It is done. Luna—Nightmare Moon—has been locked away. I have set in place provisions for her return, in time. It is my hope, that should Typhus awaken again, we will be insulated from his power. We rest on the source of Harmony itself; should He prove needed again, it will be simple enough to draw on him.
My one concern is the six artefacts. Elements, now, split from the orb that held the source of our salvation. I tried my best not to corrupt them. I left them fear, and anger, and hate.
Thirty-Five
CANTERLOT WAS BEAUTIFUL this morning. It was beautiful most every morning, Trixie supposed, but somehow the sunlight sparkled particularly well off the ponds and windows, the marble gleamed, fresh bread and sweet flowers dominating the breeze, birdsong flew above the minute chatter of the markets and streets, smiles riding on the faces of all those around her . . . picturesque, really. Annoying.
Trixie trotted along a side street, heading down the hill. The hospital had released her just a half hour prior, and she’d had a delicious and decidedly less than filling breakfast at the first place she saw, daffodil flowers lining a honeyed oatcake. Lacking anything better to do, she thought to see Twilight, at this moment the only other soul here she actually knew.
Despite her dragging hooves, the lengthy journey ended far too soon, Twilight’s house looming up on the left. Trixie swallowed, stepped up to the door, knocked, waited, and with a few moments and a series of hoof-steps, the door opened.
“Trixie,” Twilight said. A pause. “How are you doing?”
“Better,” Trixie managed. Another pause. Oh, Celestia, this was a bad idea. They hadn’t ended things poorly, had they? Twilight’s tearful apology, her own reassurances . . . “I was released this morning.”
“Oh, I see,” Twilight said. She sighed, shook her head, unkempt mane falling down to frame her cheeks. “Come in, come in. I shouldn’t be surly, I’m sorry.”
Trixie followed her inside. “No, no, I understand, really. I can’t expect you to-”
“But the Princess asked this of me,” Twilight said. “And I was, well, I was horrid. Ineffective and punitive. This past week has done me more good than even I suspect, and for you too . . . so,” heading past offices and bedrooms, kitchen and living spaces, down stairs to the laboratory, that, last Trixie was here, contained a strange piece of metal that Twilight swore was angry, “are you ready to begin anew?”
And that really was what you’re offering, aren’t you? Trixie held her tongue, moving past Twilight to occupy the room proper. The metal—amour, from Luna, right?—was gone, and the room remained vacant, nothing but stone and wood to line the floor and walls. A fresh start, hmm, with all their conflict put behind them? Trixie didn’t think it possible. Were those scorch marks?
But she was willing to try.
“I wasn’t expecting to jump in so quickly,” Trixie said. “Couldn’t we, I don’t know, talk, first? Work out details, or something?”
Twilight glanced down at her hooves. “Of course. I don’t want to be pushy.”
Trixie brushed past her on the way back up the stairs, muttering “Thanks” as she passed.
“Do you remember what we talked about a few days ago?”
“Vividly.”
“More details have come up, regarding . . . the Veil.” Twilight bit her lip, held Trixie’s gaze. “Suffice to say that we’re on a timeline.”
Trixie nodded. “Okay. Just, just a few minutes.”
They gathered around the kitchen table, Twilight nursing a fresh cup of coffee, Trixie sitting on a bowl of cereal. Silence pervaded the room, palpable, almost physical. Casting about for something, Trixie hit open a notable absence, a blue feather left on the bench.
“Where’s Rainbow?”
“A thousand years in the past,” Twilight said, staring at the wall above and to the right of Trixie’s shoulder.
“What?”
“Hmm? Oh,” blinking, she sipped at her coffee, and then winced. “Ah, Rainbow’s . . . scouting, would be the term. For Princess Luna.”
“In the past.”
“Yeah,” Twilight bobbed her head.
Trixie massaged her forehead with a hoof. Celestia above, it was probably true, too. This just wasn’t getting any easier.
“What about your friends?” Twilight asked.
Trixie just stared at her.
“You know, the two in your mind. Cumulus, and Brash, right?”
“I don’t know,” Trixie said. “They, they haven’t spoken since . . .”
“Oh,” Twilight looked down at the table.
