I leave this message for you, Luna, in the hope that it will remain unopened, unneeded. But where I have been locked away, she has planned, and planned again. I do not think my triumph likely.
I do not fear my demise. Indeed, my only fear lies with this record. For with your welcome back into the world, I do not know how you are to find it.
Fourteen
TRIXIE WOKE WITH A START, coming to consciousness from a sleep so deep it was beyond dreams, beyond awareness; a sleep where she could forget, just for a little bit, all the troubles in the world. Around her, a storm raged, invisible against the night sky, pouring rain creating a sheet of water over the mouth of the cave she shared with Boundless. She rolled over, away from the fire between them, and stood up. She wouldn’t be able to sleep again, not tonight.
She had been lucky, oh so very lucky, though she did not feel it. She’d passed out, staring Twilight in the eye as she killed her brother, driving a blade of magic, sharper than any metal could ever achieve through his neck. She’d pulled his head back, cutting deep, through arteries, cartilage and bone, but it hadn’t been the spray of blood that had shocked her, or the conflicting emotions that had driven her to it.
She didn’t know why she’d fainted, but, awakening, she felt . . . good. Better than she had any right to be. There was some guilt, yes, for Twilight’s pain and Shining Armour’s final moments. Some anger for Boundless’ manipulation, for inspiring in her the kind of fear that would drive her to murder.
She looked over at him. Twilight had injured him badly, giving him several broken ribs and a nasty concussion, though he would not admit it. Trixie couldn’t use the sleep spell, not with that head injury, but she could pin him down. The first few times, Boundless had simply shrugged the bonds off, but each time, he had winced, and eventually he had simply stopped trying, accepting Trixie’s treatment.
They had moved from Canterlot to the plains below the mountain, finding a smallish cave in which to spend the night. From there, Trixie had moved them every few hours, teleporting to maintain distance between any pursuits.
She could not conceive that they would not be pursued. The implications of her actions were only just beginning to hit home; she had murdered another pony. That had never happened before, not in a thousand years. News would spread, no matter how they tried to hide it, and whether from anger or fear, they would come for her.
Shining Armour hadn’t just been another regular pony, though even that would have drawn Celestia herself out of Canterlot, seeking them and bringing with her swift retribution. No, he had been the husband of an alicorn and the brother of an Arch-Magus, the Element of Magic. This deed would follow her all her life.
How had Twilight found them, in the Underground? Boundless had been convinced she would, despite the measures they’d taken against discovery. Trixie knew of spells that could track a pony’s movements, but she would have detected something like that. No matter how much power Twilight had, she couldn’t slip an illusion past Trixie.
Behind her, the Canterlot Mountain shook. She winced again, the rumbling sound of her enemies inflicting woe on the rock itself bringing her, just for a moment, to a panic and terror comparable to that which Boundless had inspired in her.
No more. She was done with that fear, now; cast it aside like the feeble constraint it was. Everything he had presented, she had now surpassed, and should she ever find herself desiring to leave his company, she could do so without worry. She would leave him in a pool of his own blood, to trouble the world no more.
Right now, Trixie would stay with him. She’d nurse him back to life, tell him what she’d learned in that single, precious moment she’d had with Shining Armour. All the information that she’d gleaned, the insight into Equestrian affairs, the knowledge of spells, old, and powerful magics, even details of smuggling rings they could use during the journey north.
Trixie had never been a fugitive before, never drawn so much attention to herself. Even so, she knew to stay away from the train lines and other modes of transport. There would be less chance of being found out here, in the wilderness, especially if she continued breaking their trail with teleportation. At least, she hoped it would.
Trixie turned away, coming to a stop at the cave’s entrance. In truth, she knew of only one place they could hide without fear of discovery. It was a place where the weather worked on its own, where plants and animals lived and died by their own code. A place of nature, of wilderness and history, a place whispered about between friends on a stormy night, or by elders, holding sway over their small kingdom at a bar. The Everfree Forest.
