and know that sometimes a written missive is more than the sum of its words.

Another reason is that it helps to motivate me to write at all. Another is that I intend to have a very important series of conversations with you and my sister and your new sister-in-law rather soon, and this is good practice.

If you were to actually read that I am sure you would be worrying. This time, a little bit of trepidation is perhaps prudent.

The truth is that I have been thinking long and hard about the changes in the world around me, and how I must respond. Thousands of years teaches me that I cannot simply refuse to respond. To not choose is to choose--beyond that, it is a kind of moral suicide to just dig a hole and hide in it, refusing to change. Despite what some of my subjects think (much to my discomfort) I am not a God, and am not changeless. I change rather more than most ponies know! For instance, I discovered in Valon two days ago that I have rather lost my taste for the local cuisine. I did, however, respond more favorably to that strange dish, the one which I cannot remember the name of… made from chickpeas, I believe. Wonderful stuff. Works very well with the flattish bread they still make after so long. I will certainly be bringing recipes back from this journey.

It also helps to chase away some of the gloom that my present surroundings inspire in me. This is my home, Twilight, after a fashion. Or it once was. Equestria is my true home now, not because of how long I have inhabited it, but because I have chosen it to be so. My heart is in Canterlot. But my history is here. Walking through Valon as Sunny Skies, I could not help but feel melancholy at times, remembering things. Once, Valon was a bustling but much smaller port of a vast empire, the busiest backwater in the known world--out of the way, and yet still thriving. A marvel, surely, but also a testament to the rather aggressively friendly shrewdness of its ponies. They were all earth ponies then. That has not changed as much. The streets are completely different. Fires and a few sieges will do that. So will civil unrest. War. Famine. Pestilence. Victory. There were greater ports, but none quite so picturesque, with those cliff dwellings.

I’m rambling. But I would be even more unfocused without the pretense of a “letter”. So much changes. My sister and I share this one thing most of all, that we are all but drowned in constant change. Sometimes it is maddening. Mostly it just makes one feel old and useless and sad. Yes, even I feel useless sometimes. Often, these days.

Things must change. Equestria must change. But not all at once, and not without guidance and prudence and patience. My role must change. My sister’s role must change. These things must happen, but they must happen carefully and rightly. I have seen every way that a civilization, a city, an empire can fall. I have not found any perfect solutions, but I have seen what roads not to go down.

That is why, whether I give you these to read some day or not, I will write this down now for myself: I must diminish. Luna must diminish. I do not say go away. Even if I were not a princess I would still be there, poking my nose into things like a mother hen, always trying to help. I could not leave short of death. But I must begin to push these chicks out of the nest.

This world is so dark and wide and great and terrifying and beautiful, Twilight. I want my ponies to explore it! I want them to come here, to the West. I want them to see the jagged peaks of the Griffons in the East, to go beyond that to lands I have seen and see again in dreams. To sail the nine oceans and to climb the ruins of the great peoples before them, to preserve and connect to the past even as they create a beautiful future. I have so much hope, Twilight. So much hope. I am bursting with it.

But I know that like any love, my love may yet be tragic. It may yet fail. Any true love carries with it the risk of tragedy, Twilight. You might be rejected. Worse, you may never be noticed. Worse still, you may be noticed after all, and poorly used. I know this very, very well.

Let me tell you a story. It’s about where I was born. Fitting, as I am going back for a visit.

I was the second to last Alicorn born. We are born in adult bodies, and my mother and father were not as I but were in fact One: the Song itself spun me out. In those days, we all lived on the great tableland of Jannah, though we had not named it so yet. There was a pool of the clearest and most holy water there, and we sang about it in turns.

Before I was born, when there were fewer Alicorns, they sang all of the time. But as more were born, others began to take turns. They sang in small choruses and in twos and threes. Sometimes, one of our brothers or sisters would sing along and we all listened. Always, the song continued around that cool water.

When not singing, we wandered the tableland, talked, flew down to the grass below. In those days, there was no cycle of night and day, but only an endless morning. It was this, the sun hiding at the edge of the horizon, barely peeking over to watch us play among the rocks, that I saw first as I emerged from the pool. I knew how to speak our primordial tongue even then, and as was our custom, I sang as I was born at the sight. But my song was different--all of our singing was different, but mine was a flavor and style not yet encountered. My sister Iridia, called Iris in those days, told me that I sang a march. I would not know. It was all a bit overwhelming.

But I knew, from the first moment I opened my eyes, that I was to wait for another’s coming. The first words I spoke were that my sister would be there soon, and that she would need me. They asked me what my name was, and I told them, and then I asked if I could sit by the pool until my sister arrived.

Bemused, but still happy for a new sister, they were very kind to me. I learned their names while I waited for Luna to emerge, and loved them all. Aurora, who loved to fly, and sang arias in the dawn. Thaumus, who created the first letters and you as well, Twilight, in a way. Gaia, the twin of Thaumus, who loved the lilies of the field below. Saros. Arravos. Chloe. Iridia. Lueconoe. Samara. Kyrie.

And one day, the last Alicorn arrived. Luna burst from the waters of the Well, for a Well it became--no longer alive in the same way, for the song began its final finale as my sister was born. And there was a great cacophony--a great discordant noise had come, and we did not comprehend it. But I believe the Song did, and there was a short clash. We knew fear for the first time, and we learned dread. What was this? Where had it come from? How did it spread across our sky as a crawling darkness?

But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. My sister Luna was born weeping, and I held her and kissed her mane and whispered her name as she was born.

My sisters forgot or tried to forget the darkness and the Noise. I never could. I was born knowing certain things: That Luna was my Sister, in a way different from Aurora and Kyrie. That we had a destiny that would be revealed to me in time. That one day she would need me to do a heard thing for her, and that one night I would need her to let the unspeakable happen for me.

Millenia passed. I loved my sister and she loved me. We bickered sometimes, and quarreled as sister do, but never did we doubt for a moment our abiding sororal love.But my sister was changing, all the while. When you are immortal, it is easy to be caught up in the illusion that you will never change, that anything that walks the earth could be unchanging. I ignored the signs--I attributed to moodiness what I should have seen as an abiding unrest in Luna’s heart.

I cannot afford to ignore change again. The last time was catastrophic, and now there are more ponies than there were then, and the Empire is returned to us. If the earlier error was two dimensions, this shall play out in three. I shudder when I try to imagine what horrors could be born out of this brave new age.

But I still love this world. I still love Equestria. The world is not a cold dead place, whatever it feels like in the extremeties where few dare to tread. I don’t want to lose any of it. I know you will understand one day what I am feeling, this furious need to protect and preserve, or at least to guide, or at last and most painfully to save. One day, Twilight, you will know what it is like to lose something or somepony very, very dear to you, and I think that then you will begin to understand the smallest bit of what I am saying when I tell you that we must save this world before it is in danger and not before.

And that is what I am doing. I dearly hope this will be simply a vacation, a visit to a pony I should not have left alone, but I know it will be more than that. I know that the feeling that assaulted me a fortnight ago was not wrong. I am not mistaken.

My love to you and Luna and all my little ponies. Be with my sister in her loneliness. She has lost so much, Twilight. More than I--I guarded my heart and kept it much closer than Luna ever could.

TWILIGHT

They had made good progress after leaving Canna behind. The ethereal happiness did not follow, but her high spirits did. She was in good company, out of danger… it was hard not to feel alright with the world.

Outside of the eternally sunny and gentle Canna, the world was very, very different. Now they walked a strange, paved road. In the distance loomed a vast collection of ruins. They were eerie even from this distance, like the metallic bones of ancient monsters resting now in the sparsely green dirtlands.

But the sun slowly retreated, and the party made camp along the strange road. Twilight was pleasantly surprised at how much of their kit had come through with them. Eon--Kyrie, she reminded herself--was truly powerful, whatever her current state.

They lit no fire--there were no trees nearby, and none of them would have dared to deface any inch of Canna, especially not for something as vulgar as mere comfort. As the sun sank, Twilight found herself and friends grow quiet. Applejack gnawed softly on her pipe--unlit, as she’d smoked the last of her tobacco in Jannah. Twilight wondered why she brought the thing out at all. Perhaps the action itself was comforting, like how a difficult question or conundrum had sent her to sit in the reading room corner in the old beanbag. And now she missed that stupid misshapen lump. It was an incredibly stupid thing to miss, but she did miss it.

Eon and Tradewinds chatted quietly together. Pinkie chatted a bit more loudly, but even she seemed more even-keel than usual. Kyrie! Kyrie! Argh. Gotta remember.

She didn’t want to squeeze awkwardly into their conversation, so she sat beside Applejack and looked at the ruins beyond with her.

“You know, when we get back, I could enchant that for you,” Twilight said softly.

“Cry your pardon?”

“Your pipe. Or I could enchant another one, if it’s special.”

Applejack made a little grunt of affirmation. “And what would that do?”

Twilight hummed. “Well… I could enchant it to tamp itself. I know you have trouble with that. Or self light, so you only have to inhale.”

“Sounds convienent,” Applejack replied. Twilight glanced over and saw her smile. “But then, what would I do to slow me down so I get to bein’ contemplative?”

“Ah, you’re right. Ritual.” Twilight shrugged. “I could do it on voice command, so that you have to ask. That way you could have it for when you’re tired or it’s dark, and when you’re in normal, brighter conditions, you could simply operate normally. That way, you preserve the soothing of the ritualistic behavior and still manage an increase in effeciency.” She grinned at this last.

“Sounds nice, actually. S’pose it might be nice to not have to fool with a light and tampin’ when it’s windy, too. I’ll hold you to it, when we’re home. What got you interested, anyhow?”

Twilight laughed easily. “I’m not, really. I’m interested in that I’m interested in you, but I couldn’t care a bit less about your pipe smoking. Just a passing thought.”

“See, your passin’ thoughts are useful.” Applejack grumbled something further which Twilight didn’t catch, and then she yawned. The pipe was dropped into a waiting hoof. “I can’t help starin’ at those… things. Buildings. Structures. Bones,” she finished, with a grimace. “Just look at ‘em.”

Twilight did. They were… unpleasant. As far from organic, as far from natural as could be possible. There were none of the normal curves and imperfections she had accepted as consistent with the world, and with the homes of those who lived in it. “When it wasn’t so… ruined, those towers were probably ramrod straight. It would take me awhile to guess how much magic must have been used to construct everything so perfectly. The tallest we can make buildings… Canterlot’s main spire isn’t completely dwarfed, but it was made by Celestia herself. We’re just starting to build with steel frames. We’re still working out the kinks.”

“Lost a lot of things after Luna wigged out,” Applejack observed. “Maybe ponies used to know more.”

But Twilight shook her head. “I doubt it… though I suppose it’s not impossible. They knew more, scientifically, then we do in certain areas, but not in others. We surpassed them in a lot of ways a century ago.” She paused, and then sighed, laying her head down in the grass. “Well, except for weaponry. Until recently.”

She felt a hoof ruffling her mane. “True. But don’t let it bite ya, hon. We’re almost there.”

“Yeah,” Twilight said, breathlessly, as much to herself as in reply to her friend. They weren’t, weren’t they? It was sort of unreal. No, it was completely unreal.

Twilight was in many ways an anxious mare. She worried. She fretted. She did both of these things often. Small things upset her balance with alarming effectiveness. A botched itinerary--even by a few minutes, with no harm done--set her eye to twitching. Tardiness in her correspondence with Celestia… well. She tried not to think about that. She tried very hard not to think about that.

It wasn’t that she was a coward. The opposite was true, really. Twilight Sparkle could be all but fearless when the situation called for decisive action, or when life and limb were on the line. It was the seemingly less perilous things she feared. The mare who faced down monsters and changelings hordes quailed at the idea of failing a mentor or friend. She absorbed blows but a frown tore her apart. The problem, then, was not cowardice but thought. Too much thought. Twilight’s mind raced ahead of itself and of reality. Every question--what will happen? What will they think?--was answered three dozen times over in a moment, and each scenario was worse than the one that preceded it.

So it would be reasonable, really, to expect the enormity of seeing Celestia again after so long would have her shaking. Of being so close to both ecstatic success and the most devastating failure of her life, with Luna and her friends, all of Equestria itself looking on.

And yet Twilight felt peaceful. She felt calm and collected. Worried, yes, but not overwhelmingly.

Was it Celestia, riding her spirit? Had she changed? Or did the song still echo in her heart? These things were questions, yes, even mysteries, but not the sort of mystery one searched out and discovered so much as they were simple opaque fact. At least, they felt that way.

Twilight yawned and rolled onto her back. It was highly undignified, but she rolled in the grass and laughed. “So close,” she said, her voice warbling a bit. A bit drunk.

Applejack rolled her eyes. “Same as ever, Twilight through an’ through. Long as you don’t do that dance.”

“Oh you mean like thi--” but as she rose, Applejack grabbed her, and they fell back to the sparse grass and dry dirt, laughing.

The next day brought them closer to the city.

They had found a sign of metal, but reading it had proved impossible. Twilight had decided to ask Kyrie if she knew what it might say.

Kyrie sighed. “Time is strange here,” was all she said, until at great length, and in the shadow of the leviathans of steel and concrete, she finally answered at length.

“You must understand this: time in the hinterlands of our world is, ah, soft. That is the best word. Have you ever wondered… No, I’m sure you did wonder. As a foal, did you not ask: ‘Why this way? Why not another way?’”

Twilight nodded. “Sure. Why three pony tribes in Equestria? Why not just one? Or just two? If the weather can work on its own just fine in the Everfree and in other ‘wild zones’, why not all over?”

“Well, suffice it to say that the Song is boundless, and infinite. Do you remember how I told you in the Well, of how I live severally?”

“Sure. Do you… um, do you still do that?”

Kyrie shook her head. “No. I am one, now. Forever, I suspect and hope. It is a very strange feeling. Alien, but not altogether unwholesome. But I only lived within one small village of existence. All of my severalness was confined to variations upon the theme the Song spun at Jannah’s height. We could not see what else it spun, but it spun more than Equestria and the West, more than your Ponyville and Canterlot. There are more things than ponies, more things than are in your philosophy, Twilight Sparkle.” She smiled wanly. “On the Hinterlands, you find castaways. No living things, or at least seldom do you find things alive. They go and stay and die and vanish as the fabric of our world moves. This city will be here and one day it shall not be, not because it has withered but because the tide came in and it was carried away.”

“I’m assuming you don’t mean an actual ocean,” Twilight said softly, watching as Applejack and Tradewinds discussed how best to navigate the strange city. They were all a bit understandably nervous about strange monolithic cities, but Kyrie had reassured them that this place was no Jannah. It was no more frightening than any other pile of stone and metal would be, and the only ghosts it housed were the harmless sorts of memories. Privately, Twilight thought that no memories were really harmless.

“Oh, but don’t I?” Kyrie asked, and Twilight swore her eyes sparkled.

They camped roughly halfway through. Tradewinds confirmed that the city was not nearly as large as Jannah and was not endless, which all but Kyrie reacted to with obvious and open relief.

The city was in fact completely different, just as Kyrie had said it would be: where Jannah had been unnaturally preserved and still, the Dead City was obviously damaged and in ruin. Twilight recognized the concrete beneath her hooves, but the pavement was still a bit foreign. She had seen roads paved with bitumen--asphalt, sometimes called--before, in Las Pegasus. They were more common in the South, where the terrain was rougher, but even there they were a novelty only useful for large vehicles. Ponies had little use for large vehicles before more recent times. She preferred normal roads herself, the kind with flat stone. It was a bit nicer on the hoof. Also, it didn’t absorb so much heat.

The buildings were falling apart. Broken windows, ruined signs--some of which she thought might have been lit once by electricity or magic of some sort. Strange glass screens which reminded her of the nickleodeons the Canterlot fair had sported when she had been a filly. Like a window, but one that goes nowhere. Could you project upon such a surface? I suppose it would go through the glass, and would keep the canvas beneath dry and safe outside, so you didn’t have any awkward folds in the projected image.

Pinkie and Tradewinds collected paper from the streets to burn in a barrel. It was a bit crude, but not so bad. With a few added holes, Twilight’s magic made it into quite the lamp. They talked long into the night. They talked about Celestia, but mostly they talked about home. Pinkie told Kyrie about her parties. Twilight told her about the library, and about the Elements and her home in Canterlot. About Spike. Tradewinds boasted of Petrograd in the ice and snow. Applejack talked about her orchards and the tightknit family that tended the best apple trees in Equestria, at least in her view. And Kyrie, in return, taught Pinkie a song of old Jannah and talked a little about her little gardens on the high terrace, but mostly she listened. Twilight thought she seemed happy, if tired and a little shy.

And soon, Twilight drifted into sleep, and slipped unawares into the Dreaming.

CELESTIA

Dear Twilight,

Tonight I rest in Isdrimir, on the great Imperial Way of Jannah.

It is raining as if it might never rain again, and the wind howls around my tent. I’ve enchanted it to resist the rain and wind, but have not blocked out the sound. I find that life is better without sterilizing experience too much. And I like the sound of rain.

I am not on vacation.

I felt it today, on the road. The sun was out, the breeze was cool, and the Veldt was breathtaking. In a moment, I was no longer in that world. I felt a chill that became freezing cold all over my body, seeping into my mind and heart. I felt the earth move beneath me, and ot as a gentle rolling, for I feel this often, but as a terrible writhing. A storm beneath the earth. At first it was like Luna’s hammers in her forge, but then it was nothing like that, for Luna is methodical and practiced and this was wild and without purpose or pattern. The ground beneath me warped and cracked and bubbled--yes, bubbled! The dirt bubbled like water boiled for tea. The grass caught fire, or wilted, or became… something else. The sky began to twist in a way I have trouble describing. I have trouble even remembering because I don’t want to remember. It hurts to remember. But it was like watching water swirling down a drain. The wandering, itinerant clouds, the free blue sky, all of it simply sucked away, torn from us.

Or, perhaps, just me, for in a moment I was back on the Veldt that was. The sky and the clouds and the grass and the road were all whole again. It had been only a moment, but I was shaking.

Twilight, I hear the whispers of the Song in everything. I am never without it. But for that brief time, it was taken from me. In its place there was only a sort of screaming white noise. Forever. I have never been more afraid of anything in my entire life. The screaming frightened me more than the warping of Creation around me. Because I have seen what magic can do to material existence, but the Song… it cannot be touched. But can we be torn from it, or blocked from it? I don’t think so. But what if we could? What if the very principle which kept our composite elements bound was simply stolen away in an instant?

Twilight, have you ever lost anyone? Yes, that’s rhetorical. I was there when your grandmother died. I remember you crying. You tried to be a brave little filly. I remember it all. But I think that soon, all too soon, you may know what it really is to lose somepony who was yours. You loved your grandmother, but she was a bit removed, already old. Your father? Your mother? She visits for tea still. In between tea and chat of you and a new season I thought how you might survive your mother’s passing. Morbid. I know it is. It is hard not to be, when you are old. Your brother, Shining? Spike? Applejack? Rarity? Rainbow Dash, stolen in a blink by a bad angle and a gust of wind. Fluttershy and a beast too mad with rage to be calmed by kindness’ gentle touch. Moondancer, recently reunited with you. Or maybe even simply passive acquiantances, the ones you mention only once or twice. Mr. Corner, from the bookstore, the one who writes poetry. The lyre player in the square.

I have learned to move on, to not forget but not to be crushed beneath the weight for very long. I cannot afford to be, no matter how bright my love. But here, in Isdrimir, knowing that the Shadow is very much awake… I can feel that hideous strength pulsing in the far West before me. Twilight, I can feel its coils around my heart, it’s fetid breath on my coat, its poisons in my mind. My intuition was correct. My dreams were correct, the ones I hid from Luna at great difficulty. She may suspect, but I hope she does not come. Coming here myself, now, might have been a very grave mistake. It is tormenting me with the faces of those I have lost. It is parading before me the forms of those I will lose presently, yourself included to my horror.

Luna, who always loved so fiercely, so closely and passionately…

Luna has lost so much. I do not know what it would do to her.

TWILIGHT

Twilight found herself in the Dreaming and knew it immediately. She smiled, and walked.

There was no real surrounding yet. She walked alone on a silvery sea of indistinct and murky water. With a thought, she could make that water transparent, clear, and see all the way to whatever bottom she could imagine. Canterlot could be there. Anything could. But she did not change a thing. She had not meant to Dreamwalk tonight. Luna must have called her.

So, eager, Twilight awaited her advent. Strange time passed, neither slowly nor quickly in the manner of the Aether, and Luna did not arrive.

Twilight wandered from the silver sea into a new place. She walked in her memories of the ruined castle Luna had lived in long ago. She walked through Sugarcube Corner and the Crystal Palace. She walked and walked.

Until at last she came to the strange fire in the barrel, burning in the intersection of the Dead City, the Unreal City. She sat by the fire and watched it flicker and burn.

And Luna arrived. She stepped out of thin air, and Twilight stood with a smile to greet her. She trotted over and wrapped Luna up in an aggressive and joyous embrace. “Luna!”

And the princess stiffened as if struck. She seemed to struggle to speak. “Twilight.”

“I’ve missed you. I have much to tell you, and lots of things have happened. We’ve left Jannah behind. We’re very close now.”

“West of Jannah,” Luna echoed, still stiff, still gruff.

Puzzled, Twilight let her go and took a step back. “Are… are you alright?” She gasped. “Wait. Is the city okay? What’s happened?”

Luna stared down at her and then slowly, like an old mare in fullness of years, sat back on her haunches. She hunched over and began to breathe heavily. And then she began to sob.

“I can’t! Oh, stars, I can’t!” Luna seemed caught in a trance, gaze moving from the fire to the ground, to her hoof, to Twilight and then quickly away as if stung. Twilight moved closer, eyes wide, frightened but mostly concerned. She reached out and tried to catch Luna, to still her.

“Luna! Please, what’s wrong?”

“He’s dead! He’s dead and there wasn’t anything I could do!”

“Who is dead? Stars, Luna, calm down! Please… please.”

Luna stilled, but it was not calm so much as it was resignation, like one with her head in a noose.

“He is dead. Spike is dead.”

Twilight blinked at her. The words did not hit. She did not scream or cry or faint away. She simply let Luna go and Luna retreated on her own. Twilight simply sat with the utmost reserve, the pinnacle of calm.

“What?”

“Twilight, Spike is dead.”

“No. He isn’t. I know he’s not.”

“He… he is. We recovered his… his body,” Luna said, eyes like a hunted animal’s. They shone in the night. Had they always done that?

Twilight shook her head. Somehow she wanted to smile. “No, that’s impossible. I would know.”

“You… but Twilight, you’re past Jannah. There is no way that you could have known. Even if you had some sort of scrying spell or talisman, Jannah would have destroyed any connection… I… Twilight, he is dead.”

“Stop saying that!” Twilight said. She meant to say it firmly. She, instead, screamed it. “Stop saying he’s dead when he isn’t. This isn’t funny. It’s not funny, please stop. Please please stop it.”

“I can’t. You have to know. He…”

“Don’t.”

“I have seen the body. He fell.”

Twilight, as was her nature, began to hyperventilate. “No. No no no no no. You can appear dead and cling to life. What happened? He could be alive. You’ve got to make sure they don’t… You have to make sure they help him. He’ll make it. Spike’s a dragon. He’s strong. There’s no way…”

Luna took a steadying breath and seemed to lose some of her fear in urgency. “The enemy has breached the outer wall. Spike fell before the gate to the second tier, as they closed the gates. He kept away sappers that would have kept the gates open permanently and most probably saved the city. An explosion destroyed the arches. He was… under them,” she faltered. Twilight stared at her hooves, her breathing quickening. Faster. Faster.

No. No no no no no. Please no. Not Spike. No.

Twilight shook, but she wasn’t aware of it. She began to lose her balance. Her breathing was shallower and shallower. Each breath seemed a little more futile than the last.

“No,” she said.

“We fought to keep them away from the rubble and I carried him from the rocks myself. I made sure, Twilight. I tried to save him. I did everything I knew and tried things I wasn’t even sure about. I did… I tried…”

“No, no, this isn’t happening. This isn’t Dreamwalking. It’s a nightmare.”

“Twilight, you are dreamwalking. I’m sorry. This is real.”

“You would say that if it were a nightmare,” Twilight said distractedly. Her sight was dimming. She felt lightheaded. Could you hyperventilate yourself into unconsciousness here?

If you thought you could. If you wanted to, maybe.

“Twilight!”

She was on the ground. When had she fallen? Luna was holding her, panicked, trying to get her to respond. Twilight was to shocked to say anything.

“No… Oh Twilight… Please, please don’t leave me. Not you too. Not after Spike,” Luna said, rocking them both.

Twilight shook and tried to speak, but her words came out like a sob, and at last she cried. She cried hard. She had no idea how long she cried. She didn’t so much as disbelieve as she refused death. She refused it. She would let it have nothing.

Death doesn’t ask for permission, usually.

When she was spent, Twilight lay whimpering in Luna’s protective iron grip.

Luna was supposed to guard him. Shock had given away to fury. She was supposed to watch him! She was supposed to keep him safe.

No one is safe, Twilight. Not forever.

She shouldn’t have just… sacrificed him! How else do you think he ended up out there? Twilight ground her teeth, but could not leave Luna behind. Don’t give me that crap. You let him die! YOU LET HIM DIE LET ME GO LEAVE ME ALONE YOU LET HIM DIE YOU TOOK HIM DIDNT YOU--

And like that, she was alone. Luna was gone. Twilight stumbled against empty air and landed on her face.

“Luna?” Twilight called to the darkness, but the darkness did not answer. The fire behind her flickered. Nothing else changed. “Luna? Luna, where are you?”

She sat and… well, she didn’t know what to call what she did. Any moment, she thought she might weep again or have an attack. Or start screaming at Luna, even if she was vanished. She wavered. She fell. She crawled a bit in the dust, and just… she wasn’t sure.

It occurred to her at some point that Luna had not returned, and even in her agony Twilight somehow realized that Twilight had done it herself. Luna had not run--Twilight had thrown her out. And yet Twilight blamed her for leaving. For her abandonment. It was unfair. It was not simply unkind but cruel beyond words. But Twilight did it. Because she was lost.

She lost track of herself in denial. She just kept returning over and over to the feeling of a little baby dragon’s arms hugging her and the sound of his voice echoing in the library and the exuberent joy whenever she took him down to get donuts after an all nighter and he would never ever whine about not having an extra donut. He wouldn’t ever joke about anything ever again. She wouldn’t get to see him learn how to fly or help him with his firebreathing or tell him she loved him or wait for him to come home or tease him about Rarity or… or...

LUNA

Luna lay astonished, sprawled out in Spike’s bed. Her head ached and her skin burned, but these things faded.

She pushed me out. It was too ridiculous to be true. “She did. She pushed me out of the Dreaming.”

Under normal circumstances, Luna would have been filled with pride. Few could have dared to do that, even when she was so distraught. It wasn’t impossible, just difficult and highly unlikely. But Twilight had done it by sheer… force of will. And all at once, what would have at any other time pleased her to no end filled her with a shame that pinned her to the abandoned matress.

Twilight had been so distraught, so wounded by Luna’s own stupidity, her miserable failure, that she had done the impossible simply to remove the odious presence from her by any means neccessary.

I am again banished, she realized. There was no moon, this time. No strange aetherial existence or fretful stasis. Only… only the emptiness of rejection.

Luna realized she was all alone now. Really and truly alone. She was out of places to hide, with nowhere to run and no single pony on earth to confide in. Twilight would never speak to her again. Spike was… Oh, Spike… Spike. I’m so sorry. Please… I tried! I can’t…

And she had tried, she was quick to remember. Three messengers. The first hadn’t found him. The second had been shot down. The third had delivered her fateful message.

You chose miserable crawling peasants over your last friend in Equestria. She had chosen to send her agents to evacuate civilians. You could have had him hauled back to the Palace. He would be alive. Angry? For a time. You feared his temporary frustration and you were paid with his death. Twilight could kill you and be in the right. She should, even. Worthless. Worthless. Celestia should have killed you at Ghastly Gorge. The Belles should have ended you there. Rarity. Oh, I’ll have to… I’ll have to tell her. No. I can’t. Not again. I can’t do that. I have to.

She tossed and turned.

She had seen and felt so much death. Once, she had felt that with the passing of time she had grown slowly immune to its sting. “O Grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?” she had once declared with the arrogance of youth and the folly of inexperience. But that numbness--it was not immunity but simple despair--faded and with it she felt everything as before, but simply worse than before.

It was the right choice. She wasn’t sure if she believed this because it was the right choice or if she believed it because not believing it would destroy her. What was the difference? What did it matter?

If the world stopped its turning and the fox faced the hounds… then she would meet it. Was this not the most fitting thing, really, for the end of days? She had doubted that Twilight’s quest would be fruitful somewhere in the darkest parts of her heart. Rarity’s army was made of volunteers and held together by spit and hope and a desperate need not to go gentle into an everlasting darkness and none of these things were enough.

Nothing ever was, was it?

Twilight was gone. Twilight was never coming back--even if she did, Luna had lost her. Luna deserved to lose her, didn’t she? She did. She absolutely did. What worse betrayal was there than this?

Luna was almost glad, as she stared at the dark cieling, for the raiders and the rebels and every wolf at ever door. Ready to devour and tear and break. Good. Let them come. She welcomed them--she would meet them with open arms and a kiss, she would prepare for her enemies and table, she would pour them her finest wine. She would drink no delight of battle with peers for she had none. She would sell nothing dearly.

She simply wanted to die and she wanted it to be ugly and without the dignity a warrior deserved.

Would she ask for what Spike had not received?

Twilight

She was still Dreamwalking. She was afraid to do anything. She was afraid of what was before and what was behind.

Her grief continued. Her crying was intermittent, and then infrequent, and finally it ceased. For now, at least, it ceased. She no longer shook. She no longer did much of anything. She watched the fire and she thought.

More accurately, she wrestled with herself and the living and the dead. Spike was dead. It hurt even to think. She must… she must accept this. It was the truth. Luna would never lie to her about that. Her…

Something like hilarity came over her, though she did not laugh. What was Spike to her? Wasn’t it so strange, they had never really decided. Was she his sister? His mother? His friend? Yes. Probably all three. It had never seemed important to her at any point in her life until that moment. What was he? Her brother? Her son? Her friend? Her assistant?

And with that train of thought, another: she would never get to talk about it with him. She would never be able to really explore that idea with him at all. She would never ask Spike which he felt was closer to the truth--never know his answer.

Luna had not returned. Twilight thought that whatever she had done had kept Luna out for good, and this brought a bit of fear. Could she return? Was this Luna’s dream, and if so, had she… well, for lack of a better word, broken it somehow? But this was pointless. She could return. She felt that she could, and in the Dreaming a feeling meant many things and all of them were true. When she wondered if Luna could return on her own, Twilight felt only a cold emptiness.

Twilight wasn’t sure what to feel about anything except sorrow, but few minds can manage a single emotion for long. She needed somepony. Any pony at all would do. She didn’t want to be alone. She already felt abandoned.

She wanted to call Luna back. She wanted to beg Luna to come back and hold her again and stroke her mane and say that it would be alright, that Spike was… no, that Twilight would be okay. That anything in the whole world would ever, ever be okay.

Twilight was intelligent. She was logical. Even in this great dark pain, she did not lose these things. Luna would never have neglected Spike. She wouldn’t have risked him flagrantly. She wouldn’t have thrown his life away for the world. Twilight wanted an explanation. She wanted to hear the story. She wanted one last story or memory or anything at all of Spike.

And even now, when her heart was in turmoil, she wanted Luna. She was angry. No, she was furious. Disconsolate and heartbroken and all but murderous but she wanted Luna. She needed her more than she perhaps needed any other pony in the world.

“Come back,” she asked the air. The air did not respond. “Please. Come back. I won’t… I’m not going to…” Her words died so easily.

Come back. Luna, please. Please come back. LUNA COME BACK.

She made herself into a great beacon, broadcasting a singleminded message as far into the aether as she could. Twilight could not explain in words how she did so. But she felt it, she felt the how and the what, and in this moment she did not give a damn about explanations.

If you love me, come back. If you really, really love me, you’ll come back and you will be with me. Please. I don’t want to be alone. I’m so… I’m so, so angry. I feel like I’m dying. But I need you here. Please come back. Please, please, please. Don’t make me beg. I will. Don’t make me. Just come back to me. Tell me you love me. Remind me there’s someone left who does.

And Luna stepped out of the air again. “Rough” did not begin to describe her. She seemed at wit’s end. Her eyes seemed sunken, hollow. Empty. Everything about her reeked of death. Her form in this place was a reflection of her inward self, and Twilight felt every ounce of it and she understood it immediately.

“I want to die. I should die. The world would be better if I died and never had to do this ever again.”

And something in Twilight snapped. Or changed--words are difficult and imprecise and foolish and altogether inadequete to describe anything worth saying and in that moment language was effectively dead. Luna seemed about to stumble, and Twilight caught her, and the whole world was just the two of them, and Luna was weeping, and Twilight found herself weeping again, and she lost track of--

“Tell me everything.”

“There was a bomb. I sent Spike to make calls with Soarin’ at the garrisons to investigate, but there was nothing. It was under the city. Catacombs.”

“The gate, then, I’m guessing.”

“Yes.”

“Where was he?”

“Further up in the lower tier. It was make-work. I had hoped he would find a few straggler whitecloaks and maybe one of them would let something slip, or that nothing at all would happen and he would be away from anything important. I hoped this would be enough.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I know.”

“What happened?”

“He headed for the gate. There was heavy fighting. I sent two messengers. The first couldn’t find him, even after two trips. The second was shot and killed. He led the survivors back into the city. They harassed the main body of the rebel army and slowed them considerably. It was the only thing keeping them from burning most of the lower city with the residents still inside. My third messenger found him long after, on his second try. Most of the dangerous area had been cleared. A scout had found a small group holding out. I sent him to get them moving towards the gate. I ordered him to come back to me. He brought them.”

“The gate?”

“It was slow and old. There was fighting at the front. He… He saw a vision of Ponyville. He visited it of his own accord to scout and saw such… such horrid things. I saw what he saw in our link and it was severed. I could not return. I almost lost consciousness midflight. After that, while they closed the gate he fought outside. He terrified the guards at the gate. I have never heard a pony say the things they said.”

“And a shell hit an arch.”

“He fell before the gate.”

And the earth trembled under the weight of his passing. It mourned his going. The very air carried the dirge of his undoing. Or, to Twilight, these things were true.

They sat apart, but not far apart.

“I felt what you were thinking when you entered.”

Luna smirked softly. “When you pulled me here, you mean.”

“So I did? And I, uh, you know.” Twilight gestured without energy. “Kicked you out.”

“Yes.”

They went back to not looking at each other.

What was she feeling? It seemed almost vulgar to describe herself as merely angry at Luna--it worked, but it felt so meagre. She wanted to hate her, and yet at the same time, Luna had lost Spike. She had not taken him. Twilight had felt the weight of that in the Aether.

“I do not think he would have come back if I had asked him.” Luna shifted position, lying flat now beside the fire. “I want to believe that is true.”

“When I tried to get him to do things he didn’t want to do, he used to drag his claws,” Twilight said flatly. She was exhausted. She knew already that she would take up this way as well.

“He… I can’t... “ Luna stopped. She didn’t sigh. She just simply stopped.

“I’m sorry I kicked you out. I don’t know how I did it.”

“Not many could have.”

“Why didn’t you come back? I know I called you, but… why didn’t you come back earlier?” Twilight asked. There was no heat in her voice. More and more, she was becoming like one on the verge of dropping from exhaustion, all but in a trance.

“I could have wrested this structure from you,” Luna admitted, “but only at great cost to you. I could have done it easily, actually. But… the pain it would have caused you was not worth forcing my presence on you. I did not think you would want me there. I am confused why you want me here now.”

“I think I love you,” Twilight said, as flatly and emotionlessly as she had said anything in her entire life.

Luna didn’t answer at first. Twilight almost looked up from the asphalt to see what was wrong with her, but she spoke before the fatigued mare could raise her heavy head. “I do not understand.”

“I don’t either.” Twilight’s laugh was more like a bark. “I don’t get it at all.” She finally did look up. “I just… I’m so tired. Spike is really gone, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Luna… I’m not okay. But you’re not okay either. I don’t know what I’m doing right now. I didn’t want to be alone, and I just wanted you here and then you came back and I felt that and heard what you were thinking and…” She covered her eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything you or I could have done,” She admitted. Saying that was like twisting a knife in her own guts. It was the greatest admission. How weak.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know about being a warrior, or any of that. I don’t know about being a hero. But Spike, my Spike and yours… he’s a good person, dragon or pony--doesn’t make a difference. I think Spike would have been there helping whether he was with you or not. He would have come with me and I think he would have died in Vanhoover. Bigger…. Bigger target,” she finished. “You didn’t kill Spike, Luna. Even if you did, I don’t think I could bear to be alone.” Twilight offered her something that was an offense to smiles. “May I ask a favor?”

“Yes. Anything, by the Song, it will be given to you.”

“Will you just… I don’t know. I think I need somepony to hold me because elsewise I’m pretty sure I’m going to lose my mind.”

Luna crossed the gap, and Twilight Sparkle slumped to the earth in surrender. Luna curled around her.

They shared no intimacies beyond this, and neither thought much of words like love. Twilight’s giddiness had died, hadn’t it? She thought a lot of things had, and she would only find their bodies later. Luna quietly fussed over Twilight’s mane, and Twilight let her. She didn’t care one way or the other at all. It was just a mane. Manes weren’t important.

“You are different,” Luna said. “I keep feeling as if Celestia is right beside me, but…”

Riding my soul like a foal at a fair. “I met a little shard of her in the Well,” Twilight replied. “In Jannah.”

“Ah. So that is how… I see.” Luna went silent for a long time. “I would like to speculate, but am afraid.”

“Why?”

“Whyever not? I am in a very tenuous position, am I not? I am rather alone in this world.”

“You’re saying that,” Twilight noted, “while you’re brushing my mane with magic. I’m right here.”

Luna didn’t comment on it. “I believe that something similar may have happened to Spike. You know of my forge, perhaps.It contains a shard much like the one you encountered. My self and yet not of myself. Celestia built the forge and I supplied its heart. The shard within contains an image of me that once was filled with the venom of despair. It has been changing into something else, something I am not sure I recognize. I believe that when Spike’s vision of the shadow came and I fell out of the sky midflight… I think she went to him. Because I could not go, my own shadow went.”

Twilight was silent about this. She was not sure what it meant to her at all. Once again, some things are not meant to be discovered right away, or cannot be at all uncovered before time has eroded their shells.

“He wouldn’t have hidden,” Luna said.

“He wouldn’t have.”

Luna didn’t have to say sorry. Twilight felt her penitence in the very air. She could taste it in the Aether. It hurt her--because at once she wanted to say, “Oh Luna, I love you--it isn’t your fault. You loved him as well as I. You are forgiven if only you will stay with me.” while at the same time she wanted a bit to banish Luna again. She knew that Luna would go, if she did, and Twilight would never be held again. Luna would run from her in one way or another in any world that came after this revelation, and Twilight thought she might be right to.

“Luna?”

“Yes? Whatever you need, Twilight, I--”

“When you see ponies in dreams, is any part of them preserved from life? What happens to those who leave? Do you know? I’ve never really thought about it. I’m a young mare. I think very little of death.”

“Who really does, until it comes for them? I do not know for certain. They pass through the Aether for a time and then I do not know where else they go, but I know they are not annihilated there.”

“What do you think happens?” Twilight asked, snuggling closer, sullen, worn, aching.

Luna sighed. Twilight could not decide if she was calculating or simply worried. Luna’s concern, her presence, kept Twilight feeling as whole as she could. Which was not much.

“Perhaps they are caught up. The song itself takes them in, like a mother scoops up a crying child. I have dreamt sometimes, when I did not patrol or watch, that they are taken in. I think that they pass through the roiling serpentine aether and go beyond it, past entropy, past all darkness ‘till they find themselves in the Song itself, beneath the very world. Beneath all worlds, that inarticulate sunlight which you yourself have tasted, for I feel its light in you. Even I have not tasted it. Perhaps when I die, then I shall. Or sooner, if the Song can love one such as I--but they shall at last get in. There will be no crying there, I would think. Every tear wiped from their eyes, for there is no death past death itself, for even she can only claim you once for herself.” Luna paused, and Twilight realized that she was losing her composure. “Only once, and then forever sunlight and sleeping. Oh, Twilight, I do not know. How can I say such things, even think such words, now? How can you stand me to be here? Why have you called me back? Is it mercy or some awful kindness? Is it only coldest pity?

“It is all a trick, at the very end? A long awaited day that finally comes and then we are nothing? Was I fooled all along? Did I never think… but I never thought. Who looks at a pony or a dragon or a griffon or anything else at all and says--you will die--but I do! I do. I always have, and I did not, and now he is gone and I am vile in your sight and still I am here. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. What comes after death? I do not know!” Her voice was hoarse. Were her cheeks wet? No. They weren’t. Tears can only be shed for so long, that part is true of the cliche. “Stillness. Quiet. Maybe an endless plain, where they feast with the gods along quiet rivers under a swift sunrise. Maybe death is just a void and you are nothing. Perhaps all is suffering and rememberance of follies. I don’t know. Celestia would answer with warm faith and Star Swirl would have given you philosophy and Kyrie or Iridia would have comforted you but I have nothing! I am nothing! Why do you permit me to even touch you? Twilight, do you hate me? I am awful. Even in my grief I still… I still…”

Twilight did a thing which she did not want to do in the slightest, because sometimes the thing most out of place is the thing most neccessary. Twilight kissed Luna midword, and when Luna tried to flee from her, Twilight pulled her back in. It was not the greatest kiss. It wasn’t even a particularly good one. But it lasted, and it silenced the long speech and that was enough. Twilight felt insanely as if they were connected physically, that if she were to pull away, would it not be cold?

“I’ll hate you if you run,” Twilight said solemnly. “I’ll hate you forever if you run. You haven’t yet--I kicked you out, so it doesn’t count. I’m losing people I can say I love, Luna. Please don’t make me lose another. Maybe it’s selfish. It is selfish. It’s assine and awful but I can’t lose anypony else or I won’t make it. I won’t want to make it, and I’ll just go back to Canna and never leave. Stay with me.”

Luna stayed.

Author's Note

I think perhaps that there is no way to write somethings correctly
that any attempt made is doomed to failure and that any excuse is just that, an excuse to cover up ones own smallness in the face of great and awful things.

I'm sorry. Law School will be demanding more of my time, and the Celestia interlude may be out within the next two weeks, but Celestia II will not be here until December 6th at the ABSOLUTE earliest. I have finals, y'all. I'm sorry. I'll do what I can. We have left, definite:

Celestia I: Author
Celestia Interlude: ?
Celestia II: Perfector
Chapter 45
Maybe Chapter 46 probably not
Epilogue

Goodnight.

XLIII. Celestia, Interlude: Lower Still

CELESTIA

Dear Twilight,

Jannah is in the distance. Perhaps the next letter I write you shall be from the heights?

You would have loved Jannah, Twilight. It was a city to put Canterlot’s bustling to shame with ease. The streets hummed with life. I have a thousand memories of Jannah, lit up at night like an ocean of light. Warm, concupiscent, boundless. And now? I take great comfort as I prepare for my own excursion that you shall never have to enter Jannah. Foolish, I know, but I take solace that our works have made a journey here pointless for you. There will be no quest for your friends to aid you with that brings you within the shadow of the hideous strength, for no longer can it go freely along the earth and it is trapped.

Jannah is a tomb. Not a cage, as Luna has said it, but a tomb. Because the Shadow is dead. It is as dead as such a thing can be… except I know that is not true anymore. If it were ever true, it is not longer. Because I felt the Hideous Strength on the Veldt, and that should have been impossible.

Then what? Then our wards have cracked. Frightening, but by no means incurable. I shall simply shore up the weakness. The powers of a dozen alicorns bound the evil of Jannah in place, and I have little doubt that even with the long neglect, enough of the wards remain.

I have regained much of my confidence. Night brought only dreams, no nightmares. I have shielded my dreams from Luna’s touch, however. She will recognize and respect the boundary. I do not trust my mind not to reveal the Hideous Strength’s workings to her, and I would not have her touched by it at all if I can help it. I can do this myself. I think I should do this myself.

I have been thinking about machines. Technology. As I’ve written--and said before, with every shade of feeling from sardonic to awe--it is the dawn of a brave new world. I truly think that when my sister returned, the world shifted. Not because she was back, though my own personal world shifted because of this new fact, but because Luna brought with her fuel for a fire that had been burning low.

You know we have had electricity in our cities for some time now, widespread if not seen as vital. Why should my little ponies think of it as vital? Magic lights homes just as well, and with warmer hues. Electricity runs their manufactories, but magic could do it in a pinch. We have airships, have had them since I gently reintroduced the technology into Equestria a few hundred years after the Schism. Yet for most of Equestrian history they have been nothing more than a mere convenience. Pegasi can fly the mail faster, deliver parcels with more ease and more easily attainable fuel, and the chariots they pull move ponies with more speed and a touch of adventure.

Yet Luna was of another time, and with her she brought knowledge of the time before our Schism, and in her wake, the scholars and the mechanics and the inventors of Equestria began to dream once again of the glories of an age of technology, now merged perhaps with our mature thaumaturgy. Where the Equestria of Luna’s past had fielded slow, ponderous airships, they begin to dream of great birds of steel and fire that might take a pony from Las Pegasus to the Crystal Empire in a matter of hours. They saw the oil lamps they had taken for granted and wondered if oil might have other uses. They dream and dream, and what comes from such dreams? Even I do not know.

They revitalized the sleepy airships of Equestria, and now the slim, light craft carry great weights and move twice as fast. The first black-paved roads appear in the south. They move many things, many wonderful things. The nickleodeons, the tricks of light of the last generation are giving way to genuine moving pictures. More books! Oh, you aren’t the only one excited. For so long, a book was such a precious, rare thing. And now they produce them a few thousand in a day! I insisted on touring the improved presses personally and was delighted.

And yet. And yet, ponies who are not meant to be changeless are even less meant to be on too shaky ground. I dream with my dreaming subjects and fear the fear they will engender in others. Dreams may become nightmares. I know this better than anypony alive, my sister perhaps excepted. From the forges that built new printing presses and projectors may yet be reborn firearms beyond the crude shootsticks that I carefully restricted. The laboratories that shall aid magic in curing disease might also recreate the new ones. I fear the alienation of the pony from his work and from his neighbor, shut up in lonely cells of steel. I dream of the opposite, of stopping in to have tea with a friend in Manehattan and sleeping at home that night in Las Pegasus.

And between my little ponies and the dream that might be? Between is a unseeable interim. What chaos shall come? I hope that the cautious will be cautious all the while, but find joy all the same, but I’m too old to hope too much for that. Science, magic, knowledge--often, our power over the world is really power over each other.

Luna, Cadance, Iridia… and you, Twilight, we shall all be talking much in the coming years, I hope. To dream and work before the promise of our power rots on the branch.

CANTERLOT

Lords Iron, Dawn, Epona, and Blood smiled at each other with a mixture of grimness and glee. There was a curious taste in the air. It was not quite like blood, but it was close enough--everything was coming up Blood and Iron, as it were.

A map had been laid out, and after consultation with his generals, Lord Iron and Lord Blood had presented the situation to their co-conspirators. More accurately, to their pawns. For only Dawn and Epona thought of themselves as equals to the other two. The Good Stallion and the Manichean knew the reality of things.

Lord Blood took a sip of brandy and sighed. “The funeral, then.”

“Yes. It is the most efficient time.” Iron said around his cigar. A bit of celebration, but only a bit. “Strike while her defenses are lowered. She is in mourning, or at least trying her damnedest to appear that way. We will be able to spin it as being for her own good as well as the city’s. The hoi polloi are all, ah, aflutter. The taking of the terrestial tier was rather dramatic.”

“Not as dramatic as we’d hoped,” Blood said sourly.

“Not as dramatic as you’d hoped?” Epona broke in. “Lyrae, Cold Blood, what did you expect? I’m rather pleased with the guard, myself. With the obstructionist herself out of the way, we might have ourselves a fine beginnings of a civic guard.”

Cold Blood stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly. “Oh. Yes, them.” He shrugged. “Regardless, that is not what is important. I am still concerned about the venue you’ve chosen, Iron. Funerals tend to get ponies all emotional. The last thing we need is a breakdown in rationality.”

Dawn tried to worm his way into the counsels. “It could be framed as the drake’s death being abused for political reasons, perhaps.”

“Too difficult, he was in her pockets, as they say,” Iron said without even looking at him. “I’ve no doubt that those present will no doubt see us as monsters. You mistake me as somepony who cares, Lords. The, ah, ‘Good Stallion’ is a pony for the masses, is he not?” He flashed them all a brilliant, easy smile. “Surely disrupting such wasteful proceedings for only one dead, among such loss… I guarantee you that the common resentment will play to our aims.”

“Perhaps. I don’t rightly care either way about them,” Cold Blood said. “And the Manichean is quiet as well, so I am doubly silent. Luna must go, and she must go soon. She’s holding the whole world hostage, keeping that damn sun down. Keeping us confined and restrained. Celestia did the same, but Luna is weaker. Kill the gods and the heavens are free, I say. And so are we,” he added.

“Yes, and with Fillydelphia under the spectre of the Good Stallion, my agents will deliver us another city,” Iron said with a smile. “So let us do it quickly, let us not delay. We, ah, seem to have everything settled all ready.”

Cold Blood despised every pony in this room. Iron was the sort who became too enamored of his own ideas. Epona was a traitor with no spine. Dawn was a worm with hooves. He cared even less, in the end, for their coup. Their revolution. He had called their army together--his army, really--and sent it marching. He had done his master’s bidding while keeping these fools happy at the same time. He had become a tiny, focused point. Everything else in him had withered away, broken down, and then condensed. All that remained was his master’s purpose and a warm and bitter hatred.

The fools talked, bickering or planning what they would do in their make believe empire, whichever. He and Iron locked eyes. Iron, of course, smiled.

Where Cold Blood was a knife, had been shaped and hardened by his consort with his master, Lord Iron had betrayed his name and withered. He lost his spine bit by bit. It would be impossible to pin him to any plan or opinion soon, for he would be utterly without opinion or preference until the moment he pushed you into the canal.

His insistence on the funeral was odd, but the more Cold Blood thought of it, the more it made sense. All of the nobility, high and low, would be gathered for that drake’s procession. The funeral oration would provide an excellent dramatic moment, and really wasn’t it efficient? They wouldn’t have to go and secure the lower houses, they would all be right there. Cold Blood appreciated efficiency. He liked best when one clean blow won the whole game.

LUNA

Luna was a million miles away. Her body sat in a gilded carriage, wreathed in a black mourning dress that would have stunned Rarity, had she been there. When she had put it on, her only thought was that Rarity would like it, and that she was glad Rarity was not here to see it. Twilight was going to tell Rarity and the others.

Her eyes stared ahead, unfocused. It didn’t help that she was exhausted. She was an alicorn, yes, but even alicorns require sleep. She had gotten little rest the night before. She touched her lips softly and thought of Twilight with the scarcest touch, as if the memories were tender wounds, for they were. Luna had spent the entire night with Twilight.

Page Turner was quiet. He sat across from her, watching but not staring in a way that would offend. They had not spoken since Spike’s death. Luna had said very few words in the waking world since then.

Outside, it was raining. It had snowed the day before, and rained the day before that. The air was cold, and to Luna it felt like a slap in the face that continued. Canterlot’s winters were often unpleasant, but never in the years from her return had Canterlot had such a thoroughly miserable time of it. If she looked outside, she would see the the streets filled with melting snow and shining ice, the dirt brought in by fleeing refugees flowing freely through the cracks. She would have seen ponies huddled in doorways, hoods over their heads, watching her slow carriage and the long procession. She would have seen the small crowd that gathered at every crossroads or fountain, or the stragglers with hoods and umbrellas following behind. She would have, had she looked, seen the day guard saluting as it passed on the way to the wall.

She did not see any of these things except as suggestion on the edge of her sight. But she did see her aide, and the inside of the carriage, and the lair of shadow that she inhabited.

The city had grown more quiet. Spike had died and the lower city had been lost three days ago. In that time, the fighting had settled back into stalemate--the gate was the weakest part of the wall, and it was legendary. Ironically, the attacks on the gate itself had managed to damage the only vulnerable part: the gears. The door wouldn’t open now even if Luna wanted it to. With a smaller wall, the combined guard and levies of most of the houses concentrated their forces far more densely. They could lay down withering fire on anything that poked its head out of any door in the upper neighborhoods. In response, the Manichean army had withdrawn to the ruins of the great gate and set up camp. There had not been a raid today at all--Luna wasn’t sure what to think of that. But she had left the defense of Canterlot to General Magnolia today, and if that mare couldn’t keep the walls clean, nopony could.

The funeral was a rather involved affair--a state funeral was by default. The morning wake had been followed by the traditional Canterlot deathfeast, which Page Turner had seen to for her. And now they moved slowly down to the Celestial Square of the middle city with the wide, long casket and the honor guard, and she would see if anypony even showed up to attend the oration. And then the Sparkle’s catacomb, she guessed. She had made sure there was room.

What would she say? It was a good question. Most of the city did not know much about Spike. They knew of Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia’s Most Gifted Student and Element of Harmony. But what did they know of her little assistant? Or for that matter, her friends? Precious little that mattered. They knew Rainbow Dash was fast and that Applejack was strong and that Rarity was beautiful.

Luna found herself missing all of them. Rarity and Twilight she had been closest with, but Fluttershy had been a great comfort during the tumultuous time. She missed Pinkie’s long campaign to steal a laugh out from under the regent of the night. She missed Applejack’s firm honesty, her levelheaded and stoic air. She felt very alone.

And then, strangely, Page Turner spoke. “Have you thought of what you will say?”

She looked up at him, confusion painted across her features. “What?”

“The Oration. It is traditional, Princess.”

“Oh. Oh! Right. Yes, I had thought about it,” Luna said, eyes turning to languidly rest on the quiet unicorn. “I do not look forward to it.”