Wow. Okay, this was just ridiculous. They had plenty in common; there must be something Trixie could base a conversation around. But, apart from their history, what did she really know about Twilight? She was Celestia’s personal student, Luna’s confidant, had saved Equestria multiple times, was in a committed, long-term relationship with the Captain of the Wonderbolts, loved books, and was the single most powerful, most accomplished unicorn Trixie had ever heard of. Granted, she was also highly unstable, among other things, but . . .
Out of all of those, Trixie most related to magic. And though she could never hope to match Twilight in power, she had her own style, replete with little tricks and shortcuts to make things easier. If there was anypony she could talk shop with, it would be Twilight.
“Say, have you-“ Trixie began. “So I’ve been thinking-“ Twilight said, at the same time.
Trixie waved her on.
“Cumulus and Brash,” Twilight said. “I’ve been thinking about them. I may have some answers for you.”
Trixie leaned forward. “Yes?”
“I told you they were living in your mind, brought there by what was essentially a tidal wave of emotion—a surge in power brought about by desperation. Think of it as a mother, lifting a fallen tree off her filly’s leg.”
“Just adrenaline? No way, this would have happened before. Countless times.”
Twilight nodded. “Right. Most ponies can pull off something like that maybe once, twice, their whole lives. It’s incredibly demanding, so on and so forth,” she waved her hoof in the air, back and forth, “What we can do is similar. Founded on the same principles. We convert emotion to magic, for various effects, based on your foci. Unicorns have access to the Mental nexus,” Twilight frowned, “that’s what he was referring to . . .”
“What?”
“Somepony once told me it was called the Cognitive Realm. It’s the same idea, just a different way of thinking about it . . . it doesn’t matter.
“Look,” Twilight leaned forward, fore-hooves on the table. “It’s called Coromancy. Everypony—everypony—can do it, to a greater or lesser degree. You, you’d be greater, and from what I remember, your friends are too. Shockingly rare, or not, “she shrugged, “we can’t really test aptitude, of course.
“I think you pulled their minds from their bodies—what existed of them purely in the Mental nexus—before they died. I think you attached their minds to your own, housed them in your brain. You could cut them off, let them die, even . . . push them into other ponies, with enough training, though you’d need a willing donor.”
“Yeah, I got most of this before. Less detail, though.”
“There’s more.” Twilight leaned back, ran her hooves through her mane. “When I was in your head, last, well, Cumulus stopped me. Held me off you. Smart, to retreat there, pull me in. They couldn’t have helped you outside.”
“We might remember it a little differently,” Trixie said.
“Cumulus is—was—a pegasus. Pegasi use the Spiritual nexus for Coromancy, not the Mental, and earth ponies the Physical. You can’t mix and match. You can’t have brought Cumulus’ spirit with you, because you don’t have the capacity, and he can’t use Coromancy without it. So, how did he fight me?”
It was a rhetorical question, one Twilight clearly intended to answer. Trixie kept her mouth shut.
“Two solutions: one, that Cumulus simultaneously transferred his spirit to you at the moment of his death—preposterous, for several reasons; and two, that over the years they’ve been living with you, they’ve been regrowing their spirits, their connection to the Spiritual nexus . . . or growing into yours. Either way, it’s opened up a capacity that is only held by a very specific type of pony. You, a unicorn, are now capable of using Spiritual Coromancy.”
“Twilight,” Trixie said, shaking her head. “What does that even mean?”
“I think it means that you’re partway through Ascension.”
Trixie stared at her for about a minute. Slowly, her head lowered, until it collided with the table with a soft thud. She really should be expecting this, by now.
“Or, perhaps better phrased, stuck in a partial Ascension.”
Ascension: the process of a pony becoming an Alicorn, a princess, one of the rulers, leaders and defenders of Equestria . . . one of the most powerful figures in the world. And Trixie was part ways there. It was like a sick joke, the world laughing at her behind her back. Years of work, ambition driving her every movement, amounted to nothing more than total humiliation. And when she had put all that behind her, locked those old dreams behind doors of reason and perspective, the label of Greatness rose up to hound her.
