//------------------------------// // 2 - Goldfish // Story: Soft Reset - A Novice Chronomancer's Guide to Tempomancy // by Foxvolt //------------------------------// GOLDFISH The moon exploded. Luna’s battle prowess was second-to-none, and within split-seconds of Celestia opening her accursed mouth to insult her cause, her throne had been obliterated by the devastating kinetic force of an alicorn-propelled catapult spell. The wall behind it wasn’t looking so hot, either. Celestia, blinking back into existence a few feet to the right, grew grim. That was meant to kill. All the nights burning midnight oil, all the days pleading for her sister to give her just a little more time, put a little more thought into her ideals, were falling in pieces upon the dais. A few chunks went careening into the room, one threatened to bludgeon the court record keeper had Celestia not projected a hasty dome-shaped shield between them. The chunk impacted and shattered against the shield, but there was no time to give commands as the night rushed into close range to push the assault. ‘she needs space’ Luna realized subconsciously, her hooves carrying her forward halfway into the thought. By the end of it, she’s cutting down the spot where her sister was standing mere moments ago with a razor-sharp wing-blade. “You would have killed Inkblot just now had I not-“ behind me. Luna bit at a latch just between her shoulder and neck, and a plate fell loose in the blade’s mechanism. With a swift whirl, Luna’s right wing went rigid, and momentum shot out the loose blade at incredible speed towards the source of the voice. There’s no time to teleport out of its’ way. The blade finds no mark, instead embedding itself two meters deep in the wall. Cracks splinter out into a spiderweb of not-insignificant infrastructural damage. “-Protected him. You threaten me, you threaten our empire, you threaten the lives of our little ponies.” The voice rings out from another direction. Ventriloquism magic. Take your voice, and throw it somewhere else. Simple in concept, complicated without line of sight. ‘She’s nearby’ Luna realizes. This spell reproduces the sound of your voice, but it doesn’t remove the source. Celestia would know that, and will have cast a ward of silence on herself, and non-detection to prevent Luna from divining her location with a simple Detect Magic spell. ‘The correct play would be to eliminate me immediately’ Luna muses, eyes darting around the room, her horn glowing dimly as she casts a very weak Detect Magic spell anyways. Her eyes glaze over as her vision begins to dither into starkly different shades of color. Detect Magic replaces your normal sight, and when a potent enough source of magic is detected, that space is highlighted by a brighter shade of yellow, orange, or red. The more energy packed into one space, the brighter the highlight, higher tier spells were normally closer to orange, where simple charms or auras showed as a dull bluish-green. The entire room is a blinding sea of orange and red. “I will allow you once more to secede this futile act of your own will. If you refuse, I-“ The bodiless voice chokes up, and the silence is plenty of time for a full scan of the room. The entire room is swarming with runes and wards and enhancements in case of an outside attack or siege. Anti-teleportation barriers, silencing thresholds, transconfiguration nullifiers, changeling detection glyphs, even pony-specific warning contingencies in the event a known threat’s magical signature is detected. The wards are set to trigger paralysis and sleep spells that are relatively harmless, then a detainment or banish spell depending on the creature. If both fail, many of the castle’s halls and suits of armor are trapped or in an animation stasis, ready to spring to life at the automated command of the complex system. No pony could hope to differentiate the relatively low tier magic of a ventriloquism spell in such an awesome sea of power, especially when purposefully masked. But Luna wasn’t looking for a spell, she was looking for no spell. Non-detection works in a similar fashion to the experimental invisibility cloaks her Night Guard were beginning to develop. Don’t send information out, magical or energy, and redirect information coming in around the outside without changing its’ direction. Gravity wells and black holes were the basis for the mechanics of it. Were you to fall too close to a black hole, eventually you would be able to see the back of your own head while looking forward. It’s just how information works, and it can be manipulated. But that manipulation is palpable, traceable. With a low hum, a dim light began to radiate from Luna, growing ever so slightly brighter in the perfectly evenly-lit room. In theory, a light source in the center of the room will shed an