My sister recovered quicker than I. Where I spend my days in study, rest, and reflection, she bends her will to the shaping of Law. She was always more active than I, more headstrong. It makes her a better leader. I can see her, from here, walking the streets amidst a sea of inclined necks, thrown bouquets, gentle cries of gratitude. A filly places a wreath of bay leaves, flowers and small berries about her neck. The people love her.
Twenty-Six
PRINCESS LUNA, Alicorn of Night, Equestria’s Princess of the Moon and Guiding Light, was stalking the halls of Canterlot. At regular occurrences, guards, sectioning off areas of the palace from the public, or watching precious works of art with careful eyes, or even stationed by pillars in the interests of symmetry, would stiffen their necks and surreptitiously check their uniforms as their Princess passed. Servants bringing food to delegates’ rooms, or polishing marble already gleaming so bright that Luna could see the fur on her face ducked their heads away from her gaze, pressing their muzzles to the floor in obsequious care, not daring her wrath. Her mood hung around her like a foul odour, warding away those that would normally attend her, holding back the crowds that even now milled at Canterlot’s front gates, seeking answers for all that had happened.
Luna couldn’t blame them for that. The city had been rocked, in recent days—by explosions in the slums, great magical fires heralding a fight between two pre-eminent spell-casters, and to top it all, a murder, of a Prince, no less. Everypony wanted to be told what was happening, to be reassured of their safety, and most of all, they wanted justice, for all involved.
Justice. There was a pretty word for an ugly idea. Luna had plenty of experience with justice. She’d meted it out, acted as judge, arbiter, for those who came to her. In a way, that idea—so literal back then—was what lay behind most of her royal duties now. Hearing complaints over clauses in Equestria’s taxation codes, disputes over property between nobles, even commoners, with tales of services rendered and payment withheld: all of this connected back to Luna’s original role in creating a fair society, with equal opportunity to all.
She’d also been on the receiving end of justice, felt its avenging fire in the form of her sister, the Sun Incarnate, bearing down with overwhelming force to banish her for a millennium. Ever since she was Cleansed, Luna had considered that to be justice.
Of course, nothing was ever that simple.
Luna turned right, heading into the centre of the palace. She’d spent the last week holed up in her room, listening again and again to Nightmare Moon’s words—the message Twilight had found, engraved in the essence of her old raiment.
She shouldn’t have let Twilight work with the armour, not even the smallest piece. Foolish, to think that Twilight would be able to handle it better than she could—that what gave her pause, and sent a shiver down her spine, would do no harm to a more open mind. She had hoped to provide some distraction for Twilight; to take her mind from the death of her brother, and her on-going conflict with Shining Armour’s murderer, as well as learn something—anything—more about the armour. Its appearance still troubled her, as did her missing memories.
Instead, she’d exacerbated the situation. Nightmare Moon’s essence was intoxicating—an ocean of hatred and willpower. Luna knew that touch intimately, resisted it from experience as much as will. She did not blame Twilight for falling to it.
The ponies ahead, clad in the white and gold of the Palace Guard, standing abreast her sister’s doors., stiffened as Luna approached, throwing hasty salutes, the metal shoes they wore ringing out a golden tone, bumping into their helms. Luna smiled back at them, trying to hide her turmoil behind niceties. And though they played along, faces frozen in stern silence as she passed, she knew she wasn’t fooling anypony.
“Luna?” Celestia said, turning from her desk. “Are you well, sister?”
Luna moved forward, peered at the documents Celestia had been working on. Reconstruction, rehabilitation, speeches of assurance and others of shared mourning: of course. Shining Armour’s funeral was approaching, on top of Twilight’s rampage through Canterlot. Luna was, truth be told, somewhat relieved; she wasn’t the only one preoccupied, though the realisation brought spots of colour to her cheeks.
“Sorry, ‘Tia,” Luna said. “I did not mean . . . I’ll write something tonight.”
“Nonsense,” Celestia said, standing and pulling Luna forward into a brief embrace. “You have your own duties, sister.”
