//------------------------------// // 28: The Brink // Story: Darkened Shores // by Silver Flare //------------------------------// Twilight Sparkle's mind was a dark place. It was a large place, certainly, and it had been that way for as long as she could remember. She had a remarkable knack for distilling facts into discrete, functional systems and linking them all together until everything made sense. Her avid curiosity and untrammeled joy in learning and excelling had meshed perfectly with her devotion to her radiant mentor- Pain flooded her being, again, and none of her vast knowledge seemed to help. Twilight's studies surrounding magic and friendship had kept her young heart open, her feelings vulnerable. She mourned Celestia's death as one who had no defense against the hurt, until she scarcely remembered to breathe. She was only beginning to understand the wisdom of jading one's feelings, and she bitterly wished she could afford herself such luxury. In between bouts of sudden grief Twilight felt stunned. She was still reeling from how quickly things had changed, how quickly she had changed. It seemed like only yesterday that her world had centered around her friends and her studies. And now? Now Twilight had become intimately familiar with mistrust and deception, both the kind meant to protect and the kind meant to betray. She had discovered the various flavors of grief, and had felt the ripping, queasy sensation of one's entire life crumbling to its foundations. She'd seen terrible things, things that had slithered across her senses until her mind buckled underneath the sheer revulsion she felt. She was certain to have fuel for nightmares for decades to come. And Twilight had tasted power, more power than she could possibly have conceived before this little vacation had started. The mere thought of it made her heart lurch with a giddy rush of adrenaline. Yet, oddly, what Twilight noted more than anything else was how natural the darkness had felt. It wasn't some obvious, cackling evil. Fear and anger and loneliness might not be fun, but they were as ordinary as breathing. Twilight was becoming increasingly convinced that power itself could be neither good nor evil. It must be the use to which power is put that would define its moral bearing. At least, that's what she was trying to convince herself. Twilight Sparkle had taken a life. She had used the power she had stolen to end another sentient being's existence, and it had been as easy as blowing out a candle. And even though she knew in her mind and her heart that she should feel horrible guilt for what she'd done, she simply couldn't find much guilt inside her anymore. Even though her rationalizations never quite clicked, she still couldn't bring herself to regret what she'd done. Twilight's mind was a dark place, and these thoughts chased each other around and around inside her skull, clamoring through her grief and her numbness alike, and try as she might she couldn't make sense of it all. “. . . should haveta' take that risk.” Everyone at the mahogany table had stopped talking to look in Twilight's direction. She'd zoned out, entirely missing whatever Applejack had been saying. Her incomprehension must have been all over her face, because Rainbow Dash chaffed. “She didn't catch that. Again.” The sunlight cut through the dark room, illuminating only part of Dash's haggard face and untidy mane. “Oh, do be patient.” Rarity admonished, “Twilight has been through more than enough.” “Haven't we all?” Dash muttered, but there was little disagreement in her voice. “Look, ah get it.” Applejack put her hooves up in a placating gesture. “We don't want ta stir the pot more'n we need to. But this here Yami fella, are you really so positive he don't already know we're comin'?” There was a pause, and this time everyone turned towards Luna. The Princess's mane still flowed and sparkled like a vision of the night, but her cyan eyes were troubled and distant. “We are positive of nothing.” She spoke deliberately, as though desperate to impart the full meaning of her words. Or trying hard to force words past a lump in her throat. “This being, 'tis not of our world. It exceeds all of our. . . We have never actually seen. . . We know not if it is even aware of itself or of anything around it. Or perhaps it knows every facet of our lives and our pasts. The point being, we are simply loathe to waste a possible advantage, and turning the Elements against the curse below would surely do just that.” “That's just it, yer Highness,” Applejack responded with quiet gravity, “Way things stand now, the slightest hiccup in our plans and Twi' here will haveta'. . . you know. I just don't think we should put our friend in that position again fer the sake of a 'maybe,' is all.” Twilight had a retort ready, the denial jumping to her lips. There was no danger of her becoming a nightmare version of herself. None at all. She was in complete control. Surprisingly, Fluttershy was quicker to speak up. “We can trust her.” The mare's melodic voice carried notes of strength and certainty. She'd kept her mane back in its ponytail and out of her face, still bound with strips of deep-green seaweed. “We need to trust her. She's our friend, after all.” A warm meal and about a gallon of water had done Fluttershy a world of good. While she could still use lots more rest, the color had returned to her cheeks, and her gaze didn't waver. She aimed a smile at Twilight and the effect was disarming. Twilight smiled back. “Well of course she's our friend.” Pinkie Pie said. She was looking quite a bit like her old self again, if uncharacteristically somber. The chaotic spring had returned to her mane, if not to her eyes. “And of course we totally trust her and stuff, but. . . but seeing super-dark-and-ultra-scary Twilight made my tummy twist right around into an icky knot. And truthishly, I don't really want to see that again if I don't absatively have to.” Twilight tilted her face forward, so her bangs fell in front of her face a little. She was secretly certain that she would need to embrace the Darkness below them to defeat this Yami thing, and having channeled that power she felt equally certain that nothing could stop her if she did. Absolutely nothing. But underneath that secret certainty was the feeling she was desperately trying to hide; that she really wanted a reason to do it, too. She wanted a reason to tap back into that power. And she