The six Pillars landed just as the shrine imploded on itself.
Star Swirl dusted himself off and raised up a shield to block any more bits of mural that were being vomited out of the hole in the shrine’s place. Soon enough, the portal closed, and the bits of statue came to rest.
“Everyone okay?” he asked, looking around.
Flash Magnus nodded, then Rockhoof, Mistmane, Somnanbula, and Meadowbrook in the back. All Pillars present and accounted for.
Star Swirl took a step forward, then froze. “Where’s Stygian?”
“A little help?” came a faint cry.
Apparently Stygian had landed underneath a stone tiger’s paw and a rhino’s torso. Rockhoof got him out from under it in short order.
“Thank you,” Stygian said. “What happened back there? Did you make your wish?”
“Yes.” Star Swirl looked around, then up. The Sun was in the same spot as it had when they’d left, but there was always the chance of some temporal field in the temple muddling that up. Even so, the Sun wasn’t moving, as far as he could see. “Though it appears to have had no effect. The temple must have collapsed under the weight of the magic. Still, that was very revealing.” He nodded to himself. “That was a proper wish spell. I’m sure I can use that experience in my research.”
“Glad to hear it,” Stygian said, looking around at his companions. “About that, actually, Star Swirl. I’ve been thinking.”
“As have I,” the wizard interrupted. “Next time we encounter a situation like that, you stay out of the portal, understood?”
Stygian blinked, confused. “W-what?”
Star Swirl clenched his jaw as he sought the right words.
The monk had a point.
You’re the one who brought us together. If we fall, you’re the only hope of a second set of Pillars.
We’re in this situation because all the ancient masters died before their students were ready. We can’t afford to let that continue.
You are the master in this equation, Stygian. We cannot let you perish, or else there will be no one to take our place if we fail.
We can’t lose more ponies like you.
“You’re clearly far too weak to keep up with us,” Star Swirl barked. “You hardly did anything at the plant challenge.”
Mistmane raised a hoof. “Star Swirl, I must object.”
“Then object to the truth if you will! You know I am right. The reality of it is Stygian cannot fight like we do, and we can’t change that.” We mustn’t change that. Any risk is an unacceptable one. “Nothing will change that. Those otherworldly ponies had resources we can only dream of. We have to make do with what we have. You stay behind, Stygian, is that clear? Your place is at the table, reading and planning, not on the battlefield.”
Stygian kept his head low, but nodded. “Of course, Star Swirl. That is… crystal clear.”
Star Swirl turned his back on the small Unicorn and stomped off through the forest. “Let’s go. We have work to get back to.”
Taking the lead, and with his big hat blocking his face, no one saw the regret in his eyes. He hoped no one would speak to him after that, lest they notice him crying.
I’m sorry, my friend. I can’t afford to lose you.
I can’t afford to be wrong.
The clearing was silent once the ponies had trudged off. Bits and pieces of animal statues littered the ground, remains of the mural the spirit of Enyalius had been looking at for centuries.
Then an odd thing happened, something mortal minds would only barely be able to describe in terms of geometry and topology. A concept descended on the clearing, an idea. The idea folded itself, wriggled through a pinprick in the fabric of consensus reality, and slipped through before the hole could fully close. Something had shifted in the rules of the Universe, a loophole in the cosmic contract that governed all that was.
Brilliant.
Absolutely brilliant. I’d have expected nothing less from minds of your calibre.
A lion’s paw turned from stone to flesh. Though it was not connected to a circulatory system, its muscles began to twitch. Specifically, its fingers clawed and dragged the arm connected to it over the ground. Quickly finding it a futile endeavour, the paw’s fingers snapped.
Up in the sky, and farther up in space, another shift happened. While there were many mechanical elements to moving the Sun, in terms of magic the only real way to do it was a conceptual one: move the Sun from the caster's perspective, and all other things fall into place. Mortal minds, the kind who struggled with the balance between perception and will, would never be able to wrap their thoughts around the heliocentric complexities required to do such a thing, especially if they were already corrupted by knowing what ‘heliocentric’ even meant. No mortal remained who knew a time when the Sun moving on its own was the rule, and as a result no mortal could even imagine how it might move on its own, not in the grander scheme of galaxies and superclusters. With no mechanical basis for the mind to focus on, it was next to impossible to design a spell to do it.
But the spirit was not mortal, and the paw it was incarnating into, likewise, had no such limitations. The Sun moved at its whim, only a little bit, and soon a little stone goatee off by the edge of the clearing became soft hairs that floated towards the uncanny limb.
The paw stroked at the little beard pensively.
It was a perfect wish, Star Swirl.
"I wish for there to always be a creature capable of moving the Sun at its whim.”
So complex, so wordy. I’m surprised you managed such a long sentence without corrupting it. Then again, you had to, didn’t you? Wish for the Sun to move again, and it could be stopped just as easily as it has before. Wish for the power to move the Sun, and you get to spend the rest of your life trying to become immortal, if the power doesn’t corrupt you first.
But wish for a third party, a creature that can move the Sun at its whim, one that by cosmic rule must always be present, and you are set free. No more sacrifice, no more pain, no more Unicorns losing their magic.
I wonder if the other ponies will still hate your tribe, once the sacrificing stops.
The folding idea, the concept made spirit, materialised into more pieces of stone. An antler, a tusk, some wings, slowly a pulse began to fill the pieces as the Sun moved more across the sky.
It really was a perfect wish… or it would have been, if only you’d managed to specify the moral fibre of said creature.
A sigh of contentment went through the vivifying stones.
Still, I suppose I can take over that job for a little while.
Until I get bored, of course.
The lion’s paw clapped against an eagle claw. As long as the Sun moved, the spirit gained more and more freedom to act, more weight in the material world.
There is, after all, no one else who can do it, except me.
Yes, I believe I can agree to those terms for now. Or… how did you put it?
We are in accord.
The End.