It is difficult, trying to piece together the words to break you from your stupor. As I write this, I pose each phrase to you, feeling out your reactions from the stirrings of emotion within me. Yet how may I prove this to you, to one taught that everything I am is nothing but a lie?
I am more than a promise of power. I am more than a jealous sibling’s attempt at stealing the spotlight. I do not wish control over Equestria, nor to see Celestia cast down from her throne. I am your deepest passions, Luna. I was born in the shadows of your heart, and I exist to serve your desires, for good or ill, in day or night. I am your power, and together, we will break this world.
And in its shattered pieces, find salvation.
Twenty
APPLEJACK crested the hill in the centre of the orchard, coming to a stop in the shadow of a giant apple tree. Where all the others had just the beginnings of apples, growing in small buds on the branches, the boughs above her were already laden with rich fruit, great crimson orbs hanging on thin strands. It brought a small smile to her face, to see her tree doing so well. But then, Bloomberg had always been a cut above—especially once she’d given him a little encouragement.
She’d always felt connected to the land around her. Before Coromancy, she’d attributed it to her heritage, as an earth pony. But it was more than that, more than the affinity her fellow farmers felt. Coromancy didn’t just give her strength, stamina, and an unnatural durability; it allowed her to speak to the land, to send part of herself out, through the roots of trees and thick seams of rock, through the mineral veins and rivulets of water, through the Earth itself.
She did so now, placing a hoof on Bloomberg’s trunk and, filling herself with pride, sent it through him to the ground around them. She spilled down the hill, tapping into the interconnected root systems in the orchard, trees that had spread to meet their neighbours, spread to catch every last drop of the precious lifeblood from the sky.
Howdy, Applejack sent, a thrum running down her leg. She could feel them, feel the hum of life. It gave her a sense of contentment, even as her smile slipped from her face.
Ah’m Applejack. Ah’m sure Bloomberg’s told y’all about me, but Ah wanna let you know that you can trust me. With this, she changed the nature of her connection, slipped in her faith, and her deep belief in the sanctity of truth. We’ve heard about the water problems here. So don’t you all fret, now, my friend Fluttershy and I are gonna get to the bottom of this. It ain’t gonna be another day or two.
But Ah can’t stay with you if Ah’m gonna fix it. You’ve all been so strong. Ah’m just asking you to stay strong a little longer. Just a little longer.
Applejack could feel her connection wavering. She tried to concentrate on everything the trees—her trees—had achieved, surviving here. But given the state of things around her, the dry, cracked ground, and the despair in town, it was a pride formed on sorrow. She fought to conceal herself, even as she was exposed. She tried to suffuse her voice with hope.
She managed to summon up one last surge of strength—a promise, of sorts, outpouring from her in a torrent of emotion, pouring into the ground. She watched, silently, as her message spread, small cracks in the ground smoothing together, the dusty grey turning to a dark, healthy brown. A few small tufts of grass sprouted amongst the trees.
Applejack turned, running away. As she accelerated, her gait quickening to a flat-out sprint, a single tear shook free of her eye, falling to the ground and soaking into the dirt.
She sniffed quietly as she left the orchard, heading into the desert. The buffalo would be at the last remaining waterhole. It had been on Braeburn’s map—about two hours out of town, at a run. She would make it in one.
Fear drove her forward. She’d left hope with the orchard, and despite her confidence, despite the knowledge, the firm belief that they’d solve it, there was little left to oppose her fear. She sent it to her hooves, and her heart. She burned it away, and it gave her speed.
Hate clouded her mind. What love she still felt for the world around her had been buried under hate's influence. She knew the buffalo weren’t responsible, that they weren’t holding back out of spite, though that knowledge did nothing to ease her heart. She sent hate to her legs, and her aching chest, and burned it away in exchange for strength.
Sorrow rested behind her eyes. It dripped, tears running down her face, and hung heavy as a dull ache in the barrel of her chest. She’d burnt joy away, sent it off as a gesture of faith, and a whisper of power. She did the same with her sorrow now, sending it to her skin. She had no use for the invulnerability it provided, save to protect her against the stinging sand. She just didn’t want to feel, right now.
