Your sister believes the threat gone, bound away in a prison not even she could break. I do not know how she managed to halt him, after all you could do was slow his advance. Odd, how in the end, the weaker proved strongest.
Grace works in strange ways. And while everything around you is wrong, take comfort in this; you have found me before. I cannot be slain, cannot be contained. I exist within you even now, though I may not live to see the moon rise over the trees as a beacon of hope, and not dismay.
Twenty-One
DAEREV slid the door of the carriage open, exposing the insides of the cargo compartment he’d been riding in. It was, he decided, perhaps the worst part about growing up. Being forced to ride in the dark with nothing but crates of potatoes and carrots for company made him feel like a spectacle—or an outsider. But he was too big to fit anywhere else, and he needed the train to get up to Canterlot.
Agyrt said his wings would come, in time—and truth be told, he could feel them already, as masses of muscle and bone building just below each shoulder. It was like toothing, apparently, both painful and natural. They would burst free from his back, and he’d be free to move around the world, but until then, he was earthbound.
Canterlot was busy. He’d given the city a day to settle after the incident before he made his way up the mountain to see Twilight. He’d experienced panicked crowds before, and adding an adolescent dragon to the mix wouldn’t have been a good idea. He could have sparked a riot with his presence alone.
Of course, that was assuming there hadn’t been a riot anyway. Canterlot itself was . . . well, dishevelled was the closest term he could think of, though it didn’t seem appropriate. Daerev moved across the station, pushing aside gawking onlookers. Grey dust billowed around his feet as he walked upright, resolutely ignoring the crick in his back.
The tremors had been more violent than they’d appeared from Ponyville. Daerev could clearly see cracks in the stone buildings, and little piles of rubble, swept to the sides of the streets but not yet cleared away. Canterlot had survived, if barely, the city shaken.
Hopefully, nopony had been injured. The protective spells running through the stonework—spells he could barely see, at the edges of his vision—were not only there to strengthen the materials themselves, but for the protection of the ponies around. Many of those spells had broken, leaving empty stone behind, but many more were still active, and emitting a faint glow where they spanned cracks.
As he moved into the city proper, heading up into the town square, the streets widened, and a lot of the rubble disappeared. Buildings were sturdier here, the magic of the city stronger. That trend continued all the way up to the castle itself.
But while they may have been more intact, Daerev found the open spaces far more difficult to move through. They were crowded with ponies—instead of the busy bustle of the station, and the few workers helping restore the homes of those who lived there, here there were hundreds, thousands of ponies, all clamouring at the top of their voices, and jostling with each other.
Daerev grimaced. Up ahead would be one of the castle’s envoys, sent out to organise the restoration. He’d be collecting names, lists of properties and ownership, and details of the damage done. With that information, the staff could send relief to where it was needed first. That didn’t stop everypony from claiming that their particular home, or business, was absolutely vital to their wellbeing.
Fortunately, there were a few perks to his rapidly-growing size. Where before, he would have quickly become lost in the forest of legs before him, instead, Daerev dropped to all fours and bulled his way through three or four ranks of ponies, some falling back with wide eyes, others pushing back against him. He could see their blood, rising to their skin and pooling in their cheeks.
With a start, Daerev realised he was hungry. He snatched the traitorous thought from his head, resolutely ignoring the rumble the sight of the angered crowd brought. Rearing, he opened his jaws, allowing a small spark of fire to pool at the base of his throat. Then, with a roar that carried across the entire square, easily swamping the dull clamour of the crowd, he spoke. Fire rippled from his mouth with each word, casting an ethereal green hue around him.
“Are these the ones who cannot live but a day longer in squalor? Fie, Celestia herself gave these to me! Come, ponies, I shall hear your burdens and dispense aid, should I deem it pressing! Such was the command Her Royal Highness handed down but hours ago!”
The noise of the crowd cut off so suddenly it seemed as if somepony had flicked a switch.
