//------------------------------//
// Twenty-Two 
// Story: The Moon Also Rises 
// by Nicroburst 
//------------------------------//

	Is it not proof enough of her folly that everything you think is prescribed? Our thoughts, beliefs, reactions—everything we are is given to us, defined by a society mired in perfection. It is a trap, for what chance of bettering ourselves when we reflect the best in us? How are we to grow, to change, to learn?

For their sake, you must trust me. For your sake, you must trust me. For my sake, please. Trust me.


Twenty-Two


FLUTTERSHY took a deep gulp of the fresh air, still sweet in the storm’s aftermath. Still heavy with water, each step on the sand took more of the little strength she had remaining. Panting, she pushed herself onwards, buoyed a little by the support of the cloud beside her. Nephele hadn’t said a word since the storm, instead keeping a fixed gaze on the horizon.

She probably shouldn’t be moving at all. Her hooves, tucked gingerly under her belly, were still shaking. She was shivering, soaked to the bone, and covered in an assortment of cuts and bruises that would normally have caused her no end of worry. Remarkably, nothing major was broken save for her wing.

Her wing. It remained flat against her body, crumpled into a messy tangle of flesh and bone. Fluttershy avoided looking at it, avoided thinking about it, or the grit that was quickly working its way into the wound. It twinged, throbbing painfully, though the signal was nothing near the strength it should have been.

Slight dizziness, trembling limbs, general numbness.

She was in shock, she decided, though there was nothing she could do about it. Instead, she focused her efforts on each step, weak though it was. She’d beaten her way through the storm itself; a stretch of desert wasn’t going to break her.

Fluttershy glanced at the cloud nymph. It seemed . . . convenient, almost, that she’d appeared so suddenly, just before the storm’s onset. Had she known it was coming? Why, then, would she have stuck around—why follow her all the way from the reserve?

“You must rest, Conduit,” Nephele murmured. “You are not well.”

“Can’t rest yet,” Fluttershy said, turning her head back to her hooves. They dragged in the sand, moving with a halting gait. “We have to get to Applejack.”

“The Warden you travel with.”

“Applejack?”

“Yes.”

“How can you know those names?”

Nephele smiled. “You have made no secret of what you are capable of, Conduit. Neither has the Warden. This morning she spread herself thin indeed.”

Fluttershy frowned. Part of her still wasn’t convinced. But the image, rising unbidden in her mind like half a line from a song she heard a week ago, the image of the cloud, tiny and petrified before the darkness; that had conveyed something more than just the urge to shelter her. Buried in there was an assurance, a trust—foal-like in its simplicity—that they were on the same side.

“What I am capable of?” Fluttershy asked, more to herself than anything else.

“Yes, Conduit. You have flown through the heart of a storm of chaos. You have harnessed the wind and the rain and the lightning. These things . . . they are not natural.” Nephele paused, turning her head from its solemn gaze at the horizon to look down at her. “They are not normal.”

“Twilight said that everypony is a Coromancer,” Fluttershy said. “She said that was how mothers could lift carts or fallen buildings from their foals—how athletes could outperform themselves near the end of the race, or failing farms suddenly produce so much food.”

“Magic underlies everything,” Nephele whispered. “What, then, underlies magic?”

Fluttershy felt a chill at that, though a stumble, caused by the sands shifting under her hooves, sent a shock through her side and pushed the ominous words from her mind.

It was difficult to remember why she was moving at all. Even aside from the constant, throbbing ache that was all that remained of her wing, and the dull weariness permeating her whole body, her exertions in the storm had left her without reserves. She’d never felt apathy before—not the way Applejack had described it—but she could feel the purpose slipping from her mind.

Applejack was out here, in the desert. Alone, she had no protection against the wind and lightning, the cutting ice and crushing debris, not in the middle of a desert. That prospect, however, wasn’t what Fluttershy held onto as she walked.

She’d been going to the buffalo camp at the reservoir. If she’d been there when the storm hit, her priority wouldn’t be survival. Fluttershy couldn’t imagine having the power to save them, and doing nothing with it. But if Applejack drew the storm to herself, focused its fury away from the lives around her, she wouldn’t be walking away.

She just had to keep walking. The last vestiges of will remaining to her was barely sufficient, each step drew out a little more pain, a little more strength. Oddly, she found herself screaming in her mind, fully conscious of the situation, the words rippling over the surface of her mind. She simply couldn’t feel them, couldn’t feel the resonance growing, demanding attention.