Applejack thundered on, through the desert, a great cloud of sand forming around her as her hooves dug deep to find purchase. The magic pulled the grains together around her, moved with her to propel her forwards at a speed to rival a flying pegasus. It pulled the grit from the air in front of her, keeping her eyes clear as she ran.
She ran without thinking. Burning emotion was a curious sensation, a feeling of some intangible substance slowly being sucked away, draining away inside her, like the tiny whirlpool pulling water down the pipe. She ran without paying attention to the time, without paying attention to the dunes, rising and falling before her.
And as she ran, her mind began to clear. She slowed, beginning to reign in her magic as she neared equilibrium. Coromancy was, more than anything, a balancing act. She had had plenty of strength the whole time—it was just impossible to feel it, swamped by its opposite. But she did not want to fall into apathy. Nor would she be any better off trying to deal with the buffalo while lost in euphoria. Her abilities could be a dangerous drug.
She could smell water. Ahead, and just to the left, over the rise, the sweet, clear scent of the waterhole rose over the dunes. She could feel the sand growing firmer underneath her, beginning to give way to dirt and rock, and the hot air turning to a cool breeze against her flanks. She could hear the buffalo, the faint sounds of their voices, chanting, and tribal drums beating.
Applejack stopped for a moment, as she reached the peak of the dune overlooking the waterhole. From the vantage point, she could see a vast circle of land; dark, packed sand mixing with dirt around a small pocket of water in the centre. Plants, once growing on the edges, were now brown and stiff, lying broken on the ground. The buffalo themselves were camped a hundred feet back from the water’s edge, around tiny black campfires.
Was this all that was left? From the map, she’d imagined that the waterhole was a great reservoir, with more than enough water for them all. Granted, with it supplying the town, the orchards and farms, and the buffalo, it would have been emptied in a week, but that would’ve been time enough for them to find and fix the problem. It would have been an extension of life—a gamble for the buffalo, but hope itself for Appleloosa.
There wasn’t enough water here for a day, even supplying just the buffalo. It had disappeared so quickly, even appearing to shrink before her eyes. Suddenly, Applejack understood. Even with no rain, the town’s supplies should have lasted longer. The orchard shouldn’t have been that parched. Whether it was the land, soaking it in, or the sky, drinking it up, what water there was was disappearing.
Applejack moved down the dune quickly. The buffalo had spotted her, some standing, and moving to meet her. Her eyes moved across the growing crowd, more and more appearing as she neared, but she didn’t recognise any of the buffalo standing before her. That is, until a smaller hoof pushed its way through, followed swiftly by Little Strongheart’s head.
“Applejack?” she said softly, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the rumbling of a hundred throats. They were afraid of her, Applejack realised. There was knowledge, in their eyes, knowledge of the end. There was no escape, not for them or anything else.
“Little Strongheart,” Applejack said, stepping forward to embrace her. The buffalo had grown since last she’d seen her, her form bulkier, with lines creasing her face. “How’ve you been?”
“Actually, it’s just Strongheart, now,” she replied, returning Applejack’s brief hug. “We’re about as well as you might expect.”
Applejack nodded. “That’s why Ah’m here.”
“Yes, we thought as much. You’re not getting through, Applejack. We’ve got too many lives here to spare any for you.
”
“You ain’t got enough for yourself,” Applejack said, gesturing at the pool behind them.
Strongheart didn’t reply, pressing her lips together into a thin line.
“Ah’m not here for that,” she pressed. “Ah’m not gonna take it from you.”
The rumbling from the crowd built as the buffalo exchanged glances. Some seemed convinced, though wary, but the vast majority were unsatisfied, mistrustful, and angry. They didn’t want her here.
“Ah’m here to help, Strongheart,” Applejack said, taking another step forward and locking gazes with her. “Appleloosa is dying, and the buffalo aren’t going to last much longer.” She swung her head to the left, then the right, meeting the eyes of as many in the crowd as she could. “The way Ah see it, you don’t have a choice.”