had organized lots of very dispassionate and logical arguments to that effect. But she had nothing to counter the look in Pinkie's eyes. That look of sadness and heartache. So she felt the sting of those words and said nothing. Pinkie turned those soulful blue eyes away from Twilight. “And besides, isn't what we're doing now just an eensey-weensey bit more dangerous?” Pinkie had directed the question at Princess Luna, but it was Rainbow Dash who answered. “We're flying a busted airship inland. . . over the crazy trippy black stuff filled with, what you ponies have told me, are the grossest creatures anypony has ever seen. Of course its dangerous! If this ship goes down, we might as well put a bow on it because that's a wrap.” “No.” Twilight finally spoke, softly enough to not disturb Spike sleeping against her flank. “Nopony is in danger now. I can control it. If this ship goes down, I promise we will all be safe. Not to mention that we can use the Elements of Harmony at any time we might need to wipe this curse off the face of the continent. The risks are negligible.” “What about the risks to you, sugarcube?” Applejack implored. “Everythin' we've ever known about dark magics tells us it's bad ta' dabble with'em. It just sucks you in, don't it?” What would you know? The bitter thought came unbidden into Twilight's mind. You've never wandered down these paths before in your life. She knew better than to say such things aloud. That was probably her emotions, rather than logic making the argument. She passed the question off to Princess Luna with a glance. “'Tis true, in a way,” Luna glanced away from the table as though ashamed to admit she'd ever had such experience to speak from. “The lure of such dark corners of the heart may become a snare, compelling one to revisit such darkness again and again.” Luna refocused on the circle of companions, meeting each set of eyes in turn. “However, young Twilight Sparkle possesses a strong will and stronger friends. We believe there is little to fear.” Hah! Twilight found herself flooded by a justified satisfaction. See? Princess Luna herself knows I can handle it. I'm in complete control. Applejack shook her head sadly. “I'm sorry, but y'all don't actually believe that, do ya yer Highness.” It was phrased as a statement, not a question. Before Luna could reply, the colorful Kelbrri appeared in the doorway, looking agitated. Her feathers were ruffled, her pupils wide. “Prrrincess! We've. . . I've neverrr. . . You must come to the brrridge!” “What could the problem possibly be?” Luna had already stood, moving to follow the gryphon. “We've hardly been flying for very long.” Everyone else stood with her. Twilight lifted Spike with a light glow of telekinesis, floating him gently in the air before her. “Forty-six minutes and. . .” Pinkie Pie began, until all eyes turned towards her. She finished more slowly. “T-twelve seconds. Would be my guess. Heh.” She broke out a mostly genuine smile and shone it around. “It's the horizon.” Kelbrri really did look distraught. She clacked her beak a few times, pinning her eartufts back as she did. “It's. . . we're. . . we seem to be rrrunning out, sort of. It's. . . we think we're nearing the edge of the world.” “But the world is a sphere,” Twilight blurted, forgetting to keep her voice down in her astonishment. Before her, Spike stirred. “Everypony knows that.” Spike's eyes blinked open, focused on the ground floating below him. His first instinct was to smile and stretch. Twilight distantly noted that living with her must involve getting used to waking up in odd places and odd positions. Kelbrri nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah, yeah we all know that. So, uh, maybe come take a look and see for yourrrselves?” “Well, looks like the schoolbooks were all a lie, huh Twilight?” Spike shook his head, squinting into the wind. “Well, that's what it looks like.” Rainbow threw an arm over Twilight's shoulders, her flight goggles obscuring the vibrant red of her eyes. “Feeling up to some serious textbook editing, egghead?” “This isn't right.” Twilight squinted into the wind too, trying hard to understand exactly what her eyes were seeing. “This. . . isn't right.” The friends had all clustered together on the bridge, scattered around the haggard first shift crew. Clouded Gaze was back at the helm after having slept off the effects of Sun Shade's dart, and she kept a steady bearing into the east. Other members of the crew checked instruments and made repairs, but the mood among the crew had grown as bleak as the topography below. Thistle's death had been a mighty blow, but Celestia's passing. . . everyone moved in various states of shock, and there was more than one who simply couldn't find the strength to work. Not yet anyhow. Those left running the ship were just going through the motions. Their hearts were no longer in it. It didn't help that the front corner of the ship itself had been chewed up and the great bay windows destroyed. Aether's Vigil was no longer sleek and aerodynamic. As it limped through the air, the wind plowed straight into the faces of those running it, ruffling feathers and tousling manes. Cloud had located a pair of goggles, as had a few other crew members. But the wind was also cold, and the landscape twisty and nauseating. At least the meeting of land and sky offered something else to take the mind off of how unpleasant it was to pilot the airship. The horizon failed to curve gently with the world in the way it was supposed to. Instead, it sort of cut across the edge of vision with a strange immediacy. The horizon was still far away, but it definitely wasn't as far away as it should have been. Twilight's thoughts stumbled. “Maybe it's an illusion. . . or something hidden behind a veil, something. . .” “No. . .” Luna's tone was vague. “This surely isn't. . .” Her thoughts seemed to wander off with her voice, leaving silence behind. “Luna,” Twilight began, “Didn't Teryn. . . um, didn't he say something about you knowing something? More than Celestia knew?” But the Princess didn't answer her, and Twilight didn't press the issue. “If the world is really flat,” Pinkie asked nobody in particular, “I wonder what the other side looks like.” “Ah reckon we'll be findin' out soon enough.” Applejack muttered, squinting hard and fiddling with her ponytail. “Not while the sun is up.” Kelbrri said over the sound of the wind. “At our currrent speed, I think