//------------------------------// // Chapter Four: Dawn of Understanding // Story: Equestrian Concepts // by Achaian //------------------------------// Chapter Four Dawn of Understanding Ditzy heard the water first: pouring down as it must have always had, it had borne away her pain. Last night something extraordinary had happened. Her grief had melted away into the falls in a process that she might never understand, but would endlessly contemplate. Ditzy was wide awake with a clear, empty mind; her eyes closed and her consciousness unburdened. Then, she saw it. Her eyes opened to the falls that reflected the radiance of the sun so high above, refracted ten thousand times in a single droplet. It was like glory as it fell from Celestia-knows how far above to land on Ditzy’s nose. It passed in an instant. Ditzy moved not at all, focused on insight. Last, she understood it. In that single instant that the drop fell, it acted as a prism: All the colors of the visible spectrum became apparent to her. Her vision filled with ethereal mists of fragmented morning light, she realized why she had hung on for so long when so much had seemed hopeless. Ditzy flew silently out from behind the falls, reentering the life that had once been very simple and now, although complicated beyond belief, was definitely worth living. Life, she now knew, is worth it. It’s a beautiful, harsh, uncompromising, incredibly difficult struggle that crushes some while lifting others up at random, often against the grain of who deserves what. It is almost never easy—and nearly everything that is worth fighting for has to be fought over time and time again. Sometimes her best efforts had been for naught, and the most meaningless things became paramount. She had been broken, and though she knew she may never reach the state of innocence she left behind, her scars made her who she is. Life goes on, and ultimately, she made a positive difference in it. And the most beautiful thing about it was that she hadn’t even realized the positive differences she had made inadvertently. She couldn’t be proud of all her decisions, but she cherished the ones she could and accepted her losses with a stoic expression and tried harder the next time. Soaring, she felt euphoric bliss and calm, peacefulness. She had saved Rainbow Dash from ignorance and blind disgust. She had saved Dinky and countless other foals from unimaginable horrors in Tartarus through noble self-sacrifice, although she felt that taking the other choice would hardly be an option. Who knew what she could do next? Life is a beautiful struggle, a victory preceded by defeats. She must fight on. Early morning rays of light proceeded from the falls to gently awaken the cavern, which was slowly beginning to stir. Having arrived in the night, Ditzy hadn’t really had an opportunity to observe how daylight worked in Lower Canterlot, but now she had an excellent view and the peace of mind to observe it. It appeared that, over time, the falls had worn away holes in the ceiling that were only as big as the falls themselves—leaving no room for even the sneakiest pegasus to get in or out. Light was transmitted solely through the falls themselves, refracting into a myriad of colors and occasionally shifting focus as the falls went through natural patterns of variance. Ditzy banked as she approached a cavernous wall not far from the door she had originally entered. Everything had been so surreal that to be taken back into a city’s life seemed almost alien to her. Am I really here now? Landing on a ledge high above, she watched the city rebirth itself out of the shadowy cocoon of night. At first, the peace was completely undisturbed: Not a soul moved or breathed, it seemed, save for the slight intake and exhale of Ditzy’s breath. Then the falls began to exude their shine, at first a pure white light that harmoniously shifted into its full grace of spectral color. At last the city moved; it breathed, doors were thrown open and the audacity of life in all its glory poured forth, bringing forth the hum of energetic reverberations to her ears. The city had lived, it had died, it lived again. As the city began to fulfill its myriad purposes, a peculiarly simple question found its way into Ditzy’s mind. What am I going to do next? It seemed strange, that normal, mundane affairs should go on following the revelation at the falls. In retrospect, it was uncannily dreamlike—from the market into her deepest horror, to the falls and her purging of pain, to finally rest. But there could be no doubt: She had definitely awoken at the falls, and though her resolution was strange, it wasn’t implausible—at least chronologically. Emotions have the strangest way of defying logic, Ditzy had thought, yet she had unusual expectations of them. So she began to explore again. At first, she intended to fly above the subterranean metropolis, but instead decided to neglect her wings and hoof it around, at least for a while. Flying high had its unique perspective of the world, but also had the drawback that