Fluttershy turned her head back to Nephele. Concentrating on her movements wasn’t helping; all it did was draw more attention to her condition. Instead, in conversation, she found she was able to better ignore her limitations.

“How did you find me?” Fluttershy asked.

“We have been watching you,” Nephele said. “After the Awakening, we did not know where to turn.  Drifting, as our brethren did—without feeling—it was no longer enough. We followed you. We found you.”

“The Awakening?”

“You know it as the Cleansing. When you brought the Moon back into this world, its light roused us from our slumber; not soft, or warm, but harsh, and cold, oh, so very cold.”

Fluttershy frowned. “Luna is far from harsh.”

“Your princess was not the one. She brought nothing new—is nothing new. She cannot save us.”

“Then . . .”

“You knew her as the Nightmare.”

“Nightmare Moon,” Fluttershy whispered. “She was going to bring about endless night. She was going to destroy us, Nephele.”
“She saved us; not evil, as you saw her, and not good, as we first thought, but a messiah.”

“I . . .” Nightmare Moon! Still, that enigma was throwing new puzzles at their feet. Fluttershy had felt only the aftermath of Lethe’s discovery, but even then, she’d never considered any further implications. They’d gained a princess, a friend. That had been enough.

“Why do you struggle?” Nephele asked, abruptly changing tack.

“What?”

“Why do you move, now? Your injuries are beyond the physical, though you cannot feel it.”

“I have to find Applejack. She’s out here, somewhere.” Fluttershy swept a hoof, gesturing at the barren wasteland around her, though the motion caused a spasm of pain.

“It changed you,” Nephele said. “It made you strong.”

“I don’t feel strong,” Fluttershy said, grimacing, though she felt . . . not better, exactly, but no worse. As if the bleeding had stopped, her wounds clotting and sealing over.

“When you came here, you questioned yourself. You didn’t hesitate to offer, and yet you still doubted your ability. But now you choose to act without concern for your own limitations.” Nephele shook her head. “It is in how you see yourself; triumphant, transcendent, greater than all that the world can throw at you.”

“I’m not . . .” Fluttershy said, quietly. Her mind continued to stray to the pain. She gritted her teeth, redoubling her efforts to listen.

“You make yourself.”

Fluttershy shook her head, snorting. Her mind felt like it was fuzzing over, the edges of her vision darkening and her legs beginning to buckle under her. “I can’t . . .”

Nephele turned to look at her. Floating down, the nymph extended a wisp, lightly touching Fluttershy on the shoulder. A shock ran through her—light, and vitalising, leaving her tingling. Fluttershy took a sudden deep breath, drawing herself up, then exhaled, closing her eyes.

The nymph had . . . given her something, imparted some kind of energy. Strength flooded her limbs, and the world around her crystallised, suddenly clear and crisp. Fluttershy grinned, opening her eyes and resuming her walk with renewed confidence.

As the wind once again picked up, throwing sand into her face, she began to notice something wrong with the picture around her. They had set out following in the storm’s trail—a huge channel of wet sand and debris that had turned the desert floor into a gritty slush.

“Where’s the water gone?”

“He calls it back.”

Fluttershy halted, shielding her face with a foreleg. “Then the storm . . . this isn’t over.”

“No, Conduit. Not yet.”

Fluttershy stood for a moment, before returning to her trek. How long had it taken, the first time? Two, three weeks, no longer, before another storm would be sailing through, bent on destruction.

Survival wasn’t enough. If it had hit Appleloosa, ponies would have died. They couldn’t channel the energies, as Fluttershy could, or endure them like Applejack. Fluttershy kept walking, mind spinning with implications, possibilities. So many lives . . . there was no protection sufficient against that maelstrom—not out here. She had to stop it. Strangely, that thought brought her no familiar apprehension. What little she could feel turned itself to stone, hardening in her resolve. She would save them.

First, though, she needed to find Applejack, regroup back in town, and heal. Clinging to that thought, Fluttershy walked, steadfastly ignoring her body’s aches. She walked, ignoring the futility of her search, through a desert unmarked by the storm’s passage. She walked until even that jolt of energy had given way.

