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

	Cannot you feel the waning in the air? Harmony draws into itself, closing us out as it reforms and waits. Chaos will follow; will tear down our walls and our people to find His brother. You must be ready for the coming storm.

Celestia remains a scholar, untrained in combat and untested in war. You, Luna, are a warrior, and in the true test, in the final test, it will be the Moon’s light that guides Equestria.

For the Sun has shown itself flawed.


Twenty-Four



“MORE important? When did death gain such significance?” Daerev said, struggling against his own anger. He was close, now, so close to erupting. Hearing Agyrt’s support for the atrocities Boundless had committed gave his fire new life.

“Not death, Daerev. Truth. He brings with him the means to break them free, and we cannot face Him alone,” Agyrt said.

Daerev paused. Almost despite himself, he could see his mentor’s point. Just as Agyrt had forced Daerev to mature, to face the world for what it truly was, so had Boundless brought reality to Twilight. It didn’t matter how vehemently he disagreed with Boundless’ methods. Daerev was ready to kill, now, as Twilight was not. Some part of him still found that capacity evil, and without place in the world. But more and more he was beginning to see its necessity.

Death was not the ultimate evil so many thought it. Indeed, when life itself merely existed, time broken into meaningless fragments, and bodies simply vast chemical reactions, death was no more special than any other event that occurred. It had only the meaning attributed to it: there was none inherent. That was the truth of the dragons, and apparently it was now a truth shared by this pony, this Boundless.

“Him?” Daerev asked, latching on to the unfamiliar reference. The capitalisation had been obvious in Agyrt’s tone.

“Typhus,” Agyrt said. “The storm and the shadow, rising in the south. We should have been ready. But the Moon delayed too long, and the Sun preferred to hide in its shade.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What do you know of the Old World? Of the First, and Second Kingdoms? Of the Sages, and the Shards?”

Daerev didn’t say anything. Agyrt was staring at some point past him, staring at the tree-line and the sky, and when he spoke, he did so in a whisper, heavy with the passage of time.

“We only barely survived, last time. The predator will not stay its hand because the prey does not see it coming.”

“Boundless’s truth is not a requirement for our survival.”

“No? Tell me, Daerev, where is the Well?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daerev said, shaking his head.

“Exactly!” Agyrt said. “The Sun has blinded herself—whether from remorse, ignorance, or foolish hope, it does not matter, for all under her shadow lie blind alongside her, and cannot act against the coming storm.”

“There is nothing special about what he does!”

“Yes, there is! Boundless was not born on Moon’s Rise, Daerev, he was born during Moon’s Rise. He entered into a world ruled by Nightmare, with the embrace of the Sun locked away. He, and he alone, can see, and can spread that gift to others.”

“Wha-”

“The Veil, Daerev! It informs everything we do, everything we believe. It took you so very long to learn to kill, to learn to sink your teeth into flesh and feel hot blood spill down your chin. That has nothing to do with sustenance!”

“It’s wrong,” Daerev said. Despite everything, those words—that belief—still rang true to him. It was not so easy to shake a lifetime of learning.

“No. It is, and nothing more.”

“I . . .”

“He has already brought clarity to Trixie. If she recovers, she will take away such strength to make the Gods themselves tremble.”

“There is no strength in death,” Daerev said, mumbling. But he wasn’t really listening to himself, anymore. Agyrt’s words flowed through him, pounding away with their implications. Significance, compounding, cascading, screaming in his mind until all he could do was nod along, desperately trying to ride out the wave.

“No, but there is strength in transcendence. Living three lives in one—it was not enough to bring her together, but it was enough to wake her up.”

“Slow down,” Daerev said, shaking his head. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“You asked for answers,” Agyrt said, the barest hint of venom entering his voice. “No, you demanded them. Do not blame me if you do not like what you find.”

“You . . .” Daerev paused, closing his jaws and his eyes. 

What where the facts? From everything that Agyrt had said, and everything that Daerev had already known, what could he conclude? Agyrt believed Boundless to have significance beyond Shining Armour’s murder. But that murder, in and of itself, meant something.

Death was Boundless’ truth, because death was the one thing missing. There had not been a murder in Equestria for over a thousand years—not since Moon’s Fall. Was it a coincidence that the colt born on Moon’s Rise, during Nightmare Moon’s return to the world, would be the one to break that legacy?