we should rrreach the edge beforrre dawn, though.” “Then reduce our speed. Do not chance cresting the anomaly in the moonlight.” Luna cautioned. “We will make the final approach after we have raised the sun again.” “Yes, your Highness.” Twilight was troubled. Something Teryn had said to his sisters was bouncing around her head. Despite her new power, she felt afraid of what the morning sun would reveal. The night passed uneventfully. The seven friends clustered together in the same room, trying to act like it was just a slumber party. They'd eaten, they shared each others company and they'd spoken of things great and small. They'd learned about the seemingly endless swimming Dash wouldn't stop talking about. Pinkie and Spike both gasped when Fluttershy told them all about the shark she'd met. If Twilight was quiet, well nobody held that against her. When it was time to at least try to sleep, nobody left. Instead they all made themselves as comfortable as they could in the same room, with most of them doubling up in the small beds the airship provided. Twilight didn't sleep much, and what sleep she did manage was troubled. When she woke up crying, Spike woke up too, and he nuzzled himself underneath her chin. It helped, a little, and she drifted back off into restless dreams. For awhile, Sun Shade had wandered the airship like a derelict, devoid of destination and purpose, yet unable to sit still. Faces passed by as little more than concerned blurs, obstacles set in her path. When she'd finally realized that, unconsciously, she'd been searching the ship for Thistle Down, well. . . She'd been found curled up near the aft storerooms and gently walked back to her quarters. She had become quite the mess, entirely unkempt and puffy-eyed. Shade had never been given to fits of emotion, but this was simply too much. So she cried in her room for awhile, even going so far as to throw some of her belongings about. She'd read of somebody doing it in a book somewhere, and she hoped it might help. It did not. Surprisingly, sometime after the sun had set, Shade found herself completely exhausted by her grief over Thistle's death. The pain hadn't eased, she simply hadn't the energy left to feel it quite so keenly. So her thoughts turned to the other friend she had lost, and the pain renewed itself, bringing with it a flood of rage. That changeling had betrayed them all, had lied about everything. It had made her care. . . Shade wasn't completely aware of reaching a decision, she simply found herself trotting down unlit corridors she knew like the back of her hoof, avoiding third shift crew, with an unlit lantern in her jaws and her parasol slung over her shoulder. Shade sensed that fuel was being strictly rationed now that the airship was no longer whole. The bird still flew, but it was crippled. In a strange way, Sun Shade was glad Aether's Vigil was broken. It matched her heart. Peeking around a corner, Shade spotted a a lone pony guarding the door to the engine room. Of course they posted a watch. Goddess forbid justice come at the hooves of mortal ponies. She silently unslung her parasol and sighted down a rib before noticing exactly who had been left in charge of the prisoner's safety. It wasn't anyone she'd been expecting. It was. . . She blinked. Oh. Shade re-shouldered her weapon and retrieved her dark lantern before walking boldly into view. Clear Sky didn't react right away, and when he did stand his lost amber eyes didn't focus on her face. He even listed a little, as though even balancing on four hooves was difficult. Shade set the lantern down before the pegasus. “Let me by.” Her words shook, but not as much as she'd feared. She was certain the heat of her glare would make up for the weakness in her voice. His eyes tracked to hers and they drew into focus, and Shade forgot about her own turmoil for a few seconds. There was nothing there, nothing left. In a flash of intuition Shade understood; his unuttered agony had clawed him up so badly inside he looked like he might never recover. She was confronted with the possibility that, spiritually, Clear Sky was bleeding to death right under their noses. She wondered if anyone else knew how badly he needed help. But there was enough of him left to understand her intentions. His eyes drifted from her face to her weapon, then meandered to the steel rivets set in the wall. He shrugged. “Let. . .” His voice cracked and rasped with disuse. He cleared his throat. “Let me know if. . . if it helps.” At that he stretched himself out on the floor along one wall, laid his head down and stared off into the blackness beyond the reach of the light, leaving her a clear path to the door. There she faltered. For the first time Shade began to really think about what she meant to do. Killing the insect wouldn't bring her friends or her crew back. It wouldn't change anything important. But it had to be done. That thing had donned feathers and a false smile and lies and. . . and even though it hadn't actually killed Thistle Down the slimy thing may as well have. After all, it was the reason she wasn't by his side when. . . when he. . . She was not so weak as Sky, to be crippled and hampered by grief. She was a mare of decisive action. She was capable and strong. She would answer her pain by doing what needed to be done. She lit her lantern with shaking hooves and shoved her way fiercely through the door. So, the night passed uneventfully for almost everyone. The storage compartment certainly seemed like the most uneventful place in the whole of the airship, especially once the crew found any excuse they could to abandon the place. They'd also killed the lights. Not that pitch dark was a particular problem, accompanied as it was by the nearby whirr of turbines, the hum of pumps, the clacking of relay switches. It was just. . . was lonely the word? The changeling sighed, and his exhalation was accompanied by the rattle of chains as he shifted position on the cool metal grating of the floor. He could have lit the room with magic, but there would have been no point. He could see just fine. The problem was that there was nothing worth seeing. He'd fulfilled his mission to the best of his ability, and it was looking unlikely that he would get the chance to help any further. Honestly, he was lucky to still be alive. He didn't feel lucky, though. Years of playing the same role, wearing the same disguise, it had begun to feel natural. A common