//------------------------------// // Thirty-Three // Story: The Moon Also Rises // by Nicroburst //------------------------------// Luna came to me today. How she discovered my plans, I do not know, but her knowledge has brought upon her such anger as I can think of but one way to stop her. It breaks my heart that she does not share my vision. I would have liked to have her by my side, from now into eternity. Thirty-Three DAEREV FLINCHED, ducking his shoulder and twisting towards the sudden rattle of the door. After nearly a day and a half of monotony, the interruption was unexpected. He furled his wings, pressing them tightly to his back in an attempt to compress his frame, a reflex action, mostly, and caught Pinkie’s eye, from across the table. She’d been . . . well, he wouldn’t characterise her as healthy. Pinkie was prone to mood swings and twisted logic on the best of days, but this had been something more than just a manic personality. He might’ve expected—rightly—that she would chafe at being confined to the guardhouse until Princess Cadence deigned to allow them in, despite the hospitality of her guards. Instead, she’d been content to sit, not still, never quite still, and brood. Pinkie threw down her cards, flashing him a toothy grin and revealing five aces. Daerev groaned and dropped his own, rather inferior, hand, and moved to the door, Burst waving him on with a shrug— Spear would have insisted on checking it himself, but he wasn’t here and what Spear didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him—as he revealed his own hand, inexplicably also containing an ace. He could have sworn they’d only opened the one pack. He opened the door a crack, peering out into the town of Hornwall. This was his first glimpse of its interior, and his eye roamed eagerly, taking in the sights. Which, surprisingly, were non-existent. The guard-post opened onto a small back-alley instead of the larger road he had expected. Ah. To the left, the gates loomed tall, casting a shadow on the cobblestone street. The houses had simply pushed all the way up to the outer wall. Spear, standing outside, lowered his hoof. Shouldering past Daerev, he took the scene in at a glance—frown deepening, creasing the skin around his eyes and muzzle—then sighed. Burst was already up against the far wall, struggling with his barding, which regulations would have him wearing at all times, Pinkie now moving to help him, ignoring the torrent of cursing pouring forth from the pegasus. “Hurry up,” Spear said. “We’ve got a call.” “What’s happening?” Daerev asked. Something was going on, that much was clear. Unbidden, a sense of opportunity arose. “We found a body,” Spear said, roughly. Burst paused. “What? Who?” “Clod Hoof.” Spear met Burst’s gaze. The name must have meant something to them, though Daerev had never heard it before. “Dead. South side, against the wall.” “Dead?!” “You two”—pointing at Daerev and Pinkie—“are coming with us. I’ll not have you running free while the whole guard-force is occupied.” Burst slipped his helmet on, tightened his greaves. “Right. Let’s go.” They filed out into the sunshine, greyer, now, as if clouds had obscured the light. Spear led them inwards, taking back-streets and alleyways, snaking a path down towards the southern side of the city. As they moved, the brisk jog doing wonders to loosen the muscles Daerev had been itching to stretch, Spear filled them in. “He was found a few hours ago. Some poor pony, out for a walk . . . reported it, of course. Station’s had most of us down there, at one point or another. They say he’s been dead for days.” At Daerev’s questioning glance: “Clod was . . . well known to the guards, here.” Hornwall’s layout was confusing. As small towns grown rapidly in a short span of time are wont to do, it hadn’t really been planned, nor had any governing body taken it upon themselves to allocate sensible plots. The result was a mess of back alleys and short-cuts, an interlocked grid where every turn was as likely to confront you with a dead end as not. Daerev was lost within just a few minutes of leaving. Before they got far, however, Pinkie stiffened, slowed, so that she dropped back despite Spear’s admonishments. Daerev turned to her, began to speak, then . . . caught the tail end of something, a whisper floating forward, “-the station.” “What was that?” Pinkie stopped entirely. “It’s a distraction. He’s at the station.” Daerev’s eyes widened. Spinning