she wasn’t able to share that perspective with those that couldn’t fly. Truly it was glorious to see the world from the view of riding on a storm-cloud, but only the few would ever see that. On the ground, all could come together and share in perceptions. Common experiences are the most enjoyable ones—for if she had nobody to share with, she would have nobody to amplify her joys and diminish her sorrows. She would never be able to know… but she has her own unique experiences. Speaking of amplifying, Ditzy had now amplified her hunger so much that it was gnawing away at her thoughts. Trotting down a curved dark stone street, she noticed a tavern on her right from which aromatic smells of bread, hay, and ale were drifting. She hadn’t had a drink in a while, either. To drink in the morning was quite questionable in her mind, but she thought she was warranted a little freedom on her vacation. It wasn’t like she was going to be irresponsible and get wasted like that one time she had been engaged in a drinking contest by Berry Punch. She had been much less experienced then. Ditzy knew her limits now; she had obligations, and she had no intention of waking up on a chandelier with Dinky asking her why Berry had fallen asleep in the refrigerator with a lampshade on her head. That had taken a little cleaning, a few applications of buckets of ice water to Berry and a lot of lecturing Dinky about the evils of alcohol. Above the door of the tavern, a worn-out sign was embellished with the words “The Last Resort” and below a picture that had probably once been magnificent but was now blurred to oblivion. It didn’t really look like a last resort, though—through the window it looked a little worn in places but still homely. Soon after she opened the door she realized that what she had looked at was no window, but rather a strategically placed picture designed to look like a window—it was much more dingy on the inside. Miffed by the misdirection, she almost left, but the aroma was even stronger inside than out. Plus, she was starving. Clever. I give them that. Several servings of grub later, Ditzy found herself in a booth covered by dirty dishes and the occasional mug of ale. The Last Resort had remained the last resort—not many appeared to revel there; it was quite empty past midday, save for the sole quiet soul inhabiting the bar. He was wearing a traveling cloak that was almost as ashen-grey as his mane and coat, with his wings poking out as he contemplated his drink, faced away from Ditzy. His hood had slipped off in the long time he sat, but he seemed not to notice. The bartender sat back in a shadowed corner, idly rubbing a dirty glass with an even dirtier cloth that could only have made it less clean than when he had started. Ditzy cantered up to the bar, sat down next to the absent-minded pegasus and waved at the bartender for some ale to hit the road with. Startled out of his reverie, he looked over at Ditzy, but she paid him no attention at the moment. Grumbling slightly, the bartender put his rag and glass down and moved to satisfy Ditzy’s request. Gradually she became conscious of the quiet pegasus to her left staring at her eyes. She followed her better judgment and didn’t confront him over it, grabbed her drink and turned to leave—but as she began to turn, she noticed his eyes for the first time—and abruptly stopped. Normally, she would have at least given a sign to anypony who would stare at her eyes that they were being a little rude, or ask them to stop given some time. Her intent of asking him to stop halted—she was too busy staring at his eyes. His eyes… ticked. Given a suitable amount of time, and in a slightly less inebriated state, she would have reacted better. She of all had no reason to be intimidated by strange sights of unusual eyes, much less stare at them—but his irises kept moving, round in circles, as if to an eerie tempo. Grey and black and white unceasingly, rhythmically hammered away in concentric circles around his pupils—his left counterclockwise, his right clockwise. The patterned, encoded segments ticked slowly in time with each other; they surrounded each pupil as the iris, cog-like. Ditzy’s peripheral vision faded and all other senses seemingly halted input as each section of each iris continued its journey, moving like clockwork. Perceived sublime sound subtly voiced as singular silence subsided; she could have sworn she had heard whispers in a desert wind proceeding from those eyes. Inexorably, the irises continued around the pupil, grey and black and white, timeless. The sound continued, slow and worn, like air drug over the crags of rocks and sand in a canyon—a harrowing, whistling sound. His eyes ticked on, slow, intentional, wracking. It was absorbing—she was falling into the abyss at a rate measured only by the deliberate ticking. His eyes were like gears in a machine that hinted of a windy void—and there were voices in the wind. Voices that spoke and whispered, whispered and hinted, hinted and dreamed, dreamed things that hadn’t been said for