Page Turner nodded. “It’s not a pleasant duty. I wouldn’t want to do it. But I know you can.”

“Perhaps. Thank you, Turner. For covering my failures.”

“It isn’t a failure to mourn, Princess. But thank you.”

They grew silent again, and outside the city waited. Little by little, the procession grew. The city began to march.

RARITY

She grinned at Rainbow, and Rainbow grinned back. Their delight was wholely devious. There was almost the air of mischief about it.

The patrol of flier that had found the manichean caravan had already been rewarded--Rarity thought she might just thank them in person after seeing the sheer volume of precious material present among the loot.

“We could arm the rest of the levy,” Rarity said. “We might actually stand a chance with this windfall, dear. I can hardly believe it.”

“They’ve even got pegasus barding,” Rainbow Dash replied, digging some out from a pile. “I mean, like, the real thing--not some hackjob. Damn, its even well made.”

“No losses acquiring it all, either,” Rarity said. She could not quite admire the haul--rifles, barding, food and medicine--but she could appreciate it. “Our Legata was of the opinion this might increase the levy’s effective strength threefold.”

Rainbow put the barding back and sighed. “She’s probably right, but you know that’s kind of deceptive.” She chuckled. “Usually I’m the one who is all ‘don’t tell me the odds!’ but, we’re still pretty weak as a fighting force. I’ve got the pegasi we brought with us more or less used to flying in formation. But most of them did military drills in school in Neighvarro or Cloudsdale or something. Most of the groundpounders are really sorta clueless. Battle isn’t like fighting on the street.”

“I know it well,” Rarity said.

She was about to say something else when a messenger poked his head into the tent. “Lady Rarity, Lady Dash, the Legate wishes to see you. She says that it’s urgent.”

Rainbow Dash and Rarity shared a look, and then Rarity nodded. “Go ahead, quickly, and tell her I am on my way.”

The messenger dissappeared. Rarity counted. 3, 2, 1…

“Lady Dash? You have got to be friggin’ kidding me.”

Rarity, despite everything, chortled. “Come, Rainbow, let’s not delay. But it fits you well, you know.”

“It sounds stupid as hell,” Dash grumbled as they left the supply tent.

It was late afternoon. The skies were overcast, but the storm was rather far off. It wouldn’t hit her cobbled together crusade for another day, in all likelihood. But it would be over Canterlot presently, drowning it.

All around her, the army was starting to set up camp. She would have preferred to go on another hour at least, but Opal was cautious--this was enemy territory. As much as she hated to admit it, the Legate of the Ninth was right. Recent days had shown that.

Consultation with Luna and the reports of her own scouts had painted a better picture of the situation, and it had answered some rather old questions. Some of the cities that had lost contact with Canterlot made sense--Twilight’s account of Vanhoover and Tall Tale made the situation there clear. Manehattan was a ghost of itself after the brief but violent Griffon population; there hadn’t been much of an official heirarchy to stay in touch with the Princess. Los Pegasus and the South had been dealing with food shortages, and the bandits had made travel almost impossible. Magic communication was rare, these days, though Rarity thought that after all this that would change.

But Fillydelphia and Baltimare had always been mysterious. So had Cloudsdale, Neighvarro, and the other smaller pegasus enclaves.

Fillydelphia was in the hands of a pony they called the Good Stallion. Nopony had see him in person, or at least, not without a cowl over his face and from a bit of a distance. Yet he was indisputably in control. As he gained influence, the news from Fillyfelphia grew more seldom and the messengers more tightlipped until with a sweeping coup he had taken the city in a night, only three dead. Baltimare was under his control as well.

The legion spies had reported a city that felt like a fever dream. Ponies delivered declamations of a bright new future where none need fear a thing to crowds who watched their backs for who might be there, making sure they attended. Ponies joined the Manichean guard only to vanish, their wages given to their families as promised. Few seemed truly happy, and yet they were safe and dry and decently fed. There was music in the taverns, but the smiles on the performers’ faces were nervous. Foals played in the streets and parks, but they did so with flat eyes, or skittishly, abandoning balls and jump ropes as soon as an adult approached. Strangers were anathema--a pony you didn’t know could easily be a watchpony for the Good Stallion. Every moment was a test.

The army of Fillydelphia held the coast and the railroad leading to Canterlot. They patrolled the edges of the eastern forests, but had left the rougher terrain alone. It was this that Rarity’s army traversed, keeping one step ahead of any combat patrols and thus masking her force’s size and purpose.

It had been a harrowing business, really. They had encountered and fought two Manichean patrols in the process of foraging, and managed to destroy both just barely. A single escaped pony would be a disaster. The only prisoners they had taken had committed suicide almost instantly with cyanide, and the two that hadn’t were like husks instead of ponies. They did not talk, or react much to stimuli at all unless they sensed a chance at freedom, and then they fought until rendered unconscious. Legionary spies had no answers on that. Rumors ran wild. Magic. Psychology. Possession.

Rarity had her own ideas.

They found the command tent and entered.

Opal was there, risen from her cot as best she could, in heated discussion with a smallish mare in a scout’s barding. Rarity marveled how she managed to fill the room with the aura of her personality and command, even diminished and unable to stand or express herself quite as forcibly as she once had. But then she reminded herself that Opal was not, in fact, diminished so much as she was changed. This was still the Legate of the Ninth Legion. Rarity had no doubt she could still lead ponies into the jaws of hell with a lover’s enthusiasm.

Opal shook her head. “We need the celeres in place. It is not optional, Flora.”

“I understand, my Legeta, and you know that I would not refuse any order you gave. I will do this. I only wish you to be aware of the potential for ruin,” replied Flora, her wings not quite flaring. Her little voice seemed strained.

Both stopped and turned to face the new comers. Flora bowed. Opal nodded. “Good, you’re here. We have something to discuss.”

“I would be happy to discuss it,” Rarity replied. “Am I to guess that it has something to do with this conversation?”

“In part.” Opal looked back to Flora. “I understand, Flora. I’m simply not sure that we have another viable choice.”

“Some context?” Rainbow Dash said.

“If I may, Legata,” Flora said. She cleared her throat, and then began. “We have a few problems. The first is that my fliers have discovered a significant encampment of the enemy that we must deal with, lest they be at our flanks. Secondly, we encountered Equestrian partisans engaged with Manichean forces along the intended route and were fired upon, which raises the issue of identifying ourselves to Equestrians. Finally... “ She sighed. “The Legata is looking forward to our attack on the besieging force at the capitol, and she has found numerous hurdles.”

“Not the least of which is our relative lack of artillery,” Opal groused. “I have a few old field guns that were going obsolete when Sombra was alive. From outside the walls? Useless. They won’t be able to lob shells over the walls very well.”

“Ah, over the… what?” Rainbow broke in. “Whoa, what are you talking about?”

“The enemy has taken the lower city,” Flora replied softly. “I confirmed it myself. I’ve only been back to the Legion in the last hour. The lower wall has a massive breach and much of the lower city is destroyed. The Manicheans seem to have set up a camp near the breach with primitive fortifications.”

“Now, we could turn those guns on the breach from the outside, but we’ll be shooting at a force that can move just out of range with ease. If I were them, I would move anything valuable out of that camp into the city and let an attacker waste time on those fortifications while I dig in right outside of the range of those guns. They’ll draw us closer…”

“And then engulf us, no doubt,” Rarity said. “We know they aren’t all in one place. If there is one camp on the way, there may very well be others, and any one of those could be called up if we are delayed long enough.”

“So what, then? I’m not hearing any plans here,” Rainbow said.

“I have yet to make them known to you,” Opal answered with a smile. “You’ll quite like this plan, I believe. The truth of the matter is that we’ll have to risk a full assault of the lower city. We can’t starve them out. I have to assume they have access to abandoned food supplies, and the longer we wait, the more likely they are to break through the second wall and make the whole thing a moot point. No, we need to break them quickly.”

“You want to coordinate, don’t you? But you need a way to do it,” Rarity guessed.

“Yes. Good! But that’s basic enough, and it’s not the most important thing. I can trust them not to be blind. Once we attack, they’ll know to push out from their wall. But even with both of us on the attack, we’ll need more. We can’t afford to fail. Your new levy is fragile, my Lady.”

“They aren’t soldiers in the way your legionaries are, Legate. I know that very well. I am also concerned with morale.”

“And I don’t have the resources for a long, drawn out fight. This victory must be decisive and quick.”

“Okay, okay. We get it. How?” Rainbow asked. Rarity repressed a smile.

Opal smiled. “We don’t start the assault from outside. We start it from inside. I have four long chariots and one small one, all of them made for pegasi and enchanted. I can move three field guns and a small number of ponies into the city, set up my artillery on the wall, and rain down unholy terror on those whoresons until they have nothing left to hide behind, and then we will shove our bayonets down their throats. But I need fast, dependable fliers. Flora’s concern is warranted: even with the enchantments, moving those field guns is going to be difficult. On top of that, I’ll need pegasi to run interference. I lost a lot of my pegasi to the Mitou. And I need my fastest to run the blockade around the defenders and deliver my plan to the Princess.”

“You’re right. I like it a lot.”

Rarity turned. “Rainbow, you can’t be--”

“If you know a pony who is better suited, Rares, than I won’t. I promise.”

Rarity tried to object. Others could do it. The legion had fast fliers. You didn’t get into the Crystal Empire’s legion as a auxiliary flier without speed and stamina. There was almost certainly another pony who might could do it.

“I’ll take your message, and I’ll distract them on the way, if you want. I’m the fastest pony with wings in Equestria.”

Opal raised an eyebrow. “Truly.”

Rarity coughed. “It’s, ah, well… The thing is, Legate, that while Rainbow does like to brag… she’s quite serious. She used to have the documents. I suppose their in Ponyville somewhere, now.”

“I may not be as maneuverable as Spitfire or as long-lasting as Soarin’, but I’m faster than they are in their dreams,” Rainbow Dash said, her chest puffed out. She laughed. “Okay, I’m bein’ a jerk, but I’m serious. I can do a sonic rainbow right over those asshats and be crashing through Luna’s window in no time.”

Opal barked a laugh. “I might say the same myself, ‘twere it not for the world.” She looked at her broken body and grimaced. “I like the spirit.”

“Do try not to crash into any windows, dear,” Rarity said faintly. Her stomach churned and she felt suddenly cold. Rainbow would be all alone… just a single target, with nothing else to shoot at. It would take her time to build up speed…

“Then it is yours, if Lady Rarity agrees,” Opal said, looking to her.

Rarity knew it was probably some sort of test, but she didn’t care. “I agree.”

LUNA

The casket was huge. It was expenisve, carved with precision and the utmost care by a small team of magic artisans, protected from the elements and time itself by strong thaumic seals. It was sturdy, to endure earthquake and disaster. It was cold to the touch, and lifeless to the eye’s kenning. It was, essentially, everything a warm and living body was not.

Luna was not ignorant of the crowd around her. She had not been ignorant of its beginnings, as the ponies on the street had fallen in line behind her carriage. Even in the freezing rain, they had followed, a great herd of umbrellas. How many? Hundreds, at least. A few thousand. Now, in the Solar Square, she saw a veritable ocean of ponykind. Just above the sight of Spike’s casket she might see high nobility standing beside the flat-faced craftspony. Silk-wrapped merchant’s wives tried not to get to close to refugees with wide, blank stares. Guards and levies, a few pious Celestialist and Supernalist clergy who had no quarrel now, only waiting to give the final blessing, thieves and victims, all of them shivering and waiting and watching. All of them watching her.

The rain continued, though not as furiously as it had before. The city was soaked and miserable, and perhaps that was fitting. For herself, Luna was safe underneath a waterproof tarp, atop a small stage that Turner had set the Solar Guard to building that morning. She was flanked on either side by Solars with ornate spears and stony faces, and below, a mixed guard waited on Spike. A few Lunar guards were sprinkled on the edge of the crowd, none of them looking very alert. She had not wasted valuable fighting force. But she had assigned Solars from Morningvale. They deserved to see their savior to his last.

She looked briefly over the assembled faces and saw a few she knew. Soarin’, with Spitfire holding an umbrella in her mouth over his head as he tried to compose himself. She saw Applejack’s family, quiet and waiting, Apple Bloom looking slightly below the casket and slightly above her own hooves. The High Lords. The new Lord Rowan-Oak, still with a shell-shocked look on his face. Twilight’s parents, standing close to one another. Solemn Ice Storm and a sad Amaranth, the mare he saved in Morningvale. Levies who seemed uncomfortable.

Luna found her voice. With solemn slowness, she enchanted it so that she might carry her words to the edges of the crowd.

“I wish to thank you all,” she began, “as both your Princess, and as simply another pony. Thank you for coming here, in this dying tempest, to say goodbye to my friend.

“I have thought long and hard how best to talk about Spike of Ponyville. Where does the duty of a eulogist lie? To the one who has left, or the one who remains? Is she meant to enshrine the dead or edify the living? I do not know, really. But they are not mutually exclusive in the person of Spike, for in talking of one I talk of the other--Spike was caught up in the good of the many.

“He was my friend and confidant, but more than this he was a Companion, the first of a long dead order. He was a drake in a land of ponies, raised by Twilight Sparkle. You know some of his life. But how much is hidden from you? Did you know that he worried over how widely he smiled, for he did not wish to worry you? Did you see him on the day after Twilight left on her great search? Had you heard him joke? How much do any of us think of another until they are burned off the mortal coil?

“Spike died before our walls. As the lower city burned, as the barbarians advanced, Spike was there. He held the gate against their assaults for hours. He harassed their every step with fire and rifle and sword. Tirelessly, he kept raiders and marauders from our subjects. His body was a shield to the weak and the infirm. When the levies of the houses were absent, when the guard was beaten back or bogged down, Spike moved freely and the number that live now because of him is impossible to estimate.”

Luna’s eyes caught many things: the tears of Twilight Velvet, the whispering Amaranth, the slowly moving levies of House Iron. The pony in a white cloak.

“I received Spike into my service when Twilight, his caretaker in childhood, left for the West. Though Spike was no longer a child, he was still young by the measures of his kind, and so Twilight was still the one who held authority over him. Yet, in leaving, she both… entrusted him to me and freed him. He was on his own, but he was not alone. He fought by the side of friends. Some of those who fought with him are here, guards of my sister’s legion, who were at Morningvale--here is Spike, here is the dragon who flew out of the sun, the one who drove back the raider and the manticore.

“My little ponies, my dear subjects: we are besieged. I need not tell you this. You know it well! The barbarous invader waits just outside of the wall, in the ruins of homes and businesses, skulking in our streets and defiling our sacred places. You may say to yourselves that we are surrounded, and you would be right. But do not think that this is a conquered city. For Spike died not on accident, not by chance, but by an act of will. When he found the gate about to be overrun and its gears sabatoged, Spike stood in the gap. A single individual, a solitary and determined individual! My sister told me once that great heart will not be denied.”

A few pegasi landed on rooftops. She saw the guns they barely tried to hide beneath cloaks. The dragoons of the house levy are in place, and she knows it--the plan falls right in front of her fully formed, as if born out of the ground awake and speaking. Luna saw the levies radiating tension as they move through the crowd towards her own light honor guard, towards nobles, towards the richer sorts. Some fanned out, ready to prod or restrain the unwashed and desperate.

Luna’s heart was in her throat. It was the orator’s knot, the one she feels when the words are out, or they are about to be out, dancing on her tongue, and she is not sure what they mean or if they will reach their intended.

“Great heart will not be denied!” She said again. “And I did not believe her then, but I believe her now! I think my sister knew the truth. I think you also know the truth, ponies of Canterlot! One has stood for you and fallen, and what cause brings you to mourn for him? You mourn for yourselves, and so you should! For I tell you the truth, even now you are dead! You are dry bones! You are nothing that could be hoped in!”

They disarmed and incapacitated two guards at the back of the crowd silently. The gunners began to scan the crowd. Several look at her. Amaranth, shrouded below, has noticed already and her eyes burn into Luna’s. What would you have me do? Luna would have her dance in their blood.

“Do nothing,” she mouths. She pulls her mouth into a sneer, and with a sweeping gesture she hides the signal she sends to her devoted--but they all see the hoof raised towards the sky. Do not resist. More accurately, Wait and I will do what I must.

“Where are my little ponies? Where are the Equestrians my sister loved? I tell you they are gone! They have all died, and in their places only ghosts! Insects. Do you know what seperates a pony from ash? From insect? From the dust from which he made his living?”

The crowd seemed shocked. They looked to each other--they ignored the traitors all around them, as Luna had hoped they might. She did not need them panicking. She would have no one hurt here.

“You have hidden and cursed the day and the darkness evenly. Yet Spike went from the wall and wrestled with the darkness. You have turned upon one another, but Spike wished only that the ponies of Canterlot would be as one. You have whimpered and prepared yourself to do violence against your neighbor, but Spike regretted when even the vile fell by his hand! Where is your heart? If great heart is not denied, then your utter lack is shut out!

“Even now, the claws of despair are in you, digging through your minds and hearts. Even now, confusion and panic gnaw on your souls. They do this because you allow them! Twilight Sparkle once told me that ponies make their own meanings. I did not understand, but now I do--I saw then as if through a fogged mirror, but now I see it face to face! I have created myself. You must create yourselves. You must find this truth, this one and singular truth for which you also might live or die as Spike both lived and died: you must find yourselves.”

One by one, silently, her guards gave up their liberty and arms to the usurpers. The trap was sprung.

Luna stood outside the trap, because it was not for her. It had been made to catch and alicorn, but it would catch something else.

The crowd grumbled now, it was restless. Some began to notice that something was dreadfully wrong. Others knew exactly what was happening, and knew that in all likelihood, they were already too enthralled in the trap to be extricated. Still others slowly tried to slip away. Most of them found that stone-faced House Blood and Iron levies waited for them at the edge of the crowd.

“Do not conform to the pattern of the world around you! Do not bend to entropy, going quiet and awful into the long darkness of the final night!” Traitors made it to Amaranth, and she allowed them to rather forcefully subdue her. Ice Storm tried to fight. It caused quite a stir. She knew he had been warned, but no stallion lets men work harm to one he cares for passively and likes it.

“Do not simply bear your toil and your sin and your sorrow! Do not simply go silent when the world most desperately needs your song! Ponies, Griffons, Zebra--all races and tribes and creeds, do not sleep now, at the most dire and important hour! Do not betray each other. No,” She shook her head. Levies moved from the crowd. She shook her head and said this to the crowd as much as to the guards of the casket. “No! Do not betray yourselves! The song gave you minds and hearts! The song that spun me out spun you also, and gave you yourselves! You are a gift that is given to itself! Do not throw it away. This is the last test, the last cold plunge! Friends,” and as she said this, Luna reached for her veil and tore it away. She tore the crown from her head and it hit the stage. The crowd--the traitors--the guards--everypony flinched and a general gasp went up. “Lower still! I will not let you do this to yourselves! For my sister’s sake, for Spike’s sake. For Spike died that you might live! He died not that you might wait to die! Traitors, come, approach me! I have seen you coming a long way off. Ponies,” and at last, her voice began to break. “The hour of your salvation is near at hoof. You have grumbled of me and I have not known how best to lead you, but do not go into the dark just yet. Put off these works of darkness. The night is spent.”

“That’s quite enough!”

Lord Iron emerged from the crowd. He grinned in a lazy sort of way. “Well said, well said! You truly have a gift, princess.”

He was unarmed. She counted fifty in the square at least. He would have some in plain clothes. There. Maybe? The dragoons, the pegasi who now openly brandished their slim carbines. Repeaters, faster and lighter than her army’s battle rifle. They would pick off ponies with ease.

“Sharp Iron,” Luna said. “You flatter me. You have a gift for everything vile. I salute you in light of that.”

He chuckled. “You may say what you like. You’ve been outflanked, Your Highness. Outmaneuvered! Ah, surrounded, one might even say.”

“And you have words for me, I believe,” Luna said. “Say them. Do be quick about it.”

She saw the levies move onto the stage to truly surround her.

And within her, Luna felt something like ice. They would do this here and now, as Spike lay mouldering in his grave.

“Princess Luna, regent of Canterlot and Equestria--were it still standing!--by order of the newly constituted Noble’s Emergency Council, I am hereby removing you from your office and declaring the Principality dissolved. You will stand down. You are charged with corruption, graft, dabbling in unlawful arcane subjects, conspiracy to murder, conspiracy to commit arson, and treason. You have refused the thrice offered surrender conditions--each better than the last!--of the Fillydelphia Liberation Army which you yourself brought here by the threat of violence against them. Submit! You will do no more harm to this city!”

What a farce. What a tired, tried play. Luna felt every single moment of her long years all at once.

“No one believes you,” she said flatly. “Because you do not believe yourself. Which one are you? Or do you know them? The ponies behind the white cloaks and the hiding. The Manichean and his Good Stallion, the sharp point and the guileful haze. Ah, but I see it.” Luna sighed. “You. You are the second, the Good Stallion. Is it true? If it is not, then it is of no consequence. It won’t matter.”

The smile froze.

“Hm.” Luna turned to one of the approaching traitors. She advanced and the stallion froze in place. Her eyes bored into his. “Well? Strike me down. Come and do what it is that you came to do.”

He stepped back. Her eyes kept him from outright fleeing as she continued, ignoring the confused Iron below.

“Well? Do you think I fear your hoofblades, child? Tell me, how old do you think I am?”

“I… I d-don’t--stay back! Hey!”

She was right in front of him, staring down at him. “I am thousands of years old. I have slain thousands. I have led armies. I have crushed more armies than Equestria has ever fought. I bore my dear friend’s body to its rest and then I told all his family in the world that he was gone and that I could not stop it, and I bore her anger and her hurt. Tell me, child, look into my eyes, and see that you could not threaten me with cannons. So, after my friend has died, you came to me with weapons to take me by force. At his funeral.”

“Your H-- Luna! No more titles. You bitch, you will answer these charges!” Iron yelped like a dog and Luna ignored him.

“Tell me, do you think of me as simply a tall pony? I’m flattered. If only. I am a mass of loss and reflexes. I have lost ten thousand friends and lovers and mentors. My body is a soft machine of war and death.”

The traitor sank down, his body shaking. Luna knew that her natural magic was beginning to show. She didn’t stop it at all.

The trap was closing, after all.

“I WENT TO THE PONY I LOVED MOST OF ALL THE LIVING, TO THE ONE I LOVED DEARLY--”

“Rifles, attention! Luna, if you will not submit, I will fire on the cr--”

“AND DELIVERED TO HER THE NEWS OF HER SON, HER BROTHER, HER FRIEND’S DEATH--”

“Oh, stars, please spare me I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die--”

She gripped his barding and held him up. He started to sob.

“AND YOU POINT YOUR GUNS ON MY PONIES AND AT MYSELF, AFTER THAT? AFTER EVERYTHING? AFTER MILLENIA, YOU THINK YOU CAN FRIGHTEN ME INTO SURRENDER? YOU MAY KILL ME, FOR I NO LONGER THINK I CARE, BUT DO NOT THINK THAT MEANS YOU COULD SCARE ME.”

And with that, she took the traitor levy in her magic, deposited him on the stage, and with a fluid motion she grabbed the roaring Lord Blood and brought him to her. His eyes were wide. Only now did he remember the fatal problem of killing an alicorn.

Oh, its very possible. But you’ll have to be either fast or good, and Lord Blood was neither.

“I do not fear you in the slightest. I fear liars the least of all,” Luna said, and she dropped him. She looked to the crowd and the confused and frightened levies. “Lay down your arms! I will harm nopony who does not force my hand. You will be spared.”

Perhaps they assumed that she had guards waiting in hiding. Perhaps they had realized their error. Perhaps they were simply terrified of the Luna before them, her natural glory radiating from her almost blindingly.

What did Luna look like in those moments? Nopony later would describe it. They only grew silent when the question was pressed. And they would weep when again she showed her true glory.

But where Iron was, Blood followed. Luna knew he would be there--lo, he arrived on time, from behind her. Another followed at a distance, looking panicked, trying to keep him back. Blueblood, Luna remembered faintly. She met him and they stared each other down.

“This is over,” Luna said.

“So it is. Not what I expected.” He grimaced. “How indecent. All of this is just unacceptable. Great heart will not be denied--you and I understand the truth of that, I think.”

“What?” Luna’s aura dimmed with surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“You were right, by the way. He’s the Good Stallion. I was the Manichean. Foolish names. You’ve touched it already--I feel it on you. The coiling one, the shadow that is darker than night, the great promise! You’ve touched it, I smell it on you. Death itself.” Coldblood, old as he was, seemed to blaze with new energy.

“Father, please! This has gone on too far.” Blueblood pleaded from behind his father, trying to pull him away. “Your Highness, please! Spare my father! I should have prevented this farce! I--”

“Off of me, you miserable boy!” Coldblood roared. He called up his magic and pushed with such strength that Blueblood fell off the back of the stage with a loud cry. Coldblood turned back towards Luna. “You too know what it is like to just continue! Damn you! Damn you, you should be helping it! You should be its weapon! Don’t you know what it is like to hate? Don’t you want it to end? It speaks to me in dreams--”

“You’re mad,” Luna said softly.

“No, I am aware and awake!” Coldblood said, his body shaking. “I want out! I want this awful play to end! Your pet is dead and you think you’re sad? You think you’re hurt? You’ll live forever! You can start again!”

Luna wanted to kill him.

And, as if the universe had heard her, the old stallion lost his words. “Then I will do it myself! Destroy me, then, if you will not destroy anything else! I will not bow like that fat bastard!” With his magic, Coldblood seized the lance of the casket honor guard.

Luna was reminded at last of a thing she had almost forgotten. Even rage is lawful. Fury has its place. She realized now that this was its place as the pieces finally fell into their allotted positions on the game board. The rebels. The raiders. The nobles. Separate problems with seperate answers. Except they were all the same problem.

The spear levitated, and Luna took it from him without a single ounce of effort.

“Do it!” he said.

“Go to hell,” Luna replied, soft as a feather.

The spear went all the way through. He was like a bug sprawling on a pin.

But outside, the army still waited and watched.

CELESTIA

Twilight,

I feel more and more that I write with something approaching desperation.

We must diminish. Luna, Cadance, Iridia… myself… Oh, Song’s breath, there are so few of us left. We must diminish. Lower still.

They do not need figureheads. They need friends. Don’t you understand? I’ll show everyone. Our ponies need us to be their friends. It’s so childish. It is so very simple.

Lower still. Lower still.

Twilight,

I have said many times that Great Heart Will Not Be Denied.

I am trying to hold onto those words now, for I write you within the confines of Jannah. I will not--I cannot express to you what that means. Oh, Song, oh the love that holds all things together I pray so fervently and unceasingly for you, that you never come to this place, that nothing I fear comes to pass.

I must go up. Further up and Further in. I must go see Kyrie, and then perhaps, onwards. But not, this time, up. Downwards. Down into the well at the end of the world, if Kyrie’s offers no way to get in. I think that I will try to hide the truth from her. No, I can’t. She will know. But she will destroy whatever she learns… I do not know. My mind is not reliable here.

Twilight Sparkle, please, live well. Luna, I love you and I am sorry. I am so sorry. Please, take care. Take care, take care, take care.

Twilight,

I couldn’t. I have to go on.

It hurt so badly, Twilight. I want to go home, but it is far too late now. Nopony will ever forgive me for what I do. It is all my fault.

Or it was alway going to happen. Answers. I don’t have any answers. I only have

I only have questions Twilight Its hard to see and it is dark

Tomorrow the wetlands than the edge and then the garden and the seas of mountains

So tired. Weary but not yet time to sleep

Author's Note

I will be studying for my law finals 9 to 5 all of thanksgiving break so

It will slow down writing

so will finals

As always, thank you. Good luck. Good night. Godspeed.

XLIV. Celestia II: Perfector

CELESTIA

I am weary beyond words. My last written record was barely legible scrawl. But a stay in Canna has fortified me. Not removed my fears or the source of my boneweariness, no, but it has definitely left me feeling physically better.

Canna is really rather lovely. It was simply a curiosity when the world was young; for there was no shadow of turning, and so it was redundant. A place that felt calming and safe, in a world that new only its own eager beginning? But the time when such a place would be sorely needed would come. Alas, Canna swiftly becomes the only oasis in a world that darkens.

Jannah was unpleasant. I will write no more of it here, for I do not wish to think on that tainted place. The well is as I remember it. The tableland itself is how I remember it—but High Jannah is not as it once was, even so. For it is frozen and unchanged, not alive. But Kyrie was there, and we spoke at length. I left a message behind, just in case.

More and more, I fear that I am walking into a trap. If so, then I do not see much alternative. I have come too far and wasted too much time. Complacency or wishful thinking or both have not accounted for the Hideous Strength. I feel it stronger and stronger, screaming and babbling right beneath the faint trailing whispered song, even fainter than that echo. But it grows, doesn’t it? Here in Canna it is silent, but it will soon worm its way even into this sanctuary.

I must stop it. I must seal the Hideous Strength.

When Jannah fell, Kyrie gave her life—in more ways than one—to trap the great destroyer. She traded all that she loved and held dear, a whole city, to mend the wound that pride and seething discontent had torn in the side of Creation. What shall be asked of me? If my sister’s sufferings at her birth were a single dimension, than Kyrie’s encounter was in two, and mine? Mine shall be in three, I fear. I cannot fathom what the cost may be, yet even as I write that I have suspicions as to what this road will lead me to.

So why write? To clear my thoughts? To exhaust them? Yes. But also because I must plan ahead. If my fears are warranted, and I cannot turn back… then these missives will be my only testament to those that follow. For if I do not return, others must follow. I dare not risk sending for aid—for work must be done. Another will only increase the Hideous Strength’s catch, and we shall both be harmed with nothing new gained. But this vice, I think, will only close once. In Jannah, I strengthened the seal as best I could, and found that even still It is only able to stretch out the thinnest tendril of its strength. And yet I feel it! How can I feel the Shadow so heavily here when it cannot come through another way?

When my sister was born, the Shadow—the Hideous Strength, the Screaming Void, the Destroyer—It came into this world as it did all others. Luna was touched by it at her weakest, at her very conception, but she did not bring it forth. For I think more and more that it was always in the fabric of things, a necessary part of Existence. The world is alive, in its own way. The shadow thrived off of the Great Sin of Jannah, and we thought it was simply a matter of opening doors.

But what if it was not? What if the door could be eased open—or perhaps, another image!—what if it could be kept barely open whilst another opened a window? The burning jealousy of the mages woke it, but could not anything similar, going on and on? It eased into their minds. Could it not do the same? One at a time, to corrupt the world of ponies. To whisper in their darkest moments. To slip into their dreams and twist them into nightmares. And like that, I see it. The plan is laid out as if on a chessboard.

It did not corrupt so much as it tempted. The mages of Jannah were not abominations or puppets but simply evil ponies who did a vile thing in service of their own dark lusts. But when it truly reached forth and touched them, they became conduits for the Hideous Strength. One by one, their natural jealousies turned into a drive… that drive turned into obsession… obsession into audacity… audacity into hubris. Hubris into final folly and from there to…

By the stars above, what if it has played the longest game of all?

TWILIGHT

Twilight had already told them.

How could anyone describe the journey adequately? The city they left behind nameless, and they saw other ruins along the paved road. Some Twilight recognized dimly by their architecture, most she found only alien and meaningless. But she had no speculation. She had little curiosity. Twilight in fact said almost nothing. There were no comments on the growing mountains in the distance, like an ocean of knives. There was no conversation about the journey, or about Kyrie’s past. Pinkie sang no walking song and there was little in the way of wind.

Her lips were sealed but her eyes were not. Her mind still moved quickly, and she thought this a curse. For she saw how her companions feared for her. Their helpless vigil on the road only weighed on her already heavy heart. Silently, they took turns walking beside her, watching her, supporting her as they could. When they stopped the evening after, they gave her food and gently encouraged her to eat. She did eat, mechanically, staring into the flickering flame. Not paper this time. Tall, once swaying grass. There was more grass here. Applejack and Tradewinds had gathered enough to make a small mound, and when that had smoked too much, Pinkie had produced some of the paper she had saved. It was pretty, she had admitted sheepishly, and Applejack had given her a small, sad smile. Twilight used her magic to get the fire going, but it was a pathetic sort of thing.

Vaguely, she thought to herself that they were at the very least not in danger of starvation. There was grass forever in all directions. She had enough of herself intact to feel a little disgusted at the thought—ponies ate flowers, yes, but grass was base fare. Unless it was August grass. That kind was at least less flavorless. But it took a lot to keep a pony strong, and on the whole not very efficient.

Applejack grimaced at something in her pack.

“You know, we used to eat grass as a staple,” she said to nopony in particular. Everypony stopped and looked up at her. Twilight felt a vague sense of embarrassment, but it was just that: vague and powerless. She continued. “Ancient ponies were better suited for it. But we’ve always been magic, and as we learned how to make better foods, that magic changed our bodies over thousands of years.”

“Wonder if it tasted any better then,” Pinkie said. She spoke carefully. Twilight noticed. She had the decency to feel sorrow. But mostly she felt tired and numb.

“Probably,” Twilight said with little enthusiasm. “Or, more likely, we didn’t care because it was all we had really ever eaten. If you have no idea of cake, and all you have is stale crackers, it doesn’t occur to you that stale crackers are unpleasant because you have only stale crackers to form a concept of taste with.” She cleared her throat. “How are we on rations?”

“Decent,” Applejack grunted. A pause, and Twilight almost timed the sigh perfectly. “Alright, so they ain’t that decent. We’ve got some hardtack and a few apples which we probably need to get to eatin’ pretty soon, like tomorrow. Some roasted barley. That’ll be a nice treat, I suspect, but we don’t have much when you account for everypony here.”

Adding an extra companion had put some strain on their resources. Kyrie looked crestfallen, and Twilight wished that she had anything to say that would lift the frail alicorn’s spirits. But she didn’t, really. The Twilight of three days ago? She might have. Almost certainly would have.

“Aw, don’t look so glum!” Pinkie said, and Twilight was grateful for her. Her pinkest and most ebullient friend nudged Kyrie and grinned her characteristic grin.

“I am sorry that I have burdened you, my friends,” Kyrie said quietly.

Tradewinds shrugged. “Nyet. Is nothing. We survive.” She spat off to the side. “To have companions is valuable.”

“Right as rain there, Trades. We’ll be fine, sugarcube. Twilight’s talk of grass has got me thinking, and we can probably stretch our rations out with it on the way. It’ll taste pretty awful, but when you live off the land, you take what you can get. Your company more than makes up for the trouble.”

And Applejack offered her a warm, reassuring smile, and Kyrie smiled back.

Twilight watched all of this and in her heart she began to tremble.

Who was the Apostate? Twilight was. The Twilight who had thrown this away, the warmth of the fire and friendship, the comraderie of her fellow living beings. The cold calculations she had made had saved so few. The hard edge she had acquired had done nothing. She was no steel-eyed bringer of death, nor a solemn judge. She was no gunslinger or duelist. The Apostate feared those she did not know and used or ignored those who did.

The Element of Magic. She had not thought about it in some time. What was it? A manifestation. But of what? Now that, really, was the question, wasn’t it?

Who are you, Twilight Sparkle? Whose friends are so far away? Twilight did not know anymore. Once she could have answered with the utmost confidence. She was Celestia’s pupil. She was a librarian. She was a unicorn gifted in magic. She was the Element of Magic. She was a friend.

What was she now? She had offered no words of comfort, and the moment was past. But still, even when her friend—her sorrowful, worried friend—was right in front of her, Twilight could give no comfort. She could not extend shelter and say to anypony to come in from the rain.

She was in mourning. But was that enough? Was it enough to mourn, and then shirk her fellows?

Twilight wandered in the darkness alone. In the distance she saw nothing. No sea of mountains, no ruins, no highway to the edges of all maps. She saw only the inky black, only nothing. She stared into the void. It stared back.

Her hooves carried her she knew not how far. Her aching legs made it seem like a vast distance but in truth she was probably still within earshot of her sleeping companions.

Ponies have sharp hearing. Often, griffons or the other races of Earth often misjudged the alertness of these colorful, smiling folk. For a pony has thousands of years of reflexes honed to run at the slightest hint of lethal danger, and in the right mood, her magic naturally aided her. A pony whose magic had sprung up within them could hear a twig snap at two hundred meters with the wind blowing and through chatter.

So it was that Twilight knew somepony had followed her. She did not turn to suggest they return; she had not the energy to speak. Or, rather, she did not have the heart to do so. Speaking to anypony seemed an unbearable proposition. So instead, she walked on and on and on through the tall grass. A light breeze made it sway, and her brushed her sides even as the soft sighing song of the swaying touched her ears like a caress.

Twilight stumbled, but caught herself. Suppressing a frustrated growl, she stopped and lit a small wisp of light and sent it before her to light the way, revealing the slightly broken ground ahead. On an afterthought, she made another and sent it behind her. Her tagalong would also be in the dark. Twilight had no wish to encourage any of her companions to follow her, but she would also not have them injuring themselves doing so, even if only minorly.

Eventually, Twilight came to a large stone jutting out from the great plain. She stopped before it and considered it.

Darkness, especially of the kind that night brings, does strange things to the eyes and the mind alike. In the formless void, we think we see things that are not there, and do not see the things that are right in front of us. We see the face of a stranger and think, perhaps, it is a friend, and hail them accordingly. Above all, the night is given over to fancy and the ephemeral even as it suffocates movement and sight. Paradox was the name of the game. It was much like Luna, really, Twilight thought as she gazed at the stone. The night and the monolith alike were similar to the Princess who sat on the Onyx throne in High Canterlot. The night was soft and threatening--Luna was a lover and a warrior both. She was like a fawn, shying away. Yet also like a saber in a griffon marauder’s clawed hands. Like the stone, she stood alone and without another and yet like the stone she was unbowed by the wind and perhaps the rain, if it came, and untouched by its proximity to the edge of the map. Ascertainable, but only with difficulty, with effort. Like treasure, buried in a field. Like a pearl, sought from the ocean depths.

Twilight sat before the stone. It seemed as good a place to stop wandering as any other place did. With nowhere to go and no clue how to get there, any port in a storm was fine. The companion who tailed her did not approach yet.

Seeing what I’ll do, Twilight thought, but did not care overmuch. She had no plans to do anything. She simply wanted to be away, with no place in particular pulling her. Why go west? Why go after Celestia, who left? What could she do in the end, to stop the tide or put the world back together? Twilight felt unsure that she had ever known Celestia. In a small, dark corner of her heart, she was not sure that she knew anyone at all, including herself.

“Kind of eerie, isn’t it?” Pinkie asked from the darkness behind her.

“In a way,” Twilight answered, her voice low.

“All alone out here, and with it so dark… I think it’s pretty eerie. But it’s not so bad, I guess. It kind of made me think of when we were in the Everfree. Wow, that seems like forever ago!”

“You have not changed a bit since.”

“Silly, I’ve changed lots.” Pinkie stepped into the light. Twilight summoned another wisp and she moved to sit against the stone, looking out at the plains.

“Funny you should say that,” Twilight said. “I was just thinking about that. Not changing so much as having less data to measure the change in the first place.”

“Lost me there, smartypants.”

Pinkie smiled. Pinkie’s smiling was, perhaps, one of the greatest mysteries of Twilight’s life. “How do you smile, Pinkie?” she asked, impulse taking her. “How do you do it? Even after everything. After all of the darkness and the madness and the evil and now Spike and how? How can anypony--anything at all!--ever smile?”

“Does it bother you?” Pinkie asked. Her smile shrunk to a lopsided and sad sort of thing, but it would not quit the field.

“Yes,” Twilight said, feeling honest. “Yes, it does. I am not sure why. Maybe it’s a lot of reasons all mixed together. I am not exactly in a good position to be examining my own emotional state, Pinkie.” She paused. “Or, really, anypony’s emotional state, if we’re going to be honest.”

“Why?”

“Because it is so out of proportion with reality. Bad things happen, sad things happen, and you just… you smile about it! It made so much more sense to me in the Everfree, when we were trying to find the Elements… it made sense! But it is one thing to smile and laugh at your fears when they were foolish all along. That’s easy. But we’ve seen too much to smile anymore, Pinkie. Or we should have! It seems wrong. It seems terrible, or callous. Like a lie!”

“Why is it a lie?”

“You can’t do the Socart’s method on me, Pinkie.”

“Never heard of ‘em!”

“He’s… it doesn’t matter. You’ll just ‘why’ me into a corner. It is useful to help one think through problems, but it doesn’t give any answers.”

“Well, would you like me to try and answer?”

“Yes.”

Pinkie strode further into Twilight’s little cone of light and touched the stone with something like reverence. “Maud would love this thing,” she said softly. “She’s crazy ‘bout rocks.”

“I forgot you had sisters,” Twilight said, ashamed.

“It’s alright. I know I don’t talk about them much. I didn’t like the rock farm, even if I loved my family. Besides, I’ve always tried to live in the here and now.”

Twilight looked away. That was an easy, tired answer. The “here” and the “now” were subject to sudden and awful change. They were in constant flux, and anything built on them was a house on sinking sand.

“I’m thinking about what to say,” Pinkie continued, quietly. “I know what Maud would do, but I’m not Maudie. I know what Limestone would do--she’d be all fired up. Applejack might be all serious and folksy and all apple-wise but I’m not really her, even though I grew up on a farm too. Rarity would tell you about having a stiff upper lip or something really neat and refined but also sort of cool. Fluttershy would just hug you and say nice things. What do Pinkies do?”

“You’ve done about half of that before.”

“Yes, but you’re kinda-sorta right about one thing: this isn’t like when I laughed at the ghosties in Everfree. That? That was kinda scary but I could tell right away that it was a lame joke.”

“Pinkie sense?” Twilight asked with a cracked smile.

“Nah. I didn’t need any Pinkie sense for that one, really. I’m a prankster--the prankster, whatever Dashie thinks. I can tell a con a mile off! Uh, usually. Kinda. Anyway.”

Twilight, despite herself, let her smile die slowly. It felt… well, there was really no avoiding it. It felt nice.

“I think memories are important. This rock reminds me of things, you know. It reminds me of my sisters and parents and the old rock farm. It’s a quarry, it's not really a farm, but we called it a farm so whatever. But I think that a few good memories is the best education a pony can get, O Sparkly One. I think there are few things as good or beautiful or… or wholesome, there a big word! Wholesome as a fragment of a memory that was really, really just good, and not just in a super fun way but... “ Pinkie paused. Twilight watched her face now, listening closely. Watching closely. Pinkie’s face twisted into something so alien that Twilight was almost shocked out of her silence.

Pinkie continued on, like Achilles Hoof, Twilight might have thought if all thoughts weren’t pressed from her by the strength in Pinkie’s voice.

“A single good memory, espeically of childhood, can keep a pony from doing the worst things, Twilight. I don’t mean stealing or being mean. Because a few of those, and he can’t look at ponies crying and laugh anymore, because he’ll know deep down that once, even if only just once, he was good and kind and happy. He loved others and they loved him too. I hope that I make lots of good memories like that for ponies because so often they’re all we have.

“When I’m scared, I think of Granny Pie. When I’m sad, I think about you and all the girls. When I don’t want to get up in the morning because everything is so awful, or because I can’t… I don’t think I can handle it, I think about the time we first used the Elements, and I think to myself… ‘Pinkie, you were good and honest then!’ and I know that when something happens once, it can happen again.

“I think sometimes about how there are ponies in the world that don’t… that don’t care if others exist or not, but I know I can never, ever be that way. I can’t just wander off. Because I know, somewhere in me, that those ponies exist and that they are the same as me, but different, each one a different smile and I love their smiles. Smiles, memories... “ Pinkie sniffled. “My parents are probably dead, Twilight. Maudie was in Canterlot to study and our parents told her to stay, that everything would be fine. I don’t know what happened to my other sisters. I haven’t had any word, and there was never enough of a… a window to go down and check. Other little villages survived, didn’t they? The farms around ours might have, too! But… But I don’t think so. I hope so. I have faith in my parents and the whole big dumb silly world, but I really don’t think they’re alive anymore.”

“Pinkie…”

“Twilight, I don’t know if it matters if we go find Princess Celestia or not. I never did, you know. Finding her won’t bring my parents back, or Limestone or Marble if they… if they… you can’t bring them back. Celestia isn’t like that, she can’t do that. But I know that we have to try to find her anyway. It’s important. She can do something, can’t she? If she can’t get rid of all the bad ponies, then she can rebuild everything. And if she can’t rebuild everything, then she can try, and if she can’t try, then none of that matters because she’s a pony, just like you… and me… and my sisters, and…”

“Pinkie, we don’t even know if she’ll be there, wherever the orb is leading us. Or if she’ll even be alive. If that shadow,” she said, and shuddered. “If that thing could make Jannah like it was, then it could have destroyed her. This all could be futile.”

“Well, we won’t ever know until we get there, will we? But Twilight, I don’t need to know that. I just need to know that you’ll go. Because whenever I don’t think we’re gonna make it, or whenever I’m really scared, more than I was in the Everfree, I think about how we all came together, and we were brave and honest and we were really good in a capital G kind of way, you know? And I think that faith is the only thing we have, that we’ll be that again, that one day… that maybe today will be the day, or tomorrow, or maybe never but we have to try. Because Celestia was right to let you stay with us. I think about how you had faith in Celestia, but you had faith in us. In… in ponies, and how they could be together and…”

“Pinkie, I’ll go. I promise.”

Pinkie embraced her. “Twilight, I believe in you. I should have been telling you that all along. I thought you knew… we all believe in you. We always have, even when you were different. We always will. That’s…” she sniffled and squeezed Twilight tighter, as if she wanted to pull her from the night itself. “That’s what it means. You don’t… you don’t stop believing in something like friendship or love because somepony hurt you or left or died. You believe despite that because…”

“Because it’s important,” Twilight supplied softly. “It’s very important.”

CELESTIA

This is my final letter.

To whomever follows after me: I am not well. I am sick and sick at heart. I may be walking into a trap. Doing what I am about to do may doom this world, or it may yet save it. I have lived long and done many things. I have been to this place before a sea of mountains, before the Walls of Dawn and Dusk, which hide the seas of eternity from mortal eyes that would burn at the sight. I heard the primordial Song from which all good things spring, and I stared down the greatest of all evils in Jannah. I saw the dark empire of Sombra and I sealed Discord himself in stone. I have overthrown godkings and raised nations. I have slain dragons, ponies, griffons, zebras, wraiths, demons of a dozen stripes. I have done so many things.

But I am afraid, despite all of this. Because what I saw from a distance I shall now see face to face, and no martial skill will save me where I am going.

I do not know who will read this letter. I hope that somepony does, for the Shadow, that Hideous Strength, has me in its vice. I cannot go back, not without buying it valuable time. I cannot send word for that would open myself to its enhanced power. I can only go myself to it. I go and I pray that my sister or some other comes after I have vanished from this world and together we might do what can be done, if anything at all can be done.

Who will that be? Luna? I hope so. Iridia? Perhaps. Kyrie? I long for my sister’s freedom, but she is her own jailor. Twilight? Oh, that is foolish. But if it is Twilight, if all has gone horribly, horribly wrong, then I want to say something to you:

Twilight, I love you dearly. You are beautiful, brave, kind, wise beyond your limited years, and always learning. You have done so much and you will do so much more. You learn from your mistakes as well as you can, and I am so, so proud of you. If my failures have brought you here than nothing I say will ever erase the burden of my debt to you. I know that no matter what doubt or darkness assails you that in the end you will overcome it. I know that you will hold your friends close and that you will love your fellow ponies with all of the love that I tried to instill in you for them, in my own ways. Before you enter, I want you to know that no matter what, I am always proud of you. You were my most precious student. You have been my friend. If you cross this boundary, you shall be without reservation my equal. Truly, you shall have bested me, for I came here by force, by power beyond yours. But you? You shall come here by your great heart alone, and that is the greatest of all things. May your faith never waiver.

To Luna, if you come: Sister, I wronged you. But I have always loved you, from the moment you burst forth weeping from the water. No, even before that, when I knew you would come to me. I failed you, and though you have forgiven me, I have failed again to give you a family in so many ways. Please know that I love you and have always wished for your happiness, even as I failed to secure it. Nothing was your fault this time, little moon. It was I who was foolish, manipulated without knowing I was being pulled upon.

To Kyrie: You saved all of Creation and have paid the price. Your name will be blessed by every particle that remains of our ruined universe if we fail.

Iridia: Sister, pride separated us. Your daughter has become a wonderful mare, and if you survive, you must go to her. She loves you. I love you, even as I did upon the tableland.

Stars, Song, aid me. Take this from me! But you cannot. I’m sorry for everything. Please, come soon. Do not tarry, but count the cost of entering. It is almost accomplished.

TWILIGHT

There was nothing to say in a place like this. Before them, on the other side of the last bridge, was the end of the world. The rolling hills and plains had given way to mountains. No, no that wasn’t right. The mountains didn’t rise, they jutted. They tore up from deeper place like trees, or like…

Twilight had no words. It simply defied words. The mountains were impossibly high. They continued on past the clouds that lazed by, and kept going. She couldn’t see the ends of them, the peaks obscured by the limit of her mortal vision. They were the apotheosis of all mountains, the first mountains, she was sure of it. Sharp as knives, ready to pierce the heavens and make divinity scream.

Her eyes wandered down them like timid climbers, and came to rest on the wall.

Applejack, at her side, doffed her hat and gaped.
Twilight took a step forward, then another. Her legs began to move of their own accord, as if it were not Twilight that took these steps, but the gate ahead that had hooks in her legs, working them. She could hear Applejack and the other behind her, but they might as well have been miles away. This was it. This was the end. The Well was ahead.

Her long quest, through Sarnath and Ulthar and Jannah was over. Luna had sent her West to find her sister, and now…

Twilight stood before the gate into the enclosure, her friends forgotten. She could hear them yelling, but she cared not.
There are things that no pony could hope to endure for very long: the cold of deepest winter, the despair of darkest night, and the call of things beyond her ken in every way. The whisper in her ear, Come and look, come inside and see! Everything will make sense when you do. Everything that you've ever wanted to know is just beyond.

“Let me in,” she whispered, and then bit her lip. Her breathing was harsh in her own ears, the loudest sound. Her eyes raced over the ageless wooden door, looking for a handle or a lock. How long had it been here? Since forever? Since the beginning? She didn’t know.

She found an iron lock, and despaired.

The iron resisted her magic. She took it in her hooves, holding it up. She stared futilely inside of it.

“Twilight! Twilight, come back!”

“I made it!” Twilight cried, laughing. “I made it! I made it and no one can ever stop me! I’m coming, Celestia! I’m coming and we can go back! It's all going to make sense!”

“Twilight! Aw, dammit, Pinkie, help me grab her. This place ain’t good at all. It’s all a trap.” Applejack, doubting Applejack, who turned away from every uncertain thing! Applejack who understood nothing! Applejack who could never understand her and the circles of knowledge and lore that Twilight walked!

Twilight felt hooves begin to pull her away from the door and she lost it. She flailed, hooves striking something soft. She heard Pinkie cry out.

“Twilight, stop it! Stop it right now, you hear me? Gods, Pinkie?” Applejack growled. “Pinkie? Aw, Luna… Ya hurt her, Twi!”

Twilight stared holes in the door. “Celestia. The Garden. The dreams.”

“This place… it ain’t right. We ain’t supposed to be here. It ain’t meant for—”

Twilight began to scream. She had walked for months, over two continents. She had watched ponies die and killed them and cried and walked thousands and thousands of steps. She might never see Ponyville again. All she had was Luna’s quest to find her sister. She had that, and she had the whisperings in her dreams. Her suspicions about was and what could be, with force or time.

“—Twi! Twi, please, stop it. Oh, Luna, this place…”

“Aw, hell, go! Go, I jus’ wanna go home. We ain’t supposed to be here! I’m a pony, not a god!”

Twilight passed through the opening and into the orchard. The journey was complete.

The door shut behind her and then she woke up.

Twilight awoke in a cold sweat. She did not sit up or shout--these things are rare even with the worst dreams. She only lay staring at the early morning light, up into a cloudless purple sky, with ice in her stomach and worry snaking through her heart.

She said nothing of her dream to her companions. They moved on.

Kyrie said that she knew where the golden path that Twilight’s artifact showed them led, but she would not say where. Usually, Twilight would have insisted, but even as her horrible numbness receded slightly, none of her eagerness for knowledge returned. She had a feeling she would know for herself soon enough.

At any rate, ahead of them the mountains grew and grew. Twilight thought at times they did so far too quickly. Unnaturally, even, as if her every step were truly a hundred such steps. But Kyrie said that time and distance were soft here, that things were not as they seemed. The world tapers at the end, she would say, and then grow even more quiet, if that were possible.

They all were quiet. As they had since Twilight had passed the news of Spike’s death to them, her companions continued their quiet unspoken vigil around her, but she felt their presences more now and took comfort in their closeness. But they never talked. There really wasn’t anything left to say, was there? They had said it all, or almost said it all.

They stopped when it grew dark. Twilight felt impatient, but also weary, and so she made no complaints. The mountains were huge, now. She was beginning to think that they might go up into the sky forever, and that the jagged points she could only barely make out may not be the tops at all, but simply the mountains beyond, an impossible sea of mountains… but that was weariness talking. Nothing was infinite.

The next day, they came to the foothills.

Oddly, despite the difficulty in traversing this new terrain, it was comforting to be off the long highway and the strange ruins. They were not ominous so much as they were sad, like all broken things are. And the change in pace did her heart well, she realized, for she had less energy to dwell on her circumstances. On Spike.

She cried around midday, she knew not for how long. They stopped and let her do so. Pinkie hugged and Applejack stroked her mane. Tradewinds stood beside her, looking confused and uncomfortable and worried. Kyrie stood further away, concerned and unsure from a distance. Applejack whispered soothing things to her, telling her that they were almost there, that she would rest soon. That they would see all their friends again. It would be alright. Everything was going to be alright. Twilight wanted to believe her. She tried to believe her.