on his heel, he caught up to Spear in a few strides, grabbed him by the shoulder. The unicorn reacted immediately, magic splashing across Daerev’s chest. He staggered back, dragging Spear with him, both of them crashing to the ground. Burst jumped forward, only to find Pinkie materialise in front of him, blocking his path. “What?! Let go of me! Damn it!” “Wait,” Daerev said, thinking quickly. He didn’t have time, couldn’t waste any more convincing the two of them . . . The truth, then, and run. “The body. It’s a distraction. He’s going to strike the station while you’re all away.” “Who?” Spear regained his feet, re-lit his horn. “Boundless,” Daerev said, facing him. “The pony we came here chasing. The murderer.” “He killed Clod Hoof,” Pinkie said. She sounded deflated, just a few wrong words from losing her composure entirely. Her body twitched, a series of spasms running down her left flank. “Daerev, we have to go.” Spear lifted a hoof, opened his mouth—and then stopped. "You said Boundless? Furrowing his brow, a second passed, before he took in a sharp breath, spinning to Burst. “We arrested Plain Sight yesterday, didn’t we?” “Oh, buck me,” Burst said. "It's the unicorn, isn't it." Daerev took off. As expected, Pinkie fell into step beside him, and he dipped a shoulder, allowing her to jump up onto his back. With a grimace, he extended his wings. He’d have liked more practice, more training, but there was need. A few flaps gave him enough lift to jump, jump and claw at the tiled rooftops, enough to scramble over the edge. From here, he could move freely, glide from roof to roof without following the labyrinthine streets. “Which way?” he asked Pinkie. Before she could answer, Burst passed them, wings blurring. Daerev grinned, and took off after him. Dragonfire beat in his chest, rising and roaring with each step. He could hear it, filtering the soundscape around him. He could see it, flickering at the edges of his vision. He could feel it, spreading through his limbs, carrying vigour wherever it went. He landed in a full sprint, one step, two, and pushed off, wings beating to carry him forward, until he caught Burst, matched the pegasi’s frantic pace. “There!” Burst called, hoof pointing at a building just a few blocks distant, some hundred metres away, and to the left, slightly. Daerev found his claws clamping onto the stone gutter under him, his legs coiling, and then he was airborne. He had no time to think, or marvel, at how effortless it was suddenly, to rise through the air. He landed, by the same trick developed on the journey here, with a sweeping crash, careening straight through the wall ahead of him, though keeping his feet. A figure of grace and power, then. That suited him just fine. Pinkie, sheltered from the impact on his back, slid down to the floor, while Burst landed beside her. The dust clouded the room, and, it seemed, everypony froze. Daerev stilled his gasping breaths, listening, unable to see. “What was that?” an unknown voice called out. It—he—sounded startled, afraid. “Wait and see,” another drawled. This one was more curious than anxious. Slowly, as the dust settled, the situation revealed itself. They stood in a reception area, an antechamber of sorts. An earth pony had his hoof around the receptionist’s neck. A brown unicorn was facing him from the door on the other side. A keychain was dangling from his mouth. “It is you,” Burst hissed. “Boundless. You were at the wall . . .” Pinkie flinched, and Daerev took a step forward, puffing himself up menacingly, his attention irrevocably focused, now, onto Boundless, who stood just a few feet away, with a maddening smirk plastered all over that dumb face and . . . The earth pony tightened his grip, causing his victim to struggle, wave her hooves, wide eyes screaming at him to stay back, dear Celestia please stay back. “Well, isn’t this a pickle,” Boundless said, turning to his compatriot. “If the brute moves, kill her.” And then he unlocked the door behind him and disappeared down the corridor. “Boundless!” Daerev roared after him, not quite stopping the fire from spilling into his voice and leaving its own char on the walls. He had no more doubts as to the unicorn’s identity. No other would—no other could—talk so plainly about murder. And—ah. Daerev saw his dilemma in an instant, saw the two paths laid out before him, even saw a little of the future each held. His rage screamed for Boundless, for leaping