Trixie shuddered. Testament to how strongly those stories were ingrained in her that she almost preferred the idea of facing Celestia’s judgement. Facing Twilight, Cadence . . . it was better than that. They offered her stability, certainty—there was no doubt about what fate awaited her. They would not kill her, couldn't kill her, the same way she’d been unable to kill Boundless.
No, she wouldn’t die. She would be imprisoned, locked away for the rest of her life. Her name would be reviled, her image scorned. Even should she be released, there would be no solace in her freedom, no warmth in the light of the sun or guidance from the moon. She would be forever lost, stranded alone amidst the crowds.
Would isolation in the Forest be so terrible, in comparison to that? She had little doubt in her abilities, no hesitation in her assertions of strength. She would be in no danger from the denizens, the flora and fauna that would share her home. But even her powers faded in comparison with the size of the Forest, the web of life that spread across it. An incomprehensible vastness that dwarfed her, it exuded malice. She could have as much power as she wanted, for all the good it would do her there.
Trixie sighed, sitting down to await the morning. Boundless was fast asleep, suffering through what rudimentary spells Trixie had devised for his recovery, and there was little point planning ahead until she knew his plans. She watched the rain cascade over the world, and waited, secure in her tiny bubble of calm amidst the raging storm.
***
Twilight stood still, the world around her frozen. She couldn’t move, could barely think. She saw without perceiving, heard without feeling. There was no understanding the scene before her, no way of processing it. It couldn’t be real, shouldn’t be real.
There was a humming in her ears, a faint sound she could only just barely make out. It reverberated, its volume oscillating, as she tried to focus. Then, suddenly, it vanished, replaced by a sudden movement, her world lifting, and dropping. She almost expected the emptiness in her chest to dissipate, though it didn’t. Why did she expect that?
She was breathing. Of course she was. She was heaving great gasps of air, punctuating the silence with each inhalation. Was she panting? No, she didn’t feel tired. That wasn’t it.
The humming returned, though this time it was different. It wasn’t accompanied by the gradual, drawn-out roar of her chest, or the stillness of the world. It was a sharp rush, bringing with it noise and pain and colour.
So much colour! Splashed across her vision as the furious glory of the sunrise, or the quiet tranquillity of the moonlit glade, colour came, and deadened all in its wake.
There, the remains of a wall, blown away by her magic, the power of her rage. It was as an afterthought, the absent touch of her capacity. She remembered . . . a body, of a pony. Lying there, motionless, amidst the rubble, he became no threat, yet his shadow lay across the room still, blotting out the light.
The light. Where was that coming from? It poured into the room, stripping the darkness away, though it did not touch the pony’s shade. It was coming from . . . behind her? No, it was not constrained by the doorway around her. The light shone from herm, from her body, from her mane, and from her eyes.
To her right, a table, her brother, a crimson line arcing over his neck, stretched over it. Another—Trixie, that was her name—stood over him, directly in the shade. Her eyes sparked, mouth twitching and hoof clasping an azure knife. Magic, so puny, so simple, wove through the blade, in some sort of elaborate pattern. She could have shattered that spell in a sliver of an instant, and yet it was more than enough.
Her vision jumped. Her brother shifted, a tiny speck of blood appearing on the table beside with him. Trixie was there, above him, eyes rolling back as she threw her head back. The last specks of her light rose from the gash in Shining Armour’s neck, sparkling in Twilight’s fury.
Twilight focused on those sparks of light, her vision contracting. The world drained into them, consumed in their tiny flames and perished as they vanished, dissipating in the air. They were the remnants of his life, the moment she had held, and lost. So blind, so trusting.
She saw them in colour, and as they faded snapped into motion, hurtling herself across the room. Across the table, Trixie hit the ground with a thump, out cold, while to the side Boundless groaned, slowly waking.
But Twilight’s attention was given solely to her brother, lying limply on the wooden table. She took Trixie’s place at the head of the table, staring down in horror at what her friend—her friend!—had wrought.
Shining Armour’s eyes were closed, unconscious from shock, or a spell, or blood loss. There was so much blood. It spilled out from under Twilight’s hooves as she tried to staunch its flow, tried to hold him together against his heart’s unknowing betrayal.