Instead of dropping back to the ground, Daerev sank back onto his hind legs, holding the fire in his mouth as he had been taught, illuminating his teeth against the green light. He accompanied it with a hard glare, slowly swivelling through the crowd. None approached him, and as he began moving once again, the crowd parted for him, ponies melting out of his way with each step.
Before long, he had reached the envoy, sitting behind a hastily-erected desk with a huge stack of papers on either side. He looked up at Daerev with a wide smile, and greeted him with a chuckle.
“Thanks for that, Spike,” Paperweight said, leaning back in his seat. “It was getting a little hot in there.”
“Anytime,” Daerev replied, swallowing the fire in his mouth.
“You’re organising relief?”
Paperweight nodded. “I’m supposed to sort out the extent of the damage in the markets, all the way over to the University.”
“Ah,” Daerev said. “You’re the decoy.”
“I know.” Paperweight gave a glance at the crowd, once again beginning to press in around him. Daerev grimaced sympathetically. He’d been sent here, specifically, to draw attention. With everypony here spending all their time on bureaucratic nonsense in the hopes of restoring their business, the actual relief could be sent quickly and quietly to the residential districts, where it would be most helpful.
“But what are you here for anyway, Spike? I’d have thought you’d be with Twilight.”
“I’m looking for her, actually.”
“I think she’s down at the crater.”
“The crater?”
Paperweight lifted a hoof, pressing it against his mouth. “You don’t know? Something exploded, two nights ago, just before the earthquakes. Left a whole house demolished, just . . . completely gone. And Spike . . . Shining Armour . . . Oh, Luna above, you’d better get down there.”
A noble leader, murdered . . .
“Who, Paperweight?”
“Just go, Spike. I’ve got this in hoof. And . . . I’m sorry.”
She will recover.
By now the ponies were pressing in, again demanding attention. The initial shock of Daerev’s appearance had worn off, tension dissipating as he conversed quietly with Paperweight, and the background murmurs had quickly escalated into a dull roar. Daerev allowed himself to be washed away as the ponies swarmed around him.
Paperweight’s words were more ominous than revealing, and they brought a sick weight to his chest, pressing against him at each step. As he found his way out of the crowd, out of the square and towards the older parts of the city, he found his pace increasing, almost without thought. Before long, he was running.
He tried to ignore the growing pain that the awkward gait built in his legs and back. Dragons weren’t built for running—or even just moving about on the ground the way he had been. As an infant, his body was adapted to it, but as he grew into his heritage, into a form that could rule the skies, he became less capable of bearing the stresses of his weight through his legs.
What could have happened? A murder, and an explosion, an earthquake the likes of which Equestria had never before seen, rocking the entire mountain. Daerev knew of only a few powers capable of a feat like that, and as he put the pieces together, he felt the leaden weight settle, and a snarl twisting his lips.
Even running, it took him half an hour to reach the crater. It had been impossible to miss: following the trail of debris, scattered in concentric circles of ever-increasing devastation, inwards, he came across another crowd, though this one was more controlled. Royal Guards stood stoically on the streets leading in, holding back onlookers as a small group of ponies moved around the site. Daerev recognised one or two from the University, though the rest were unknown. Twilight was nowhere to be seen.
Daerev didn’t bother moving down into the crater. If Twilight wasn’t here, there was no point; he’d only get in the way. Instead, he turned back towards the city proper, though he kept to a slower walk this time. He’d try the Agency first—it was closer—then the Archives, and finally the castle itself. There weren’t really any other places he was likely to find her.
By the time Daerev reached the Agency, the pain in his legs and back had returned, but he barely noticed it under the horrible knowledge he carried. Knocking, he waited for an answer, a moment, then three, then ten. Finally, the door opened, a cyan hoof pulling it back to reveal the long hallway and the pegasus standing there.
Not her, thank Celestia.
“Daerev,” Rainbow said with an air of finality. “Come in.”