movement and justice, or, if not that lofty platform, at least honest retribution. His mind fought back, an understanding of Trixie’s plight that he hadn’t realised he held convincing him of the threat’s sincerity. He couldn’t trade this pony’s life for his shot at Boundless’s, could he? Use this moment to pin him down, contain him, and prevent his disease from spreading until Agyrt was done with him? Or just sink his fangs into his cowardly back right now, right here, and let the raging fires consume him . . . Even inaction was a choice. As he stood there, Daerev heard doors rattling, a distant explosion. Burst was trembling by his side, the happy-go-lucky pegasus entirely unsuited for this, Pinkie seemingly rooted to the ground, eyes already brimming with tears—where did she learn such despair? It clutched at his heart, an almost physical pain, this, watching her innocence stripped from her. They could not help him. What won’t I do? I will not kill. He talked about it, he thought about it, but Daerev knew, on a level deeper than thought, that he could never go through with his threats. That was the line that kept him sane, that separated him from the monsters that roamed the world, and therefore it was him, a moral stand on which he had founded an identity. He could not let this pony die, not for Agyrt, not for himself, not even for Twilight. “And you?” he asked, rounding on the earth pony, his deliberations showing in bared teeth, strained grimace, fire tingling on his tongue. “How have you been wrapped up in his games?” The earth pony raised his chin. “’Tis no game we are playing, slave.” Daerev snorted. “Slave, am I? I am not the one scurrying at his beck and call. I am not the one threatening a life on another’s whim.” He edged forward as he spoke, raising his voice and placing careful emphasis on his words. “You could not hope to understand. He has lifted the shroud from our eyes, and we rejoice in freedom.” The earth pony was sneering, now, his grip tightened as he fell into rhetoric. “How constricting, the bonds of moral platitude, moral certainty. How enfeebling!” Sweet Celestia, his eyes had glazed over. Daerev almost stopped right there, dumbfounded by the pony’s naiveté. Instead, he lunged forward, sweeping the hostage—who immediately bolted for the doors—from the earth pony before he could so much as raise a hoof to defend himself. Silencing the mewl of protest with a snarl of his own, Daerev pressed him backwards, boxing him into the corner, then spun to the door Boundless had run through, glancing down the long hallway it opened onto. There was no sign of him, and Daerev rounded on the earth pony, taking a pointed step around the trickle of urine seeping across the floor. “Where’s he gone?” Daerev said. There was no doubt who he was referring to. The earth pony squirmed, trying to push himself back. “What did he promise you? Huh? Power? Freedom?” Daerev let his teeth show. “Do you feel free, pony?” “B-buh . . .” “Why was he here?” “We . . . we were . . .” “Why was he here?!” Daerev roared, letting green fire flicker and char the edges of the pony’s mane. “We were busting Plain Sight out,” the earth pony said, finally collapsing to the ground. “He-he was arrested—hic—yesterday. B-b-bou-he wanted him out.” Daerev punched the wall, causing a cloud of plaster to shower down. He’d been this close. He shook his head, spinning away from the now unconscious earth pony. Burst approached, standing over the downed accomplice. “How . . .?” he asked, voice trailing off, as Daerev passed him, heading for the hole he had made in the wall. “Instinct.” Unpleasant, but true. Boundless was here. Agyrt hadn’t lied—he couldn’t, as a matter of fact. But this little confirmation sparked an urgency in Daerev that surpassed him. There was an intensity to his fire, fed only by an instant, a few glimpses, brown coat, flat face. As if, for a moment, he was caught in a whirlwind of motion, events spiralling around him without time to think, time to act . . . He caught himself against a wall, stumbling to the side of the street. Rapid, short breaths came ragged, and he swallowed, held himself still. He had to think critically. Panic would get him nowhere—Twilight had taught him that lesson only too well. And he was familiar with his own brand of self-doubt, every bit as destructive. Getting caught in fear or anger here could get ponies killed. He growled, his breath rumbling deep in his chest, and turned