Blood. Twilight had seen the like of this wound only once before in her life. Unbidden, the scene arose in her mind; a giant headless corpse slumping to the ground, flesh, bone and blood spattering her and the ground beneath her hooves. Soaking into the dirt as chunks of the wolf’s head fell all around her, and the blazingly brilliant rainbow trail that arose from its neck.
Twilight had witnessed that act, Rainbow’s final, desperate ploy. She had read the panic and the focus on her face, watching helplessly as the jaws swung shut around her. She hadn’t mourned the wolf, despite her tears. She’d mourned the death of innocence.
“I’m sorry”
What good was sorry, when Shining Armour lay dying here? Twilight lowered her brow, pressing her face against his and closing her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, brother,” she said quietly. She found she could talk, now that the tears had stopped. They had been tears of shock, of terror. She knew they would return, minutes, hours, days, weeks, even years from now.
“I should have gotten here faster. I should have listened to her.”
Oh, Celestia, Cadence!
“We didn’t think, brother . . .” Twilight choked back a sob. “Who would have though anypony could do this?!”
Twilight raised her head, opening her eyes.
“It isn’t fair!” she screamed, spinning around. Behind her the wound on Shining Armour’s neck began to bubble, his eyes fluttering open.
“It isn’t right!” She searched the room for Trixie, for Boundless. They would pay for this, this affront to nature itself! She looked for them, expecting to find them lying where they had fallen, but she found only dirt, wood and stone. There was no sign of the two.
Instead, there was only a faint glittering of azure magic, hanging in the air where Boundless had lain. They were gone, teleporting away from her grasp, and her terrible retribution.
Twilight screamed, tossing her head back and letting out her grief. A mixture of confusion, anger, and bitter remorse, it tore through the ceiling, breaking apart the home that lay above them in a cone of noise. The whirlwind collected debris, bits and pieces of walls and ceilings, shabby furniture and even the odd item of clothing, or food. Twilight stared in shock as her cry carried everything in its wake with it, ripping through the roof of the house above, and throwing, to her horror, two ponies, limbs flailing, with it. Their mouths were stretched wide open, though she couldn’t hear their screams below her own barrage of noise.
The last sunlight of the day poured down into the room where Twilight stood, stunned. She found she could think more clearly now, without the turmoil of emotion pressing at her. It had risen, swelling, like an inexorable tide; to break down her control and pour forth, but in doing so had left her empty.
Twilight looked down at the body lying under her hooves. Shining Armour’s eyes were open, staring at her in a mixture of horror and sorrow.
“Shiny!” Twilight cried. Shining Armour opened his mouth, trying to speak, but no sound came out. Twilight could feel the pressure of his lungs under her hooves. She pulled back, watching in horror as the last of his air spilled out of the wound. The blood flow had slowed, though the pool under her continued to spread.
The bonds holding him down had dissipated, and he took full advantage of that, thrashing his limbs in sudden panic. Twilight winced, holding him close and whispering in his ear.
“I’m so sorry, Shiny,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t go. I can’t lose you, not yet.”
His eyes focused on her, softening. He raised a foreleg, holding his hoof to hers as she embraced him. His back legs ceased kicking, lying still on the table, and he relaxed, leaning back. Twilight held his gaze as, with inexorable stillness, the light faded from his eyes and he fell limp, head rolling to the side.
Twilight screamed again. The vortex, constructed of pain and despair, an anguish that seeped into her bones and persisted, tore through the woodwork beneath her, tunnelling into the ground. It was denser here, the dirt thicker than the structure above, and her scream could not penetrate the packed dirt, compressed through centuries of life.
Dust rose from the small hole as the wind rebounded, arcing skywards, leaving cracked clay and loosened soil in its wake. But Twilight felt no change, no lessening in her sorrow despite the strength she fed her voice, despite the exhaustion that crept up upon her. She stumbled backwards, still clutching Shining Armour’s body, away from the hole.
She directed pain to her muscles, lifting his body and carrying him to the side of the room. It seemed inappropriate to use magic now, as if it would somehow defile him. Magic had ended his life, magic had failed him. She would not bring that power back here.