“Perhaps. They do not supersede these.”
Celestia smiled, lips pressed together without any joy. “Everypony deals with it in their own way. You don’t have to put yourself through anything. You’ve nothing to prove.”
“He deserves . . . They deserve it.”
“What Shining Armour deserves is rather moot, now,” Celestia said, turning away. She glanced down at the desk, then shook her head. “I have seen countless deaths, as have you, and not all of them peaceful. Life goes on.”
“This is different!” Luna said, surprising herself with her own vehemence. But the words were in her throat, now, and they would not be denied. “He is no victim of war, nor was his death a necessity. The world should not turn its nose away from that kind of sacrifice.”
“Different?” Celestia asked. Her horn alight, the door behind Luna snapped shut with a soft click. “How? How is it different from the battlefields, soaked red? From the frontier storms. Washing the land clean of life. From devastation beyond anything this land has seen in a millennia?!”
“I’m . . . not sure.” Luna was breathing heavily, now, wondering where the outburst had originated. “But, there is . . . why now? Why him?”
“I don’t know,” Celestia said. “Why anypony?”
Luna had no reply. Instead, she watched passively, face inert as her sister tilted her head.
“Enough. Tell me, any word from Twilight?”
“Fine,” Luna said, clipping her words. “She . . . attacked another.”
“Why?”
“This one, named Trixie. She held the knife.”
“Ah,” Celestia caught Luna’s eyes, held them briefly, as she spoke, evaluating, weighing Luna’s answer. “And now? How are they doing?”
“I left Trixie at the hospital, relatively unscathed. Twilight is resting, quite spent.”
“I see.”
“It is not surprising, sister. Twilight is a saint to have restrained herself for as long as she did. I would not expect to find forgiveness in her heart.” Luna took a hard breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "But I fear this was more my doing than any others."
Celestia waited.
"Thinking to present her with a test of intellect, I presented her with a small piece of my raiment. The hate found within precipitated her rampage." Luna hung her head.
Celestia twisted her lips. "Your intentions were good. I trust you recovered the armour?"
"Of course."
"It would not do to allow that spirit out into the world again," Celestia said.
I fear it 'tis already so, sister. Luna shook herself, trying to wipe such thoughts from her mind. A warmth enveloped her, and she found Celestia's wing wrapped around her: a gesture as comforting as any reassurance. Luna returned a small smile, and stepped back, focusing instead on returning to the thread of their conversation.
“And Cadence?" Luna asked. "She was there, before us, in time to hear him die. She has not seen death before, either.”
That gave her sister pause. A long moment stretched between them, as Celestia considered. Luna waited patiently, hardly daring to think, until, finally, her sister spoke.
“Cadance fled. North, to the Crystal Empire. She’s cut off all contact with me.”
“Were you planning on letting me know?” Luna asked, trying and failing to keep the blame from her voice.
“We have a duty here,” Celestia said. “Cadance has suffered more than anypony, and for that I give her leave. She and Twilight quite nearly destroyed the entire mountain, and it does Shining Armour a disservice to ignore the larger repercussions.”
“It does him a greater disservice to cease living ourselves, or to cede any part of ourselves to his memory.”
Celestia was silent.
“I could have gone, sister,” Luna said. This time, it was her turn to take Celestia’s head under her chin. It was a surprise to realise, but she was just about as tall as Celestia, now. “I could still go.”
“No,” Celestia said, stepping back. “No, Luna. I don’t know where you were, all those years, outside. But we both know that whatever happened to you there—whatever you met, or did, or said . . . that is important. Everything else can wait. Everything, you hear?”
“Nightmare Moon is gone, sister, and she shall not return. The armour is nothing to me anymore,” Luna spat, surprising herself with her vehemence, “but a heap of metal and magic—useful only for its hateful symbol.” That was the nature of hatred, though, content to creep ever closer, in the shadows of your mind, places hidden from sight and sound, where you rarely ventured, growing, feeding, until it burst forth in a great wave, obliterating all. Luna knew the pattern well. Turning aside from her sister, she clenched her jaw, forcing the surge down. Even that, born of regret and a bone-deep sorrow, was dangerous.