Exhaustion is a funny thing. One loses track of time and space when exhausted. Twilight was experiencing this in the foothills as they grew more and more rugged. They all were, really. Kyrie perhaps suffered the most, physically, for her body was frail from her long exile. Tradewinds never faltered, at least not where the others could see. It was she who found berries on a wild bush nestled between the crags and the unexpected windfall brightened the mood considerably. Even Twilight smiled, and Pinkie seemed to enjoy that fact more than any food.

More and more, Twilight had reason to doubt that she would survive until the end. A pony could only walk so far. Ahead, the mountains were always… growing.

Twilight stood and for the first time in a long time, she felt naked wonder.

Before them was a bridge. It had not been there when she and her companions had laid down for the night, but when they had risen with the sun, they had found the hills cut off and yielded to a great plain and a raging river deep in a fathomless chasm. A great bridge of steel bridged this gap, and it was worn as if by a thousand years of neglect. It was filled with rivets and cables, built by means beyond her knowledge, paved like the highway. And on the other side… Twilight could not tell. It was so far away, but the fields beyond looked red.

“This is it,” Kyrie told her as she sat down in shock. “Today is the day, Twilight Sparkle.”

“What happened? This doesn’t make any sense.”

Kyrie shared with her a mirthless smile. “Here, Twilight, one must not hold too tightly to what should and must be--the world tapers at the ends. Once we cross this bridge--the Last Bridge--than we shall be in… well, we shall be there. And beyond is what you seek. The Garden, atop a hill, in fields of roses. There is but one path. We will walk it with you, but only you should go up to the top.”

Twilight felt… no, this was not wonder or amazement. This was fear. Raw, animal fear. Her ears pinned themselves back to her head. “I’m suddenly… apprehensive.”

“As you should be. Reality is harsh to the hooves of shadows,” Kyrie said with a grim face.

“Mighty impressive,” Applejack said from closer to the bridge. “No idea on Gaia’s green earth where the dern thing’s come from, but I’ll take it. Everything here is weird, ain’t it?”

“Yup!” Pinkie chirped from beside her.

Tradewinds, behind Twilight, was muttering to herself in the north tongue. Twilight turned to her.

“Unnatural things,” Tradewinds said, her eyes wide and fearful.

Twilight nodded, but Kyrie turned. “Not so. Say not that this is unnatural--there is more to reality than what you have seen or know. There are things yet that would astound the philosophies of Equestria or the West, things the Griffons and Zebras do not know. Come, you will not be harmed. It is not safe, but it is not evil.”

With these words, she took a deep breath and strode forth. Twilight and Tradewinds shared a glance. Glad that I’m not alone feeling like this, Twilight thought, and then the two friends followed her together, side by side.

On the bridge, the little band found themselves feeling lighter, bolder, even more frightened and yet at the same time unafraid. They talked more than they had in a long time. Twilight even chuckled a few times, and Pinkie was in top form, singing along the cracked pavement on the Last Bridge. Applejack and Tradewinds traded stories of their homelands, trying to impress each other with stories of their feats of strength. Applebucking and flight training, rodeos and shooting drills, races and, well, races. With laughter, they found themselves at loggerheads and asked Kyrie to judge. Twilight said little, but she smiled all the same, feeling surrounded by friends who drew her into their conversations and jokes, giving little invitations. They all said the same thing--We love you, I love you, you are my friend.

It was as Kyrie had said. The bridge ended and they found a dirt path surrounded as far as the eye could see on either side by roses. And now the mountains were huge and very close, seemingly jutting from the ground as if they were trees and had sprouted overnight. And before them, a tiny island in the center of the red sea, was a hill of verdant green.

Twilight felt more afraid of that hill than she had of anything in her life.

What was she going to do? What would she say? If Celestia were… were dead, what would they do? Where would they go? Go back? She couldn’t go back.

Except she could, and she knew she could. She would go back. Because she loved those she left behind, and never returning was what the Apostate would do. Twilight would go back.

More terrible was the thought that Celestia would be waiting there for her. That she might finally have the answers to her repeated questions--why? Over and over again. The idea of a long sought answer is beyond intoxicating. It is also, after a long enough time, enough to make the heart stop in absolute terror. To know. To finally get in. They stopped at the head of the path, and Twilight felt her heart in her throat. She turned to face them all, her friends.

Applejack, loyal and strong, brave and true. Pinkie, joyous and enduring, the light in dark places. Tradewinds, courageous in every fire and storm, who would move the worlds to save her friends. Kyrie, who had suffered enough. And she realized, as she had always known, that she loved them all.

She choked, and tried to stave off the tears, but they came anyway. She felt like she was going away forever. It was irrational, where would she go? She wasn’t dying. But she felt like she was. She felt like she would never see any of them ever again, and she couldn’t bear it.

“Twi?” Applejack’s voice was low. So kind. So dependable. It made Twilight cry harder.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m okay. I’m okay okay okay… I’m… I’m going to be fine,” she lied. She sat down.

“What’s wrong?” Tradewinds asked, wings flared, ready to fight or die or rescue in any cause.

“Twilight Sparkle?” Kyrie, who would not lose her too, not yet.

Pinkie was there, touching her shoulder. “Twilight? Hey, what is it?”

“I… I want to say something,” she choked out, struggling. She took a deep breath, then another. another. “Just… I want to say something before we go and see what’s there.”

She pulled out the orb from her saddlebag, the one Luna had given her what felt like years ago, and she pointed it towards the hill. It glowed golden. The path glowed golden as well. She swallowed, and put the orb away.

“This is it,” she said. “This… this is… I don’t where this is.”

“It is the Garden,” Kyrie said shortly.

“Yeah, you said,” Twilight choked on a laugh. “Girls, we’ve… we’ve come so far. Together. We’ve been together. I never would have made it here without you, all of you. You’ve been here for me over and over again, and you’ve never… none of you ever abandoned me. Rarity and Rainbow and Fluttershy went on a crazy journey of their own just because they believed me. You came all this way… went through that awful city and saw all that we saw, because you believed in me… and I don’t know how… I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

Applejack doffed her hat and, inexplicably, put it on Twilight’s head. It was a bit askew, her horn keeping it from being as secure as it sat on Applejack’s head. They both laughed as best they could through tears, for Applejack had joined her. “You don’t got a thing to apologize or thank me for, Twi. You’re my friend, you’re practically my sister, and I love ya. We all do, don’t we girls?”

“Always!” Pinkie said, and hugged her.

“I am yours until they consign me to the snow,” Tradewinds said solemnly, her eyes watering, but no tears falling.

“It has been an honor to have met and known you, Twilight,” Kyrie said quietly.

“I feel like I’m going away. Do I have to go up alone, Kyrie?”

“Yes. I think you must. Only one could enter this place at a time, at least when I knew it last. I… I do not know why, only that it was so,” she said.

Twilight nodded hesitantly. “I’m coming back,” she said, without much force. “But I just… I wanted to thank you, and say that I love all of you, and that no matter what, I wanted to remember this moment before I go up there and find whatever it is I find. Because more than anything, I’ve had you all the way, and it’s… it’s been enough for me, whether Celestia…” she coughed, and shuddered. “Whether alive or dead, whatever I find, it’s been enough. You were enough. Applejack. Pinkie. Tradewinds. Even you, Kyrie. I’m coming back, and when I do… when I do, we’re going to take you to see Canterlot and Ponyville, and Sweet Apple Acres and my library, when their tidied up a bit.”

“Right, ‘tidied up’,” Applejack said, trying to laugh and failing through a sob.

“Will you all wait for me?” Twilight asked, feeling like a child. “When I go up? I don’t want to. But I need to, for me and for everypony. I’m so very tired.” Her heart was full of sorrow to the point of death, but she did not say this, for she felt so very warm. There are moments when one feels, fleetingly, that it might not be the worst thing to simply die, that there are good and beautiful things that can defeat even death, the last enemy. This moment was one of those moments, one of those things.

“Always,” Applejack said, firm as the earth.

“I guess, but don’t be too long! It’ll be so boooooring,” Pinkie said and tried to keep her smile strong, and Twilight saw her struggle and knew now that it was a struggle. A good one.

“I would go with you into Garden. Are you sure, nachal’nik?” she said with an attempt at a smirk, despite the joke falling flat. “It… it means… boss. Please do not go alone,” she pleaded.

Twilight wanted to never go up. “I can’t. If that’s how it works…”

“I will wait for you, then. I will stand watch forever if that is what it takes,” Tradewinds said.

“It won’t take forever,” Applejack said.

“You will return, I think,” Kyrie said with a smile.

And with that, they turned to the hilll and made their final walk.

Every step felt as if another weight had been laid on her back. The siege of Canterlot, the Crystal Empire. The Mad God and his followers. The dead in Vanhoover harbor. The burned corpses of Manehattan. The lost and the frightened, the ill and the blind, the loved and the unloved, the quick and the dead.

All at once, as she neared the last hill before the End of the World, Twilight realized what everything meant. All of her journeying, her fighting, her crying, her… everything she had done, it wall leading up to this.

Does any single thing that walks or crawls on earth, or that flies above it truly know what it is to bear the whole world’s weight upon mortal shoulders? Twilight had saved the world, in her way, but never had she had the time to dwell. It had always been the heat of struggle, the thrill of victory or escape or the warmth of companionship but this was…

“May you live a thousand years,” she said. Why did she feel like she was about to die? What was on that hill? What was this Garden?

The path led up the hill. At the base, there was a small wooden door with no wall. It was a simple affair that would have been well at home in Ponyville. It was, in short, a bit impossible. She blinked.

“What’s… what’s this?” she asked Kyrie. “Why a door? Why no fence or wall beside it? It’s… it’s kind of pointless, isn’t it? Why does it… oh, stars. I knew it looked like one from Ponyville but I know this gate. It’s… it’s the… it’s my library door.” Twilight Sparkle thought she had been afraid before, but now she was terrified. What did it mean? She looked down and realized that her legs were shaking.

“I see no such door,” the alicorn said quietly. “I see two columns along the way, like the ones that housed the shrine of the Well in Jannah.”

“It’s the door to Sugarcube Corner,” Pinkie said. “I think it’s… lost. Why is it here?”

“My… my farm. It’s the front gate at Sweet Apple Acres,” Applejack insisted, breathless.

“It has welcome mat in front of home in Petrahoof,” Tradewinds said quietly.

“The world’s edge--or the edge for you, Twilight--is…” Kyrie struggled to find words, but Twilight had an idea.

“Soft.” She took a deep breath. “It doesn’t work the same way. If the rest of the world, the middle, is hard and solid, then here things are misty and soft and pliable. It makes sense in a sort of fairy tale kind of way, doesn’t it?” She laughed, but there was no mirth. There was, perhaps, just the tiniest touch of madness in it.

“Twilight, I don’t feel like…” Applejack couldn’t finish.

“I have to go,” Twilight said. “This is it. This is where we were headed all along. This is the Last Door, just like this is the Last Hill and the bridge was the Last Bridge. Fitting, isn’t it?” She cleared her throat. “I’ll be back. I swear it.” She stepped towards the door, then turned and looked back at their faces, stricken and worried. “I’ll come back. Wait for me, would you? Pray, if you want. Think of me always, if you can. I’ll… I’ll be back. Please don’t come in after me. Kyrie, it’s dangerous if more than one comes, right?”

“Yes,” Kyrie said, hesitantly. “I believe so. That is… those were the rules of this place.”

“Make sure you stay here, all of you. Please. Don’t come in. Wait for me. Trust me,” she added, with a rather lame attempt at a smirk. “Since when does Twilight Sparkle fail?”

“I’m assumin’ you don’t want a list or nothin’,” Applejack said and swallowed. She didn’t smile.

“Probably not, no,” Twilight admitted.

She turned, and swallowed. The door--that damnable door!--beckoned. She stepped forward and opened it.

And beyond was just the path up, where it turned into dirt steps dug into the hill. She mounted them, and looked back and saw her friends watching her, but none of them came.Good. Be safe, please, she thought and then turned back.

There were flowers, she noted for perhaps the first time. On either side of her, simple flowers. Wild flowers. A rose bush. It seemed not to be all that planned.

The higher she got, the more dense the plantlife became, but it never got in her way. Twilight saw every sort of flower in its own place, but no obvious beds. Garden, yes, but nothing made by ponies. She found herself wondering if this place had been made with Earth pony magic, but when she examined the fast beating heart in her breast and the oppressive air, the feeling of something very present, she decided that was impossible. No ponies could have made this place. They wouldn’t have been able to bear it.

Twilight saw everything. Every beautiful flower, every bush, every blade of grass. She saw them and felt that every other flower she had seen in her life was only a shadow and that these were the truth. Her hooves, though shod with horseshoes, felt unprotected. Even through the dull and hard hoof wall she felt. This was impossible, and yet every step became more and more like agony. The air itself felt heavy, like a thing to be carried. This was not exaggeration or emotion. The air was actually weighing on her. She feared suddenly that if she were touch one of the flowers, or if some petal or falling leaf were to touch her it might crush her. She was a shadow in a land of full, physical, real things.

“What is this place?” she whispered to herself, and her voice sounded thin and weak, as if she had said it from far away. She tried again. “Hello? Hello?” But even raising her voice barely worked.

More steps. Her breathing had grown more labored than before. The Garden grew denser and yet more lovely than before. Further up. Further in. She looked back once more, and saw her friends far, far behind her. Had she climbed that far? Reality was soft. She shook her head.

And suddenly there were no steps. She crossed over into paradise. This was wild growth without chaos, measured but not by mortal hooves or pony magic. This was harmony made real. Before her she found amaranth, and magnolia beyond it, and still beyond she thought she saw apple trees and… everything was so bright, as if the sun itself were different. Twilight took a step…

And heard paper rustling so loudly in her ear that she jumped. Only now did she realize how silent everything had been. All but her was still, not like the stillness of Jannah. The stillness of Jannah was a cruel joke, a pale imitation, a hateful mockery of this place.

Twilight looked down, and saw a an envelope. Her heart stopped. On the front it said, in Celestia’s beautiful hoofwriting: To The One Who Comes After. And trembling she bent down to make sure her eyes did not lie, and found a page beneath it, and that both were on top of a notebook.

The page said only: Take these to the pool in the middle of the Garden. Read the letter. The other letters are in the book. Good luck.

Twilight did not say anything or do anything or even think anything for what seemed like years. She simply stared. And then one by one, she collected these most holy relics, all touched by the lost Celestia, and she held them before her as through paradise she made her solitary way.

Author's Note

My first exam is tomorrow and its going to be hella long and I feel sick thinking about it but here I am, for a bit.

Writing this felt... surreal. Unreal. Terrifying.

Twilight and I often mirror each other.

"Whither shall I go from thy spirit?" Even if I make my bed in Law School there you are, so say we all.

Reality is Harsh to the Feet of Shadows. From the Great Divorce, a book an Irishman once wrote about a bus stop literally on the streets of Hell.

with wandering steps and slow through eden took their solitary way

Surrounded in an ocean of roses the spoke of the worlds

XLV. Twilight I: The Only Moment You Were Alone

XLV. The Night is Passing

TWILIGHT

“Take a deep breath,” she said. She tried to do so, but it was difficult.

Twilight Sparkle was gazing over a small lake surrounded by lush vegetation, a garden from which all other gardens sprung at the beginning of the world. Her thoughts were a muddled mess. Everything was, really. The air pressed down on her and the grass chafed. She was just a shadow here. This was Real.

“Just… breathe,” she murmured.

When Twilight was about fourteen, her old foalsitter had taught her how to do simple breathing exercises. The trick is to stop thinking. Just for a moment.

“I can’t stop thinking!” Twilight had complained.

“Heh, maybe. You might not.”

Twilight had frowned a mighty frown, the type only a pony just entering adolescnec could muster. Her tail waved imperiously on the ground behind her. “You don’t just not think, Cadance. Even when you’re not thinking, you’re always thinking.”

Cadance hummed. She was patient. Perhaps this was part of growing up in the hostile winters of Henosia--you learned to watch and wait. Perhaps it was simply her nature. “Ah, but you can. You aren’t thinking about breathing, are you?”

“Well, now I am.”

“Yes, but you weren’t before. It is like that. You either focus on those small things and only those, and you crowd out everything else, or you focus on nothing… you find something beyond you, a point on the wall or something like that. And you breathe. Watch…”

In. Out. In. Out. Twilight went through the motions. She counted each breath and held it for the required duration. She blew out a tiny compact stream of air, imagining that she could mountain air of Canterlot, back again with Cadance on the balcony that adjoined the young princess’ rooms.

But it was not cold here. If anything, Twilight was beginning to feel that it was a bit too warm. The Garden seemed stuck between Summer and Spring, unsure of which it wanted more, unable to make a final decision as to what it needed. Sweat rolled down from her brow. She brushed it from her eyes as best she could, still breathing. Still stalling.

The lake, the pool, the fountain--it was whatever you wanted to call it, did it matter now?--just… waited.

“You’ll have to go in, Twilight Sparkle,” she said aloud.

Not if you want to come back, she said back. To herself. Because that made sense.

“Celestia is in there, and she is your mission,” Twilight said firmly. Her inner voice didn’t even have to respond. She grimaced. “Celestia is in there, and she is your friend,” she said, trying again. “And she’s Luna’s sister, and you…”

Like her.

It was an odd place to wrestle with oneself, wasn’t it? Or maybe it was the best place. Many of the world’s most secret and deadly conversations had occurred in gardens. They were, she realized, the true battlefields of the world, always full of eyes and ears, the playgrounds of assassins and the jousting fields of young love. Gardens. Gardens! Of course. There was a Garden at the edge of the world, of course there was.

She was trying to avoid the issue.

Any of the issues, in fact. I have to face this. I have to… before I see her, I have to…

Admit to herself that she was a mare rather messily divided.

Ponies, as well as any other creature, are capable of lying. Some do it better than others, but all can and do lie. And who better to lie to then themselves? Who better to practice on? Forget a thing, ignore a thing, and suddenly, it is no longer. Magic, right? Not at all, and Twilight knew it.

Her journey had not begun that night with Luna, had it? It had begun on the ridge overlooking Ponyville. What had she thought of? Celestia, of course, always of Celestia. How does one forget the sun? But it was more than that. Even before Celestia had gone into the West and vanished, Twilight had revolved around her. Worshipped the ground she walked, praised her every act, memorized her every word fervently. But in this way wasn’t she simply like many, many other admirers? Hardly. A Celestialist clutching an emblem of the sun and moon, whispering; a Supernalist consulting the stars, considering the position and the planning of the sun and moon alike--but did they know what it was like to have tea with Celestia? Twilight did.

It occurred to her that the piece of Celestia’s…. whatever it was perhaps still rode within her. Twilight knew no way to check. Did it know her thoughts? If so, it would know all of them, and what it would find… perhaps it was best that Twilight couldn’t communicate.

What did Twilight Sparkle, late of Ponyville, late of Canterlot, perhaps now of Nowhere--what did this Twilight Sparkle have to say? For the old Twilight Sparkle was another mare in another world. What did she say of Celestia? What could she? What could she say of anypony, if she were truly honest with herself? Twilight, this Twilight, hardly knew herself some days.

Who do you love? Who loves you? Are all ties wholesome because they are enjoyed?

How do you greet a long lost friend? Lover? Parent? What if they left? What if the reasons for their leaving were sound? What if they were not?

Twilight laid her head in the grass and groaned.

When had Twilight begun to understand herself? Perhaps not until this very moment. Maybe she still didn’t understand herself. Perhaps, she thought darkly, without Celestia riding her spirit down into the water she would never have thought this way at all. But it was true, really, wasn’t it? Celestia was her mentor and teacher, but not her mentor and teacher. She was not Twilight’s mother, but Twilight thought the word and Celestia and Twilight Velvet sat side by side smiling at her. She thought “beautiful” and Celestia was there, not Luna, not some half-remembered image of her mother from childhood. Celestia, raising the sun in Glory.

Around her, the Garden seemed darker, as if a shadow had fallen upon it.

Twilight, in a flight of fancy, thought she saw something stir in the water. She looked out over it. Her head throbbed, and when she pulled on her magic to examine the water it was like thrusting sharp glass into her eyes and nose. She suppressed a scream and fell back, squeezing her eyes shut. The pain travelled along her horn like arcing lightning, moving through her body towards the ground. She was like a conduit for it, open and ready to be--

Twilight opened her eyes, and saw a figure upon the surface of the water.

It was all black suggestion and vague form, but as it neared, the shadow became more solid, more comprehensible. It hurt less and less to look upon it. And soon, it had a face.

“C-Celestia.” Twilight Sparkle tried to breath but it was difficult.

“Perhaps,” said Celestia, stopping a few meters away, her hooves touching the water without disturbing it.

“P-per… perhaps? What’s happening? Where did this… oh, f-fu--” Twilight felt nauseous. Her body shook. “What is this?” she asked again, and before she could wait for a response, she lost the papers somewhere in the grass and curled into a ball.

“I am only a reflection,” said the image of the sun triumphant. “And you have tarried, hoping you would one day be better.” Twilight stared at her incredulously as the Not-Celestia continued. “You are under a great assault, Twilight.”

“I… gathered.”

“You hadn’t gathered a thing. Only suffered. Suffering is not understanding, Twilight. You have been under direct attack since you entered this place. In fact, the Hideous Strength first began to push against you directly when you left Canna. Every feeling of foreboding, every urge to turn back, every single dark hour were all you, but they were you carried by another. It had thought to send you away. It saw quickly you would not be turned away by fear and it could find no lie to keep you, so it has tried to crush you instead, taking its eyes off of the Sun ever so briefly. I have been awakened in you. You must dive.”

“I… Oh, stars, please… it hurts…” She was crawling, or trying to. What had begun as the mother of all migraines had become something else entirely. Her skin felt like it was peeling back. Her insides felt like they were melting and shredding. Tears ran down her face. “What is…”

The Image closed her eyes and thrust her wings out in a wide arc. All around her, the darkness that had deepened was pushed back and the air shimmered. Twilight felt as if somepony’s hoof had been on her throat and had been pulled off only now. She gasped and lay there, amazed.

“What was that?” Twilight asked. “What in Tartarus was that? I just started…”

“Dying,” the Image said, it’s voice strained. “You were dying. I have only a moment. Please, dive. It will not come for you for some… some time… make your peace quickly and… the other shore… g--”

The Image vanished, but took with it the darkness and the heaviness. The world was as it had been. Twilight breathed in the absence. In. Out. In. Out. The pain and the horror did not return. She waited another minute, recovering, as the pain’s memory faded.

And now, more than ever, she wanted to go back.

But that could only last for a little while, anyway. She had to go in.

Twilight set the notes aside. She set everything aside neatly in the grass a few meters from the pool, and it became a sort of ritual. Step by step, it all had, the longest preparations in the history of the world. The earlier darkness did not return.

She stepped into the pool hesitantly. It was cold. Very cold. Twilight shivered, and then chuckled weakly at herself. “Don’t want to walk in.” She froze, still half-laughing. Everything told her to go back--this was dangerous--don’t go--

Twilight took a deep breath and jumped as far as she could and found the water infinite.

ETERNITY’S FAR SHORE

Twilight Velvet mother mine you sit before a being of light and heat talking idly of books and children do you not see the glory that would burn the eyes out of she who had eyes to see

the ground cold my face cold but not cold my hooves gone but not gone taken from me but not moved colors bright and unfocused the picture sharp but

Velvet did you know did you know that your baby girl would one day rule the nations did you know Celestia is asking her mouth opens the dawn is come the works of darkness must flee she is asking

did you know that your little spark would come this far to find me did you know, Velvet did you know that your foal would see the end of all flesh and the ragged frayed edges of the world did you

know that she will see eternity and she is seeing it now her mind is far behind her body her heart leads from the front her body is sluggish and the flesh is weak

The moon rising over my thoughts Luna though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death your rod staff comfort me thou preparest a table in the presence of my enemies my brother is your footstool Celestia most fair who is like you among the daughters--

Imagine, if you will, a flat plane. Colorless, for simplicity’s sake. If it helps, imagine it shrouded in mist that permeates the plane and almost gives it something like visibility. Imagine also Twilight Sparkle, alone in that desolation. For it must be desolate by the standards of the mortal mind, musn’t it? There is nothing but the plane and the fog. Now add to that picture. Colors beyond imagining--and do try to imagine them. Painted on top of each other, haphazard and without form or purpose or structure, endlessly arrayed in all directions, but they are background and the plane is reality.

That picture is a false picture. It falls apart.

Try again--Twilight is trying again. A new picture. A long hallway that stretches out far past what the eye can see, and Twilight slumped against a wall by her own door, purple and emblazoned with her cutie mark, waiting to wake and try each door, one by one, perhaps forever, endlessly. Another kaleidoscope of color--above her the stars in patterns they have never been in, moving when she doesn’t look and she never looks so they play and tangle themselves wildly.

No, too long. She will wander and wander and find no relief. It will not work.

Try again--Twilight is being dragged along by an impatient and worried hand. Try again, Twilight, please. Try again. Look and form meaning.

A terrace--many terraces--a mountain face. the sun hanging in the sky--far too close, red with age, an angry crimson. Everything is bathed in the red glow. Push the sun back a bit. Close the curtains--no, there, it’s better--the glow is diminished, now it is as if the scene is only dawn and not the end of the world.

What is this place? This hollowed--hallowed--bastion? You create it with your heart, not your mind, Twilight. That is why it is not smashed to pieces when your brain tries to grasp what it sees and feels. The heart can feel what the mind cannot, and the mind’s cold calculus looks into the yawning eternities and loses itself. Here, a castle in the waning (growing?) light, and here--towers resplendent but ancient, and here and there a valley and a vast city of emptiness. Canterlot in some far off eon when the world is old. Maybe. Maybe not. A palace and a balcony and tables and chairs. The smell of tea and the warmth of the cup. The early morning air. Yes, feel and be moved--construct. Time is short. For you have called down deep heaven on your head, and not in wrath, and it unmakes you--you’ll build or die, please build.

She found you, lost in Eternity, without reason or knowledge. Without hope or comprehension. Drowning and yet vividly alive. She let her gaze fall away only for as long as it took to see what it was that the Shadow looked for and she found a familiar light shining in an overlooked corner on some distant shore where ponies dwell--strange, silly creatures, little whimsies brought to life--and both She and It turned their gaze from one another long enough to work their works. Another duel--she urged the spark into wakefulness and the Shadow sought to snuff out the life that bore it. But She would not let it kill, and it withdrew its hand and once again they dueled.

A large balcony, then. A screen to change behind--how old! How strange, I’ve never hidden from you in such a way. Weapons racks, a mat and a lowered area, my sister’s work if ever I saw it. A harp. It is beautiful, Twilight, but you’re stalling. Even when you aren’t awake you--

And then you prove me wrong. You have prepared a table for me in the presence of my enemy, and now here I am, sitting at it. Your mother sits apart from me. I open my mouth to speak, and find that I do not say what I intended to say.

“Did you know, Twilight Velvet, that your daughter would do great things?” She smiled.

Yes, I remember this conversation. You were either…. seven or eight. New to my tutelage, very new. Your mother was still nervous around me. She grew out of that. I enjoyed taking tea with your mother. She was a gifted writer and a conversationalist with few equals.

“I… I suppose I had hoped, Your Highness. Doesn’t every parent?”

“Of course.”

She paused (will pause? Pauses? You’re losing control of time, Twilight, stay strong! Do not go gentle!) and frowned (frowns? Will frown?). “No, I take it back.”

I am fully in the past now, in that moment. My eyes--She gazes on It and It gazes back--yes, Twilight, I still have my eye on the foe, but they are also here. You’re beginning to see that things are not so limited. Good. But my eyes were on your mother, then.

“You do?”

Twilight Velvet is a brave mare in her own way. She has carried no lance nor done any battle magic. She is rather frightened of snakes (a wise fear) and of rats (a slightly less wise fear). But she took a deep breath that day I realized I was in the presence of a lioness. She looked at me, looked deep into my eyes--few of my beloved little ponies ever do, I’m sorry to say--and she said…

She said… Don’t stop, Twilight. You can do it. Build! Build. Please build. Try to remember what you felt. No matter what it was or is or will be, feel it and finish building a place where you can survive here.

Velvet said, “No, I hoped that my daughter would be happy. I did not wish or think that she would do great things.” She dropped a sugar cube into her tea and stirred, and her eyes darted away. “Those things are not the same. Princess,” she amended softly.

And just like that, the memory is complete. The floors and walls solidify, and you are there. And that is where you wake up.

Author's Note

XLVI. Luna I: Work Out Your Salvation In Fear and Trembling

RAINBOW DASH

It was an hour before midnight, give or take. Rainbow felt bold. Something about the late night always did that--it was a little easier to be reckless when you were a certain sort of tired. She kissed Rarity.

Rarity kissed back, of course. Her answering smile was visible in the light from the magic light she had conjured, and it was not a happy smile. It was a strained, worried one. It was the sort of smile you put on when things were going bad, or were about to go bad--it was the "everything's fine" face. Someone else might have believed it. But Rainbow liked to think she had an eye for insincerity.

She wanted to say something about it, but didn't. Who had time to bicker about something pointless?

Instead, Rainbow smiled back as best she could. "I'll be okay," she said, and it sounded weak. A glance at Rarity's eyes said that her lover thought the same.

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Rarity said. Rainbow was a straightforward sort of mare... But she appreciated when Rarity smoothed something over. It was better sometimes when you let things die and someone had a second chance to say what they meant. "You are the best young flier in Equestria, if memory serves."

"Thought we didn't mention that day," Rainbow said, smiling more genuinely now.

"No, we shan't remember my part. Only how magnificent your flying was."

Around them, legionary fliers harnessed themselves to covered air-carriages. A few lightly barded Pegasi checked their equipment. She was bathing in the sound of determined quiet--and there is a certain sound to it, familiar and ever-repeating. The quiet breathing, the measured paces, the ritual of preparation--all of these things are old as time. Mares and stallions preparing to do or die and perhaps both.

Rarity was looking at her again. “You’re beautiful, you know,” she said. Her voice sounded strange, almost as if she were falling asleep. The words sort of drifted off.

“Meh,” Rainbow said, giving her second best smirk, trying to get a rise out of Rarity.

It worked, a bit. “One day you’ll believe it,” Rarity said. “Dash…”

There it was. “I’m coming back,” Rainbow said firmly.

“Please do. I will not forgive you if you do not,” Rarity said stiffly. Not like one in anger but like one in distress. “See to it.”

“I might actually be a little safer this way,” Rainbow mused. “Smaller target, less priority.”

“More noise, if you’re going to pull off one of your… your Rainbooms,” Rarity said, and then turned her face away to cough. “Anyhow. I will speak anymore bits of gloom to you, not tonight. Or, this morning. Is it tomorrow yet?”

Rainbow chuckled. “Not quite.”

“Well, it certainly feels like I’ve been up all night. I have my own duties now, Rainbow. I will…”

“See you again in Canterlot.”

“Yes, in Canterlot.”

“My place or yours?”

“I’d prefer a house to a cloud, thank you,” Rarity said, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, I’ll have to rebuild my cloudhouse eventually,” Rainbow replied, stepping back.

“You are the picture of a hero out of legend,” murmured Rarity as she too stepped back. The air between them was uncertain--not uncertainty about each other. But things were unsettled. There would be some sort of rendezvous, one way or another, and Rainbow knew deep down that she could not guarentee anything anymore.

“Thanks for paintin’ me up again, Rares,” Rainbow said, quietly.

She had chosen a more traditional design. It was Canterlot’s militia painting. It seemed fitting. Rarity had actually asked around to get the design right. She had asked about Ponyville, but it was a groundpounder place. It had never really had enough pegasi to warrant a regiment or its own pattern.

She’ll change that, Rainbow thought, because the idea that Rarity would not live to do so seemed silly. It was Rainbow in danger. It was Rainbow who was going to bite it. She’ll make us one in Ponyville, I bet, and its gonna be silly and way too complicated.

But for once, she really, really didn’t care.

“Goodbye,” Rarity said, and her voice lost its composure. She was wavering.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Rainbow replied, firmly. “And I’m going to want whiskey, a preening, and a good bed, so try to get that all arranged, got it?”

“You damn fool,” Rarity said, with a broken little smile and a hiccup that sounded like an abortive laugh and eyes that shone in the moonlight with tears waiting to run down her cheeks. “Absolutely, all of it. I’ll procure her majesty’s bed myself.”

And with that, Rarity turned, stiffly, confidently, and stood. And then she turned back, approached, kissed Rainbow one last time, and fled with only a little dignity back into the night.

LUNA

It would have been difficult to explain the way that Luna felt, looking over her city.

Because, and she accepted this grim fact with a surprising ease, it was half destroyed. Soon after Spike had died, the Manicheans had started lobbing the occasional mortar into the middle tier. They were infrequent and not as bad as the artillery that Canterlot had lost foolishly, but they added up. The lower tier, the Terrestrial, was utterly destroyed. Yes, not beyond saving. Buildings could be repaired or razed and rebuilt. Ashes can be swept away and fields replanted. Ponies cannot be won back from the grave… but they are replaced, with time. The wounds of war and savagery can be sewn up.

Luna thought about these things, but she did not dwell on them because for her, they were understood. She had seen enough captured cities and razed towns to know that, yes, they could return.

She thought about Rarity leading the relief army somewhere out there. Would they make it in time? Would they make it at all? It was a valid question. Her reports suggested that the late Manichean had spread soldiers from Fillydelphia to Canterlot.

After she had struck him down, Luna had personally led the raid on House Blood. The houses involved in the coup were purged--not executed, not killed unless they fought back, but arrested. They waited sentencing in the bottom of the dark prisons beneath the palace, in the catacombs of their fathers. In House Blood’s compound, Luna had found plenty of records and the scope of the Manichean’s revolt was staggering. He had whipped his cult into a frenzy and held much of the coast under a cloud of terror and threats.

But she did not think about House Blood as much. Or any of the others--they were ephemera. Ghosts. She did not fear the threats of dying mares in their sickbeds, and she did not fear deposed nobles.

Honestly? What did she think of, staring over a forlorn city?

She thought about Twilight and Celestia. Twilight, so far away, and Celestia… somehow closer. Is this how you felt, sister? Is this what it was like in Everfree when I was gone?

There were some parallels, weren’t there?

Luna grimly noticed movement in the streets below. A normal pony would not have noticed, but she was attuned to the darkness of Night. The moon was waning, but there was still enough light to see by, and see she did. Thousands of them.

She had seen the numbers. The battle before the walls, in the plains, the taking of the gate… thousands of house levies and guards had fallen. Ten thousand civilians at least--none of her staff could find a solid number. All of them agreed that it could have been worse, but there was too much chaos even to speculate.

She had seen more death than this in shorter time, but… She supposed that when she had, it had not felt like the end of the world. There had been the certainty the sun would rise in the morning and the world would continue. Often, there was a hope it might even be better.

Where was that? Where was her hope? No help was coming to Canterlot, unlooked for and unasked--Rarity would no doubt fight through the rebel picket only to be weeks too late to prevent the life being choked out of Canterlot. Luna wanted to push into the city, take the fight to the enemy… but her forces were ragged and they had lost much of their food and supply in the lower city. They would lose. Would the battle be a closely fought one? Yes. Would the army of Canterlot be overcome? She was almost certain. Too many rifles, too many spellcasters left out there. She could do much on her own, but she could only turn away so many arcane bolts or disrupt a charging formation so many times. She could not turn bullets back by any other means than her shield, and she had never been quite as good as her sister with defensive magic. Offensive magic? Well. She would make them work for it.

Where was Twilight? Had she reached the end?

Luna remembered the end. The Well. The Pool, the Garden, the Shore.

Imagine if the world and all its creatures were an island. A small island, in fact, and on all sides a seemingly endless sea. The “sea of mountains”, the roses, the Garden… they were the gateway to the shore, and beyond was eternity. Other worlds and other things, further up and further in. Luna had never been there. She had never wanted to go. One world is more than enough.

But she had wandered up that hill. Only two had ever broken that place’s silent law and gone together. Only she and her sister.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Luna tried not to think of that place and what it had shown her. She didn’t want to remember. She had emerged with the Moon at the back of her mind, waiting for her to shepherd it, and all the stars in agreement, but had she profited? Was that worth what she had seen and done and been?

She wasn’t completely sure, even now.

Twilight, would that you were here, she thought. I would feel that we might not struggle in vain, if you were here. Some plan would come to you, some…

Luna thew her wings open and lept from the balcony, overcome by a restlessness that defied words. She had to move. She had to act. Something had to happen.

There had to be something left for Twilight to come home to, because she would come home.

CANTERLOT

It was midnight and all was not well.

Word of the betrayal of roughly half the Houses Major had spread. So had word of Luna’s quick retribution. Ponies remember Spike to one another, saying yes, I saw him once and he came this way with a sword looking for the blacksmith and I heard my brother in the guard say he held off a whole squad on his own. And the tale grew in the telling.

It is one thing to make legends of great stallions and mares who are glorious while alive. We resent the great even as we exalt them. But what do you do with an anounymous hero? A blank slate upon which to write legend?

It grew and grew. Spike had stopped a manticore, they heard. He had turned back a whole warband with a roar, they conjectured. He could outfly a pegasus, they outright lied. He had been a curiosity. He was becoming a myth.

A mare walked among the whispering refugees and cityponies of Canterlot, a hood over her head and obscuring her wings. Silent, she observed them all.

The hopeless air had transmuted into something very different. They had been frightened and unwilling to dare before, trying to live and let live, trying to outlast or outrun the darkness at the door.

She had seen a pair of her Nightshades already, watching for surviving Whitecloaks. They had seen her but not known her, enshrouded in illusory magic as she was. There was a Duskwatch on the wall, and Luna knew that he in fact saw her very well and knew her. But he would say nothing. If anyone could appreciate the desire to go out unnoticed, it would be a dhamphir.

She came across a tavern that glowed against the cold night. It was full, and she thought she heard music within.

Luna wandered through the open doorway, squeezing between a stumbling patron and the doorpony--Bouncer? Twilight said that the old doorpony was another thing of the past. Hea great hulking stallion who took a single look at her and gestured for her to pass.

“Got some of the spiced mead. Colonol’s got it on tap,” he said with a grin. He looked like a brawler. Luna allowed herself a grin of her own.

“I think I shall,” she said.

Every table and booth was full. A little stage in the corner was occupied by a single mare dressed much like Luna herself, but with her hood down. Her mane--cyan? mint?--had a white streak. Her golden eyes were focused only on the lyre she played with magic and cradled in her hooves. Luna paused in the crowd to watch and listen. It had been a long time since she heard a lone lyre play.

The mare sang,

Luna, Luna protect me,
Raise your hammer for all to see!
Watching faithful all the night,
Keep me safe ‘till morning’s light!

And Luna took a step back, feeling unsettled. She had not heard this song before.The mare on stage and her golden eyes seemed so… Luna shook her head. No, the bard did not see through her. She simply sang a song. Luna turned as the first verse faded away and headed towards the bar.

Luna, Luna, comfort me
Sing your song eternally!
Watching o’er my dreams by night
Guide me towards the gentle light!

Luna ordered mead with mulling spices and took a seat at the crowded bar.

Why was she even here? These ponies didn’t know her, certainly. They didn’t know she hadn’t heard the thrice-damned song. Watching over dreams… yes, she did that. After a fashion. She tried. But it was more trouble than it was worth. Maybe. She took a sip. The stallion at the door was right. This was nice on a cold night.

Luna, Luna, rescue me--
Banish darkness is my plea.
Eyes like Stars throughout the night,
Grace to give us second light.

“I’ve never heard this song,” she muttered. She wasn’t sure she liked it… or, rather, she did like it and wasn’t sure she wanted to like it. The tune was nice. She wasn’t sure what they meant by second light, but… Another sip. The moon, maybe? It made sense.

Why am I here?

“What do I owe you?” she asked the barkeep when he came back around. It really was good mead. She’d always been partial. Celestia had always preferred wine. Her motto was that wine had two duties foremostly: to be dry and to be red.

“Three bits,” he said. He flashed her a grin.

“Surely you jest,” Luna said, and then tried not to wince at how archaic her word choice was. “I mean… three?” She smiled, but was torn between grattitude and a tiny suspicion that she was about to be the subject of attention she would not appreciate.

“Yeah, I know its cheap. It’s been a hard few days, and I figure that right now… hell, I thought about giving it away. If I thought it wouldn’t turn into a riot, I would.” He wiped the bar.

“Like you’d do it, greedy bastard,” said the stallion to Luna’s right, cheerfully.

The barkeep smiled an old smile, the kind she imagined a pony had when meeting a long lost friend. He said nothing, but hummed a little tune.

“Got a strange accent. Can’t place it. Where you from, lass?” asked the pony to her right.

“Ponyville,” Luna replied automatically. “Well, close to is,” she said, glad that there were few refugees from Ponyville.

“Hm. Never actually went there. Guess I’ll never go now.” A dark, promising chuckle. “Or maybe I will. You know, on account of the Princess.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, she’s right mad as hell, she is,” said the pony on her left. “Think she’s gonna really take the fight to those monsters.”

“Shove their bayonets right up their--”

A pony wormed her way between Luna and her neighbor to the right. It was the bard, and she smiled at the barkeep. “It’s my break. Where’s that mead you promised? Free mind you.”

“You’ll have it presently, Heartstrings,” said the barkeep. He rolled his eyes. “Greedy little lute player, ain’tcha?”

“It’s a lyre, thank you very much.” She huffed.

“It’s a lovely one,” Luna murmured.

The bard glanced at her, looked her up and down, and smirked. “Thank you. Seems we’ve come in the same attire… one of us simply must change.”

Luna chuckled. “It would have to be you, I am far too cold out there to forego my lovely cloak.”

The barkeep brought Heartstrings the bard her promised flagon. “You’re back in thirty, right?”

“Yessir,” the mare hummed.

“It was a lovely song, the last one you played,” Luna said carefully. “Where did you learn it? I’ve not heard the like.”

“Learned it? I’m the one who wrote it. Name’s Lyra Heartstrings, from the burg of Ponyville. Probably a slag heap now, but it was a great little place.”

“Hey! From your neck of the woods, stranger!” piped up one of her neighbors.

“Huh? You from Ponyville?” Lyra looked at her curiously.

Luna decided it was best if her neighbors didn’t comment further, so she spoke quickly. “Why Luna?”

“Why?” Lyra sighed. “You know what? I was just gonna drink in the corner behind my lyre, so why don’t you come sit with me? ‘sides, you’re cute, and Bon wouldn’t mind me having a chat.” Lyra smiled.

I should just leave, Luna thought. Why am I here?

Because she was restless. Because she was tired of being a princess. Because she wanted Twilight to help her, or Celestia to offer one of her soft, firm speeches, and she was rather alone now.

This Lyra was attractive, Luna noted. She took notice in a detached way, admitting this as one admits that the sky is, in fact, rather nice today. They sat beside her lyre, drinking.

“So, why Luna? Well, that’s a good question. I could dissemble and say… I’m not the only one, and a folk musician knows which way the wind is blowing. Gotta follow the zeitgeist,” she said, and took a long draught. “Ah. That does warm the bones. So that’s one answer. You could also say that maybe I just think Luna’s an interesting topic--she’s an alicorn. Dreams and magic and night time… it speaks to the romantic in me.”

“So, whimsy.” Luna raised an eyebrow.

“What’s your name, filly?” Lyra asked, and took another.

“Starry Night,” Luna said automatically. She had used this disguise, after all.

“Right, right. Well, Starry, you could also say that I’m a student of myth. Myths aren’t simply stories we made up to explain why things happen like they do. They’re more than that. But it’s not something--” she took another long drink, “--ah, Celestia blind my eyes, but that is heady--myth isn’t something to approach with a fully analytical mind, if you follow me. The significance of it. Myth’s at it best in being understood when its being felt by a poet. It’s alive forever and ever in both directions and it’ll die before you dissect it.”

“I… I am not sure I follow.”

“It’s okay, neither did Bons, but I love her anyhow. But that isn’t the only reason. I love the mythic importance of the living Night, but that’s not why she’s important. She’s important because finally, after all this time, ponies have something to believe in. A dragon who fights for ponies. An alicorn who weeps. They lost Celestia and with it everything that made sense.” She finished off the flagon--impressively, Luna added to herself--and then wiped her lips with a hoof. “The shared myth of Celestia, the Mother, vanished. And into its place has stepped another. The warrior--Spike, recently fallen--and the Avenger, Luna.”

Luna looked down at her own drink, cradled between two hooves. “I’m… not sure what to make of that.”

“I’m not so sure it won’t make you, Your Highness.”

Her head shot up. “What?”

Lyra spoke low. “You aren’t from Ponyville, because I would know you elsewise. You’re a pegasus, but you get cold? You handle things with your hooves like a unicorn would. Being that I am a unicorn, I would know. Also, I may have gotten a philosophy degree from Canterlot U, but I was great with magic. I noticed something off earlier, and just put the pieces together. I won’t bow or tell anyone, I promise.”

Luna pursed her lips. “You assume much.”

“I do… I just confirmed those things, though. May I say something, Princess?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” she hesitated, flushing. “First… do you not like my song? It’s a childish thing to ask, I know.”

“I do like it. I am unsure what I should feel about it beyond a mere aesthetic pleasure, however.”

“Fair enough.” Lyra cleared her throat. “Your Highness, there are songs of you and Spike in the streets. I… I didn’t want to sing about him because I didn’t know him, but I have met you before, if only briefly. You came to Ponyville a few times for Nightmare Night. But I knew I had to be a part of what is happening. Do you know what happens, Princess, when ponies reach a point where they can endure only so much sorrow? So much wickedness? So much naked hate and evil? They reach that point and they snap and are ruined, or something miraculous happens. We were made to rise up, I think. When they betrayed you, those skeevy bastards, we realized what we were: insects. We let others just decide our lives. We were just waiting to die, and we’re not going to do that ever again.”

“From that? It was… How do you see that and feel anything but lost?” Luna hissed.

“I was there, you know. In the far crowd. And I couldn’t bear it, Princess. I couldn’t bear what we had become. We were awful. We let that happen. We could have stopped them--yes, some of us might have gotten hurt, but we could have! Even if it was a bad idea, we didn’t restrain ourselves because we were wise. We hid because we had lost ourselves. But I saw you look evil in the eye and stab it through the heart… And I knew that nothing would ever be the same. We were not sure what sort of pony you were, but now we are sure. You are the Avenger and the Friend. You wept like we wept and you mourned as we mourned.”

Luna set her mead down and took a shaking breath. “I… I am unsure how to respond, Ms. Heartstrings. To thank you seems vulgar. To be truthful, I find myself restless and lonely. I miss my sister. I miss… Twilight. I miss Spike.” She swallowed. “I am the Princess of the Night, and I love it, but that does not mean I love darkness itself. Not this sort. I put work into the lights of the sky, after all, and not in the voids between them. I feel very much that I want to go home.”

“As the Avenger should, my lady. You do the work that is in front of you.”

“And that would be?”

“They rise up, Princess. The city rises up. It will do so and it will rally to you. We are all yours now. Whatever we were, whoever we were, we are yours.” Lyra looked about to make sure none of the patrons had listened in. She sighed. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Luna said, smirking, still feeling strange.

“I am glad that my playing pleased you, my lady. To be honest, I always sort of dreamed I might play for you one day. So this whole thing is going to catch up with me in a moment and I think I might faint when it does.”

Luna chuckled. “You would not be the first.

Luna sat again on her balcony the next night.

She waited, and she not for what she waited.

Until there, in the distance, she saw it. A moving shadow that raced across the sky. She regarded it warily… and then it exploded in color and sound. The night was lit by an expanding sun of color, expanding and pushing at the darkness around it. She recoiled, shocked, panicking. What was it? What had they done?

But then recognition stole over her. “No…” she flared her wings and reached out with her magic, searching… searching…

And so it was that Luna caught Rainbow Dash before she made impact with the balcony headfirst at lethal speed.

Rainbow panted on the cold floor, gathering her wits. Luna, for her part, simply stared as if seeing a ghost. “You… are the others… has Rarity…?”

Rainbow stumbled to her hooves and saluted. With a small shock, Luna realized that she recognized the barding--Imperial Scout.

“The Ninth Legion and the levy of House Belle, Princess. We’re coming… told me to give you this…” she took a deep breath and pulled a crumpled letter from beneath her breastplate with some difficulty. Luna grabbed it with her magic, mouth still hanging open.

“This…”

“It’s time to finish it,” Rainbow said.

Author's Note

XLVII. Twilight II: ChildBodyBride

TWILIGHT SPARKLE

Twilight Sparkle’s head hurt terribly. This was, in fact, the very first sensation she had upon waking. It is hard to deny that one is awake when it feels as if thumbscews were being enthusiastically drilled through one’s eyes.

She groaned softly and tried to get back on her hooves. She also finally opened her eyes.

And found Celestia. Sitting at a table. Sipping tea. She didn’t notice the strange red-orange sky or the spires of the empty city or the terraces or the mountains or any of it. She saw only the table set for two and Celestia, watching something out of her vision, something over the horizon. There was a tea cup in her magic. Twilight found herself focused on that part and didn’t know why. Perhaps because her whole world had, well, stopped.

There she was.

It is a very hard thing, figuring out what to say first to someone you haven’t seen in years. Even under the most amiable and ideal of circumstances, distance can make rapport difficult. But add in disaster? Motives that could only be guessed at?

What did she say?

Twilight was frozen. Absolutely frozen. She had come so far. Celestia was just… just there. No doors to open, no ruins to navigate, nothing to fight. Just… Celestia. Being there. Staring off into the sky. Drinking tea. It might as well have been another weekend breakfast with her teacher.

Celestia hadn’t noticed her, and Twilight had the strangest thought. What if it had all been a dream? Was something like that possible? She had memories… but didn’t you always have memories that came with the dream? Weren’t you always convinced that what it presented was the truth?

Twilight wanted to call out. But she didn’t.

Celestia did it for her. “It is good to see you again, my faithful student.” Twilight stared at her. Celestia had not turned her head at all, and continued on without looking down where Twilight lay. “Though, I confess, my feelings are… mixed.”

“Celestia,” Twilight breathed the name as if simply saying it took all of her will.

“That is my name, little Spark.” And then Celestia turned to look at her and she smiled. Twilight’s heart leapt into her throat.

“You’re… this is really you. This is real.”

“It is really me, yes, but I would hesitate to call this real. Not because it isn’t real, because in a very, ah, real sense, it is. But because it would not fit into your… definition of real… Twilight? Oh dear, I had hoped you would be recovered, please stay still.”

Twilight had fallen and lay there, staring up at her. She felt… well. She felt everything.

“It’s you.”

“It is.” Celestia was carrying her now.

Twilight closed her eyes. “I made it.”

“You have, more or less.”

Twilight fainted.

The second time that Twilight awoke, she was sitting in a chair with a comfortable, warm blanket around her. She smelled tea and flowers… jasmine, in the air? She opened her eyes.

Celestia was there, and smiled at her.

“Hello again.”

Twilight stared.

“Oh, stars. It wasn’t a weird dream.”

“No, it wasn’t. You’ve made it… and tried to move in this environment long before you were ready. Your… ah, confusion masked your intent from me at first. But you seem to be doing a little better. You don’t seem as pale.”

“I feel a little more like myself,” Twilight said softly. “Where am I? Celestia, I’ve looked… I’ve looked everywhere for you. Tartarus, hells, I’ve seen so much… I’ve done so much… I’m…” It felt like her throat simply closed. She tried to say more but couldn’t. She just shook her head.

And she felt Celestia’s gentle touch as the Sun Triumphant gently stroked her foreleg. “Twilight, you have come such a long way. I am so, so very glad that it was you who came in after me. I am also horrified by what I know you have endured.”

Twilight found tears at the corners of her eyes, unbidden and unwanted. “I wasn’t sure… I hoped you would be here for me to find. I hoped and hoped, but I never knew… I didn’t know if you had died or didn’t care anymore or… or…” she swallowed. “I have to know everything. But right now… You’re here. You’re alive. I’m with you. May I…” she coughed and shook her head. “May I touch you? Just to be sure?”

Celestia nodded. She set the teacup she had been suspending down and held out her hoof. Twilight stared at it. A dozen memories of her teacher’s touch filled her, each more dear than the last. Celestia bending down to help her up from a fall. Celestia stroking her mane when she cried after she had nightmares on her first night staying at the castle. Celestia hugging her when she returned from an academic visit to Zebrahara that had gone horribly, horribly wrong. Celestia, Celestia.

Twilight touched her hoof as if it were a holy artifact, and it was.

“You’re real,” she said, unsure of how she felt about it. Overwhelmed. Overwhelmed worked.

“What has happened, Twilight? Your thoughts are confused, or else I would see for myself just by looking at you.” Celestia grimaced. She did not draw her hoof away. “I admit, I do not expect it to be pleasant. I will answer your questions… but first, what of you? My sister? What of my little ponies?”

How do you tell someone that the world fell apart because they were not there to save it? Or worse, how do you tell someone who may very well be in the process of saving it that their absence left everything they loved half-ruined?

“It’s been…” Twilight worked her mouth a moment.

“Bad.”

“Yes,” Twilight said. “It’s been bad.”

“Tell me. Please. Do not spare me. I must know.”

Twilight swallowed. “I’m not sure where to begin, Princess--”

“No titles, no teachers, no students. Let us both be simply mares here, Twilight, for you have seen the shores of eternity and you deserve that.”

“I… Yes. Thank you. I think. Um…” And her mind was blank. Perfect. She had tried rehearsing what she would say to Celestia a thousand times. A few of those times, she had confessed her weird undying love, yes, but most of those recitations had been fairly serious. She had thought of what to say first. None of those introductions began with “Um.”

But Twilight tried her best. She started with the Zebraharan Mad God and reminded Celestia of the troubles before. She told about the long night, when the sun had refused to rise--or was kept from rising--and only with great effort had Luna raised it. How blight had touched crops already vulnerable and undergrown from the erratic light. How the magic of Equestria had grown strange. The spirit of the country soured, ponies began to fear and mistrust one another, Luna grew desperate, everything broke. The center didn’t even begin to hold. Everywhere, an already agitated and unstable world showed just how unstable it had been underneath the veneer of peace.

