//------------------------------// // Three // Story: The Moon Also Rises // by Nicroburst //------------------------------// I fear I shall not find what I search for. Certainly, should I prove wrong, and all my efforts in vain, I will have wasted our best chance of saving this world. And should I find it, what then? What if, in taking up the power to defeat a god, I become the enemy we face? Three “THE VEIL? I’ve never heard of it,” Celestia said, giving Luna a curious glance. “Where in Equestria did you hear that?” “You remember Twilight and Rainbow’s incident in the Everfree, with Lethe?” Luna asked. “Yes, of course.” “While I was searching for them, I encountered a creature—some form of dragon, living in the river. It called itself the Drac.” “Twilight told me about that. She said it taught her the basics of Coromancy; how to harness emotions, which saved her life, judging by their encounter with Lupus later.” “Taught her Coromancy?” Luna said, eyes widening. “It must be from before, sister. It referred to me as the Guiding Light.” Celestia smiled. “Now that’s an old name.” “Harmony will not allow you to fail again, Luna. They will need the Guiding Light. So, friend, my guidance to you; seek yourself; not in memory, but in time. Go beyond the Veil,” Luna quoted, eyes closed and head raised, as if staring out into the sky. “That’s what he told me. To ‘seek myself’, out there somewhere, past this Veil, wherever and whatever that is. You don’t know anything about this, sister?” Luna said, turning a hard stare towards Celestia. “No, of course not,” Celestia replied, wings rising, just slightly, off her back. “You do trust me, don’t you?” “Yes,” Luna said, bowing her head. “I am . . . unsure. I had hoped you would know.” “This has been with you a while, hasn’t it,” Celestia said, laying a hoof on Luna’s shoulder, to her mute affirmation. “Why don’t you take some time away, find out for yourself.” “How can I do that, when neither of us knows where to start?” “Have you Seen, or Dreamt?” Celestia asked. Luna shook her head. “Then start with the Drac. Perhaps he can point you in the right direction.” “Won’t I be needed here?” “We’ll manage well enough, I expect. Sister, you’ve been distant ever since Lethe. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’m glad you’ve told me what’s been bothering you—now I’m giving you the opportunity to deal with it,” Celestia said, reaching around Luna with her other hoof, pulling her sister into a hug. Luna sighed, her muzzle resting on Celestia’s shoulder. “Very well. I’ll not be gone more than a few weeks, though,” Luna said. Celestia gave a quiet laugh, tightening her grip. “I’d miss you were it any longer,” Celestia said quietly, then let go, breaking the embrace. As Luna departed, she glanced over her shoulder. “Sister . . . thank you.” *** Why the interest in the Crystal Heart? Trixie was sitting at a café, sipping a coffee while she watched the passing ponies. Sometimes it felt that she spent her whole life watching; from her foalhood to now. At first, she’d been watching fillies and colts, playing, learning, growing under their parents. Later, it had been Equestria—the nation’s sights and the crowd’s dissenters. Watching her friends die . . . Now, she watched for safety, because she didn’t know how else to live, how to fit in with the crowds, become one of them. For a master of illusion, that had always been the one trick that eluded her. The only difference between now and then was that where she once envied, now she sneered. She took another sip of the coffee, pushing back her empty plate, few traces remaining of her garden salad. I don’t know. He mentioned study—did he mean its magic? Emotional manipulation; an artefact used to influence an entire people for generations. The idea terrified her, and the thought of it in the hooves of Boundless . . . How did he even know where to look? Cumulus asked. Of course. He’d been browsing through ancient history—no, searching, specifically, for this one thing. He’d concluded somepony had been hiding information, but even before she followed that line of thought, such an assertion implied that he already knew about the Heart. Before this morning, Trixie had never heard of the Crystal Heart. Thirteen years ago, the Empire had returned, appearing in the frozen north. Equestria had noticed, certainly, but there hadn’t been any huge change. There had been no explanation for what had sealed it away, all those years, nor why it had suddenly returned. There had been no mention of any artefact. Boundless had never expressed interest in her studies before, declining to join her in her search. He’d been