Celestia stared at her for a moment, before nodding. “Very well, then. Do as you will.”
Luna glances back, silently thankful. “You don’t have to take this all on yourself.”
“Somepony must,” Celestia said. A smirk played its way across her lips. “I sense I shall have no more use for you, anyway.”
“Psh. I’ll stay in contact.”
“Be sure that you do. I couldn’t take it, Luna, if . . .”
“I know, sister. Be well.”
That was her sister: always so willing to do what she must, so long as it lead to a better future. Luna was endlessly grateful for the period after her return, when Celestia had allowed her the freedom to come and go, to absorb modern custom, language, and change, slowly easing her back into the process of ruling. Heavens above knew that her sister deserved a break--and still she was here, fretting, worrying over details so that Luna did not have to. It was troubling and gratifying, simultaneously.
Luna stepped to the window, stared out over Canterlot. She so rarely simply stood and watched as ponies moved about the city. She knew of the classical description of the pegasi’s gaze, rendering ants all those inching around on the ground, though she could not see it herself. Instead, locked away behind a window pane, she was rendered inert, impotent, the observer, of no import in their lives. It was a release, and an affirmation: a cathartic vow murmured under her breath, so quietly she dared not taste the words lest they shatter under their own weight. Then she folded herself into the shadows, and disappeared.
She didn’t have far to go. The city, situated just below the castle on the side of the mountain, teemed with life—and more and more of the denizens of Canterlot were crowding up against the castle, like beggars clustered around a small fire. They perceived Celestia, and, to a lesser extent, Luna, to be protectors; guides and leaders, and they were drawn to that reassurance.
The buildings didn’t move, though, and the place Luna had pictured, fixed firmly in her mind as she left her sister’s study was just a few blocks from the city square. Canterlot General—the largest public hospital in the country, home to some of the most gifted medical practitioners, state-of-the-art equipment, and one, rather special, individual.
Luna alighted in a speck of darkness underneath the slats of the curtains, pooled onto the floor, under the bed, and into the darker corners of the room. Then, standing, she approached the bed, and the azure mare that lay there.
Trixie lay still, surrounded by a sterile silence. The only noise in the room came from the whisper of the warm wind through the window, gently drifting across the bed, another blanket against the cold, and the gentle sigh of Trixie’s breathing. Beside the bed, intricate machinery—designed to work with electricity and magic both, so as to prevent interference from the patients or staff, beeped once, its screen emitting a soft light, various figures and graphs marching their way across the screen.
There was tranquillity to the scene, as if it were paint on canvas, arranged before her. Luna found her earlier fears begin to recede, her mind relaxing, headache appearing and vanishing all at once, a pulse of relief. Luna lit her horn, creating a field around Trixie and herself—transparent to them, but invisible to those outside. She didn’t want a curious nurse investigating a potential disturbance.
Turning, she closed the window, softly, muffling the sound so that it would not disturb Trixie. She was unsure of how to approach this particular conversation. That it had to happen at all was not in question. Even if Twilight had gleaned something useful from Trixie during her meltdown, there was no telling if she would remember the specifics—or if she would awaken in time.
What, then, delayed her? In truth, Luna didn’t know what to expect from Trixie. The dark cloud, hanging over her lately, seemed to be spreading from some as yet unknown source—her sister, more worried than Luna could remember seeing her before, Twilight, raving, attacking another, Cadence, isolating herself and her kingdom, as if it was the world outside that threatened her . . . There had been a murder in Equestria.
Even from the moon, from deep within the recesses of Nightmare Moon’s mind, through the glimmer in her eye, Luna had seen the lives of a thousand years. She’d grown accustomed to peace, just as Celestia had. Once, perhaps, a murder would not have fazed them. Once, it would have sent Luna out to the streets, hunting for justice, rather than pacing the corridors of her own castle. Nopony seemed to know how to deal with it anymore—and that made it: the idea, the concept of murder, to be a far greater threat than He had any right to be.