How none of it made sense--how do peace-loving, smiling ponies become raiders? Especially as fast as it occurred. Twilight told her in shaking voice about the fall of Manehattan… the fire pits… the glassy stares from high apartments. She told her about bandits and raiders and Ponyville’s desecration. She related with an ever softer and more agonized voice her own journey westwards, hoping but not knowing if half of her closest circle of friends were even alive for months.

She stopped at Vanhoover.

“Do I have to tell you everything?” she asked, and her voice was the most miserable in the world.

Celestia paused.

“No.”

Twilight told her anyhow. “When we… escaped and took the Alicorn, they started firing at us. There was an old cannon they had set up to guard the docks. I don’t know where they found it but they did. It was just at the edge of my range, and I knew the Grays wouldn’t be able to handle it and it could hit us if we let it--”

“Shh. You’re rambling. Slower, Twilight.”

Twilight took a deep breath. Another. “I hit the cannon and crew with arcane fire, hoping they would scatter and we could use the time to get away. I had been using magic less and less, and I was losing my… touch,” she admitted, feeling smaller than a fly. “So I thought it would be too weak to do much, but suddenly I was back to my old self and the blast was larger than I had expected.”

“How much larger?” Celestia asked. Her tone had not changed.

“I blew it up. I blew… I lit the powder. They had barrels of the stuff like…” She shook her head. “I didn’t know. I guess I knew it was possible, I just didn’t think they would store so much of it in one place. We haven’t used old-style cannons in so long I had forgotten about powder storage… It went up and the explosion caught the rest of the docks on fire.”

Celestia stared at her. Twilight wanted to die.

“We couldn’t stop. The boat was already on its way. And then… and then in Jannah, I just... “

“Twilight, you don’t have to--”

“It was awful, but am I any better? I killed those guards, the zebras… the Black Hoof soldiers. They died and I made them die.”

Celestia was very quiet. It felt like there was silence for an hour, yet it could not have been that way, could it? Twilight wasn’t sure anymore when it came to time. Or, well, really anything that her senses tried to convince her of. More and more, it was obvious to her that she was not meant to be this close to… well, whatever it was that lay just beyond. She was just a pony, a small pony, not even a terribly strong one. Yes, she could do magic. She could be brave, when she had to be--but that wasn’t what she was talking about. She was no Starswirl, fiddling with time and space and metaphysical mystery. She was just Twilight Sparkle, and she missed her library. You didn’t see a lot of blood in libraries. Nobody starved to death or froze to death or cried much in libraries, and when they did cry, it was either a really good book or a very, very difficult subject. And those were fixable problems, easy problems for one like Twilight Sparkle, who understood both books and studying, who had been a student most of her life. And here, Celestia was just… at ease? No, but in her element. She was made for such a world as this, Twilight was learning. She had never felt so far away from her teacher.

And all at once, she realized that she had never felt so far away from Luna. What did they have now? She didn’t want to blame Luna for Spike, but a part of her did. It was a petty Twilight that blamed Luna. It was the part of Twilight that wanted to kick viciously at anything in her way, the one that insisted that you paid like for like. But put that aside, and then what? She was a unicorn. Just a unicorn. She would live somewhere between seventy and a hundred years and then die. She would grow old. Her body would change. Luna would live forever, unchanged to Twilight’s eye, young and supple. But it was more than that.

Celestia was staring at her. Waiting. Her eyes caught Twilight’s and bored into them as if Celestia were saying, Speak and say, for I know it already.

“We’re just ants,” Twilight said at last. “Aren’t we?”

Celestia drew back with a look of absolute confusion. “What?”

“We’re just… We’re ephemeral. Wisps. Barely worth noticing.” She looked down at the table. She looked up at Celestia with dull eyes. “And you--both of you--just… hang around out of pity for us useless, stupid, rotting mortals. When I die you’ll have finished blinking. Luna won’t even notice. You’re so… you’re so…”

“Twilight.”

But Twilight continued. “I’m so stupid. I never saw it. Luna was just humoring me. I was so lonely and desperate and she was bending over backwards, fooling me into thinking… but that has to be it.” Twilight laughed. It sounded more like a bark. “Like you play pretend with a foal. That’s what we are. You’re the only grownups, aren’t you?”

“Twilight!”

Twilight stopped and looked at her. “Yes?” she asked, miserably.

“What, in the name of every star and song, is the meaning of all of this?” Celestia’s voice was stern. It was a mother’s voice. But her face was not hard. Her countenance was all concern and shock. “A… foal? Do you truly think so low of yourself? Of your friends and loved ones?”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Twilight said. “I’m so clever, so very clever. Deny it. But I’m so stupid, because I thought I was ready to just pick everything up and go find you. I wasn’t meant to be here. I’m so small,” she added, feeling just that way.

Celestia opened her mouth as if to dispell this, but then closed it. She looked at Twilight hard, and Twilight shrank under her searching gaze. Celestia did not look angry. No, she looked disturbed, and somehow that was worse.

“Stay here,” said Celestia at last. She rose and walked towards the screen Twilight had provided.

Twilight watched her for a moment, and then looked down.

She’ll see right through me, Twilight thought. And it was very probable that she would. She would see all of Twilight’s insecurities here, like Luna felt emotions in the dream, or how truth simply tumbled out of one’s mouth in song in the Well.

So much of what we think, we think only because we are assured that our thoughts are secret. Ponies have hearts more open than most things in the eternal sea, but they, like all creatures who reason and love, are separate and distinct. Imagine a walled off Garden. That is what a pony is--that is what a griffon or a zebra is. Inside, there is growing and intention and potentiality and water and green and life. And on the outside, too, also life. But the Garden is a garden because it is cut off. Without the wall, it would only be another section of a great forest, an undifferentiated verdance. The walls that make it distinct protect it from becoming something else. But they make it difficult to peer inside. If you do not have the key (if there is even a door!) than you will have to climb sheer wall to taste of the beauty of the Garden.

Twilight felt as if the walls of her spirit were full of holes, and it was not a good thing. Every good and sordid thought, just oozing out.

Celestia returned. She laid a cup of tea in front of a bemused Twilight, who mumbled a sad little “thanks” and stared at it. Celestia took a seat. She had made more tea. Of course she had. Celestia and tea were practically synonyms. Twilight blinked at her cup. Had Celestia really drank this much tea? Yes, yes she had. All the time. It was weird.

“You still don’t appreciate a fine tea as you should, Twilight,” Celestia admonished. It was as if Twilight’s outburst had never happened.

“I like it,” Twilight said, dumbfounded.

“Hm.” Celestia sipped and sighed. “Twilight, do you know why I started drinking tea?”

“I never asked,” came the dull and slightly humiliated response of Twilight, who was beginning to realize that Celestia had not forgotten at all, but that she was about to lecture.

But Celestia didn’t lecture. “I started drinking tea because it was calming. It smells nice, and it happens to taste nice, and overall, it was a better choice than sipping mead out of a canteen all day.” She paused. “You know, Luna did that for awhile. I told her it was rather improprietous to be drinking while the sun was up. I believe she told me that the sun was stupid and that, furthermore, it made travelling with a walking scroll bearable. I think I took offense.”

Twilight snorted. “A walking scroll?”

“I was a bit carried away at the time, yes. Drink, Twilight. Close your eyes.”

Twilight did so reluctantly, and found that after a few moments, she did in fact feel better. Which was, of course, ridiculous.

“Ants,” mused Celestia. “Curious that you would choose such a creature. You know, I happen to like ants. From afar, of course.”

“Why?”

“Industrious creatures,” Celestia said softly. “Building! What a wonderful thing it is to build, to create. Water and hoof destroy, and the ant rebuilds greater and sturdier than before. A bit bellicose, yes, but altogether marvelous. But you know, I think you do both them and yourself a disservice. Ponies and ants are rather different. Ants build, but they do not sing. I find the distinction important. Might I make an observation?”

“I… Yes.”

“Do you think that you are a mote in the eye of Rainbow Dash?”

Twilight blinked. “No? Oh. I get it. I can’t fly, but she can. She can go where I can’t in ways I can’t. I think this is… different. Isn’t it?”

“And there we are. You treat me as a god, and now you question my analogies. I am glad to see that you have returned, Twilight.”

Twilight sipped on her tea. It helped. It also kept her from looking around, which was for the best. Her surroundings made her uncomfortable, though she knew not why. “I hadn’t gone anywhere, Princess.”

“Ah ah, Princess? Celestia will do, Twilight. I shall be Princess only if you are Little Spark.” She giggled. Giggling, Twilight had to admit, was a rather un-godlike thing to do.

“I still feel… small,” Twilight said.

“As you should. You are, I have to say, rather small. Especially in the light of eternity. Your mistake was in thinking that I am not the same. I admit, I was a bit distressed. Others have said that sort of thing before, either accusingly or in adoration, and I was disturbed by both. I had not expected you to say such things. But I did not expect you to be the one who followed me either. No, Twilight, you are not a foal. You’ve grown into a fine young mare. I have never thought of you or any other pony as… ants. Or any of what you said. Ephemeral? Perhaps, I have thought that at times, but only in the depths of my grief, and always with a sardonic edge. If anything, I have often felt that the main difference between myself and the ponies I have known was that many of them found purpose. Telos, as the old pegasi used to say. They found meaning and purpose and embraced it fully and were remade and I? Well. We alicorns have one great gift and I have not opened mine.”

“Gift?” Twilight furrowed her brow. “What gift?”

“Life. To create life. Not simply in giving birth, though we can. Some of us,” she added, and looked away. “But we may trade our lives and the world gains a new race.”

“Luna mentioned… Thaumus. And Aurora.”

Celestia was still looking off towards the sun and the city. She let herself smile sadly. “Yes. My brother Thuams and my sister Aurora. Did she tell you that you resemble him?”

“Thaumus? Yes,” Twilight said.

“She is quite right. But you are not him. You are yourself. I have known many ponies, it is true. But that does not mean you are not prized or noticed or remembered.” Celestia turned back and rested her head on a hoof. “You and my sister.”

Twilight flushed and looked down again. She sipped her tea, hoping that if she were silent long enough the question would go away. It didn’t. “Yes,” she said.

“Don’t be shy, Twilight. Tell me.”

“Is… I mean, is it really important?”

“Very. But I know what you’re getting at--besides simply avoiding the subject. Time is--”

“Soft?”

“Yes, I assume you’ve spoken with Kyrie on that, then. This is but a fraction of a second in the world you and I know. We have all the time we wish, though we might wish for more than we truly want. Are you two… happy?” She looked at Twilight with pleading eyes. “I do hope so.”

“We…” Twilight didn’t know what to say.

“I actually suspected your preference early on. I remember being very, very glad that the present was different from the past. In much of our wanderings, Luna’s… well, it was not that it was unaccepted so much as…” Celestia waved a hoof. “It was not the sort of behavior of a mare who married, if you follow me.”

Twilight grimaced. “From my reading, I think I know what you’re saying.”

“So I was glad she had come into this world. I thought, perhaps, she might find a little measure of peace in that. I hoped you two might become friends. It seems you did more--and I can’t say that I’m displeased.”

“We aren’t as…” Twilight groaned. “Celestia, Luna and I don’t know what we have, or if we… okay. I can’t say we don’t have something. But… I left Spike behind and she said that he would be okay. Spike is dead,” she said, and her voice came out strangled. She coughed. “He’s dead.”

Celestia sat back.

They stared at one another.

“Twilight,” Celestia said at last, “I think you and I need to go on a walk.”

The empty city at the edge of the world was not like Jannah. Where the First City had been immaculate and preserved, the Last City was on the edge of a ruin. And yet, even in its dilapidated state, there was a charm in it. Jannah had seemed sterile, but the Last City felt like a story.

Many stories, in fact, all piled one upon the other miles thick. Twilight could feel them whispering at her from every stone.

They had not said a thing since leaving. To be honest, Twilight wasn’t even sure how they’d arrived here. Sight was… complicated. She would look at things and see them and her mind would simply refuse to accept them. She looked at a rock and her mind refused to admit there was a rock. She sipped tea and could not believe in it. So she saw but it was not terribly comfortable. And yet she liked the City.

The sun was hiding behind the rocky crags, but it never seemed to move. Was it dusk or dawn? Twilight would decide on one, only for her perception to change only moments later.

“So Spike is fallen.”

Twilight looked back to Celestia, whose face was a mask.

“Yes. Luna told me that he saved a lot of ponies. He was fighting.”

“Little Spike become a knight of the Moon,” Celestia said, and it sounded bitter. “I am so tired of losing friends.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said, uselessly.

“Don’t be. It is not your fault--you brought the news but you did not kill him. I am sorry, however, that you must bear it. If I am grieved, I can only imagine your pain.”

“I haven’t dealt with it,” Twilight said. “At all. I’m just trying to make it so that one day, when this is over or at least quieter, I can deal with it. If that’s something you can even do. I don’t know. I keep forgetting. Like I don’t want to accept it, like if I just forget long enough it won’t have happened.”

Celestia nodded. “Do you blame my sister?”

Twilight shook her head. “I did, at first. I threw her out of my dream.”

She watched Celestia’s eyebrows raise. “Truly? That is a feat.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Twilight said. “It just sort of happened. But I don’t think I really do. There’s a part of me that blames her.”

“And the rest of you?”

“The rest of me doesn’t like that part,” Twilight said. “Luna didn’t want Spike to die. Spike was her friend. She was distraught, and I was so mad at her… When she came back, she felt so lost.”

“Luna has suffered much, Twilight. I was more restrained when we were still wandering adventurers, but she was always an open door and a bleeding heart. She was soft and the world ravaged that softness. Savaged it. Time wore her down far quicker than it wore me. But it claims us both.”

They were quiet again. They walked in the never-changing dawn (dusk?).

“I promised I would answer your questions,” Celestia said presently.

Twilight swallowed. “I’m afraid of the answers.”

“Good. That is wise of you, Twilight. A few questions, and then we will return. I’ll tell you everything.”

“What is this place?” Twilight asked.

“The Last City. I do not know where it entered in, but its origin is you, Twilight. You made this city.”

“How did I do that? Why don’t I remember making it?”

“Your mind and body struggle in Eternity. They cannot comprehend it in its raw form, and so you constructed several metaphors in which to inhabit. So now we are in a city that never dies but is always on the edge of change.”

“Twilight, are you afraid of death?”

“I think I’m afraid of everything.”

“Wise, but not healthy. You were not meant to fear everything, I think.”

“Do you love my sister, Twilight?”

“I think so. I’ve never been in love before--or if I have been, no one told me that it was love.”

“But you know how you feel.”

“Do I? I’m sorry, Princ--Celestia. I don’t mean to be evasive… But I really don’t understand what I feel at all.”

“The most basic reactions, then.”

Twilight sighed. “Luna. She wants to take care of me. I want to help her not be lonely. We like the same things. Sometimes I think about kissing her and it makes me feel warm. We’ve had fun exploring dreams. Luna always made time for me and she treated Spike like an equal.” A pause.

“But do you love her, do you think? What is your inclination? The thing you wish to speak, not the thoughts in your head.”

“I want to love her,” Twilight said.

“Did you read my letters?”

“Yes! I read them before I got to the water. I don’t understand all of it, but I understand enough. I was glad you didn’t write about Jannah again.”

“I cannot even begin to describe how sorry I am that you have been there, Twilight. Nor how proud I am of you that you have endured it.”

Twilight felt small. “I didn’t, I don’t think. It did things to me. I saw things and heard things. I felt like I was losing control of myself. Becoming another pony, somepony who wasn’t Twilight Sparkle.”

“As do all who linger in those cursed streets.”

“What do you feel like?”

“I cannot say. I am sorry. I know how to say it, so it is not that knowing is beyond you. I am ashamed to say, Twilight. Furthermore, it is perhaps best you not know all things.”

“Can you read my emotions here? Luna can do so in dreams.”

“To an extent. Thoughts. Memories.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“I know you are. Have I asked after the things which frighten you?”

“No. Not all of them.”

“I may, soon enough.”

Sitting again at the table. How had they come there? Twilight struggled to remember.

“Who do you say that I am, Twilight?”

She blinked at Celestia, who she only now realized sat across from her. Another blink, and she was no longer sitting. Celestia reclined on a long ornate couch--it was ancient, and yet the metal shone as if it were newly made. Twilight stood awkwardly in the sunlight.

“Um… run that by me one more time?”

“Who do you say that I am?” Celestia’s voice was slightly less warm than before. It had become regal, imperious. Commanding. Something about it made Twilight shiver and she swallowed.

“Celestia, Princess of Equestria, who drives the Sun,” she said by rote. “My teacher and mentor,” she added.

“Who do you say that I am?”

Twilight frowned. “But I just did.”

“Who do you say that I am?”

“I don’t understand. You’re the princess. You are the one who controls the sun. You’re my teacher and mentor. You’re like a mother to me.”

Twilight was the one reclining in the couch. She could not read Celestia. She looked around, suddenly feeling exposed. What was going on?

“This place is fluid, Twilight. Your emotions change it. Your stamina changes it. As you grow weary so it grows weary.” Celestia slid into view out of the air itself, dressed in strange clothing. She looked more like a dancer than a Princess.

“Classical era. Sunspears of Dalmatia,” Twilight murmured to herself.

“Do not be alarmed, no matter what you see. Alright? I have let go of you entirely. Walk on your own two feet, and do not be worried by a dream. Do you think of me as a mother, Twilight?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“The truth.”

“Yes.” Twilight bit her lip. Again, she felt small.

“Let me tell you a story, then, as I might tell a foal,” Celestia said in a low, husky voice, and then she sang--and Twilight realized with a start that it was the same way she herself had sung in the Well in Jannah.

“In the beginning there was the water and the song, and everything was good. In the beginning the Alicorns sang, and everything was good. In the beginning, I was born second to last and in my infancy I knew many things and many secrets. In the beginning, I waited for my sister to be born.

“What is the greatest enemy? Death. What is the marshal of death upon the field? Decay? But what sits in the throne of Death’s ego? Despair. Despair is the sickness unto death. If it is so for living beings like you and I, then it is true for living worlds such as this one.

“In the beginning, Luna was born weeping, and the darkness shrouded the sky. In the beginning, we were troubled, but the darkness passed and was locked away by our singing. In the beginning, I held Luna and knew the beginning was over.”

Celestia danced--Twilight recognized the dance. The Sunspears had been a small tribe who had worshipped Celestia as the Avatar of the Victorious Sun, during the early days of her reign. They had lived in Equestria and dedicated their songs and dances to her. Celestia danced their funeral march.

“Luna did not create the Hideous Strength, but it followed her. Luna did not create Despair, but it clings to her. Luna did not mean to let it in, but she was young and her heart ached.

“How does a thief enter a house? A thief comes in through the door. A thief comes in through the window. A thief burrows underneath the house and comes up.

“The shadow opened a door in Jannah and it was shut, the Song be sung. The Shadow wormed into the hearts of mortals and went undetected, the song be sung. The Shadow touched Luna ever so lightly and she threw it off, but worked according to its purpose, the Song be sung.”

Celestia stopped and walked up to Twilight.

“Why a Sunspear?”

“Because I like them,” Twilight said with a small voice.

“Truth?”

“Yes. I… I realized I liked… I…” Twilight swallowed. She closed her eyes, so she wouldn’t have to look Celestia in the face. “When I finally realized that I liked mares, it was when I was studying the Sunspears. I thought the zebra mares were beautiful. I wanted to dance with them. I almost forgot about it.”

Celestia nodded and sat. There were books all around them, constantly turning. Wine appeared, and Celestia drank from a horn. Twilight did not drink.

“You make a puppet of me, but I do not mind. Your mind is as overactive as I remember,” Celestia said with a wry grin. “Now, the Shadow--the Hideous Strength--the Destroyer--they are all the same. The thing which tried to break into the world at Jannah also has touched many others. It has been working all along, picking up steam. Imagine a small stone.”

And there was one, between them. Celestia chuckled and threw it with her magic.

“It will land on a mountain. That one. It will begin to roll down the face.”

And it did. Though the mountain was far off, Twilight could see the tiny rock’s progress.

“Now, watch as it grows larger. It picks up residual dirt. It moves other rocks. One rock becomes a great mass movement. Do you understand?”

“It’s gotten stronger with time?”

“Yes. When it first entered the world, Despair was weak--just as Discord would have been in a world of perfect order. There was no sadness at all. So it broke something. It planted deep in my sister’s heart a seed of itself. That was its first outpost in our world, but everything but that tiny seed was thrown out by the mere sound of our singing.”

“But it came back,” Twilight said.

There was a bed. Twilight lay on the right side and Celestia on the left, facing each other.

“I’m sorry!” Twilight flushed. “I don’t know how to--”

“Peace, faithful student,” Celestia said. She gave Twilight a warm little smile. “After what I have been through these months, there is little you can do to make me uncomfortable. Besides, why would you apologize for such a lovely bed.”

“It’s yours,” grumbled Twilight. “I remembered it from when I used to take magic tutorials in your drawing room. I saw your bed through the door.”

“And you thought to yourself, being only a foal, that it was perhaps the fluffiest bed in all of creation?”

Twilight smiled, embarrassed but… happy. “So I exaggerated a bit. You can’t tell me it isn’t nice.”

“Why? Have you and Luna been trying it out?”

“Oh, stars,” Twilight groaned. “Please don’t. That’s awful even to think about.”

“Hm. It is, isn’t it? Delightfully so.”

They were in Celestia’s drawing room. A young Twilight Sparkle struggled to manipulate a set of juggler’s balls with her telekinesis without destroying them with raw force. Celestia spoke encouragingly to the little filly while Twilight watched. She leaned against the wall.

“I’ve been piecing it together, I think. May I take over your story?” Twilight asked.

Celestia smiled blissfully at young Twilight. “Good! Good! I can certainly tell that you’ve been practicing, Little Spark.”

“Alright,” Twilight said, feeling an affirmation in the air as Celestia stayed in character. Was it her, or did everything seem to be getting more and more unstable?

“So Despair. The Shadow. The Hideous Strength. I guess…. I guess its like Discord, right? Or like one of the Primal Elementals. It’s an embodiment. It gained strength. It wanted to… get in. To do what? From the name, if it works like the Primals, I assume it merely wants to spread Despair, to revel in it. No real end game. But you talked about Death. Perhaps… No. Can you kill a world?”

Celestia took the balls from a beaming filly and and selected a new test. Twilight knew these drills. Next would come the--

“And now, your least favorite, I’m afraid.” Celestia chuckled and little Twilight groaned. “You’ll be able to do it easily one day, Twilight. I promise. It’s very important that you keep trying. Now…” She placed what looked like a lamp in front of the filly. “Channel magic into the matrix and keep trying until you feel like you just can’t.”

“Endurance,” the Twilight leaning on the wall whispered.

“Endurance is key!” Celestia said, wagging a hoof. Little Twilight nodded and began channeling magic into the lamp. A green flame popped up. Twilight shook her head ruefully, watching her young self with puffed up cheeks and a determined expression. The trick wasn’t to blow as hard as you could. You have to pace yourself if you’re running a long way.

Twilight continued softly. “Well, regardless… so it can effect ponies. I’m not clear on how… I know it can touch their dreams. Is that how? Maybe it starts there and it seeps into their mind? Does it work like a normal physical infection, or more like a magical malady? I have no idea and I’m not sure it would even be possible to do tests if doing tests wouldn’t be kind of basically evil.” She sighed. “But it can do that, I’ve figured that out. It’s been doing that for a long time--that’s how it got the magi of Jannah to ‘open the door’ for it squeeze in. But Kyrie used almost all of her power to shut that door, and you and Luna and maybe some others applied another layer of seals over hers just in case. So you locked the door.”

The scene changed again.

Twilight and Celestia standing side by side on the prow of a mighty ship of oak. The Charity, an Equestrian vessel headed for the East. Celestia goes to the now independent colony of Prance to meet its new President. She had brought Twilight to learn a bit about the world, but mostly so that she could show the wonders of the City of Lights to a fresh young mind who would love them.

Twilight had been barely an adolescent. She saw herself beside Celestia, and saw the way the younger Twilight looked at her teacher. The ship moved with each wave, and she was unafraid.

Twilight stepped into the place of her younger self.

“Yes,” Celestia said. “We locked the door.”

“I’m… I’m starting to lose track of what’s going on,” Twilight said.

“I know. But you need to experience the malleability of the image you’ve created to sustain yourself here. Think of it is practice.”

“Practice for what?” Twilight asked, looking over the endless sea.

“Practice for later.”

They were in Prance, walking in the city after nightfall. Celestia had lowered the sun in a great square to much applause, and now she and Twilight strolled through the lighted streets. Young Twilight smelled--

“Coffee. I remember this shop,” Twilight said. “Why am I seeing these things?”

“Because I am here and you remember me,” Celestia said.

“So you locked the door,” Twilight began again. “And everyone thought that was the end of it.”

“Yes, but as you’ve discovered, we were mistaken.”

Twilight walked to the right of her younger self who ogled everything. Including her teacher. “Was… It’s strange,” she said, swerving out of the way of a question that revealed to much of her own thoughts, “I mean, looking at yourself when you were younger, not being them. Seeing yourself without a mirror.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? I’ve done it before. So has Luna. What we saw when we were here was much different.”

“So you both came here?”

“Yes. This was where I was given command of the Sun and Luna was given dominion over the Moon. We were both given a trial and pulled apart to undergo it alone. I do not know what she saw--we were both unable to tell each other. I cannot tell you.”

“This certainly feels a little like a trial,” Twilight grumbled.

“Oh? Do you not enjoy my company?” Celestia asked with a smile.

Twilight shook her head, flushing. “No! I do! I… I just meant that this is really strange.”

“I know what you meant. But let us return to the task at hand. Yes, we were mistaken. I was always suspicious. After all, it had gained power before, might it not again? But I assumed that it had been sealed in place by our work. Imagine… if the world is a flat plane, and the Shadow existed beneath it and we above and on. So it broke through and we sealed the hole, but in sealing the hole we caught the Hideous Strength with… ah, glue, I suppose. Holding it fast to the bore in Jannah, partially in and mostly out.”

“But you were wrong?”

Celestia nodded. Young Twilight asked her a question and she answered her with a beautiful voice that made Twilight’s heart catch in her throat. She didn’t want to be in this memory. It was a precious one--

The scene changed. Celestia was in an elevated box, watching the tournament. Celestia’s School had one every year. This was Twilight’s first attempt. Non-lethal, low powered duels with strict rules, all in an environment which constantly sapped their energy.

“The quick--” Celestia murmured, her voice warm and husky--gods above was it ever not? Every time she spoke Twilight wanted to melt.

“--And the dead!” Twilight shouted. Her opponent--it was Comet, wasn’t it? She hadn’t seen him in years!--laughed and conjured something. Twilight didn’t need to dodge. She simply dispelled his glyph and walked towards him.

She felt no sapping on her will. She had overcome such petty things.

“Where did Luna learn war? Has she told you?” Celestia asked.

“No,” Twilight replied, and she picked up Comet and threw him around in the air. He squealed. A younger Twilight would have snickered, but only after he was back on his hooves. She shook him a bit and then laid him down. The colt surrendered to her, though he was unharmed.

“She may yet tell you,” Celestia said. “I hope so. She has not shared her tale with anyone.”

“So the Shadow grew,” Twilight pressed.

“Yes, the Shadow grew, and it entered our World again. It had never really been far away, always lurking just on the outside. It is the embodiment of despair as we Alicorns were the embodiment of life. It cannot leave. Instead of another grand invasion, it attacked everywhere at once. A thousand tiny daggers in the verdant world--a thousand tiny tragedies. And it learned. It learned how ponies worked, Twilight. It watched and it experimented and it pushed and pulled and soon it had twisted them into war.”

“So… all of what happened--”

The crowd roared. Another opponent. This one was… oh. Moondancer. She nervously shuffled in as Twilight left the floor. She waved at Twilight, and Twilight smiled at her encouragingly. It was odd, looking down on all of the fillies and colts she had gone to school with. It was also odd knowing that if she were going to participate in this memory she would have to hold herself back.

“No, I know what you are about to say.” Celestia’s voice boomed over the crowd. Moondancer produced a flash of light to distract her foe and then began to call up arcane ropes to pin the colt who danced out of the way of each one. He was another laugher--it had been fun, hadn’t it? Celestia had made it as harmless as possible. “No, it didn’t make those things happen. Tell me, if the day is hot, and a overheated pony becomes irritable, and that irritation combines with a longstanding dislike of his neighbor, and it becomes hatred, and he does his neighbor violence… do you blame the Sun? Or do you blame the pony?”

“So ponies still chose to go to war. They did everything, but the Shadow… pushed them? Just slightly? Just enough?”

“You are close. Remember that it itself is despair, Twilight,” Celestia said.

The scene changed.

They sat at the table again. Celestia was sipping tea. Again. The ancient sun burned in the distance, still too large.

“So it inhabits or corrupts or does whatever it does, and the despair is what pushes ponies to do what they do?”

“Yes, that is closer.”

“But that doesn’t explain how quickly everything fell apart when you left. Despair, paranoia, anxiety, anger… all that stuff, it makes sense--but over a longer period. Not in a year.”

Celestia sighed. “That is because it switched tactics on us again. If a door is shut… do you remember what I wrote?”

“A window,” Twilight said. “What is the window?”

Celestia gestured around herself. “The Shores. It could establish a foothold in a place that was neither here nor there.”

“But… but you said the singing drove it off,” Twilight protested, furrowing her brow.

“Because it was weak. But it set a great trap within a trap. In the south, the Mad God. In the East, the wars of Griffon Unification. In the west, disease and a renewal of the range wars between the surviving city states. In the north, the mitou begin to stir. You weren’t aware of it because I kept it from you, but in Equestria, I began first to notice the spike in violent crime long before I felt the tell-tale hint of darkness in the wind. It was building strength, but it was more than that. It was laying the groundwork. Did you know that if you turn the temperature slowly enough on a frog, it will not notice until it is dying that you have been burning it all along?”

Twilight shivered. “I did know that. That’s grisly, Celestia.”

“Yes, yes it is. That is how it thinks, you know. I’ve felt enough of its thoughts to know that.” Celestia grimaced. “That is what it did with us. But I finally noticed and I felt it coming from the West. So I left. My sabbatical was also a real vacation--it’s been a few centuries since I had one, you know,” she added, with a smile. Twilight tried to smile back because it was a beautiful smile. Everything about her was beautiful. “I had also hoped to give Luna a chance to make a deeper impression, and I had hoped also to work out some of my ideas for the future. I also hoped I could convince you two to start writing each other more frequently, and that Luna might make a friend.” She chuckled. “But those things were diversions. The closer I got to Jannah, the more sure I was that something was wrong.”

“And when you got to Jannah?” Twilight asked weakly. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard the rain coming down on Jannah’s streets. She looked out towards the Last City, but there was no rain.

“I found the wards were more or less… the same. Weakened, yes, but with reflection I realize that the Shadow barely touched them. Compared to what it could have done? It merely prodded. You’ve read my letters, so you are already aware of what came next.”

“Sort of,” Twilight said slowly. She sucked on the inside of her cheek a moment, forming her questions.

“I think I know what you’ll ask,” Celestia said and leaned in. “But go on.”

“Why didn’t you, ah, call for back up? Or try to get a message to your sister in the Dream? You write, saying that you knew it was probably a trap… but then why trigger it?”

“Simply put, the trap was already triggered,” Celestia said. “The thing had been eating away at me all along, working beneath my rather natural fears and worries, concealing its influence until… until it was too late,” she finished, and she looked down at Twilight. “I felt it eating away at me. I even stopped for a time to do a full diagnostic of myself with magic. You know how long that can take.”

Twilight nodded. “You mentioned that it was useful, so I learned how to do it. You can probably do it way faster than I could, Princess.”

“I can,” Celestia said. “But it is still rather dull. But when I crossed into Jannah it was waiting. It knew me too well. It knew how to hide inside of my heart and mind. If I brought it into the dream, I would contaminate Luna and perhaps many, many others. If I tried to send any sort of magical message, the results would be similar. I was infected. I was unclean.”

“What about a normal message? Would contact have been enough?” Twilight asked. Strangely, not for a moment did she think of the danger to herself.

“I carried it anywhere I went. And, to forestall some variation on your questions, I felt my time was short. That it was getting stronger. I felt like it might break through.”

“Was it going to?” Twilight asked.

“Yes,” came the reply.

Twilight rested her head in her hooves and closed her eyes. She still felt the heat of the not-sun on her coat, and despite knowing it was not real, she still found it comforting. A paradoxical anchor--not real, yet it kept her feeling grounded.

What did she do with this? What was the solution? She had found Celestia, only to find that her problems were… well, bigger. She had expected danger. She hadn’t expected myths and miracles. Slowly, she massaged her temples.

“Confounded? My little Spark?” Celestia asked, and chuckled softly.

Twilight smiled, but did not open her eyes. “A little bit, Princess,” she said. “You haven’t called me that since I was a foal.”

“I always loved that name.”

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Is this you, you? Or since this is my dream or metaphor, is this you as I want or perceive you to be?”

“Oh! Now that is a clever question. Well done, Twilight. The answer is that it is very complicated.”

“Thanks,” Twilight said, but she still smiled. “So you are Celestia, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re along for the ride here, just like I might be in Luna’s dreams or yours.”

“You have the idea, somewhat. Think of it more this way: I am indeed here, the Celestia you know. But I can only exist here within the confines of the Celestia you have created. Hm. Ah, yes. Think of it like this: Your whole life, you are putting ponies together. They are sending you letters from far away, and you must piece those letters into a narrative or picture of that pony. Could you do it? You certainly could try, and you would no doubt be close. That is how you know me, and most every other pony. So I am myself, but I live within a smaller me that you created.” Celestia blinked a few times and then chuckled. "If I were not so boneweary, I would be much more amused at how, ah, regal this simulacra of me wishes to be. It really is quite embarrassing."

“Okay.” Twilight opened her eyes again. She wasn't sure what to make of any of that. “You just… You haven’t said anything about… you know. You see it, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do we have to talk about it?”

“We should. But not just this moment.”

She felt her stomach twist in knots. “I have no idea what’s going on, do I? I mean, I know some of it. The basic story. But I don't know what's been going on here and that's the important part, isn't it so I know nothing.”

“Very little.” Sip.

“Shadows and plots and… I’m not sure what to do anymore. I planned to find you. I didn’t really plan beyond that. I’m not sure what even comes after that. I expected that finding you would be enough.”

“And were shocked to find that it was not,” Celestia finished. Twilight looked at her. She smirked and made a little toasting motion with her tea cup. “Who do you say that I am?”

“Celestia.”

“Yes, and you think that means all-powerful, and you find that I am not. I have never lied to you about that. Truth be told, I simply grew very weary of having to constantly remind ponies. I used to make mistakes just to show those around me I was not infallible, but inevitably they would blame themselves. It seemed cruel to continue.”

“I never…” Twilight paused. “Okay, maybe I did. But I didn’t think of you as infallible per se. I just…”

“Never imagined that I might not be, yes. But now you are learning. You’ve been learning all along. My bookworm has become a warrior, of sorts. And an archmage, of sorts.” Twilight gave a little snort, and Celestia leaned in. “You do not think so? What you’ve seen? The knowledge is written into your subconscious. You will be the greatest mage of all time. You were already going to be the best in ages, you know. I never exaggerated your skill.”

The scene changed. Celestia’s bed, Twilight lying on her back. Celestia snaking in from the side, over her, blocking out the reddish glow of the ancient not-sun. Twilight felt hot and far too comfortable. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her legs shook.

“Your voice is beautiful,” she said, stupidly.

Celestia was above her, looking down. Her face seemed almost to flicker, as if two realities tried to inhabit the same space. One face was… was… Twilight was ashamed. She felt dirty. Awful. One face looked at her with a look that was both desire and maternal warmth. The other shifted. Concern. Dismay. Sadness. Twilight looked fearfully for disgust--knotted brows and squinted eyes, the way Celestia’s face readied itself for an angry exchange. But there was none of that.

“Thank you,” Celestia said softly. She practically purred. Twilight shivered.

The world was ending, and she was just building fantasies in a strange nowhere place while Canterlot was no doubt burning. Every single pony that had believed in her, waited on her, fought at her side, every one of them she was betraying. This was what Twilight Sparkle had come to the end of the world to do. Play out her most sordid desires.

Twilight hated herself.

The scene did not change. She willed it to change, and it would not.

“I can’t make this go away,” she said hoarsely. Celestia gazed down at her. Her face kept changing--the false face of warm desire and the true one of concern. And horror, she added to herself.

“I know you can’t. It is alright, Twilight. Your heart is troubled.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” she whispered. “Celestia, please tell me what to do. I’m done. I’m at the end of my rope. It’s all so… broken. Spike is dead and maybe my friends will die and I don’t even know if Canterlot is still there. Equestria is just... “

Celestia leaned down. Twilight’s heart soared. Her stomach twisted in knots. She took a deep breath and her back arced. She was both expectant and afraid.

Celestia kissed her forehead and made a soft “shush” noise. “Stay calm, Twilight, remember where you are. All is not lost.”

“But you know now,” Twilight said. “You can see the...t-the docks, can’t you? And in Jannah? And my dreams and you…”

“Yes. You’re practically hemmoraghing memory,” Celestia admitted. She pulled back slowly. “Who do you say I am?”

“Celestia.” And suddenly she felt a tug on her heart and her mouth opened of its own accord as it had in the Well. “Mother. Teacher. Lover.”

Celestia hummed. “It took you long enough to respond correctly. I have been trying to realign your psychic energies this whole time, you know. You are in quite a lot of distress. But I also wanted to ask. The first I suspected, and was secretly pleased by; the second I was with honor; the third I took me by surprise, but I begin to understand it.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight whispered.

“Why should you be?” Celestia asked.

And Twilight wasn’t sure what to say. “But… But it’s so…”

“Natural,” Celestia murmured. She turned away. “You’ve tortured yourself a long time.” It wasn’t a question. “You never let it slip. Or perhaps you did, and I was simply blind to your feeling.” She sighed.

The scene, finally--blessedly--changed.

A cliff edge. The red dying sun hung overhead and below roaring waves. Behind her the Last City sprawled on and on. The cliff was covered in clover that quickly became roses, then became clover again.

Twilight took a steadying breath.

“What do I do now? What do we do now?”

Celestia was looking over the edge of the cliff. She hummed a tune that Twilight did not know for a moment. Luna does that too, Twilight thought.

“Well. If the world’s turning stops, the fox faces the hounds,” Celestia said and spun to gaze back at Twilight.

“What?”

“I have been here, Twilight, for a long, long time. For you, it has been months--a year and half? Two years? I’m shaky on the chronology. But it matters not. I have experienced it as decades. I am a bit… shaky.” She cleared her throat. “I have been in a long duel with the Shadow. I cannot stop it completely when it moves, but I can make every blow glancing--it raises and army and I cripple the Hideous Strength’s control over it. It tried to form monsters but I disrupted its work and they were finished with a flap over their mouths and noses that prevented them from breathing in most cases. They also boiled alive in sunlight, ironically.”

Twilight shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“Yes. Yes it is. My duel has been a horrible one, Twilight. I cannot see all that the Shadow does, but I can see enough. But the dance cannot go on forever. I am growing weary. It wrested the sun from my grip and now that power is between us.”

“So Luna was working against someone.”

“Yes. Both of us, actually. I am not its match, but it cannot focus too much on me… it has things to do, and so it is spread too thin. But that will change.”

She pointed towards the Last City. Twilight turned, and saw smoke trailing from great fires. An army had taken the walls. Strange beings fought in the streets and before the gates, clad in armor.

“Its army may soon be destroyed.”

“And then it won’t be able to use it,” Twilight said. For once, she was starting to feel hope. “So it’ll lose all that influence, all those little holes into our world, right?”

“Yes,” Celestia said with a smile like heaven. “Yes, it will.” The smile slid off her face. “And then it will have much less to focus on.”

And like that, Twilight sat heavily in the clover. “It’ll attack you.”

“It already is. But it shall have enough of itself free of entanglement to finish me off. And when I am gone? Then it will have eliminated the greatest anchor. It’s gambit will have paid off. The plan was so simple, Twilight.

“If Celestia is gone, it causes anxiety, and that anxiety masked the first movements that the Destroyer made to begin its great concert of death. It had already touched a few key individuals, and those ponies were its pioneers. They paid and bullied and plotted, and the Hideous Strength made every thing that needed to happen come to pass. The right fires were started. The right ponies lived and the right ponies died. The right ponies got the right ideas. Do you understand?”

Twilight nodded grimly. It occurred to her suddenly that Axiom had been more right than he realized, all that time ago in Vanhoover.

“If I were gone, I would not be able to exert my influence to curb those plans. But, removing me was more than simply removing Equestria’s security blanket,” she said, with little warmth. She bared her teeth. “Because the Shadow knows that Luna knows little about it--she was too disoriented in the Beginning. But I know. I remembered. I was born waiting for it to come, I think.”

“So nopony would put the pieces together and discover it… you couldn’t counter it… It left Luna in charge because it thought she would be weak and maybe even start rumors about Nightmare Moon by her mere presence. If it wins out there, then it can deal with you whenever it wants to. If it loses out there, then it can focus on you and it still wins because it's gotten one of the biggest obstacles out of the way. And you can't simply leave because if you aren't here keeping it occupied it just... uses all of that energy on the world and wins. It wins in every direction...” Twilight said. She covered her eyes. “Okay. So you’re in stalemate.”

“Exactly.”

Twilight pushed everything from her mind but Celestia, the Shadow, herself, and the city.

“Then we have to be quick. We have to find a way to either power you up or keep the Shadow stuck wasting its resources. No, nix that. It’s already overextended, but that’s not good enough. Maintaining that doesn’t help. You have to beat it. Destroying its armies won’t work. It’ll make another, am I right?” Celestia nodded. She seemed to be waiting. It reminded Twilight of when they played chess.

And just like that, they were. Celestia moved her pawn forward. Twilight took it mindlessly with a rook. “We can’t defeat the Shadow in the physical world, then. We must do it here, where it first made its outpost. But how? If you don’t have enough power to destroy it…” she grimaced. Celestia took the rook--Twilight had fallen into her trap. “I really can’t help you, can I?” she said, feeling her heart sink. Useless in the end. All of it for nothing. Of course it was.

“I do have a plan,” Celestia said as Twilight aimlessly moved one of her pawns forward. “And it involves you. I have it formulated already. I was busy while you were unconscious. The problem is that it is… taxing.”

“Taxing?” Twilight asked.

“For you, it will be.” Celestia sidestepped Twilight and threatened her king. “Dangerous. I… The thing itself must be destroyed. It cannot be simply locked away again. It will continue to grow in strength until such a time as it has laid another perfect trap, and that one we shall not escape. We must kill it here and now, or do our best to do so. It has been a parasite on the Earth for far too long already.”

Twilight nodded. “Quickshot’s Theory. Every battle after the first is exponentially more risky. The enemy knows you, the enemy can manage your knowledge of them, and most importantly, chance. Every engagement is a recipe for disaster, so you strike once and you strike as hard as possible and you minimize both contact and risk.”

“Exactly. We must silence the Hideous Strength before its shadow encompasses the world. And you will help me do this, Twilight Sparkle. Checkmate.”

“But… but how?”

And Celestia--beautiful, proud, holy--smiled down at her as she gingerly knocked Twilight’s king over. “If I am under blockade, than you are going to be my blockade runner, my faithful student.” She leaned in and Twilight felt a sudden electric thrill in the air. “You are going to make some house calls. And together? Why, Twilight, we’re going to make a metaphorical bomb and shove it down the throat of Death.”

Author's Note

I am leaving tomorrow to go to Australia and New Zealand until Dec. 3rd.

Merry christmas! Godspeed
Goodluck
and goodnight.

This is what the Last City sort of looks like in my head. Yes, it's Dark Souls
I am bad at Dark souls

XLVIII. Luna II: I Believe In Your Victory

LUNA

In the city of Sarnath, they still speak of Celestia and Luna, of their wanderings and adventures, of the dreadful monsters they defeated and the great deeds they accomplished. They speak of the kindness the sisters showed the unfortunate. They say still in Sarnath that the Alicorns' creed was to subdue the proud and uphold the righteous.

In Ulthar they say much the same. But they speak also, quietly, of Luna's rare rage. For even near immortals can only endure so much wickedness before they are beyond reason with fury. When some Batpony of Sarnath or Ulthar commits some unholy act, the old mares whisper of the avenging night.

Celestia they named Wise, Great, All-Kind. They did much the same for Luna. Mother of night. The Shield. The Singer.

But they remembered also her rage. In the West they name her Sulva, and that name sends shivers down the spine. For in the vales of darkest Sulva, the moon above, Luna learned war in nightmares.

The earth shook under the wrath of queen of all holy darkness. Sulva had come to earth. Luna put forth her naked power and she would unmake creation if she could.

Even Alicorns have limits. They can be slain--poison is useless, but griffon sabers may not be, and where lesser magic seems to slide off their coats, the ingenuity of war provides new solutions.

None of them mattered. Not now. Not today.

Luna's legions assembled. She felt a heat spread over her body. The moon felt so close now, and she could feel it like an argent fire in her heart. It had been ages since she walked it in dreams, her projection feeling but not felt. Who is called Sulva? In what sphere does she walk? those were the words of the Questions given to each of her personal guards. She had never told them what the answer was.

Sulva is she whom mortals call the Moon. She walks in the lowest sphere. The rim of the world that was wasted goes through her. Half of her orb is turned towards us and shares our curse. Her other half looks to Deep Heaven; happy would he be who could cross that frontier and see the fields on her further side. On this side, the womb is barren and the marriages cold. There dwell an accursed people, full of pride and lust.

It had been ages since she had learned war on the frontier where the sterility tries to force it's way into the dark side of the moon. By now, the last of that place's inhabitants would be dead. Their jungles razed, their land sterilized. But in the sphere of Sulva she had learned war.

It was yet another world whose sorrows she held in her heart. She had never spoken of it to another soul.

If they lived through the night, she would tell Twilight of it. Even if Twilight repudiated her, Luna would perhaps still tell her. Somepony should know of Sulva. Stories were meant to be told.

And in the meantime, she shone.

An Alicorn is a creature of Glory. They hide that glory almost all their lives. "Lower still," Celestia would explain in ancient days as she concealed the eternal light of the sun in her person. She dimmed her eyes and carefully and jealously guarded her interactions. She smiled and chatted. She enjoyed tea with commoners and nobles alike. Luna had done so as well. It had been so long since she had let her hair down, so to speak. Her Glory was beginning to break through. Was it weakness, a lack of restraint? A ploy to cow her foe and inspire the last army of Equestria? Neither. Luna felt at last that she was herself. No longer hiding, no longer running, no longer desperate. And so she would no longer conceal herself. The world was stopped and the fox faced the hounds, and alicorns shone like gods.

She spoke, her voice amplified by magic and twisted by the aura which was heavy on the square.

"Soldiers of Equestria! The day has come! The false night is passing, and I have come to knock this pretender down. Our friends have come from far and wide to aid us. We will show them that Canterlot has not bowed!"

They roared. No, they were in something between ecstasy and terror, the naked fear of death intermingled with the wild hope of the condemned who finds the gallows rope cut and God holding the knife, grinning at him.

"Drive them out of your city! Drive them out into the plain and shatter this army of abominations! Give no quarter, ask for none. The hour of our deliverance is at hoof."

A chant began. Luna. Luna. Luna.

"You are the last army, and this is our final battle. Do not lose heart in the night before dawn! Fear no natural darkness, for the moon lights your ways. Fear not the tricks of shadows, for the stars shine upon you in your finest hour. The night is with you for I am the night, and I am with you until the end. And this is the End."

Her eyes were silver fires. Her mane was a galaxy spinning and drawing all eyes. Her aura weighed on every living thing, her countenance both in that moment the most terrible and beautiful thing any of them had ever seen.

Alicorns do not burn this way not only because they wish to live among their children. Luna was like a match, a candle. Alicorns may be extinguished. They might also burn out.

Rainbow Dash stood off to the side, still upon the wall despite Luna’s change. Perhaps the Element she bore gave her some protection. Perhaps she was simply resistant, for a friend is loyal to the reality and not the exaggeration--at least, how she would define those terms. She knew Luna, Glory or without.

But she was not without her trembling.

Luna lifted her hammer high and smiled.

And in her heart burned a flame unquenchable, and had their been an altar she might have laid upon it. But there was only a city to be won and Twilight forever afterwards.

Author's Note

MANY THANKS TO backlash91, also known as Denma Warlight for the beautiful drawing of Luna in all her righteous fury.

XLIX. The Night is Passing

CANTERLOT

Quiet--be quiet and wait--mum's the word around the old rugged guns perched upon the defiled walls of Canterlot. The crew moves only when they must--all of them fear discovery. They worry over each breath. Every single one is proof of their existence, and that existence is dangerous. These ponies are legionaries but they'll die quickly and without heroics--they can calculate trajectories and pick off stragglers but hoof to hoof isn't in the job description.

There are five guns spread along the wall, each fifty meters apart from the next. Close enough for communication, far enough to keep them from being taken all at once. It's not ideal, but it'll do. The truth is that little is ever ideal and no plan ever survives contact with the enemy.

This one so far had. Rainbow Dash and the small Speculatore escort had knocked the scant sentries right off the wall before they had a chance to sound the alarm. No pony had seen them.

Everyone waits for the signal. The northern Pegasi are bewildered or skeptical. A sonic rainboom? It's a myth, or it's just a trick. But the Equestrian-born are all alight with a suppressed excitement. They'll see a miracle tonight one way or another.

The plan is this:

Rainbow Dash will work her sign. The legion will begin its long advance. The guns fire after the signal, as soon as the Equestrian infantry hits the distracted Manichean force.

Confused, the attacking army turns both ways, sending soldiers to seek out an enemy that hasn't arrived, causing more confusion. When the legion arrives, it will push through a disoriented rearguard, torn apart by anti-personnel fire, and the allies shall eat away from two sides until they meet near the middle.

That is the plan. Ideally.

Of course, as every soldier knows all too well, few plans survive contact with the enemy.

RAINBOW DASH

Rainbow laid flat against the broken roof of a bombed-out store. She was glad--fervently so--for the little watch Rarity had enchanted for her. An old trick, she'd said with a knowing smile. That old trick had been a clock which shed just enough light to be read without revealing her position.

Rainbow Dash's night vision was excellent--all Pegasi were naturally adept in the dark. Unicorns? They came close. Earth ponies? By Rainbiw's high standards, useless as soon as the sun was gone.

So she saw a lot. None of it was what she had wanted to see when she came back. Through a large hole in the roof, for instance, she could see an unidentifiable pool on the floor. She thought of it as unidentifiable even though she was decently sure it was blood because the idea of that much blood coming out of a pony was distressing and it made her want to hurl and frankly she needed to focus.

Dash wished she could shut her eyes and get centered, get hyped--like she might before flying examinations in the Academy--but you can't close your eyes and psyche yourself up behind enemy lines. You can barely avoid to blink.

The Manicheans below were pulling equipment. She wasn't sure what was in the wagon they'd probably stolen off the street, but it would be something worth wrecking.

She licked her lips. The Manicheans had brought light with them. It was really a mixed blessing. She saw this little band just fine, but outside of the tiny island of light? Well, torches and magic wisps had a way of ruining your night vision.

Opal had gone into detail about her duty before Rainbow had left with the artillery and scouts. She had to cause a ruckus *before* she pulled off a sonic rainboom. In fact, if at all possible she had to cause a scene big enough to attract a lot of attention before she flew back out of the city and went all rainboom.

Usually, Rainbow Dash and "making a scene" went together very well. Of course, usually "making a scene" didn't involve quite so much... Direct violence. At least, that's how it had been, long ago.

She watched the crew below, and they were definitely a *crew* and not merely a patrol. The strange cargo was unloaded at last, and it was... Mortars. Wonderful. Lucky, in a way. This would be a good place to start.

But now she had to start, and it is harder to start a fight than it is to simply continue it. Continuing a fight or ending it plays into the body's fear--to win is essentially to escape in a more secure way, after all.

The Manicheans set up their mortars. Dash imagined what they would do. She could see how their shells would fall out of the sky like ripe fruit and...

It was time.

She didn't let them finish. Out of the darkness she ascended without a sound--except for the crack as both her hindlegs smashed hoof-first into the rebel holding a makeshift torch. He fell and his illumination went spinning away into the streets.

The others turned, but realization dawned slowly and Rainbow Dash was the opposite of slow. She hit the unicorn manipulating the whisps. Now there was no light.

One of them still had a rifle. He fired, and the shot went far wide. She snorted and charged him on ground. But he was quick in panic, and fired again.

The second shot went wide, but by an inch. Rainbow hit him low and toppled him onto his back. She reared up and dealt him two swift kicks--

Only to be caught from behind. She'd miscalculated. Cursing, she threw herself and the hanging rebel to the ground. The impact broke the other's grip and Rainbow silenced him.

There was shouting down the street. She kicked frantically at the mortars and then flew back to the roofs before anypony could see her. Okay. That was distraction enough. They would assume there were guards in the area, probably. She didn't know. Didn't care. It was time to jet.

What happened next was too quick for even Rainbow to comprehend fully. She didn't think so much as she was pulled along. Her body led from the front and her mind lagged far behind.

Rainbow soared upwards, beyond the range of gunfire and spell. Not that any tried--or anypony that she heard.

Faster. Faster. The world turned to darkness as she intersected a cloud and tore through it... And then she stopped, turned...

Rainbow Dash fell to Earth like a shooting star. The world around her blurred at the edges. She felt as if she herself were beginning to melt, disperse. She...

Pegasus magic is active, but in a different way than the activity of a unicorn's horn. A unicorn thinks and the world twists. A Pegasus cannot think and be in the air. A Pegasus moves. A pegasus does magic by *doing* it, by spreading their wings and grabbing onto the wind and riding it. A unicorn's mind, a pegasus' body, an earth pony's heart. And when that magic is stretched?

Unicorns have strange thoughts and visions. Earth ponies feel strange things. Pegasi... Well. Pegasi see things sometimes.

Rainbow Dash saw Twilight parallel to her. Her body was changed--Twilight was taller, thinner and yet more muscular. Her mane was wild and her horn long and sharp. Rainbow in a magical haze as she hit the perfect speed, thought she saw a scar around her throat like a hanged mare.