He had taught Trixie to kill, as Agyrt had taught Daerev. She didn’t like it, but she did understand. He’d seen it in her eyes, back at the Agency. The Veil had been lifted from her. Not gently, not lightly, but torn away in an instant. Daerev found himself nodding, slowly.

“Do you understand, Daerev?” Agyrt asked, leaning down.

“I think so,” Daerev said. “Not fully, but . . . yes. I think I do.”

Agyrt smiled, opening his jaws. Blue flame glowed faintly at the back of his throat, growing stronger as Agyrt breathed. A second later, it rushed forward, flowing out over Daerev and spilling onto the ground.

It was not hot. Rather, the blue flame instilled in him a peculiar cold, as if his life was being drained away. Daerev fell into a calm stupor, too absorbed in the feeling to offer objection. It coursed through him, ran over his scales and sank into his veins. Slowly, slowly, it dissipated, until he was standing on the bank once more, heart pounding in his chest.

He gasped, arching his spine. Long, painful gashes ripped open along his back, chunks of flesh and loose scales thrown to the ground behind him. His back was aflame, burning with agony, and through that fiery haze, he felt . . . something. Limbs, like arms, extending from his back. He clenched them together, feeling them fold snugly against his back. Blood trickled from the wounds, running down his legs to pool on the ground.

Agyrt closed his jaw, giving Daerev an approving nod. “This is what I want you to do.”



***



Applejack ran.

Sand made a coarse surface under her hooves. Each step sank an inch into the ground, compressing the grains together until they could support her weight. It shifted, beneath her, and sapped her strength away. Still, she ran.

The sun baked her from overhead. Its heat ran through her, connecting the air and the ground into a single furnace. Sweat poured from her, coating her in a lather. Foam appeared at the corners of her mouth, bubbling as she breathed. Hot air scorched her lungs, hot sand burned her hooves. Still, she ran.

Her cuts and scrapes—injuries acquired protecting the buffalo from the storm’s full fury—burned. Inflamed by the dust and the sand, her motions pulled at them, working them open under the bandages. Still, she ran.

An ache built in her muscles. It was a slow burn, eating away at her resolve, and sapping her concentration. It grew with every step, until the fire in her legs matched the fire in her lungs. Still, she ran.

She hadn’t worked this hard without Coromancy in a long time, and it showed. Back then, before she’d been aware of her abilities, a run like this wouldn’t have been this hard. She’d been relying on her Coromantic strength too much, and now . . . she had so little to draw on, she didn’t dare use it here.

It wouldn’t take long to recover—no more than a day or two should see her restored. But this trip couldn’t wait, and Coromancy was not the sum and total of her being. So, she ran.

The buffalo camp was three hours from Appleloosa, at a steady pace. She’d first made the trip in just the one, pushing herself to rebalance everything she’d spent at the orchard. Now, though, she doubted she could make it before the sun set. It was already dipping dangerously low, brushing the horizon. Without its light, she could easily get lost out here—and in the desert, she would never be found.

Fluttershy had told her to wait for the morning, of course. But Applejack hadn’t listened. She hadn’t really been thinking, either. The revelation of the storm—its source and its controller—had captured her attention, and sent passion running through her. It was only when she’d tried to tap that fire that she’d realised how hollow it was. 

So, Applejack ran. And as she ran, she pushed her situation from her mind, focusing her thoughts on something—anything—else. 

Getting Appleloosa’s water barrels out to the reservoir wasn’t enough. That, in itself, did not present a challenge. The townsfolk would only be too eager to take their water. But while that would keep it safe from the underground stream, and give everypony more time, it wouldn’t solve everything.

She needed to get the Appleloosans and the buffalo working together. Split up, like they were now, wasn’t helping anypony. The buffalo had been helpless before the storm’s fury, with no shelter to protect them. The Appleloosans were dying of thirst, left without water for themselves, let alone their crops.

The barrels were the key. That was what she would rally the townsfolk around, and what she’d heard the buffalo towards. They’d done it before, when Appleloosa was still a new town. There was no real reason they couldn’t work together again, now.