enough job hazard when service to the hive warranted such an extended infiltration. But understanding the dynamic did little to ease the sense of loss hollowing out his chest. Although he would rather be dismembered and fed to the recyclers than admit it to his kind, he had grown attached to his food sources. Thistle Down had been more than just a good cover and a source of nourishment, he'd been a. . . There were others too. Sun Shade had become remarkably close, for some reason enjoying his antics and his quirks. And her emotions had been rich, heartfelt and deep. Cloud, in her gruff way, had loved him, as had Reeds, and most everyone else aboard the Vigil. So while he could never have afforded to feed deeply off of any one being, he had never once gone hungry in the years he'd spent as a gryphon. Up until now. But much of the personality, many of the quirks he'd developed as Pin Feather were honestly his, and the affection he'd felt flowing towards him was genuine. It was little wonder he'd begun to reciprocate the emotions. But then one little spell at the wrong moment, and everything he'd known was blown to shreds, and every close tie he'd forged over the last pair of decades was gone entirely. He closed his eyes, and pressed the side of his face against the metal grate until the edges dug into his cheeks. But the physical discomfort was not enough to stop the liquid squeezing out from the corners of his eyes. Yes. . . yes lonely was the word. His body shuddered once more, the clinking of the chains melodic in the dark. He'd expended most of his reserves of energy through his gnarled horn, and he was feeling the breathy weakness that came with hunger. Then the metal door bolt clanged with a reverberating detonation, accompanied by a harsh sliver of illumination. Lantern light cast a red glow over the far end of the narrow room. The changeling's pupils had fully adjusted to the dark, and the sudden light left him blinded, blinking spots out of his vision. At least he figured he had an excuse to rub his eyes. Besides, he didn't need to see to identify the hoof-falls coming slowly towards him. This time of night, there was only one pony who would come to see him, and there was only one reason she would appear. He steeled his courage. The intruder set the lantern down with her teeth, revealing Sun Shade's worn features. The normally styled earth pony had done some serious crying. Her eyes had an intense, bloodshot look to them, made stark by sunken pouches of skin. She had arrived armed, her frilly parasol slung over one shoulder. His mind quickly conjured four different ways she could kill him with it. Wait. . . Ugh. Five, counting the tiny acetylene torch near the tip. He was hoping for an overdose of numbing agent, but he admitted to himself he really wasn't feeling that lucky. The changeling didn't bother standing. He just shifted into a position where he could better see Sun Shade's face. A face that, up until very recently, he would have been glad to see. The chains Luna had enchanted clanked again. “So.” His buzzing voice sounded alien even to him, since he hadn't heard it much over the years. “I take it they didn't leave Dasher on guard duty. Or did you drop her with your frilly crossbow?” Shade's left eye twitched. “Stop talking like him.” He wanted to retort in anger. What did she know about him? What did she think he was going to do? Beg for his life? Practically anything she could do to him here would be kinder than what the hive might have done had he turned on them. Or might do if they found out how defective he'd become, regardless of the outcome of his mission. But his anger bled away into the cold air around him. He'd deceived her after all was said and done, not the other way around. So he held his tongue. She slid the parasol off her shoulder and held it with the tip pointing down. She wasn't threatening anyone yet. They remained in that silence for awhile, with Shade trying to control her breathing. “Sky.” She eventually said. The changeling looked away and nodded. “Of course.” His eyes grew distant and his brow creased with concern. “How is he?” Shade snorted. “Drop the act, bug. You aren't fooling anypony.” That stung, and he failed to contain his bitterness. “Sorry, I forgot I was nothing but a soulless auto-mation.” “Automaton.” “I knew that.” Shade's eye twitched again. “I said stop it. You're not Pin feather. You're a lie.” “Ah,” The changeling stood, bringing himself up to eye-level with the mare. “But I'm the only Pin Feather you've ever met.” “You know,” Shade took a trembling step forward. “I'd bet anything that Sky isn't the only member of the crew who would have let me in to see you.” That hurt. That hurt a lot, actually. The hollowness inside his chest was filling up with pain. “He. . . he wants me dead too?” “Not as badly as I do.” She growled. “I didn't kill him!” The changeling shouted, his voice buzzing with fury. “I was trying to save him!” His world exploded with white light and a deafening crack as the weighted umbrella caught him across the jaw. The world upended around him as he sprawled at the length of his fetters. A heartbeat later, and the weapon caught him in the soft curve of his stomach, making his dazed frame convulse in agony. He curled in on himself instinctively, letting his stiff carapace take the brunt of the punishment. Another three blows, four, and he felt something crack in the elytra covering his left wing, and he felt a tingling across his entire body as he cast a spell. There was a gasp, and the blows stopped as Shade stumbled back, clumsily aborting her last swing. “Don't you dare!” Sun Shade whispered breathlessly. He uncurled enough to scathe her with a glare. “What are you waiting for?” His voice no longer buzzed. Pin Feather lay before her, chained and helpless. “I thought you were going to kill me.” He was smudged with sand and grime, and his eyes welled with tears. “Well come on. Do it.” He panted. “You monster.” “M-maybe Sky wants to watch, huh? Did you ask him? G-go ask.” Pin Feather sniffled, rubbing angrily at his face. “M-maybe he'll ch-cheer you on.” Shade rushed him, jabbing the tip of the parasol against the base of his neck and holding it there. “You don't have a soul.” She snarled. “How would you know?” She responded by driving the point harder against his spine. He tried not to twitch. He just panted and panted, his eyes squeezed shut. In a way, this was better. He'd