And then Dash had pulled up and was hurtling towards the castle, and all visions were forgotten. Below, rebels scattered or stared in bewilderment, cowering under the boom of released magical force.

TWILIGHT

Twilight took a deep breath.

Behind her, Celestia smiled and spoke kindly. "You can do it, Twilight. I think if any of my ponies can, it is you."

Twilight squeezed her eyes shut. "Walk me through it one more time."

"You'll need to manipulate the idiomatic nature of your perception/image which you inhabit here. As it is now, you are using memory and emotion. Besides it being occasionally over-revealing and unpleasant, it is dangerous and unstable. You must alter it to work like Dreamwalking."

"And I do that by..."

Celestia coughed. "Force of will. Well, essentially. As it is now, there are a few ways you could, but most of those require magic you do not know and which I do not have time or mastery enough to teach you. A good starting place would be memories of Dreamwalking."

Twilight thought about Dreamwalking. Specifically, she thought about first learning to talk in and manipulate her dreams... Side by side with Luna.

The scene changed. Celestia was gone. Luna and she were... Were... A lot of places. Twilight's head hurt as she tried to keep up with the rapidly changing background.

She focused, feeling frustrated, and around her everything solidified into the castle where Luna had "grown up". There was an apple tree and Luna stood in it's shade, watching with a flat expression.

"Celestia?" Twilight asked. "She just... Why isn't she moving like the others?"

Celestia calmly walked out of thin air and a startled Twilight fell back. She grinned in a sheepish way and bent helped Twilight back up.

"Because she's not a specific memory," Celestia said.

"Ah." Twilight regarded the silent Luna and shivered. "It... She's so..."

And the world around her grew hazy and distinct for a moment, and then it resolidified. The false Luna was gone. Celestia was looking around with an unreadable expression.

"She... Um. Told me she..." Twilight faltered. "I liked this place," she finished.

"As did I," her teacher said.

"Okay, so from here, I try to dreamwalk, right? Did I do it?"

"It's more stable. You'll return here when you wake instead of having to rebuild the idiom every time. But I would advise you to hurry, even so. Out there, you move in real time. We need every bit of help we can. I'm not completely sure what you will find, but I know it will not be pleasant. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

CANTERLOT

It is dark, yet dawn is coming. The gate opens and it releases Luna at the head of an army.

The main force of the Manichean occupation is situated just out of typical rifle distance. So they do not hear the shouting or the orders or the stamping hoofs, but they hear the great door. The great mass of movement and intent they hear later.

The complacent besiegers are caught off guard. They scramble to set up a strong line.

And in the air rides Soarin'. Spitfire is at the head of the wedge, to his left. He sees the campfires first. But he also sees the suggestion of movement through the air and so is not taken unawares as his flight of guard ponies hurtles straight into a cloud of intercepting pegasi.

One comes with a sky-lance for his underside and Soarin' rolls out of the way and dives underneath Spitfire as she hits another flier. The lancer stays with him, pulling into the loop with him. Soarin' curses and climbs. The lancer also climbs, matching his speed, faster and then faster. And Soarin pushes himself just out of the way and then stops. He falls maybe thirty meters, maybe forty, but the lancer can't turn swiftly enough to follow. Soarin pushes back up and as the lancer stops himself and tries to dive, Soarin' catches him in the face with a hoof.

He dives back into the fray.

The Manicheans have strong defensive positions, rifles and long streets, houses turned into hard points. They wait to send death over with fire, and behind these forward bases the main camp begins to slowly stir in confusion.

Luna has learned. The army advances but first there are screams as rebel ponies vanish in the darkness. Nightshades buck them into silence and slink away into the darkness, away from the lights the rebels hastily erect.

The Shadow is not with them as strongly now. It senses something happening here and something far away beyond the corners of the world and it's attention is divided. These are mortals with mortal fears, hearing the echoes of an army, seeing their own vanish, feeling as if a thousand eyes watch them in the night.

The gunners are waiting. They aim and load and wait. Any moment now. Just a while longer.

Amaranth drops from the roof and falls on the running rebel's back. He cries out because she let him cry out. Then she kicks him hard and he is gone.

She is already moving before the next Duskwatch lands.

A panicking rebel sees movement and fires. Amaranth, fresh with blood and filled with a holy fire, can almost see the bullet sluggishly crawl past. What weakness! She rushes him, and others follow. They fall upon the whole line, silent in their exultation, still feeling the silver fire of Luna's will etched into their eyes and souls, feel it burning in their veins.

She dodges a bayonet easily. She sidesteps a hoof blade. Smirking, she dances in between soldiers and pushes them together. This one she strikes down, this one she spares. Life and death swirl around and around her, chaotic and vibrant.

The first line collapses as the Duskwatch vanishes and the ragged, screaming Solar Guard arrives in force.

Luna on the battlefield is terror and awe. Her own soldiers find their minds peeled back, find themselves almost transported as her aura of Glory washes over them. For brief moments no bullet or blade or blow can kill them. Their kicks and swipes always are true and their rifles never miss the target. She carries the charge by force of will, her hammer rising and falling, then swinging like a scythe. Her eyes are fire and her body seems to open up into an infinite starry night, and the longer one looks the more the voids between the lights loom until you are screaming and running or crying and worshipping and neither makes any sense. Her hammer does not simply batter: it tramples. It cleaves through armor and flesh as if it were a sword. It is like a fist that breaks through flesh and comes out wet and mangled on the other side.

Out of her mouth comes nothing but hot breath, hot like the exhaust of stars, and she could superheat armor with it. The weight of her full Glory is beginning to show, but she presses on. She continues on.

The initial line of hastily assembled soldiers is gone. Beyond them, lazy sandbags conceal a second line that begins to fire. Guards fall around her, but Luna summons arcane lightning and burns a great hole in the pathetic fortification. There are survivors. One of them is behind a machine gun, a Griffon model far more advanced than what Equestrians use, and begins firing wildly into the street. Almost a dozen guards drop in seconds as the attacking wave scatters for cover. Luna launches forward, calling up her shield.

Behind the sandbags, a petrified whitecloak is stuck with his mouth around a trigger trying to control a gun he isn't trained for, pure adrenaline filling him as he ignores the pain against his teeth and the rat-a-tat in his brain. The only thing he's aware of is the flashing and the burned smell beside him and now Luna.

He manages to line Luna in his sights, still squeezing the trigger. The gun is starting to smoke. Luna, flying with outstretched wings and hammer high. Bullets impacting against her magic, pushing at her shield, landing like a pony falling into bed and then shattering or melting. Empty shells cascading down like a waterfall, hot and rolling on the cobblestone.

All of this seems frozen for a moment. Everything is focused.

Magic shields reflect the power of their owners. Against magic, an Alicorn's shield at full power is night impenetrable. But against physical attack any shield is at a disadvantage. Repeated attacks keep the caster from reinforcing and repairing the shield...

A machine gun is the ideal weapon to destroy shields, and the Griffon-issue Talon Type 19 is the best there is.

Luna's shield does not break. Her aura burns the bullets before they can impact, and Luna sidesteps. The terrified rebel is too overcome by her Glory and his own terror to turn his weapon. It begins to glow softly in the night, and before it can overheat, Luna has cleared the sandbags and is beside him. The hammer comes down.

The guard follows up behind her. They pour into the forward camp, sparking three dozen seperate little battles. A battle Mage hurls two rebel gunners through a window, but a bayonet runs him through. A Solar Centurion holds off a small countercharge with the revolver he levitates, until his attackers remember that they, too, can fire and that there are more than six of them by far.

And far off in the night, the main force begins to move ponderously towards Luna's beleaguered survivors. They will wake and then it will all be over.

At least, that is what is destined until Opal's guns begin their barrage, and throw an army caught flat footed into disorder.

TWILIGHT

In the depths of her silent dreaming, Twilight reached out for someone she did not know.

But Celestia knew her. Celestia was watching her as she slept, watching over her still form as it lay in the grass of the sister's ancient home. Celestia also was within her, a tiny shard of a vibrant whole.

That ghost of Celestia's shadow tugged her along in the Aether. Twilight was glad for the direction, for the Dreaming felt different from this side of reality. When she had dreamed inside of the world, it has felt like slowly sinking in silty water. From the outside? Like trying to sink into brick. Yet somehow, she managed it.

Twilight soared through the chaos and dim light, past thousands of dream bubbles.

She found the one she wanted and touched it.

She stood in a hazy winter wasteland. The wind howled around her. Snow piled up. Great evergreens loomed over her in an unforgiving darkness. Truly, this was the end the world was destined for, an end in howling winter and eventual silence. For the briefest moment, she thought that seeing Celestia had all been a dream after all, that she had failed and that the world had died anyway in her absence.

Twilight shook her head.

It wasn't as hard to make progress through the harsh blizzard as it would have been in real life. Yet, at the same time, it was punishing. She tried to alter her perception of the world. This is not cold. I have a pegasus metabolism and I laugh at cold.

Yet it was cold even still.

Twilight didn't know Celestia's plan. She hadn't asked the right questions, really, and wasn't that strange? Except, of course, that it wasn't strange at all. Oh, she had asked questions of Celestia before, but had she ever truly doubted her?

She was hard-pressed to think of a time. The wedding, when Celestia had been so disappointed with her when Twilight had been right? Perhaps. Yes, certainly, but her doubt had been subsumed in her pain and shock. When Celestia had sent her to Ponyville seemingly without listening to her warnings about the Mare in the Moon? No, she had mostly turned that on herself.

So of course she had blindly trusted. Should she? Now there was a thought. And how would she know? How would she judge her faith in her teacher? Celestia had rarely failed her. She had been faithful, if not always forthcoming. Kind, patient. Beautiful, Twilight thought despairingly.

She felt like a traitor. And that was the moment when the mind she had been looking for found her.

Twilight felt her legs freezing first and looked down at them in panic. Freezing was no metaphor--her hooves were encased in ice. The frost began to advance up her legs like a spider web, and she struggled to free herself. One hoof came free. With a cry between triumph and horror she set it down and pulled on another, only to find the leg trapped where it was.

BE STILL

Twilight tried. She really did, but her body just refused. Her heart would not stop hammering in her chest. She thought she had understood winter before but suddenly it felt like the very spirit of Ice was coming for her and she would be frozen in place.

She saw the eyes first.

They were blue. A light blue, like a gentle tropical sky but they lied. Because they were cold. Not just haughty, or merely unkind, merely judging, they were the very opposite of warm in every way. They made Twilight feel as if she would undo every warm and ecstatic moment spent in Celestia's summer-gaze if those eyes watched her long enough. The face was next. The whole body.

An Alicorn stood in the trees, indifferent to the snow as she was indifferent to Twilight's identity. She would have an answer and then crush the intruder like a fly on the wall. She was a shield for the weak but no mother. She was a dagger in the night. She was the dark cold heart of winter, she whom cities would tremble before, who with a sneer could destroy whole civilizations in endless winter. She was beautiful, pure white coat and hair more golden than blond, a regal yet savage coat with iron brooches across her shoulders, green linen bordered with thick fur. She was beautiful. She was beauty itself without an ounce of warmth and Twilight despaired.

But she was not destroyed. Somewhere inside of her, Twilight found a tiny core of composure and she clung to that strength for dear life.

WHO ARE YOU, WHO WEARS A FALSE FACE? the wind asked.

"Queen Iridia," Twilight said and tried to bow. Her voice did not shake. "I come with a message from your sister. She asked me to say that winter taught her that the sun too must be harsh and that she is a fool." The last bit was hard, but Twilight said it.

Iridia did not blink. She was silent for a few seconds, and then she spoke and the wind died down.

"You wear one face yet many. I smell Celestia. I taste Luna in the air. Another I... Ah, I know who you are. The one whose name was so fitting. Between night and day, a Twilight. A fool? Certainly she is sometimes. She refuses to except certain realities. But only she would think a blanket statement such as that would appease me in some way. She is certainly not a fool. Only soft when she should not be for her own sake and too enamored with certain... Subjects."

Iridia no longer seemed hostile but her expression did not truly soften.

"I feel my daughter on you. Her... Warmth. She foalsat you, did she not?"

"Yes," Twilight said as confidently as she could.

"How does she rule?"

"The Crystal Ponies love her."

"That tells me nothing," Iridia said without a trace of emotion. "Mortals love evildoers and fools all the time."

Twilight swallowed. "Before Celestia's sabbatical, I spent a week in Imperial Center studying it's culture and administration. She is fair and has straightened out a tangled beauracratic mess. She deals honestly and openly except when she needs to be discrete, and never lies but isn't always forthcoming. She is merciful but not foolish, and generous but not blind. I was very impressed and told her so."

"Mercy," Iridia tasted the word. "She certainly did not learn it from me."

Twilight felt another chill. "I have a message."

"Then give it, interloper."

"I... It's..." It had been a long message and Twilight was frozen and terrified.

Iridia did not change her features at all. "Think about a letter, child. Imagine words being written as you hear Celestia's voice." Her voice did not change, and yet Twilight did not feel any frustration from her. It was… it was something Celestia might have said to her, but without the softening of the voice.

Twilight did so. And as she did, a letter appeared in the air between them.

"T-thank you. Can I..." Twilight was shivering all over, uncontrollably.

Iridia released the ice and Twilight almost collapsed. She shivered as the Henosian Queen read quietly. She listened as Iridia snorted to herself over some bit of the missive.

"Curious. You. This request. The taste and smell of you in the Aether. That you would be able to intrude upon my most solemn sanctum in this way at all. Very curious. I find I do not like curious things, Twilight Sparkle. But I will go. I quite believe you. You are either legitimate or the worst and yet most interesting attempt at assassinating me in three millennia. Shall we depart?"

Twilight nodded and held out a hoof.

CANTERLOT

Artillery is loud. This should go without saying, but its something that everyone always seems to forget. Often, this loudness is misunderstood. You’ll think--loud enough to hurt my ears--loud enough to send me reeling--loud enough to make me cry out.

Try loud enough to shake the world. Everything shakes. The floor rebels. The ground throws ponies off. A great boom that is almost anti-climactic because its so close it shatters your eardrums and through your bleeding ears you hear very little. You feel the thump, like a bass drum, except everywhere and a hundred times as bad, hurting now and not invigorating, driving you like a hammer. Glass or stone or dust thrown up in a great cloud, filling the street, raining down for a few seconds afterward.

Now imagine a barrage.

Imagine this in the diseased hours between eleven and four, when the sun is a memory. Imagine that as a bleary column of white-barded ponies trots down the street towards the growing sounds of chaos a horrible whining keen fills the air. Perhaps they recognize it. Perhaps they are exhausted and don’t. Perhaps they recognize it and know already that it is far, far too late. Imagine the houses beside them exploding as if by their own volition. Imagine heat and dust filling eyes and the burning of terror and adrenaline, the thrown glass that cuts skin, the rocks which crush and the cobblestone torn up as one lands in the midst of the column. Imagine trying to find cover when the threat comes from above. Imagine what it must be like to know that there is nowhere to run for you.

It is a bit like lying flat and asking the mountains to fall on you that you might not see the wrath of an angry god.

The guns roar in the night, echoing over the embattled city. Ice Storm lands briefly on a roof with his wing. They lie flat, staying out of the line of fire. Below, a Solar Guard push has stalled as a machine gun is brought up the street. In the tight corners of the lower quarter, superior rate of fire proves supreme. You can jump back and hope to be missed by a rifle with one shot at a time. You cannot hope the same from a Talon machine gun manned by frightened but alert rebels.

Even if you’re flying. Storm signals his wing to creep towards the edge of the roof and they do. From there, he can see over the hasty barricade and to the machine gunner and his supporting infantry below. Ponies behind little walls of sandbags, huddling out of the way of bullets and magic. Fearing the first’s suddenness and the latter’s versatile agony.

Ice Storm thinks, not as one considers a question but as one reacts to an uncovered truth, we were not made for this. No pony alive was made for this. It isn’t what we were meant to do.

Yet he does it. He taps the roof softly, but his assembled pegasi feel the vibrations in their wings, pressed to the cold rooftop. One. Two.

On three they dive into the frantic, distracted ponies below.

It is hard to really guage how effective a barded pegasus falling from a height can be if one has not seen such a thing. Suffice to say that though they are lighter than the other tribes, a pegasi hoof is still as hard as any other hoof, and even a lighter pony falling with all of his weight and added momentum is more than enough.

Ice Storm’s steel-shoed hooves hit one of the rebels in the shoulder, and he feels the crack of bone as the gunner lets his rifle fly into the air and falls against his neighbor. There is a general cry of alarm.

Others go down. Another pony abandons his rifle or any semblance of mechanized war and comes at Ice Storm with his hooves, rearing to kick. This is no longer a struggle of bullet and maneuver but of the most primal sort, the oldest sort. As Storm ducks, one hoof slides off the back of his barding and the other misses entirely. The soldier hasn’t even pulled his hoofblades forward. Storm throws him back with a push and then deploys his own with a sort of kicking motion.

They swarm. The machine gunner keeps firing, frantic to keep the street clear, knowing that there can’t be that many coming down, there just can’t be. Storm’s wing is no longer charging but bogged down in a mass of bodies. The melee has devolved into biting, kicking, wordless roars, grunts and the smell of sweat and blood. He finds an unhelmeted head in front of him and he headbutts with his own helmeted head. Something tries to hold him down and he bucks wildly at it, his nostrils flaring, his eyes wide, something instinctive telling him that his back is undefended, something remembering jumping predators in tall grass. He circles, throwing off one pony while knocking himself into another. This one bucks him hard in the face, catching his cheek and sending him sprawling. He feels something hard crack against his back and he cries out.

But there is no second blow. Instead, a rush of wind, and the cries that bring back the racial memory of jumping wolves in the dark and he is being hauled up by a beautiful monster with glowing red eyes, her face smeared in blood--her own, someone else’s, Stars he does not know he does not want to know at all--and then Amaranth is pushing him back and yelling.

Ice Storm’s wing are strikers. They aren’t made for drawn out battle. Already, the surprise is gone and loud gunfire startles him back into clarity. He takes to the sky and knows that any pegasi who can will follow him, but calls for them anyway.

They retreat beyond the initial roof, landing three streets over, sliding down one tenanment house to the next, spilling into a grassy lot. He counts. He orders, Three missing. Nine left, including himself. Better than what it could have been, worse than he had expected. He curses. But he does not hear the rat-a-tat of a Talon gun at all anymore.

Luna continues on.

The forward positions melt away. The mortar teams, sleeping or caught in lazy repositioning for the morning’s bombardment, are caught in her glow and in the path of her swinging hammer. She obliterates them. Most do not get more than a single chance to fire, if even that. She summons gales that blow them into the sky to crack and die on the streets far away. She burns them out of their stolen houses. She calls down lightning and pure arcane energy to blast their hardpoints into cinders and scorchmarks. She absorbs small arms fire.

But the world has moved on. War has changed. A mortar team begins to zero in on her relentless path. One blast down the street, hitting friendly targets. Another, closer. Another, beyond her.

There is not another. Luna is enraged and godlike in her fury but she is no blind berserkgangr. She has moved already. She flies through the tight streets.

Behind her, the combined guards move up another street.

Four or five guns is not really that much, even when they are shooting shells that rock streets and obliterate walls.

The artillery only does so much. After the first twenty minutes of absolute panic they cause, the enemy adapts. They try to mortar the wall but that is beyond futile. Charging is suicide, but they do not know that these guns are old enough to still be using scattershot to discourage primitives with a lot of bravery and no ken of modern death. They talk to the remaining guns outside, few as they are, with magic scrying. It is not fast going.

Down the road, a Manichean crew is sighting one of the last rebel howitzers. Two earth ponies manipulating the gun. A unicorn bent over a glowing orb, struggling to keep the spell strong enough for coordinates just awhile longer, fatigued and thirsty, drug from his cot.

He does not work for long. There is no battle shout. A crystal pony charges from the darkness with a long telescoping lance mounted on his barding, and spears the frustrated unicorn through the neck. The lance is discarded with its target and the antiquated, pressure-sensitive clockwork machinery on the saddle pulls out another while the legionaire advances. Others follow behind their intrepid, silent centurion.

These are the auxilia lancae and they are very good at what they do. They have to be, on a battlefield that has changed.

Speed is their weapon as much as the lance and the pistol folded to the side of their barding, attached to an arm and worked by means of old but reliable mechanics. They do not pause at all in their charge through the lazily constructed gun nest. There is barely time to raise an alarm, and very soon no one to raise it to.

The legion is on the Canterlot road. They come out from the helpful shadow of the mountain, and in the pitched chaos of battle they are initially ignored.

But not for long. The Manicheans send out skirmishers to work around the guns and pick off the gunners, and one of these spots something, he thinks, out on the road. He squints, his mind cloudy as the hand of Shadow is light upon him, and rests his long rifle on an overturned cart in the road. He signals to the pony behind him to pause. Slowly, sure that it is nothing, he looks out towards the gate barricade, abandoned now as the army moves to catch the over-extended garrison.

Through the alchemical scope he sees warm shapes thundering up the mountain path and the first clear thought he has had in weeks breaks through the haze of corruption.

He is silent. He says nothing. No sudden exclamations of dismay, no horrified utterance. If anything, he is finally calm.

He gestures to his spotter and offers the scope. The other pony looks.

They exchange glances. The Shadow’s touch--light, so light, so otherwise occupied and working too many strings--is thrown off and they know where they are and what they do fully at last. There is no conversation about what to do. The first takes off his helmet, then his barding, then his hoofblades. He shakes out his mane, takes a deep breath, and when his partner is done, they move back into the tenement houses, leaving their guns in the street.

CELESTIA

I know it’s all a bit confusing, Twilight. I know that… I may seem different. This place changes you. It’s not a safe place, but it is a good one. Don’t you feel it? A little bit, at least? If you stayed here longer, more and more you would feel the goodness of this place, ‘till at last you would hear the Song. But you’ve heard it, haven’t you? I remember that now. The Well. That was but a taste, faithful student. A terrestial shadow of an Empyreal reality. An echo, if you will.

I am better suited for this place, but don’t be fooled: this is no more my home and element than it is yours. I am simply a better swimmer.

We have all the time in the world. All the time in the world, absolutely. A second here is less than even the tiniest fraction of time in our world. Ea, the world that is, or so they used to say once now and then long, long ago.

Can you believe I’ve forgotten where that name rose from and from whom it came? Perhaps it slipped in from the outside. For the world is not yet full in its completeness, and so it lives and breathes even still, and sometimes we are visited for an instant by the shadow of the Other and the Otherwise.

What shall we talk about, before you and I attempt to do a greater thing than either of us have ever done?

What is the Shadow? It is despair, as I’ve said. Ah, I see. You mean, how is it despair.

Well, it is despair in the same way that I am light and sunshine, or in the same way that you are magic and curiosity, or that your friend Rainbow Dash is speed and great heart.

Despair is what the shadow is, but it is also what it does. We say that a pony is in despair over something--a lost loved one, a failed business, some horrible turn of events--but that is not quite accurate. I have thought about it quite a bit, you know, especially since my sister was lost to me.

If a pony says in her heart, “I shall be Celestia,” then she shall be me or nothing. And as I myself an myself and she is her own self, she is therefore nothing. She is in despair over this failure, we might say, but that is not true. She is actually in despair over herself.

Not clear? Hm.

Despair is not about the outside. It is about the inside.

A pony who sees the self and would not be the self that he or she is, that is a pony in despair. It is something like hatred, but different. It is like avarice, but not quite. These are like shadows and despair is the great monolith caught in the light. They suggest. They outline the thing, but they are not the thing.

We live in a kind world. But that does not mean we live in a world that is always perfect or always immediately pleasant or always immediately satisfying. You know this, even if you wouldn’t say it like that. Think about when you were most buried in studies and new, wonderful knowledge. I am sure of this: in some exhausted, tired moment, or in some quiet one beside some silly pile of new books, you felt it. That the world was Good. That you had learned, and that it was Good to learn, and Good to know, and Good to be the pony that you were. You were happy, yes, but that’s not what I mean. Something… something deeper than happiness.

Perhaps when you first tried your hoof with astronomy with me, that night in the tower. Do you remember? I love that memory. I’m glad you do as well. It was a wonderful night, wasn’t it? I was so excited to show you… I confess I was thinking about Luna the entire time. You had expressed an interest in stars, and I was aching for the sister I knew must return soon, and so we worked out each other’s great anxieties. Yours was the eagerness to know, and mine was the anticipation of reunion.

But the moment, when mere looking and admiring opened up into something else entirely. A science. Not charts and equations and memorized lists, for these are not science in the way that letters are not language. They are the outward sign, the currency with which you do brisk business. Hopefully. The almost unspeakable cut to your heart of longing, not just to know, but to be apart of a great surging something, of something beyond mere fillyhood. Something closer to the smell of salt on the wind while at sea, or of the first step up a mountain, or perhaps even of a timid knock at a door. A great question which would fuel ten thousand days of inquiry to find the answer, not a direct question but an ever circling, ever… ever…

Like a concentric set of circles. Approximation, that’s it. Ever circling, ever getting closer, like Luna and I and the sun and the moon, circling and circling in a great dance, honing in on the Ineffable. By clever arts taming it into the known, but knowing deep down that we shall never catch the thing itself but get close enough.

That is joy.

Now I want you to try very hard to imagine the opposite of that.

Imagine if even another’s learning filled you with a loathing so intense you would murder them, Twilight. I know that it is hard to twist the mind in unnatural ways.

Imagine that from the instant of creation, there was a thing which so loathed the very question that the suggestion of an approximation of an answer drove it to silence the question forever.

Is it afraid of the answer? That’s a good question! But I don’t think so. I’m not sure it cares. Or perhaps it cares more than we could even understand. That caring is what drives it to a sort of recursive madness.

It is the impetus of a labyrinth. When ponies are in despair, they walk the labyrinth and struggle to break free. Or they don’t. They are both kinds close to a kind of death, right upon that line.

The Hideous Strength, the Shadow, is the labyrinth. What dreams must it have?

TWILIGHT

Another dream, this one warm to the touch and soft like pillows, lace. A cheek. A kiss in the night on your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

Her first thought was that she would lie in every word if she tried to describe the feeling of this place, if you could call it a place. A concept? No. A feeling? Closer.

Physicality was limited and awkward and sort of difficult even at the best of times, and with the things one would expect it would be most easy to fit into the limits of the material. Ponies walked all the time, and it was a completely normal, mundane, material thing to do. Yet, they tripped. Walking as a pony or as anything else for that matter was limited and imperfect. There were so many different sorts of walks. One could strut, stroll, advance, proceed, patrol, wander. But what if you could casually stroll or float or breach the idea of walking itself? Or even more basic, of locomotion, of self-powered movement itself? That was what she had walked into. It occurred to her, blandly, that this was the same as the last dream, but she had been too focused on the sensation of being cold to notice. She had no idea what Iridia’s bubble had been. She had no idea what this one was. Or she had ideas, and she wasn’t sure what to make of them, so it was well enough that she had no ideas.

What did it look like? It was hard to make out. The world around her was elusive. One moment, it was a simple bedroom. The next, a starry night and a secluded forest clearing. The next after, if you’ll follow (and Twilight did her best to follow the ever-moving pictures) it was a simple street with ponies walking together or alone or in great gaggles, some smiling, some laughing, some just gazing about or at each other. And then it settled into a simple house. It was a normal house, like any in Ponyville. Simple, rustic Equestrian architecture of the century before—one found it still in the country. Thatched roofs. Dimly, she recalled that the style of thatched roofs had come back after a long absence. Why was that? Her mind was like scattershot.

Twilight shook her head. She had to focus.

Or, well, she had to try to focus. The house had a little garden, nothing grand or fancy. There were other houses around it, all similarly small and rustic. They all felt wonderful and refreshing. Each contained a wonderful and warm home, she knew this somehow. This felt like her home, and she had never seen it before. Her mind was filled with warm meals and warmer smiles, of sitting on the couch reading and soft laughter over morning coffee.

There was a little fence and a gate which she opened. A painted mailbox with flowers on it, as if a child had been allowed to decorate which made her smile like an idiot. A little homely path of stones laid in the grass. She knocked on the door—it seemed polite somehow. Her mind was fuzzy.

“Come in!” said a voice which she knew that she recognized, but could not attach to anypony that she knew.

Twilight opened the door and walked into the middle of a grand ball.

She wore a dress—she had never seen it before, but looking down she found that it was lovely. It reminded her of stars, and look! Stars appeared. A night sky, with a crescent moon near her flank. Like Luna.

And as she thought it, so Luna appeared out of the dancing, stately crowd. Her eyes shone with something Twilight’s heart recognized and leapt at but that left her mind puzzled, if pleasantly so.

“Shall we dance?”

I’m not sure I have the time to be dancing. I have to find… I have to find… Her mind said this, but her mouth opened and it said: “Absolutely.”

Luna swept her into a dance and led her across the swirling crowd. She heard string music, even knew the piece, and knew she must be in Canterlot. But this was all at the periphery of her mind, for Luna took the lion’s portion.

Luna. She was strong, and Twilight felt just how strong she was, but also graceful. It was like being sheltered in the hands of a gentle giant. Yet, she felt no masculinity in it, none of the tired cliché of strength but something wildly feminine that a lesser Twilight, and earlier one, would have felt envy over. She smelled of… was it lavender? But it was. And the night air in forgotten gardens. Twilight thought she could get drunk off of the smell alone. Her touch was not electric so much as it was intoxicating. As they danced, she found that her heart raced and her eyes saw more clearly. Her coat stood on end, her mind struggled to form coherent thoughts, her skin was on fire, her steps were like cannons, her lips ached for something, her body felt hot and then cool as if blown by wind, her—

They had passed through the crowd. Luna held her and Twilight forgot everything but the thrill and she laughed as her lover twirled her in a dance that had completely changed. No more stateliness, or rather, a form less attached to image and more to something far more formal and far more regal. She wore a circlet of gold and Luna was dressed as a queen of some savage land and Twilight didn’t care for anything but that Luna might kiss her. Not a chaste peck, or a hesitant question, or even a warm exchange, but something ferocious. Something you might call animalistic or beastial even though these words were stupid and beneath what she was feeling, but they were as close as she could come.

They wore nothing. She lay in soft, springy grass. Above her, stars that Luna blotted out and a full moon that had come so close. She was mad. She was losing her mind. Luna kissed her with something like hunger but to call it hunger was base. Twilight tried to pull her in but it wasn’t necessary. She felt Luna’s teeth nip at her ears, her neck, and Twilight moaned like she was in heat—worse, in fact, but it was not wanton. It was, in fact, right in a sense which she could not explain and had no time to contemplate but would have moved her to tears were it not for Luna touching her, kissing her, whispering words that she heard but that faded as she touched them with her dreaming mind. Luna possessed her while being possessed. Luna took her in the way that Twilight barely understood and she could not simply drift away into warm pleasure because it was too intense, like trying to ignore the sun or a fire as she stared right at it or lay upon it. And—

Twilight lay panting, filled with warmth and yet with a hollow ache in her heart. And her loins, if she were honest. She felt… no, she didn’t feel embarrassed by the last bit even a little bit. Luna lay beside her. They were in… they were in the room on the island of Midway, in Maldon the city that was. The gulls were crying each to each as the first cracks of dawn spilled in. Luna was so warm. Twilight was meant to be here. She felt as if she was whole. She closed her eyes, blinked really, and opened them—

To find that she was walking beside her friends, laughing over some shared joke. It was a clean, honest laughter that did not shy away from the daylight and there was nothing coarse about it for its brashness. It was a beautiful day in Ponyville, and Twilight relished it because it was hers, but also because it was theirs. She loved them. A thousand years, she wished them, and then—

She was at the door to the Garden again, looking at them. For a horrible moment she thought she had fallen back out. But before she could begin to panic, she was swept away by a tide of something like sorrow. And it was sorrow, but not totally. It was sweet even as it burned, but to call it bittersweet was folly. They were all there—the mother from Maldon and her son, who chased the Sun. Applejack and Pinkie, Rainbow and Rarity, Fluttershy and Kyrie. Luna, Celestia, Cadance winking at her and Cadance flashing her his silly, goofy grin. Her companions from school, her parents, Spike—oh, her heart quailed within her, but even this was joy!—everyone she had ever loved.

She found that she wept. They said they loved her and she said she loved them too, with all her heart, and she could do nothing else but love them and chose it all the same as if there were a million different ends and then—

Twilight took a step into what looked like a royal bedroom and then collapsed.

Her breathing was haggard and her face flushed as if she were laid low by the flu. Her body ached. She felt… she felt spent. Awful and wonderful at the same time. Like any moment she might throw up and yet also like could eat Canterlot out of house and home. She was shaking, Twilight realized faintly.

Looking up, Twilight saw her. Or, really, them.

Celestia and Luna. Sitting on a regal bed. Both smiled at her.

She trembled. She knew what this bubble was. She knew it.

“I… I don’t…”

“Hush, love. Be still,” Luna said to her.

“You’ve no need to defend yourself,” Celestia continued, and Twilight’s heart beat faster in her breast, if that were possible. “Will you rise and come to us, or we to you?”

Twilight found herself crying again. Her tears turned to sobs, great heaving sobs. “I don’t… I’m sorry… I don’t want to chose… I already chose, I—“

And she felt somepony kiss her and saw it was Celestia. And then Luna was there, kissing her, and she found that it was Luna who picked her up in her magic—and it was strangely warm, and Twilight could not find out why—and they brought her to the bed and they ministered to her, murmuring softly as they stroked and fussed over her mane. Celestia kissed her forehead and Luna hummed a little tune in her ear that sounded like it was ancient.

“I don’t understand. Why are you both here? Isn’t… I…” Twilight struggled to speak. Her sobs slowly receded into only a sort of aching numbness. “But I can’t love you both. That’s what this place is, isn’t it? Home and romance and being together and… and friends and… I just…”

“This is Love,” they said together. Luna kissed her again, and Twilight wanted both to weep and to sigh in contentment. “This is love,” Luna repeated. “You did not mean to be wicked in your loves, Twilight, my dearest, my love. You loved with a filly’s heart. You loved your mother, and so you loved the one who taught you to do those things which most you were made to do.”

“And you loved the one who was brave and sought you out, even when it could have been costly,” Celestia said, and kissed her forehead. “Luna, who invited you into her deepest places, hoping you would come, always timid and yet always bold. You were alone, and you found a soul who knew what it was to be alone, and together you found that it was good not to be alone.”

“But… do you even…” Twilight went slack and surrendered.

Celestia, or the Image of Celestia, smiled at her and kissed her lips, and Twilight thought it tasted of paradise. “No, to answer your question. Though I’ve tried that road before, long ago, at my sister’s encouraging. But that is not the question, is it? It is a question, obviously, but it is a sort of silly question, don’t you think, faithful student?”

“Quite a silly one,” Luna agreed. They giggled and Twilight found that it was the weirdest thing in a great sideshow of strangeness. “And you know, I really thought you and Morning Dew were, ah, how do they say it now? Cute together.”

“Oh, she was adorable,” Celestia agreed.

“Stars,” Twilight said.

Celestia looked back at her while Luna played with her mane. “You are a mare parted three ways, Twilight Sparkle, after a fashion. Here, let the real you speak to the you that you think you are: You love me, Celestia.”

“Yes. I do,” Twilight said, and felt her heart in her throat.

“You love what you think is me, the idea in your head. A perfect, untouchable master. The all-knowing, all-wise, all-powerful goddess who is your mother and the object of your deepest and most base desires.”

“Yes, I do,” Twilight said again, and swallowed.

“And you love Luna, the real Luna, who loves you also,” Luna said in her ear. “The Luna who wrote to you, and to whom you wrote, when the world was a little warmer. The one who taught you to dreamwalk and excitedly showed you her private world. The one who made the walls of her heart as clear as she could to you, that you might do the same.”

“I love you, Luna,” Twilight said, and she thought she might cry again.

“You love Luna,” Celestia agreed. “You loved me, and you loved the idea of me. You cannot love the idea of a pony, for that is not what love is, because you are lusting after an idol of your own making. Yet, the sin is not as great as you feared, for truly you loved me. Would you have come all this way for a base lust? I think not.”

“But is that… is that okay? I don’t really understand how this works,” Twilight said.

“It is. That is not to say that it is easy. Your heart cannot always be divided,” Celestia told her and then she sang a little wordless melody while Luna spoke and Twilight thought it might be a lullaby. Luna was still beside her, lower than Celestia and breathing softly against her cheek.

“And your heart shall not always be so divided,” she said with a tone that brought back the memory of the whirlwind before but also of the long intimate night in the ruins of Luna’s ancient playground castle. “Love is patient, Twilight.”

“Kind,” Celestia said, as if by rote, with a smile like a teacher and like a mother.

“It does not envy, nor boast, nor is it proud,” Luna offered. “Even of sisters, if it can help it,” she added with a little chuckle in Twilight’s ear. “When I can help it.”

“It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs…” Celestia continued on, her voice gaining momentum as if approaching some climax.

“Nor does it delight in evil,” Luna whispered in her ear like a lover, for she was. Her tone was serious now, very serious. “But it rejoices in the truth, Twilight.”

“It protects always. Always trusts. Always hopes,” Celestia added, and she kissed Twilight’s forehad, below her horn, over her eyes which fluttered shut, the tip of her nose. Twilight giggled softly. Her lips, and lingered, and Twilight felt that she might cry again and did not understand herself. “It always perseveres,” she added, and Celestia looked at Luna and smiled.

“Love never fails,” said a third voice. Twilight blinked, and Celestia and Luna were gone. She shot up.

And found Cadance standing in the bedroom’s doorway with the warmest smile yet. It was motherly, but not. Mischievous but never with a drop of malice. “Prophecies and tongues and knowledge all fail, but it doesn’t. Celestia told me all of that once, when you were… eleven, I think? I’m not sure. I’ve never forgotten it.”

“Cadance? Is this… is it you, or another image?” Twilight asked. Her heart ached, and yet it was not so bad.

“It’s me, Twily,” she said, momentarily mocking her husband’s voice. It startled Twilight into laughter as Cadance crossed the large bedroom slowly. “It’s me. I’m… well, honestly, I’m shocked to see you here. Glad, obviously. But you…” she paused, uncertain. “You seem very strange, do you know that? Not like your usual self.”

“It’s… hard to explain.”

Cadance hummed, her brow furrowing. “Yeah… yeah, I believe that for sure. I know it’s you though. I’d never forget. But, just to be sure—“

“Sunshine, sunshine?” Twilight offered, off-key.

“Ladybugs awake!” Cadance finished, and giggled. “Yup, it’s you. I may not be a real dreamwalker like Luna or as powerful as Celestia or my mother, but I have my ways. It’s like you’re mostly you, but I kind of… uh, taste? Taste works. Taste Aunt Celestia. And Aunt Luna. And…” She frowned. “Mom?”

Twilight nodded. “I just saw your mother.”

Cadance paled. “Whoa. Well… Wow, and you’re alive? I’m shocked she didn’t make you an icicle, Twilight.”

“She almost did, but she let me try and talk first. She wasn’t mean about it, not really,” Twilight said quickly. “I mean, I do seem… weird. I’m not really doing a normal kind of dreamwalking here.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Cadance said, smirking. Then her expression changed like quicksilver. She seemed to wrestle with something, and bit her lip.

Twilight pressed forward. “I have a message for you from Celestia. This one is easier than your moth—“

“You found her?” Cadance almost shouted. She grabbed Twilight between her forelegs. “You found her! Where? Why? When? Ho—“

“Hold on! Wait, wait just a second.” Twilight said, and gently pushed Cadance back. “She can tell you herself. She wants you to come with me. Like, to her. After my last stop.”

“Last stop?”

“Yeah. You’re stop number two. Your mother was stop number one.”

“Hardest first?”

“No. I think… dangerous first, then the harder ones.”

Cadance looked bemused, then as if she were about to make a joke about being offended, and then suddenly her face twisted with pained understanding. “Oh. I… Well. I didn’t mean to do all of this on purpose, Twilight. This… special dreamwalking, whatever it is… it’s insane, you know that, right? You have the same sort of weight here as an alicorn would. Like, a real one.”

“You were always a real alicorn to me, you know,” Twilight said suddenly, not sure why she said it.

Cadance blinked, taken aback. Then, she smiled and wrapped Twilight in a hug. “And you were the best foal I ever foalsat, you know that?” She released Twilight and her expression became serious, but not grim. “But I do know what you saw and felt. I wasn’t intruding. You sort of took over my whole… everything there, I guess. So I know.”

Twilight looked down. “I kinda figured you would.”

“You and Auntie Luna. Wow.” She grinned. “Well, she is pretty good looking for her age, I guess.”

“Ugh. So shallow, Cady.”

“The shallowest,” Cadance agreed with a giggle. “Seriously, though. Twilight… I’m so sorry. This… I’ve been gone so long. I saw the beginnings of this whole ordeal, and I thought it was a foalhood crush. Had I been around a little longer, I would have been able to help you. We could have talked about it. This is sort of my domain and I really blew it for you, didn’t I?”

Twilight shook her head. “No, I did that. I’m the one who let it all get twisted. You’re not weirded out?”

“Of course not. I know true love when I see it.” She chuckled and looked somewhere over Twilight’s shoulder. “I asked Aunt Celestia about that once, when I was getting used to my… power makes it sound wrong. More like my affinity, I suppose. How would I be able to know? She said to me, with the strangest tone of voice… ‘For now, we see as through a glass, and darkly, but then face to face. Now, we know in part, but then we shall know even as we are known.’”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“For me? It meant that love isn’t simple, Twilight. It’s not math. Thank the Song it isn’t. I’m still bad at math. Shiny makes up for my woeful lack. ‘S why I married him, of course. To shore up my mathematical deficiencies. You love Celestia for wonderful reasons. She’s kind and good and gracious and understanding and genuine. She really does care about all of her little ponies and she really loved being your teacher and mentor and she really did and does love you. You loved my aunt Luna because she loved you first, because she wanted you to be a part of her life and she wanted to be a part of yours and she tried to understand you. Those things aren’t wrong at all. They never could be.” She sighed. “But love is weird, Twilight, and yes, that’s a technical term. Love never fails, but ponies fail all the time. They take things and they mess them up. I love Shiny and he loves me, but we still hold little grudges sometimes, and it takes work not to. You were growing up, and you were lonely, and you were insecure because every pony ever has always been insecure because it’s just…” she shrugged. “It’s what ponies are. And so you made a false Celestia and you tried to love it.”

“But it’s not her at all, is it?”

“Of course not. Is Celestia perfect or all-knowing or some sort of exotic empress of pure whatever? No. She likes cake too much and is overly fond of tea. She likes roses unironically and sometimes she forgets pony’s names, even though she always feels awful about it and she tries to be extra nice to them. But just because you muddled the water doesn’t mean your first love was wrong, Twilight.”

Twilight called on an old habit. Deflect the uncomfortably astute gaze with humor. “You like them unironically too.”

“Yes. Yes I do,” Cadance answered, and her smile returned but her voice stayed firm and solemn. “Do you understand what I mean, though?”

“I… I guess.”

“Hey, trust me. Expert,” Cadance said pointedly. She brightened up. “If you trust me, I’ll promise to wait at least five minutes before I start interrogating you on the juicy, sordid, scandalous bits of your whirlwind romance with my aunt. Er… okay, maybe not the sordid parts. Jeeze, don’t look at me like that.”

Twilight laughed. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

Cadance joined her and then dusted herself off. “And I’m so glad to see you again, Twilight. I’m ready when you are. And…” she paused, as if thinking. “And, if all goes well, and we make it… we should have coffee. I think you and I have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I look forward to it,” Twilight said. She reached out her hoof, and Cadance touched it.

CANTERLOT

How does the Iron Bitch, Sombra’s greatest weapon, the cudgel which he wielded against the tribes of the south, the sword at the throat of Zebrahara, the attack dog which rooted out every revolt and tore the throats of every political enemy—how does Opal of the Ninth Legion lead?

She leads from the front. Even now.

It’s a bit different this time around, of course. She arrives at the crest of the first wave of heavily armored legionaries on a stretcher held between four strong stallions, propped up so she can see. Her horn glows, and at her sides two pouches filled to the brim with potions to keep her magic strong and stable. All around her, she projects a massive shield, and behind her three unicorns in light barding walk, joining with her. She is a living wall that only the strongest weapons could hope to match.

A pony’s magic is her self, her soul. Her will, Opal would amend. And Opal, Legata of the Ninth, Iron Bitch no more, possess a will of iron even so. No, of steel. Adamant. She barely seems to strain. Her eyes are hard and her broken body does not stop her even as her legs lie useless and atrophying.

The legion does not take the barricade at the obliterated gate so much as it dismantles it all at once. They work with deadly, formic efficiency—exactly like ants, in fact, and it is no accident. The roads and walls and cities of the Empire were built by the legions, and they build as easily as they shoot or kick. They work quickly but also as quietly as can be expected, and then as soon as the way is clear, the lancae gallop into the dark streets as their legate commanded beforehand. Behind them, slower but not by any means sluggishly, march the first cohorts of the legion. And behind them, with Rarity at its head, marches the army of House Belle behind the resurrected banner.

The lancae hit and run here and there, but the first waves of the legion encounter the enemy pickets and throw an army about to retain its balance on its head. The rebels go blind and don’t even know it until haphazardly armed ponies crash into their staging grounds.

Rarity is no general, but she is a quick study. She knows how guns work, and she has already gathered how breechloading rifles compare to the more primitive muzzleloaded shootsticks of a few decades before. Questions and a bit of reading have made her abundantly aware of what rifled shot at a high rate of fire does to a charging crowd.

So when her levies without guns hit the enemy, they hit them from the side or from behind, and always by surprise.

Two unicorns loading spare machine guns into a wagon to be pulled to what they think is the heart of the battle find themselves working quickly one moment and being borne to the ground in a storm of kicks and hooves the next. Hoofblades come out. The colorful levy bursts upon the stores of the besieging army and spreads like ants over a picnic, in all directions, with chaos and order in equal measure.

An army moves slowly. That being said, this one moved faster than most. Manicheans began to answer melee with measured fire, and levy soldiers retreat or died in the street. Above, guns slowly turn on the walls to face new targets as Legion rifles advance under newfound cover of booming artillery. The levies flee in the moment of shock and not a moment too soon.

You can’t blame them. The Shadow may touch their minds but they are not completely mindless yet. They can still try to preserve themselves in the face of direct bombardment from close range. They seek shelter instinctively, hiding behind the closest cover.

Which is, unfortunately for them, in the middle of an munitions dump.

To say they were consumed in the blast would be a bit of an understatement. Fleeing irregulars wearing Rarity’s colors three streets off lose their balance and go sprawling on the street, feeling heat on their backs.

Lunar guardsponies cower in an alley. A riflepony with a felt cap leans around the corner, returning his one measly shot at a time and then ducks back to avoid a maelstrom.

Fighting in a city is hell. Fighting in general is, but cities were not made for fighting. Or perhaps they were. War is the art of deception with highest stakes, and what better deception is a sniper hidden behind the curtains on the third floor apartment?

The Canterlonian charge is starting to encounter real resistance. Determined resistance.

The one rifle pony breathes quickly, his eyes squeezing shut. He is praying in his own northern tongue, all low monotone and somehow rough and lyrical at once. He swallows and turns the corner to fire again.

He does not slump so much as he simply ceases. His body falls like a full sack. It helps that his head is gone. The guardsponies begin to panic. One goes for the fallen rifle, and another goes for the body to pull it back. More bullets kiss the cobblestone, making one jump back. The rifle is retrieved.

The guardsponies hear cries and pounding hooves right beneath the boom of field guns and the cracks of rifles. They brace themselves, the new riflepony off to the side, finding to his dismay that the fall has jammed something in the bolt mechanism and he cannot reload the weapon. His fellows kick hoofblades into place loudly. They are strikers. They can take a few ponies running with heavy saddles.

Just as he curses and throws the weapon to the ground, three white-barded Manicheans round the bend. The guns on their backs or in their hooves flare and three guardsponies go down. Bolts are moved. The one who jumped back from the bullets is writhing on the stone. The one who grabbed the rifle tries to bolt, but the second round catches him. Bolts work. The survivors—two of them, fall on the rifle-bearing rebels. One is caught on a long bayonet and gurgles his life away. The other meets his foe and bears him bleeding to the ground. He tries to stand, curse, but has time for neither and then he has time for nothing.

It is a short lived victory for the panting white-barded troops. Even now, they hear the sounds of Luna’s arcane wrath growing closer and closer, and even though they do not know the source even a simpleton could understand what it meant. They fled back towards the larger emplacement.

Luna finds them.

War has changed much faster than magic has, since Luna returned with the old lore. But old tricks don’t simply die. Brute force doesn’t stop being useful just because somepony reinvents the wheel.

If anything, it becomes a little more effective.

House Belle’s levies try to get around a machine gun nest to hit it from the side, only to find that the streets are blocked—rubble, foes, overturned carts hastily formed up into a wall—yet they press on.

Across the street from the hotel where the gunners are set up, a Manehattan unicorn is losing it. He is caught between panic and rage. Going Postal, he might have said with a laugh a year ago. He hates this. He hates it. He hates cowering and hear the bullets fly overhead or hit the wall or sometimes break right through the wall or smash some already cracked window.

They huddle in the shelled remains of a clothing store. Everywhere, he smells ash and burning, knows this place went up like a pyre. Was it put out? Did it go out on its own? Who stops to put out fires in war? Do they just go on and on? Does everything stop everywhere when ponies start killing each other? Is this the opposite of living or is it a part? Somewhere, deep in his mind, he has the absurb image of a ceasefire to form a bucket brigade to keep the clothing shop from burning when all of its wares were set fire to. If the fire even came. He doesn’t know anything.

Down the line, a pony scoots back to try and balance a long rifle against a broken counter. He fires only once, and then he is gone.

And the unicorn, his name Sunrise, lets his own weapon clatter to the ground in front of him, free of his magic’s grip. Stars. Stars and song and Sun and moon. He was going to die. They all were. Maybe every pony was going to die very soon, first here and then elsewhere. A great tide of death that rolled out from this thrice-damned city until all the earth was covered in it.

He lay flat and shook like a leaf in a gale. And his horn began to glow. Sunrise had always been a nervous sort, ever since he was a foal. He stuttered. He didn’t like meeting other pony’s eyes. And when he was at his most distraught, he lost control of his magic—many unicorns did, but not as many had horns who began to lay magic on everything around. Not enough to damage or move anything. Just trying to compensate for the shutdown of his mind.

And so, the nervous Sunrise of thirty summers, timid salarypony he, found that his horn had touched something very strange. It was heavy, but not impossibly so. Strangely shaped. Hot. He knew what it was now. The gun. One of those damned machine guns up in the hotel. How was he reaching this far?

He was still panicked. But something in his mind clicked, and panic became not the driving force but the fuel. Because now he was angry, like a foal kicked into a puddle by his peers is angry. Like a dog kept in the cold and starved is angry. He wanted to bite and never let go. He already had nervous feelers around the gun. He didn’t even stop to consider if it was secured. He yanked.

And screaming out the window came glass and a barded pony and a heavy Talon gun. Ponies keep their weapons warded, if they can. But griffons do not fight ponies very often these days. If there were to be anymore days, they would have to reconsider.

Soarin pulled out of a dive and heard the Manichean pegasus behind him crash. He did not grin, though his in gut he felt the grim satisfaction.

And how fitting is this? How fucking fitting, death all around him, and its all a race. It’s all tag and rough games on the practice field in the fucking offseason. Wonderbolts play rough. Every pegasus wants to be a Wonderbolt when they grow up, don’t they? Best of the best. Well, another flier is after him and he wants to laugh but he doesn’t.

Well? How’s it feel? How’s it feel to have Soarin’ the Pie-Eater, Soarin’ the big lug, Soarin’ the Wonderbolt, the one you had a fucking poster of when you were not long off your mother’s sore tear, kicking you in the eyes?

Everytime. He wrestles briefly with the newcomer and then uses the idiot’s momentum against him, throwing the shocked pegasus down to where he lands hard against the cobblestone street.

You wanna race? You wanna dance? He is screaming it now, he doesn’t know if its out loud or not. Is this why? Is this why Applejack is gone and the Bolts are all scattered to the winds? Why the kid’ll never fly again and Spike is dead, dead as he can be, crushed and gone, blood and raw memory? Why he lost track of Soarin as she fell tangled up in pegasi, mane like fire, like a shooting star?

So you could all have your shot at a Wonderbolt?

He’s frothing with rage and he’s lost his rational mind and somehow he knows it and he’s all but rejoiced. Good. Madponies cannot grieve friends who don’t come home and lovers who vanish over the western horizon and romances that might have been falling to only the Stars knew what fate. Fleet was gone. Spitfire, maybe. Fleet had been caught in a crossfire what felt like hours ago but he knew could not be so long.

He lands, and everything hurts in ways he’s never felt before, but Soarin’ cannot stop. He would not even if he could. If he doesn’t press on he feels that the whole world will swallow him up. Blood runs down his legs and torn jumpsuit underneath ruined barding. His goggles are long gone. His helmet discarded. He is scored from hofblades and his mane is singed where arcane fire has whirled past.

Where is Spike? Where is the dragon? Does he walk yet in this city, waiting for the day to come? Does he lie forever beneath the gate?

If ponies go softly, as the stars guide them upwards, towards the rolling hills and swift sunset beyond the great inky blackness of space, where then do dragons go? Would Spike be there, lying the grass? Underneath the shade of a tree, book on his chest, the sound of his not-so-gentle snoring reverberating? Carried by a gentle breeze? Would the lost foals of Canterlot find him there on Spike’s hill? Would they ask to be carried?

Soarin’ is weeping and roaring and he does not know where he is going. His wing is lost. Scattered or dead. Wonderbolts have a bad track record of dying in the line of fire. The brightest fires glow and then they go out. Pft. Candle. Soarin’ hears Spitfire’s voice say it, sees her smile. Oh be with me in the fire, he breathes and barely registers that it is not his thought alone. Canterlot is burning. He does not catch the difference in the air, the weight of Something, because he is too busy mourning.