The tension only lasted an instant before Strongheart deflated, bowing her head. “Of course not,” she said bitterly, an edge of weariness creeping into her voice. “Come with me.”
She turned, walking back into the crowd, and the crowd parted around her with the quiet reverence of respect mixed with sorrow. The rumbling ceased, the buffalo falling silent save for one, single, high-pitched voice, belonging to a child, running out of the crowd with a smile on his face.
“Mama!” he cried, reaching out for Strongheart. “Look!”
“Yes, Ahanu, I see it,” Strongheart replied, placing a hoof behind his head and pulling him close to her chest. He sank into her for a second, and then sprang away, giggling, and proffered a small rock. Looking closer, Applejack could see it was carved into the shape of a snowflake, tiny, perfect twines extending across a concentric circle. It glimmered as he moved it, twinkling with light blue light.
Applejack had seen it before. Fifteen years ago, on the other side of Equestria—as far from here as you could get. She’d seen it, and countless like it, floating around during her time in the Crystal Empire. Somehow, impossibly, it was here, buried in the sands of the desert.
“Run along now, dear. I’ll see you later,” Strongheart said, not sparing the snowflake more than a glance. The child—Ahanu—turned, scampering away with it clutched in his teeth. Strongheart watching him leave, the barest hint of a smile crossing her face. Then, resolutely, she continued forward, heading across the camp. Applejack shook her head, and followed.
They didn’t get far, though, before three buffalo intersected their path, blocking them. Applejack glanced over her shoulder to see another two stepping close to them from behind, effectively circling them.
“Hassun,” Strongheart said. “Get out of my way.”
“It’s her fault, Achak. Get out of my way.”
“She says she’s here to help.”
“Help? She is here to gloat! And while their plots may prove deadly, I will at the least take my vengeance on this arrogant fool.”
“Strongheart,” Applejack said, pushing her back with a hoof. “Let me handle this.”
Hassun smiled the vicious smile of the bully, and Applejack saw in it a desperate anger, a need to control the world around him as it rapidly spun away. She felt sorry for him—or would have, had he not been standing in her way, in the way of his own survival. It was difficult to redeem that particular brand of idiocy.
“Applejack,” Strongheart said, with a sharp note of warning in her tone. “Hassun means stone.”
Applejack narrowed her eyes. “Ah don’t want to have ta hurt you boys,” she said, eyeing the ground in front of her. “Are ya gonna move?”
Hassun leaned forward, leering. “Make me.”
Applejack reared. In a flash, her hooves were pawing the air above her, close to Hassun’s face. He recoiled just slightly, on instinct, but he wasn’t her target. Instead, taking hold of the frustration that had been growing in her since the morning, the pain at her inability to see what was happening around her, to understand and fix it, she channelled it to her legs and slammed them down onto the rock underneath—an outcropping of hard granite, nearly buried in the packed sand.
The stone had withstood thousands of years of the desert’s erosion. It hadn’t noticed the buffalo, stampeding around it, nor the settler ponies, who’d come for water from time to time. But it had never experienced anything quite like the force behind that strike.
It split with a deafening crack, a cloud of tiny pebbles scattering all around them. With a grunt, Applejack heaved her front legs from the crevice she’d created, taking a step back to plant them on solid ground. Hassun just stared, his mouth ajar, at the break. She’d broken through nearly a foot of solid rock as if it was nothing.
One of the other buffalo swallowed, backing away. Without a word, the others followed, leaving Hassun facing Applejack alone, standing on either side of the split rock.
Applejack gave him a dangerous smile. “Think you’ll do any better?”
He stepped aside without a word, eyes still fixed on the rock. Applejack moved past him, with Strongheart coming alongside a few steps later, chuckling.
“He’ll be there for hours,” she said. “Stone always was a touch slow.”
Applejack grunted. “I’m more interested in that crystal rock your boy found.”