content to live, taking what happened as it came. Then, last night, he turned around and asked to accompany her to the Archives. He’d wanted to check something, as she recalled, though he wouldn’t tell her what it was. Somepony told him. That or he’s been looking, secretly, all this time. Maybe not the Heart, specifically, but something like it. Cumulus said. Even for a voice in her mind, Trixie could hear the tremor. Why? I don’t know, he whispered. A nearby pony gave Trixie an odd look, glancing over the rim of his cup at her. Pretending to ignore it, she cocked her head to the side, considering Cumulus’s words. There had been no particular reason to show that scroll to her, she didn’t have anything new to offer. So he wanted to include her, somehow. Even finding the Heart wouldn’t be a huge problem, though they would need to work on it. But studying it, learning how it worked, and what, exactly, it did, that was a different story. That would require expertise. Unfortunately, it didn’t have anything to do with her own plans. Trixie needed to get back inside the Archives and keep looking. There was nothing else for her to do, nowhere else to go. Her final hope for finding answers, for herself by herself. You know, I’ve always said it’d be easier to ask somepony. Trixie remembered Brash quite clearly, urging her to do just that. From the moment she woke up in the hospital, a nurse’s face leaning over her, he had always advocated truth. Boldness gets results, he’d said, as if waking up in his childhood friend’s mind was an everyday occurrence. In a way, that was classic Brash. He always had taken events in stride, without much regard for the past. Combine that with faith in his fellow ponies and an easy-going attitude, and it was simple to see where his open policies originated. Cumulus, on the other hand, had been more cautious. At first, Trixie had thought only Brash survived with her. As the days rolled by, and slowly, she came to terms with their deaths and the voice in her head, he slowly began to make noise, to alert her of his presence. Brash’s relative success, in coexisting and in convincing her he was real had eventually encouraged him enough to step forward, though it was some time before he let go of his past life. Still, that caution was a trait Trixie empathised with. Her experiences as a performer had taught her boldness, had demanded it, but her life had taught her its place. Should she find nothing, she could ask. Equally, she could give up on answers, and simply live. Either way, it could wait, foregoing the risks involved in confessing her secret. I don’t know what scares you so much about it. Let it go, Brash. So, a return to the Archives tonight, and every night thereafter until she found what she needed, or exhausted their collection. Her search would be extended by her reliance on her contact’s schedule; she would only be able to get in some nights. In the meantime . . . she could follow up on Boundless’ Crystal Heart. We have another lead, Trixie. Cumulus said, bringing up an image of Twilight’s paper in her mind. Trixie nodded, it was a good thought. Twilight would be the pony who knew about her condition, after all. Poetic justice, of a sort. Returning to Ponyville, after all these years . . . Trixie still hadn’t forgotten the travesty of her last visit there. It had been before the fire, back when she still believed in the Great and Powerful persona. She’d been too afraid to return to the town, even to make amends, since. She knew she wouldn’t be welcome there. But she needed to speak with Twilight, Arch-Magus of Equestria. She needed to coax what details she could out of her, without giving away the source of her interest. That could prove difficult; from the little Trixie knew of Twilight, she was extremely proficient in magic, and hyper-intelligent. Some preparation would be in order. Fortunately, this type of research didn’t require the Archives. Trixie would be best served speaking with the ponies that knew Twilight, slowly feeling out an outline for the pony she’d face. Trixie rose, leaving a small tip on the table. Across from her, the nearby pony buried his face in a newspaper, obviously not reading. Trixie sighed, shaking her head, and trotted off, ducking into the first alley off the street. She didn’t have to wait long. The pony slipped in after her, cautiously looking around. Before he could react, Trixie reached out, seizing him in a magical grip and stepping forward to bring her face-to-face with her pursuer. “Who are you?” she demanded, pressing her nose into him. Held fast by the telekinetic field, he struggled briefly before relaxing into a