“No, no no no,” Trixie said, choking on her food. Small bits fell from her mouth, splashing down into the milk. “I can’t Ascend, no, no way, I can’t, we- oh,” she fell backwards on her chair, crashing onto the floor.
Twilight stifled laughter with a hoof. “You aren’t going to be growing wings any time soon,” she said.
Trixie slumped down where she lay.
“It’s actually really interesting. I could be wrong,” to which Trixie shot Twilight an unamused glance, “anyway. We’ve never had this kind of insight into alicorns before.”
Trixie raised a hoof into the air. “Could we perhaps go back to the training, please?”
***
“This is bad,” Rarity said, pacing back and forth. “Oh, this is very, very bad.”
“How bad?” Rainbow said, grinning from where she lay outstretched in bed. On a typical morning, she might have been annoyed to have Rarity burst in; all worked up, and rouse her early. But Forethought had just insisted on returning her to bed after their encounter with Luna last night, and, for lack of anything better to do, she’d gotten a lot of sleep. Something Rarity appeared to have gone without.
Rarity shot her a glance. “It could be worse, I suppose.” She huffed, lifting her chin into the air. “But not by much!”
“I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Of course you don’t,” Rarity said. “You don’t think.”
“Hey!”
“That was uncalled for.” Rarity paused. “I’m sorry.”
Rainbow waved it off. “So, tell me, then. Princess Luna and Princess Celestia have already seen us here, wearing nothing. We aren’t going to be here for long, and even if they do remember us, back home, there’s no way they’re going to hold a fashion grudge for a thousand years. There’s just no way, Rarity. Nopony’s that grouchy.”
“But that’s the problem,” Rarity exclaimed. “It’s precisely because we’re from the future! What if something I wear influences a trend; even starts one? What if . . .”
“We’ve been over this, Rarity,” Rainbow said, tossing her head back onto the pillow to stare at the ceiling. “You can’t change what’s happened.”
“I don’t believe Rainbow Dash, of all ponies, is giving into some notion of fate.”
Rainbow snorted. “It’s not fate. It’s about your perception of time. What will happen; has happened. There’s a difference.”
“That’s another thing I don’t believe,” Rarity said, spinning to point a hoof at Rainbow. “I might expect words like that from Twilight, or Luna. But you? No offense, Rainbow, but I’ve never heard you use the word ‘perception’ in your life.”
Ouch. That one stung. “Could you just calm down, please? It’s gonna be fine. You’ll make something out of my bed sheets, parade in all fancy-like, get soundly ignored, and let me do all the talking. No biggie.”
Rainbow wasn’t sure how it was possible, but Rarity managed to turn white, or whiter, Rainbow supposed, as if all the grime had just fallen from her coat.
“Don’t even say such things! Besides, who’s to say I didn’t set the fashion for the next thousand years right here.” She huffed. “I may as well act as I see fit, and let fate tend to itself.”
“Yeah,” Rainbow said, nodding. “That’s the point.” Though she was pretty sure Rarity hadn’t got it yet.
“Ugh. This is pointless. I don’t even know what the fashion is right now.” Turning, she trotted from the room. “I’ll just be a bit,” she said, shutting the door behind her.
Rainbow hauled herself from her bed. She had been dying to fly about a bit, explore the place—despite her brief exertions last night, she was still itching for some real exercise, not to mention curious. She wanted to see what the pegasi of this time were capable of. Still, Rarity could use somepony watching over her. She was liable to make a scene. With a small sigh, Rainbow slipped out of the room, and followed Rarity out into the camp.
Where was she even going to get fabric, or tools? Maybe she could use magic? Rainbow didn’t know all that much about it, but she’d figured there was a reason Rarity had always used scissors. Maybe magic wasn’t as precise, or stressed the fabric, o-or . . . something? Heh, maybe there was no reason. Maybe Rarity was just stuck on using scissors because that was the way some big-wig in Manehattan did it.
Ahead of her, Rarity was tugging on the front of some pony’s tent, rubbing the material between her hooves. Rainbow jumped forward, glided towards her, and as Rarity turned away, tossing her nose in the air as she did, of course, the owner popped his head out, scowling.
“Sorry, sorry,” Rainbow said as she landed. “Don’t mind her.” She offered the pony a wide grin, met, of course, with a glare.