lost the life he'd built in his second skin, and his hive would destroy him anyhow if they found out how compromised he'd become. He waited for Shade to find the courage to follow through. He wondered if they'd bother to bury him, or if they'd cast his body over the side like garbage. Turbines whirred, pumps hummed, relay switched clacked, but they just barely failed to cover the sound of Sun Shade's labored breathing. Pin Feather cracked one eye open. The lantern light threw stark shadows across Shade's features, so he couldn't quite make out what she might be thinking, why she might be hesitating. Then she spoke, words so devoid of strength they barely existed. He couldn't make them out. “W. . . what?” He asked. “Say something!” Shade's voice was thin and panicky. “Just say something, anything!” “I. . . I don't-” He felt the tip of the weapon push harder against his neck, and he gasped in pain. “Okay, alright, um. . . I lied about my age. I'm, uh, about four years younger than I said I was on my school application.” Amazingly, the pressure on his neck eased a fraction. She wants the truth? Fine. That's fine. She deserves that much. “I'm a changeling. A soldier drone hatched just north of the Badlands. I was selected for a special mission due mostly to my understanding of biology and medicine, my magical aptitude, and my optimism.” Shade didn't speak, but he felt her twitch through the umbrella. “Yeah, I know. There's not a lot of smiling that went on in my hive, but a few of us did. And, uh, not just when a drone was killed in a duel, you know? But I guess it's a trait that crops up genetically now and again. And it's a trait that, statistically, lends itself to success in long-term undercover missions. Or so I've been told.” He shrugged a little, mushed as he was on the floor grate. “I dunno, maybe they just got sick of me. But the job was an important one. A few engineering prodigies had been identified in the gryphon provinces, and they needed a leash on as many of them as they could manage. Seems I got assigned to the right one.” Now what? “Uh, and gryphons have just the most disgusting diet of any carnivore, don't they? I mean fish, right? Give me a break. Fish just. . . smells like fish, doesn't it? It's so much worse than trying to choke down pony food. Hay might be tasteless and rough, but at least it doesn't wriggle when you swallow. Or look up at you with imploring eyes all like, 'Why would you eat me? I have a slimy fish husband I've known for all of eight seconds and a good 50,000 children. Also, I taste like fish, so everyone loses.' That's kind of why I developed a reputation for kitchen disasters. Kept expectations low.” “And let me tell you, feathers suck. It took me months to adjust to the feel of them. They itched like crazy. . .” Shade squeezed her eyes shut, and was seemingly unaware that she'd done so. “He'd,” She choked out. “He'd mentioned that. Said he thought you had fleas or something. When he first met you.” Her voice had softened. Pin Feather snorted. “Thistle never said anything about. . . Oh.” His eyes studied old memories. “But that first week of chemistry, that's why he spilled permethryn all over me!” “He did what?” A hint of lofty offense slipped into those words, a glimpse of the old Sun Shade. “That sly pigeon. . .” His voice cracked on that last word, and his body trembled once. Shade wilted, her ears drooping towards the floor. “You actually are him. . . aren't you? For as long as it's mattered. . .” He wanted to throw a barbed quip in her direction. Instead he restrained himself with a sigh. The pressure vanished, and Shade stepped back a pace. Her parasol looked as though it weighed a hundred pounds. “Pins. . . He's gone. . .” The words sounded like they were stuck in her throat. Her face crumpled as she said it. “I know.” The image of her misted over, becoming a rose-hued blur. Then he jumped as something clattered at his feet, a coarse fabric brushing against his foreclaws. He blinked his eyes to find Sun Shade's weapon lying before him. He immediately knew he could free himself with it. He could probably even tranquilize Shade and impersonate her outside this little makeshift dungeon. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would buy him time. He glanced back up, beak agape. “I loved him, did you know that?” Her mane had fallen into her face, obscuring her clenched eyes. Her crumpled features had become a bared-teeth snarl as she fought down her sobs. A high-pitched keen escaped her throat before the trembling in her shoulders eased a bit. She gulped in a breath. “Because I didn't. I didn't r-realize until. . .” She doubled over, the shakes intensifying. Pin Feather hesitated, his ear tufts flat with dismay. He wondered whether or not he should say something, and he lifted a claw to reach out for her. He recoiled as she began pounding the grate below her with a hoof, sharp clangs like cannon shots ringing in the confined space. Six or seven jarring impacts, and she stopped. Holding her hoof before her, she studied a small ruby droplet before it fell soundlessly, only to be replaced with another. Her breathing was a little more steady as she said in a whisper, “I don't know what to do anymore.” Pin Feather chose his words carefully and spoke them deliberately. “So. . . Why. . .” With a tilt of his beak, he indicated the weaponized umbrella beneath him. Worn eyes regarded him from between strands of black curls. “I. . . I was mistaken.” She tilted her head in a helpless sort of gesture. “I guess that's my form of an apology.” Pin Feather reached down slowly and picked up the parasol, studying its length. His eyes moved along the ribs, and down to the functional bits cleverly embedded in the base of the central pole. He was fairly certain he could operate it confidently. With a grimace, he gravely offered it back to the trembling pony. Shade stared at it for several heartbeats, her heavy breaths making her mane sway. Then she pulled it from his grasp, slung it over her shoulder, picked up her lantern in her teeth and turned away. She left without saying another word. The loud clang of the door bolt echoed with a ringing finality, and the darkness returned. The changeling swept a foreclaw through his crest, then yanked a couple of his feathers out with a savage twist. He regarded the pair of crushed feathers in the darkness. He still felt the splintered, rigid shafts and the soft vanes, forms held