Trixie was no different from anypony else. She’d grown up in the same world, been raised within the same laws. And yet, she’d broken those limitations—been the instrument, in the least, for revolution. Both abominable and liberating, obscene and riveting; she was a harbinger, a catalyst.
Trixie knew how this had happened. She knew who had planned it, who had brought this doom back to the world. But most of all, she knew why.
Luna reached out, placed a hoof on Trixie’s shoulder. For all that, she was still just a mare, still injured, exhausted from her ordeals. Luna was having trouble coping from the sidelines. She could only imagine the kind of torture that must be occurring within Trixie’s dreams—suppressed, for the moment, as they were, by the cocktail mixture of drugs and magic served to the patients here, calming the nerves, and setting the mind at ease. She would not wake soon, and nor should she. Instead, Luna let herself fall forward, to join Trixie in slumber.
The dreamworld wasn’t that different to reality, as Luna understood it. She’d been coming here—at first visiting, as a tourist might, as she learned control, spending more and more time until she was a local, a resident, even a monarch. The Princess of Dreams, stalking the night to ward evil: among the first of her duties she had resumed after her redemption. Luna wreathed herself in the darkness of nothing, and with it sculpted a scene.
Luna placed her hoof down, found green grass and fresh loam, felt a breeze wrap around her legs, the sunlight spread across her back, and sweet scents from nearby flowerbeds float across her nose. Behind her, the hospital rose, alone in a great field, a meadow, enclosed by a ring of trees, both protective and constraining. Familiarity, to set Trixie at ease, peace, to dull her mind, all built in the instant between worlds, between the waking and sleeping mind.
Trixie, lying beside Luna on the lawn, licked her lips, eyelids fluttering. She yawned, stretched her forelegs, before her eyes fixed themselves on Luna. She stood, moving gingerly, and bowed low, her muzzle brushing grass, accepting the dream without question.
“Trixie,” Luna said.
“Princess Luna,” Trixie said. “I was wondering when I’d see you.”
“Oh?”
Trixie bit her lip. “I wouldn’t have warranted it myself, naturally. But then, I’m not why you’re here, am I?”
Luna paused. Honesty or compassion? Which might serve her interests best here—and which would set Trixie most at ease? “Do not be too quick to discount yourself. Perhaps I would have come nonetheless.”
“But.”
“But,” Luna agreed. For a moment, neither of them said anything. “You understand, then, how important you have become?”
“I . . . I think so, Princess,” Trixie said, looking anywhere but at Luna. “Boundless always did have an inflated view of himself. I thought he was an idiot, as I’d been in my youth. I didn’t take him seriously.”
“Boundless?” Luna asked.
Trixie glanced at Luna, surprised. “You don’t know? But, Twilight . . .” she trailed off.
“Twilight is resting,” Luna said, “as are you.” She gestured behind herself.
“I see . . .”
“Boundless pushed you,” Luna prompted.
“Yes.” Trixie paused. “I don’t think he knew, exactly, what he was doing. Or why he was doing it. But . . .”
“I am not interested in assigning blame,” Luna said. “Critical, now, is that we discover where he pushed you to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have been thinking. A thousand years without murder. Does that not strike you as strange? That not once, perhaps in the heat of passion, or simply due to no other recourse, would a pony have stretched to that crime?”
“Strange? No.” Trixie shook her head, emphatic. “Strange is that I was capable of . . . That Boundless exists. That there is a pony of such evil alive today! How-“
“How could he not? Shadow always follows light. And we have been blessed with light, little one, perhaps for too long.”
Clarity washed over Luna. The little leaps of logic—so easy here, unfettered by awareness, spoken aloud almost before she had thought them through—had finally reached a climax, an epiphany of sorts. “He was inevitable,” Luna whispered. He had had to happen, somewhere, some when, eventually, there would be a crack. That implied that something had failed, something had created him, and by extent Trixie, and this whole mess. Control was lost, swept aside, chaos reigned.