back to the street, moving with a methodical gait. Tension still thrummed through him, but the storm inside had calmed. Boundless would be looking for a way out. A way through the city, and into the Crystal Empire proper. Whatever means he employed to gain access must have fallen through, become inaccessible: there was nothing for him here. Daerev had to assume that he’d leave as soon as possible, at any time, and if they were still stuck here when that happened, they’d lose any chance of catching him. So. Find the entrance, find the exit. Boundless had just broken Plain Sight out of jail. Spear would know what he had been arrested for, and . . . well. It was his best lead. “Wait.” What was this? A voice, calling out—to him? There was no one else around. Daerev twisted his head, spotted a pony approaching him, caution in her step. Pinkie had caught the hostage outside, walked alongside her, her relief almost palpable. “Please wait, umm, Mr. Dragon, yes,” she said. Ah, the receptionist. Daerev felt the fire spark again, but this time it felt different. Warm, now, a hearth on a long cold night, crackling, compared to the wildfire. He smiled. “Are you okay?” Daerev asked. “Yes, yes, thank you. I just wanted, I wanted, you see, to thank you, umm, properly.” Daerev shook his head, but his smile widened. “Not at all, ma’am.” “Yes, umm,” she fidgeted, looking at her hooves. “I-I couldn’t believe it, actually, yes? That they would . . . that they would . . .” “Hey, hey,” Pinkie said, pulling her into a gentle hug. Daerev bent down, onto his knees, and inclined his head to rest against her shoulder. “I’m sure they were just bluffing. Easy, easy, don’t worry about them. “ They stayed there, until she had dried her eyes, apologised, and thanked him “properly, as a mare should”, and walked her home before continuing on his way, and for the rest of the day, Daerev managed not to think about the magnitude of the lie he had told, or the depth of comfort it had brought. *** Rarity lifted a biscuit from the small bag floating at her side, suppressing a frown as she nearly broke a tooth on it. She’d had stale biscuits before, but these were something else, some older recipe, designed to last weeks without going bad, while remaining compact enough for long distance travel. Sensible enough, she supposed, for groups on the move, though she came close to choking on the biscuit’s dust. Beside her, a unicorn—white coat, pale brown mane—munched away happily, crumbs spilling from his lips. Blessedly, he had fallen silent, a pointed look proving enough to remind him to watch his manners. The break from his incessant chatter was worth the price of the food, if nothing else. Rarity nibbled at her biscuit’s edges, content to simply observe her surroundings. She’d been unable to completely avoid speculation, but even so, she’d never thought it would be so, well, dirty. The army—there was no other way to describe the group of battered, exhausted ponies that had survived the Storm, as they were calling it though that had been no storm Rarity had ever experienced—had stumbled north, moving at a snail’s pace. Regulars—volunteers with little to no Coromantic ability—had rushed the Wastes, pulled veterans from the sandy graves they lay in, carried them until they regained the will to walk. These—all Coromancers—had fought until they dropped: Conduits and Stormchasers in the sky, doing what they could to insulate and turn back the Storm’s advance, Wardens and Anchors, fighting to preserve the ground below, Sages and Seers, relaying orders, holding morale firm, and combating the presence the Storm carried—the sheer weight of it that had crashed against everypony who saw it. Rarity could still feel it, in her legs and on her back. It weighed on her in the same way Celestia and Luna did, with their titanic display of power. They hadn’t stopped until they’d made it off the desert plain now being called the Whispering Wastes—the swathe of devastation, extending northward, southward, coast to coast, from that final stand that Rarity and Rainbow had fallen into so witlessly. Rainbow was still comatose, recovering from the gargantuan effort that brought them here, beyond, before, the Veil. They camped on fresh grass, in the midst of a flat plain that extended farther than the eye could see. On the horizon, mountains rose, spreading out in a shell, insulting them from the harsh north, and the sea-winds from the west. But the