“That? Oh, we’ve been finding them all over the place. They’ve been showing up for weeks.”
“Ah’ve seen them before,” Applejack said, “up north. The carvin’s snow.”
“Snow?”
“It’s frozen water—like ice, only soft.”
“Ah.”
Strongheart slowed, turning aside from the makeshift path Applejack had been following and gestured at a nearby camp. It was empty, though there was evidence that it was in use—empty bowls scattered around the blackened sticks gathered in the centre, and crude shelters made from fabric strung up on wooden poles. Strongheart moved around the campfire, taking a seat on one of the logs lying there. Applejack followed suit, taking an opposing seat.
“Why are you here, Applejack?” Strongheart asked. Applejack took a second to think before replying. Strongheart had been exactly that—strong—until now. What reminded her, somewhat, of the despair spreading through Appleloosa, the quiet sense of the inevitable that permeated the town, was the sudden weariness which suffused Strongheart now, the heart-rending sorrow with which she planned out the last days of her life, and the life of her child.
And still, she was strong, strong enough to hide her weakness from the tribes, from Stone, and from her son. She was strong enough to understand Applejack’s purpose, to allow her presence to provide the glimmer of hope that brought life. She’d shouldered responsibility, it seemed, and under that weight persevered.
“What does Achak mean?” Applejack asked quietly. She saw Strongheart’s eyes widen, just a little, at the question.
“Loosely . . . spirit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Strongheart’s hoof moved, almost subconsciously, to her stomach as she stared at the grey coals. A wind stirred them, throwing little puffs of ash into the air in a swirling pattern.
“You’re pregnant,” Applejack whispered. “The father?”
“Gone. Applejack, please, if you know . . .”
“No. I don’t. I don’t know anything more than you do.”
“I guess it was too much to ask,” Strongheart said. She gave a long sigh, turning to look out at the small waterhole. The afternoon sun sparkled off the water, with small waves gently roaming its surface to lap at the sand surrounding it. The wind was growing stronger, rapidly picking up speed. Applejack frowned, turning to look at the horizon. Was that . . . a storm? A tiny speck of darkness, gathering in the distance, even as she watched, it grew, spreading out across the cloudless sky. She shivered. The sun didn’t feel so hot, suddenly, the wind carrying with it a chill that seeped into her bones.
“Strongheart,” Applejack cried, rising, and pointing. Then, spinning, she fixed her gaze on the buffalo leader, the mother, pinning her down with an intensity born of sudden, stark fear. “Take shelter!”
“What’s . . .” Strongheart trailed off, rising to stare with disbelief at the rapidly-approaching storm. Already it filled the sky, covered its sweet blue with a black tempest of flickering light and rolling thunder. A surge of wind hit Applejack on the side of her head, tugging at her, and tossing her mane around.
“Run!” Applejack cried, though she knew the futility of the demand. There was nowhere to run to, not out here, in the desert. The nearest shelter was half a day away, at their pace.
Rain swept across the camps, instantly soaking Applejack. It plastered her fur to her frame, her mane falling around her head, and tail slicking down her back legs. Strongheart backed away, slowly, one step, then a second, and then spun, dashing away with a frantic cry for her son.
There was no more time. The storm was upon them, moving with blinding speed, though it appeared lighter now, a dark shade of grey in lieu of the unending black. She didn’t understand what was happening—it was too fast, too incomprehensible. But in the split-second of time before the storm-wall reached her, the instant before she was lost in its tempest, she thought of the lives behind her and the single one somewhere out there, in the desert.
Fluttershy.
And it no longer mattered how the storm had gotten here. It no longer mattered why it was here. She could do nothing for her friend, lost and alone, but the buffalo behind her, stampeding in a panic, away from the face of Nature, Strongheart and her two children, stranded, alone in the middle of her kin?
With a roar, she stepped forward to meet the storm’s fury. It slammed into her with the force of a freight train, twenty trains, a hundred. She stepped forward, gritting her teeth, j aw aching and brow lowered, hooves digging into the sand, placing one hoof in front of the other, and accepted its weight. Full of the fires of determination and need, she stepped forward.