slump. “Nopony. It doesn’t matter,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. Trixie backed up, allowing his head to fall forward. She circled him, taking in the short cream mane, darker coat and jewel-encrusted ring cutie mark. It was the manager of the store she’d robbed last week. “You! How’d you find me?” Trixie demanded, shaking him lightly. One thing she’d learned from Boundless; extremes got results. There was little to be gained by being gentle. “I-I just saw you there, at the café. I couldn’t believe it,” he said, stammering over his words. Small flecks of spittle spat from his mouth, flying past Trixie. He tossed his head, eyes rolling back as he tried to rear, held down by her spell. “P-P-Please d-don’t hurt me!” Not good enough, Trixie. But be gentle. Trixie nodded, moving back in front of the pony, capturing his eyes with a hard stare. This time, she made no attempt to hide her presence, though she was careful not to hurt him. Holding the contact, she felt his terror and violation. Primal responses, they were potent enough to send adrenaline pumping through her veins. It was partly why she preferred subtlety. “How did you find me?” she pressed. She could feel the words enter his mind, several responses being thrown up immediately. The truth was nearly buried under his fear, but she plucked it out of the sea, and left his mind, shedding the emotion. It left her feeling somewhat dirty. Not good, indeed. He hadn’t just found her today. He’d followed a scent; a magical tracker the store’s security had placed on them, right back to the hideout. But he hadn’t told anyone. She knew what Boundless would do, given the situation, knew it beyond logic, with a cold, sinking feeling in her chest. He would expect the same of her. “What do you want?” Trixie said, voice dropping into a stage whisper. He gave a little whimper. “Ju-Just don’t hurt me, okay,” he said. “Nopony is going to hurt you, ” Trixie said. “But you know something you shouldn’t.” He didn’t try to deny it, frantically nodding as he spoke. “Yes, yes I do, oh yes I do. I know where you live, you and the o-” Trixie stuffed a hoof in his mouth, cutting him off. “Why were you following me, little pony?” she asked. “I was g-going to blackmail you. I thought, the store is insured against theft. If I tell them we lost the scent . . .” “You could keep the payoff,” Trixie finished. “Not a great plan, as they go. You followed me here, alone, fully intending a confrontation, then immediately collapse?” “I . . . I left a letter at the post office, to be sent to the police in a few hours. Everything is written there.” The shock was beginning to wear off, thankfully stopping the stammering. Trixie watched as realisation dawned over his face. “You can’t touch me, or I won’t stop that letter!” he declared triumphantly. Trixie sighed. The trouble was, even if she could afford to buy him off, he was a liability. The sensible thing to do would be to simply blow him off and move shop. Boundless would have thrashed him, and then found somewhere to hole up for a few weeks. Instead, Trixie found herself reaching for her saddlebags, grasping them telekinetically and bringing them round in front of her. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” she began, counting bits out before her. “I’m going to give you half of these.” She indicated a large pile in front of her. “You’re going to go fetch that letter, and bring it back here, where I’ll buy it from you for the other half. And then we’re never going to hear from you again. Understand?” He nodded eagerly, avidly watching the pile in front of her. The dimwit hadn’t noticed her horn glow briefly, his eyes fixed on the few bits she moved with her hooves in front of him. He hadn’t seen the pile grow several times over, as she levitated her bags in front of him. Distraction and subterfuge, arts Trixie had mastered years ago. She released her hold on him, allowing him to trot away, eagerly clasping a bag filled to bulging with illusory money. Trixie rubbed her head. Giving her illusions physical properties strained her, and maintaining them at this distance would be tiring. Even so, an elegant solution, Cumulus congratulated her. When the store-manager returned, half an hour later, Trixie informed him in no unclear terms that she was holding the letter as collateral against his silence. Attempts to turn her in would only result in the publication of proof of his blackmail. The letter firmly in her grasp, she trotted away, letting the illusions dissolve, a satisfied smirk playing across her mouth. A bell tinkled over the door as Trixie pushed it open, stepping forward into Pony