Set aside fault, blame, responsibility, Set aside reason, motivation. Behind all of that lay the unmistakeable conclusion, somehow obscured from her sight till now. If something had failed, some system had broken down for an instant, in just the wrong way at just the right time . . . There had to be a system to fail. Something was exerting control over the populace. Something had prohibited murder, and been so influential, so unyielding, that not once—not once—had it failed.
Until now.
“Inevitable?” Trixie stood. Outrage, sudden and unexpected, was written in every line of her face, her body. She seethed, and her dreamscape changed, flowing from green tranquillity to a harsh, glaring sun, dried ground cracking underhoof, wind picking up pace. She jolted Luna with seamless transition, smooth and abrupt, a flare of passion long concealed, but always, always, present. “Inevitable?”
“Was my life inevitable? My choices? My failures? Careful, Princess! I will not give up the responsibility that is my due so easily. Boundless did not create me. He did not force me to choose, he gave me a choice. It was my own doing, no more! No less. Shining Armour’s death was by my hand, and you cannot take my culpability away from me.”
“You damn yourself,” Luna said, forcing herself to calm down. But she had been taken aback by the outburst, and she struggled to regain her balance.
“I have nothing left,” Trixie spat. “Naught remains to me—not a home, not a friend. Those preserved within me have been silenced, and I don't know why. Even my grief is denied me.”
Now she turned, fixed her gaze on Luna. “Agency remains. Nothing inevitable, nothing without consequence. I cannot accept it any other way.”
And her fire left her as suddenly as it had arrived. Trixie sank back to the ground—now wet with dew as Luna reasserted control. The environment faded around them; bright reds and golds to a dulled green, as if memory was already lost.
But Luna remained. Eyes wide, shoulders squared, she faced Trixie, sympathy replacing epiphany replacing shock.
In claiming guilt, Trixie claimed her life—successes alongside failures. Admirable it may be, but Luna saw another meaning in those words. She was driven by emotion: regret, guilt, shame, and anger, the last at those who offered her compassion. She’d reflected those emotions in the landscape surrounding them, and exhausted, allowed her influence to lapse. She’d broken through the moral barrier that seemed to forbid even the greatest of passions.
“Where is he, Trixie?” Luna asked, crouching down. “What is Boundless planning?”
“He’s going after the Crystal Heart,” Trixie said, rolling away from Luna. “Please let me sleep.”
Luna nodded, slipped from the dream back to the real world. In the hospital room, sunlight shone on Trixie, still sleeping. But her sleep was no longer peaceful. Her face contorted, sweat ran down her brow, her breath came in intermittent gasps.
Luna lifted the veil over the room, called to the nurses, and sank back into the shadows, fading from sight. She was not yet done, and it was time to set others in motion.
***
“Rainbow!”
“Oh, relax, would you? I’ll take you in a sec, alright? Just lemme finish this up first.”
Rainbow leaned back, arching her back, causing a rapid series of loud cracks along her spine and wings. She smirked as Rarity flinched, grimacing.
“You can do that anytime,.” Rarity said. “I’ve already been here too long, especially without any arrangements for my absence.”
“Sweetie Belle can handle it.” Rainbow squinted at the paperwork facing her, half complete. She rolled the pencil to the other side of her mouth, speaking around it. “It’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that. She could have burned the Boutique down, for all we know.” Rarity sniffed.
“Rarity. I’m on a roll here. Stop trying to stop a good thing.”
“And I have orders that won’t fill themselves,” Rarity continued. “I’ve already missed, what, two, three fittings. Who knows how much more business I’m losing here.”
Rainbow glanced up, glaring. “You aren’t seriously complaining about business, are you? ‘Cause even I can see that that’d be out of line.”
“No,” Rarity said. Curtly, “But that’s not the point. I have an image to maintain. You’re making time for your work, aren’t you?”