She lost track of the time. It had been late afternoon, hadn’t it? Up there, in the sky, with the sun and the clouds, watching birds tear themselves apart. The sun was dipping below the horizon now, painting the desert sand in hues of soft orange. For so long, she’d been walking through that, trudging endlessly through a static landscape.

Fluttershy stumbled, her hoof sliding out from under her. With a jolt, she lifted her head, staring vaguely at the glassy ground under her. It took her a few seconds to understand the scene, to make sense of it, her eyes sliding over the details without registering their meaning. When she noticed the still form, still some distance away, but clearly unmoving, lying on the sandy glass, however, she let out a small gasp.

“Applejack!” she cried, haltingly dragging herself out onto the opaque surface.

Applejack’s orange coat was clear, contrasting with the opaque silver she lay on. As she approached, Fluttershy could see the damage the storm had wrought on her friend—even weakened, it had left Applejack bruised and battered, her entire body covered in scrapes. Small rivulets of blood had long since congealed against numerous scratches. But as Fluttershy threw herself onto Applejack’s body, frantically seeking a sign of life, she felt the pony shivering, and heard the dull thump of her slow heartbeat.

“Applejack!” Fluttershy cried again, fiercely hugging the pony to her breast. But she didn’t respond, head lolling back to the ground and drawing in another ragged breath. Fluttershy let out a sob. It seemed so hopeless, all of a sudden. The world crushed in around her, collapsed onto her with all the weight of reality. She could barely move herself. How could she possibly get out of the desert with her friend’s unconscious body in tow?

But no. That was just the apathy talking. Fluttershy took a deep breath, forcing herself to her hooves. She had beaten the storm. She’d entered a tempest beyond anything she’d ever seen before—beyond anything she’d ever contemplated. It had been perhaps the single most terrifying experience of her life—Nephele’s life had rested in her hooves, entrusted to her wholeheartedly and completely. And she had triumphed. She had ridden those winds like a god, with golden wings of electric power! What right had she to feel nothing now, so close to her friend’s salvation?!

Her own injuries forgotten, Fluttershy scanned the horizon. She’d been following the path of the storm—following Nephele—rather than heading towards the town. There was no telling how far she’d come, or how far away from Appleloosa they were. It could take her days to find it again.

That was no good. But Applejack had been coming from the buffalo encampment, near the last reservoir. Fluttershy closed her eyes, thinking, remembering how swiftly the storm had hit her—a mass of darkness arriving out of a clear blue sky, streaking towards her with something akin to malice. If it had hit Applejack as well . . . surely the buffalo would be nearby?

With them, she could find shelter, food, the time she needed to rest from her exertions. She could find care for Applejack. Fluttershy turned her head to Nephele, feeling the sudden motion cause a small crick. Its dull ache soon joined the rest of her pains, locked away and ignored.

“Nephele,” she began. The Nymph looked at her with a vacant expression. “You carried me to the ground.”

“You preserved us,” she said, nodding.

“Can you carry my friend?”

“We can.”

“Please,” Fluttershy said, stepping aside. Nephele drifted closer, reaching out to Applejack’s prone form, and enveloped it in cloud. Then, rising into the air with Applejack suspended inside her, Nephele turned herself to face the direction they’d been moving.

“This way,” Fluttershy whispered, again setting out. All around her, she could see the glass plain extending outward, in a circle two hundred feet wide.

“Had to . . .” Applejack said, stirring. Motes of light had gathered around her form, sparkling in the dying light. “I had to . . .”

“Applejack!” Fluttershy said, moving closer.

“S-s-sorry,” Applejack said, pressing her eyes shut. “I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t hold it. Fluttershy!”

“Hey there,” Fluttershy whispered, in the same comforting tone she used to calm injured animals. “Easy, AJ, easy now. Rest.”

“I couldn’t save them,” Applejack whispered, her voice slurring as she fell back into sleep.

Fluttershy looked around at the glass field again. She hadn’t stopped to consider it before, but now it seemed all too obvious what had happened.

Even weakened, a storm like that would have been crushing punishment for the earth pony. Surrounded by nothing but sand and dirt, without the energy of life around her, Applejack had nothing to draw on, nothing to bolster her efforts. Nonetheless, she’d tried to accept the storm’s might, draw it into herself, and away from the buffalo around her. She’d tried to take on their pain for them.