equal amount of light in all directions. If a sphere were distorting that light and redirecting it behind them, the light behind the sphere is indistinguishable after it’s moved, but will coalesce along the edges as the energy being redirected overlaps with the light already naturally passing that threshold. “Then I…” the voice regains its’ composure, a steely, unfeeling backing to it. “I will be forced to destroy you, in the interest of the Everfree Empire.” The voice changes position again, but Celestia is still in the same place. There, hovering eight feet above the ground, just off-center on the east side of the throne room. A tiny halo of light shimmers in the air as Luna drops the Detection spell, imperceptible to those not already looking for it. A needle in a haystack. “I am sorry, dear sister. Truly, I am.” The formings of a binding spell begin beneath her in an instant, but it’s inconsequential. “Nay. It is I, dear sister, who is sorry.” With a bite of the clasp to her left wingblade, a loud Ch-Thunk signals it’s displaced, sitting loose in its’ fitting, ready to be launched. “For thy naïveté of the trials and tribulations of thine subjects, I shalt sentence thee to death.” Before the binding spell clasps her in place, with a long, graceful sweep of her mighty wings, Luna sent her second wing-blade flying. But in he moments before sending her sister’s metal death flying, a cruel, calculated scattershot of mana bolts were sent blasting towards her hiding place. She could easily teleport away, but one of her precious subjects were fleeing towards the door just beneath her. And if she did, the poor little noble would be rended to the wall by half a dozen glowing bolts of magic. The non-detection ward dropped, and a furious white alicorn surrounded by powerful olden wards screamed as she dive-bombed in the path of the projectiles, protecting the pony, before finally teleporting away to the far rear corner of the room to safety. Where a five-meter long wingblade embedded itself into her chest. ‘Front-and-center, mid-right, back-left.’ It likely wasn’t a conscious decision on the pattern of her teleportation, but Luna knew it. It was the furthest point from anywhere she had been previously, and thusly her first choice for escaping peril. But Luna had been between her and the blade, and in Celestia’s hurried savior of her subject, she had teleported right into its’ wake. - - - - The sun fell, and the moon rose to take its’ place. Luna’s waxing moon was now on full display for all of Equestria, gently nudging them to wrap up their day, enjoy the beautiful night, or drift away to sleep so that the princess might stand vigil over their dreams. “I thought for sure you were going to choose Hay Fries.” I give a content little sigh, the daffodil and carrot salad gone all too quickly. Spike did an excellent job with dinner, and I thank him with the latest copy of SuperMare from my trip to the market. “Wow, I can’t believe he already got it! I checked in yesterday just on a hunch they’d be out early this month, I thought it’d be another week!” He takes the comic book and gives me a quick hug across my lower torso. He’s grown a bit taller, I remember not long ago he could only reach the top of my forehooves. He asks to be excused, and I nod him along, I can gather what I’m going to need for a good old-fashioned all-nighter. Four candles, an oil lantern, five indexes of varying complexity on topics ranging from chronomancy, abstract rune matrices, and divination refreshers, and a reference on Star Swirl the Bearded’s Book of Prophecies, just in case I get bored. “…She will travel to a place outside of our time, and give herself over to madness and death.” I mutter under my breath. Page 308. A lot of Star Swirl’s later works got increasingly more manic, but that one rubbed me the wrong way the first time I read it. It sounds almost like a warning, a providence holding firm that the weight of even the accessibility of alternate timelines could be enough to drive a mare to the brink of madness. There are also prophecies that Luna will transform into a beautiful chirping Greybeak and invent the perfect song in a graveyard with no tombstones, and that the world was going to end three years ago in an apocalyptic inferno. So most sane unicorns take this particular work as either some misunderstood prank, or a once-off foray into poetry. I’ve mulled over it myself a few times, but I know by now to cut my losses with impossible questions. I asked the princess about Star Swirl’s final years once, but she got very pointed about the importance of respecting redacted information. The point was taken that whatever happened, it wasn’t great and it upset the princess. Or princesses, since he was around before Luna’s banishment. I’d make the argument she’s likely heard before