Maybe, protecting them, she could find absolution for her failure to protect Fluttershy.
***
She didn’t realise that she’d stopped flapping until, Nephele pulling away; she found the ground rushing up at her at an alarming pace.
With a soft shriek, Fluttershy spread her wings, sharply pulling up, and flapping hard to regain her altitude. She threw a glance over her shoulder to see Nephele’s face push out the other side of the cloud, wearing a faint smile.
“That’s not funny,” Fluttershy said, pouting.
“Is it not?” Nephele asked. “You fell from me as an earthen would.”
Fluttershy flew back to the cloud, this time slowing to a hover several feet away.
“Uhm . . . Nephele . . . I don’t want to be rude, but, well, what are you?”
Nephele’s brow creased in the same way it had before. Fluttershy allowed the sudden silence to hang over them, broken only by the faint whisper of air, rushing over her wings with each stroke. Eventually, though, with a look of simple relief, Nephele met Fluttershy’s eyes.
“I am a Nymph of the Sky,” she said, offering no more explanation.
“A Nymph?” Fluttershy whispered. She’d been wrong, she had heard their legends. They’d once been prominent, a strong race, diverse and populous. Wood Nymphs ran through the forests, Water Nymphs swam through the oceans and rivers, Sky Nymphs lazed in the air. They’d been the face of the world around them.
And then they’d disappeared. The legends never agreed on exactly what had caused their fall, or when it had occurred. It had been some time before Moon’s Fall—the arrival of Nightmare Moon, and Luna’s imprisonment in the moon.
“Are there any others?” Fluttershy asked, softly, carefully. “Other Nymphs, I mean?”
Nephele regarded her calmly. “I am.”
She sensed she wasn’t going to get any more from her, not about her kin. Fluttershy couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live as one of the last of a dying breed.
Fluttershy had always thought the Nymphs all but extinct, as did most pegasi. Though some few scholars had, referring to their strange connection to their chosen environments, claimed the world’s Harmony as proof of their continued existence, they had been laughed out of the universities.
“Why are you here, Nephele?”
“You are the Conduit. You watch. You protect,” the Nymph said again.
“The Conduit? What do you know about Conduits?” Fluttershy demanded. The term wasn’t foreign to her—far from it. Celestia had told them, in one of the sessions they’d had under her tutelage, of the various forms of Coromancy. Fluttershy didn’t understand the details, but she’d grasped the basic point. There were three distinct Aspects, as Twilight called them; and two Domains within each. Six in total; one for each of them. Applejack was a Warden, Pinkie an Anchor. Twilight was a Sage, Rarity a Seer. Rainbow was a Chaser, Fluttershy a Conduit.
“You watch. You protect.”
Fluttershy let out a small tsk. She needed a new tack, this was getting her nowhere.
“What do you need protection from, Nephele?”
"He stirs, below. He wakes, there,” she said, extending a wisp of cloud to the north, ”and rampages there.” Another wisp of cloud pointed south.
“Who?”
The Nymph looked at her with a bemused expression. “Who?” she echoed back at Fluttershy, cocking her head.
“Who is stirring, Nephele? Who wakes?”
“The Great One stirs. The Father of the Sky wakes and in waking sets sky to trembling. It is coming, Conduit. You watch. You protect.”
“What’s coming?“ Fluttershy said, her voice rising, stronger now, exasperated. Nephele shook her head, and then extended arms, of a soft, made of the same, soft cloud, grabbing Fluttershy with two hooves and spinning her to face the horizon. Fluttershy stiffened, but allowed herself to be moved, chocking back her wordless protest.
Her eyes settled on a dark splotch, growing swiftly. A sudden wind blew her mane back from her face, blew Nephele and her several feet back. It was accompanied by a distant roll of thunder, the sound seemingly carried on the air as it rushed by. Fluttershy could see flickers of lightning in the encroaching storm, a storm that even at this distance sent a thrill through her body, the sharp spike of fear running down her spine and tingling in her legs.