Surrounded. One Soarin’ and five of their harriers, advancing, wanting to end this now and move on. Do they recognize him? He wants to ask. He wants to make some daring last word and laugh and go chuckling into that place beyond all battles. Wonderbolts are heroes. Wonderbolts do what no other can do. Wonderbolts die well, a smile on their lips and a song flowing from their tongues.

Instead he sags. His legs are giving out. Most of the blood is his. They dive and takes flight as well, getting underneath one of them, but clipping his leg and going head over hoof on the hard stone. He stumbles back up, adrenaline pushing him onward. Just a bit longer. Just a bit longer and Spike and he would trot about to find Applejack hard at work and lunch waiting. Just a bit longer and little Applebloom would be there to tease he would laugh and Macintosh would grin and it would be what he wanted. Just a bit longer.

His legs finally fail him. He falls into the street. They are coming.

But his wings are strong and he rises with a limp body into the air, awkwardly at first and then with renewed strength. He races off and they follow. Soarin’ is the fastest stallion in the Wonderbolts. He can threat himself through the eye of a needle. It’ll be a cold day in hell before these whoresons can catch him.

Below, he passes the hotel where Sunrise is pulling a screaming gunner out of the window. The other nest sees him before it sees its own fliers and fires. Soarin’ reacts too slow to dodge but it is hard to hit a moving target. One shot hits a pursuer and he spirals down, his right wing half gone, his face stuck in a twisted shock.

And then Soarin feels a bullet tear through him, digging through his leg, going right through, embedding itself in his side. He feels another on his flank, right above his cutie mark.

He spirals downwards, and now he finally, finally laughs. Nothing’s funnier than a Wonderbolt going down.

LUNA

When the air changed, she felt it and at first did not comprehend the difference. Only that there was one. She stopped dead in her tracks in a cold and empty thouroughfare. Behind her, the tip of the Lunar guard’s spear began to stop. She motioned for silence.

Something compelled her gaze upwards.

It was night still. Morning was hours off. So darkness was no surprise, nor had Luna ever truly been afraid of mere darkness, even before her ascension in the Garden at the End of the World. Only knowing this can the true shock of Luna’s new reality be understood: the gathering darkness above her, so obviously unnatural now, frightened the Princess of the Night.

She took a step back, instinctively raising her hammer higher. The darkness in the sky was not the absence of light but something else. Or was it? She did not know, but no natural night spiraled. It did not gather into a great concentric turning overhead. She sucked in a breath.

“Night guard!” Her voice was still laden with her burning Glory. It hurt to talk. It hurt to do everything, actually. She was not being at all cautious and she had not burned this ferociously since long before she was exiled. “Press on! You know what you must do.” She turned to them and raised her hammer higher, above her head. They roared and with that she took to the sky.

What was this great evil? This weight she felt deep in her stomach, as if the darkness above—it had no mass, surely!—pressed upon the very air. Like it formed its own gravity.

This was no ordinary battle. She had seen what the Shadow did in the Aether where it thought it worked unseen. Celestia had not seen what it could do, but Luna had. She had touched it, after all. She knew exactly how it worked now, how it bound its tendrils into minds and pulled. She knew the unbelievable agony of the Shadow’s hook in the soul, for she had been hooked herself and forced the point out.

She gained altitude quickly and then stopped, far above the city, enough to see it with fresh eyes. She could see smoke and explosions from the guns that still fired. She saw the surging armies like ants filling spaces too tiny for their numbers to be of any use.

It was hard to concentrate. Her breathing was coming up short, now.

Luna folded her Glory away. Or, rather, every other time she had simply folded it away as a gentlestallion might some hoofkerchief. But this time, it radiated out from her in a great argent flash and she cried out in alarm and pain.

But aside from the pain, she did not suffer overmuch. She was in one piece. Exhausted. Weary. She hooked the hammer to her barding. It was cumbersome, but easier than suspending it in midair with magic in this state.

Above her, the darkness gathered. What was it? But she knew. The answer was so obvious, yet even as her mind proposed it, her heart rejected. The Shadow could not step so brazenly into her world. Not yet. Not while she lived and breathed. It would not!

Luna took a deep, steadying breath. Another. And then she rocketed up into the darkness to push it back into the void.

It was like flying into storm clouds, but no storm cloud had ever been like this. Lightning flashed, aye, but similarities began to run thin after that. No storm cloud seemed alive in some awful, unholy way. None of them seemed to move about her with intent or malicious purpose. But Luna knew, somewhere in her heart, that this was where she must go. Further up. Further in.

And in that heart, where her unquenchable flame burned, there was Another. She was not separate, but not wholly Luna. She was Luna that was, or Luna that might have been, you could say. Or Luna that would be. She called herself Lacunae, and she was an echo that was louder than the sounds that sired her. It was she that pushed Luna onwards, full of hope, just as she had given Spike the strength to be true, to stand. Just as in other worlds she would give the a lost Lunar Ranger faith and a final blessing. Just as in all worlds where Lacunae comes, she sings a song that is like anger but only to those who aren’t paying attention.

It was this part of Luna that heard the voices first.

She thought she heard Twilight. Celestia. Somepony else. She wasn’t sure who. Then others, louder, more frantic. Dozens at first. Then hundreds. Thousands. Her ears ached and her stomach churned. It was like wading into an anti-magic field horn first. She wanted to vomit. Her eyes wanted to screw themselves shut and stay that way. Some of her ardent hope faded.

They were all crying for help. So many lost. So many snared. What hope, really, had there ever been? Luna had tried to contend with arms and force against a thing of the heart and mind. What good came out of Jannah, chuckled the air around her. Certainly not you. Certainly not I.

Somehow, the weight grew more and more familiar, and yet she had no memory of a storm like this, or a darkness like this, that seemed so deep and absolute as to suggest that it had grown solid. Around her, the wind began to pick up and she furiously beat her wings to keep herself going.

“WHAT ARE YOU?” she yelled, adding magic to amplify her voice.

A THING THAT NEED NOT ANSWER TO YOU, MOTHER OF TEARS.

She seethed. “YOUR ARMY WILL FALL. YOU WILL FALL. THIS IS NOT A NIGHT BUT SOMETHING DARKER BUT MORNING WILL ERASE YOU JUST AS EASILY!”

YOUR SISTER SAID THE SAME. AND HERE YOU ARE, LIKE A FLY IN A SPIDER’S WEB. COME TO FIGHT TRUTH WITH HAMMERS. HOW FITTING. IT IS SO OBVIOUS OF YOU. NOTHING HAS CHANGED SINCE THE DAY WE WERE BORN.

“I KNOW NOTHING OF YOU!” Luna howled.

Nothing can replicate the feeling of horrified recollection that filled her, for at last she broke through seemingly solid darkness and came at last to the very heart of the Shadow.

And she did know it.

CELESTIA

I have withheld the truth from you several times. But lie? I can only think of one time.

How do you raise the sun? Might as well ask me how to raise a dead world, faithful student. That question might have been a bit more useful, as it turned out.

Do you remember? I see you don’t, and I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or not. There was a part of me that worried that you would always see that day as the day I lied to you. Maybe I feared you would have that day forever in the back of your mind like a seed growing until it was simply naked resentment.

You asked—how is the sun raised? And I chuckled and said something about special talents, you know how that worked. Your little eyes were bright with piercing, searching intellect even then. So you asked:

“How did you find yours, Princess?”

Did I sputter? Did memory overtake me and betray my dismay? It certainly feels like I let my carefully schooled façade slip. But I’m sure I didn’t.

“Oh, I’ve had it as long as I remember,” I told you.

There are few who have known more than half the story. In Sarnath they sing of our journey into Jannah only a few years gone. The return and how we confronted Sombra in the snowy revolt, the overthrow of High King Discord—those parts are common knowledge. But what before? There is a gap, isn’t there? There is not such a gap for me, of course. I was not born out of the sea to fight Sombra, after all.

I did not tell you because you were too young to understand. There are some things too terrible to talk about and not have them understood. Luna and I do not talk about what we saw after Jannah. We made a promise never to make the other talk about it.

So, perhaps one day... No, I won’t get your hopes up. If she never tells you, never hold it against her. But I shall tell my half.

When I was born out of the Song, I knew two things: Luna would come and she would need me, and one day when I met a certain bearded mage (I only knew that I would meet someone strange and new, not who he would be!) that I would return home and pass into the very shores of the world, and I would find a Garden there. I suppose I also knew that I would go in. I had a feeling Luna was meant to do the same.

I had never yet left and did not plan to do so, so you may imagine my confusion. Alive but ten minutes and I was already saddled with some incomprehensible duty. But I did not need to pursue either right away. I had a little time before my sister was born out of the Well. And then she came. And then the discordant sound, and then the fleeting darkness in our sky, and then… and then a few years later, we left. Luna and I found the ruined estate that you’ve seen. And then we wandered as roving adventurers.

And then one day, we sailed back towards the East. I remember that day very well. We pulled into a little port that’s long gone now. It was destroyed during the Schism and never rebuilt—they renamed it Alicorn’s Landing afterwards—and we were only a tall tale to these ponies. I remember teasing my sister about finding some winsome lass in town and she teased me about finding some scrap of paper with writing in the mud and holding up traffic in town. We docked. I paid the harbor master and chatted with the old stallions who played chess by the wooden piers. And then… and then I saw Starswirl. I knew he was the one I had been destined to meet. He was young, but not that young. Already given to his fits of vision. And he had one when I spoke to him, and then after we had been with him for a few months, we left.

Back east. Valon. Tar Salba. The Spine. Hyrogen, and then the veldt. We raced across the continent, with companions in tow. It is a long story, and I think it would be a wonderful one if it were not for the end.

We were betrayed in Jannah. Thousands of years and still it boggles my mind. Our companions died, some in the streets, one on the plateau. The last beneath the great walls, with a song. I miss them still, for all but one… they were wonderful and brave.

We were alone after that. After Jannah, the wetlands for weeks. Canna. You’ve seen it all, by now.

The voice that had whispered in my ear at birth told me to go up with her together, and so all of our frustrations and sorrow and… and anger at each other, fierce bitterness, faded into a mutual fear. We held each other and remembered that we were sisters again. We went up, we walked the whole way together, whispering, holding, waiting. We fell into the water together.

And we did not see what you have seen. We were taken elsewhere.

We saw things.

I saw… I saw myself. How I had been, when I was young. I saw myself in royal finery. I saw the nights after Luna was vanquished when I mourned with drink and solitude every night, though I didn’t know why. I saw millions of moments, meaningless at the time, that came true later.

I’m shocked now that I did not see you.

But I saw other things too. I saw… Well. I did not see so much as I was informed. My sister would be laid low, a kingdom laid low, and I would be powerless. That I had a great thing to do that I would not want to do. That if I did not do it, everyone on earth might suffer. Or they may not. Imagine my frustration. But no matter what I did, Luna would suffer. It was very clear about that bit. Oh, very, very clear. Sometimes I think my complacency later was just me running away from how awful it was going to be when she suffered and I could do absolutely nothing. It told me one last thing, and that was…

I’m sorry. Yes, I’m alright. Just… distressed.

RARITY

They all saw the storm above. But it did not change that much immediately. Wars do not stop in moments, however much we want them to. There is no ceasefire at a single word. Perhaps in some other world, in some other when, they might stop for Hearth’s Warming. But even there, she doubted it would stop for long.

More and more the battle for Canterlot devolved into something far more primitive than the mechanized campaign it had been. Ponies, unlike the griffons whose weapons they had studied, do not have talons or fingers. It is hard to charge with rifles, bayonets high, and it was a waste regardless. Whereas it was prohibitively difficult to fight at close range for earth ponies trying to manipulate griffon-influenced designs built for ponies without the experience of Griffon mountain warfare.

It’s come to knife-work, she thought with a sneer. Absurdly. She was starting to lose her strength, and here she was thinking.

Well, knife-work wasn’t so different from what she was used to. Precision and poise and swift efficiency, darling.

Rarity called up her shield for the brief second it took to reflect the hoofblade of a rebel earth pony. She’d already found she could grab weapons out of the earth pony soldier’s grips. That had been a boon. She could handle a melee opponent. Just keep them from being too close.

All around her, the Manhattan relief force was a roiling mess. Now that it was down to knife-work and magic in these cramped quarters, they were faring far better. Fillydelphia was a tough city, but so was Manehattan when it really wanted to be, and it was absurdly funny to recall that they were rival burgs. What sweet, fitting absurdity. Yes, lets fight it out here at the end, the absolute most foolish of resentments, while the sky begins to eat itself.

Rainbow flew back in again—Rarity didn’t know where she got to when she took off—and slammed into one of her attackers and picked up the second in her way. She didn’t strike so much as hug and then release. It was honestly horrifying, but Rarity didn’t have time to think about it. She took the opportunity she’d been given and retreated back into the fold. Around her, the levies of her House surged to cover her withdrawal. Some (Song that birthed the Stars, Celestia! They were so young!) shouted her name as they passed. They said it like ponies had called to Celestia.

She felt weak in every way.

Rainbow was worldess when she landed and began to hurry Rarity along, back towards the support corps coming up towards the front of the melee. Fluttershy would be there. She saw the signs of damage on the connection between Rarity’s prosthetic and her flank. Some blood trickled down the metal. If you looked closely, you could see how one of the “straps” that held it firmly flush with the amputated leg had been deformed and stabbed into the old wound.

Rarity shuffled. She said nothing. She wasn’t sure she could without screaming. Her magic was so strong, but it burned to use it without the utmost care. Her head was on fire. It felt like her soul was, too.

Two Manhattan medics caught up with them and Rarity’s quartermaster followed, knowing her leg would cause her trouble. The unicorn with the hammer and tongs on his flank stared blankly, swallowed, and then dug through a saddlebag for his tools. “Milady, you need to lie down. I can’t do this with you standing up, it’ll be—“

“There is not really… a place to do that safely,” Rarity struggled to whisper, and then hissed.

Rainbow took over. “Okay, we need to move her out of the way. I don’t want some lucky son of a bitch getting a shot at her while she’s out of a crowd. You and you, with me. You go back to Flutters,” she said to the other medic. “Tell her Rarity is okay, but she should get her team closer to the fighting and start trying to pull back our wounded if she gets a moment to spare. We need to save them, and their tripping up our advance into the Square. Got it? Good. Remind her about shields, okay? C’mon, Rares…”

Rarity limped with her, and the pain was worse with every step, oh Celestia, how was it worse? How could it get worse? She was openly crying now. It was like she was only now feeling what it was like when they lopped off her leg. Rainbow was pulling her along, trying to get her to safety. She kept up a litany of little encouragements and comforting words. “You’re gonna be okay. Metalhead here can fix it. Just don’t look, okay? Just keep up with me. You’re doing great. You’re great. Just a little bit longer.”

Rarity was dimly aware that adrenaline had kept her from examining her wounds. Also, general danger. Also-also, proximity with murderous puppets of an angry god. But they hadn’t seemed so awful ten minutes ago. Was she bleeding much? How do you tell? The warmth, she supposed. But she felt warm all over, like she’d run for miles. She sort of had run for miles, hadn’t she?

“Hey, doc, she’s gettin’ a little wobbly on me—“

“Just keep her awake and up, I’ve got something to help but we need to get there soon!”

“There’s one, you see? Alchemist’s shop. You run ahead, clear a counter off so we can lay her down. Lady Dash, I can help you on the other side and we can keep her weight off the prosthetic.”

Rarity felt them lift her slightly so that only her front hooves touched the ground. How odd. But it did make a lot of the pain go away, and she knew her head would clear.

“I’m not a damn lady,” Rainbow Dash griped from her left.

“You absolutely… are,” Rarity said, still panting.

They got her inside and on a counter. The quartermaster’s tools went to work. The medic made her drink something. They used an awful lot of magic. She couldn’t look down to see what had happened, but she felt them fix it and she had plenty of ideas what it might look like.

“You’re doing great. Don’t move much, okay?” Rainbow said, filling her vision. Something about the magic had made the hazy dizziness return. Rarity wanted to kiss her rather badly.

“I won’t,” Rarity said thickly.

“Okay. Okay, good.” Dash was dancing from hoof to hoof. “Okay. Oh gods, okay, oh hell, can’t you go any faster?”

“I’m trying,” said the quartermaster. “It was made for accidents and wear and tear, not to withstand arcane blasts and bullets!”

“Shit, she got shot? I didn’t—“

“Here, you see? Hit here and ricocheted off. Or fragmented, more like, shrapnel’s all up the flank. Now please move back so I can work! Medic, help me here, I’ll need…”

Rarity felt something break through the medic’s numbing spell and she screamed as they moved her leg. She looked down.

A blow had turned the articulating, smooth sides of her new leg into a mangled hazard. Oh… oh Celestia, it had dug right through her skin. How had she walked? Was it the wild magic? Oh… oh. She was going to fai—

PINKIE PIE

Twilight being gone super sucked. Like, forever suck.

She sat in the grass, bored and a little worried. Okay, a lot worried, but she was trying! Tradey didn’t want to play tic-tac-toe again because she was really, really bad at it and was generally sort of grumpy. For once, Pinkie didn’t blame her for it at all. For one, she’d forced the Petrahoofan pegasus (she couldn’t even appreciate the fun alliteration) into roughly a hundred games. But mostly it was Twilight.

She’d been gone for thirty minutes, which wasn’t really that long. Pinkie had always been great at keeping track of time. Scary good. She just knew. Needed five minutes? Pinkie gave you exactly three hundred and one seconds. The extra second was, of course, because you needed the first three hundred and probably you needed one to turn back around or walk back into the room. So she gave it to you before charging in after.

So Pinkie knew, in a frighteningly objective way, that Twilight had not been gone that long. But it felt like days. Okay, no, more like hours. They had just sort of moved away from the door/gate/pillars and sat on the path in a little circle. Just waiting.

They speak very little. Almost not at all. She wonders what the other ponies feel about the roses and the path and the mountains. She loves them. Pinkie sincerely thinks that it is worth great suffering, just sitting on the path to the shore. She doesn’t really know about the shore. But somehow, she does. She has half an inkling about what’s right behind those mountains. She doesn’t really need to go see it, of course. She’d happy on earth. Earth has roses like these. Earth also has cake, and cake is the best. And friends.

Pinkie is not the smartest pony. Which is not, of course, to say that she is a particularly foolish pony. She has a solid head for figures and geometry comes to her as easy as air and parties. She can juryrig whirlycopters and rewire a house and only get shocked like five dozen times. Okay, she was actually rusty with electricity? But the point was that Pinkie was smart about useful things. She didn’t think much about the Capital Letter Stuff. She thought about them, yeah, but…

Somethings are just way more simple than smart ponies like Twilight thought. They just sailed right over the obvious looking for something that would challenge them. But sometimes the truth is like a grazing cow in a field. It’s hard to miss. It’s big. It’s slow. It’s not really flashy and it doesn’t change as much. Okay, truth doesn’t chew grass and it isn’t named Bessie. But she thought it was a good picture. Truth wasn’t always a dragon you had to kick in the face.

So she rarely doubted that the world was Good. She didn’t doubt that Twilight would come back to them. She basically had to. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, right? She had come out of the water before, and she would do so again. Maybe she would smell better, if nothing else. And by “if nothing else” Pinkie could not imagine her coming back alone. But she supposed that Twilight might.

She hoped not.

“What do you think she’s doing?” Applejack asked.

They all looked over at the gate.

“I dunno!” Pinkie said with a shrug. “Probably doing her whole smart science magic thing with the pool. I kinda miss crazy mad science-light.”

“Me too,” AJ replied, her voice low.

“She was being angry scientist?” Tradey asked, confused. Pinkie laughed.

“I believe it is an idiomatic phrase?” Kyrie said, her pretty voice making Pinkie feel like she was younger than she obviously was. “Mad as in madness. Insanity. The losing of one’s wits. I am not sure what a, ah, scientist is… exactly.”

“Y’all didn’t have those?” Applejack asked. “Sounds mighty nice, no offense to Twi. Maybe unicorns made themselves useful.”

“Oh, are we dissing glowicorns?” Pinkie asked, because Pinkie was excited for almost literally everything. “Cause like oh my gosh why do they get to have magical hands? I want some.”

She hardly noticed how they all visibly paled. “Uh, forget I said anythin’,” AJ mumbled.

They fell quiet again. But only for a little while.

“Do you think she will be back soon?” Tradewinds asked. “I worry. Twilight is not at fighting… uh, does good work? Am bad at good and well sometimes.”

“I ain’t the one to ask,” AJ said with a smirk.

“She does have her magic still,” Kyrie said, but she sounded doubtful. “Besides, there is not much a warrior would have over any other creature in the Garden. There is not any enemy there to fight.”

“There is always room for knife,” grumbled Tradewinds.

“It is a peaceful place, or at least it was the last time I was here. Which… was a very long time ago,” she admitted slowly. “But it felt the same from the bridge and it feels the same now. I…” She paused. Blinking. “I… Oh…”

They all focused on her, picking up the first notes of distress.

“What is it, sug?” AJ said, rising from her haunches, her hat pointing towards the sky, like it might slide right off.

“I feel… I feel like something pulling me up into—“

Kyrie collapsed. The others cried out in alarm, crowding her until Applejack pushed them back, giving her room to breathe. And breathe she did, quickly, like a mare recovering from a marathon.

That was when the sky begin to explode.

It didn’t actually explode. But everything got brighter and brighter. They all had to shield their eyes.

But Pinkie just grinned up into the brilliant radiance. Here it was! She had been right all along. In her heart of hearts she had known, a little fire that could not be quenched: it was going to come out all sunshine and rainbows, wasn’t it? Kyrie would make it. They were all going to make it. She just knew.

TWILIGHT

The last one wasn’t a dream, per se. It was more like… a presence. Something that was always in the Aether.

Twilight flew through the strange not-dark. It really was beautiful, she thought. It reminded her of Luna and her heart ached.

Maybe it had been a whim, or a mental aid to help her move more ably, but she had imagined her Dreaming self into the shape of an alicorn. It was strange, and she hoped that Celestia didn’t see or any other alicorn for that matter. It was embarrassing. Twilight liked being a unicorn. It was just convienent, having wings. It was easier to think of herself as flying through the aether. She had thought about being a pegasus for a second but then she thought about Rainbow Dash laughing at her and couldn’t maintain the shape. Thanks, Rainbow.

Celestia’s words weighed on her. More and more, Twilight felt confidant that Celestia’s plan would work. Whatever it was. Already she held Cadance and Iridia between her hooves and chest like valuable diamonds. Two more. With all of this power in one place, added onto Celestia’s monumental strength and know-how… how could they lose? The bomb thing was obviously a joke, but the raw power might not be.

Why hadn’t she done something like this already? Well, apparently Twilight had been a miracle.

Imagine trying to fence with a master with weights on your arms and a massive hangover. That was what it had been like to be Celestia for over a year now. This creature was just so much better suited for the battlefield he had chosen. It was a testament to Celestia’s indomitable will that she had lasted so long and kept the thing occupied. But she certainly hadn’t been able to spare even the energy to keep more than a cursory glance backwards into the world, let alone contact her sister and round up the sort of firepower that her slowly forming plan would need. She had had only one hope.

Someone will find me.

And she knew that it would happen. Or really, she had the utmost faith in her sister and Twilight to recognize the danger. She had not foreseen the difficulties that had shrouded the problem—Manehattan, the Las Pegas food riots, all of it—but Celestia had been right. Eventually.

So while Celestia fought, Twilight gathered. It was a long way to go to run errands, she thought crazily, but she had a feeling about… well. Whatever it was that Celestia was doing, exactly, she had a feeling that Twilight had a bigger role to play than errandmare.

The Presence she sought was closer now. She knew it well, of course. Intimately, even.

Twilight swallowed. She wasn’t sure what to expect. The other two encounters had been… well, one had been harrowing and the other had left her weak and tear-streaked, so “intense” worked well enough as a descriptor. How would she even begin to describe Cadance’s dream-world? Beside weird. Thank Celestia she wasn’t dreaming about Shining. Only way that could have been worse.

Not that it had really been that bad. Some parts. A few.

The Presence was here. She bit her lip and stopped for a second. It was a kind of absence, even though it was presence. Twilight thought of it like a bookmark. It was definitely something. But it was also a placeholder for the real thing, which was her reading the book.

She flew into the placeholder—

And tumbled end over end, a unicorn again, off a great hill. She cried out, trying to hold on to some anchor with magic, but found that her magic did not respond. Beneath her she felt something hard and it cut at her.

And then she realized that her magic wasn’t just not responding. Because it was gone.

Twilight panicked. That would put it mildly. She began screaming until she rolled to a stop somewhere. Her eyes were shut. She didn’t want to see the world around her. She had to get her magic back, why wasn’t her hor—

Her horn was broken.

Slowly, very slowly, Twilight let her hooves fall to her sides. She didn’t scream anymore. She just… she stopped. Everything stopped. She felt it again. Still broken. A nasty crack. She could feel the only partially healed appendage ache, and when she touched what was left of the tip, she felt a searing pain, like someone pressing a hoof on an open wound. She felt no blood or the tell-tale thrum of magic, wild or restrained.

Twilight opened her eyes, and realized that she had rolled over a pile of bodies.

Canterlot was almost entirely destroyed. If this even was Canterlot, anyway. That was how little was left, and a heavy smog and smoke lay over everything. She coughed, but didn’t move. There was another pile a little while off, burning. And another. And another. There were a lot.

“I cant do…” Her mouth felt dry. The air did, as well. Only now she noticed the snow falling and the far-off thunder.

A unicorn can survive her horn being broken. With luck, and strength, and pure will, she can learn to cast magic with even only a tenth of her horn. Prosthetics—silly looking things, but useful—could bring most of the ability back. Some say that a very, very good mage could cast even with an amputated horn. But it took time. And it wasn’t every time. Plenty of powerful unicorns had broken their horns and never recovered.

She tried to feel for anything magical at all and felt nothing.

This is what dying must be like, she realized with a perverse sort of calm. Exactly like it. Maybe she had died already.

Twilight did not know how long she sat there, staring at the ashes in front of her. But eventually, she heard something and she rose and stumbled and looked. She followed the sound dutifully, but did not call out to whoever it might be. She had to have been tricked. There was really no other way. This couldn’t be—

She recognized the sound. It was familiar. Very familiar. She saw the source now, a vague shape through the ash clouds. Twilight broke into a canter, feeling that she had to know, had to be sure. She broke through the ash.

There, she found three alicorns. One, to her right, weeping upon the floor, her eyes wide open as if she had seen something that could never be unseen. One, in the center, staring angrily like a terrier against the third, in full barding and looking faintly like Twilight remembered the Nightmare—but somehow not as sinister as before.

The third she did not recognize at all. At least, she could not identify it, but she recognized its features, for they were so close to Luna that at first she thought the smiling creature was Luna. Luna that was, long ago, maybe.

“You are a liar,” said the Not-Nightmare. “You have always been a liar.”

I HAVE ALWAYS TOLD THE TRUTH, insisted the smiling Thing.

“You led us astray! You are the source of all of Luna’s long woe.”

HARDLY. DID I CHOSE WHOM SHE LOVED? DID I CHOSE WHAT SHE DID OR LIKED OR WANTED? NO, NOT I. BARK, OLD BITCH, BARK AS MUCH AS YOU’D LIKE. IT SHALL NOT HELP YOU.

The Not-Nightmare growled and it was so bestial a sound that Twilight cowered. “You will rue the hour in which you showed us this final lie, Shadow. Celestia lives!”

“Celestia lives,” Twilight breathed.

“I did it!” The weeping Luna cried. “It was me! I was its… its… It rode into this world on my back! The womb which birthed me was its cradle! All of this death… a whole world ruined because I was born! Were that I had not been!”

“It’s a lie!” The Not-Nightmare said. She dared not take her eyes from the Shadow—Twilight realized with a jolt that it was the Hideous Strength itself, and she started to shake in terror—but she bared sharp fangs. “Tis a lie and not even a good one! We know of you! Your birth was a correlation and nothing more, foul recursion. I was born on the same day that you were, but Luna and you are not kin and you are not fit to be even Death’s bondsman.”

AH, BUT DO YOU NOT SPEAK TO DEATH?

“I already have,” whispered the Luna on the ground and she shook. “Oh, sister! You can’t be… I didn’t mean to bring it… I deserve your scorn. I deserve to die a thousand thousand times. I deserve every ounce of pain that there is. I should be burned alive for what I brought with me. You should have smothered me as a newborn!”

“We already have,” agreed Luna. “And you are not Her. You wish you could be, couldn’t you? Tasteless, faceless, genderless, loveless—you wish you could be something that was not the antithesis of Creation, don’t you? I stick my hoof in you and what do I find? That I taste nothing! I smell nothing! Because you are NOTHING.”

Twilight slowly edged around the ongoing dispute. She had already been visible, but neither seemed to have noticed her. Or, if they did, they ignored her. The Luna who wept on the ground ignored everything.

BELIEVE OR NOT, the Shadow boomed. WHAT CARE I FOR THE SCORN OF CREATION’S MISBEGOTTEN BASTARD? RUNT OF THE LITTER? I ENJOY YOUR AGONY. AND YOU? YOU ARE AN IMAGE. ILLUSION. YOU TALK OF NOTHING, AND WHAT ARE YOU? I NAME YOU: LACUNAE.

The Not-Nightmare seemed to fade in and out for a moment, but then she was solid again. Twilight kept moving closer to the Luna on the ground. She thought she saw this other’s eyes flicker towards her.

Come no closer. Wait.

Twilight froze.

“Do you not have an army to lose?” Lacunae sneered.

The Shadow growled at her. They both looked like they might pounce at any moment.

Twilight Sparkle, hear you me, said a voice in Twilight’s head, clear as a cloudless day, I will draw its baleful eyes away. You must go to Luna. You must go to me. One day, if she can, she will explain. Or, if we meet again, I shall. If I survive. Wait until I have struck the first blow!

I WILL CRACK YOUR FRIENDS BONES AND HAVE MY HORDES DRINK OF THEIR MARROW LIKE FOALS WITH SWEETS, FALSE ONE.

“And yet an adolescent dragon with me holding his hand keeps you out of a half-conquered city and then slips past your chains into his reward,” Lacunae said, and Twilight’s heart all but stopped.

You were there with him?

And then Lacunae jumped, a hammer materializing out of the ash and with her magic she bore it down. But the Shadow jumped away, still looking like a younger Luna, and began to laugh. COME AND WASTE YOUR STRENGTH. KNOW THAT EXISTENCES SUCH AS YOURS ARE FUTILE AND THEN YOU WILL STEP ASIDE AND LET ME ERASE THE MISTAKES.

When Lacuane had pushed the darting Shadow away, Twilight ran to Luna and tried to hold her up.

“Luna!” she cried, her horn forgotten.

Luna stared off into nothing. Shock, Twilight though, panicking.

“She’s dead. She’s dead. The last thing I did was ask her to get me… chickpeas… the… I didn’t even forgive… I didn’t ask… She’s dead. I brought her murderer.”

“Celestia lives,” Twilight said. “Luna! She lives.”

“We are twins, born of the same mother and the same blood. What if I am no better? Celestia took pity on a monster and I have failed her. OF course I did. I am a monster. I was… I was…”

Twilight shook her. “Luna! Snap out of it. Please!”

“Celestia…”

Twilight kissed her hard, but nothing happened. She shook her again.

Twilight slapped Luna across the face.

Luna blinked. She stared at Twilight with her tear-streaked face. “Celestia is dead. When I was born, so was the true Nightmare. I was just its shadow. I caused all of this.”

And Twilight thought for a moment that she believed it.

It made an awful sort of sense, didn’t it? Born together—true, it could be correlation, it needn’t be actual causation. Luna had never heard the song—she came in at the end, so said Celestia. Luna had become Nightmare Moon, and threatened to shroud the world in everlasting night. The Hideous Strength, the Shadow, hadn’t it done the same? Hadn’t it tried to starve them all out so it could ruin everything in sight at its leisure?

If there was no basis at all, then how could Luna have believed it so readily?

“Luna, Celestia—“

“She’s dead. I already know,” Luna cut her off. Her voice sounded so awfully hollow.

“She lives! Celestia lives.”

“You should not lie,” Luna said almost absently. “In Sarnath they said Gan punished liars.” She wasn’t looking at Twilight. She looked right over Twilight’s shoulder at some far off nothing. “She’s dead and its my fault.”

“She’s alive and you didn’t do anything,” Twilight said. But now she wasn’t sure.

She hated that she wasn’t sure. She hated it so much.

And then all of a sudden, Twilight stopped. She ground her teeth together. She had only one thought. A hard and vulgar little thought. She rarely cursed. It had always seemed beneath her. And yet. It was: Who the fuck cares?

Faith need not always come in pretty packaging.

She hauled Luna to her feet, and it was no easy task. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said firmly. “Well, I mean, about Celestia. First off, because she’s alive.”

“Say true?” Luna said softly, as in a dream. Which, Twilight supposed, she was.

“Yes. Living and breathing. She misses you. I’m actually here to bring you to her, if you’ll come.” And I’ll carry you off if you don’t, she thought, and somehow she knew that if Luna refused to believe her she really would.

But light and life was beginning to return to the alicorn’s eyes. “The sooth? You speak what is true, Twilight of Ponyville?”

“I would not lie to you.”

“But the Shadow…”

“You’re believing Eldritch embodiments of despair now?” Twilight challenged. “Celestia told me it wasn’t you who brought it, and that you were only its first victim. I believe her—won’t you? Because its true, whether you believe her or not. Come with me.”

“I…”

“I love you,” Twilight said. “I do. With all my heart. I want us to Dreamwalk again and laugh again. I want this whole stupid business to be over with. Come with me. Let’s finish it.”

“Yes. It is time it was finished, isn’t it? One way or another,” Luna said with wonder, and when Twilight reached out her hoof Luna took it.

CANTERLOT

Hours.

The night wears on, but it does not get lighter, not truly. Black turns to gray, but the sun will not rise.

The Manicheans are truly pinned now between two armies. Three, if you really separate them out. They are all falling back into the Fountain Square, where Celestia once a year would hold court outside, in the public air. It is a massive place. It can hold thousands of ponies if it has to. It probably will have to, soon enough.

Spitfire is back in the air and she’s pissed. She’s never been this pissed in her life. She has no idea where any of the other Bolts are. She knows they’ll be fine. Right? They have to be.

Wonderbolts do have a delightfully colorful history of glorious death. An ancient history, yes, but still a colorful one.

She’s linked up with a pair of Imperial fliers, who salute her right away. Even in the Empire, ponies know who Spitfire is. They barely recognized her, torn and angry and missing about half of her barding, but it only took a few words to get them formed up.

What does she do? She takes their orders as her own. Luna’s army has lost a lot of its coherency—its hard to keep a disparate army of haggard guardsponies and mostly green personal levies working together very effectively, and in a city like Canterlot, with its mazelike streets?

They fly over the streets. It’s amazing how empty the city is in some places. Like nopony has ever lived there at all.

“That’ll be it, then,” Spitfire says to herself. She yells this back to the others, and gets a curt wave of affirmation in return. Yes, this’ll be it.

They’re all surrounded now. She’s flown the perimeter of the entrapped army. It’ll be only a matter of time now.

Rainbow Dash lies panting in the street. She is utterly spent. Hours of flying and fighting, then pulling back to fly and fight again. Over and over and over. Fifteen, that’s what the Solar officer yelled at the other harriers. Fifteen and then back into the air. They need the pressure. They have to keep the bastards on their backs.

She lies flat like she’s dead. She feels a little dead, even though she’s hardly got a scratch on her. That’ll change, she knows.

The armies are all mixed up, now. The legion is orderly, but without Luna to coordinate between the levies and guard, the Canterlot line is shaky. Rarity’s Manehattan army is even more chaotic. But they fight surprisingly well. It’s amazing what a thousand ponies filled with righteous fury can do in close quarters with a little magical help, really.

But Rainbow isn’t thinking about that much. She’s hardly thinking about the battle, even. It’s hard to think about the battle, or really any battle, in of itself, as you would any other abstract thing. Battles are… big. Huge. And ponies are, after all, small. Much too small to wrap their minds around the workings of such a thing. Too many moving parts. And even if you could follow them all, could you really see a pattern? Or would you fool yourself the way generals do, that it’s lines and charts and troop numbers? That there isn’t luck and story? That there isn’t blind trembling fate and stupid bravery and a lot of very wise cowardice? No pony could ever handle it, that’s for sure, for damn sure. You can set your watch by that, if you want.

What does Rainbow think about, then? Mostly Rarity. The battle she thinks about in the context of Rarity. An exhausted, bleeding Rarity with mild thaumic poisoning which she gave herself, which just stunned Rainbow, had been pulled back from the fighting. She was in a hastily erected base closer to the gate.

Dash wanted to be there. She wanted to be there so badly.

Because, and this will be a shock, in a way she didn’t care about any of this at all. Battle is a lot less about glory and more about wanting to go home. Everypony just wants to go home and never leave again. Where’s the glory? She thinks maybe the glory is in how you’re all together. That all the glory is in the charge, in the way spirits mingle in the heat of the oil press—it’s a fitting image, she sees it in her mind, and hears the old pegas word for it. The glory is in the way that it makes your neighbors your brothers and sisters and lovers, that you would die with these and not be ashamed.

Afraid still, maybe. But never ashamed.

She wants to go home, but where is home? Wherever Rarity is. Fighting to stay alert, she wonders where they will live. Rarity’s nobility now. Canterlot, she guesses. Yeah. A big house in Canterlot. She can convince Rarity to order a really fluffy bed that’ll almost be as good a cloud, but warmer. Much warmer. Wait, would she live there? Dating is weird. Rarity and her are weird. Life is…

Weird doesn’t seem to cut it, what with everything being more or less on fire.

Battles wear on, you know. They just keep going sometimes, one hour rolling into another. An hour of nothing followed by sixty seconds of absolute hell, and then another hour of nothing. Hours of intense horror and the threat of pain followed by little minutes, little pockets of breathing and water and whimpering into the silent night, and then more. It drags on—don’t you feel it dragging on? The horror, the thrill, it’ll grow boring. Even the part with the killing. Perhaps that’s a mercy. If warriors grow too accustomed to the smell of death when this happens, what would it be like if the excitement never died? If you didn’t get tired and want to go home?

Real battle is like trying to stay up while dogs are howling on every street and someone keeps trying to break in, all in a hurricane, except a hundred times worse. Every sound pricks at your ears. Tiny shifting, cloth on cloth, even your own movements, just become part of a great white noise. Stay up enough, keep going long enough, you’ll shut down. See things. Colors that aren’t there, that you couldn’t describe if you tried, that you don’t want to describe, by all the gods of a thousand lands, and the feelings you get crawling all over you—

We’re just not made for this, Rainbow thought lazily.

Rarity would be okay, but Dash felt like she should be there. She was the Element of Loyalty. If that even mattered, now. The Elements didn’t work against everything. They weren’t a cure-all for every problem. They were powerful tools, and she was a powerful friend, but even loyalty in the end is like throwing rocks at tanks.

Except Dash will never accept that, say sorry. She probably should! But she won’t. She doesn’t, as she rests and tries not to pass out. Breath in. Out. In. Out. One two three. She’ll make it. She’ll be ready to go. She has to. You never stop. You never drag behind. You lead from the front. You do the job in front of you.

You never, ever let your friends down. She would never let Rarity down. She would do the job in front of her. She would not let Twilight down. She would not fail Fluttershy or Pinkie. She would not dishonor her lineage, as it was, before Applejack. Before the face of her father, she would not relent.

She was standing a few seconds before the officer came back. She hadn’t even bothered to notice his rank.

“Just do the job in front of you,” she says out loud to nopony.

Except she’s telling it to herself, and she adds: I’ll be home soon. It’ll all be over soon.

One way or another.

CELESTIA

What will you do with me, Twilight? Sleeping there, gathering as you were bid. My missionary in a foreign field, my lamb sent to the wolves… what will you do with me, when the time comes?

What will I do with me? That’s the real question. So many questions. Have you ever noticed how many questions there are, I wonder. Going further, you must have noticed how many questions that have been dogging your every step this whole way. I felt them all in you, hundreds and hundreds, mundane and profound alike. Your whole quest—I saw it all, you know!—was just a big question. “Where did Celestia go?” maybe. Or, “What is Celestia doing?” or “Why is the world like this?”

But you know, I think the real question for you is, “Who is Twilight Sparkle?”

I think that Twilight Sparkle is dedicated, maybe too dedicated. I think she is kind to her friends, and that she tries hard even when she isn’t doing all that well at actually being a friend, and that’s why it all works. I think that she loves as a matter of fact. I think that she weighs and measures and deliberates. I think that she’s hesitant to change her insides even as she’s perfectly willing to alter her understanding with the harsh facts set before her in unnumbered graphs—that’s a paradox right there for you, my dearest and most faithful student. I think Twilight Sparkle has faith in her friends, and that she’s worked hard at trust, that she’s grown.

Personally, I believe in her. I know that she’ll do the right thing, for the right reasons, and in the right way.

Words come to me sometimes, across the brilliant eternities. They always have. Passages and poems, sermons and desperate pleas. Snippets, really. The one that just floated to me was: I’ll set my watch and warrant by it.

I’m sorry, Twilight. I hope that one day, you’ll forgive me, for you know not what you do. I can’t tell you my plan. Not yet. I know that you think that I am strong, but am I? Never as strong as you hoped I was. I am so weak. I am so quick to find the path of least resistance. I avoid doing hard things. I think that’s natural, but so is wasting sickness and that does not mean that either is good. I learned to delegate and put off and play a long game. I thought I was being very, very clever, like some sort of silly chess master. Everypony really believed me. And maybe it isn’t entirely a lie. I do have a grand plan, after all.

But I couldn’t tell you my plan. Not until it is all but accomplished. Because I know what you’ll say, and you’ll be right because you so often are, and your voice will break and tear my heart in two. You’ll employ that frighteningly sharp logic of yours. And in the end, I will not carry out the only hope for our world, the only REAL plan… because you’ll be right. But you’ll also be very, very, lethally wrong.

What will you do with me, Twilight Sparkle? What will you do with yourself?

Who will you be if this all goes well, I wonder?

What will any of it be?

TWILIGHT

When she was in the aether again, Twilight almost wept. Her horn! She felt her magic again, flowing through her and through all the aether. It was the wind in the strange otherworldly valleys and crags and clouds and mists. She loved it. She always had.

Twilight looked down and felt the warm glow of alicorns she had gathered together pressed to her breast. She could hear them. They were singing, she thought. Perhaps she heard it as song because Celestia was still with her, somehow, and because she had been in the Well. Be strong, my love, said Luna faintly. Please, let me see my sister again.

All ready when you are, Twily!

Be unwavering, young Sparkle.

One more to go. And she already knew where to find her.

Kyrie sat with her friends. Something inside of Twilight cracked at seeing them. She read the worry on all of their faces. How long had it been? She didn’t know. But not long, if luck was with her.

It had taken some experimentation, but dreamwalking from outside the world was rather different from entering the Aether from the inside, and with a little bit of mental gymnastics, she could see the physical world. In the distance, she felt something like a fire and thought to herself that it must be Canterlot. She almost saw it… saw it burned to a crisp again, all wasted and destroyed and filled with the dead, and almost the aether mists around her began to form that world.

But Twilight mastered them and they rested.

Kyrie. She had come for Kyrie. The last.

Twilight reached out and spoke, but it was Celestia whose words issued forth from her mouth.

“Kyrie! Eldest sister, I humbly beg an audience with you, if you would come!”

Kyrie stirred below her on the path, seeming like for all the world a pony with an annoying headache. She mouthed a what? And then Twilight spoke with her own words.

“Kyrie! Look up! Not with your eyes. Look up and take my hoof. Celestia needs you. You have to trust me!”

What will I do? Where are you taking me to? Kyrie cried in her mind as her body wavered. No! Please, I beg you, I have already lost so much. What will this world take from me this time?

“Nothing that do you not give freely!” Celestia said.

“We’re all together,” Twilight said. “Please. You’ve waited so long. You’ve lasted so long… it has to be for something, Kyrie. I know you’re scared. Take the leap, and it’ll… it won’t be easier, but you’ll know it’s the right choice. Don’t let it all be for nothing.”

Already, as Kyrie fell to the ground, muttering something, she saw a ghostly Kyrie rising with fear in her eyes but a hoof outstretched.

CELESTIA

You wake, and through four bright portals walk four of the most powerful ponies to yet walk the earth.

You’ve done so well. You’ve been so brave. I could sense your confusion, your fear, your effort. I could not be prouder of you. I’ve always been so proud.

We leave the dream world before you fully regain your senses and we are back again in the Image you first inhabited rationally in Eternity: the Last City. The sun seems older now. Older and closer. The city seems even worse for wear. It is all falling apart.

I greet them each in kind as you sit between us, shaking your head and groaning from what I can only assume is a splitting headache.

“Kyrie, Eldest, you honor me,” I say and I mean it. I am humbled that you have come. Your obligation was perhaps the least.

“Sister,” Kyrie says happily. “It is good to see you again.” I can tell she is frightened. Good. She should be. We all should be.

“Iridia, sister.” I bow, and she seems taken aback a bit when I rise to see her again. It is hard to tell with Iridia, though. She has had an iron mask for a long time. I miss when it came off more often. “I am honored by your trust.”

“I have never withheld my trust from you,” Iridia says, a tad coldly, but she says most everything coldly. “You have always been of the White. Even when you were being a fool.”

I smile at her warmly, and—miracles do happen, even in hell—she returns the smile, if with much more restraint than I show. For my part, my smile becomes a huge grin. This is probably a good sign.

“Cadance,” I say. “My niece, I am delighted to see you again. It has been far too long.”

She bows to me, and I nod to her. “Same,” she says, a little bewildered, I think. She keeps looking around everywhere. Ah, youth.

I turn to Luna, and her visage shocks me out of my calm. She… she is weeping. Pale. She looks like she has seen a ghost.

“Is it… it cannot be… I had almost…” She takes a few staggering steps towards me. “Sister?”

“Hello, Lulu,” I say gently. “It’s me. And it’s you,” I add.

My sister… O Luna, O Lost, my dearest and first true bosom companion. You’re shaking. I cross to you without another moment of hesitation and I hug you more ferociously than perhaps I ever have. And you begin to sob in my embrace.

“I thought you’d died!” She cries into my chest. “I thought it was my fault. I thought you’d… that you’d gone away because I hadn’t been able to save you or… or…”

I try to shush her, but she presses on.

“I… I talked to It. And it said… Celestia, am the cause? Am I its anchor? Are you here because of me? I don’t want to go on forever knowing that it was my fault. Please, by the Song, tell me the truth.”

Oh. Oh no. I see it now. I know why she trembles, why she looks up at me with these eyes. I feel a rage I have not felt in… perhaps ever. That this would be his final injury to my sister. For Luna was always my sister, more a sister to me than the others. We were a part of them but always in our own system, our own little corner of the galaxy. I burn with rage.

“You are a beautiful creation,” I say, holding it in check only barely. “Though two things happen in a single day, one does not cause the other. You no more brought it into being than Twilight did. It will not have you again,” I add. “I will make sure of it.”

She continues to weep, and I stroke her mane. Why could we have not done this a thousand years ago, sister? Why did we fail in love? That failure has always been so bitter, and in this moment before the end (one way or another) it is the most bitter thing in all Creation to me.

I look over her head to the others. Even Iridia looks on with compassion, her face softening. Luna may have learned war at our ascension, but it was Iridia who taught her to use the hammer. The most frigid daughter of the Song has a soft spot for Luna. It is part of what has kept us tethered together in love these years. It is also why she alone I allowed to visit me in my mourning and we mourned together after the Schism. She approaches and lays a hoof on my sister’s back. Cadance comes too, and then Kyrie, timid even now. And then… and then you, Twilight. You’ve risen. Has she called you forth with her great sorrow? You come and squirm between her and I, and to my mild surprise I find I do not begrudge you this, for you embrace us both and you kiss away her tears and whisper and I am so grateful for that.

As we are like this… I am so sorry, Twilight. I touch each of their minds. Cadance is the hardest. Iridia eyes me with those hard, icy eyes and I see… I do not know what I see. But not disapproval, not as the others have. Cadance—I’m lucky she’s behind you—pulls away in shock, staring at me with horror. Kyrie begins to weep and bows her head. I feel her relief and I’m ashamed to say that for an instant I resent it. But she has done enough. It is not hers to do this thing. It is for you and I, Twilight, to do it. Luna is… Luna is last. I touch her mind.

TWILIGHT

She held Luna and cried with her. Everything was just too much. The dreamscapes, the vision she saw that Luna had been trapped in, her friends, Canterlot… it was just too much for one little pony to bear, even surrounded by the closest things to goddesses that walked the earth. Surely this was the lowest they could go, and also the highest moment.

They let Luna and Twilight cry. She did not see Kyrie crying and trying not to look any of them in the eye. She also does not notice that none of them will look her in the eye, or even directly at her. She did not notice because when one is invested in being wracked in sobs, the important things often slip by. She will learn this lesson the hard way.

She did not notice when her mentor, her beautiful teacher, touched Luna. She did notice how Luna recoils as if struck, speechless and once more afraid.

“No,” she says. She slumps. But she doesn’t say anything else.

“Luna, I told you she was alive,” Twilight said, between coughing and sobbing. “I told you. Celestia lives. The sun is going to come back.”

She did not understand why this made Luna cry even harder, but emotion is a strange thing.

Perhaps thirty minutes past. It was hard to say how long, in such a place as this. First Iridia, then Kyrie, and then finally a stricken Cadance all stepped back. Celestia was the last to depart, leaving Twilight holding Luna, who lay on the floor.

But Luna rose. She stumbled back, and Twilight… Twilight was in the middle of them all again. She wasn’t sure what to do or where to go. The atmosphere changed. It was almost… formal? Suddenly, she felt that she did not belong here. She was only a little pony. These were… these were the “real deal” Applejack might have said. She just played with magic. These ponies were magic in a way she could never know.

They all looked to her. Celestia shook her head, and Twilight looked away slightly.

“Will you stand beside me?” Celestia asked.

And, stars help her, she could do nothing else but say yes, she would. She sat on her haunches at the right side of Celestia as the Princess of the Sun addressed them each in turn. All the while, Twilight found herself more and more confused. She felt a fierce hope. Celestia had a plan. Didn’t they see? They had to know that it would work. Celestia had brought together all the power this world had in one place. Together, these five could turn back whole worlds. She knew it. One way or another, even if not with raw power. Thousands of years of experience were shared among them. Even Cadance could keep up for a short while. And yet they looked like she struck them, all but Iridia, when Celestia called their names.

“Kyrie, Eldest. You who were Pestilence, marked by Quarantine.”

“Aye,” Kyrie murmured. “You name me truly, Celestia.”

“Cadance, you who were Famine, as you starved for your city’s welfare.”

Cadance sniffed. “Yes.”

“Luna, who was War, who broke the darkness with her hammer as she did of old.”

“Tia, please.”

Celestia went on. Twilight grew more puzzled. Her confidence was beginning to waver. What was going on?

“Lulu, will you name me?”

“Not yet,” Luna said, and she bit back a sob. “Why would you… I cannot—“

Celestia sighed and seemed to be steadying herself. “Luna?”

“Celestia, Death that was and is and shall be, who vanished into… into the west,” Luna managed, and then choked.

“That is fitting enough,” Celestia said. “We four are all here. As my vision in the Garden fortold.”

“We are humbled that you shared it,” Iridia said quietly.

Celestia said nothing at first. She cleared her throat.

“I see you, Kyrie. In the way we have always done this, I give to you a new name to wear: Sacrifice, for you endured and gave everything to seal the breach.

“Iridia of Henosia, my sister, you I give the name Justice, for that is what you are to me. Even when we have differed, always I knew that you served the straight and the right.

“Cadance, I name you Love with only a small apology, for this is the only name you will have of this sort, and it is already your name. But you too are an alicorn. Love, who bore great sorrow and pain for her love. No greater love can there be that would die for the sake of another. Would that there were a thousand of you.”

Cadance began to cry openly now. Twilight felt… it was just confusion now. She was beginning to be afraid. What was this? Had… she didn’t remember saying anything that would have sparked such a ritualistic air when she called them all to Celestia’s aid.

“Twilight,” she said, and Twilight almost jumped and turned to face her teacher, who smiled at her in a heartbreaking way. “I name you Faith, and you are the only one of our children to hold a name such as this. For you are the one who went to the far ends of the earth and did the impossible because you would not abandon me or what you knew in your heart was a good world.”

Twilight just gaped at her in shock. To be included was… She wanted to ask what this meant. She wanted to know.

“Luna—“

“Sister, please,” Luna almost… was she begging? Now Twilight was truly afraid.

“Luna,” Celestia said again, softer this time. “Will you give me this grace?”

“Yes. Stars strike me down if they can, yes,” Luna said. “Please, sister.”

“Luna, who is Hope. You who fought against Despair itself, that Hideous Strength, for a brighter future. Even when you were all alone.” Celestia took a deep breath, and then she said softly.

“I ask for your gifts.”

Kyrie came first, and she bowed before Celestia. Her whole body glowed, and Celestia seemed to sway as if faint. “This—“ she began, but Kyrie shook her head, and Celestia nodded.

Then Iridia. Iridia did not bow. She hugged Celestia. It was not a stiff, formal thing. Twilight caught a glimpse of what lay beneath the cold iron mask as Iridia held her younger sister tightly and whispered something in her ear as Celestia hugged her back. They glowed bright. When they parted, and Iridia went to stand beside a weak looking Kyrie, Twilight saw that now Celestia seemed to glow permanently.

Cadance came, and bowed. And then she kissed her aunt on the cheek, and said, “May you reach the top and find what it is you wish,” she said, her voice trembling. And for good measure, she hugged Twilight before returning and kissing the other cheek. Celestia glowed brighter and Cadance seemed suddenly to grow somehow… less. Almost gaunt. She stumbled over to her mother and they embraced.

Luna came, tears running down her face, and surprised them all by kissing Celestia on the lips firmly and lovingly. Celestia’s glow increased what seemed four times. Twilight gasped. She wasn’t sure the kiss was less shocking than the light, even though she at least understood the kiss. When it was ended, she stepped back from Luna, looking horrified. “No! No, you cannot. I cannot take this from—“

Luna shook her head and gave her the smile a pony gives before the gallows. “You cannot take it because you cannot take from me what I freely give.”