about how it’s best to learn from others’ mistakes, but it’s an ill-intended half-truth. I was curious, not worried. She probably knew it, too, so I left it alone. “I’ll get to you later,” I promise the easel I haven’t decided what to do with quite yet as I stow it in a nearby corner, facing the Autobiographies section. I realize anypony coming into the library the last two days must have been either very confused about my choice of decoration choice AND placement, or realized that Twilight Sparkle, savior of Equestria and Element of Magic is an awful artist. I’m sure Bon Bon will catch wind and spread the word by sundown tomorrow. I groan. I’ll be hearing about this for weeks. I should have covered it up after Fluttershy left today, I just didn’t think to after I broke out of my stupor and jumped straight into a friendship report. “Imminent embarrassment later, academic burnout, here I come!” I mutter to myself, cheering up a bit as I hype myself up for the charts and graphs and paragraphs that await me. I won’t be able to do much of real importance without whatever material the princesses recently unrestricted, but I can at least get up to speed with the discoveries of the last few hundred years since the censorship. - - - - The moon is still out, and I’m well into my second pass over Quantum Informality: How the Quarks of our Universe Traverse Spacetime and it’s really starting to all come together. There’s a lot of parallels between the hypotheses of all the books, and I feel like I have a solid understanding of the basis of Chronourgy. Not. Absolutely everything conflicts with itself. Controlled experiments with promising results are debunked by reputable scientists who have since gone back to publicly renounce their own research when it came under scrutiny in recent years. All in all, nopony seems to know what in the buck they’re talking about. I’ve taken the initiative of setting up a spatially-locked quantum entanglement testing field in the basement with plenty of safety protocols being followed, of course. I have at least 3 fire extinguishers down here, and they’re all mostly in date. Probably. The immediate issue I’m running into is, funnily enough, thermal. Spatially locking a small localized section of space is simple in practice, just quarantine it from interacting with any outside forces. Kinetic, temporal, etc. A modified Suspended Animation spell with selective bits of Medusa’s Lament, a petrification spell normally meant for use on living subjects, and a few simple reinforced insulated barriers do the trick, but my spells are conducting energy through them like circuits, continually powering them, and that generates a minute amount of heat. It’s uniform and predictable, but it’s injecting information from the outside in, and that can potentially affect the outcome of any attempt at a controlled experiment, making whatever result I find moot. I’m suddenly seeing why all those researchers were so easily discredited, but nopony had a good alternative hypothesis. It’s because… “This is impossible!” I throw my hooves into the air, and several sheets of half-filled graph paper rain down all around me. There’s no reliable way to create a sufficiently insulated layer of space for any practically long period of time. In theory I could suspend an area the size of a hoofball stadium, then quickly observe my findings in the center of it before it’s tainted by the heat radiating inwards, but even then entropy states that even that tiny amount of radiation would only be diluted at the center by 99.9% (It’s a lot of nines, but suffice to say not 100%), and getting exponentially larger by the second until it reaches an equilibrium. And the worst part? If I want a quantum entanglement field, I need two spaces of equal size created simultaneously. As powerful as I am, not to measure my own horn, I can’t create two stasis fields the size of hoofball fields. Or at least, not repeatedly for the hours on end this spell would require. Also, what’s this unpleasant sensation I’m feeling on my flank? I turn to my right, and see Spike poking me with a worried look on his face. “Oh, hey Spike. Sorry if you called down, I was having a, uh… You know,” I make a sarcastic gesture to the semi-circle of flung papers on the ground around me. A telltale sign of research sessions crashing and burning. His face changes from heavily concerned parent to mildly concerned friend at the familiar discussion point, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with just that. “I thought maybe you could take a break and we could get something to eat? You haven’t been outside or had anything but that snack I brought you in two days.” He looks me in the eye, and I blink a few times. Oh. The sun isn’t still out, it’s out again. I pulled two all-nighters. Oops. “Oh, I’m