a long, long time. Eye contact broke—both eyes—as Ditzy hit the floor. She had spilled her ale off the bar too, but she had noticed neither thing until now. In total, about three seconds had passed since Ditzy had noticed his eyes. Three more seconds passed. In the momentary collision between body and floor, in the snapping of contact, the wind and hypnosis and absorption had all ceased, but not the ticking. Not the movement. She looked, now up, into his eyes. Time seemed to run again at its normal pace, and his eyes ticked on to their steady rhythm. The sensational experience faded. Pressing in on her, the silence of the tavern was overwhelming. Her mind imposed a ticking sound to match the movement; she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or not. The cog-eyed pony, startled out of his own revelation by Ditzy falling off her stool, held out his hoof to help her up and opened his mouth to apologize. As he pulled Ditzy back up, his lips moved but no sound issued forth, and he smacked himself lightly on the forehead and grimaced as a still stunned Ditzy attempted to issue some questioning sounds of her own. “I… What… explain. What just happened? How did that happen?” Hastily, the ashen-grey colt pulled a sheet of parchment and a quill from his cloak and wrote: “I’m sorry about that. You caught me with my guard down, that normally doesn’t happen. I can’t speak.” “What exactly just happened?” Ditzy pressed. And why can’t you speak? Figuring out was happened was more urgent and he might consider it rude to ask, so she held her silence as he wrote. “I am able to show others things in my mind—” he motioned back to the “You caught me with my guard down” clause. “—I was distracted, so you saw a little accidentally. Sorry.” “And what exactly did I end up seeing anyways?” This was pushing the boundary of privacy, Ditzy knew, but he had gotten her into whatever this was. It might be rude, but I have a right to know considering how you just forced it on me, intentional or not. He just sat there and stared at Ditzy forebodingly. Ditzy stared back, unafraid and impatient for an answer. She crossed her hooves on her chest and waited. Nopony could stand against her in a staring contest; they all eventually were unnerved enough by her eyes to break—although she might have met her match this time in this unusual iris of an eye. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick… “Alright, you win,” Ditzy grumbled a minute and a half later. She had no intention of giving up; she would return to it later. “Why were you staring at my eyes? You have two good reasons not to judge.” No! Ah, why— Ditzy regretted saying the last half of those words as soon as they left her mouth. She winced after she did, and mentally cursed at herself for a moment. It was the alcohol and the unexpected stress talking. Understandably, she was cautious and wary after what had just transpired—but if he had intended some kind of trouble, he probably would have committed it already—or it had already been done, in which case she could do little about it. I can only apologize now, so I had better get on it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it that way. I shouldn’t be judging you—” She stopped when she saw him scratching off a reply already with a neutral expression. “I never saw anything quite like your eyes before, besides mine, so I was naturally curious. As you noticed, my eyes allow me to do some unusual things... Do your eyes grant you any strange abilities?” “No, not really. Nothing like that,” Ditzy said. “My name’s Ditzy, by the way.” “I’m Tick,” he wrote. Well, that name doesn't fit at all... Ditzy’s sardonic thoughts vanished as she glanced back around the tavern. They were still the only inhabitants, save the bartender who had retired back to his corner and his ever-filthier glass. She was at a crossroads, she knew. On one hoof, she could keep talking to Tick and risk getting embroiled in a mess. On the other, she could leave and risk never finding out what she had seen or anything about the only other pony she had met with eyes somehow stranger than hers. The second option never even had a chance. “How about we grab some drinks and talk over them?” “I do suppose I owe you for spilling yours.” Several minutes later, Ditzy found herself on the opposite side of a booth with Tick. He was initially reluctant to ‘talk’ in such an odd manner, not to mention he seemed reluctant to talk at all, but Ditzy eventually jostled a few bits of memory out of him concerning his conditions. Apparently, he had been born with it—or it had happened so early in his life that he had no recollection of its happening. His earliest memory was his brother describing how his eyes moved to him. He seemed mutually interested in Ditzy’s eyes—although less inclined to ask questions. Ditzy told him a little about her early life, with the intention of baiting more information out of him, but she was unsuccessful and so moved on. It was by far the most unconventional conversation Ditzy had ever had; it more