She couldn’t have taken it all. Not concentrated, directed at her; the weight would have crushed her, no matter how much will was behind her. When it had grown too much to bear, she must have staggered out here, as far away as she could, before releasing the pent-up power into the sand around her, instantly melting it down to form the glass Fluttershy now walked on.

Within minutes, they’d crossed from the glass back into the desert proper, and from there, just over a small sand dune, Fluttershy could see what was left of the buffalo’s camp. She could see what had once been ordered—scattered and half-buried wooden logs, and small tents, with gaping rents torn in the fabric, the buffalo themselves—strewn throughout the ruins and beyond. Still forms lay on the ground, here and there, already partially covered by wet sand.

She could see the reservoir itself, now flush with water. Remnants of tents, scraps of cloth and thin logs floated in its embrace, bobbing around near the shore. They must have camped too close—the storm had flooded over them. Horribly, that wasn’t the only thing she spotted in the water; a few bodies lay, unmoving, amongst the materials.

“Hurry,” Fluttershy whispered, as much to herself as to Nephele. “We can’t stop yet. Can’t rest yet.”

With a savage effort, a grunt escaping her lips, Fluttershy stumbled down the sand hill, narrowly avoiding falling down its side entirely. She called out for help, her voice soft, strained. Not all of the buffalo were unmoving, plenty were rushing here and there amongst the ruins of their camp, helping each other as best they could.

Two heard her, came running out to meet her. Nephele hovered at her side as Fluttershy allowed herself to sink into their embrace, worried words passing over and through her without meaning. She saw Applejack at her side, gently taken from Nephele’s grasp, before she finally passed into the sleep her body had been demanding, a small smile on her lips.


***


“Your injuries were mostly superficial, Kitchi. You’ll be fine in a few days,” the doctor said, looking over Applejack’s shoulder in the makeshift tent hastily erected on the side of the reservoir. “If you rest, of course,” he said, eyeing her, before moving to the next patient. They’d been able to treat most of the buffalo by now—many had been only slightly hurt. The piles outside, however—rows of bodies awaiting burial—were testament to those that had been beyond their aid.

The restoration was well under way. In the aftermath, there had been a frantic rush getting to survivors trapped under debris, but as everyone was slowly accounted for and reunited with their families, they’d settled down to rest. Applejack hadn’t awoken until the following afternoon. Fluttershy, her wing now set, splinted, and bandaged, was still unconscious, lying on the ground behind her. They expected her to wake soon.

Applejack didn’t say anything. Ever since waking up, she’d been working, helping to clear away debris, repair what she could, and salvage any useful supplies. She’d stayed away from Strongheart, losing herself in the labour. At least there, straining her muscles in that familiar way, it didn’t hurt so badly.

Everything around her was ruined. The storm had swept through, leaving utter devastation, without so much as a glance for all her efforts. She’d borne as much as she could, and it hadn’t been nearly close to enough. The many bodies she’d turned over to find gaping wounds, or simple stillness, had been testament to that.

Fluttershy had had to come to her rescue. She felt . . . disappointed, in herself; angry, even, and disgust for feeling that way. But she’d always prided herself on reliability. She’d always been the one saving the day. It felt wrong, somehow, to be the one in need.

It had taken Hassun to force her from her labour, mumbling something from a lowered head as he stubbornly pushed her to the healers. From them, she’d received nothing short of reverence, despite her protests. She’d even been given a name, though none would tell her its meaning. They’d said that they’d seen her; a beacon in the dark, a pillar of argent light streaming from the heavens into her, holding back the tides. It had only been when that light had guttered out—brief flashes showing her staggering away from them—that the storm’s fury had struck.

Perhaps, before, she’d have been glad to be so accepted into the tribes. But looking out over the bodies of those she’d failed, she couldn’t bring herself to smile.

Strongheart sat down heavily next to her. Applejack glanced at her, and then winced, looking away. Her face was sunken, lines etched into it as if carved in stone and weathered by years of wind and rain.

“Applejack . . .” she said.

“How is he?” Applejack asked. Ahanu—Achak’s son—had been one of the injured. He’d been found last night, his laughter silenced by screams, half-buried under broken wood and cloth.

“Asleep. When the storm tore him from me . . . I didn’t know what to do, Applejack. I had to go after him—and I couldn’t.”

Applejack nodded.