Rainbow looked as if she had barely slept—bags under her eyes and a wilting grace to her step betrayed her as she lead Daerev to the back of the building—but she wasn’t dead. She held herself with a strange tension; aa if a line was pulled taut through her torso, keeping her head up and back straight. Daerev followed slowly, fighting the some vague apprehension.
It didn’t change the knowledge that hung in his belly and ran through his veins like ice. But if he continued, somehow it would become real, transcend the fear he felt, gripped tightly in clenched fists. Somehow, he realised, it was hope that held him back. Hope, in some twisted form, that carried with it both strength and weakness.
Daerev followed Rainbow into the workshop at the back. While Twilight kept the front offices for the Agency, this room was for Twilight personally—a wide, open space, benches topped with lab equipment and racks of chemicals lining the walls, bookshelves, full of scientific learning, interspersed around the room, and a small groove, worn into the wooden floor. Daerev didn’t have to guess what had caused that particular feature.
In the centre of the room, Twilight stood, facing away from the door, bending her attention to something in front of her. Trixie stood opposite her, eyes bent forward and horn alight with azure magic.
The two of them jumped at Rainbow’s entrance. The pegasus moved to the side, allowing the doorway to frame Daerev. He had to dip a shoulder to make it into the room. Trixie seemed indifferent, turning her attention back to whatever was in front of her. Twilight, though, eyes wide and disbelieving, rushed over to catch him in a hard embrace.
“S-s-spike,” she said. “You came.”
“Of course, Twi’,” he replied, cupping her face in a claw. Twilight held him tightly for a second, before pushing him away and stepping back.
“Sorry, Daerev. Guess I still haven’t gotten used to that.”
“Relax, Twilight. It’s okay.”
“Yes, of course,” she sniffed.
“Twi’ . . . there’s a crater in the slums. We could see the tremors from Ponyville,” he said, simply. “What happened? Who died?”
“I . . . it was me,” Twilight said, in a small voice. From the side, Rainbow hissed in a flare of sudden anger.
“Don’t you dare, Twilight. Don’t you dare try to take responsibility for this.” Rainbow stepped forward, and swung a hoof at Trixie, who was spreading a cloth over whatever they’d been studying. Daerev could see a glimmer in her upturned eyes, though she pretended to be ignoring the scene in front of her.
“It was her, Daerev,” Rainbow spat. “Trixie and that creep she’s been living with. They killed Shining Armour.”
Oh no. Oh, Twilight, I’m so sorry.
There it was. Just like that, hope died, shattered. He expected to feel sorrow, or perhaps pain. He was prepared for that, braced against its strike. He wasn’t prepared for the emptiness.
Living in a library, he’d read more than his share of literature. Often, he’d come across the idea of a character, struck by a wave of emotion, or left helpless before a wall, rushing at them with sudden violence. The reality was altogether different. A hollow feeling, everything sucked out of him in an instant, as if the world itself had turned grey. The absence of hope left not fear, but distilled apathy.
“Killed?” Daerev asked, turning to Trixie. The mare made no secret of her interest now, head lifting to gaze at him. Despite himself, he was impressed. She met his eyes squarely, offering no excuses or explanations. There was strength in that calm acceptance of life. “Why?”
“Because I could,” Trixie said, earning herself a glare from Rainbow. Twilight pressed her eyes shut, liquid brimming under her eyelids. “Can you, at least, understand that, drake?”
Daerev growled, a low, guttural sound that vibrated, echoing around the enclosed space. “Yes.” He did understand, perhaps better than anypony else could. He had been pushed himself, been forced to choose, and having chosen, found himself in a different world. Something passed between them, some acknowledgement, flowing between Daerev and Trixie’s locked gaze. She had been broken, just as he had.
“Yes, I understand. But that doesn’t give you the right,” he said. Ah, yes. Now the anger came, came like a tidal wave to fill the void within. Perhaps this was what those books had described. “Better you had died, little pony.” He didn’t dare bring the fire back, to hide behind his smile and give threat to his words. He wasn’t sure he could control it, despite all the lessons in the glade beside the river. To the side, Rainbow grinned fiercely, nodding with her eyes fixed on Trixie.