resembled writing letters. She would query, then Tick would take anywhere from a few seconds to a minute drawing up a response. It gave her a lot of time to wonder about him. “What do you do for a living?” “Historian.” Well, that’s not something you see every day. “You have to have a more efficient system of communication. It must get aggravating having to write everything out.” His face tensed slightly, nearly imperceptibly. Tick probably didn’t even realize he was showing it, but Ditzy observed, silent and patient. “I haven’t always been It's probably temporary Please leave it alone.” He passed it off quickly, having written hastily in comparison to his previous responses. Ditzy decided to let silence be the topic for a minute as Tick brooded for a minute, downed his pint of ale, and motioned for another; drinking it quickly. He stared down into his new glass, the corona of his irises reflected in it. So far, Ditzy had been the one carrying the conversation, and he seemed to have no intentions of changing that—he had enough on his mind, apparently. The reflection of his eyes were staring back up at him, and it seemed as if he was drawing himself into a trance. “Does it help you concentrate, the reflection?” Absentmindedly, he scrawled ‘yes’ on the parchment, continuing to peer into the infinite mirror of eye and glass. She wondered how many of those mirrors he could perceive; wondered how many tiny fluctuations in the ticking he could distinguish. His face was made to look older than it was by the worry he put into that introspective glance. He’s young, Ditzy noticed—younger than her, though not by a significant margin, despite the ashen-grey coat normally associated with the aged who had seen so much of the world. It had certainly aged Ditzy, the responsibility of raising a foal by herself and, before that, being alone in the world. What did he see to bring out the ash in his mane? “What do you focus on in history?” Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the empty glass. “Recently, I’ve been focusing on trying to resolve all the conflicts in what history claims to have happened in the age before Nightmare Moon was banished, but after Discord was defeated for the first time.” “Like?” Ditzy flinched not at all at the mention of Discord, nor did her mind rest on it. That was in the past now. “Where to start. Countless anachronisms. Conflicting statements. A cultural play and an official story that don’t fit together in ways that make sense. So few sources, and all are disputed or contradictory. Can’t help but rant a little—it’s frustrating. Without even getting to” He almost completely obliterated the last four words after writing them, but Ditzy could still distinguish them—being a mailmare who had to read every last address scribbled on a letter helped. Tick’s expression had started to darken, but it faded as he listened to Ditzy’s response. “‘Cultural play and an official story that don’t fit together?’ What do you mean by that? It sounds like a conspiracy theory.” A flash of anger crossed Tick’s face and vanished; he slashed the air with his quill to express negation. At least he was showing some passion now—Ditzy had worked hard enough to get him to talk, and she intended to get her word’s worth out of him. “Absolutely not. Conspiracy theories are confirmation bias raised to an extreme, ignoring all other evidence that contradicts the theory. This is a situation in which all of the evidence points in different directions, with next to no possible resolution. They are completely different.” “Back up a little,” Ditzy said. “What stories are we talking about?” “Primarily, Discord’s defeat by Celestia and Luna and the traditional story of the founding of Equestria by the three disparate nations of ponies.” Ditzy fuzzily recalled having been dragged to a Hearth’s warming pageant last year, along with Dinky. She had known the story before, of course—everypony knew the story—and it had certainly seemed a little more theatrical than historical. She couldn’t blame them for trying to make it more entertaining; it was the same story year after year after all. “So what shocking and provoking secrets does your analysis reveal?” Ditzy prodded, having a little fun with his serious disposition. Tick sighed, or he appeared to sigh, since no sound came out of his mouth. He pulled a longer scroll out of his cloak and started writing. He composed his answer with a mix of deliberation and haste, and it looked to be much more sizeable than his previous answers. As he flipped the already-sizable piece of parchment over to scribble on the back, Ditzy started to wonder how in-depth he was going. She distracted herself by surveying the bar again, but found it was nearly as empty as she had first observed it. When he finished, he slid it over to Ditzy and motioned at himself and the bar, then back at his seat; he went over to the bar and waved at the bartender. “Less than you expect by proof and more by omission. According to Celestia and a very few texts, Discord was defeated by