“Not that it mattered,” Achak continued, bitterness creeping into her voice. Applejack clenched her jaw. “It broke his leg. He has to stay still, stay down, for at least a month.”

“He’ll heal. There’s that. At least there’s that.”

“He hasn’t said a word.” Achak shuddered, hunching her shoulders. Applejack could feel the vibrations through the log they sat on. “I don’t know how to go on.”

They sat there for a moment longer, together and alone, until the silence grew so heavy Applejack couldn’t bear it any longer. A lump rose, unbidden, in her throat, swelling inexorably despite all she could do to suppress it.

“Ah’m so sorry, Achak,” Applejack whispered. Even to her, her voice sounded strangled. “Ah didn’t mean any of this.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself.”

“What point is there in blame?” She clenched her jaw. “Blame doesn’t change anything. Blame can’t save them.”

“You did more than anyone asked you to. More than anyone thought was possible.”

“It wasn’t enough. Not for them.” Applejack nodded at the dead. “Not for you.”

Finally, she turned, meeting Achak’s gaze. Honesty had seemed a simple trait, when she’d first heard of it. She’d never really stopped to consider the grief it carried in its wake. In Achak’s eyes, she was a sorrow unending, pain beyond the flesh and mind. She saw the simple hopelessness of a world uncaring, and the strength that hid that from view. She tried not to think of what Achak saw in her eyes; hollow orbs of truth. She had nothing to hide behind. She’d never needed it before.

“Ah wasn’t enough,” she forced out, voice choking to a halt on the last word.

“Look at the buffalo behind you,” Achak said. Applejack complied, turning away from the grisly scene to a view of the makeshift triage. “How many of them do you think would have died last night, Applejack?”

“I . . .”

“I saw what you did; rearing, sparks flying from your hooves, kicking out at that wall. Flashes of lightning showed me glimpses of boulders, trees, shards of ice and sand mixed into the swirling torrent—a mass of Nature gathered by the gods themselves. It struck you, and it stopped,” she whispered.

“And then a bolt split the heavens. It arced down to strike you. It coursed over you, webs of argence spreading over your body. Orange, split by white, lit up against night itself. And when it was spent, there was another to replace it, and another, and another, and I realised that it wasn’t moving, that you’d anchored it, tethered it somehow. As one, we turned and ran. We ran from your glory.”

Achak’s voice had changed as she spoke, rising from the gloom, gaining conviction, strength. It pulled in those around her—doctor’s, and patients, nearby workers, even foals too young to be helping. They gathered, a small crowd, no more than ten. All of them bore the marks of the storm, and all of them were smiling.

“So think, Kitchi, before you dare take their deaths on yourself. Think about all the life you preserved here. We’re more than glad you came.”

Those around her roared their approval. The sound washed over Applejack, a wave of sound that encompassed her, buoyed her against despair. Achak was right, in a way. What sense was there in wallowing in death?

But Applejack couldn’t quite bring a smile to her lips. She flinched from the crowd, shrinking down in her seat. She’d always been glad to accept praise, in the past. Then, though, it hadn’t rung false in her ears. She’d burnt away all the will she had; all the love, hope, and joy.

The truth bubbled behind her lips, gathered inside her until she thought she would burst.

“I’ve seen the plain you left out there, Kitchi. The glass circle, sunk into the ground.”

“Molten sand,” Applejack said, sharply, abruptly. She had to say something, anything to stop the building tension, the approval humming in the small crowd around them. “The energy from the storm . . . Ah sent it into the ground. Most of the sand evaporated instantly.”

Achak nodded, smiling, as the moment passed, floated away, as dust does when kicked up by a sudden wind.

Applejack sat with her in silence for a long time. Eventually rising, Achak winced, raising a hoof to her stomach. There were several gashes there, covered by long bandages and gauze. Applejack could see the edges of a massive purple bruise, peeking out from the wrappings.

“It was me,” Applejack whispered. The words spun through the air before her, and she sighed, releasing some tension she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “Oh, Celestia, Ah’m so sorry. It was me. It has to have been me!”

“What?”

“Ah’ve seen Fluttershy’s injuries. You think it’s chance that storm hit both of us?”

Achak turned, concern written on her face. Applejack didn’t give her any chance to respond.

“It can’t have been random. That line took it across just this one waterhole. It doesn’t make any sense!”

“What are you saying?” Achak said, raising her hoof to her mouth.