geography didn’t resemble anything she knew from Equestria. Instead, her mind kept returning to the Crystal Empire, finding similarities in the way the land rolled out from under her hooves, and the appearance of a Northern Frontier, a mountain range stretching across the horizon, nestling up against the edge of the world . . . Which was patently silly, of course. There was a complete lack of cold here, no snow or ice. Celestia’s sun brought warm winds and cool rain, the earth was rich and fresh, almost breathing life into the air. It was, simply, as far from barren as Rarity could imagine, akin to Sweet Apple Acres at the height of its fertility. The army had fallen upon the plain with fervent relief. Here, finally, there was a chance for rest—real rest, not the weary march of the survivor. They’d been here some weeks, and already many of the injured were back on their hooves, helping to build, to plant, or to plan. Earth ponies had procured seeds, and were already seeing fruit from their crops—though recent successes hadn’t persuaded them to change their recipes, not while the stores of food remained so low. Pegasi had corralled clouds, and created a small lake, irrigating the surrounding land. Unicorns were pooling their magic, visiting forested lands to the East and returning with timber, building homes, halls, and barns, each garnished with elaborate woodwork, celebrating victory, honouring the dead. Rainbow languished in one even now, attended by the few pegasi medics to have survived. Rarity was inexperienced with Coromantic exertion—she had spent hours fretting over Rainbow, near inconsolable with the state she was in. Fortunately, Rainbow was in better hooves than hers. “You look awfully sombre,” Forethought said, taking another biscuit from the bag. He was an odd one, for sure, though Rarity was, ultimately, glad of his company. One of the Regulars, he had spotted her a few days into their trek, approached her with a jubilant smile that seemed out of place amongst the despondent veterans. “You’ll have to excuse me,” Rarity said. “I’m . . . I’m thinking.” Forethought snorted. “Not a lot of that going around right now.” Well, that was true. Everypony was simply glad to be alive, rejoicing in the simple pleasures, the indolent release of peace, or focusing on recovering. But Rarity found the Storm much harder to drive from her mind. Even now, nearly a month after, Rarity wasn’t sure about anything she’d seen there. She’d visited it, once or twice, with her Sight, only to find the period clouded, a chaotic mess, the world fluctuating madly. Nonetheless, it had confirmed everything for her. Luna’s mission—a scouting trip, essentially—had been abstract: important, yes, but . . . lacking reality. Rarity hadn’t connected the implications, hadn’t stepped back and thought, until now. Now, it was visceral. That sneaking suspicion growing in Twilight’s journals, the conviction that persuaded Luna to send them here . . . all justified. Equestria had been lied to. There was still no sign of the Princesses. Rarity’s final glimpse of them, flying south, into the centre of the Storm as it broke its front on them, was one full of hope and desperation. Celestia had blazed like the Sun Incarnate, while Luna, shimmering, stalwart, was a font of strength no weaker for its subtlety. She could not imagine that they had fallen, and not only because she was here in the first place. Still, they had not returned. Of note, too: while many commented on Luna’s absence, far fewer were eager to discuss Celestia. Heads turned away, lips closed, eyes dimmed, at the mere mention of her name. Even were Rainbow awake, they couldn’t leave. There was too much at stake here, too much potential in the air. There was so much still to happen. And the Storm . . . she didn’t think that battle was entirely over, either. Rarity felt she teetered on the knife’s edge of history, though she chastised herself for the thought as soon as the words pranced their way through her mind. Sometime soon, Luna would be banished to the Moon. Rarity had seen Nightmare Moon’s regalia, there was no mistaking it. She needed to be there when that happened, needed to see it, to understand how Luna fell to darkness. Rarity rolled her tongue, pursed her lips. Perhaps . . . not even that much was true. “I suppose this is all still new,” Rarity said, under her breath. Forethought caught it, of course, but he held back any comment, bless him. She