“No, actually, I'm not. I'm not practicing with them, I'm not coaching them, I'm not leading them. All that stuff can wait. The one thing that can't wait, the one thing that doesn't take me away from Twilight,” Rainbow said, grimacing, "is this damned paperwork. And as much time as I take off for myself, I can’t let down twenty thousand screaming fans."
“And I haven’t begrudged you bringing me here. Nor do I mean to trivialise what’s happened. All I need is a day, a half-day to close up properly, and I’ll come back tomorrow. By train, with the others.”
“Yeah, bring them all up. It’ll be a regular party,” Rainbow said, signing the bottom of the page before turning it over. She sighed. “And why can’t you take the train down?”
Rarity sniffed again, but a knock at the door forestalled her answer.
They were in an office at the front of the Agency. Twilight, still sleeping, was near the back, in one of the more private bedrooms, had been there for nearly a full day now. Intermittently, Rainbow made sure to feed her some small measure of broth: a recipe Twilight had devised for this eventuality. All of them had seen Coromantic exhaustion before, knew what to expect. She’d wake when she was ready. Until then, all they could do was be here, for her and for themselves.
Rarity stood, peeked out the window, while Rainbow ignored her, reading another page, then squeaked, nearly ran from the room.
“Princess,” she cried, opening the door. “Please, come in.”
“Rarity,” Luna said, brightening visibly. “You are still here, excellent. And Rainbow Dash?”
Rainbow sighed again, perhaps a little too loud. “In here,” she called, dropping the pencil and standing. “I hate paperwork.”
“And yet you refuse to give it up. You really must make up your mind, darling.”
Rainbow stuck her tongue out at Rarity, who smoothly turned back to Luna.
“Sorry, Princess. We were just finishing up here, actually. Was there something we could help you with?”
“Quite. But it can wait. How is Twilight?”
“Resting,” Rarity said. “This ordeal has left her simply exhausted; as I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“Of course, I won’t bother her,” Luna said. “Do either of you know what caused her outburst?”
“I don’t think she was entirely stable-”
“Twilight’s never been entirely stable,” Rainbow cut in. “It was the armour, Princess. She was trying to show Trixie something in it, and somehow, she lost control.”
“I know,” Luna said. “I should never have let her touch that metal. I was trying to give her something to do, something constructive..”
“I don’t understand,” Rarity said.
“The armour was built from magic,” Luna explained. “Built to serve the Nightmare. Whatever happened to me, out there, the Nightmare had something to do with it. So, I thought to discover some part of that, latent in metal. I should have heeded the danger.” She shook her head. Guilt was all too common, these days, or so it seemed. And yet, it was hard to see how else one might interpret the situation.
“Nevertheless, Twilight succeeded.” Luna continued, controlling herself. “She uncovered the message Nightmare Moon left for me, written in hate, in the very matrices that constructed that armour. That message pointed me at a truth I have been far too slow to realise. A truth that the Drac hinted at, that Trixie has just confirmed to me.
“There is some sort of magic imprisoning Equestria. A . . . a construct of sorts, that seems to impose a constructed morality on everything it touches. It is the reason we have not seen murder for so long. It is the reason Boundless—Trixie’s partner—has become so dangerous. He threatens us all because, somehow, he is free, or has been freed, from this restriction.”
Rainbow and Rarity stood silent for a moment, absorbing the assertion. It made a certain kind of sense, as twisted as it appeared, as unbelievable as it was. But at the same time, it conflicted with everything they’d ever felt, threatened their entire basis of belief. It had a certain taste of predestination, of Fate. It shackled them.
And yet, it was a beautiful prison. They could hardly argue with the results: it had created a world free from civil strife, from violence, and hate. Some small voice whispered that this was attractive purely because they were told it was so—that the indoctrination ran so deep that it had convinced them of its purity. But that voice had neither weight in their hearts, nor hold of their ears.
“If,” Rarity began, carefully stressing the word, “we accept that . . . then what?”
Luna nodded. “Setting all else aside, it reveals Boundless’ motivations. The death of Shining Armour accomplished three things for him: it proved that others could be freed, it revealed information pertinent to the Crystal Heart, and it removed one of the Heart’s staunchest defenders.”