Celestia and Luna, each using three of the Elements of Harmony. According to the Hearth’s Warming tradition, Equestria was founded by three uniting tribes after being pushed south by the advancing cold and climate, Wendigos, and subsequent crop failures. The problems arise when we consider how these could have both existed in the same timeline. When Discord rules, the world is an unholy mess of chaos—that fact is challenged by nopony—and such would be mentioned in any surviving account. So if Discord was ruling or existing when the three nations moved south, it would have been mentioned. He would have had to have come in later to take his throne. The secondary problem is where Celestia and Luna were during the whole founding -of-Equestria event. Their first historical mentions are when they defeat Discord and claim ‘the’ throne. At this point, I must digress. The only accounts we have of him before his second coming proceed from the princesses themselves, and all are very succinct with no background information. In contrast, the Hearth’s Warming story is a tradition preserved in writing for thousands of years: the very oldest story and historical record we have. Since Discord can’t have been ruling during the founding of Equestria, or before, that brings into question how that story could take place at all. In what manner did Celestia and Luna exist then? As far as our written records go back, with the exception of Hearth’s Warming, they have been the undisputed autocratic rulers of Equestria. If Discord had ruled Equestria as we know it, undoubtedly we would have had written records. Celestia and Luna can raise and set the sun and the moon (obviously). To add to that, as far as we can tell they are immortal, but far from undefeatable as Chrysalis demonstrated during the Changeling Invasion. Therefore, they must have been around for a very long time for life as we know it to exist in this world—or at least, somepony powerful enough to move the celestial bodies themselves would have had to have existed throughout foreseeable time. That leaves us with a few unsettling possibilities. The first is that Discord ruled over the known world at the beginning of time, and that Celestia and Luna dethroned him. The problems that arise out of that are, simply, where did they go? If they were around during the time of separate nations, would they not try to unite them and resolve conflicts? Could they have somehow passed off their responsibilities of the celestial bodies to somepony else, which would be considered impossible by conventional magical and scientific reasoning? How, why? The second possibility is that Discord assumed control of Equestria after its founding. The problem with this is that Celestia and Luna, or somepony with their powers, must have always existed—would they not mention being defeated by Discord in the past, for (in all indication) a significant amount of time? Not to mention what I wrote above about historical records. By their own accounts, the implication is that Discord ruled long enough to have a prolonged effect on society, whatever it was at the time. And if Celestia and Luna existed during that time and they were defeated, why was it not recorded? For all of their recorded existence, they have rule—and either they or somepony with their power has always existed. Did they come from somewhere? Did they replace or inherit some position? There are possibilities, always, of some sort of reconciliation between these stories. But with the information we have, we can’t possibly do that—we can’t even acknowledge the existence of both of these stories without either asking questions about the origins of Discord, and the powers of Celestia and Luna, OR asking why they would hide being defeated— or even worse, willingly neglect the world to let it be scoured by Discord, not to mention neglecting the divided society of pre-Equestria. By the time you finish reading this, I should be back with a few more drinks. I figured you might want them after reading this; it is a lot of information.” Ditzy sat back in her booth, her mind taking its time processing the barrage of deductive analysis and speculation. That was… Well. That was something, all right. The familiar headache of struggling to comprehend a particularly difficult or unconventional idea began its dull pain just above and between Ditzy’s eyes. Looking up from the scroll, she saw Tick holding a pint with one hoof out toward her, and a second pint half-empty on his side of the booth. She hadn’t even noticed him sitting back down. Decidedly, she grabbed the pint out of Tick’s hoof and drained it without hesitation. She would trade the headache now for another later; at least she might comprehend it better tomorrow. “That was analytical,” Ditzy leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment, digesting both food and information. He’s so wrapped up in this past… That probably was not the response he had expected to hear. It was certainly thought-provoking, but to tell the truth Ditzy didn’t put a lot of