Applejack ran, and ran, until weariness drove even those thoughts from her mind. Slowly, under her hooves, the ground became firmer. The sand thinned, until she was running on bedrock. A smile forced its way onto her dry lips, cracking them. A thin line of blood ran down her mouth, and onto her extended tongue. She gagged on the coppery taste, but she wasn’t losing any more moisture to the desert than she had to.

She hit an incline, and conceded her run, falling back to a trot, and then a walk. She had no energy left. The sun had half set, throwing rays of golden orange over the desert behind her.

Applejack stopped for a moment, pulling a water bottle from her saddlebags. She’d filled it at the reservoir—Strongheart had insisted that she take as much as she could carry. She drank two long pulls from the bottle, and splashed a little over her face, before returning it to her bags. It didn’t just have to last her the trip to town—it was proof that there was water out there.

Even after the break, she couldn’t quite reach a run. Instead, she settled for a trot, trying not to think about the pressing time. She’d been out here for hours. Appleloosa couldn’t be far, now.

Thank Celestia, the town appeared just a few minutes later. Applejack had expected to see it from miles away—easily visible across the largely flat desert. That wasn’t the case: sand dunes and outcroppings of rock had hidden Appleloosa remarkably well, and the heat waves rising from the ground in front of her hadn’t helped.

Applejack walked the final stretch, eyes focused on the ground until she saw dusty earth, pressed flat by hundreds of hooves walking over it every day. The ground was cracked, split open by the sun and the lack of water. She didn’t dare reach down to check, but she was sure the underground stream was here, too, pulling water away to feed the coming storm.

But she’d made it. Raising her head, Applejack couldn’t see anypony around. She glanced over her shoulder as the sun vanished with one last glimmer. Night, then, though it was still early. Surely there would still be some ponies out, tidying up or otherwise finishing their daily chores.

Applejack stumbled forward. Her limbs felt like lead, and her cuts and scrapes burned. She couldn’t rest yet, though. Images of the Appleloosans flashed through her mind—heads bowed, walking with small steps . . . there had been an air of lethargy about the town. An air of doom. 

Faint voices reached her ears, though she couldn’t see where they were coming from yet. She pricked her ears, moving towards the noise.

“Ya’ll can’t just take it upon yourselves ta . . .”

“We’ll do just about anythin’ . . .”

“Ya ain’t got no say in this anymore . . .”

“It ain’t right . . .”

It seemed like a crowd, gathered for discussion, though the voices were heated. Applejack could hear the tension, running through them—and behind those voices, the crackle and roar of fire. She picked up her pace, straining her ears.

As she walked, she began to see a ruddy glow from between houses, and the volume of the crowd’s muttered words grew. Soon, she came upon the gathering. From the size, it was near every pony in Appleloosa, all gathered around a small pile of barrels. They were setup in the street, just across from the inn, and atop the pile stood Braeburn.

Applejack halted at the back of the crowd, watching her cousin curiously. This didn’t seem like any old town meeting. Looking around, she frowned. Plenty of townsfolk were holding torches, some even hels pitchforks, clutched tightly in their hooves.

“Are we gonna sit by an’ watch as they keep all that there water to themselves?!” Braeburn said. His voice carried well, easily reaching all the way out to Applejack at the back.

“‘Cause Ah’ll tell you this: there’s plenty o’ water out there.”

The crowd roared in agreement, ponies stamping their hooves on the ground, or calling out. What they said didn’t matter, it was the fervour of the moment, building in each throat.

“Ya cain’t take what ain’t ours, Braeburn!” Bill called. His voice was quiet, tinny against the disapproving mutters.

Applejack shouldered her way forward. She could barely hear Bill, though she could recognise his voice. But he wouldn’t be able to stop this by himself. Braeburn had the mob, now. They moved with him, echoing his words out into the night.

“The buffalo have always resented us!” Braeburn said. “This ain’t the first time they’ve tried to get rid o’ us! Well, they finally figured out how ta do it. They’re sittin’ out there, just waitin’ for us to die!”

“They’re your friends, Braeburn!” Bill said.

“The buffalo ain’t nopony’s friend! As a matter o’ course, I wouldn’t be surprised ta find that they’re the ones who cut off the water in the first place!”