“The Crystal Heart? What’s that got to do with anything?” Rainbow asked.
Rarity was faster. “Way back, when the Crystal Empire appeared, Sombra wanted the Heart in order to control the Crystal ponies. With it, he could turn them into docile slaves.” She turned to Luna, mouth ajar. “You don’t think . . .”
“I think he wants to create an army, of sorts,” Luna said, nodding. “Not docile slaves, or contented civilians, but an uprising. I think he wants to spread his gift—or curse—to them. I think he wants to set them free.”
“Insane,” Rainbow said, shaking her head. “Utterly insane. We can’t let him get away with this.”
“Why not?” Luna asked.
“Are you kidding me?” Rainbow fixed a glare on Luna. ”It took Shining Armour’s death to break Trixie from . . . whatever it is you thinks in all of our heads. What’s it going to take to break an entire empire, huh? What's it going to take to 'free' Equestria?”
“His methods can be assessed later,” Luna said, waving a wing to forestall any argument. “That’s not what I need you two for.”
Rarity stepped forward. “Ah. So, what can we do for you, Princess.”
“I need to know more about this construct. Where it came from, what it does, who built it. But our Sight is blocked within Equestria's borders, and I fear going outside again. Too much is at stake for one of us to go missing for months or years. So, we are left with a problem, one the two of you are singularly suited to solve.”
“I don’t follow,” Rarity said, “My Sight is no stronger than yours.”
“No. But stronger Sight is not needed. We cannot pierce the haze, and we cannot venture beyond it. Therefore, I propose that Rainbow escorts you to a time before the haze existed. From there, Rarity will be unhindered in her Sight.”
Rainbow choked. “What. I can’t. I don’t even . . .”
Luna tilted her head. “You’ve never travelled through time before?”
“What? No, of course not. That’s impossible . . .”
“Not for a Stormchaser, Rainbow. I thought Celestia would have taught you this by now.” Luna sighed. “Very well. This may take a little longer than I had hoped.”
“Time-travel?” Rarity asked, her voice coming out as a high-pitched squeak. “To the past? Before . . . before Moon’s Fall?
“That far should suffice. I have no memory of this construct before the Nightmare—and murder was more commonplace then. But you will be safe enough. Coromancers were revered, and more than capable of defending themselves.”
“I see,” Rarity said, gaining strength. “And Rainbow can . . . bring us back, whenever she pleases?”
“Of course. So long as she possesses the emotional fuel.”
Rarity lapsed into silence. Luna paused, before turning back to Rainbow
"I can't . . . I mean . . ." Rainbow spluttered, still searching for words. "I'm pretty great. I mean, come on, right? But a thousand years, Luna! I wouldn't know the first thing about it."
“This will be arduous," Luna said. She didn't blame Rainbow her disbelief--her claim was as outlandish as anything these two had heard before. But Rainbow had to learn, and to do that, she had to be willing. "Time travel never was well understood, even back then. We knew it resulted from speed—speed faster than light itself. But speed is a natural extension of your abilities. It should not prove too difficult for you to master. And the need is great.”
All traces of reluctance disappeared from Rainbow with Luna's words: she had a goal now, and a path to it. She was no stranger to training, she had learned to face her challenges head-first, pound them into submission until she collapsed or had attained mastery . . . This was no different. That it was time travel: a feat that had stumped the greatest minds and made mockery of the masters of magic, meant nothing.
Speed was a part of Rainbow, an essential element, central to her character and conception. She had flown across Equestria in less than ten seconds. She had flown so fast that the winds following her had blown out windows, caused buildings to tremble. She could do this, too.
And time-travel! This was going to be so awesome!
“How much time do I have,” Rainbow said.
“As much time as you need,” Luna said. “From now on, you can make time.”
“Sweet,” Rainbow said, grinning,, and shivering a little, as well. “I’ll finish this paperwork. Then we’ll get started.”
Rarity groaned.