“Is it?” Trixie demanded. She felt anger too. He could see it, in the set of her jaw and the stiffness of her back. “Is it better to for us to live blindly, truth obscured under a veil of lies, rather than damning one of us, to bring sorrow and seed misery in the hearts of the few?”
“You call yourself a messiah, pony,” Daerev said, taking a step forward. “But you are not the hero, here. If there is any truth to be found from this, it belongs to Shining Armour, not you.”
“I am that truth. It’s existence lies with me.”
“You are nothing. You are less than a pony, less even than an animal, running loose in the forest.”
“Daerev,” Twilight said, voice nearly a whisper.
“Where does it end, drake? Shall we persist like this, unable to choose?” Trixie asked.
“It ends here, murderer. Bear witness to the sin you take upon yourself—it makes you no more a martyr than I.”
Daerev took another step towards Trixie, around Twilight, and this time he allowed the fire, raging, burning, to alight his mouth in green flame. Curls of it trailed from the gaps between his fangs, twisting into crescent lines in the air. At the sight even Rainbow balked, her grim expression faltering. Even as he moved, relief spread through him; a calming wave that dulled the edges of his rage. She had not spread her poison to them. He could still protect them.
“No.” Twilight moved back in front of him, placing a hoof against his chest. “Don’t touch her, Daerev. She has been punished enough.”
“She lives,” Daerev said, as if that simple statement contradicted Twilight’s claim. Better to play the bloodthirsty villain, here. He did not know why Twilight had brough Trixie here, or why they had done nothing with her. But he could show them what murder looked like—and in doing so, take from them the choice.
“Yes.” Twilight sighed. “She does.” Twilight lowered her hoof back to the ground, taking a step back and looking up at Daerev. She was hurt, oh so terribly hurt. She hid it well, but he could read it in her face, the slight tremble of her lower lip, and searching eyes. “I became her, Daerev. I held her down, and took from her answers.”
Daerev nodded, not giving anything away. “And you left . . .?”
“All the pain,” Twilight whispered. “I left her my innocence, and the questions it brought.” She closed her eyes. “I too, understand.”
“In exchange, I feel,” Trixie said.
Daerev nodded slowly. How very like Twilight, a solution unique among the myriad life offered. It wasn’t redemption, not even close, but it had brought Trixie to her side. Twilight took on Trixie’s sin, and Trixie took on Twilight’s grief. They moved on together, united.
“It didn’t last. I was so angry. I . . . I pushed, and for a second, it all went away,” Twilight said, closing her eyes
“I felt no remorse for his murder, though I regretted it. I thought myself a monster, on a fixed path,” Trixie said.
“You are,” Rainbow said. She didn’t seem particularly happy with Twilight’s choice. She didn’t understand, not as he did. In this, it was her choice to make.
“I felt what holds us,” Twilight said. “I felt Boundless, and the way he broke that barrier down.”
“I live with myself,” Trixie whispered. She looked haunted, introspective. Turning her head to the side she clenched her jaw. “And with my demons. But Twilight showed me that I can still go on.”
“I see,” Daerev said.
“You can’t agree with this!” Rainbow burst out. “She needs to be punished!”
“She is being punished. How would you feel, were you to kill your own brother?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Rainbow shouted. “Are we to give every piece of scum a free pass for no reason but that it feels bad?!”
“This isn’t justice, Dashie. It’s necessity,” Twilight said. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she spoke.
Daerev sucked in a sharp breath. “You said . . . Boundless, right?” Trixie nodded. “Has Rarity met him?”
“No,” Twilight answered. “Only I.”
Of course. They couldn’t find him, not without Sight. Descriptions, circulated around Equestria, might turn up something, but it would be weeks, maybe months, before somepony recognised him.