sorry Spike, I was really lost in what I was doing. Sure, give me a few minutes to wash up and we can head to Daisy’s for…” I trail off. What time is it? As he listens he’s picking up some of the papers from the floor and doing his best to put them back in order. I don’t have the heart to tell him there is no order, they’re all independent studies, albeit with no definitive conclusions. “It’s mid afternoon, the sun’s been up for a while. Rarity came by to check in on you, but she heard some of the explosions and said she’d come back tomorrow.” He says, with a little emphasis on the explosion part. He sets the stack of papers on a nearby table next to some of my reference material, and we head upstairs to get ready to grab a bite to eat. “Oh, also, somepony left you a note when at some point today. Looks like a math problem or something.” He shrugs, apparently disinterested. “I didn’t get it, but it’s on the lectern.” As we enter the library proper, I take a moment to glance over at the lectern next to a sleeping Owlicious and sure enough there’s a piece of standard yellow notepad paper with some writing I can’t make out from here, held down by an ink bottle paperweight. I’ll check it out after I take Spike out for food, it’s not going anywhere, I decide as I head up the stairs to the shower. … … … I blink back into reality across the library and take a peek at the scribblings on the lectern. It’s math alright, but it’s not a problem, it’s a series of equations. The same equation, actually, written slightly differently three times. And at the top of the page, in writing clearly from a pegasus or earth pony, a short message. Figured I’d spare you a trip to Canterlot. This is all you’ll need from there, the rest is fluff. -Goldfish I blink. It’s a rebalanced equation for chronomantic energy transference. It literally solves the thermal problem I’ve been stuck on for two days by sending any energy that crosses the threshold back in time. That can’t work. It’s paradoxical. If I send heat back in time, it’ll still be there in the present. It’s like, like… If I went skydiving without a parachute and right before I hit the ground, I teleported ten feet up. I’m still going to hit the ground, it hasn’t solved the problem at all. In fact, it gives it more time to invade the field and equalize. This is a knee-jerk solution by somepony who assumes time manipulation is a fix-all, they probably don’t even know how to integrate this theory into a working spell! The catalyst spell for the time component isn’t even- “Unless that note means you’ve got to save the world, I’m not letting you back in the basement without eating.” I jump nearly out of my skin as Spike sneaks up on my left. “Oh! Spike, sorry, jeez. You scared me. Can you check if we have that spare copy of Quantum Boundary Theory for the Aspiring Mage? Also, have you ever heard of a pony named Goldfish?” I rack my brain, and it turns up zero results. I’ll have to enlist Pinkie’s help later to track them down, I have a few questions for them, not ending with how they knew I’d be working on this, and how they knew I wouldn’t have already solved it. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m just a bit annoyed that somepony thought that I would get held up on a simple thermal issue while studying advanced theoretical magics, and a bit more annoyed that they were right. ’But maybe they know something you don’t’, I ground myself. Pride before the fall, and all that. ’You’re not the only pony capable of the scientific method. The tapping of claws on the wooden floor bring me back from my humility check, and Spike looks unamused. Arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, and probably hungry. “Sorry, you’re right. I’ll go clean up and we can go.” I give an awkward smile saying Sorry my obsession is delaying your lunch. He softens the stare as I walk by and corrects the head tilt, conveying I’m used to it. Cheeky. - - - - “I’ve never heard of them.” Spike suddenly pipes up from my back. He’s a bit too big to be hitching rides on me these days, but I insisted to make up for earlier. “Heard of who? Goldfish?” I ask, remembering he never answered my question. “Yeah. While you were doing your thing I looked them up in our files, and there wasn’t a single member named Goldfish. First or last-“ He adds, before I open my mouth to ask if he checked last names. “I checked the last month of guest checkouts too, no dice. Whoever they are, they’ve never checked a book out, or we lost their file.” We most certainly did not lose their file. “They probably just didn’t use their real name for whatever reason. Do you remember what they looked like? You said somepony left it, you didn’t catch their cutie mark did you?” I know he would have mentioned it if he did, but I’m covering my bases. He deadpans. “You know I have to ask.” I shrug, and continue forward while we both marinate on how to approach our mystery pony’s identity. Pinkie is still the best shot, but I’d rather not bother her if I don’t have to. That’s not true, I don’t want her to spook them by doing her version of ‘Recon’ the same day they left a note and scare them off. If they didn’t want to stay hidden, they wouldn’t have gone to this trouble. Which really brings to light the issue of why they left the note anyways. Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but after hearing that I shouldn’t go to Canterlot for research, I’m definitely going so I can verify. My ears flatten and I stop in the middle of the road. Rough Soil almost bumps into me. I apologize as he laughs it off and passes me, and I stare out into space for a second. Is this sabotage? Did they intentionally not include the Chrono-related spell components on purpose so I’d get the thought to leave ponyville and head to Canterlot? Am I being paranoid? “Bit for your simplified thought process?” Spike pipes up, now beside me. He must have hopped off while I was distracted. A fresh perspective could help get the gears turning again, actually. “Do you think that pony intentionally waited until neither of us were available to drop that note off?” I start, beginning to pace back and forth in front of Quills and Sofas. “I’d say so, yeah, it’s too many coincidences otherwise isn’t it?” “I’m getting there- But first could you take a letter?” I levitate out a piece of parchment and a quill, and Spike fetches the ink from the bottom of the bag. He doesn’t question it, trusting the process after years of this, which I’m sure we both appreciate. “Dear Princess Celestia, Were there any plans to repeal redactions on any barred schools of magic in the near future?” I pause. Spike doesn’t give me a reaction. “Maybe add something about ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to raise an army of inter-dimensional undead’ so she doesn’t worry?” I grin sheepishly. He’s better at wording these things than I am. He rolls his eyes, but scribbles a few lines as a footnote. “Your faith-“ “I’ve got it.” He nods, already rolling the parchment. “Send it now?” I nod, and it’s gone in a flash of green dragonfire. “So, coincidences?” Spike prompts, as he starts walking forward. I stop my pacing to keep pace with him. “Right, coincidences. A mysterious stranger who just happens to know about a freshly-unbarred school of magic has a convenient solution to a problem I didn’t even know I was going to have, but leaves just enough information out of it to make me question it. I think they want me to leave Ponyville for some reason. Do you think I’m reaching here, or is it fishy to you, too?” I finish. I feel like I’m ranting, but I can tell he’s keeping up with it. “I wouldn’t say fishy, I don’t know what anypony would gain from having you leave town unless they were planning something… Nefarious?” He twirls an invisible mustache between his claws, evil-laughing quietly. I give him a half-amused side-eye, but we’re almost to Daisy’s, so I shelf it for now. I’ll think better with a Daisy-and-Cucumber salad in me, pardon the innuendo. My stomach grumbles rebelliously. Maybe a double, with extra croutons. “Heya Twilight! Hiii Spike!” A bright yellow mare happily trots up to us as we start sitting down at a table out front. Daisy runs the whole show almost single-hoofed. Six days a week, long as the sun’s in the sky, she’s open for hungry ponies. The day she became a legal adult she had the hole-in-the-wall ready to open. I have to give her credit, for somepony so young she really knew what she wanted, and she worked hard to get it. “You haven’t been by in FOREVER! Oh my gosh, you’re even taller today!” Daisy runs right up to spike and nudges him with her nose, then wraps him up in a big hug. Daisy has a huge crush on Spike, and she’s about as subtle about it as a brick through a window. He doesn’t mind the attention as far as I know, but he does need to tap out after ten seconds to breathe. “Good to see you too, Daisy.” He brushes some imaginary dust off himself and clears his throat. “I, uh… Like your mane, did you do something with it?” Daisy’s way younger than I am, but older than Spike by a fair bit. I don’t know if I want to encourage the interaction or not, but I’m no suave operator myself so I let it play out whenever it happens. I’ve honestly learned just a bit from Spike’s awkward interactions, not that I’ll ever use it. “I did! Well, I tried. I curled it, but the brush got all tangled in it pretty bad so I, uh… Had to chop off a few inches. He-heh.” She scratches behind her ear, looking up and down. “Well, anyway, what can I get for the both of you?” My stomach growls like the traitor it is, and I take a deep breath to recite the order.