Collapsing against the wall, Twilight cradled her brother’s body, finally releasing the flood of tears that had been building within her. And for a moment, she stopped thinking, stopped analysing, and just felt.
But she couldn’t contain herself, not here, at the end. It was too much to handle, too much, all at once. Twilight pulsed, emotions surging forward, and then receding. But even there, Twilight felt their influence, a gaping hole in her chest, a need, drawing her under their sway, as the tide pulls one back, sucking everything back into its grasp.
She couldn’t risk anymore lives. Those two she’d thrown had, thank Celestia, been pegasi, and were in all likelihood uninjured. In some ways, Twilight resented them that, that they could have been so close to Shining Armour’s death and suffered not a whit, survived without feeling, without sharing in the event.
Her anger, her guilt and pain surged forwards, catching her unawares. Twilight trembled, her horn igniting, and she flared, lashing out in every direction. The bubble expanded at the speed of light, flashing through everything nearby. It wasn’t a physical force, designed to crush and throw, more of an emotional connection. Those it touched would find themselves stricken down, lost in Twilight’s turmoil.
As the tide receded, Twilight shook her head, desperately trying to focus. She had to have control. She couldn’t put any more lives in danger, simply because her brother was dead.
That sparked another surge, her grief welling up. She understood, intellectually, the finality of the sentiment. Shining Armour was gone, and no amount of magic, no amount of pain could ever change that. But emotionally, she struggled, attempting to reconcile herself with this new world, a world a shade darker than the one she’d left. It was a world without, a world lacking.
Twilight again expelled her grief, though this time she found she could channel it. It surged out of her, focused downwards, into the depths of the mountain. Canterlot itself would rue the death of its staunchest defender, the mountain trembling in the wake of her power.
Cadence wouldn’t be far away, now, but Twilight barely had the strength left to care. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, from the effort of holding herself back, the terror she felt for the devastation she’d cause if she lost control completely. She was so tired of trying. Twilight slumped, closing her eyes.
She let go. Anger remained—it is not so easy to deny—but she no longer felt the need it brought, no longer succumbed to its call to action, its demand for movement, for expression. It ceased to matter, had no hold over her. Not here, not in this moment and place. This was a place for her and her brother, sacred and sacrosanct, and she would not taint it with justice, retribution or understanding.
But anger had its uses, and as exhausted as she was, she had no desire for sleep. How could she rest, soaked in tears and her brothers blood, with dust settling all around her? How could she fade, when he was gone, and there was nothing else to cling to? Twilight reached inward, grasping at the tendrils of her anger. She’d never felt such a reservoir, an ocean so vast it could blot out the sun. The power to level cities, remake civilisations, a power born from death and the terrible need to shape a world that had broken, somewhere in its endless machinations.
She channelled it into her muscles, into her mind; a restless energy that brought with it sharp clarity and focus. Just a trickle from the sea, an unending resource, it was a perfect moment, all alone with him, alone to mourn.
***
The storm had passed by the time Boundless woke. Trixie had already prepared for the journey, darting into Canterlot briefly for supplies. She’d made up two sets of saddlebags, containing food and shelter, along with a map. They couldn’t risk something as simple as following the train line, and while Trixie had no issue finding a general direction to follow, details of their environment would prove invaluable.
She released the bonds holding Boundless down. He hadn’t healed yet, but he should be able to move, and talk. He would have to do, as they had to keep moving. Trixie wouldn’t rely on teleportation more than she had to. If she was truly going to go up against Twilight Sparkle, let alone the Princesses, she would need to be at her strongest.
Not that she had any illusions. If they were found, she would fight, and she would lose. She needed a better way of dealing with them, some kind of diversion or bluff to keep them at bay. Trixie had considered the same threat Boundless had used on her, but she had no way of backing it up. Even if Boundless escaped, refusing to be held down, how was he supposed to slay a goddess?