Hopefully this wouldn’t become a pattern, though, as she leapt back into the air to try to smooth over Rarity’s latest victim, in her gut Rainbow knew better.
What felt like hours later, Rarity had amassed a small bundle of cloth, stolen from various ponies around the camp. Rarity just waved their protests aside, citing a ‘fashion emergency’, and left Rainbow to try her best to placate them.
So, of course, that was precisely when a messenger found them, summoning them to the Princesses’ side. Rainbow was glad enough to be relieved of her peace-keeping duties, but Rarity, whose spirits were just turning around: humming a soft tune as she held various scraps against her coat, dropped everything, let out a small shriek that drew the attention of everypony that wasn’t already staring at them, and ran into the nearest shelter.
It was that kind of day.
“Rarity?” Rainbow ventured, poking her head through the door. “Come on, Rares. We’ve gotta go.”
“Just a second!” Rarity had her head down, cloth flying around her in streams, meeting under her nose and melting together.
“Seriously,” Rainbow said. She took a position just inside the building, leaning on the wall. “You aren’t going to keep them waiting, are you? You remember the last time that happened.”
The first Nightmare Night after Luna’s return. Rarity had spent the whole thing in the Boutique, working on her costume. Granted, she finished it over the next week, and even Rainbow had to admit that it was pretty good when she finally pulled it out the next year, but still . . . classic.
Rarity straightened, abruptly, her dressmaking continuing uninterrupted. “You’re right.”
“I am?” Honestly, Rainbow hadn’t expected to get through that quickly.
“I can work while we walk.”
Outside, the messenger was hopping from side to side, and grabbed at Rainbow’s arm, pulling her into a half-trot. Rarity, however, would not be hurried, and eventually he just gave up, walking alongside them with his head slumped, muttering to himself.
Rainbow could see at a glance that whatever Rarity was making, she’d be disappointed, and she could see why magic made a poor substitute from proper stitches. Lacking any other way to join fabric, Rarity had intertwined the threads, creating a single seamless piece. Sounded great in theory, sure, but the colours just didn’t match in a straight line; the material was uneven, too thick here, too rough there. Perhaps with control, with the right pieces—oh, no, no, she was not going to follow that train of thought. Come on, RD, have some pride.
“Hey,” she said, sidling up beside Rarity. “You know, I think I get it.”
Rarity sniffed. “I doubt that.”
“No, really.” Rainbow scratched the back of her head, glanced away. “Just before I auditioned for the Wonderbolts, I kinda lost it, y’know? Nerves, butterflies in the stomach, the whole lot.”
“I don’t think that applies here, dear.”
“Yeah, it does. I’m passionate about flying, about pushing myself to my limits up there. So when I have a big test, or a big show, it gets to me. Just like this is getting to you.”
Rarity sighed, stopped what she was doing. One look at the half-finished dress and she dropped in onto the ground, making a face. “Blunt, and accurate. Thank you, Rainbow.”
“I still fret,” Rainbow said. “You just gotta not let that ruffle your feathers.” She grinned as Rarity coughed, shooting her an unamused glance. "Or something like that."
Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, apparently, were staying in a small house of the same style as the hospital, about the size of the Ponyville treehouse. Probably the reason for all the stone being ferried about, now that Rainbow thought about it. The ponies here wouldn’t let the Princesses go without proper accommodation for long, particularly if this was to be a permanent settlement.
They were ushered through an antechamber into a larger room, sparse, just a raised platform on the far side. Atop it, reclining, the Princesses. Except . . . this felt wrong. Luna sat forward, head held high, small smile on her face as she greeted them, even returned their bows with a gentle incline of her head. Celestia lay beside her, slightly back, glanced at them briefly, and returned to her writing—a scroll held aloft in her magic, quill scratching at the parchment.
Rainbow and Rarity had spoken last night, briefly, about how much to tell. She felt like they were flying around the edges of a secret, aware that it was there without knowing what it was. They couldn’t reveal anything more than their suspicions, or the reasons they had for being suspicious, but even that could easily tip the balance, probably in a completely unexpected way. Better to be reticent, to withhold as much as possible, until they knew more. To seek to fit in with as little a splash as possible. And so, as Luna opened with the expected question: “We’re scholars, Your Highnesses,” Rainbow said, rising. “We seek knowledge of the past. To do more than observe here would only spoil our efforts.”