credence in theories about ancient stories. She had too much going on in her current life to worry about the problems of older times. “Is it not concerning?” “I’m going to challenge you. Make it relevant for me. Honestly, I don’t care that much about ancient history. I just wanted to hear from you, and of you and your struggles. But if you can make this relevant to today, then Iwill care, and I might even know somepony who could help you.” “Alright then. Look at it from a different perspective. The princesses are constant in our society and have been around for thousands of years, at least. If the past is as complicated and contradictory as these stories would have us believe, then why would they allow them to exist without providing a complete and factual story? Currently, some pretty nasty conclusions could be drawn from them. I don’t want to say they are hiding something—it sounds alarmist and is reminiscent of conspiracy theories—but the sheer number of possibilities arising from the idea that somepony isn’t telling the truth, or the whole truth, calls for an investigation.” “So just because Celestia and Luna might be not telling us something, major or minor, or because they haven’t bothered to fix the historical accuracy of a folk tale they should be investigated?” Ditzy was just playing devil’s advocate at this point. “Don’t get me wrong, you made it relevant, but it was never shocking or provoking.” “I never said it was shocking or provoking, you did. Besides, that’s not There is more, but it isn’t… relevant.” His face hardened, tautened; he bit his lip and stared tensely back into his now-empty glass. Tick had to drunk quite a few bits worth of drinks in total. He was intoxicated and it was starting to show in his writing; it was getting a little less legible and he was correcting more sections. Ditzy held up her hooves in a sign of surrender. “Alright, you got me. Your concerns are relevant to today’s society. You win.” She wasn’t about to press into the irrelevant things, anyways. No telling what that could be until she knew Tick better. She had a feeling she would be running into him a few more times, at least. “It was never about winning. How about that mysterious somepony that could be of help to me?” After he wrote this, Tick waved at the bartender for another drink. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Tick swore—or Ditzy assumed he did, but no sound left his moving mouth—and slammed his hoof on the table with an impact that made the scattered glasses rattle. He glared for an instant at Ditzy, then looked down at his quill and parchment with loathing. After a long, angry stare at those implements, he took them up and wrote: “Leave well enough alone.” Alright, then. Silence once again became the topic of conversation as Ditzy resolved to try to not push any more of his buttons, at least while he was getting drunk—it was only prudent. It was obvious he had some issues that needed to be resolved, and Ditzy would help if she could—having been in dark places, and just so short a time ago, she knew the price of remaining broken. She refused to let anypony she knew suffer in such a way, even if she had just met them. Nopony deserved to be left in a horrible place in their minds, so why would she willingly neglect the care of others when others had neglected her? Obviously, some initiative was needed. And was it just her, or were Tick’s eyes ticking faster? “Do you still want to hear about the pony who might be able to help you with your research?” Ditzy said gently. “Yes. Sorry. I have had too much to drink.” Tick swept his quill and parchment off to the side, letting Ditzy have the metaphorical stage. It was a half-beat apology, but it was more than she expected from a pony that was very close to the going-to-have-hangover stage if not there already. She had no idea of his tolerance, after all. “I happen to know the current bearers of the Elements of Harmony—” Tick’s eyes widened, which only seemed to amplify the revolutions of his irises. “—And not only might they be able to tell you more about the Hearth’s Warming play (They were actually actors in it one year), one is very educated and a librarian. She actually lives in a library, believe it or not. Personally, I think that’s taking an obsession with books a little far, but— “ Ditzy stopped as a very attentive Tick passed her the parchment again. She could have sworn she heard the tempo of his eyes again; his eyes were definitely moving faster. Maybe it varied from time to time. Ditzy knew from experience that control over a set of wandering eyes changed with mood as much as anything else. “Did you say lives in a library? What town is this?” “Well, all of the Elements actually live in Ponyville. It’s a nice, small town not too far from here, actually—I’m a mailmare there, so I run into all of them at some time or another.” Tick’s irises spun round, the tempo accelerating. He had leaned back into the booth; he was nervous—but Ditzy only suspected it, she couldn’t prove it. The manner in which he