together by his magic. With a snarl he flung them into a corner and collapsed back onto the floor, accompanied by more rustling chains. He'd given up a perfect chance at freedom for a distant chance at salvaging a friendship. Oh, his hive would kill him for certain. Twilight shivered, tremors starting at her shoulders and rippling through the rest of her body. She clung tighter to Spike, barely feeling his warmth through her numb limbs. When she bolted awake, her gasp turned to vapor in the moonlight. Nearby, someone stirred. “Twi?'” Applejack's voice shuddered. “Mmmf, who left the dag blamed window open?” “Nopony did.” Fluttershy's words drifted like quiet snowflakes from her top bunk. “It's just been getting colder the longer we've flown.” “Gah, I h-h-hate sh-sh-shivering!” Dash's teeth chattered as she spoke. “W-w-why are we up s-s-s-so h-high?” “Maybe if you didn't sleep outside the covers all the time.” Pinkie's voice emerged from beneath a small, dark pile of blankets. “Maybe if you didn't hog them all to yourself!” “You kicked them onto me!” Spike hadn't even stirred. Twilight draped him over her back for warmth, settling him atop her shoulders. She could tell that they weren't moving anymore. The Vigil's forward motion had stopped. She had a feeling, deep in her gut, that something wasn't right. Something big. “I'd like to find out. I'm headed to the bridge.” Rarity yawned hugely, snuggling herself deeper under her covers. “Let us know in the morning, would you darling? This pony needs at least some sleep to function.” Applejack stretched and stood, blinking her emerald eyes. “Well, I'm curious. Want us to grab ya anythin' while we're up, darlin'?” “Oh, ha ha.” Rarity muttered. “I'm coming.” Fluttershy began climbing down from the higher bunk. “Me too.” Rainbow Dash staggered and yawned, her chaotic mane even more chaotic than usual, and matched by a super-frizzy tail. “I'd like to see how high up we are. Maybe I can break a couple of flying records before heading back to bed.” Pinkie's pile of blankets tumbled to the floor in a heap, then scootched after the others as they walked out of the room, clearly intending to come along without giving up her bundled warmth. A dramatic sigh wafted from Rarity's bunk. “Fine!” The covers were thrown back with a little more force than was necessary. “Should I never set hoof on an airship or an adventure ever again, it'll be too soon! Ooh! That is chilly! Now where is my mane brush!?” The bridge was frosty. As in, there may have been actual bits of frost collecting in the corners. The flight crew had found weather jackets and blankets to bundle in as they worked, since the air flowing in through the broken windows was freezing cold and thin. Twilight scarcely noticed, enraptured as she was by the illimitable panoply of stars that swirled through the sky before her. Bright pinpricks of light sparkled in vast whorls from deep reds to pearl whites to sapphire blues. More stars than she had ever seen. It was a view of space unblemished by cloud or refraction or other light sources, despite the very faint glow of pre-dawn just at the bottom of what she could see. The majesty of the cosmos filled her heart, and a smile pulled at Twilight's lips. “Um,” The pile of blankets shivered nervously. “Are we in space?” “Pinkie, there's no air in space.” Rainbow admonished. “Not a lotta air goin' on up here, that's fer sure.” Applejack muttered. “I'm already panting like Granny Smith pullin' a cart.” Luna stood between the controls and the broken windows, staring into the deepest night without a single shiver. She'd probably stood there all night. Twilight shook off her wonder enough to address her. “P-princess,” Now her muscles were beginning to spasm, trying desperately to keep her warm. “Why are we f-flying so h-high up?” Luna didn't answer. As Twilight approached, she noticed that the alicorn's pupils had shrunk, and focused on nothing. She stood tall, her legs locked into place and her head held high, yet she took no notice of anything around her. A twinkle caught Twilight's eye, starlight reflected from a single drop that rolled off Luna's chin and fell at her hooves. “We aren't high up.” Clouded Gaze answered for her from the panel of switches and gauges behind them. Her eyes were wide, and her gruff voice held a note of awe that Twilight had never heard before. “Check the altimeter. We're still close to sea-level. We're not. . . It's. . .” The steel-feathered gryphon stammered to a stop, panting hard. Twilight glanced around, noticing the three other crew members in similar states of near-panic. She looked again out the windows, but there was no horizon, no ground to speak of. Just sky and more sky. “Then where in the hoof are we?” She asked the room. Nobody offered an answer. So she turned towards the windows. “Don't!. . .” Cloud reached out a foreclaw as though to pull Twilight back. Twilight felt a sudden stab of fear. There wasn't anything dangerous, of that Twilight felt certain. Not yet, anyway. But her hooves felt like blocks of iron as she dragged each one forward. She knew she needed to look, she needed to see what had struck the Princess and the rest of the crew speechless. So as desperately as she didn't want to, she forced herself forward. Each step revealed more sky, growing lighter the further down she looked. Twilight stopped and splayed her limbs against a sudden wave of vertigo. The innocent sky before her spun circles as her eyes convinced her body that the airship was pointed upwards, even as her body told her it wasn't. She couldn't make sense of it. The sensation was so strong that when Twilight picked up her next hoof her mind and her body couldn't agree on where to put it. She collapsed onto her belly like a scared little foal. So she pulled herself forward, inching closer to the gelid air skirling around the edges of the windows. When she finally reached the jagged bits of glass and carefully peered over the rim, she saw. . . Oh. . . I'm not the one devouring the world. Celestia. . . Yami has never left. Help us. . . And continues to seek the heart of this planet. The world dropped straight out from under her, plunging into a distance her mind failed to grasp. The scene before her looked unreal, like a painting of a dream. The sun rose just above some distant line far below her, casting its searing light into her eyes. To one side of her, a brightly-lit crescent of bare rock flung itself in a