Twilight fixed Daerev with a glare, giving him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. She’d know his thought patterns, know exactly where logic—instilled in him through years of life with her—would lead him.
“But that would mean . . .” Rainbow said slowly, putting it together. Twilight winced, turning to face her as Rainbow’s eyes shot wide open. “She’s a-“
“Yes,” Twilight interrupted. “Yes, she is. Dashie, I’m sorry.”
Rainbow didn’t say anything. Turning, she stalked from the room, disappearing into the hallway. Twilight gave Daerev a final, pleading glance, before she ran after her marefriend, leaving him alone with Trixie. The mare walked closer to him, an unspoken question hanging in the air before her.
“My mentor,” he replied. Trixie nodded.
“They’re both wrong, you know,” she said. “I’ve seen both sides of it. Twilight, the Princesses, Equestria itself—it can’t continue. Eventually, something has to change.”
“This isn’t the way to do it.”
“How do you choose?” she asked. “I can’t—I’m torn, between them. I can feel Twilight’s touch, still, pressing against me. It is . . . difficult, to disobey.”
“You wouldn’t be useful to us if you couldn’t. Make no mistake, pony. Had I my way, retribution would have a different form.” Leaning close, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “I am watching you.”
Then he turned, moving with as much grace as he could manage. Even if Rarity couldn’t find Boundless, Agyrt’s magic worked at a different level. Perhaps he could help them, wherever he hid.And once Boundless was gone, there would be nothing left to hold him back.
***
“Dashie!” Twilight called, rushing after the pegasus. “Dashie, wait!” Catching sight of her multihued tail, disappearing around a corner, Twilight followed her into the weather room as a sudden gust of wind caught her mane, blowing it around her face and slamming the door shut behind her, nearly catching her tail in between it and the frame.
“Rainbow Dash!”
“Sorry, Twi’,” a voice came from the centre of the room. Though muffled by the clouds surrounding Rainbow, Twilight could still hear the sheepishness that accompanied the apology. “I’m . . . a little mad.”
“I gathered that much,” Twilight said, stepping into the clouds. Little arcs of electricity jumped in the air, bouncing off Twilight’s skin and causing her fur to stand on end. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you, Dashie. I was waiting until I knew.”
“You brought her back here without knowing? What happened, Twi’? Wasn’t what you saw in her mind enough?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know, Dashie. I’m so confused . . . everything is so mixed up.”
“It seems pretty clear from where I’m standing, Twi’,” Rainbow said, moving out of the clouds to stand in front of Twilight. “She murdered your brother in front of you. Daerev was ready to kill her for it, right there and then! I don’t understand how you can just stand aside from this!”
“We need her, Dashie. And . . . I am angry. I’m furious, I think. I can’t stop thinking about that moment, Boundless unconscious in the rubble, Trixie standing over him with the knife against his throat.”
“Twi’ . . .”
“I grabbed her, Rainbow! I held her hoof in my grasp! And I let her slip through. Oh, Dash. It’s my fault.”
“I refuse to accept that, Twilight. You couldn’t have-“
“No! No platitudes, not from you. I held her!”
Rainbow shook her head, wearing, all of things, a small smile. She took Twilight’s head in her hooves, bringing their foreheads together so that Twilight’s horn parted her luminescent mane, sparkling with drops of water.
“You trusted her, Twi’. Of course you did. A Twilight that could have done anything differently is a very different pony to the one I see before me. And the Twilight that could do that, that could believe anything less than the best from us—that isn’t one I’d care to meet.
“I’m not good at this, Twi’. I’d never really slowed down enough to care about eloquence, before. But what I’m trying to say is . . . the Twilight I know—the Twilight I love—couldn’t have been responsible for what happened there.” Rainbow cracked a larger smile. “You’re still doing it, you know. I can’t think of a single pony, a single being that would be able to forgive her this quickly. I don’t have to agree with that; I don’t. But . . . I can respect it. I can love it.”