wrote his response belied at least a demand for knowledge, and concern was the likely motivator for that demand. Ditzy kept her tone calm and conversational, but kept her eyes more carefully on him. “The librarian is actually the personal student of Celestia herself. I was pretty excited when I heard about that, because I thought that I would get to take mail to Celestia all the time. Turns out she has her own special delivery system—she can send letters directly to Celestia through some weird teleportation-fire that the dragon she’s raising can do. I have to admit I was a little jealous when I realized I wouldn’t be carrying letters to the princess, but I got over it. It would have been nice to travel more often, though,” Ditzy sighed. “Can’t always get what you want. Are you ok?” Tick appeared frozen, his irises whirling so quickly that the shades were unable to be distinguished; the little color that remained in his face had drained at the mention of Twilight’s letters to Celestia. He seemed to be looking through Ditzy rather than at her. What had once been a tempo had now become a deep humming, and Ditzy had not an iota of knowledge of what was happening to him. “Tick?” She was about to find out. “Tick!” The separation of his iris from the rest of his eyes dissipated in an instant, a grey blur enveloping them. Ditzy’s eyes aligned momentarily, just long enough to make full contact with the vortex. Just long enough to draw her in. ~~~~~~~~~~ This time, it happened quickly. No long, protracted whispering of the wind nor slowing of time nor loss of sensation. There was almost no transition: Ditzy was in a bar, and then she was in a library, looking down at a book. She could feel the pages on… his hooves and the slight currents in the air on his body. Altogether it was a completely natural and unsettling experience—she thought she could feel his mind too, but she had no time to contemplate it. And then she was overlooking a dark crag with a windmill in the distance, looking through Tick’s eyes at fields filled with nothing but boulders strewn about. Dark moonlight shone down, cutting through dystopian night as a young aqua-colored pegasus looked on apprehensively. And then she saw a dock and harbor, buildings cropped up along the waterside with magnificent towers in the distance. The smell of brine was invigorating, the sun in the east out on the water far away but still providing some measure of warmth. And then she was in a grand hall, the night sky outside the window luminous. Several books lay scattered about the black marble floor; it reflected Tick’s face upwards at him. Finally Tick realized her presence—but he reacted sluggishly. Ditzy had no control over what she was seeing; she was a prisoner in his mind. Panic seized Tick, he was too drunk to have complete control over his mind-vision. He hastily made to strip layers of perception from the memory Ditzy was reliving, but only succeeded in blocking ‘her’ vision. Absent of sight, the cold and blackness reigned, pressing in—but the pernicious recollection continued. Tick’s current consciousness faded from feeling again. “We still do not understand the concerns you’ve raised. Perhaps you should come back another time?” It was a feminine voice, but it portrayed supreme patience, dignity, and yet a gentle suggestion. She lacked condescension; showed concern, she cared—although she had a slight tinge of impatience in her voice as well. Ditzy could feel the icy wind blowing, the marble on his hooves, the feeling of intense frustration emanating from Tick’s mnemonic mind and memory. She was definitely stonewalling—skirting the issues that Tick brought up, delicately denying any discussion. She must be made to see reason, Tick knew. It was too critical to be left unattended. What had been unearthed must be brought to light. “Or I could show you. This is far too severe to be ignored.” Ditzy could feel him moving, it was as if she herself was speaking. Even though you seem intent on doing just that… Ditzy heard him think. “We warn you: you may try, but if you attempt to delve into our mind the repercussions will be severe and unpleasant.” Anticipation broke over into grim determination for Tick. He could feel it in the back of his mind, hear it. Ditzy felt his body tense and his emotions tighten into a black spectrum. Something terrible was welling up inside of him—but it was not of him. It was conceptual. “I tried to explain it, I'm sorry.” Ditzy still couldn’t see a thing, but she could feel his irises accelerate. She was living his memory, being his emotions. From the recesses of his mind, she felt it well up: malice, anger, despair, apathy, and things too malignant to name. Tearing and howling, they ripped and screamed for domination—Tick was on a blade’s edge in a thundercloud. Suddenly, the dam shattered and the barriers between Tick’s minds and that of the other vanished. But the maelstrom in Tick’s mind paled in comparison to what it had awoken in the other. It was magnified ten thousand times, great and terrible, the