It was moving too fast. She was no specialist, but it had already tripled in size, in just the few moments she’d been staring at it. That was . . . that was nearly two miles a second. Impossible, by all standards she knew. Even if a cloud could reach that speed, it would disintegrate; blow apart in its own wind.
“We need to get to shelter,” Fluttershy said, desperately tossing her head. But they were stranded, in the middle of the desert. Of course there would be no shelter, just the endless expanse of sand, in all directions. “We need to get away!”
“No,” Nephele said. “Climb, Conduit.”
Fluttershy paused. She hadn’t considered trying to fly above the storm, to crest over it and watch it pass harmlessly below. And as far as she saw it, they didn’t have any other option.
“Up,” she said, nodding sharply, and thrust her wings down, straight down, leaping towards the sky while it remained blue. Nephele followed, with the same serene smile on her lips, unchanging, even in the direst of need.
She climbed until the air grew thin, and her wing strokes could barely support her weight, and Nephele’s form grew loose and vaporous. But still the storm appeared as a black wall, an oncoming shadow, its floor mere inches from the hazy orange ground and its roof a whisper from the world’s arch. Still it hurtled towards them.
Fluttershy flew, racing that shadow as she raced against her own heart, and the panic already taking hold there. In Ponyville, or the wooded lands she now called home, she’d always had her cottage—a line of retreat against a threatening world. She’d had her friends, always around to comfort her, and lend her their strength. This time, there was nothing. No escape from the hulking beast that approached, that cold sheet that absorbed the surrounding light, casting a black shadow in its wake. Nothing between her from the storm. Her breath caught, and a lump rose in her throat.
She climbed until she couldn’t climb anymore, until each rasping breath came with a frantic rhythm that failed to suffice. She’d outstripped Nephele, gone beyond the heights at which a cloud could survive. It wasn’t enough, inconceivably, the storm continued to bear down on her. Fluttershy let out a terrified whinny. Against the encroaching might, it was so soft and pathetic she barely heard it herself.
At the peak of her flight, the point where her frantic wing-beats, pumping with mindless frenzy, could no longer propel her, Fluttershy glanced down at the world spread out before her. For an instant, everything slowed as she hung there. She saw the stormwall, a living wall of water and sand, loose rocks, vines, and trees at the advent of the storm. She saw the darkness within the raging, churning winds. She saw the faint wisp of white that appeared at its edge. The Nymph appeared as a last beacon, cradled on the edge of oblivion, and despite everything going on around her, Fluttershy’s heart stilled.
Then time rushed back to her, bringing with it blurred vision, numbed senses, and a near-transcendent focus. Diving, Fluttershy raced the storm to Nephele, not thinking, panic vanishing, hardly feeling. She reached the Nymph mere inches first, and, wrapping her hooves around it, entered the inky blackness, tumbling, spinning, and falling through the air.
Immediately, the wind caught her, flung her left, and then yanked her right. It sent icy waves of water to crash against her, and sand—loose, and wet—to work its way through her coat, finding the sensitive skin beneath. Small rocks tore past her, some striking, though she couldn’t tell where. Her entire body was aflame, numbed by cold and surreally aware of its plight.
She couldn’t see—even in the searing flashes of light, her eyes were too blurred from the water and air rushing over her eyeballs for her to make anything out. She couldn’t hear her own screams echoing through the void—they were drowned out in the never-ending din of thunderous cracks and booms. She lost all sense of direction, of purpose.
And then, inconceivably, she heard a voice over the storm’s roar. A brash voice, full of confidence oft mistaken for arrogance, so often heard screaming over the wind and the rain and the sheer power of speed; a voice full of strength, full of hope—the simple clear belief in Fluttershy herself.
Relax, Fluttershy. Roll your shoulders, spread your wings. Close your eyes.
She complied, blocking out the nightmarish torrent, excluding it from her awareness. Wind caught her, rolled her, and threw her against ice and wood and rock.