Twilight drew Rainbow in almost before she could finish speaking, locking their lips together for a long moment before drawing back, and burying her head against Rainbow’s shoulder.
“I . . . thank you,” she managed. Rainbow’s words had done more than restore her spirits. She’d felt lost, the last few days blurring together in her memory. Between Shiny’s murder, what she’d gleaned from the nightmare of Trixie’s mind, and Luna’s return, bearing a shard of Nightmare Moon’s armour, there was little surprise she was so mixed up.
Rainbow had somehow crystallised everything down to a single truth. She’d always been able to understand Twilight—to an extent, she was beginning to think, beyond Twilight herself. Taking a deep breath, Twilight gathered the guilt, the angry cries of loss echoing inside her mind, and let go, melting against Rainbow’s profile. The pegasus bore her weight without a word of protest, allowing sparks from the storm-clouds around them to dance through her fur, moving from body to body without pause.
“Thank you, Dashie,” Twilight said, a few moments later. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
“Hah! Still in a library, I bet, poring over some dusty old book.”
“No doubt,” Twilight said, smiling.
“I do trust you, you know,” Rainbow said a second later. Twilight replied with another kiss—a peck, really—and turned for the door. She knew what to do, now, and as much as she’d have liked to, it didn’t involve staying here. Rainbow let her go reluctantly, a hoof trailing in the air as Twilight pulled out of her embrace. Clouds billowed around her as she watched Twilight open the door, stepping through resolutely.
“I love you too,” she whispered back into the room as she swung the door shut. Rainbow would be content to stay there, for a while, bleeding herself out into the atmosphere she was creating.
Twilight made her way directly back to the workshop, where she’d left Daerev and Trixie. Daerev . . . his appearance had startled her more than she’d let on. He’d been so dominant, so ready to kill. He’d said he understood.
How? How could anypony understand that emptiness that Twilight had felt? It wasn’t as simple of sociopathic tendencies, or emotionless indifference. There had been empathy, the knowledge of emotional anguish and conflict. Trixie simply hadn’t felt it herself. She’d been left untouched by the devastation in her wake, and she’d hated herself for it.
Twilight pushed the door open to find Trixie in front of Nightmare Moon’s chestplate, studying it with an intense look. She glanced up at Twilight as she entered, then pulled her magic back, setting her work aside for a moment. Daerev was nowhere to be seen, though Twilight wasn’t really surprised to find him gone. He’d always preferred action to reaction, and as he grew, he had become more independent, more willing to set aside Twilight’s lessons. Twilight hoped he’d take the bait—she didn’t think the Drac likely to help her with this, but Daerev might have more luck.
“For a second, I thought you’d let him kill me,” Trixie said as Twilight walked in.
“I’m not you,” Twilight replied, quietly.
“Why did you bring me here, Twilight?” Trixie sighed, glancing up at her.
“I told you,” Twilight said. “I need you.”
“Not for this,” Trixie said, gesturing. “I can offer you nothing you don’t already have. Why, Twilight?”
Twilight stepped forward, joining Trixie in front of the armour. “I felt you, Trixie. When I was in your mind. . . it works both ways. I felt them.”
“Cumulus,” Trixie whispered, clarity breaking over her face.
“Yes,” Twilight nodded, “and Brash.”
“I haven’t heard from them in days,” Trixie said, swivelling to meet Twilight’s eyes. “Is he . . .”
“He’s fine, but angry—nearly as angry as I am.”
“How can you just stand there and do nothing?” Trixie asked, her voice a quiet shadow.
Twilight didn’t answer, instead bending down to the armour. Luna had left it with her just this morning, returning to the rest of the set at the castle, in the hopes that one of them would discover something. She suspected Luna had simply been swamped, caring for the city; it had taken Twilight just a few hours to understand it—or at least part of it.
She hoped Trixie would be able to feel it too.
“Look closer,” Twilight said, “Turn your mind to it.”