curve towards a vanishing point, vile gray overlaid with a thin turquoise and backlit by stars. The sun rose over something Twilight Sparkle could not name a crater, because it was the whole world. . . The simple act of trying to follow the rim with her eyes made her feel like she was being physically sucked out of the window, and the air gently streaming past her and plunging over the cliff beneath her added to the effect. For a moment her eyes couldn't help but follow the flow of the wind into the vast bowl below her, a steep fall that, she was convinced, would have lasted for hours before she reached the shadows and burst against the rocks. And the sun continued to rise upwards into space, revealing the immense gulf of the world that used to be. And deep in the very center of this crater, distant clouds massed, fed by atmosphere bleeding down every inch of the vast rim. Celestia had wondered whether or not their planet had ever been alive. Twilight finally had irrevocable proof that it was most certainly dead. Their world was nothing but a rotted husk now, a corpse spinning through space. The rest of the world simply didn't know it yet. But the image before her was too big to take in all at once. Her gaze jumped around, from the boggling length of the rim to the crystal clear view of space to the myriad of stars still visible despite the sun's commanding presence to the endless sweep of the plunge beneath her to the maelstrom unveiling below her one impossible mile after the next. Her mind limped back into motion. She scrambled backwards towards her friends while her brain began processing numbers. There were questions, friendly voices filled with concern, but the entirety of her mind had bent to the task of trying to fit what she'd seen into something she could understand. Someone nearby was whimpering. “Land's sakes, sugar, what's out there?” The words nearly penetrated Twilight's awareness, so she spoke out loud to preserve her train of thought. “. . .radius estimated at three thousand, nine hundred and fifty-nine miles with a slight equatorial variance. . .” Pinkie threw her blankets off. “I wanna see.” “I don't think you do.” Spike said. His green spines had drooped, and he placed one worried claw on Twilight's shoulder. Pinkie stopped in mid-stride, uncertain. Luna addressed the empty air before her. “You were right sister. It sought us. For ages it has sought to devour us. We simply never guessed. . .” “. . .volume of a sphere is roughly %52.4 the volume of a cube, or four-thirds pi times the radius squared. . . no no no cubed. . .” “Ugh, math?” Rarity stood in the doorway. “What is she talking about? Why does everypony look so alarmed?” “I'll tell ya.” Rainbow trotted fearlessly to the edge and peered over, the sun illuminating her chin from below. “It's just - Oh hoof me sideways!. . .” Her voice cracked. Her eyes widened and her muscles tensed, her feathers rustling like leaves on a tree. “Well,” Rarity let her breath out in a huff. “That was both unhelpful and inappropriate.” Spike crawled forward on all-fours, peeking out bravely from between Rainbow's hooves. After a long moment he scooted backwards on his haunches. His eyes shut slowly, his brow creasing as he shook his head back and forth. Despite his efforts, he started crying softly. That sound triggered something in Twilight, who snapped alert and immediately rushed over, scooping the whelpling up in her arms and holding him to her chest. “Let me try!” Pinkie squared her shoulders and marched forward, joining Dash in staring. “Oh gosh! We've seen some crazy stuff, but this takes the cake! And the pie!” She exclaimed brightly. “Fer the love of oats. . .” Applejack rolled her eyes. “Oh! Sorry AJ. The big bad is eating the whole world like a giant caramel apple. Which is mean and horrible and really really pretty at the same time. You know, like neat to look at.” “Like a caramel apple?” Fluttershy sounded doubtful. “Mmm-hmm. Everypony else is right.” Pinkie nodded her head decisively. “Words are kind of weak and flimsical. Just come look for yourselves.” The rest of the companions walked forward together, their eyes taking in the panorama below. Luna's eyes had closed. “Is this what you saw?” She asked nobody. “Is this why you were frightened, Chrysalis? Did you gaze upon the end of all things?” Applejack had to try a couple of times before any words emerged. “We. . . We gotta go down there, huh?” Luna nodded. “Yes.” Her words were as empty and frozen as the air. “We do.” “Good.” The sheer strength of the word drew every eye in the room. Fluttershy stood panting in the thin air, the end of her pink ponytail swaying in the breeze and the jewel at her throat softly aglow. Across the backs of her eyes padded, scuttled, slithered and rustled all the lost lives, the lost families, the lost communities, whole ecosystems consumed and corrupted into oblivion. Every line of her lean form radiated outrage, from the arch of her neck to the tips of her flared wings to the wide set of her hooves. Her nostrils flared, and her lips parted in a snarl. “Good.” Twilight locked her eyes onto Fluttershy, taking in the confidence of her friend's stance and the determination in her eyes. If this timid pegasus wasn't afraid, if she could find a way for her heart to bear up under the weight of what they had to do, maybe Twilight could too. At that sight, Twilight's breathing began to slow and her heart stopped trying to thump itself to pieces. Fluttershy's strength was like a beacon, causing Twilight to blush a little at the memory of the weakness in her own reaction. And as she relaxed, the green spines in her embrace relaxed as well, muffled sobs tapering into whimpers. At the helm, Clouded Gaze shook her head no, the whites of her eyes shining. “We can't take the Vigil down there. No way. There's absolutely no way.” She stated firmly. “She's rrright.” Kelbri shivered, pacing near the windows. “In airrr this thin, we'rrre hardly generrrating any lift at all! We'd prrractically be in frrreefall forrr the firrrst parrrt of the trrrip down!” “So?” Dash added breathlessly. She was still gazing down into the crater, shielding her eyes from the sun with a hoof. “We make good time. What's the big deal with that?” “Maneuverability, for one thing.” Twilight muttered over the quivering dragon in her arms. She shifted him slightly so she could run a shaky hoof through her mane. “We might not be able to turn, or slow