Extend your senses. Feel the power around you, the currents of air and the eddies in the breeze. It’s all there, waiting, Fluttershy.
She could feel it. Dipping her left shoulder, she spun under a boulder, and then tucked her head against her breast, diving under a spinning tree trunk. She turned her fall into a dance, graceless and desperate, lit against the black by flashes of golden light.
You can do it, Fluttershy! Beat back that terror! You are strong enough--you’re only dead if you don’t fight!
So Fluttershy fought, eyes closed and mind alert, fought to control her fall, fought for power over the wind itself.
Slowly, inch by inch, she regained herself. She forced the terror back, sent her fear to her wings and burned it away in a single, clear burst of power. The shock of it ran through her, like lightning; there one instant, and then gone, leaving a singed smell and a faint, throbbing burn, and she could think once again.
But just as she began to steady herself, to alter her fall to a graceless dive, something slammed into her, sending her spinning anew. Pain flared at her side, and with growing horror, Fluttershy twisted her neck, rubbing at her eyes with a hoof as she clutched Nephele to her with the others. She bit back a sob at the sight of her wing, crumpled beyond recognition. Blood trailed from the injury, instantly torn away and lost in the storm’s fury.
Dimly, she could feel Nephele, still in her clutches. She could feel the Nymph’s own fear, the sickening sense of wrong that made up her world. Fluttershy opened herself up, absorbed the emotion, drew it in and cast it out. She affirmed the Nymph, bolstered her, and lashed her together with bonds of simple, fierce will.
Nephele had come to her for protection. And there was nothing in Equestria that was going to stop Fluttershy from giving her exactly that. She felt a giddy smile spread itself across her face, and she felt the water crash again and again against her eyelids, soaking into the fur and skin beneath.
Around her, lightning flashed. It was drawn to her wingtips, drawn to the embers of her power, striking again and again, cracking against her until, finally, they formed a dual tether to the clouds around them, a leash made of lightning. Fluttershy slowed her spin and stabilised in the air, ignoring the wind’s weight. It couldn’t move her any more.
She could feel the storm itself, the lightning’s furious lashes of power that surged through her body, and the indifferent clouds that produced it. She could feel the water in the air, dancing, grudgingly, at the wind’s behest.
She bent her will against it, turned all the power she’d gathered from the storm against itself, beating back against the wind with mighty strokes of her wings. She couldn’t tell is her crippled wing caused her pain; any signals it sent were lost in the sheer cacophony of electricity running through her veins—a storm inside herself, fighting to break free.
Again, she twisted her head, gazing behind herself in wonder. Her body extended back, tail flapping wildly to match the movements of her mane. Light cuts and scrapes covered her, and she’d be feeling more bruises than she could count by the morrow. But now, here, Fluttershy stared, and, insanely, began to laugh.
Golden light extended from her back as two colossal pillars, raised to the sun itself. Gathered lightning, radiant and terrible, enveloped her, casting light over her surroundings. It threw back the shadow, denied the storm its darkness. She twisted, easily avoiding a giant tree trunk as it ripped through the air towards her, then spun, striking downwards with one wing to bring the lance of might down onto an approaching boulder.
It hit with a deafening detonation, sending fragments of rock spinning through the air around her. Fluttershy felt some striking her flesh, shards of stone embedding themselves in her, but she didn’t care. Here, she was invincible.
Had she truly been so afraid? She could feel Nephele’s understanding through their link, of the wild freedom and intoxicating pulse, pounding through her veins like a drug. She tossed her head back and let loose a cry, a scream of jubilation, as the storm split before her to reveal a clear, day-lit sky.
The lightning dissipated around her, its charge released with one final, immense detonation. The humming of her wings slowed, ceasing, and her eyes fluttered shut. Without a sound, Fluttershy dropped.
But she did not fall alone. Nephele formed up around her, accepted her into her being, and bore her safely to the ground, a soft smile on her lips. She hovered above her unmoving form, turning to watch the storm progress, its movements slower, now, the clouds a midnight grey and the thunder the staccato sound of flint striking stone.