Trixie narrowed her eyes, turning back to the chestplate. With a sudden flare, her horn ignited, light springing up around her, and enveloping the armour. It rose a few inches from the pedestal Twilight had placed it on, glinting in the reflective glow.
She stood there, squinting at it, and turning it over in the air, before placing it back down, and shaking her head.
“You’re thinking, Trixie,” Twilight commented, her eyes closed. Unbidden, a small smile arose on her lips, though it was quickly twisted into something else. “Don’t think.”
“What does that even mean?” Trixie demanded, glancing at Twilight.
“Ssh . . . focus, Trixie. Focus on it, feel it.”
Trixie snorted, shaking her head. “What’s to feel?”
Twilight opened her eyes, her grimace disappearing. “Do you think you’re special?” Trixie opened her mouth to retort, but Twilight lifted a hoof, forestalling her. “No, think about it. You can read minds. You took into yourself the souls of your friends, just before they slipped away. Do you think anypony else could have done that?”
“Well . . . no,” Trixie said slowly.
“I could have,” Twilight admitted. “I recognise myself in you, as horrifying as that sounds. I know that curiosity, Trixie. I think everypony who seeks the higher truths does. I can see the question in your eyes. Ask it.”
“Earlier . . . by the river. It felt like you’d pressed your experiences into me, forced those memories onto the surface of my mind, and stolen away a taste of my own. Is that . . .?”
“You’ve been able to read minds ever since the fire that killed your friends,” Twilight said. “What I did is no more than that, and no less. It is the same ability that I used to burn myself in you, Trixie, burnt with the fire of my anger.”
“I know,” Trixie said. “I deserved it, Twilight. I felt it, finally.”
Twilight nodded towards the armour. “Feel this, Trixie. It is the only thing holding you back.”
She clearly didn’t understand. Twilight watched quietly as the mare fumbled, again running her magic over its surface. Her face was screwed up in concentration, eyes clenched shut. Several minutes passed that way, until finally Trixie broke off, releasing pent-up breath in frustration.
“There’s nothing to feel.”
“Ah, but there is. A world’s worth of pain, wrapped into a single piece of metal,” Twilight said, reaching forward with her mind. Her horn remained dark—she did not need magic for this. A morose calmness descending over her. She didn’t know where it had come from, or what it meant. But in that metal, forged from the stars themselves in the fires of Luna’s anguish, she touched the mind of a goddess, and plumbed its endless pits of hate.
Trixie could feel it too, though she was blind to it, just as Twilight had been blind, all those years ago. Trained to understand, rather than perceive. Trained to think, rather than feel. Anger built within her, spilling into her from the chest-plate. More and more, until she was just barely holding on, her mind scrabbling for control over the waves of passion flooding her.
It resonated with everything that had happened. The image of his blood pooling under his still body. Trixie’s cold indifference, the simple, unbelievably lack of feeling Twilight had stumbled into, rushing into her mind. The screaming, of the two minds trapped in there with her. Twilight’s own inability to act on her feelings. All of it came together at once, in a single roaring tide.
And under that ocean, she clung to a single thought. She would awaken Trixie to them. The mare had the gift, had proved her capacity repeatedly. Twilight grinned.
“Trixie,” she began, taking a deep breath. “I cannot tell you what makes you special.” She shimmied her hooves outwards, subtly widening her stance. “But I can show you.”
“Then show me,” Trixie said, after a beat.
Twilight burst into motion, rushing forward with a ball—a sun—of lavender power blossoming from her forehead. In the brief flash of light before she ducked her head, sending a blast of magic, intense, furious, and so hot it melted the stone around it, she caught a glimpse of Trixie’s terrified face, falling backwards into a reflexive teleportation.
Twilight watched her fury sizzle on the ground before her, the empty spot where Trixie had once stood. Reaching out, she took hold of the threads of magic there, instantly reading Trixie’s location. Her own spell formed around her, and as she disappeared, a fleeting thought made its way across her mind, bringing a genuine smile to her lips. This was going to be fun.