Joe’s doughnut shop. She’d spent the day digging up information on Twilight, looking for somepony she could have an informal chat with. Records of Twilight’s life did her little good—she needed to know the pony. She was unable to turn to Twilight’s immediate family, as she very well may have told them about her. Trixie wasn’t willing to let word reach Twilight before she was ready. It seemed odd, coming to a baker, but from what she’d gathered; Twilight had led a solitary life, not interacting with very many ponies. She’d eventually settled on Joe; having interacted enough to have a reasonable conception of Twilight, and removed enough that her inquiry wouldn’t spread. “What can I do you for, miss?” Joe said from behind the counter. Trixie took note of the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, set over a warm smile. He was getting on in years. “Chocolate-frosted, no jam,” Trixie said, “Though I wouldn’t look amiss at some sprinkles.” She sank into a soft seat next to the counter, smiling back at the baker. “Certainly,” Joe said, handing her a plate. The doughnut was warm, freshly baked, despite the time of day. Trixie savoured its sweetness, the thick dough and sticky chocolate mixing together in her mouth. Travellers couldn’t often enjoy such luxuries. Eventually, she finished, brushing a few crumbs from her hooves. She caught Joe’s eye from across the store, where he was attending to another customer. As he bustled around, gathering the order, she requested another doughnut, with compliments. “Need something to wash that down?” Joe asked, leaning forward. Trixie found herself nodding, eyes closed. The doughnuts were divine. Okay, okay, remember what we came here for. “Mmm,” Trixie groaned, finishing the second pastry. She was exaggerating, of course, but even so . . . well, she’d remember Pony Joe’s doughnut shop. “Say, Joe—I can call you Joe?” she began. He nodded, bringing over a cup of coffee. “I’ve never had a doughnut that good before, and believe you me, I know doughnuts.” “Thanks, miss . . .?” “Aurora,” Trixie said. “Aurora,” he repeated. “Thank you, Aurora. But they’re just Joe’s old doughnuts, same as ever.” “Really? How long have you been here in Canterlot?” “My whole life, of course. Opened up the shop, say, thirty years ago?” “Thirty years! Why, you wouldn’t happen to know Twilight Sparkle, would you?” Trixie asked excitedly. “Yeah, sure. What’s it to you?” Joe said, suddenly on guard. Trixie winced, knowing she’d been too abrupt. “I’ve . . . business with her,” Trixie said, offering. Joe took the bait. “Business?” “It’s my brother. He’s got a . . . problem. With his magic, I mean. We think there’s something wrong with his horn.” “Oh. Have you had doctors look at it?” “Of course! They said it was a . . . a dissonance in one of the leylines. But there wasn’t anything they could do! I remembered Twilight had been made an Arch-Magus recently, so I thought she might be able to help. I knew her from school, see.” “Ah,” Joe said, nodding, his hostile air dissipating. “So why are you in Canterlot?” “She isn’t here?” “Nope, been in Ponyville the last sixteen years.” “Oh. I’d have thought an Arch-Magus . . . well, no matter. I’ll head down there tomorrow.” Trixie took a sip of her coffee, leaning over the counter. “Has she changed at all?” “What’d you mean?” “She was always a bit . . . intimidating, when I knew her." Joe laughed. "I know what you mean. She always was a bright one. Loved to lecture, came in here with her brother carrying her books, trying to tell me how to optimise the baking process.” Trixie stifled a laugh at the image. “Didn’t have Spike at that point though. Once she took up with the princess, she became more of a recluse, I didn’t see her as often. From what I’d heard, Ponyville opened her up some. Just ask at the Agency.” “Anything else?” Trixie pressed. Joe raised an eyebrow. “What do you want to hear? Just go talk to her, Aurora, especially if it’s for your brother.” Joe’s expression was disapproving. A sister running to an acquaintance for aid wouldn't typically stop in a pastry shop for information, after all. “Mmm, alright, I will. Thanks for your time—I’m just nervous.” Trixie stood up, pushing her plate across the counter. “Relax; she’ll have time for you. She may have been a shut-in, but Twilight’s one of the best ponies I know.” Joe said. Trixie reached into her bags, pulling out several bits to pay for her meal. She left quickly, with a smile and a goodbye. Joe hadn’t spilled much—her story had been weak—but there was one bit she could use. Twilight loved to lecture. Together with a reclusive nature, that likely made her a typical