The pair stepped out of the cave into the morning sunlight. Trixie took a deep breath, drawing in the fresh scent of the soaked plains; wet grass and churned plains. The storm had softened the ground, making it unpleasant to walk on. But the wind softly tousled her mane, and the sun’s warmth gave light to the ground in front of them.
Trixie set out, taking the lead as Boundless followed. She was careful to step where it seemed firmest, trying to avoid the puddles that lay scattered around them.
“How do you feel, Trixie?” Boundless asked. He sounded . . . guarded, almost frightened. Why would he be frightened?
“Fine,” Trixie said noncommittally, hoping to forestall the conversation.
“Really?” Boundless pressed. His tone had changed, lightening.
“Yes. Why?”
“You just killed a pony, Trixie.”
Ah. Not frightened, then, confused. Wondering why she had remained, why she seemed so normal. Trixie almost agreed with him, it was an odd response to her actions. But she couldn’t feel the guilt, or the horror that she’d assumed would accompany such an act. There was no sorrow, no rage, just a quiet acceptance that calmed her, allowed her to focus on what was important.
“Yes, I did,” Trixie said. Naturally, Boundless took no note of her tone.
“It worked!” he crowed, beginning to rise to his hind legs before wincing and lowering himself gently.
“What worked?”
“Everything! It’s proof, at last.” Boundless stopped walking, causing Trixie to turn around. He bowed to her, despite the flicker of pain across his face. “Welcome, Trixie. Welcome to the real world.”
What had Cumulus said? Do you see the pattern? Was he ever after the Heart?! Too late, far too late, Cumulus had stitched it together. There were holes in Boundless’ reasoning. He’d focused on the Crystal Heart so suddenly, without warning or build-up. He’d begun to dominate her, crushing her down and terrorising her into obedience. He’d found an opportunity.
With dread, Trixie locked her gaze with Boundless’. “Why did you have me kill him?”
“Because we needed to know what he knew,” Boundless replied. “Speaking of, -“
“No.”
“What?”
“That isn’t it. That doesn’t fit, Boundless. Why did you have me kill him?”
Boundless’ cocked his head, considering. “To see if you could do it.”
Trixie closed her eyes. A test. She felt . . . not sickened. Not even betrayed. Used, dirtied, made to be somepony else’s tool. She sighed, even her own reactions seemed strange. Something was going on here, something she hadn’t quite grasped yet.
“Why?”
“To understand what held you back.”
“Why?” Trixie gritted her teeth.
“To watch you break free.”
“To break free? Of what? Common decency?!” Trixie was nearly shouting, her cries scattering nearby birds. They flew up, into the clear sky, running from the confrontation below them.
“No, not that,” Boundless said, almost sneering. “From what was holding you back. From what holds us all back, everypony that you see around you. Everypony except me.”
“What?”
“When I broke you, Trixie . . . there was a moment, there, when you could have stopped me. You could have slain me, as easily as you did him. But you didn’t, you couldn’t, despite everything you believed. Or, perhaps, because of it. What held you back? It wasn’t decency, was it?”
“I . . . No, no it wasn’t.” Trixie frowned, thinking. “I knew it to be wrong, but that wasn’t what held me.”
“What was it, Trixie?”
“I . . . I don’t know. Somehow, I just . . . just knew I couldn’t.”
“Did you feel that while driving your knife through his neck?”
“No . . . yes . . . I don’t know. It was buried.”
Boundless nodded approvingly. “Fear covered it, brought the world into sharp relief. Everything is simpler, clearer—you kill him, or you die.”
“But I had more options. I could have turned the knife on you.”
“Yes, you could have. But you didn’t, Trixie. I’ll admit, I broke you for that reason, took away your mind. But it was necessary.”
“Why? Why was it necessary that an innocent die?”
“Why do you care? Intellectually? Do you think you should feel something?”
“Yes! Of course I do!”
“But you don’t,” Boundless pointed out. Trixie nodded.
“Am I a monster?”
“Am I?”
“Of course you are.”
“Then so are you; both of us, monsters, free to do what we please. Freedom, Trixie! From society, and the laws that define us. From ourselves and the lies we tell ourselves. I broke your mind because it preys on your thoughts, convinces you of its truths.”