As Applejack approached, ponies began to notice her. Murmurs ran through the crowd like a wave, rippling outward, and as the wave reached them, they fell silent, watching her. It appeared that they knew who she was—or were taken aback by her appearance. Applejack allowed a small smile to appear on her lips, though it felt more of a grimace. She wanted every eye on her.

Braeburn didn’t see her at first. He was too busy spouting his nonsense to actually glance down.

“Do ya’ll wanna listen to Ducky?! He ain’t been through what we have! The Appleloosans Ah know wouldn’t give up! We ain’t about to just let this happen!”

“Braeburn!” Applejack cried, infusing the name with every shred of power she could. It exploded from her, resonating in the still air, and washing over the crowd. In its wake, there was only silence.

“Just what do ya think your doin’?!”

“We cain’t just stand around anymore,” Braeburn said. He seemed weaker, now, from this close, though Applejack could well remember the strident figure he appeared from the middle of the crowd.

“Ya ain’t,” Applejack said. “That’s why Ah’m here. You sent for me, Braeburn, on account of you didn’t want this!” Applejack spun, gesturing towards the crowd with a hoof. “So tell me. Are ya planning on marching over to the buffalo camp and slaughterin’ the lot of them?”

Applejack was still staring at the crowd, and as she spoke, she watched their faces carefully. If she could make them waver, make them start to question what they were doing, this whole thing would fall apart. And as her words reached them, she saw many faces blanch, or frown, or turn aside entirely. Most of them, however, did not react at all.

“We’ll do what it takes ta survive!” Braeburn roared, and the crowd roared alongside him. “No matter what! That’s what it means, ta be Appleloosan!”

“Ta steal? Ta take what ain’t yours by force?” Applejack asked, turning back to Braeburn.

“We only want what’s fair! Am Ah hearing you correctly, AJ? Ma own cousin, arguin’ for ruin?!”

Applejack spun where she stood, raising her back legs and slamming them into the barrels. As they shot backwards, out from under Braeburn, and caused him to fall to the ground heavily, she staggered. Pain ran up her side, and she nearly fell herself. She needed to rest, to heal. She couldn’t allow this to drag out much longer.

No matter how it had started. Applejack still couldn’t quite believe the words coming from her brother’s mouth—or, for that matter, the way the town so easily went along with him, almost as if they were all under some kind of spell. And after the last few days, she suspected that was exactly what was going on here. The new sheriff—Bill—seemed to be the only one unaffected.

Bill stepped up beside her, steadying her with a hoof on her shoulder. 

“Easy,” he said, whispering in her ear so that only she could see. “Don’t let them see.”

“I’m alright,” Applejack grunted, taking a wider stance to steady herself. “Ah’m alright.”

The crowd hadn’t moved, but as Applejack looked out at the ponies around her, she swallowed. Thick muscles rippled under their coats, and their faces wore snarls. Applejack would never have thought ponies capable of murder, but then, she didn’t really think that the Appleloosans were in control of themselves right now.

“What are we going to do,” Applejack muttered.

“Honestly? Ah have no idea,” Bill said. 

Behind them, Braeburn regained his footing. With a loud cry, cutting across the crowd’s constant rumble, he charged at Applejack. 

Applejack spun, but he crashed into her before she could set herself, sending both of them to the ground. She hit with a thud, wincing, and didn’t struggle as Braeburn made good his hold of her, pinning her legs to the ground. Applejack focused on breathing, trying desperately to hold her tongue.

Worse, however—far, far worse than the pain consuming her world and the crowd, stamping their hooves on the ground in approval, was her saddlebags. The violent tackle had torn them open, tearing through both the leathery bag, and the container within. From that rip leaked water.

It spilled out onto the dusty ground, forming a small pool of precious liquid. Within moments it had been sucked away, but not before every eye had fixed on it. 

“Oh, no,” Bill said, voice barely reaching Applejack’s ears.

Applejack snapped her head upwards, trying to catch Braeburn’s attention. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, strained, staring at the patch of dark ground that signified where the water had lain. 

“Braeburn,” Applejack said. “Braeburn!”

Braeburn pushed off her with a heave, standing above her in front of the crowd. He stepped forward, grabbing her saddlebags and reaching in, pulling ou the rest of the water.

“They have water,” he said, and his whisper carried on the dry air. “THey have water, and she has brought it back to us!”