grimness of a world scoured of life. Endless howling winds buffeted the void landscape, with a fury that was only matched by the rage of its sole inhabitant. An eclipsed sun’s corona perversely shone, harsh rays burned around her. It was cold and murderous, blazing and raging—bleakness and desolation were the only contrast. Tick was no longer the master of the vision—she, the other, had swept him aside as utterly and completely as a dead leaf in a blackened tornado. So intense was her parallel that Tick’s storm was completely subverted into it, a drop in a dry ocean of hate. Sinister without subtlety, her darkness fought against the piercing rays of the sun and consumed them. Black was her color and black her mind, poisonous and destructive. She had been defeated! The arrogant one had banished her with the tools that she shouldn’t rightly be able to use! Fury bubbled over like hellfire into a scream, long and agonizing. It ripped through the dead landscape, rending stone and whipping dust into a dark cloud. No rock could stand against it; it shattered them all. Through time and space and memory it sounded to perpetuate its brutality and harshness on all who heard it. But that was not the only torment that ravaged through the other, Tick, and Ditzy. There was, almost imperceptibly, another scream. Buried though it was, it sounded almost sweet compared to the fire and hate. It was a scream of horror. Horror at what she had become, at what she had done, at what she would do. A scream of remorse—and in remorse is the very seed of redemption. But that day would not come for an age. And Ditzy’s accidental journey was not yet over. Tick’s recollection was shocked out of the union of minds between Tick and the other. Tick’s current conscious had either lost the battle to extract Ditzy from his mind or had given up the fight: She could see now. And she saw a horrified Princess Luna standing before her in a dark marble hall, icy winds again blowing. But no matter how cold the winds, nothing would chill Ditzy more than the look of wrath that Luna directed at Tick. “Foul servant of the Nightmare! How dare you try to force agony upon us!” Tick flew back on the impact of a magical explosion, smashing against the wall with a sickening crack. Ditzy felt several of his ribs be replaced by jagged shards of glass, or so it felt to her. He slumped down to the floor, on the verge of unconsciousness. Luna came over with a look of the greatest loathing on her face, her head turned up with her eyes looking down. “Give me a reason,” she hissed, looking down into his rotating eyes. “As to why I shouldn’t end your current existence. Why I shouldn’t purge your mind of everything you know for the sake of Equestria.” She had lost all composure, but none of the authority in her voice. “Warned… you,” he started weakly. “Wasn’t my intent—” And then all was black. “I won’t let you hurt them. I won’t let you hurt her,” Luna whispered. ~~~~~~~~~~~ In a booth, in a tavern, in an underground metropolis hidden under a mountain, in a very strange land called Equestria, Ditzy started to wonder if she could go a day without some sort of momentous revelation. Tick appeared to be in a state of trance, his eyes now closed. His breathing was ragged and irregular, though no noise passed his mouth. Ditzy took the time to confirm her suspicions and reached across the table to brush aside his cloak. White bandages stretched across his torso, stained a black-crimson on the right. Ditzy recoiled from the sight, the dried blood a powerful reminder that he was not well. Tick’s eyes opened at and he startled at the touch; an audible click sounded and his irises began their rhythm as he drew in a deep breath that turned into a silent hacking cough. “Tick, what was all that?” She wanted to draw closer to him, afraid to pat him on the back for fear of hurting his ribs or to provoke a more drastic reaction. Tick recovered slowly, eventually settling back into his haggard condition. A detritus of parchment, empty mugs, and a broken quill or two covered the table, but nothing appeared to have changed outside of the whirlwind of minds. “Tick?” Ditzy asked, voice pleading for as much as her own sake as his. She didn’t want another set of tumultuous events stuck in her mind so soon after resolving her own problems. I don’t need another tragedy and a mystery on top of it! Tick took a long look at Ditzy. His eyes betrayed nothing to her; a barrier thick and strong had been put up between his thoughts and hers. He was making up his mind, and a damning decision he soon made. His face grew grim and his body tense, but he released it in a slow exhalation—and then he bolted for the door. Ditzy startled, but recovered in time to interject herself between Tick and the exit. “Tick, wait, I can help you if you just explain what that was all—” He vaulted himself over Ditzy and slammed through the door, careening off into the dimly lit streets. Ditzy gave into temptation and followed for a moment, but the dark alleys had already swallowed him whole.