scholar—though that had been years ago. If she could get Twilight talking, lead her into the topic and let her ramble, she could learn a lot before she ran out of steam. That wouldn’t hide her interest though. From her experience, Twilight wouldn’t be used to ponies actually listening. Nor would there be much point in trying to slip an illusion past an Arch-Magus. Trixie could still remember the feats she’d seen Twilight pull off, the last time they'd met. There wouldn’t be anypony in Ponyville who could hold a candle to Twilight, certainly not match her magical prowess. Perhaps she could offer a like-minded mind, so to speak. Somepony she could talk shop with. She’d be an intellectual appeal—from which she could lead the discussion to mental magic. Perfect. Though first she’d have to overcome the general stigma she’d attached to herself over her last visits. Trixie wasn’t particularly proud of the way she’d acted, but she’d been young, and foolish. Life had shown her perspective, and she was confident in her ability to convince Ponyville that she’d reformed. More than enough, Trixie Cumulus said fondly. but have you changed? She’s a fair ways from the Great and Powerful sideshow now. Brash said. In some ways, perhaps. In others I still see the filly convinced of her capability to handle anything the world threw at her, convinced in her mastery, her security and safety. You must acknowledge this, Trixie, and be careful. Some things are beyond you. Trixie’s mind flashed back to the Ursa. She’d performed her show so many times she’d almost dared to believe it, almost succumbed to the allure she created for her audience. She’d forgotten it had been, had always been, an illusion. That had only made her act better. Even then she’d been proficient at selling herself, but with conviction, true belief in herself, she could step onto the stage without fear. There was no illusion, no tricks or showmareship. It was just her, and she amazed them. She’d fooled herself. Even after the Ursa, after she saw true power and her own folly, she’d refused to accept her failings. The Great and Powerful had transcended the original gimmick, had become her dream, her identity. So she’d worked for it. Studied magic in ways she’d never considered before, stepping outside of her calling in life. Learnt power, the way Twilight had. She’d lost sight of her purpose, forgotten her old life, grew consumed by this threat suddenly posed to her. What was your purpose? Brash said, pondering. He’d never been one to figure out the puzzle for himself. Simply? Trixie sighed. I don’t know. Initially it had been to travel Equestria. Growing up in the Canterlot Orphanage had instilled in her a wanderlust of sorts, a desire to explore beyond the boundaries of her foalhood. That had morphed, somewhere, into a quest for mastery. She hadn’t set out to be the best. Hadn’t expected fame, wasn’t prepared for the adulation of her fans, the doting attention she received. It went to her head, certainly, carrying her away to a place of plenty. A far cry from her humble beginnings, a reality spun from the dreams of an orphan. To escape, Brash, Trixie said. Even in her head, she sounded faint, a whisper in the dark. To leave you all behind, everything that reminded me of that time. The Great and Powerful Trixie wasn’t restricted by her foalhood. She was limitless. *** “No, youngling, not like that. Here, watch closely,” the Drac said, leaning forward. Spike could see glimmering, sharp teeth as the Drac opened his mouth, tongue lolling out, set against the gaping red maw. Hot breath washed over him, engulfing him in the stench of old meat and fire. It was a sight of primal ferocity, an apex predator in a dangerous world. Once upon a time, it would have terrified him. Not anymore. The years had been generous to the dragon; no longer a baby, he now nor stood shoulder to shoulder, head to head with Twilight. His teeth had grown, fangs lengthening and sharpening, and the whispering green fire of his youth replaced with the beginnings of a roar. Not to say that he was even close to the Drac’s stature. Dragons grew, he now knew, their entire lives, and while Spike had nearly eighteen years under his belt, the Drac had over a thousand. Spike remembered Razorfang, that old dragon they’d kicked off Smokey Mountain for covering Equestria in smoke. He’d been planning on a hundred year nap. Dragons were virtually immortal, but still . . . the immensity of time swelled before him, cresting with the realisation of others’ mortality. He’d moved past those feelings years ago, promising himself to take their memory forward, into the future, to cherish their