There. Simple, elegant; they had come up with nothing better. Even the ignorance it betrayed—a flaw Rainbow spotted immediately—could only serve to further their credibility.
“Oh?” Luna said, quirking an eyebrow. “And what happened, to erase our records? We would have thought the world slow to forget this war.”
Rarity spoke up. “Nothing more than time, Your Highness. We are here to assess the validity of our own legends.”
“Dangerous business, that,” Luna said. Beside her, Celestia snorted, put her scroll down, and turned to face them. “What say you, little sister? You’ve a particular interest in ancient legend, as I recall.”
Wait. Did she hear that right? Beside Rainbow, Rarity’s mouth fell open. Little sister. Luna’s words, not Celestia’s. Rainbow looked at them again, looked closely: at the way Luna’s gaze lingered on her sister, the way Celestia straightened a little when she noticed. Mannerisms that had simply passed without notice were now obvious. Of the two, Luna was the elder.
Yeah. That was pretty big.
“It would appear we have already run counter to their expectations, sister,” Celestia said.
“Oh dear. Are the two of you quite alright?”
Rarity recovered first, years of obsession with poise and grace lending her remarkable resilience. “We apologise profusely, Your Highnesses. We are . . . a little taken aback.”
“By what?” Luna said, leaning forward.
“I am afraid I cannot say.”
Luna stood. “We did not make you a request, little unicorn.”
“Please,” Rainbow began, “we don’t want to affect change. We are observers, only.”
“You are a Stormchaser,” Luna said. “You of all know that you cannot endanger your future.”
Inwardly, Rainbow winced.
“And if we are wrong?” Rarity asked. “All we can do is act as best we can, in each moment that arises.”
Rainbow cocked her head at this, and then smiled. Perhaps she had understood.
“Spoken like a true Seer,” Celestia said. “I like them.”
“You like all scholars,” Luna said, tousling Celestia’s mane with a hoof.
Rainbow and Rarity exchanged a glance. Oh, yeah, definitely the elder.
Then Luna turned her gaze on them, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. "Have you any intention of harm, towards us or ours?" she asked. Her tone, playful just seconds ago, was abruptly sharp. Beside Rainbow, Rarity shivered.
"No, your Highnesses," Rainbow said.
Luna glanced at Celestia.
"Cannot you See, sister?"
Luna sighed. "It seems the interference remains. We had thought that His defeat," pausing, "no matter." Celestia nodded at this, and then again at Rainbow.
"They harbour no ill will," she said.
“Very well,” Luna said. “We shall permit you to reside with us.”
They both bowed again, uttering “Thank you, Your Highnesses,” in unison.
“However, you have not yet earned my trust. We will be watching, Rainbow Dash and Rarity. You would do well to consider the consequences of Our wrath.”
Together, they left the room, walked back through the antechamber under the gaze of everypony gathered therein. It wasn’t until they were outside fully, and, as much as they could be, alone, that Rarity let out a grateful sigh. Stressful indeed, lying to the Princesses: though they had kept their story close to the truth, Rainbow’s heart was still racing. And, somehow, she was sure Luna had picked up on it.
But still ponies were eyeing them, curious, mostly, wondering at the outsiders, and what they might have discussed with the Princesses. Rainbow grabbed at Rarity’s arm, pulled her eastward, towards the outskirts of the camp. They passed masons, workers hauling wagons loaded with stone, even two earth ponies with a lockbox, a crimson glow issuing from the small gaps around the lid.
Rainbow took to the sky, flew straight up. From the air, she could see for miles. Construction about the camp, quickly becoming a town, the castle being erected . . . loggers were coming and going from the nearby forest, farmers were already growing fields of crop: barley, corn, and wheat, to name a few. Nonetheless, there were still great expanses of the plain unoccupied—places where they could talk safely. She gave Rarity a lift to an empty field, long grass reaching up to their knees, waving in the breeze.