Celestia bowed her head, as if ashamed.

“Just one more sisterly prank,” Luna said and coughed as she choked up.

Celestia laughed, and Twilight thought she was also crying. “You got me,” she said. “Got me fair, Lulu.”

“Tia, I love you dearly. I love you more than the moon and stars.”

“I love you more than the sun’s warmth and the green grass, Lulu. Always,” she added. “Always.”

Luna stepped back. “May I come with you?”

Celestia nodded. “Yes, as far as you can. Perhaps even to the end.”

Luna looked down. “Aye.”

And now Celestia turned to Twilight, and Twilight took a step back. “What is going on, Princess?” she asked. “What is all of this. Why are you… I mean…”

“It’s time, Twilight,” she said. “It is finally time. You have done well, and I am proud of you. May I ask of you a favor?”

“Yes,” Twilight said automatically.

“Will you not give me a gift, as these have?”

Twilight swallowed. “As Luna did,” she said, without knowing why, and Celestia nodded and—it was beautiful, of course it was—she smiled in a way that was almost mischievous, almost as if even here she might laugh.

Celestia bent down a bit, and Twilight kissed her and found that her dream was right, and Celestia tasted of paradise.

But she did not become weak or grow gaunt. This confused her even more. But Celestia looked… at peace, somehow.

“Shall we go, then?” she said to Luna and Twilight. “To the end.”

“To the end,” Luna said miserably.

Twilight said nothing.

SCOOTALOO

I’m so glad you didn’t come, Scootaloo thinks as she walks stiffly through the streets. I’m so glad that you’re safe up in the palace. Sweetie, I wish I were there.

She and the levies she had trained wandered through the now quiet streets like ghosts. Scootaloo knew she must look like some sort of ghost herself, staring off into space like she was. But it was hard not to be… shellshocked. That worked. Shellshocked. She had been on the wings of the Canterlonian defense, and only now had the fighting begin to wind down.

She refused to let her soldiers bother the bodies of the dead. Let the Lunars or the Imperials poke at corpses. Scootaloo would let the dead lie in peace.

She thinks again that she is so grateful that Sweetie Belle had backed down.

“You aren’t a soldier, Sweets. You’re just brave, and I love that, but you’ll be a liability,” Scootaloo had said, trying to sound confidant.

“I’m not a child. I should be with them. They serve my House,” Sweetie Belle had replied, frowning severely. Outside, in the streets, there was blinding activity. Civilians were awake. Scootaloo heard songs and shouting and frantic mustering and knew this conversation needed to be over soon. She had a time limit and Sweetie Belle would press her advantage.

So Scootaloo put her hoof down. “I’m not taking you. I’m your marshal, you know, and this is me serving your house by keeping you here. I’m not doing my job if I let you come with us.” She took a deep breath and ran roughshod over Belle’s objection. “You barely know how to put your barding on, you’ve never really shot a gun and meant it. You’re laughably bad with hoofblades, even though I’m proud you tried. Your magic isn’t really geared towards combat at all. You won’t be able to keep up with us—our levies are fast and hard hitters, harriers, and flankers. We’ll be a quarter of our speed protecting you in a battlefield that will just be too much for us trying to run an escort mission or for you… Oh, hell. Sweetie, please, just listen to me for pony’s sake. Stay here for me.”

Sweetie sat back on her haunches. “I don’t want you to go.”

Scootaloo hadn’t want to go either. And now that she had gone, and she was here, she found that she was no better as a pony for the experience. Oh, she would be a cautious one. She might even one day be able to look back and say that it was better to stand than it would have been to cower.

But at that moment, she did not feel at all that it was better to stand. Scootaloo was brave. But all her life, bravery had meant taking that big ramp with her scooter, or going in for her first kiss. Bravery meant rolling the dice and doing something truly, inarguably awesome, and life would be better afterwards. This hadn’t been about bravery at all. Maybe, when it was all heroes and wizards and knight-errants, maybe then it had been about things like bravery. She hadn’t felt brave at all, herself. Mostly, she’d been scared shitless or furious or just plain tired.

She was mostly tired now. A little afraid. A little jumpy. But mostly tired.

She navigated around another dead body, hardly looking at it. It wasn’t because she was cold and uncaring, because Scootaloo cared a hell of a lot about stuff. It was because she was just too boneweary to do much more than sleep or cry or lay somewhere. She wondered if there was anywhere she could take a nap in the street that didn’t smell like death or worse.

The Manichean rebels were all bottled up now. It would just be a matter of time, she was sure of it. Or, rather, she fervently hoped that it was true. The sun hadn’t risen yet, though. That part of the vision Luna had given them was a little late in coming. She guessed that it was because Luna was busy.

She glanced up at the strange pools of darkness above all their heads, still circling and sometimes thundering.

And so it was for this reason that she did not see Dash until almost right on top of her.

They stood in the street, twinned pegasi with heavy eyes and wobbly legs, covered in muck and sweat and blood, barding torn and mane singed. For all the world, they could have been sisters.

Scootaloo hesitated. She blinked, and then squinted. “Dash?”

“Squirt? Scoots?”

Even exhausted as she was, Scootaloo’s heart still beat fiercely, and forever that heart had room for Rainbow. Slowly, she advanced, and slowly her smile grew until she was flinging her forelegs around Rainbow’s neck and they both went sprawling. And Scootaloo started laughing, and then the laughing became outright bawling, and Rainbow was hugging her back and telling her it was okay. It was going to be okay. What an awful lie. She believed it anyway.

TWILIGHT

Iridia and Cadance left together. Kyrie left slowly and with obvious trouble. Twilight hugged before she went, and found that Kyrie seemed to shy from her touch at first.

Luna, Celestia, and Twilight stood facing each other in the center of a great chamber.

“Day, Night, and the Time Between,” Twilight murmured to herself. The joke was no more funny than it had the first time she’d thought of it.

“You did not ask me to name you,” Luna said softly.

“I knew you would want to come. I will ask you on the way,” Celestia answered, then seemed to stop and think. “If you still wish to, when we are there.”

“Of course,” Luna said. She seemed almost wooden. Stiff and tired. Twilight thought, worried, that she seemed to be holding in some great feeling. “I…”

“Luna.”

“I know you won’t be… persuaded. It isn’t because of me? Because in my mind I hear a little voice that says that you have always been the kind to do things for ponies that they would never ask of you.”

But Celestia shook her head.

Luna closed her eyes. “It might not work. Or when you—“

“Let us go, Luna,” Celestia said, firmly but without raising her voice.

Twilight looked from one to the other. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“The good ship Luna,” grumbled the Princess of the Night, and she seized both of them with her hooves—

Luna had not found the heart of the darkness after all. She had been drawn away and fooled.

Now she hovered high above the ground, suspended as it were by the smoky tendrils that curled around her legs and snaked about her wings. None below suspected that she did not even now do battle.

And Luna would no longer disappoint them, for her eyes opened and she snarled. Twilight saw through her eyes and felt the burning as Celestia’s newfound Glory filled her and radiated from every pore, enflamed her coat and mane, poured out of her eyes like searchlights. It hurt, so badly. She felt like at any moment she might melt.

“Will nothing dissuade you?” Luna asked the air.

“We’ve already spoken at length.” Once again, Luna speaking, but with a different sort of rhythm. She tapped her head. “You know this.”

“THEN LET US GO OUT TOGETHER!” Luna launched herself back into the darkness, letting her hammer fall to earth unattended.

Twilight could not do what they did, but she could feel and she could watch. Had she been in her own body, she would have howled in agony—

And suddenly she found that she could do something. She pushed and pushed.

And then she was outside of Luna, flying beside her. Was it Luna that was faint like a shade, or herself? Somehow, she knew that her body wasn’t really here. Not yet. But where was it? Where was Celestia’s?

Luna continued on. From the ground, looking up, she must have looked like the sun itself in the heart of the darkness. And it was so very dark. It seemed with every passing second that the dark clouds moved closer and closer, and that soon they might be strangled in them.

Below, they would see the sun shining down briefly. Or a comet streaking through the sky before the sun rose, perhaps. They might look up with astonishment and wonder what this sign meant. Twilight was the sign and she wondered what she meant.

“Celestia!” she shouted, hoping that she could be heard. “Celestia! What are we doing? What is going on?”

“A moment longer, sister! Just a moment!” Luna, she thought. Maybe.

“All will be revealed, Twilight. I feel it, Luna!”

“It’s strong! I feel the air grow thick and the force it gives off… it’s like—“

“An anti magic field!” Twilight supplied.

“Yes, but stronger!”

The wind picked up. The clouds moved in. All around them, everything grew cold and the darkness began to move in to swallow them up in earnest. It had taken the bait.

And it happened to let its army go in its lusts.

Twilight floated. More than this, she waited.

She did not ask where she was. One gets used to never being sure after awhile in the Eternities. Perhaps that question would never be answered. Twilight thought that she was not really here at all, in a way. Or, more accurately, perhaps the outside had not quite fully penetrated the outer hull of Earth but simply bent it inwards to allow Twilight to be here without leaving the outside at all, as is she were walking on a balloon filled with water.

Everything around her was dark and she saw nothing. This could mean a lot of things, so Twilight tried not to panic.

“Celestia? Luna? Are you there?”

Nothing.

“Hello? What happened? Where am I?”

Nothing.

The darkness pressed at her and she found herself breathing faster and faster. She tried to control her breathing, like Celestia and Cadace had taught her. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Don’t panic about the--

It’s nice to finally meet you. Well, again, in a way.

Twilight looked up, and she saw…

She saw…

At first, it looked like a snake--no! A lamprey!--miles and miles long, coiled over and over on itself filling everything, and she thought she might fall upon it and be found among the folds or crushed like a grape between grinding scales. Song’s mercy, how large was it? Was it endless? She wanted to scream, but she didn’t, because she saw its great soulless black eyes staring up at her with a hunger that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. It hated. It hated everything.

But then it changed, and what was it then? Why, it was none other than a mirror. That is, herself, walking out of the darkness. Somehow, Twilight could still see her.

“What?”

It is good, I said, to finally meet you. Face to face, the real thou and the real I. No flesh to mask us. I have been wanting to speak to you, the other Twilight said. She winced. The voice stabbed into her brain. It looked so, so close to the real one. So close that Twilight almost doubted that she was the real one for a moment.

“Who are you?” she asked, but she already knew.

“Why, I am the hope of all flesh,” said the Shadow, now using her mouth, talking normally. Twilight no longer felt her in her mind but heard her.

“And that means what, exactly?” Twilight asked, glancing around. The Princesses would know what to do. Whatever Celestia’s plan, she wouldn’t leave Twilight, would she?

“Would you like to talk? Or shall I devour you first?” Shadow Twilight said casually. “It’s all the same to me. Talking is tasting is knowing. How does your Celestia say it, the bright one? ‘Then I shall know, even as I am known’?” It chuckled. The sound was not Twilight’s laugh but awful and wet. “Oh, I would know you. As you would know me. Absorbed. Pushed back under the rind. Your will is my will is your will,” it said and cocked its head to the side. “But variety is the spice of life. Even when you don’t want there to be either. So. Talk? Or consume?”

“Talk,” Twilight said, swallowing. She thought of the first vision.

“Oh? I love the ambiguities of language, if nothing else. Talk, as in an answer? Talk! Like a command?” The thing giggled and Twilight was repulsed. The Shadow flashed a grin at her filled with sharp teeth in her own perverted reflection’s mouth. She noticed now that her eyes were wrong. They kept… changing. The shadow just wanted to play with her.

Celestia, where are you now?

Luna!

“An answer. It was an answer.” Twilight could feel her throat threatening to close, as if squeezed from the… outside… could it all be that cruel? Had she been ripped from her teacher and lover and been taken already, been consumed already? Or was that literal?

“Hm. Who do you say I am, Twilight of Nothing?” asked her own body.

Twilight cleared her throat, but it didn’t help much. “The Sh—“ She coughed, and decided that she must be bold. She must hold this thing’s attention. If she was doomed, she must sell herself dearly. LOOK AT ME! “Shall I name you directly, or describe you? They are very different answers, Skinwalker.”

“Oh! A jab at my mask, how droll. I had expected that one. But not the choice. The choice is the thing, isn’t it?” The Shadow licked its lips. “Never expected that. The choice is the thing,” it repeated, as if reminding itself. “I cannot resist a parting of the ways. Killing half the future, perhaps. Describe, Twilight of Nothing.”

Twilight tried to steady herself. She was alone now. No more relying on alicorns, at least for this. She opened her mouth, but was pre-empted.

“Wait. First, I’ll guess your first. Is it to be, ahem,” the thing cleared its throat and somehow it sounded like gnawing teeth. “Destroyer.”

The Shadow grinned at her with those sharp, waiting teeth again. Twilight had in fact, not been planning to say that first. So she smiled.

“No,” she said, easily.

She saw her own eyebrows raise on the creature’s stolen face. “Oh? Well, I can tell you don’t lie. Go on. What a curiosity you are.”

“Perverter,” Twilight began. “Corrupter. Ruinous. Vast. Powerful. Patient.” But growing less so, I think. “Destructive. You are, in fact,” she continued, remembering something she’d been told, “something much like a sickness. A sickness right unto death.”

She didn’t have time to remember if it had been Luna or Celestia who had said that. The creature chuckled.

“Oh, how I hate you. But excellent work, if a bit pedantic. But you were a… what? A bookworm, but not much of a poet were you. Now, a name. Let this little palaver continue.”

“Despair,” Twilight said. “You’re despair.”

The other Twilight tsk’d. “Ah, that’s a bit more like the rest. A pity. So perceptive, Twilight of Nothing, right up until it’s inconvienent. No, I am not despair. How about… Truth?”

Before Twilight could respond—and how did you respond to that?—the creature vanished and Celestia was there beside her. Twilight was about to cry out in alarm, but found a hoof on her mouth, hushing her.

“Don’t say anything. I’m not here.” Celestia grimaced. “Yes, I am the part of Celestia that she left behind. Yes, I’m still here. Yes, probably for a long time. No, I can’t get you out of here, and no, you aren’t beyond saving.”

Celestia was gone, and the creature was back. “Truth,” it continued, as if nothing had happened. “Tell me, do you think this world is good? Don’t spit your learned by rote catechisms at me. Do you really, truly think that it is? Do you wake up in the morning and say to yourself, ‘ah, what a good day to be alive,’ and prance out into the sun and everything is perfect and exactly how you want it?”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Twilight admitted. Where had Celestia gone—

And she was back and the Shadow vanished again. “I’m staying as low as I can. If it finds this part of you, it may undo everything. It is brilliant, but possessed of the vanity of genius: it thinks that it cannot make mistakes, just calculated retreats. It doesn’t learn. Keep talking to it. You weren’t as connected as Celestia was, but she’s found your spirit and she’ll reel you in.” Not-Celestia grimaced as if disgusted. “Don’t let it touch you, if you want to leave this place.”

Twilight wanted to ask, my what? But Not-Celestia vanished again and once more, was replaced by a grinning shark-toothed Twilight.

“Yes. You’ll be so hesitant about it. Maybe you could give me a rousing speech about the innate goodness of ponies, if I let you. Or zebras, or whatever. You might talk to me about beautiful the world is or how full of life and music and joy and all other sorts of things that are only valuable because you made them valuable. Why is any of that good?”

Keep it talking. She had to keep it talking. “Because… I mean, they just are,” she said, trying to get it to explain. If the thing wanted to monologue like a cheap villain, she would let it.

It advanced then. Twilight retreated, but didn’t turn her head.

“No, not really,” it said evenly. It kept walking.

Twilight kept backing up. Gods, I think it might really try to eat me, she thought.

“Then why?” Twilight asked, her voice tight and beginning to sound distressed even in her own ears.

“They don’t!” said the Shadow with something like glee, but the emotion never reached those changing, shifting eyes. Twilight didn’t think any emotion reached them ever. Intelligence and feeling and all of it was just a tool. Not really a part of this creature, but something like a detachable tool. A hat, perhaps. Easily taken off again. “That’s just it! I was born into this world, and I did not want to be! And it is all a huge, ridiculous mistake. Im shocked you don’t see it, bright as you are. Music and joy and kindness, honestly? Children talk about things like that. Stupid ones. The stupidest,” it amended. “Existence molds you into a tight little corridor. You can exist or not exist, and that’s it. No other choices. I don’t like it. It’s not fair. I didn’t want to do either.”

A self that would not be what it is, Twilight thought, paraphrasing Celestia.

“You can’t run forever. I really will eat you alive, you know. Your body just vanished. I’ve done it before, a few times. I start with the eyes,” It added helpfully, as if this were normal conversation. “Do you know what I choose next?”

Twilight couldn’t even pretend to talk to this monster anymore. She began to hyper-ventilate. Because she very much believed it. Ponies are, after all, mostly herbivorous and certainly originally a prey species. She knew what those teeth could do. Ages of racial memory were screaming about those teeth.

“N-no.”

“Better answer than most! Mortals always expect the tongue, for some reason. Do you not see how much they are mistakes? Of course not the tongue, simpletons, how else will you scream or make those wonderful noises?”

It was getting closer.

“You’re wrong,” Twilight said, trying to keep it talking, knowing it wasn’t going to be distracted much at all about anything.

“’You’re wrong!’,” it mocked.

“You don’t even have reasons,” Twilight said, and now she realized it was probably true. And that just made her furious. “You don’t have any at all. Just wanton annilation. You’re just a killswitch,” she spat.

It really didn’t seem to care.

And then Twilight felt like she was being yanked back into—

Another darkness, but Luna was there and Twilight looked out her eyes again.

This new darkness was different. It was not nearly as featureless. For up ahead, Twilight could see a strange purplish light which cast a low, eerie glow.

“It’s doing something,” Luna said.

“It is preparing for me,” Celestia said with her sister’s borrowed tongue.

It just wanted to screw with me, Twilight knew.

“It has known of you for awhile. No doubt it wished to pay you in kind for the destruction of the physical form it had hoped to inhabit long enough to destroy,” Luna said with her own voice.

Is this it? Is that where we’re going?

“This is it,” Celestia said, and she felt like Luna said it with her in unison.

Luna flew into the heart of the storm.

Twilight had the sensation of being shook awake.

She tried to open her eyes, but could not feel her body. Everything around her was darkness.

Last ticket to the station. “Last stop,” Luna said bitterly in her right ear. If she still had an ear.

“Last stop,” Celestia said sadly in her left.

“What is your plan?” Twilight asked, glad she could still talk at least. “Celestia, I’ve come with you so far. I walked so long. Please, Stars, just tell me your plan. Stop hiding from me!”

There was a long silence.

“You owe it, sister,” Luna said. She sounded… not angry. But close.

“I know I do,” Celestia said. Her voice wavered.

“Tell me!” Twilight felt like screaming. She was tired of not knowing. She was tired of questions! “What are you doing?”

But Celestia didn’t answer.

“Luna,” she said instead. “Luna, will you not name me?”

“I knew you would ask,” Luna said, as if stricken. “But… is this not…. Is this not too far?”

“It is the closest I will ever get,” Celestia said.

Luna’s breathing was heavy, as if she were on the verge of turning and running. Twilight would have been livid but she was now afraid again.

“Mercy,” Luna choked out. “I name you Mercy in your hour of birth, for you would save the world from its own sickness.”

Celestia let out a long, soft sigh in Twilight’s ears. “Thank you. Twilight, do you know how your race was born?”

“Thaumus,” Twilight answered, confused. Why did this matter? It was all… well, not legend. Ancient history.

“How?” Luna pressed her.

Instead of the questioning one, now she was the one who answered. Twilight wasn’t sure she liked it any better. “Alicorns are like… they can be like seeds,” she said. “They give their lives and create a new species. If they want to. A lot of them did, or that’s the story.”

“It is a true one,” Celestia said.

“Aye. I told you of Aurora and Thaumus, did I not, Twilight?” Luna asked her.

“Yes, I think so.”

“When one of our brothers or sisters would undertake this beautiful task, we would gather around them,” Celestia said, sounding for all the world like Twilight was thirteen in her private study again, being lectured to on history, “They would name us, and we would name them. That is why you are a unicorn: that name was born when Thaumus left us. And then they would go out and there would be... a great conflagration. A great release of magic.”

Twilight slowly, very, very slowly, put the pieces together.

Sometimes, the truth is so obvious that it hides in broad daylight. It just sits there and looks at you and waits to be noticed. And you do notice it, but your eyes won’t look at it for more than a few minutes because it is just too awful to bear, or you think it is too awful to bear because you do not know anything about what is or is not too awful.

Twilight began to grasp where this was going.

“Oh, gods,” she breathed. She was beyond horror.

A bomb, Celestia said with a grin. Right in its throat.

It wants me. It has dueled here with me, both to keep me from interfering and stabilizing the world, and because it sees me as its prime opponent. If I let my guard down but a moment—

Cadance, Iridia, Kyrie…. Stricken. Kyrie, relieved. Luna, devastated.

She touched them. Time moves… weird, Twilight said or heard no counting how many times in a dozen variations across her journey. Time moves strangely when you start getting near the end of the world—

--all the time in the world, Celestia is saying. Hours here or days, even, and outside of here only—

A second. At most.

Enough time for long conversations.

And explaining necessity.

“No,” Twilight said. “No.”

“What do you do when the wolf is at thy door?” Luna asked, her voice breaking. Twilight was suddenly furious with her. How could she let this happen? Didn’t she know? She wanted to scream at Luna—didn’t Luna know what she had suffered to find Celestia?

“You send it away,” Celestia said, as if she had been the one to explain it this way. She probably had. “But what if you know that the wolf will come back? You know for absolute sure that it will? If it comes every night, and if you send it away…”

“It comes back again.” Luna was struggling. “And again. And again. And again.”

“Taking more and more each time,” Celestia supplied gently. “You will starve or it will finally break down your battered door—“

“And every… and every….” Luna was going to cry again. Could they cry without bodies? Where were they? Twilight wanted to scream but found that she couldn’t. Because screaming would have meant it was happening. It couldn’t happen. Not like this. Please, please, please not like this. Anything but this. She was already all the way at the end of where this path was leading.

“And every time, it gets a little easier for the wolf, and harder for you,” Celestia finished for her. “Every time, the door gets a bit weaker, and you have a few less chickens. Every time, your chances decrease, because this wolf learns. It waits. It… dreams. But mostly, it learns. It is pure unadulterated will to annihilation. You have felt it. No, I take it back. Not yet. You won’t, I think. But I have,” Celestia said.

“Will you not turn back?” Luna begged. “Please!”

“You know I can’t, Lulu.”

“Don’t call me that! Not here! Not right before… not… not again. Not another one. I won’t bear it. I’ll die. Not another!”

“You are right. Not another. It broke through at Jannah. It has been pulling the strings of slaughter since then. You remember Maldon.”

“Aye,” Luna said, more sob than word.

“I saw Manehattan in Twilight’s memories. Imagine Manehattan forever, sister. Or remember it when I showed you what that would be,” Celestia said.

Twilight wanted to see them. She had to… no! No seeing! If she saw them, if she saw Celestia’s lips moving, saying what she was saying, then it would be real.

“There must be some other way! Its army is through.”

“It has more.”

“By the gods, do you think of yourself ever?” Luna roared at her. “Think you of me! Of Twilight! Of… of anypony! Of yourself! Don’t do this. Please. You don’t even…” but Twilight realized she couldn’t make herself say that it wouldn’t work.

“Twilight, it is time for you to open your eyes,” Celestia said.

Twilight stood with them on a cliff overlooking a great coiling mass. It was the Shadow—but unlike before, the image did not vanish. It continued. A snake—lamprey, serpent, devil—continuing for miles. Forever, more like. Enough to wrap the world in itself and squeeze. Enough to devour whole cities with ease before it even noticed.

She began to shake.

“Where are we?” she asked. And then the wind began.

“Nowhere,” Celestia said with a tired smile. It was the most tired smile Twilight had ever seen. “Nowhere, in a way. Your mind can’t see what the heart of the beast is without trying to change it all so you don’t go mad at once. It’s trying very hard. You probably still feel much of the effect.”

“And… and you can?” Twilight asked.

“Oh yes,” Celestia answered grimly. “I see it just fine.”

“You’re the bomb,” Twilight said. “That’s why you wouldn’t tell me.”

Celestia nodded.

Twilight began to hyperventilate. Again. “And I dragged all of them here and they… they gave you power somehow.So you could…. So you could just dive right in and kill yourself Celestia please don’t!” She was on her stomach at Celestia’s hooves, shameless. Shameless as any sordid dream she had had. “Don’t leave me for Tartarus’ sake don’t leave me please please please please…” she continued on like this. A dozen “please”s at least. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t be sad. She was too busy denying everything. It was all a dream. A nightmare. It had to be. She had to still be on the road. They had camped in the mountains! That was the last thing that felt real! She would wake up in the mountains. Hills. The ones before the bridge and the Garden! Tradewinds would wake her up and she would go and find Celestia. She would find a Celestia that wouldn’t…

“I could not afford to tell you until now, because I knew that if you could, you would persuade me. Because I love you too much. Because I am a very, very selfish pony,” Celestia said. And she knelt, and Twilight realized that her face was contorted in pain.

“Please,” Twilight said, but she knew she had lost. She was going to lose everything. It had all been for nothing. “Why did I even come?” she whispered. “I killed them. I almost got my friends killed. Pinkie got shot. We all killed. I suffered so much. Why did I do any of it if you’re just going to die? That’s not how it works.”

“Isn’t it?” Celestia whispered. “You know that when you set out, it was always possible I would already be dead. You never spoke it—“

“I warned it might be so,” Luna said, and she sounded miles away.

“But you can’t leave me,” Twilight said. “Not again.”

“I would that we lived in a world where…” Celestia winced. Twilight clung to her neck now. “I am not going to lie to you anymore. Even by omission. I am scared, Twilight. I am so, so scared.”

“You’re going to become a race of… of what?”

But Celestia shook her head. She was weeping too, now.

“I wanted to have foals,” she said, and her voice broke. “But I never found a pony that I could not think of as my sisters’ son. I adopted, but I never… I loved them so dearly, but Ionged for birth. I will not bear a new race, Twilight, but only old ones. When we… Oh, song, it burns. When we dissolve in the act, we are filled with all kinds of energy. It can be channeled. It was a way to cancel the transformation, but none ever… used it.” She was sobbing. “I have to be the only one who does. If I feign a desperate assault, and it wins, it will… I will be devoured, but as it does so I will destroy it. It will let me in to its utmost places, satisfied after I have riled it into a hot rage after it was held off so long—“

“And then it will be finished,” Luna said.

“I will be accomplished,” Celestia said.

“But you can seal it, right? Without dying? If you can kill it, surely you could just push it back out wherever it was before!” Twilight cried.

She would not win.

“Yes, I could. But it would be back, don’t you see?”

She did see.

“Why couldn’t it be me?” Twilight sobbed. “Why couldn’t you go back, and I be the one who jumps off the cliff with this stupid suicide plan?”

“Because I am a very selfish pony,” Celestia said. “I love you, Twilight. You have done enough. Almost, at least. There is one last thing.”

“I won’t. I won’t do it. Not if it helps you leave.”

Twilight wanted to hate Celestia for the only time in her life. She wanted to hate her forever until the sun went out—wouldn’t it?—and until the world died. She wanted to hate this perfect, beautiful, crying alicorn for leaving. For dying. For making Twilight survive when she no longer wanted to at all.

But she just couldn’t.

“Stay with me until I leap,” Celestia said.

“I don’t want you to leap,” Twilight moaned. She was damned. Everything was.

“I know. I do not want to. Your task was to buy me this chance. I am sorry you have been so ill-used. I could not let it see what I was doing. I could not gather them. But you could. But… this is your real task. Your final task. Please stay with me, Twilight, as you love me. I don’t want to…” She had to take a steadying breath. “Stay with me until the end.”

“I will,” Twilight said, and she hated herself, even if she couldn’t hate Celestia.

“Thank you,” Celestia said, wincing as if in pain. And then, at last, her control broke. She had held on for so long. She had kept a straight face, acted as if the world would go on and she would go on with it, for so long and every tear and wracking sob and hopeless wail she had saved up came rushing out of her. Twilight clung for dear life. She did not know what to do. She didn’t know if there was anything at all to do.

There are things, mark it well, that nothing can make right. That will never, ever be right.

“It’s so cruel,” Twilight said into Celestia’s ear. “Maybe it was right. Maybe the whole thing was a mistake. Some sort of sick joke. Like a long set up for a punchline that just never happens. No payoff,” she said, “no reward. Just ‘everyone dies, thanks for listening,’ and then the curtains go up. Or if they live, you don’t care anymore. That isn’t how stories go. I’d know. I’ve read a lot.”

“But this isn’t a story,” Celestia said, trembling.

“Yes it is,” Twilight said. They rocked back and forth. “Yes it is. This is a story. And you are a pony, just like me. I know that now. You’re Princess Celestia and you’re perfect and wise and everyone’s mother.” That last bit made both of them laugh strange, broken laughs. “And you’re a pony. Just a pony. You like...” She couldn’t finish. But she had to. It was important.

“You are just a pony,” Twilight began again. As she spoke, she found her voice grew calmer and stronger, and Celestia began to cling tighter to her. “Just like me or Applejack or Rarity, but definitely not that much like Pinkie—“ Another strangled laugh—“You like cake and tea and gardening, but you don’t get to do it much yourself anymore. You like reading and you like the biggest, thickest, most boring books in the world but every now and then you like something that’s light and silly because it makes you smile. You raise the sun every morning but still wish you could sleep in.

“I think… I think this is a story. Maybe everything is. I mean, if everything is a song, why couldn’t it be a story? Songs are stories sometimes, right?”

“They are,” Luna said quietly. She sat behind them like a shrouded mourner.

“And not every story ends like I want it to. I don’t want you to go. I love you. My mom used to say, when I asked her about writing her novels, that she didn’t make the story. It drug her along and she went where it went. I didn’t know what she meant. I thought she was trying to be poetic. This isn’t poetic at all.”

“Not even worth a proper…” Celestia coughed. She had worked herself into it with her wailing. Her throat was no doubt dry and mangled—Twilight had felt her cries like they too bore the combined power of the still-living alicorns. “Not even worth a proper tragedy?”

But Twilight shook her head. And somehow, she knew what she wanted to say. She wasn’t sure she could say it. Right now, it didn’t seem right. It seemed so out of place. Her heart wasn’t in it.

Was it?

Maybe.

“I don’t believe in tragedies. I always thought that they missed the point,” Twilight said.

Celestia looked up and then turned to cough again before she stroked Twilight’s cheek. “What was the point? Remind me, as you love me. The Glory is beginning to weigh down on me. It’s heavy, Twilight.”

“It’s still good,” Twilight said, even as it tasted so bitter. Because it was her heart that said it, she still ate what was before her. It was bitter, but it was her heart. She could not turn away. “It’s still so good, all of it. All of those shining things. Aren’t they? You’ll save them all. Even me. Even though I don’t deserve it.”

“Don’t you?” Celestia said. “You came all this way. "

“To sit at your deathbed.”

“I think you knew all along that was where you were going. You’re so wonderfully perceptive sometimes,” Celestia said. “Maybe you knew before I did, even. But you wouldn’t say. Because you were going to try your best, weren’t you? I stole it from you. I didn’t let you try. I’m sorry. Do you hate me for it?”

“I can’t. I know you won’t listen now. Not here.”

“It wouldn’t let me go back without a fight regardless, now,” Celestia said.

“Time grows short,” Luna reminded them, her voice low.

“Time is always short,” Celestia agreed. She kept stroking Twilight’s cheek. Twilight placed a hoof over hers. “Always. Even for us. You called yourself a worm in my presence. Do you still feel that way?”

Twilight thought. “No,” she said. And there were more tears trying to come, but she brushed them aside. Crying kept her from talking. She had to keep talking. “Because you’re a pony, just like me. I was wrong to ever forget that even for a moment. I love you, Celestia.”

“And I love you, Twilight. I… You were like my own daughter, Twilight,” she choked out. “You were. You are. You shall be. Carry me in your heart. Take what is left and go as far away as you can, until you are back at home, and plant me in some quiet place with shade and flowers. Remember me to your children and to their children, and to all my little ponies. Talk of me to Luna, and to my sisters. But do not cling to me like you are going to drown. You must keep going, do you understand? I go to do a g-greater thing than that which I have done before, and so must you. There’ll be… the sun will continue. The moon too, when we are gone. And you must see them. Do you understand? They need you. All of them. When I am gone, you are all I can leave them. The last piece of me I leave with you, and it will restore your body as the song sings it back into the world. Please don’t leave my world alone. Please don’t be alone.”

Twilight wanted to jump with her into the pit. “I won’t,” she promised. “Either of those things. I’ll go back. I will remember you to everyone. I’ll… I’ll keep you with me. You’ll have never left,” she said and it was a lie but also not a lie. “You’ll have never left. You’ll have never died.”

“The last enemy,” Celestia said, and her voice became harder and more determined. “The very last enemy that shall be defeated. I will see her today, and you will follow me much, much later. And we shall both pass through her. I know it.”

Celestia bore Twilight up, and she did not resist. She found that she had no will to do so even as her heart screamed at her to resist. Celestia stood regal and tall once more upon the precipice, and below her…

“Luna, be with Twilight. Twilight, be with Luna. Be enough for each other, as much as ponies can. Never be alone again. I bless you: that you see the truly brighter days. That you march onwards, side by side and in love, towards some greater dawn. Do you hear me? Will you do this?”

“Yes,” they said.

“Then you have my blessing. Luna is right. I can sense it growing impatient. I must put on a good show before I let it take me.” She paused, as if suddenly shy. Or stalling. Twilight would never know. “Luna, I love thee,” she said, and for a moment, Twilight thought she saw Celestia as she had been ages before, on Jannah’s heights. “Twilight, I love thee.”

“I love you, too. I always have,” said Twilight, and her voice sounded like she had died already. “Celestia, give me something to take with me, if you must send me away or leave. Please. Something. Anything.”

"As you wish.”

And Celestia kissed her. It tasted even still of paradise, with no ash and no drop of bitterness. Only pure sweetness. Only love, and no shadow of turning.

Goodbyes are never happy. Goodbyes are the worst possible things in this world. Short or long, nothing is good about parting. Only what might be pieced together in the absence of the light of another do the little lives find solace.

Celestia took a step towards the edge. She turned back. In Twilight’s mind, a tiny voice said that she would not do it. She would come back with them. She would rise into the air and defeat the monster and cast it down. She could do it. Celestia could do anything.

Nopony could do what could not be done. Push, yes, but not defeat. Not destroy.

“Hail, Mercy,” Luna said, her voice tight and pained. “Well met. Go with all of my love.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Twilight said, trying not to cry in front of her again. Not again. Every time she started it started again. Trying not to beg.

“Then don’t.” Celestia smiled at them. She shuddered. “Never say those words, then. Ever. May you find home again, Twilight Sparkle, of the True West. May you find home again and may you live in happiness forever. I am going,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “I am going now.”

She did not turn and leap daringly into the air.

She took a step backwards and, Twilight could not believe it, fell backwards into the Heart of the Shadow.

Twilight stood as a statue does, without thoughts at all. She was a husk.

Celestia rose back into the air, and now Twilight saw that only with the greatest effort had she kept herself from releasing all of the energy she had gathered. All of that time, she must have been in agony. For now she shone like the sun.

Twilight’s mind interpreted what her eyes could not comprehend with images crafted to do the work. She saw the great beast’s head rise into the air far away, and the sun battled with it. For a moment, her heart beat wildly in her chest—Twilight knew she would not, but it felt like Celestia would strike Despair down. But she did not. Of course she didn’t.

In Canterlot, the Shadow let loose its armies. It hardly remembered the battle now. Celestia had resisted it face to face for almost two years now, and finally it had won. It crowed with delight, and out of the sky came a sound that no pony understood, but all feared. The abandoned rebels cast down their arms, weeping, surrendering, hiding in every hole they could find.

The sun burned hot over Canterlot, but it was not the true sun.

And then it took her. Celestia faltered. The light dimmed, as if she had burned out. It took her. The thing lashed out, and suddenly, it was if the whole body had become pure shadow, and the sun was eclipsed in the valley of death.

Luna grabbed her.

Twilight was hardly aware of it. She just kept screaming. She could scream now, finally. “CELESTIA! CELESTIA! NO!”

She knew only pieces.

Luna bursting from the shadows, but too weak—too weak by far. She had given far more than Twilight knew. Or would guess at.

For Twilight was pulled by Celestia’s reflection, the little candle of her soul which was now Twilight’s as well, and the song burst forth over Canterlot and the ponies within that city all heard it and they wept. It was but a moment, and none could explain it.

And Twilight was whole again. Mortal and physical. She stared out at the sky. The shadow around her and above her thundered and thundered and then…

And then the sky broke.

There was a light so blinding that all the world saw it. In Canterlot, they scrambled away. In Manehattan, they trembled in burned out burroughs. In the Zebrahara, the villages plagued by monsters woke and stared up in awe. In the West, they prostrated themselves and thought surely this was the end, the Very Last Day.

The light was both in the world and below it and above it. Everywhere that the Hideous Strength was, Celestia’s final generative fire burned it. To the four corners of the earth, she chased her final enemy, and when the earth was purged her fires followed it, unquenchable, into the space beyond the world and the space between the universes, which she called Eternity, and she smote it down and burned it from existence.

In every corner, the world felt the sudden weight disappear, and they were amazed. In Manehattan, they shouted. In Canterlot, the survivors weeped with joy and embraced. In the Zebrahara, they danced.

Because the sun came up, and nothing held it back any longer. The true sun, and not its mistress.

But Twilight did not see or notice any of this. She fell back towards the earth, barely able to move. Her magic completely failed her. She was burnt out. Her whole body felt strange and new. She was only a unicorn. There was a price for cavorting in the realm of the gods.

But she could think.

What she thought was: I am going to die. And she thought it very calmly, she did. It was simple physics, and Twilight had loved that class, and not only because Celestia had taught her. Because physics made sense. Nothing else was making sense anymore. Or ever would. But that was okay, because in a moment she wasn’t going to care.

Where’s Luna?

Twilight didn’t blame her. She wasn’t really aware enough to do so, and even had she been, she would never have laid the blame there. Luna was probably in bad shape from giving power to Celestia… and she supposed, with a rather detached air, that having a unicorn materialized right out of your soul probably took a lot out of a pony.

She was going to see Celestia again.

She smiled.

The ground rushed up as if to embrace her. Twilight stretched out her forelegs and rolled over to face it. She would die this way and be happy. This was how stories ended. One last death and the stage is empty, the lights go up, the people file out. The final act ends with the tragic death at the end of the arduous trek and quest. Maybe she did believe in tragedy. Wasn’t this how tragedies played out? Who could save her now?

She could see individual ponies, or could convince herself that she did. So many. She hardly saw the death and the destruction. Canterlot. She had come back at last. It had been so long—was her mother up for writing anymore? Was Spike… was Spike…

Luna grabbed her then, wrapped both of her forelegs around Twilight. She put her whole body around her, all but smothering the living missile.

Twilight was too shocked to ask how. “Luna!”

Luna couldn’t speak. She was straining. Her wings pushed at the air furiously and her horn lit up like a fire and Twilight could see veins in her neck bulging and then glowing. Below, she did not see how Luna pushed so hard against the cobblestone that she broke it, made it concave fifteen meters down, into the catacombs until she crushed those as well and would have gone beyond.

But they slowed. They slowed, by all the Gods that ever were. Twilight tried to speak, but her mouth was too dry and her vision was going.

And Luna hit the earth with Twilight safe in a magic barrier. Slower, but still she hit the stones with the force of a cannonball.

The dust rose and rose, and then as it cleared, it found Twilight atop a trembling, pale Luna. She crawled off, dazed but mostly unharmed. She tried to stand, but could not. Luna did not say anything. She grew still.

Twilight crawled back to her, feeling her strength going. She wouldn’t stay conscious much longer. “L-luna? Luna, are you alright?”

Luna’s breathing sounded labored.

And then panic returned. Twilight pushed her softly. “Luna? Lu…. Luna? Luna! Oh, no. Oh no oh no Luna don’t,” she groaned. “Not now. Not you, too. Don’t leave me. Don’t do this, please, oh gods.”

Luna wheezed. “Twilight…”

Twilight was at her side still, kissing her face, her lips, her chest. “Luna, oh thank the stars, you can speak. You’re alright.”

“I am… I am not.”

Twilight went slackjawed. “But…”

“Twilight, may I see you? Love, come closer and let me touch you.” And she raised a hoof to touch Twilight’s face and Twilight with shock found it bloody. Her armor was more than dented—it was destroyed. Her hoofblades had snapped up and eviscerated the other foreleg. Luna’s blood stained her cheek, but Twilight was too horrified to care.

“You gave her your immortality. Your endurance. Long life,” Twilight said numbly.

“Aye. I would not bear to outsurvive her. Or you. I am sorry,” she said. “I could not do it again.”

“Oh, Luna…”

“I kept…. I kept just enough.” Luna said, and Twilight’s eyes widened. “Celestia told me all, when she touched me, and we went deep in my mind. She said… She said…” Luna coughed. Blood. “Come closer and kiss me. If this does not work, I would like that at least. If you are not repul—“

Twilight kissed her. “No,” she said. “No, you can’t. I refuse. I won’t let you. You aren’t allowed.”

“Allowed? You… you would order a princess? Wonderful.” Luna clung to her as best she could with her shattered limbs. “Twilight, I am going,” she said, and the similarity was too much. Twilight began to sway, weak to the point of collapsing.

“No.”

“Tell the soul which rides withi…” She struggled to explain.

But Twilight was a smart pony, after all. And Twilight took as deep a breath as her bruised chest allowed. Please, Celestia. Even if you’re only a reflection. This is why I have you. This is why she left you behind, even if she didn’t know. Please. I know you can do something. So do it, damn you.

Twilight kissed Luna again and willed the reflection of her teacher to jump into the soul of her lover.

And Luna took a rattling breath and then turned hot to the touch.

Twilight felt a magic so great that it cut through the haze of her burnout. And she knew it, because she had always loved magic.

“It’s…”

And Luna vanished like steam, and Twilight fell against the earth and knew nothing further.

Author's Note

I will say nothing here, save to say that the long pauses near the end are intentional. The Epilogue is before you. Read it, if ya will.

Epilogue: The World is Not a Cold Dead Place

On the ridge overlooking Ponyville, Twilight thought about Celestia.

She sat without binoculars this time. Many things were different, but this was the little hill where it had begun, in a way. This had been where she had scanned the empty streets of Ponyville, the day they found the dead. The day she vowed that something had to be done.

The day she knew that she was going to find Celestia.

Twilight did not cry. She had cried many times since the Battle of Canterlot, but… well. She couldn’t say time healed all wounds because it was both true and not true, if you understand. Time made wounds easier to bear, but they were always wounds. Forever and ever, always wounds. They would always hurt to touch.

Celestia was such a wound. It would always hurt to touch the memory of her face or the sound of her voice. Her lessons in foalhood and her letters later. There were some books Twilight knew she would never, ever be able to read again.

But what time does do is transmute pain—new pain on top of old, all of it—into something else. Something like warmth and love and happiness but never quite what you expect when you hear those words. Because it hurt to remember her face and her voice and the smell of her tea and the walks in the gardens. And the taste of paradise. But it felt wonderful to remember, also. Death did not steal the sweetness away. With time it solidified until it was no longer separate from her, some distant past, but something she held in the now and clung to when the world closed in.

Down below, Ponyville bustled. New Ponyville, they were calling it. Sign said so. But it would always just be Ponyville, to Twilight. The tree was there, with no librarian right now. Or not a permanent one. She had made sure they had one for at least the time being. They had rebuilt and built anew, and the town had actually grown a bit. In the distance, had she brought binoculars, Twilight might have seen the apple trees on gently rolling hills and the telltale chimney smoke of Sweet Apple Acres. She might have seen, perhaps, a tiny blue dot as an ex-Wonderbolt soared over the acres on his morning workout, always right before lunch. Had to work up an appetite, he would say with a laugh. To endure his wife’s cooking, he would explain with a low voice before he was clouted over the ear for his insolence, to the delight of listening friends.

She might have seen the spartan building at Ponyville's edge, new and unadorned, where Fluttershy had built her clinic. She might have seen a harried, troubled pegasus who did not sleep well these days, despite her newfound happy purpose.

There stood Sugarcube Corner. The boutique was still a boutique, but Rarity’s name wasn’t on the sign anymore. Not under the “Operated By” part anyway. But there was a new sign with her name near the door now.

Twilight looked forlornly at the Spike Memorial Library for a while longer.

A year. It was surprising all you could get done in a year.

Not that the work was done, not by a long shot. There were whole neighborhoods with so much damage it might take two more years to fully restore. Money was tight, after all. Even with the money that had been seized from the traitorous noble conspirators without an ounce of sympathy or remorse. Those funds had kept a lot of the poorer ponies who had lost homes fed.

They had also opened the route between Manehattan and Canterlot. Messengers ran the roads now, and there would be an honest mail service back up and running within another year or Twilight would eat her introductory alchemy textbook. Which she had no plans to do, as it was moldy and old and she had been the last in a long, long line of owners.

Lady Rarity and her wife had done much for the denizens of the lower tier. In the months of uncertainty, as winter grew colder and colder, it was Lady Rarity who had kept the spirits of the cold ponies high, talking to them and knowing them. And everywhere she went, her iron leg clacking, walked also Rainbow Dash, ready with jokes. Most of them a bit off-color. And all the better that they were—for the old stallions roared and the children loved her colorful mane and her easy smile. And Rainbow had found that she liked them all in return. House Belle had no walls or gates. Ponies moved freely and the garden was open to the public during the day. Refugees came to large outside dinners that Rarity took great delight in. The Imperial stores kept.

And so they had passed into spring. Spring into Summer. Summer into fall. Winter. And now it was spring again.

Amaranth and Ice Shine leaned against each other. They sat on the still damaged wall, looking over the city in repair.

She thought that he was deliciously warm and snuggled closer. Chuckling, Storm covered her with his wing. She smelled a little wild, but she always did, now. He thought also that he smelled the faintest hint of the lunar flowers.

“It’s a beautiful sight, really,” he said softly. His wife made a pleased sound under his wing. “Even without her majesty, the sun goes on. The Archon said it would. I remember when we didn’t believe her, but with Luna…”

Amaranth fidgeted. “Yeah.”

“Are the other Duskwatch sending word still?”

Amaranth hesitated, and then shook her head. “Not really. We got a report in Nightshade HQ last week. I forgot to tell you. It was sort of not really helpful? Terse, blunt. Like only a single page. They hadn’t found anything, weren’t giving up, would be back. Blah blah.” She sighed and hummed into his chest. She knew he liked it. She liked doing things he liked. It was nice to have an effect.

He smiled over her head. “I can respect devotion.”

“Ugh. You are so stereotype boring faithful guard,” she groused.

“You’re not much changed from the strange Nightshade who tells jokes while we all wait to be stabbed hilariously in our beds.”

“And you’re still the one who let the crazy batpony enchantress make you a crazy potion,” she said. She leaned up and kissed his neck. On a whim, she let her fangs gingerly touch the skin beneath his coat and he shivered. She didn’t see his mouth fall slightly open and his eyes close, but she could imagine it. She leaned up a bit more…

And nibbled on his ear. “Busy tonight?” she said casually.

“Well, there’s no dayguard, so you’d think I be free,” he said lightly. “And you’d be right. Maybe I’m always free.”

She stopped short. “You decided to…”

But he shook his head. “I’ll take the commission. It’s boring, and I know how bored you’ll be, but… it’ll give me time at night. It will let me see you more often.” He leaned down and kissed her nose, which always made her laugh. “And that is good.”

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” she said, but inside she loves it.

“I know I didn’t. I wanted to,” he replied. And they smiled into each others eyes, as if it were city enough.

A lot can happen in a year.

The kingdom of Equestria was gone. It really had been for awhile, whatever ponies said. She’d known that right away. When Twilight had woken up in the Palace infirmary a few days later, the awed survivors treated her like a God.

It had been… distressing, to say the least.

There were no more princesses to lead them. Not in Equestria, and only Twilight could decide what came next. Most of the high nobility were traitors and had been imprisoned. Others were found to be complicit. Those that were left were licking their wounds, cowed, or unpopular. Nobility in general had become something of an unwelcome presence.

So Twilight did what she did best. She organized. Or, rather, reorganized.

The Most Serene Republic of Canterlot was just the city, a few villages (Morningvale rebuilt and bigger now), and a few roads. Farms planted with Imperial aid by grateful refugees. They would be breaking even, foodwise, with Cadance giving Twilight’s fledgeling Republic support for at least two more years. But soon, Canterlot would be growing enough food to never worry about true famine again. Not with how much life had returned to the world.

In the wake of the Shadow’s destruction, earth had rebounded with a vengeance. The dying fields and forests seemed to be bursting at the seems with virility and life. Crops practically raised themselves. But of course, not really. It helped having so many earth ponies in one place, all of them very, very desperate for some nice greenery.

Twilight Sparkle had learned her history well. The Day and Night guards were disbanded, and most of it was discharged with highest honors and the survivors of the battle beats hoofblades into shapes fit more for wheat than flesh. The new Republican Guard was lean, small, efficient, and loyal not to Twilight (though they were devoted) or to any one house but to the ponies of the Republic. She had been very clear on that.

She did no conquering. She would fight no wars if she could. Stalliongrad had sent messengers, and soon they would be welcoming Manehattan into the fold. Rarity had visited them in person and received a hero’s welcome. She’d gone on about the parade for a week. It had been a wonderful return to fom for her, really.

Twilight had visited Las Pegas. The Council had been quite pleased at her political acumen regarding the monument to the fallen Pathfinders and Lunar Rangers who had held on when the south began to go crazy. And she had said, flatly, that she had no acumen in that regard at all. She only had tears, and an earnest gratitude for good ponies. That had been a short and rather quiet meeting.

One by one, the cities would come back to the fold. Fillydelphia was quiet, but without its leaders the cult of the Good Stallion had all but vanished. The great munitions factories were quiet. Soon, Twilight hoped to send a caravan of food and medicine, along with a letter of good will, and her own honest good will.

She cut few deals. She did very little bargaining with the other cities. IF they had a need she could fill, she filled it. When Twilight found a need she could not fill, she found somepony who could fill it. And so the word Archon slipped back into the language of Equestria: Judge and Mediator.

Pinkie and Applejack and Fluttershy lived in the valley. Applejack was married—Pinkie was a bit more excited than Applejack or Soarin’ about the possibly impending children. Which Applejack, of course, while turning beet red, swore up and down were NOT impending. Twilight smiled to think of it. Soon, she would say. You’ll want them. Or you won’t. Either way. But she knew Applejack did want them. And Applejack had already sworn that Twilight would be their Aunt, so there “auntie Pinkie”. So there. Auntie Twilight was in town, and she had a way cooler hat. It was the old archmage uniform, and secretly she loved it. Also secretly, when no one was looking and Twilight felt like she had the energy, she twirled in it.

Rarity and Dash married six months after the Battle of Canterlot. Twilight had assumed that Rainbow was just impatient, but had been corrected: Rarity had decided that somepony was going to have to be the brash one and so all but abducted Rainbow and hauled her off to Ponyville. Eloping. Eloping nobility. Well. It was a brave new world. Her leg still hurt her, sometimes, but she no longer hid her prosthetic. She no longer really was ashamed of it, and Twilight was proud of her. Sweetie had gratefully surrendered control of the house, and she and Scootaloo had moved back out to Ponyville with the Applebloom when the first wave of settlers had left. Twilight heard they were dating. Sweetie and Scoots, that was.

For her part, Twilight spent most of her days in the Palace at Canterlot doing paper work and drafting a document she called, without batting an eyelash, the “Fundamental Orders of the Most Serene Republic of Equestria, as laid out by Twilight Sparkle, High Archon of the Palace and as ratified by the council of the ponies of Canterlot and Equestria”. She also said the whole name every time anypony asked her about it. She was a little excited. It was a rather long document.

And soon, she would be done with it. And then she could go back home, because the Archon would no longer be all but unquestionable. She would be a watchman and a judge, but there would be no more princesses.

The young Lord Rowan-Oak poured out a nice bourbon from his family’s cellars and examined it. His face was hard to read, harder now than it was only a year before. He had to grow up quickly.

“Did you see the statue go up today?” he asks his companion casually, and pours another. This one he does not examine, but passes along.

Rainbow Rays, dressed in silk, took it and smiled. “Thank you. I did see it,” he replied and--without as much of the fuss--drank.

Fable let out a little sigh and leaned back in his mother’s far-too comfortable chair by the fireplace. It had taken him months to move in to her old study. He hadn’t wanted to even think about it at first. Like walking on the graves of the dead, he thought sourly, and then sipped. Damn, but the bourbon was fine. That was good, at least.

“I am saddened I had no chance to know him,” Fable said, his voice low. “Do be a dear and tell me: is it a good likeness?”

Rays rolled his eyes. “Absolutely not. He was like half a meter shorter, for one. They have him looking all serious and noble. Spike liked dumb jokes and he had no idea what he was doing half the time. I liked that about him. He tried, you know?”

“Yes, I know,” Fable said.

“I’m surprised you went to see it,” Rays said. “Seeing as how what he did to your House.” Same goes for me, he did not say for the umpteenth time.

They do not talk of the past much. Probably more than the others who were at the heart of it all, but… it is a difficult thing, reminding a flightless pegasus of when he could fly.

“The damage you and he did was miniscule compared to our good friends in House Iron, my sweet, you’ll be well advised of that,” Rowan-Oak said, feeling a momentary flash of irritation before settling back down. “But, had I a grudge to hold, I would not hold it against a dead stallion. Er, Dragon, I suppose. I think he has suffered enough. I also happen to think that he paid me back a thousand fold.”

Rays looked away, and then when he turned his face back to his liegelord, it was with a smile. “A toast?” he suggested. “To Spike and Canterlot, and House Rowan-Oak.”

