One year later, Twilight and Applejack met upon the path leading to the old schoolhouse.
They nodded hello and fell into step, plodding toward the school. Autumn leaves rustled underhoof. The path had begun to sprout grass, for want of use.
"How does Apple Bloom like the new teacher?" Twilight said at last.
"Fine," Applejack said. "Miss Scribbler is fine."
"Well, good. And the new schoolhouse?"
"It's nothin' like the old one. That's what matters."
Silence fell again. A moment later, the two emerged from the edge of a copse of trees, and the old school came into view. But for the unkept grass and bushes around it, and the mildew on the windows, it looked nearly ready to open. The two mares stopped at the bottom of the hillock, and remembered.
"I've decided what will be done," Twilight said.
"That's good," Applejack said. There was no gladness nor edge nor affect in her voice. She merely said it.
"The schoolhouse and grounds will be preserved in perpetuity. So will the houses of..." A little crease appeared on Twilight's forehead and was gone just as quickly. "... The victims. Each will have memorials, and there will be a historical marker here." She indicated a prominent spot on the lawn, near to the path.
"What'll it say?"
"I'm working on that—researching how markers are written." Twilight's gaze drifted up, as if to avoid looking at the battleground too long. "It has to be perfect."
"What good will it do?" This time, a little harshness crept into Applejack's tone.
Twilight looked to her friend, blinking in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"You build a memorial. Fine." Applejack glared a little and pointedly stared forward. "What good does it do?"
"Everypony will know what happened."
"Doesn't do our dead much good, does it." Applejack's words were flat.
Twilight took a long breath before answering. "What do you suggest?"
"I don't know." Applejack began to study the ground between her forehooves. "It happened, and all we can say is we stopped it before it killed anyone else. But what's even the point of it all? Nopony gained anything; nopony would be worse off if it had never happened. Apple Bloom..." She shut her eyes tight, and her voice cracked. "She has night terrors, Twilight. I don't know if they'll ever stop. And she still hasn't tried to talk to her friends again."
Slow, with utmost tenderness, Twilight extended one wing, draped it over Applejack's shoulders, leaned close, and spoke softly. "You're right. That's why this is important. The old zebra shamans' hiding of the truth didn't work; we won't make their mistake. Because everyone will know we destroyed that thing, it will never be able to come back again. The truth will serve as a warning to all people not to let themselves be destroyed by ideas."
At the last word, Applejack's eyes flew open, and she wrenched away from Twilight's embrace. Her next words were spoken through gritted teeth. "You call that thing an 'idea'?"
Twilight spoke quickly and waved a foreleg in an allaying gesture. "Applejack, tulpas are ideas! There are good ideas and there are bad ones. This wasn't the first time ponies have been killed because of a bad idea."
"So?" Anger and sorrow were wrapped in a single word.
Twilight hung her head. "So, there is something else that we can do—that we must do. The Bearer of Kindness is dead, but did Kindness die with her?"
Before Applejack could answer, the schoolbell rang.
Both ponies jumped in surprise, and as the air around them vibrated, Applejack dashed into the schoolhouse while Twilight flitted up to perch on the roof beside the short bell-tower. They searched inside and out, and they disturbed the year's layer of dust, and they flung open every door and cupboard.
But no one was there.
Meeting outside the door a few minutes later, they looked first at each other, then up at the tower, then back, each expecting the other to remark on what had just happened. At last, Applejack turned and began to proceed down the path.
"Come on, Twilight."
"Where?"
"I think the others might be in need of company."