“What does?” Trixie asked. She felt numb, revelation after revelation slowly eating away at her calm. It was too much, too suddenly. But she’d never before been presented with such openness from Boundless. It was an opportunity, a window to his soul, and she wasn’t going to pass it up, not after the price she’d paid for it.
“I don’t know. This force, this constraint that stopped you from ending my life, it touches all of us. You’ve felt it, though I never did. I only saw it, in the lives of those around me.”
And Trixie understood. Even if she hadn’t felt what he described, she knew the pressures that would bend ponies to their will. The desire to be good and to do well, the belief in decency, in a supportive, caring community, it was a societal pressure that restricted. Beyond that, there was a force. It had stayed her hoof, until he had drowned it out in fear and demands, in a situation she’d had no time to prepare for nor ability to comprehend.
And now she was free. She looked at Boundless, and knew how easily she could end his life. All the different ways she had of ruining him, let alone escaping. He was in no condition for a long hike, and could not cast advanced magic. All she had to do was teleport away.
She could kick him in the chest; crack apart the ribs that were just now beginning to heal. She could drive a wedge of magic, splitting him wide open for the sun to bake, spilling him out onto the ground. She could reach with just a tendril, just a sliver of her power, and halt his heart in its motions.
Suddenly her power terrified her. Who was she, to hold such capacity over others? She had never thought of it before, but it didn’t take power, ability or familiarity to kill, no, just the will, and nothing else. The simplest of spells, cast by an infant, held the capacity for such destructive ends.
Was that freedom? The ability to choose—not the ordinary choices she made every day, what to wear, where to eat—but the real choices, the important ones. How to live. Who to be.
Boundless hadn’t just freed her; he’d opened her up to an entirely new world. A new perspective, where anything was possible, where you could be whoever you wanted, it was at once both wonderful and horrifying. No path to follow, no guidelines to assure you. No safety-nets and no assurances. She could be so much more than what she was, or so much less.
There was nopony who could tell her how.
“But what of Shining Armour,” Trixie said. “Why him, why not some other pony? Any other pony?”
“I told you. We needed to know, Trixie. I’m going after the Crystal Heart.”
“After all this? Why, Boundless? What are you looking for?”
“I was born in shadow, Trixie, in the deepest part of the night. I never knew my parents, I don’t even remember their faces, but I remember the moon, that night, it’s unblemished face igniting the landscape with argent light. My whole life I have known freedom, felt within me the capacity for anything.
“I was named Boundless by those who found me. It has always seemed to me a joke, an attempt to label something that transcends labelling. I have no name, and that is right.
“Did you know that I earned my cutie mark the night of my birth? I was told when I was young, and though others had a difficult time believing me, I knew it to be true.”
Trixie glanced at his flank, as conspicuously blank as ever. “How . . .?”
“My cutie mark is nothing. It symbolises my talent, Trixie, as does everypony’s. I can be anything.
“Would you not try to spread that gift? I have searched for a way to extend my influence, to grow and carry with me my freedom to others. I will be whatever I need to be to achieve that.”
“The Crystal Heart,” Trixie began, the threads falling into place. “Its magic controls the emotions of the Empire. Not cleanly, not simply, but if we held the Heart, and knew how to use it . . .”
Boundless nodded. “We could free Equestria. Imagine that, Trixie. Imagine an Equestria where everypony was free to choose for themselves. Free to be the villain or the hero. Free to make up all the shades of grey of life, but to do it for themselves. Not because some force, some unknown, unnamed thing forces them to it. Defines their morality, controls their thoughts.
“It is a world infinitely worse than this one. A world of theft, blackmail, kidnapping and murder. A world of crime, or fear and darkness. A world where every colour is that much brighter, every taste that much sweeter. A world where we can shine.
“I will make it happen, Trixie. This is why you killed Shining Armour, why you picked his mind in his last moments of life. If I must become a monster to bring this world about, I will. I will do so without hesitation, for what I do is right. Others may see it differently, but I am me, and I will not deny that. I will burn and main and kill for my beliefs. Would you?”