The crowd roared. Braeburn charged forwards, ponies splitting left and right to allow him through. Then, as one, they formed up behind him, following him out into the night-time desert.



***



“What did you do?!” Rainbow said. Her voice cut the thin air between them, almost physically striking Trixie.

She shivered. Rainbow had come from nowhere—appearing in front of them in a blaze of light, as if descending from the heavens themselves. She’d saved Cumulus’ life . . . and therefore, Twilight’s soul.

“I . . . I don’t know,” Trixie said, murmuring her answer. “She just . . . She attacked me. Why did she attack me?”

“Twilight wouldn’t,” Rainbow said, her words hard as slate. “Tell me, Trixie, what did you do?!”

Trixie glanced down at Twilight’s body. She lay in a crater at Rainbow’s hooves, nearly motionless. Trixie could see her chest rising and falling, but the ethereal fire had finally gone out. Twilight’s head and chest, however, remained concealed behind the lavender armour. 

Trixie fell backwards, landing on her rump. She raised her hooves to her head, massaging her temples. None of this made any sense to her. She and Twilight hadn’t exactly been friends, but . . . when Twilight had pressed her emotions into Trixie’s mind, she’d felt she understood the unicorn. 

Her grief at Shining Armour’s death, her guilt and anger—at first, it was directed at Trixie. But as Twilight pulled back, the last thing Trixie felt before she lost consciousness had been comprehension. Of Trixie’s own horror and fear. Of Boundless, and the role he had played in her transformation.

Twilight wouldn’t have attacked her. On that, Trixie agreed with Rainbow. 

“Then why did she?” Cumulus and Brash, speaking in tandem. Trixie didn’t have an answer—but then, she did not think they expected one.

“I didn’t do anything,” Trixie said. “She was . . . trying to show me something.”

“Coromancy,” Rainbow spat. “A lot of good that’s done us.”

“Coromancy?”

Rainbow shook her head, eyes boring down on Trixie. Her mane seemed to be glowing, faintly, each colour vibrant against the blue sky. “Tell me what happened.”

“We . . . we were examining the armour. She told me to feel it, as if there was something more to it than just a piece of metal. I couldn’t . . . I didn’t know what she was talking about.”

“She showed you, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know. She reached out to it, and then . . .”

The scene played out in Trixie’s mind, each detail standing out in slow motion. Twilight, gesturing towards the armour. Trixie, reaching towards it, and findind nothing. And then, the sun, blossoming forth from Twilight’s horn to obliterate all reason.

“A world’s worth of pain, wrapped up in a single piece of metal.” 

“. . . Then show me.”

“And then?”

“She said she could show me, and she attacked.”

Rainbow frowned, pausing to tilt her head skywards. “Almost like . . .” she murmured, speaking only to herself.

Trixie dropped her gaze, focusing on what she remembered. There was something there, something hidden behind Rainbow’s words and Twilight’s actions. Coromancy. The name practically rang with significance.

“It is magic,” Cumulus said. “Mine, and yours.”

“We did not know it till you showed it to us,” Brash said. He spoke softly, kindly, as if a parent, whispering to a foal. “We did not see it till Twilight brought it forth.”

The flames that had spurted from Twilight’s horn danced through Trixie’s vision. Great swathes of purple light, burning intensely as they coloured everything around them. There had been power in that fire, real power, born in the ashes of loss and grief.

“Fire consumes, Trixie. Yet hers grew, feeding on nothing but itself.”

“Worse still, it remained behind. The helm, and the breastplate—echoes of bereavement.”

“I don’t understand,” Trixie said. Her friends spoke to her in her mind. Their words resonated, almost glowing with meaning. It lay there, waiting for her. All she had to do was reach out and grasp it, and still it evaded her, slipping through her hooves and dancing on the tip of her tongue.

Twilight had touched Luna’s armour, and felt something there. Something beyond the cold metal Trixie had held. Something that had transformed Twilight into the avatar of vengeance that had so nearly brought about her ruin. She touched armour, and she created armour. 

“Closer,” her friends whispered. 

Why couldn’t she think?! Trixie shook her head violently, snorting in great lungfuls of air. She was still trembling, shivers wracking her body. Her fur was clumped and matted, smeared with dirt and blood. Her wounds throbbed, demanding her attention. 