“It came here for me!” Applejack roared, tears spilling freely from her eyes. “It came for me, and for her, and for nopony else! If we’d stayed home, there wouldn’t be any bodies!”

“Applejack!”

“How can you smile at me? I killed them! I killed you!”

Achak slapped her across the face, hard. Applejack swung her head with the blow, feeling the harsh sting it left behind. When she looked up, she found the tableau of the dead again before her.

Applejack didn’t notice Achak stalk away, nor the small crowd slowly disperse—many casting glances back at her, small, weary frowns plastered over their lips. She was drifting, lost in their faces. Could she have saved him? He was strong, bulky. It had been sheer misfortune that the winds had tossed him onto the wooden shaft, its splintered tip piercing his gut. He’d still been alive when they’d found him. A second longer, and he might have lived.

What about her? She lay there, shoulders broken, limbs torn free, or twisted into unnatural shapes. She’d collided with a trunk in the air; thrown together at ludicrous speeds, without a bubble of air to protect her. Applejack could have taken that hit for her, taken it and dispersed it into the sand, if she’d been strong enough, if she’d cared enough.

Sorrow became her world. In her work, she’d been able to forget, if only for a time. She’d been able to lose herself in reparation, as meaningless as it was. Here, though, waiting for Fluttershy to stir, waiting for her own wounds to heal, she had nothing to separate herself from them.

A hoof fell on her shoulder. Applejack started, her head spinning around. Fluttershy was smiling; comforting and full of warmth for all its weakness.

Applejack fell into her embrace. Something passed between them, something intangible, an understanding, of sorts. A bond no other here could share. They’d passed through the storm as no other had; found its eye and stared it down, surpassing even Nature’s laws. Fluttershy had found it self-affirming, an acknowledgement of her capacities and strengths. Applejack had found it self-defeating, eating away at her confidence. They read the truth in each other’s hold, and understood.

“Your wing?” Applejack asked, pulling back.

“It was . . . unlikely that it would heal,” Fluttershy replied. “I took care of that, though it still needs time, though. I’d rather save myself for worse wounds.”

Applejack nodded. Before she could speak, however, another voice joined their conversation; as silky-smooth as molten chocolate.

“Can you feel it, Warden?”

Applejack turned disbelieving eyes on the patch of cloud that had drifted next to Fluttershy. Unbelievably, it had formed a face, of sorts, hovering at the head of that billowing mass; a brow, uncreased and serene, a soft noise and thin lips, parted with speech.

“Wha . . .”

“Applejack, this is Nephele, a Cloud Nymph I met. She brought you to town, after we found you,” Fluttershy said, gesturing at the cloud.

“A Nymph . . .?”

“Yes, Warden. We are beings of thought and spirit, affiliated with the physical. It is not surprising that you would not have heard of us.” The cloud moved forward, pressing itself closer to her as if entreating her. “Can you feel it?”

Applejack frowned, then nodded. “Nothin’ in particular. Am Ah supposed to?”

“Reach below. The storm has passed. Where is the water?”

Applejack’s eyes widened. The cloud—the Nymph—was right. Barely a day after that monster of a storm, there should have been more water in the ground, soaking into everything. Instead, the sand was loose and dry, reflecting the heat of the sun. She’d almost adjusted, forgotten the heat. With everything that had happened, that wasn’t surprising.

But even this sun wouldn’t have been able to bake that much water away, not this quickly. The reservoir was testament enough to that—its level had dropped only marginally since last night.

Applejack gathered herself together, a process leaving an acrid taste in her mouth. She’d refrained from blocking these emotions before. Sorrow seemed apt, somehow. But now she sent it away eagerly, burned it off and found underneath a kind of weary relief; still sore, but content to rest, and to wait.

Underground, she sent herself, and found water. Not droplets, trickling here and there, nor rivulets, seeking the shortest path down to the rock and dirt and salt, instead, she found a stream.

Tentatively, she touched it, extending her bitterness and regrets into the water as it passed her by—heading north, heading into Equestria. As she touched it, it touched her, and sent a tendril, spiking into her mind, causing her to reel back from the contact. It swept away her power, ruptured it in an instant, and dissolved it into nothing. For a moment, as she recoiled, falling backwards, all she perceived was a chaotic nothing; a torrential storm of power, endlessly seeking ruin.