our descent when the edge of the crater starts to curve towards us.” With a deep sigh, the Princess of the Night turned away from the view. “Mayhap our magic can provide adequate assistance, preserving us down the rim.” “Possibly makin' us obvious as spots on a cow?” Applejack sidled next to Twilight, helping to sooth Spike with a gentle hoof even though her own voice shook. “Y'all were the one sayin' we should try and be sneaky, right?” “Hey, yeah!” Pinkie bounced over. “If we're gonna do that, we might as well go all Super Harmony Formation and Mop'N'Glo this snooty curse!” “Pinkie, nngh. . .” Dash slapped a hoof against her face, turning away from the brink. “You make channeling the powers of creation sound like some cheesy foal's story book.” “Yeah.” Pinkie conceded, stifling a shiver. “But I got you to stop feeling so overwhelmed, didn't I?” Her wide, sapphiric eyes caught the light. “Uh, that's. . .” Dash sputtered. “Well, wait. . . w-who said I was feeling overwhelmed?” She glanced around, concealing chagrin. “Perhaps 'tis best. . .” Luna offered hesitantly. “We ought disperse what evil we may ere we attempt the fall. 'Tis true the Vigil will not survive the descent unaided. Perhaps undue caution will simply. . . impede our progress.” Cloud snorted in frustration. “That's not the pr-” “Forget the trip down!” Applejack interrupted. “Do we even have a plan for what we're gonna do if we find this thing? I mean, just look at what it's been doing! We can't fight something like that! It's eatin'. . . I mean. . . Land's sakes. . .” “She's absolutely correct.” Rarity fiddled with the gemstone at her throat. “The Elements of Harmony did not suffice, Princess. Even the essence of magic could not reach whatever was left of Teryn's soul. We've no evidence to suggest that this other creature will be any easier to subdue.” There's one thing stronger than the Elements. Twilight thought. And there, in a bright moment of revelation, she knew what she would do. Of course. Of course. It's our best chance. She hugged Spike tighter to her chest. The beckoning shadows below them had been right all along. There was no other way. “Oh, it's worse than all that.” Cloud shivered, her feathers puffing out in agitation. “We'd never make it back up the side of that crater. Even if we could generate lift in air this thin, our fuel wouldn't hold out. Not over that kind of distance. We have to retreat and come back better prepared, or none of us will ever make it home again.” “That is not an option.” Luna insisted. “We can not turn aside. Our planet will not endure more loss. Soon, the simple act of spinning the world on its course will cause it to shatter, and life as we know it would end, everywhere.” There were general gasps and murmurs. Rarity managed to look even paler than usual. Twilight simply nodded and rose to her hooves, setting Spike gently down. She paced back up to the windows, fighting another wave of vertigo as she did. She stood next to Fluttershy, her breath escaping in thick clouds of vapor simply to be pulled gently over the edge and down the rim of the crater with the gelid air. The panorama was as breathtaking as the first time she glanced down, stretching her eyes until they hurt. Twilight blocked the sun with a hoof, wondering how Fluttershy could simply stand and stare. Wasn't the sunlight searing the backs of her eyes? Applejack sat and wrapped her tail about her legs for warmth, including Spike in the gesture. He dried his eyes with the end of her tail. “Even if we all go down there and make it safe and so on, what is the point?” She implored. “I'm all for bravery and such, but this seems an awful lot like suicide.” “You're right.” Every eye on the bridge turned to Twilight. “Aether's Vigil wasn't made for this journey. We can't take it down there.” “Thank you.” Cloud sighed. “Then what do you propose we do, darling?” Rarity asked. As she took in the sight of her friends, with Spike clinging wide-eyed to a worried Applejack, Rainbow Dash actually looking shaken, Pinkie Pie throwing herself back under her discarded pile of blankets. . . her eyes misted over a little. But that didn't stop her heart from lurching into a thumping gallop out of sheer nervous excitement. “I'm certain we'll c-come up with something.” Twilight stammered. She hoped it looked like a shiver from the cold. “I agree with Applejack.” Rarity sidled over the bundle of blankets swathing Pinkie Pie and snagged one off the top, draping it around her shoulders like a shawl. “We need to have a plan if we wish to proceed.” “'Tis wisdom, thy desire for strategy. However, 'tis not wisdom we lack, but knowledge. Any plan we devise will likely be rendered obsolete by an understanding of what we face.” Luna said. “That's no excuse for not havin' a plan in the first place.” Applejack countered. “A plan for what?” An accented voice preceded an earth pony, raven black curls emphasized by a lace-brimmed cobalt hat. Every eye on the bridge turned towards her, making Sun Shade blush a little. “I'd love to know what I've missed.” Her eyes were still red and puffy, but her hoofsteps were determined as she strode into the room, adjusting her parasol over one shoulder. Kelbrri's chestnut eyes shimmered, her eartufts pinned back. “Welcome back to us, Miss Shade.” “It is wonderful to see you well.” Rarity nodded deeply. “You gave us a fright, SS.” Cloud added. “Thank you, everypony. I'm. . .” Shade blinked several times. “I'll be all right. I just. . .” Her eyes scanned the windows, unfocusing as they did. All she could see from where she stood was a slowly brightening sky and no horizon. “Should we really be flying this high up? What cloud level is this?” In response, Cloud just whistled through her beak and buried her face in her claws. Pinkie Pie bounced over, once again a swathed mound of blankets. “Come see! The world looks like a mooshed ping-pong ball and we're afraid of the airship going too fast so we're thinking of making rainbow-explosions although we might become a glowy neon sign to the evil thingy-thing. These're just ideas. Chilly?” A pink hoof shot out, proffering a cheap but warm-looking blanket emblazoned with a giant Wonderbolts insignia. Sun Shade took the blanket with an amused expression. “Um, translation anyone?” Spike's voice shivered through the frozen air. “Where's Twilight?” The wind was the only reply. The companions glanced at one another, but Twilight was nowhere to be seen.