time together now. So he threw himself into life, living each moment to the full. Experiencing the now, without regard for the inevitable future. It was a glorious, decadent lifestyle. Spike narrowed his eyes, pupils dilating to take in the ultraviolet spectrum. He could just make out a flickering flame, the barest hint of purple entering it, dancing on the Drac’s tongue. Such fine control of his own flame was still far beyond the young dragon, though he was learning. “Can you see it?” the Drac rumbled, all the while maintaining the flame. “Yes,” Spike replied, leaning forward. “Just barely, but yes.” The Drac closed his mouth. “Good. Now you,” he said, gesturing. Spike swallowed, bringing his flame to mind. It was a tenuous link, still, a fledging thing, like the silence between two young lovers. So tiny, so fragile he was afraid to touch it, lest it tear asunder. It was always the case, he had been told. Infants often have more control over the flame than a child, simply because the infant can control it on an instinctive level, a subconscious connection, coming without practice or patience. Dragons demand a higher degree from their brethren, and that connection faded as the child developed, growing into a conscious, empathetic link. It demanded understanding, and it rewarded diligence. Spike’s flame came forth, a dancing green blaze resting steadily on his tongue. He’d finally mastered holding it there, after months of work. Now, the Drac wanted him to move it between colours, even off the visible spectrum entirely. Such a feat required an understanding of physics, the wavelength and frequencies of fire and light, the energies he put into it. It also required an understanding of the heart, emotional manipulation and guidance. “What to ask and how to ask. You must learn both,” the Drac’s words rang in his mind. Carefully, Spike plucked at the link, drew on the flame in his mind. Tentatively, he spoke with it, beseeched it to heed him. Then, boldly, he nudged it to change. Green shifted through a chromatic gradient; a fading yellow and a deep orange, glowing, cherry-red and shimmering wave of heat, beyond the visible spectrum. It flickered there, at the edge of perception, dancing in and out of Spike’s vision. Then it collapsed, dying down at a few embers resting on his trembling tongue. “Better,” the Drac rumbled. Glancing upwards, Spike saw a brief moment of approval, written plainly on his mentor’s face. It was quickly replaced with bored indifference, a wisp of smoke curling around his fangs and rising into the evening sky. “That is enough for now, youngling. Continue to practice control. A dragon is ruled by neither heart nor mind.” The Drac grinned. “Eat red meat or nothing at all. You may hunt in the forest, should you desire, but be prepared to deal with what you find.” It was not an uncommon restriction, though recent. Spike had always refused, preferring a week-long fast to killing for his dinner. It nonetheless was an effective lesson in restraint. He’d ignored the restrictions the first few times he’d seen the Drac; circumstance or temptation proving too strong. He hadn’t repeated that mistake again. “It is time to break free, youngling. You must learn to take, not only give. It is a part of life, as surely as breathing.” Spike wasn’t so sure. Even now, his body slowly growing stronger, faster, more lethal, he felt the inherent immorality of such an act, resisted his growing urge to feast. Gemstones and vegetables, roots, leaves and flowers were his diet and he liked them. He had no need of murder to satiate himself. “You must accept this, youngling. It is part of the Cycle, a chaotic harmony. Imagine your vastness, a life incomprehensible to the ponies around you. That is how the world sees you, and it will not miss a few rabbits, a cow here and there, or even predators from the forest. It will not miss your friends, and it will not miss you, when you pass away. There is no higher morality to appeal to. We are dragons, and what we want, we take; be that the land or flesh of another, or strength from their happiness.” “Huh?” “We are not evil, youngling. We obey our desires, for they show us who we are. We do not oppress ourselves. We do not set the mind at war with the body. Should we desire to help another, to coexist in friendship, then that is as necessary to us as our fire, as nourishing as our meals. You must learn not to subjugate your body in preference to the mind.” “I don’t follow,” Spike admitted, lowering his head. “Think on it.” The Drac turned, swiftly disappearing upstream. Spike shook his head sadly, beginning the trek home, thoughts full of blood and fire.