Twilight stirred, opening her eyes, while a slight moan escaped her lips.

Rainbow spun, fixing her gaze on her marefriend. In an instant, she had wrapped her hooves around her, pulling Twilight into a tight hug. Almost as quickly, she then pushed Twilight back, and locked gazes with her—as if searching for something in the depths of Twilight’s eyes.

Trixie watched without speaking. She hadn’t thought Rainbow would have intended to take Twilight down quite so violently, but she had recovered remarkably quickly. Had Trixie been on the receiving end of that blow, she doubted she’d have gotten up inside a week. 

On the other hoof, a week’s sleep sounded divine. Slowly, her eyes drifted shut. She’d figure out what the hay was going on here when she woke up. There was no rush. She yawned, suppressing a wince as the motion pulled at her wounds.

“Wait, Trixie! Not yet!”

“No, let her go, Brash. She needs to rest.”

And as easily as that, Trixie was gone.



***



Princess Luna had never really had the patience for assuaging fear. Even when it was not her the ponies ran from, she found the repetitive, soothing words—design to calm a crowd and comfort an individual—somewhat grating. Could they not see for themselves the danger was past?

She stepped through the smouldering ruins of the abandoned house near the Canterlot slums, sniffing. Celestia stood on the street behind her, plying the gathered ponies with her tongue. She always had been good at that.

Luna’s task today was, thankfully, rather more direct. The explosion here had obviously been the work of Twilight Sparkle. Even without traces of her signature spellwork, the sheer heat of her magic—her anger—still radiated from the ashes. No other unicorn could have summoned such power.

So while her sister calmed the populace, Luna sought Twilight. 

It wasn’t like her to lose control, particularly not in such a dramatic fashion. But then, she’d been remarkably unstable since her brother’s death. Luna had handed over some of her armour partly in the hope that it would provide some distraction. Perhaps she should have taken a more active role in comforting her pupil. Death was never easy to deal with—and murder even less so. It was not surprising, in the end, that Twilight had erupted.

Luna lay down on charred wood, pressing crumbling ash into her coat. She closed her eyes, reaching out to the world beyond. She focused on the hope that Twilight was uninjured, safe, somewhere outside the city. She focused on the fear that Twilight was not alone.

She opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by swirling grey. That was not surprising—she had never been here before. But the mists of time could not obscure the vision of an alicorn, for SIght was not the only tool at her disposal. Luna sank into herself, allowing her muscles to relax and her mind to wane. She teetered on the edge of sleep, and shook the mists away.

Slowly, second by second, time began to reverse. Dark clumps of ashen wood flew back to the walls. Thin beams clung to each other, to be flung back to the ceiling, and the floor. The building restored itself before her eyes.

A purple firestorm appeared, swirling through the air high above. As Luna watched, it intensified, rushing back towards the ground where she lay. Luna did not flinch: it could not touch her. After all, this was merely a dream.

There—in the center of the room. A flash of light, shrinking to reveal Twilight, and another pony Luna did not recognise. An azure unicorn, with pale blue mane and wide eyes; Twilight stood over her, bearing down with vengeful magic. 

Luna winced as the firestorm shrank down into Twilight’s horn. It appeared she had found a focus for her rage, then. Somepony she could blame for Shining Armour’s murder. Perhaps this pony had been the one who took his life. 

Luna halted the dream, drawing Twilight into her focus. When she allowed the scene to resume, this time moving forward, she reached out and placed a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder, following her through the teleportation. 

She appeared on the plains outside Canterlot. Luna watched as the two ponies before her exchanged words and blows. She found herself biting a hoof as she stared, feeling tension rising throug her. Twilight did not appear entirely sane, and if she went too far, there would be no coming back.

Except . . . there was something else in her words. “Stop! Thinking! Trixie!” It appeared Twilight was trying to teach this Trixie something—trying to force her to react. And yet, Twilight flung herself forward without restraint, screaming her rage and grief.

Luna watched as the fire spilling from Twilight’s horn began to solidify. She saw the helm form from pure lavender, settling over Twilight’s head as if forged just for her. Only then did she realise—forcing herself out of the dream with a savage burst of magic to find herself on her side, mouth ajar and wide eyes staring at nothing.