finished her biscuit before they reached Rainbow’s room. The medic, a Conduit by the name of Warm Winds, ushered them in. It still seemed odd, to have exclusively pegasi tending to the sick and injured, when the “modern” day relied much more on unicorn magic. But then, the unicorns here really only had a rudimentary grasp over their magic, with a rough instability akin to a foal. And the pegasi . . . well, not every pegasi worked in health. Just a few whispered words from Warm Winds in Rarity’s ear enough to turn her casual walk into a run. Rainbow was sitting up in bed, her head in her hooves. She looked . . . well, defeated, broken, in a way that went deeper than emotional malaise. Rarity flung her hooves around her, pressed her back into the bed with a flying tackle. “Yeesh, Rarity, settle down,” Rainbow said, voice issuing from under a tangle of limbs and hair. But Rarity could hear that note in her voice, the slight edge that accompanied a dampness now running into the fur on her foreleg . . . Rainbow would never admit it, she had already composed herself, from the second she knew that she had company. “Rainbow! You’ve simply no idea how much I’ve missed you, dear. How are you feeling, are you alright?” Rarity gingerly pushed herself off, throwing a glance at Forethought; sniggering, by the door, daring him to comment. Rainbow sighed. “How long was I out?” “About three weeks,” Forethought said. He offered Rainbow his hoof. “Not to worry though. We’ve had lots of experience with Seer-Chaser teams. If we had any Wardens up we’d have gotten you out of bed already, but you’re safe enough here.” “Safe enough?” Rarity nodded. “It’s no hospital, dear, but they’ve been ever so good. Oh, Rainbow, I’ve so much to tell you!” Rainbow, however, was slumping. “Three weeks,” she said, and as much as she tried to hide it that edge had returned to her voice. Forethought caught it too. “Trust me, it’s perfectly natural. Your Seer tells me the two of you jumped about a thousand years. That’s gotta break a few records, especially for amateurs.” Rainbow started. “You know . . .” “Coromancy?” Forethought chuckled. “I teach a few basic theory classes. Never had much of a gift with it myself, you understand.” “O-okay . . .” “Forethought explained to me how we got here,” Rarity said, injecting a little pep into her words. “It’s really very fascinating.” Rainbow didn’t take the bait, but Forethought jumped on it anyway, launching into a lecture. Even this, the third time, mostly went over Rarity’s head. As poor as the ponies here were at the fundamentals: the commonplace magic, flight, weather manipulation, even farming, they were far, far ahead in Coromantic theory. That had seemed odd to Rarity, at first, but then, Luna had been a font of knowledge on the subject despite her exile, and it seemed far more abundant here. Compared to the modern age, where Coromancy had been hidden away, this age held it in high regard—the highest. Each pony was tested for potential, trained, and quite often spent their lives studying the intricacies of the art. Twilight would have been all over this, but for where she was, Rarity preferred her intuitive understanding. “You see, Seers like Rarity—they’re Internal Mental Coromancers—don’t really ‘See’ the physical world. It’s more like their mind paints a cognitive map of the world they know, like how you might navigate your house with your eyes closed. Thing is, this extends to ponies, animals, even time. Rarity here ‘See’s the world as it thinks it is.” Rainbow’s eyes had glazed over. Forethought didn’t seem to notice. “As for you, Rainbow, Stormchasers—or Chasers, as they’re more colloquially known—are External Spiritual Coromancers. You can flip your orientation in space-time temporarily. Ordinarily, we can move spatially in three dimensions, while passively advancing in time. While ‘flipped’, or ‘Jumping’, as we call it, the Chaser can move temporally in one dimension—this would be travelling forward or backwards in time—while passively moving spatially in three dimensions. For some reason, this passive movement is a southward translation, no, we don’t know why. But the longer you hold this effect, the further south you emerge. Which is interesting, because it places you, at a minimum, several thousand kilometres north of here when you left. And nopony’s ever been that far north.” Rarity caught her breath. That was an unintended problem. She’d intended to hold back as much