Chuckling, the young Lord raised his tumbler. “To Spike and Canterlot, and to House Rowan Oak, may she produce a thousand bastards worthy of the name.” He emptied the glass and shivered. “By the stars, but that burns.”

Rays laughed. “Don’t drink it so fast.”

Fable coughed and waved a hoof at him. “I shall remember that. Gah, but wine never did this to me.”

“That’s because wine is, to be perfectly honest with you, for pussies,” Rays said and eloquently stuck out his tongue. “Be a stallion.”

Fable gave a grunt and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. You are always uncouth. I would do unspeakable things to you, bondspony, but I happen to like this chair and it has been a long day.”

“Oh, you’ll do unspeakable things later to me, I’m sure,” Rays said.

And Fable simply chuckled.

Rarity and Rainbow walked Twilight to the gate, of course, the day that she finally headed home. They laughed and talked their whole walk, from the Palace to lowest street. Twilight watched how they walked closely together. She saw the looks they gave each other and the ways their lips turned up in shared smiles. It was charming—and above all, it made her happy. She said so. Rarity was beyond pleased. Dash grumbled about being scrutinized.

For her part, Twilight simply enjoyed her friends.They’d survived another winter. The city was better than ever, and Rainbow was on her left and Rarity was on her right and there was something wonderful about it all. A few ponies bowed to them as they passed, and always they bowed back, but for the most part, Twilight and her friends were free to pass unbothered. It was not that they were not recognized. It was that Canterlot had learned when to pass on by.

The trains would be running again. Eventually. For now, you walked, and Twilight thought that she didn’t mind. She’d walked much farther distances, after all. Her pack was light. Just two days food, bread and wine and a bit of cheese. A little water canteen on one side. Rarity had offered to come with her, but Twilight had politely refused. This was her walk, and she would make it. Besides, it had been far too long since she’d been in the countryside.

“Oh, and you will remember to give my letter and my love to the girls, yes?” Rarity asked, her voice like music in Twilight’s ears. Twilight smiled and nodded. It was good to hear Rarity talk. Rarity’s voice was--ha!--like a bell. Dash’s was too scratchy to sound like music, but Twilight enjoyed it also.

“And tell Soarin’ that Spitfire wants to see him when he’s not busy bein’ an earth pony,” Dash said from her other side.

Twilight loved how they had sandwiched her in between them. All of her friends had surrounded her, buoyed her up. Throughout the darkest days of her mourning, Rarity and Rainbow and all the rest had been shoulders to cry on. Even Rainbow had stopped what she was doing to just let Twilight cry. She was bad at combing Twilight’s mane in the way that made her calm down, but the fact that she tried had been enough.

“Yes, yes,” Twilight said.

She did not notice the look of resigned concern that the couple gave over her head.

“And Twilight, dear, we’ll be out there soon,” Rarity went on.

Twilight turned to her with a face that was marked with weary eyes and a wan but genuine smile. “Oh?”

“Yes. Celestia maintained an old property attached to the Belle title as a museum of sorts. A monument to the bravery of my ancestors at Ghastly Gorge. I sent workponies to start renovating it a few months ago. It’s only an hour from Ponyville.” Rarity smiled at her with perhaps her warmest smile, her most reassuring smile. “So we shall be around. I intend to make quite the holiday of it.”

“Be great to see Ponyville and AJ and everybody,” Rainbow said.

Twilight was happy. Happy as she could be, anyway. Had it been a whole year? She lost track of time these days in all of the work. It was good work. She was proud of it. She had laid down her immense power and was confidant that the Republic would survive without her constant guidance… and, honestly, it was really someone else’s job to worry about it for a little while. She would be back. In a few years. Perhaps.

They reached the gate and found that a small crowd had gathered. And in the middle, as it parted, they saw a single pony: a sea-green pegasus with far too many piercings. Her hair with an aggressive undercut, her eyes alight with laughter. A modified griffon long rifle riding on her back and a saddle bag no doubt filled to the brim with vodka and bread and little else.

Tradewinds saluted Twilight. “Privet, Twilight Sparkle. I hear that you are off for territories, yes? Into the great unknown again.” She flashed her wild grin, always there beneath the surface, and then bowed with formality that surprised Twilight and her friends. “I am yours, gospozha Sparkle.”

Twilight giggled. “Well, rise, druzhnik. That’s the right word, right?” she added.

“It is good enough,” Tradewinds said and beckoned. Twilight and the Belle’s stood in a circle with her before the gates. “Thank you for allowing me to follow you. I would have come regardless, but is good to be invited.”

“Dash and I are both glad that Twilight will have some company,” Rarity said delicately, but Tradewinds understood. More information passed over Twilight’s head.

“It’s lovely weather. It will be nice to go home,” Twilight said.

Applejack received her letter gladly.

Twilight’s long-awaited return to Ponyville was the occasion of a party. Of course it was, for Pinkie had set up shop in Sugarcube again and she was very, very insistent.

Suffice to say that it was the best party Ponyville had ever seen, bar none, new or old. Cider flowed freely. Even with the austerity of survival, Pinkie managed to craft culinary perfection from basics. Twilight found that a bit magical, and she made sure she said so.

Every single pony in town wanted to talk to her. Several wanted to talk to Tradewinds--she of course got into a hoofwrestling match. Three of them, actually, to roaring applause as she trounced the strongest stallion in town who wasn’t an Apple. She then promptly ended up trying to drunkenly kiss him. In short, she was well received and it was concluded that the Petrahoofan was as friendly as could be, but perhaps should be kept away from the bar for awhile.

Twilight had changed. But not enough to really be much of one for long parties. Sometime around eleven, she found a table near Sugarcube with her name on it and sat down with a sigh and a tired smile.

It really was good. All of it. So many smiles, so much hope. The first harvest of New Ponyville had gone beautifully, considering, and already they were talking about their expectations for the years ahead. The walk really had been good. Long ago, she could have made it in a day, but… well. It was nice to take one’s time. Twilight Sparkle had nothing but time. She was waiting.

Applejack had, of course, been keeping an eye out for her, and glided over to sit at Twilight’s table. Twilight welcomed her and rose to share an embrace.

When they sat back down, it was Applejack who opened the conversation. “Sent the hubby off for somethin’ you might like, sugar. You still feelin’ the road? Took your sweet time, it looks like.”

“I wanted to see it in bloom,” Twilight said softly. “And it was nice. It was like being on the road again.”

Applejack’s eyes clouded for a moment. “You sound happy ‘bout that. I’m surprised.”

Twilight felt a momentary shame. She looked away. “I’m sorry. I just… It’s hard to explain.” She looked back up. “I didn’t like what I had to do. I don’t like the end. But there were moments I liked. Many of them were with you and Pinkie and Tradewinds, around the fire. I felt like we knew what we were doing, then.”

Applejack’s features softened. “Aw, hon, you ain’t clueless now. I’ve been keeping up, you know. Best as I can. Don’t rightly understand some of it.”

Twilight chuckled. “It’s okay, some of the council could say the same, really. I read basically every book in Celestia’s study this year putting together a system that I thought would survive. Nothing’s guaranteed,” she said quickly, and waved a hoof. “Nothing ever is, I guess.”

Applejack reached across the table. Their eyes met. “Twilight…”

“It’s okay. Not yet,” Twilight said.

“When you’re ready. You still…?”

It was an old question already. They had all asked it. Do you still…? Do you still believe it. Do you still hold to the crazy delusions you have. Have you Gotten Over It, really. They meant well. She nodded and smiled. “Not yet,” she said again with a tired smile, and she laid a hoof over Applejack’s reassuringly.

Applejack looked at her with concern, but didn’t pursue it, for behind her came Soarin’ with a precariously perched basket handle in his mouth. He limped a bit still, but only a bit. He would be fine by harvest, Twilight thought.

With a grunt, he put the basket on the table and let out a breath. “Whoa. The ice makes it heavy, AJ. I swear, this better be worth it.”

“Oh, shut your trap, featherhead,” AJ said and pecked him on the lips. “No complainin’. Doctor said you should keep active without too much strain, and I figure it counts. And yes, hell yes, it’s worth it. You doubt my family’s arts?”

He backed away, laughing. “Of course not.”

Applejack huddled over the basket and pulled out a long bottle with her own cutie mark on it. “Happened to find this in the cellar,” she commented, her voice soft and her eyes far off in memory, “the day I moved back. I was still gettin’ over all of Kyrie’s teleportin’ to get us here, and so I was plum tired. On a whim, I went to see if anythin’ was left of our stores, and would you believe that they left the brandy? Fine Apple Brandy, expensive. Our best seller in Canterlot,” she added. “But never in town. Cider’s what Ponyville drinks, and that’s fine by me. But seein’ as how you’re a fancy Canterlot pony…” she smiled back at Twilight. “Want some?”

“Of course,” Twilight said. “Seeing as how I’m a fancy Canterlot pony.”

Soarin’, she noticed, had saddlebags and he produced a few glasses with care. They were rather nice, Twilight thought, and the way that the apple brandy filled them was pleasing to the eye. She was noticing the beautiful things more these days. Slowing down and really, really appreciating them each and every one.

The way that the sun peeked through the curtains. The stars in the night so brilliant. The flow of wine into the glass. Little things. It was a debt she had to pay and a commandment, and she found that the burden was like and the yoke did not chafe.

Soarin’ took a seat beside Applejack and Twilight raised her glass.

“To Ponyville,” she said, and then added with a sort of relief, “to Home.”

“To Home,” they answered. There was a clink of glass on glass, and then they all drank.

“This is wonderful,” Twilight said. “I feel so warm.”

“That’ll do it,” her friend said amiably, tipping her back. “It’s good to see you, Twilight. Know I already said it at least a dozen times, but--”

“At least a dozen,” Soarin’ said.

“It’s good to be back,” Twilight finished. “It’s so good. There were a lot of times I didn’t think I would ever be able to come back.”

They were all silent for awhile. Drinking and watching the party that raged on. It was about Twilight, yes, but it was about more than Twilight. She thought it might be about life. But that was an idle thought.

“Can’t say there weren’t times I didn’t think the same. A lot of ‘em, to be honest,” Applejack agreed. “Do you think about it, still? I mean, as much?”

“I do.”

Applejack seemed to shrink in embarrassment. “I still have dreams,” she said, and Twilight knew exactly the kind she meant. For a moment, she thought she heard the rain coming down in Jannah again. Or even the smoke of Vanhoover’s fires.

Applejack thought about the little village where ponies hid. She thought about the endless plains she had seen in a vision in Jannah, and the ghosts of the ponies who wailed there. She smelled the spices of Valon and felt the streets of Midway’s great ruin’d city.

And Soarin’? Soarin’ thought of dreams. The feeling of sweat clinging to his brow and the warmth of fire. The smell of blood. The sound that masonry makes when it crushes.

They were all quiet again.

Twilight smiled at them both, in the end. “But not as often,” she said, picking the conversation back up and dusting it off. “Not anymore. It’s a new world,” she said firmly.

And the others, her dear friends, smiled in relief. “It is,” Applejack said. “It really is.”

Twilight Sparkle lived again in her library. It was more or less the same--they’d added an extra room on the ground floor and expanded the archives below a bit to accomodate the hoard she’d liberated from Celestia and Luna’s studies.

It had been strange, handling those old books. She had never felt that it was strange because they were not here. Simply… she couldn’t describe it in a way that didn’t sound silly. It was lonely.

She was alone in the library, and lonely. But she could not say with much heart that she was unhappy. Tradewinds had gotten a job with Soarin’ on the weather team. Ponyville had a new pegasus to nap in its clouds and kick its weather into shape in ten seconds flat. Well, when she wasn’t hungover. Twilight really should tell her to calm down with that. It’s not like it was all the time, but honestly, there are few things as seeing a weatherpony hurtling across the sky with a hangover, groaning about how bright it is the whole length of town. We all adjust in different ways, she thought. She would encourage Tradewinds to keep up her practice with the Griffon long rifle at the edge of the woods. It was something that grounded her strange friend. Twilight thought it was harmless enough.

And she had learned that the world was kind and good, but not always safe.

Twilight found herself humming a song that she didn’t know the words to as she organized books. Or, well, no she found she did know the words. They drifted lazily into her mind, but she didn’t know what they meant. It sounded like the sort of thing one sang quietly to oneself when cleaning. She liked it.

Sometimes, she would be working and a song would float down from some unseen place and rest in her mind until she hummed or sang it. Twilight hadn’t been one for singing before, but she found that it was something new and she liked it. Sometimes, instead of a song, a scrap of verse or a bit of some half-corrupted lore. Little castaways from other worlds. Celestia’s song was still singing within her. Twilight felt it sometimes when she woke at dawn and lay peering out the window to watch the sun rise.

She found that it brought her comfort. It was not a loud presence. There were not two souls within her, after all, but only one. One that was not quite the same color and shape as before, but was still very much her own. She felt different, yes, but not like another pony.

Twilight Sparkle felt like herself, and found it was a nice feeling.

Celestia. Speaking of, she really ought to get started piecing together all of the things she had put in that trunk. It had finally arrived on the wagon from Canterlot and she was rather eager to begin.

Her work before had been for Canterlot--laws and ordinances, systems, checks and balances… but this was very personal. Of course, she intended to publish it for many others. She hoped many read it. But really, it was for Twilight.

Every letter she could find between herself and the princess. Every important letter Celestia had saved for hundreds of years. Every uplifting encouragement and gentle comfort in dark times. Every long treatise on a dozen different subjects. Some poetry she had written in the margins of old history books.

Every little bit. Twilight would create something new, something… lasting. A monument that would outlast bronze, iron, gold and silver. Celestia’s voice was gone, but not lost. Twilight thought it would be lovely when she was done.

She thought Celestia would approve. No, she knew, for Celestia’s approval hummed in her veins and sang in her heart.

Twilight woke from a brief nap in the spring sunlight, in the reading room. She had made sure that the Spike Memorial had a good supply of only the best comfy chairs. It was essential.

Yawning, Twilight carefully placed the book--Celestia’s copy of The Lays of Bell-Toris--on the room’s nice oak table. She stretched luxuriously.

It had been a good few weeks. Every day she saw one of her friends. Rarity and Rainbow had moved into the manor an hour down the road as promised, and visited her twice a week. Applejack came by often. Pinkie had tea with her a lot. Almost every day, actually. She was very insistent. Twilight didn’t mind in the slightest. It was nice to have friends. It was nice to feel loved.

Unbidden a memory--

Well, no, it was the same, wasn’t it? Here were her friends, and she almost thought that Rarity and Rainbow and Fluttershy were there among them, walking beside her. Loyal Rainbow. Beautiful and graceful Rarity. Kind Fluttershy.
“May you live a thousand years,” she said. Why did she feel like she was about to die? What was on that hill? What was this Garden?

--and Twilight stood and walked aimlessly into the center room of the library. She had replaced the pony bust with a model of the new Ponyville. She’d gotten Pinkie of all ponies to help her build it.

Pinkie. She remembered her singing on the road--

Twilight took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

She did not cry much anymore. She would go days at a time without tears in her eyes when she woke. Weeks without remembering Celestia’s face or the taste of her lips. Hours without remembering how she had laid with Luna in Cadance’s dream or the Castle she had played in.

But she felt it all wieghing her down now. She swayed, and righted herself. It was bitter. But it would not wound her forever--oh, it would be there, but she would not be conquered. Celestia had not been conquered, and within her she felt a peace that passed all understanding.

But all around that peace? Twilight felt tears streak down her cheek.

She whispered into the stillness.

“Hail, Mercy,” and heard it in Luna’s voice. “Who are you, Twilight Sparkle?” in her own voice, and did not know why she asked. “Who do you say you are?”

There was a knock on the door. She felt a brief moment of alarm. She knew they didn’t believe her or accept her hopes and faith. They would see her tears and smother her for a week. She quickly swiped a hoof across her face.

Another knock. “Here!” she called. “Come in!”

The door opened.

An alicorn stepped inside. Twilight’s heart stopped.

She was blue and black, a crescent moon on ebony night upon her flank. She was tall, but shorter than the Princesses had been. Her eyes were regal and mirthful and in them shone a light unquenchable. Her lips were curled in a wild smile. Her coat was perfect. She was perfect.

“I have returned, at last,” Luna said, and it was Luna. Her voice… her voice made Twilight’s heart jump to hear. It made her legs weak.

“So you are,” Twilight said softly, barely able to make herself speak at all.

Twilight, trembling, approached her. She touched Luna--every last place where Luna had been wounded, and the alicorn was still all the time. She had been made and renewed. This was no madness. This was the truth made flesh. With a wordless cry, she embraced Luna and kissed her with a year of unspent passion and hope. They fell to the floor in a mixture of agonized memory and ecstatic reunion.

She had known all along. When Luna vanished and she felt power go out of her and Celestia’s last shard of self doing something, she had known. She had kept the faith when nopony else had believed her. She had known.

“It’s finally over,” she said, weeping.

“It is finally over,” Luna agreed. “I found myself in the Well at Jannah and Celestia’s failsafe, it…”

“I know,” Twilight said.

They sat, heads together, and smiled deliriously at one another. Everything was right in the world again.

“I…”

“I..”

They laughed, and then Twilight went ahead first.

“Welcome home,” she said.

“It’s good to be home,” Luna answered.

They cried again. For everything. Everything that been lost they cried for, but that did not last. The sun was shining and the day was bright. It was all so bright, so beautiful--all things shining. And this was her soul, come back to her at last, out of a hope inarticulate but fierce. This was love made flesh. The world was different, but not all of it. This was the same. The world was different, but it was still and always good.

The night had passed and morning had arrived.

Twilight Sparkle was finally home.

Author's Note

SOLI DEO GLORIA.

Dedicated to
Nothing is Constant, who never faltered
RazedRainbow, who presided over its birth
randomguy, she who sharpened iron with iron

Dedicated to Kkat, who baptized me in fire
Dedicated to the Lightbringer, may she reach the End

Dedicated to you. Here I am, I can do no other. I have loved you as you loved me. For I knew you in part, and you knew me in part, but both as through a glass darkly; for we knew in part, but more and more we shall know each other and be known. This is myself, bled for you. This does not mean that this is a well-made story. Only that it is a very earnest one.

Thank you all. I had the time of my life.

Act 1: Some God Will Give Us an End to This

Act I

Some God Will Give Us an End to This

Arms and the Mare I Sing

Arms, and the man I sing, who, forced by Fate,
And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate,
Expell'd and exil'd, left the Trojan shore.
Long labours both by sea and land he bore,
And in the doubtful war, before he won
The Latian realm, and built the destin'd town;
His banish'd gods restor'd to rites divine,
And settled sure succession in his line,

“...An hour will come, with pleasure to relate
Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.”

...These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart;
His outward smiles conceal'd his inward smart…

~Aeneid By Virgil, translated by John Dryden, Book I

III.The Night Has Stories Also

III. The Night Has Stories Also

In the core of the cold night, Twilight walked the streets of the Celestial Tier alone.

Her hoofsteps reverberated from the old stone walls around her, bouncing back against her ears like the memories of the day bombarding her mind. She saw herself marching the long way down the main boulevard of Canterlot, eyes unwavering in their vigil, the palace her only goal..

Now, with everything said, Twilight was adrift.

Words echoed in her thoughts, bobbing around like bits of driftwood from some mighty ship in the sea of her mind.

“Sorry I was late, girls. Went by home to see the family, y’know,” Applejack said.

Applejack’s reliable rustic twang rung through her memory as Twilight stared down at her lonely path in the inconstant lamplight. She could almost see it. Applejack, hanging her hat on the rack, being greeted by her brother and cousins. The room was full of smiles, happy chatter. Applejack reconnecting, coming back from the mouth of hell to a warm bed and some light conversation that had nothing to do with funeral pyres or conspiracies.

When was the last time Twilight had seen or talked to them, for that matter? Days? It had to be at least two weeks since their last true conversation. Her mother had been concerned about Twilight overworking herself. Her father had given her a warm, comforting hug, and then...Twilight forgot the rest.

She hadn’t seen Spike at all. Of course not; she'd 'been too busy', now hadn't she? So very focused on meandering around the castle foyer, rehearsing her carefully chosen weapons of mass condemnation, only for it all to dribble worthlessly out of her ears as soon as she'd walked into Luna's study. An hour she could’ve spent with Spike. Saying hello. Asking him how he was. Hugging him, and feeling that familiar, scaly embrace. Hearing him speak and being perfectly alright and perfectly alive.

Twilight paused in an intersection, and looked around as though she were a mare in a foreign land. She knew these streets intimately, yes, but in the dark they seemed like another place. A more dangerous place, yes, but one she could be in awe of quite easily. She had forgotten the whimsically cast streetlamps, and how from a rise, the city below looked like an armada of fireflies. She had forgotten. No, no that wasn’t quite accurate. “Forgotten” wasn’t the right term; she’d simply stopped seeing such things altogether.

She sighed and took a left, heading for one of the parks. It was a beautiful night tonight, for all the troubles of the daytime. Hadn’t she watched the stars, once upon a time?

Her eyes wandered over the old doors and quaint shop windows. They brought a smile to her face, a slow one, carefully smuggled through enemy lines. She painted over it all with her mind’s eye, imagining the streets full of life. Ponies crowding and thronging about, smiles on their faces, most chattering in groups, a few loud with laughter. Here, at the mouth of an alley, gathered around an empty barrel, old timers humming over dominoes. A truant foal peeled through the streets with a devilish grin. On a whim, she made it a wandering Scootaloo.

Of course, not all who wandered were lost. Twilight knew exactly where she was.

While some shops were closed, others were open. They cast friendly candlelight into the streets, their windows full of life. As she passed, she looked in and saw ponies in a small tavern drinking. She heard the questing, wavering notes of a song from inside, played on lyrestrings.

Twilight shied away from the lights on either side, sticking to a tiny, shadowy strand in the middle. No offering of alcohol or song tonight. She had to think, and besides, it was too crowded. Too many ponies.

Eventually, she emerged from the winding streets into a wide-open park. It was old, untouched land from the days before the city had risen out of the ashes of Discord’s reign, and while not the most impressive of expanses, the common had some charm in the day-time. Trees shaded the tiny, meandering stone walkways as they wove through the grass like patchwork hemlines.

Twilight took the second path on the right, humming to herself. The sound was welcome, breaking up the stillness of the night for a moment, like the sudden touch of a friend.

She missed the music that would sometimes linger among the trees here. The first time Twilight had brought Spike here, there had been a young mare her age practicing with a lyre.

There was a wooden bench along the way, and she took a seat.. Sighing, she cast her sight up and took in the stars.

Twilight had no idea how long she sat there, legs tucked in beneath her, mind drifting, biting chill of the night growing less and less noticeable...

And so she almost missed his approach. Almost. She peeked one eye open and smiled as she called out to him.

“Spike.”

His footsteps stopped somewhere behind her, and she heard him let out a huff of what she assumed was disappointment. “Uh, Twilight, it isn’t fun if you catch me, you know.”

“Oh, but it’s fun for me, Spike!” she said with a little laugh. “Come and sit with me.”

She realized that it was perhaps not a very wise suggestion as he came to stand before her. He had grown over the years. He was a teenage dragon now, as she was fond of telling him and as he was fond of claiming. He was almost two meters now, his cute pudgy baby fat now given to a chest like carved granite chest and scaled arms passable for banded iron. His bright, curious eyes were now sparkling with perceptive intelligence, set above pronounced cheek bones that lent him an austere visage. When he didn't have his old toothy grin, anyway.

He laughed, and the sound was deep. Twilight imagined she almost could feel it in her chest. “I’m not sure I can.”

She waved a hoof at him. “Doesn’t matter. I’m glad to see you. Sit.”

He did, crossing his legs. “I looked all over for you,” he began, and her cheer evaporated like water in the desert. Her ears drooped. It was like her stomach had become an icy pit.

“I’m sorry, Spike. There’s no excuse that’s good enough. I was... I was...” She didn’t want to use the word that came to mind.

“Busy?”

She groaned. “No. Yes. Not busy in that I had things to do, just preoccupied. Ponyville... No,” she shook herself and hesitantly met his eyes. They shone the moon’s light back at her. “I won’t use that as an excuse. I’m just stupid, Spike.”

“I doubt that,” he said softly. “You know, you can just say ‘sorry’ like most ponies, Twilight.” He smiled at her, and she felt the ice in her stomach melt a little.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘S all I needed. I heard about Ponyville. It was bad.” It wasn’t a question.

She bit her lip, then sighed. “Yes, it was. I’m sorry, Spike, I should’ve been the one to tell you.”

Spike shook his head. “No, it’s fine. It’s fine, for real. I’m more interested in how you’re doing anyhow. I’m sad about Ponyville, but... how are you holding up?”

She choked out a laugh, and it sounded crazed even in her own ears. “Me? How am I holding up? Oh, Spike, where do I begin?”

“The beginning?”

She laughed again, but it was more genuine. She smiled at him. “Ha! Like that’ll happen. We’d be here all night. I’m just... I don’t know. Afraid? Angry? Sad? I don’t know what I’m feeling, Spike. I miss Celestia. I miss writing her letters. I miss being able to look at the stars with Luna and not have to call her princess. I don’t anymore, not usually. We’re not exactly on good terms. I miss going to cider tastings. I miss watching Rainbow in the air pulling of fancy, dangerous tricks and ending up face first in a tree because she’s crazy!”

She realized she was waving her forelegs in the air and felt stupid. She set them back down again.

“What can I do?” Spike asked quietly.

“You’re here, aren’t you? I’m not sure, Spike, but I’m glad you found me,” she responded, smiling at him. She wanted to step down and lie beside him in the grass, stroke his scales and soothe both of them. Or maybe... just me.

But she couldn’t. If she did... she wasn’t sure. She just felt like she would lose heart. She would think about leaving him here, because she knew she had to. There was something for him to do. Something she couldn’t do, but that he could.

“You raised me, silly, of course I came. Well, more or less raised me.”

Her smile shrunk, and she looked away from him. “I did, didn’t I? Sort of. I wonder about that sometimes, worry if I did a good job.” The end rushed out, before she could think about it.

“You know you did.” It was a little harsh, a little insistent. Twilight winced at it.

She shrugged, biting her lip. Twilight watched him, and then her eyes wandered away towards the grass shrouded in darkness.

“I do have something to tell you though, besides that.”

“I gathered that by how you avoided coming home to the tower.”

“You know me well.” Twilight sat up on her haunches. “Spike... I’m going to have to go away. For a while.”

Spike started, his mouth hanging open. He stared at her.

She spoke quickly. “Spike, it has to happen. The refugees... and the food supply... hay, the politics. I have to go west. I have to find the Princess. I mean, without her, we’re dead. The sun still only shines for six hours a day if Luna can keep it up. It’s taking a lot out of her, and the nobles are starting to turn on her and each other, and the city is just... and—”

“Twilight.”

“—and what if it spreads? What if the raiders keep attacking villages, and killing ponies, and how long can Canterlot even hold together on its own anyway and—”

“Twilight!”

She shut her mouth, and discovered that her hooves were shaking. She looked down at them.

“Twilight, it’s alright. Calm down, okay?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry.” Twilight took a deep breath. “Applejack, Pinkie, and I are going west to look for Celestia. I’m not sure how long it’ll take or how far we’ll go. I don’t know where she is. Luna told us she had a way of finding her, but...”

Spike was stone still. “But you aren’t sure about it. No guarantees.”

“No guarantees. Rarity is taking the rest north. Spike, walk with me?” She jumped down from the bench and stretched her legs. “I just... want to be on the move.”

He nodded his assent and followed her.

“Things are going to move quickly now, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Without us to keep her steady, Luna will be all alone.” She tried to catch his eyes, but couldn’t. “Spike, the nobles are getting restless. I thought perhaps they would make the right choice, but they haven’t.”

Spike’s claws clattered against the rock. There was a sudden breeze, and Twilight shivered. Spike looked down at her.

“Cold?”

“I’m all right. But Spike, I’m worried about Luna. Rarity and Rainbow can take care of themselves and Fluttershy. I’ll be fine. But Luna? Spike, she’s all alone. Stars, I was so harsh with her, but I had to be! You understand, don’t you?”

“Harsh? Twilight, what did you do?”

She groaned softly. “I had to be harsh with her. She was paralyzed, not willing to act. But I’m the only one she could talk to, and now I fear all on her own she’ll just go back to where she was: lost. Maybe... maybe I shouldn't have yelled.”

“What are you gonna do?” Spike asked her, his voice soft.

“Not what I’m going to do,” Twilight answered, stopping. Spike turned back, his head cocked to one side. Her thoughts were racing. “No, what you’re going to do. Spike, I have favors to ask of you. It’s a rotten time for that, isn’t it?”

“Gosh, Twilight, what do you mean? I mean, am I coming too?” His voice cracked a bit, and she smiled. It was just another reminder of how old he was. It scared her to think of him here alone, but it also... He’s not grown up and gone yet. Not everything has moved on.

“No. I wish you could, Spike, but three is enough. Any more than that and keeping in food and water will be too much out there on the road. Three is easier to hide than three and a dragon.”

He grimaced, and scratched his head. “Ouch.”

“Sorry, Spike. You know I don’t mean anything by it. But there’s also the matter of Luna.”

They came, at last, to the end of the trail. Twilight found herself turning towards the palace and sighed. Perhaps it was time to go home, after all. They walked towards the Silver Gate at the foot of High Canterlot in silence at first. Twilight formulated what she wanted to say, weighed how best to say it. Spike’s lanky, adolescent body betrayed his impatience with its jumpy steps. Or is that him slowing down for me? His stride is so long now.

“Luna needs a friend. One who hasn’t shamed her in front of ponies she likes—that means I’m out for sure—and who isn’t going away for a long time. Someone she can see as a partner, whom she has no political ties to. I think the best dragon for the job is you.”

“Partner? To do what? I mean, yeah, I can still send messages, but that’s it. It’s not like I can do magic and stuff.” He looked down and flashed her a toothy grin that would’ve worried her coming from anyone or anything else. His teeth were sharp now, and myriad. “If I could do magic, I’d have the best beard ever, you know.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Probably. But Luna is surrounded here, Spike. The pony in the street isn’t sure about her. Half of the nobles blame her for... well, everything, and a lot of those who are still loyal and true are afraid to show that. You remember House Rose.”

Spike let out a breath, shuddering. In the light from the lamps, Twilight could see him curl up a lip to reveal his growing canines. “Yeah, I remember. Saffron Rose gives a nice speech to the assembly of Houses Major in support of the crown, and the next morning her entire house was found dead. Long knives in the night? Nothing like it in the past millennium? Yeah, I definitely remember."

“They’re scared. Everypony is, a little. But I think with us gone, they’ll think Luna is vulnerable and somepony will do something stupid. Maybe Cold Blood. Maybe he’ll get House Rowan-Oak to do his dirty work, who knows? Something is going to happen.”

“And you think I can help?” he asked. Twilight heard fear, but there was also that little sliver of eager pride she needed. She appealed to it with a grin as they took another turn.

“Yes. Without us, Luna’s position will be weakened. But with you at her side, somepony—ha, some dragon, more like!—to confide in? Then at least she won’t be alone. The Princess can fight back. You can be there, letting her know someone cares.”

“Don’t you? You say that like I’ll be the only one.”

Twilight shifted a bit, looking back to the streets before her. “You’re not,” she said, but it was soft. “I’m just... bad at it.”

“Aw, c’mon Twi, that’s not true,” Spike began, but she cut him off. Ahead, the beautiful silver gates were shining in the torch light. They were tall, ancient, carved by magic older than Equestria, brought over from the old lands of Unicornia. The walls to either side were white, though the scattered torches on the ramparts cast them in yellow. The swirling silver reflecting the fire was almost hypnotic.

“It is, though, Spike. You know what they call me in the halls of the Houses Major?”

“Twi, didn’t you just finish saying—”

“They call me the Apostate. Do you know what that means? Someone who has renounced former loyalties.”

Spike stopped. Twilight trotted a few more steps before noticing that Spike wasn’t following her, and she turned to him. He was rooted to the spot, staring at her with his mouth open.

“What... Twilight? Do you not... I don’t understand.”

She sighed, and returned to him. “Spike... I haven’t exactly been a good friend. Celestia taught me how to be a good mare, and I just... I’m not blind. I know I’ve been an awful friend. You know the last time I had a real, meaningful conversation with Applejack? With Rarity? With you, even, before right now?” Spike shook his head slowly, and she continued. “A long time. I don’t even know how long. I’ve forgotten. And you know what Spike? I don’t think Celestia is coming back. I don’t even think she cares anymore.”

“But she loves you!” He fired back, his eyes bulging.

“Then why did she ab—” Twilight looked away, clenching her jaw. “Never mind. Just... I’m sorry. Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. The point is, Spike, that I’m not the friend Luna really, really needs, and I’m so sorry. Maybe it’s better that I’m going.”

She sighed, and turned back to the gate. Spike hesitated, and she almost expected him to speak. But he said nothing. After a few seconds, she heard his claws clacking against the cobblestone, and he was once more beside her.

With a sigh, Applejack hung her hat on the rack and looked about the living room. Big Macintosh hovered over Apple Bloom’s shoulder at the table as she scrawled something on a page, a pencil in her mouth. Homework, Applejack guessed. One of their cousins, Fiddlesticks, napped on the couch.

Macintosh looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. She mouthed, ‘We’ll talk later,’ at him before Apple Bloom could look, and he nodded.

Her little sister glanced up and dropped the pencil on the table with a grin. “Applejack!” The filly jumped down from her chair and ran into her sister’s waiting forelegs. Chuckling, Applejack swung her around in a playful arc.

“Aw, I ain’t been gone that long!”

“Yeah, but I only saw you a little ‘fore ya left! An’ you stayed out for so loooong!” Apple Bloom whined.

“Yeah, well, business, young ‘un. You get your homework done?”

“Almost! Big Mac was helpin’ me with math!”

She looked over Apple Bloom’s bowed head to share a smile with her brother. “An’ you’re doin’ good ‘n all, I hope.”

“Mhm. Miss Star told me I was top of the class yesterday while you were gone.”

Applejack ruffled her mane. “Good. An’ woodshop?” Her eyes instinctively wandered to the filly’s flank and the hammer and paintbrush cutie mark there. That had been a surprise, though not a bad one. She was proud.

“It’s great! I love it a lot. I’m makin’ a birdhouse!”

“Really now? Tell me ‘bout it,” she said, and as Apple Bloom began to eagerly explain, they walked into the kitchen. Applejack heard Fiddlesticks snort, waking up, and rolled her eyes.

Dinner was prepared quickly. Family was recalled from the upstairs rooms and gathered into the crampedll space. It was a chaotic affair, organizing and feeding two dozen ponies, but she loved it. The noise, the hubbub, the happy mess of it all. Sweet Apple Acres, with the hole in the roof and the beaten down door, seemed an eternity ago. This was home.

As ponies began to drift out, Applejack realized that it was time.

It was Apple Bloom she was worried about the most. As the happy filly cleaned the dishes while humming a little song, Applejack lingered by the table.

This place was home now, she decided. In its own way, it felt like home, Apple Bloom doing her chores and her brother off... doing whatever it was he did. She suspected he read, but who knew with him?

Which made it worse. Apple Bloom was going to turn around, and then she would have to say it. It would be real, then. Gods, I can’t do it. She’s gonna—

“Hey, Applejack.”

Aw hell. I ain’t ready. “Yeah, Bloom? Whatcha need?”

“Jus’ wonderin’, that’s all. ‘Bout how Ponyville was. Didn’t get a chance to ask earlier.”

Applejack stared at her. She had never considered having to answer this question from Apple Bloom. Big Mac knew, as did her cousins, but Bloom? What would she say? What could she say?

“Ah... Well, it was deserted, y’know? A bit beat up. Broken windows, you know.”

“That’s real descriptive,” Apple Bloom replied, looking over her shoulder.

Gettin’ sassy with age, ain’tcha? I was too, ‘round then. Applejack’s eyes wandered. Her thoughts raced ahead of her, and she could grasp at nothing. So she went with what she had. “Yeah, I guess it ain’t. Didn’t really find anythin’.”

Applejack was a terrible liar. She knew it, and Apple Bloom knew it. Her little sister had grown to notice it on the spot, like she might a stalk sticking out from a field above all the others.

Apple Bloom’s head rose, and she stopped washing dishes.

Panicking, Applejack began to speak before her little sister could tease out the lie. There was no way she was telling Bloom about burning bodies in Ponyville. Or even think about it, gods no.

“Bloom, we need to talk. Somethin’s... somethin’s come up.”

Her sister turned towards her fully, brow furrowed. Aw, darn it, that was the worst combination of phrases I coulda used.

“Apple Bloom... I’m...”

“You’re gonna leave, ain’t ya?”

Applejack had nothing to say.

Her sister sighed and looked down at the kitchen tiles. “Yeah. I... thought ya might. I mean, it was just a feelin’, y’know? When ya didn’t come home for a long time, I figured maybe it was important. An’ if it’s important...”

“C’mere, hon.” Applejack offered her foreleg, and her sister came to her. Applejack wrapped her up in a hug and sighed. Her legs felt like lead. It had been a long day, and it would be a little longer yet.

Sleep eluded Rarity utterly. She had tried to capture it and hold it close, and it had simply slipped from her grasp as water might.

She walked the walls of High Canterlot under the silent moon. The occasional lonely sentinel nodded at her as she passed, and she returned the gesture with a polite smile. But mostly she walked in silence, her gaze wandering from the ramparts to the Old City below.

A breeze found her and she shivered, tucking the jacket she wore tightly to her.

Rarity often had trouble sleeping in the wake of the Long Night. She blamed many things; the change in the light bothered her circadian rhythms, she was busy... more recently, because she’d seen things.

Over and over, she could see Fluttershy staring up at the horrible images, tears rolling down her cheeks. She saw those faces. Every time she shut her eyes, Rarity saw them.

So she had left her warm bed behind, crept softly past her sister’s room, and into the night. The intention had never been to be out for long. Just a brisk walk about the neighborhood, maybe sit by the fountain nearby, clear her head. Instead, she had walked more than half the length of the Solar Districts wall.

The night really is beautiful. It was odd, that it should be. Just as it had been odd on the way back from Ponyville that the sun had shone brightly and the day been as pleasant as could be. If she were energetic enough to be dramatic, Rarity would have said it felt wrong. It was like a note out of context with the rest of its chord.

As it was, her hooves felt like they were bound in chains with lead weights. Her eyes wanted badly to close, but she would not allow them to. Her ears drooped whenever she was away from prying eyes.

It was foolishness, and she knew that. They headed out tomorrow, and here she was, pacing around in the dead of night. Well, no, not pacing exactly, as it implies I’m going back and forth... oh, bother. It’s too late to think. And yet she continued to do so.

The sound of her own hooves against the stone was all that kept her awake; not even the cold could do it anymore. But you simply can’t rest, can you, Rarity? You simply must dramatically walk the ramparts like somepaperback heroine. She chuckled.

A sound caught her ears, and she looked back towards the palace in interest. It sounded familiar. Soft. Like...

“Wrong way, Rares.”

Feathers. She turned back towards the lowest tier to find Rainbow hovering. She felt no shock. It was far too late for shock.

“Could you not sleep either?” Rarity asked, blinking her eyes blearily.

"Sorta,” Rainbow allowed, setting down before the unicorn. “Something like that. What are you doing? You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” she began, sitting down heavily. “If I sleep, I’ll see them. See them, just... looking at me.”

“You keep walking, and you’ll see them anyway. Except when you wake up, you’ll be laying in a pool of your own drool on the ground and you’ll look stupid,” Rainbow said. Rarity wished that her face was more visible, but the torches were too far away.

Rarity scowled. “What a lovely picture you paint. You’re right, of course. But...” She looked along the wall. “Walk with me, would you?”

Rainbow shrugged, and fell in step beside her. Rarity felt more alert with the company, if only a little. Perhaps it was for the better that Rainbow had come. She wanted to talk to somepony. Anypony.

“Twilight is out here somewhere.”

“How do you know? Run into her?”

Rarity nodded absently. “Yes, though she probably didn’t see me. I had just left my house when I saw her. She looked... preoccupied, so I didn’t say anything. Just watched her pass, and then went my own way. I hope we don’t cross paths again.” Rainbow didn’t comment on this, and Rarity continued. “What were you doing, anyhow? Trying to sneak up on me like that? That was a bit childish, with the hour and all considered. I could have fallen right off the wall.”

Rainbow chuckled. To Rarity it seemed a bit nervous.

“Yeah, sorry. I guess that was kind of stupid. I just saw you wandering from my cloud, and I thought you might want some company. I didn’t want to bug you. I guess I just... thought it might cheer you up? I don’t know why.”

“Your cloud...? Oh. Rainbow, you know we’d love to have you stay with us. Any of us. You have to stop this.”

Rainbow huffed. “I like my cloud.”

“Of course you do.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “Rainbow, it simply will not do. I must insist that you come stay at my residence. If you won’t take a bed, at least the couch is inside where it’s warm. What if you catch... cold, or something?”

“Pegasus,” Dash replied flatly. “Cold doesn’t bother us all that much.”

“Ah,” she answered, at a loss. It was far too late for thinking.

They continued in silence for a few more minutes. Rarity was sure that Rainbow would leave her, but she never did. As her steps began to wobble, Rainbow steadied her.

“Hey, you all right?”

“I am weary, but elsewise quite all right,” She managed to get in before she gave a long yawn. “Excuse me, oh... May I sit? Just a moment?”

“You’ll fall asleep.”

“I shall simply have to take that risk, I fear,” she responded, and sat. Her eyes closed almost immediately. “Oh, but I have been so foolish. I should’ve just stayed home and slept. I should’ve known I would avoid it if given half the chance. I always do.”

Rainbow sat beside her, and cast a hesitant wing over her. Coughing, she scooted closer. “Yeah, kinda dumb. You should head home.”

“I should...” Slowly, Rarity gave Rainbow a sidelong glance. “In fact, you should walk me home. If nothing else, we could both use company.”

Rainbow nodded, and helped Rarity rise. They continued until they came to a stairwell down to the street, where a guardspony saluted crisply, Rainbow returning it by habit. Rarity gave him a weary smile.

“Goodnight, my good sir,” she offered, and in passing caught a hint of his grin. She allowed herself to feel a hint of pride. A lady, she reasoned, could coax a response out of anything. Equestrian Guards, rocks, bandits; she would leave nothing unmoved.

Her steps in the paved lanes of High Canterlot were uneven. She sighed. “Will you tell anyone? Promise me you won’t, Rainbow.”

“Tell them what?”

“That I am this silly. Childish. I’m out here afraid of nightmares! Oh, Rainbow, how do you do it? Stay brave? Be, oh, I don’t know... daring. All of this seems not to have changed you at all.”

Rainbow hummed, and Rarity assumed she was thinking. A few houses passed and a few more minutes died.

“...I dunno. I guess I just do stuff. I keep moving? Not sure how to put it to you, really. Maybe it’s just a pegasus thing. Fluttershy is doing alright, all things considered, you know? Well, mostly.”

In the silence that followed, Rarity considered this. Activity. Blind action? How much of that is just running away?She shook her head, sneaking a guilty glance at the pegasus beside her who walked on oblivious. We are feeling uncharitable tonight, aren’t we, Rarity? Goodness.

Before she could formulate a proper response to this, Rainbow spoke again. “Turn this way, right?” Rarity nodded, and followed her. “Right, thought so. Actually, now that I think about it, Fluttershy is... maybe not the best example. Have I ever told you about us in flight school?”

“No, not really.” She wished she was more awake to hear it. She tried to remember what Cloudsdale looked like, with its wispy platforms and pillars of cloud. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she could see Rainbow flying.

“Well, Fluttershy and I did things different. I know, what a shock! She would meet a challenger and just cower. No resistance! She just did nothing, or she kinda just slinked off. I would have some colt in my face and I yelled back! Yeah, I was a pretty cool filly, y’know? Got into a lot of fights, even made some friends doing it. Cloudsdale is a great place, but sometimes it can be rough. Fluttershy got into a lot less trouble than I did, but she was always unhappy, Rares, and when I saw that... I think running away is bad. Yeah, maybe you go longer without gettin’ beat up, but it’s so sad.”

“It explains our dear Fluttershy’s...” She yawned loudly. “Ah, sorry. Our dear Fluttershy’s attachment to the ground, yes.”

They walked down the long boulevard, and Rarity saw home up ahead. Somepony had left the light on, and she felt shame bubble up in her. But before she could dwell on it, Rainbow was speaking again, her voice soft. Rarity strained to focus..

“Yeah. Rares, you don’t have to fight to not run, you know? I mean, I do, and I’m awesome at it! But I think maybe there are a lot of ways. Fluttershy found hers. I mean, it’s not for me, but still, the ways she helps ponies isn’t running.”

“Perhaps,” Rarity allowed.

They came to her doorstep, and Rarity opened the door carefully, mindful of her sleeping sister.

Her Majesty Princess Luna, Celestial Diarch, Dea Nocturnis, Coda of the Songborne, watched Twilight Sparkle as she returned to the palace grounds. Her former familiar spoke quietly to her, and while Luna’s sensitive hearing could make out the sounds, she could not fashion them into meaning.

From her perch on the balcony, she watched them stroll through the hedges. They seemed in no hurry. In particular, she kept her eyes fixed on Twilight, gauging her mood.

Luna unfolded her wings. She paused, and cast her face in a guarded expression, hoping it would be convincing.

To go, or not to go? It could mean a lot of things. Primarily, it could mean having to watch a second dear friend wander west. It also meant making a choice between silence and speculation... and Luna wasn’t sure she wanted to reveal her private fears quite yet. Her hooves felt heavy, and the stone beneath them seemed safe. Solid. What will you do, Luna, when she brushes you aside? Condemns you again? Crawl? Slink away into some hole to lick your wounds once more? Oh, but we should learn, shouldn’t we!

And yet... she flapped her great wings once and lifted off. Luna soared through the cold night air, more leaping than truly flying, with her great wings and innate magic slowing her descent, setting her gently down as though cradled by the skies themselves.

Twilight came immediately to a cold stop. Icy shards of fear chipped at Luna's resolve, and for a moment she hesitated, her heart strained with the weight of doubt. But still she drew a breath, striding calmly forward, feigning a confidence that they both knew she hadn't possessed for a long time now.

Between the hedges, before a small fountain, they met.

“Twilight Sparkle.”

The once faithful student regarded her silently, but Luna stood her ground. Was this not what had been asked of her? She did not let her stoic expression falter. If this was some kind of test, she would pass it.

“Hello, Luna.”

No honorific. Either promising, or damning. Twilight, she knew, had left her study undecided on that. Oh, dearest Twilight, come back to us as a friend.

“I... I wished to inquire as to whether or not your walk was pleasant,” she began, still watching for any signs of what Twilight was thinking.

Twilight Sparkle didn’t smile, but neither did she sneer. That was good. “It wasn’t so bad. It’s a beautiful night.”

Something melted inside Luna, and she smiled. “Thank you, Twilight. That means much to me.”

Spike looked from mare to mare, his brow furrowed. Luna caught the movement out of the corner of her eye but gave it little attention. Spike was important, yes, but Twilight was here and talking. This was what she’d been waiting for.

“Luna... I wanted to speak to you, actually.”

“I wished to see you as well, Twilight.”

“How do I begin?” Twilight chuckled, with what Luna guessed was nervous energy. “I’m not saying I was wrong Luna, but I was hard with you.”

The Princess looked down at her hooves. In the night, with nopony to watch, she had left her hoofboots and ceremonial chest plate behind.

“We—I perhaps deserved that, Twilight. You were right. I have been deep in contemplation since you left my study.”

“What did you uncover?”

Luna smiled, and it was bitter. “We are not that strength which guided Equestria for all these ages, Twilight. Recent times have proven that We are, indeed, the lesser light, for all that we—I, cry your pardon, for all that I tried to deny it long ago, plunging an innocent nation into undeserved war."

“Luna—”

“Pray, let me finish. You were—you are right about me, Twilight. I cannot even manage to speak properly in this day and age, can I? Oh, but We try, but We vacillate. You see?” She groaned. “I am glad that the Lunar Guard is not here to hear us speak.”

“As am I. There’s something that needs to be said. Luna, will you hear me?”

The princess nodded.

“Luna... we used to be such friends. We stargazed together, at least before I became an awful pony and stopped caring. I know how lonely you are. I miss her too.” Luna lowered her eyes, her ears drooping, and Twilight rushed on. “Your isolation is something I’ve contributed to. I’d have to be blind not to see that, and maybe I was, a little. Yes, you were wrong, and you made mistakes, but everypony makes mistakes, and it wasn’t just your fault.”

“Ah, but I am different. We great and noble alicorns, born of the Song that wove the world from dream to being through word and melody. One would think such beings would know better." Luna chuckled darkly, and turned to look at the fountain.

But should she really? That was the question. The secret, intimate fears she kept close to her heart beat at her chest. They wanted to be free, to find hearts and minds to burrow in and make new homes. They wanted to brood.

Which was fine, if she was right. If Luna was right, then doubt and fear were perfectly acceptable reactions. They were healthy, even, if she was right.

But I have never wished to be more wrong. And what good would it do you, Twilight, to know what it is I fear? If I am right, there is nothing to be done. But... don't you have a right to know, if I'm sending you into harm's way? Moreover, if anypony was know know how best to face such a thing, would it not be you?

"But even alicorns are still ponies. You are still a pony. I mean, aren't you? You get to be sad, and mess up sometimes, we all do. Everypony falls down sometimes, without exception. You and I both just made mistakes."

Luna turned back. She looked to Twilight carefully, traced the line of that hopeful smile with her eyes, saw how Twilight’s own caught the light of her moon. She decided.

"Twilight, I shall entrust an artifact into your keeping come the morn, before you depart. It is an amulet of sorts, a charm that might illuminate the golden steps upon the path my sister walked. I have done this before, but the ponies guided by it were... slain, on the roads near into Valon."

“Valon?”

"Yes. In the west... I knew it all so well, once. Its great verdant plains, and such rich sprawling forests!" Luna was taken with a broad smile, her eyes sparkling with memory, her words spoken in the voice of a carefree age. But only for a moment, before she shook her head, and came back to herself. "Our—ahem. My sister and I must have walked the width and breadth of the countryside three or four times over through our years in search. Valon is the gateway to the wildlands, Twilight Sparkle. The Ruby of the Shore, shining scarlet aside the emerald seas... In essence, Twilight, all told they did not make it that far."

Twilight grumbled. “Well that’s encouraging.”

Luna shook her head, smiling, and spoke firmly. "Nay, Twilight Sparkle. Remember yourself; you who years ago tamed an Ursa Minor and subdued him to sleep, who defeated the trials and malice of black-crowned Sombra single-hoofed! You shall be weighed, Twilight, but I expect you will be found far from wanting. Far indeed." She paused. "However, I did want to tell you that when you walk this path, you shall be making your way to my homeland."

“Your... I’m sorry, what?”

“Did you think my sister and I were born out of a rock? Oh, Twilight! No, we were born out of the Song itself, on the Plateau of Jannah.”

The name seemed to register. Twilight’s eyes widened, and her ears folded back.

“Wh-what did you just say?”

Luna tilted her head. “We thought you might not be familiar with the story of the forming of the world, Twilight, but you seem rather overly surprised.”

“Princess Celestia mentioned that name once before,” Twilight said, shaking her head. Her eyes avoided Luna’s gaze, casting about as if for some better answer.

"Jannah; it is a city, a grand expanse of of history." Luna too looked away for a moment, as though seeing the city anew, overlaid atop the spires of Canterlot. "Sprawling out for miles through the ages, it is a place with a pedigree that near rivals my own. At its core there lay a raised plateau, and atop that one finds the Well."

“I mean, I’ve read about the Song, but no one ever explains it. The only books old enough to mention it act like it’s common knowledge, and it isn’t, not anymore.” She sighed. “Princess Celestia mentioned seeing an old friend in Jannah.”

Luna stared at her in shock. “Why have you never spoken of this before?”

“I...” Twilight looked away, pawing at the ground. “I didn’t understand the significance? She didn’t say any more than that, and I didn’t think it was important. I never found any references to any of it.”

“Of course you didn’t. Oh, but I begin to see now,” Luna replied, and groaned. She closed her eyes, and put a hoof to her temple as if in deep and decisive thought. “Twilight, we have things to discuss, and little time in which to discuss them. Can you delay your slumber for an hour? I would advise you of the lore I fear you may need to know before you arrive in the west.”

Twilight, her ears perking up at this, nodded. Luna turned and led her towards the palace with its libraries and ancient halls. Spike fell in step beside the young mare, and though to Luna he seemed uneasy, still he managed to get a laugh out of the former librarian; something about ‘old times.’

The night’s princess put it out of her mind. There were things to talk about, in the night. Stories to tell, before Twilight would sleep.

Author's Note

Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry Ahhh

Yay the dumb passes

I'm sorry I took so long, y'all. Forgive me, I pray?

Act 2: Pilgrim's Progress

Act II

Pilgrim’s Progress

Darkness Visible

At once as far as Angels kenn he views

The dismal Situation waste and wilde,

A Dungeon horrible, on all sides round

As one great Furnace flam'd, yet from those flames

No light, but rather darkness visible

Serv'd onely to discover sights of woe,

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace

And rest can never dwell, hope never comes

That comes to all; but torture without end…

...Farewell happy Fields
Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time.

The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
~Paradise Lost by John Milton, Book I

Act 3: The Night is Passing

The Night is Passing

The World's Last Night

But now a cry went up, passing up the wind from the south from vale to vale, and Elves and Men lifted their voices in wonder and joy. For unsummoned and unlooked for Turgon had opened the leaguer of Gondolin, and was come with an army of ten thousand strong, with bright mail and long swords and spears like a forest. Then when Fingon heard from afar the great trumpet of Turgon his brother, the shadow passed and his heart was uplifted, and he shouted aloud: “Utulie’n aure! Aiya Eldalie ar Atanatari, utulie’n aure! The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!” And all those who heard his great voice echo in the hills answered crying “Auta i lome! The night is passing!”

From the Silmarillion

And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed. The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light.

Romans 13:11-12 (AJKV)