“I don’t believe it,” Rarity said, as soon as they touched down.
“I know, right?” Rainbow plucked a strand of grass, flopped down onto her back, placed it between her lips. The clouds were drifting freely, moving west with the wind.
“It’s surreal. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, in Canterlot.” Rarity began pacing, back and forth. “So, what do we do now? Just wait and watch?”
“Eh, too passive. What about that war Luna mentioned? His defeat?”
Rarity clicked her tongue. “That’s right. You were unconscious.”
“Yep. Canterlot to that bed.”
“Forethought told me all about it, while you were out. Apparently a great evil or some such rose in the south. A Storm God, a God of Chaos: Typhus. He threatened to end the world.”
“Oh, yeah, one of those. “ Rainbow sucked the grass in, chewed, and reached out for another. “Princesses brought out the Elements and knocked him into last century?”
“Not quite,” Rarity said. “Actually, I haven’t heard of the Elements at all.”
“A-huh. So how’d they stop him?”
“They fought a war. The storm didn’t just destroy terrain, it corrupted those it touched, filled them with fear, anger, that sort of thing—twisted them to fight against their own friends.”
Rainbow shuddered. “Sounds a lot like someone we know,” she said, rolling over to catch Rarity’s eye.
“Yes, I made the connection, too. They haven’t heard of Discord, either.”
“I thought Discord was supposed to have reigned over a thousand years ago—before Equestria.”
“Yes,” Rarity said. “But then, I thought Celestia was older than Luna.”
“Point,” Rainbow said.
“Luna led everypony in the war. She fought back, using regular troops to stop those corrupted, Coromancers to slow Typhus’ advance. But they couldn’t stop him. Slowly, she was pressed back, towards the northern mountains, and the Crystal Empire.”
A war. Rainbow kept talking, thinking, for fear of the implications. Still it hovered at the back of her mind. A word seen only in the bleakest of novels, tales of Great Evil and Desperate Struggle, invoking death as the ultimate stakes. How many died, here? How did they survive? And what did Luna mean by 'consequences'?
“Coromancers, huh?” she said, seizing on that detail.
“Much more common,” Rarity said. “And everypony knows, too. Still, they weren’t enough.”
“Celestia?” Rainbow hazarded a guess.
“Correct. Celestia was a scholar herself, always wrapped up in myth and legend. She headed north, by herself, long before Luna ever got there. And she found something, in the mountains.”
“Interesting,” Rainbow said. “What was it?”
Rarity sighed. “Nopony knows.”
“Great,” Rainbow got to her hooves, stretched herself out, wings extended, back arched inwards. “So, eyes and ears open. Try to find out specifics. See what happens.”
“We’ll have more luck split up,” Rarity said.”Why don’t you meet with the other Chasers? You could learn something.”
“Sounds good. We can meet back here tomorrow.”
“And that,” Rarity said,” is a plan.”
***
“So,” Trixie said, “Coromancy.”
“You’re a Sage, like me.”
Trixie shuffled on her hooves. Across from her, Twilight leaned against the doorframe, watching expectantly. “What do I do?”
“I started by hurling a river serpent into a tree.” Somehow Trixie wasn’t surprised. Again, she glanced over at the scorch marks on the walls and floor, briefly wondering about the specific story behind each.
“I really don’t feel comfortable with this, Twilight.”
“It’s important.”
“I’ve seen enough come of this, already.” In her experience, this magic had led to nothing but trouble, despite the tremendous feats she’d witnessed ultimately coming from it. She just wasn’t convinced that it was worth it. Power no longer interested her.
“You can’t control it,” Twilight said. “That’s the problem, the same problem I had ten years ago, the same problem I forgot about last week. This isn’t how Luna taught me—but I never really agreed with her methods anyway.” Twilight straightened up, peered at her. “I found it uncomfortable too. But you, most of all, need to learn. When I lost control I violated your mind, attacked you with every intent of killing you, and no matter the Veil holding me back. What would happen if you did the same?”
Trixie nodded slowly, took a deep breath. “You’re right. Okay. Okay, I’ve got this.”
“Relax. Give me a little light.”
Trixie complied, her horn igniting azure.