information as she could, there was no need to complicate this further, but if he chose to pursue that line of insight, he could move towards some really awkward questions. “However,” Forethought continued, shooting a little grin at Rarity, had he actually caught her in that thought, damn him? “to complete the lesson, an effect of flipping is that it prevents the Chaser from perceiving their location, both temporally and spatially. As the majority of Coromantic power is used to establish the flip, a better solution than dropping in and out of the Jump for long-time travel is needed. This solution is, as you so aptly demonstrated, accomplished with Seer-Chaser teams. There have been some few Chasers experienced enough to Jump accurately solo, but they are rare exceptions.” “Stop, stop,” Rainbow finally said. “I don’t need all this, and I certainly don’t understand it.” Forethought’s smile slipped a little. “Just . . .” Rainbow bit her lip. “I can go home, right?” “Ah.“ Forethought paused. “Well, yes.” “Well?” Rainbow asked, her face falling. “Take it easy, there, I only meant . . . wait a little? You might feel it, but you’re not recovered yet.” Rarity nodded at Rainbow’s glance. We can’t go yet, Rainbow. Not yet. “Rest,” she said. “Get better. Twilight’s not going anywhere.” Forethought raised an eyebrow, but Rainbow nodded, took a few deep breaths. “Okay, okay. Can we at least take a walk? I want to move a bit, stretch.” “Good,” Forethought said. “That’s good.” They helped Rainbow to her hooves, and by the time they reached the front door Rainbow was comfortable standing on her own. Warm Winds was tending to somepony else, but Forethought assured them that she’d be happy to see Rainbow up and about, so they ambled through the new town, just enjoying the day. For the first time since arriving here, Rarity simply let the tangled web of events slip from her mind—a puzzle for another day—and savour the air, the smell of wet grass and flowers on the breeze, the chatter, background buzz, of a community. It clearly invigorated Rainbow, whose step grew stronger the further they went, until she was circling them in the air, a content grin plastered across her muzzle. And then the town stilled. Gradually, as more and more took notice, the murmurings ceased, heads turned skyward. Rainbow took a second longer to notice, landing gently beside Rarity with an inquisitive look. In answer, Rarity just pointed, unwilling to take her eyes off the sight rapidly approaching. Nightmare Moon—Luna—was moving towards the new town, rapidly, clearly visible even at a distance. Almost a shadow on the sky, it took Rarity a moment to spot the limelight covering her path: the moon, hanging low on the horizon as the day approached its end, was glowing, and pulsing gently in a quiet and shockingly powerful celebration. Argence covered her body, glimmering, giving definition to the lines of her body that faded against the sky and rendering ethereal the more solid plates of her armour . . . almost immediately, ideas began sparking in Rarity’s mind, the splendour of Luna’s approach disappearing behind visions of Canterlot balls and Manehattan shows. Rarity glanced around herself, searching for a sketchbook, or notebook, before catching herself with a small shake of the head. Rainbow jostled her with a wing, and she glanced down, seeing the pegasus crouching low to the ground, head lowered. With a start, Rarity mimicked the pose, not daring to look up at the diarch standing above her. Her mind ran away from her, producing image after image of the Nightmare’s wrath, reptilian eyes narrowed with rage, stance brooking no argument, no further affront to her stature . . . But Forethought was laughing, and bounding forward, and other ponies were clustering around Luna, many reaching out to touch her leg or share a smile and nod. Before Rarity could move, a crowd had formed and parted, the Lunar Princess stepping through towards them with wide smile and easy gait, clearly both relishing and comfortable in the attention she was receiving. Rarity caught Rainbow’s eyes, saw the same shock that she felt. This was wrong, this didn’t fit, and once again Rarity felt a slight start. Luna stopped in front of Rarity. “Please, friends, rise. I am told the two of you stumbled into our war.” Rarity caught a flicker of worry cross Luna’s face, quickly hidden. “I am sure you’ve much to tell. Be at ease, and rest. I will send for you soon.”