The armour. Twilight must have touched her armour, and found something in it that resonated with her own feelings. The hatred wrapped up in that metal, in Nightmare Moon’s mind . . . it would be enough to overpower any mortal will.

Luna swore, rising to her hooves and channeling a teleport, down to the plain Twilight and Trixie had fought on. She could only pray that she wasn’t too late.

The magic faded, and she stepped out of the spell to see the fields wasted. Fire still flickered here and there, burning away the last few tufts of grass. Everywhere else was just scorched earth, testament to the power that had been thrown around. Some distance away, there was a small crater in the ground, and a pony rising from it.

Luna jumped forward, using her wings to propel herself towards the pony. There were three there, she saw as she approached. Twilight, rising, with Rainbow beside her, and Trixie slumped on the ground nearby.

“Twilight!” Luna cried as she landed, sweeping her wings forward to wrap her in a hug. “Are you alright?”

“Luna?!” Twilight said, her voice muffled. She shook her head as Luna stepped back, and then narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Luna snorted, reaching out with her magic and seizing the helm and breastplate that Twilight wore, sending them immediately to her rooms at the castle. She shook her head, wincing as heat ran through her, responding even to that brief touch. 

Twilight froze as soon as they disappeared, shuddering before collapsing to the ground. Her mouth opened and shut, and taking in huge gasps of air.

“What did you do?!” Rainbow asked, stepping forward to place herself between Luna and Twilight.

“Merely removed the source of her discomfort,” Luna said. “That was warped metal, Rainbow Dash. It held her mind.”

Twilight reached up, grabbing Rainbow’s leg with a hoof. “It’s okay, Dashie.”

Rainbow turned, sinking to the ground beside her marefriend. “You sure you’re alright?” she asked, stroking Twilight’s mane and brushing it from her face.

“Yes,” Twilight said, propping herself up. She glanced upwards, catching Luna’s gaze. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

“Is she?” Luna asked, gesturing towards Trixie. She had still not moved from where she lay, her chest barely moving. 

“She murdered Shining Armour,” Rainbow said, spitting the words out.

“Yes, she did,” Twilight said, and there was not a trace of heat in her voice. Just sorrow, a soul-crushing note of emptiness. Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, and she reached out to Rainbow, plaintively holding her arms apart.

It brought a flush to Luna’s face, her heart aching in her chest and throat constricting. Small beads appeared at the corners of her eyes, and she wiped her face with a hoof. Leaving Twilight to Rainbow’s care, she stepped over to Trixie, reaching down to touch her shoulder. With a burst of magic, she teleported Trixie away.

She would in the emergency room of Canterlot General. The hospital would see to Trixie’s injuries, and she would be there when Luna came for her. That much, Luna could do.

“Luna,” Twilight called, her voice still gruff. She lay on the ground still, her eyes red and Rainbow beside her.

Luna turned back to Twilight. “Yes?”

“Before I forget. The armour-”

“It is far from your reach, Twilight.”

“Not mine,” Twilight said. “Yours.”

Luna frowned. “What of it,” she asked, sitting next to Rainbow. 

“In the Agency, in Canterlot. Please, Luna. It was never meant for me.”

“What?”

“There’s . . .” Twilight’s voice broke off for a second, before she visibly forced herself to continue. “There’s a message, in it. For you.”

“Twilight . . .” Luna began, reaching out with a hoof.

“Go.” Twilight shook her head, holding Luna’s gaze. “I’ll be fine. Thank you. But go. It was meant for you alone.”

Luna nodded, rising to her hooves, and for the third time in as many minutes, charged a teleportation. There would be nopony at the Agency, so she targeted the spell for just inside the entrance hallway. She had only visited once since her return, but that was enough for her needs.

She found the armour in a wide room near the end of the hallway. It was propped up on a stand, in the centre of the room. Reaching out, Luna rested a hoof on it. Trembling, she tentatively extended her mind to it. At first, all she felt was cold metal, no magic or message.

But as she brought her senses to bear, she slipped in between the folds of metal. And there, in between the beats, in the forge where the armour had been created, she found rage, and a voice. It spoke to her, and to her alone, resounding in her mind though not in her ears. It was a familiar voice—a voice she had once known as her own.

“I find myself . . . unsure, how to begin.”


	The End of Part Two