“Centre of the room,” Twilight ordered. “Now, focus inward, try to build on an emotion, preferably something positive.”
“Not so much of that to be found,” Trixie said quietly.
Twilight stayed silent for a moment, finally nodding.
Inwards, then. Well, Trixie had had plenty of time to explore there this past week. Initially grateful for the extended bed rest, even she’d gotten bored. It didn’t help that Cumulus and Brash kept silent—still there, still present in the corner of her mind, but . . . aloof. She shied away from their presence.
Shake it off, Trixie. She gave herself a little once-over, a shiver running from chin to tail, exhaled. Trouble was, she couldn’t really remember anything positive, not recently. She’d gone from abject fear to suppressed horror to simmering anger too quickly, without time to process, and she didn’t really feel much of anything anymore. That wasn’t Boundless’ curse, no, nor her sin. That was just time.
“Concentrate,” Twilight said, interrupting her train of thought. “It’s no good to contemplate; you have to focus on a feeling. You draw power from the strength of that, not from logic.”
Trixie closed her eyes. What did she feel? She wasn’t truly numb; she knew the depth that word could hold. Rather, she had avoided herself, remained cerebral. Easier to shy away, rather than dwell on her situation.
But the only thing welling up in her unbidden, as she stood in the Agency’s basement facing Twilight Sparkle was gratitude. The light, now hovering behind her head, flickering so that azure waves washed the walls and shadows danced in the corners, flared up, blazing. She could see it in Twilight’s eyes.
She’d done this before. She knew it, instinctively, connected this back to all the little times she’d gotten more juice from her spells than she’d expected, outperformed somepony else. It was familiar and foreign, a strange sense of assurance at every step. Everything she owed to this mare before her gushed forth, pouring forward in a torrent of emotion she was suddenly powerless to stop. She choked, her throat closing up, tears appeared in the corners of her eyes, and her body trembled.
She was attached to her spell, to the light burning into the back of her head. Through that connection, she fed it with her regrets and her compassion, and it burned brighter still, a miniature sun, with glare such that even facing away, Trixie had to close her eyes.
“Stop,” Twilight called, stepping forward. Trixie tried, couldn’t, had nothing to hold on to. Swept away. She didn’t have such feeling within her, did she? She couldn’t remember something this strong, ever, in her entire life. She lunged forward, wrapping Twilight in a hug.
Twilight slapped her, hard. Trixie stumbled back, her magic faltering, sucking in great gasps of air, and stumbled, falling onto her haunches.
“That,” Twilight said, looking down at her, “is what I’m talking about.”
Trixie could only stare dumbly. So intense, and so fast. Out of nowhere, just . . . one misstep, and all pretence at control was gone. She swallowed, suddenly afraid. This, this was too much for her to handle, too much for anypony.
She looked at Twilight’s outstretched hoof with horror, recoiling. Scrambling backwards, she hit the wall with her back, pressed herself there, panting, eyes wide, ears on end. Every muscle in her body was taut.
“Everypony,” she stammered, not taking her eyes from Twilight. “You said . . . everypony.”
“To a lesser degree, yes,” Twilight said. “You are more than most, though I suspect your friends are contributing.”
“I, I don’t . . .” Trixie said. “I don’t feel.”
“You burned it away,” Twilight said. “It will come back, in time.”
Empathy, compassion, even, somehow, guilt—all gone, muted. As if Twilight had never restored her. But instead of the awful nothingness that Boundless had left her with, she felt conviction. It pushed her to her hooves, made her ignore Twilight’s help. “We have to stop him.”
“Yes,” Twilight said simply. “He heads for the Crystal Heart.”
“You can’t,” Trixie said. “You can’t hold him back and you can’t stop him. Not permanently.”
“Trixie . . .” Twilight said.
“I can.” Trixie quirked a lip: she had always enjoyed irony. Boundless had created her, had shaped her into what she was today. In doing so, he had engineered his downfall. Everypony else was hamstrung by the same trap she had fallen into. Nothing short of death would stop him, and in killing, one gave up something, broke free . . . no. She would not subject anypony else to that. Her eyes gleamed; mouth broke into a slow grin. “I can stop him. I can kill him."