//------------------------------// // Forty-Four // Story: The Moon Also Rises // by Nicroburst //------------------------------// Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps all I will accomplish is a hastening of our doom. But I cannot believe that time is on our side. I cannot believe that blinding ourselves to His truths will safeguard us from them. I cannot believe that in ignorance, we might find peace. And you are not the only piece I have to move. Forty-Four “TELL ME ABOUT the Princesses,” Rarity said. Walking beside her, Foresight hummed in response, his brow furrowing. The lane wasn’t too busy at this time of day, most ponies packing up their meagre belongings, or returning home from a hard day’s work building fortifications along the southern edges of the makeshift town. Luna had been quick to act on the warning, such as it was, and everypony carried an edge of attentiveness about them, an air of wariness. It gave Rarity the chills, an experience akin to watching some disaster as it occurred: a train careening into a sharp bend in the tracks, a fool opening his mouth in conversation . . . the calm before the Storm. “Where to start,” Foresight mused. “Well, how much do you know?” “Nothing, apparently,” Rarity said. True enough, as she finally understood. The differences, seemingly so minimal at first, just aesthetic changes with no import, had stacked up enough to create a whirlwind in her mind, an almost visceral nausea. She didn’t think much could surprise her, at this point. “The beginning, then?” “Yes, that would be best.” “Ah,” Foresight said, pausing. “Shall we wait for Rainbow?” Another effect of their impromptu showdown with the Princesses was Luna’s unexpected support. Imprisoning them in the throne room for some hours, Luna had returned with apologies and assurances. Somewhere in her deliberations, she had decided to allow them free reign once again—deeming them either no threat, or, better, an asset. She had even communicated such to the army, instructing everypony to facilitate their investigations where appropriate. Rarity hadn’t questioned the decision, not being one to check a gifted jewel for impurity, though Rainbow had cast the Princess an askance glance. As far as Rarity knew, Rainbow was sleeping, of course. “Oh, I’ll fill her in,” Rarity said. “Besides,” she gave a small laugh, tinkling, “well, shall I simply say that it would be nice to have another voice to pay attention to?” “Mm, quite,” Foresight said, glancing about them. “We’re usually much more upbeat, y’know.” Rarity fixed him with her gaze. Wilting, “Not so much lately . . .” Rarity sighed. “Okay, okay. The Princesses . . . Have you heard of their birth?” “No, I can’t say that I have,” Rarity said, shaking her head. Foresight glanced around quickly. “Alright. First thing’s first, then: alicorns. There are two . . . kinds, I suppose, of alicorns, that we know of, anyway. Natural born, and Ascended. Luna and Celestia are the only natural born I’ve ever heard of.” Laughing, “actually, before the Princesses, Ascension was accepted as the only way to create an alicorn. And no, the foal of an Ascended alicorn isn’t an alicorn itself.” Rarity quirked an eyebrow. “Ascension?” Foresight blinked at her. “Yeah. Y’know, a . . . combination, I guess, of three ponies, one from each race. Coromancers, obviously. United in purpose and will. There’s only been a handful of them, ever. Whitemane, Ash Front, Streamer . . . and so on . . .” his voice trailed off, seeing Rarity frown. “You’ve never heard of them?” “I’m afraid not. Should I have?” “They’re only some of the most important historical figures we have! Okay, sorry, I just didn’t realise . . . quite how different it must be.” Rarity chuckled. “That’s a problem we share, dear,” she said. “Ahem. So, we’ve this world where alicorns are revered largely because of how they’re created. It requires extreme circumstances, you see. Things like total commitment, synchronicity . . . that’s not to mention the will to subsume any individual identity . . . it’s long been theorised that each component, so to speak, of the alicorn merely contributes to the whole—one-third of a new being, yes—which is supported by the new name each takes. Though, that could merely be tradition . . .” “Foresight, dear,” Rarity said. “Hmm, yes?” “The Princesses?” “Right! Sorry, I can get carried away.” “It’s quite all right, really.” They turned a corner, facing into the setting sun. She’d agreed to meet Rainbow near here, in the two room shack that was currently passing for their accommodation. Rarity’s tent from the horrid days following their long march north had been recently upgraded by the orders of Princess Luna, for which she was grateful, darn it. Even if she might have preferred to sleep somewhere far away from Rainbow, and that horrid snore of hers. How she was supposed to get any form of beauty sleep when a lawn mower was being revved next to her ear every three seconds was beyond her. “So into this world, Princess Luna was born. You can imagine the consternation. Here we have a little filly, seemingly no different from any other, except she’s supposed to be an amalgamation of three ponies at their individual apices? Alicorns don’t forget their past lives, and yet Luna remembered nothing. It . . . well, it was a big deal. Threw most everything we thought we knew right out the window.” “I can imagine,” Rarity said. “Then Celestia followed, a few years later. I have it on good account that she was the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen in your life. No, really, don’t laugh, that’s what the records say. So much to record, to examine, to study, and that’s what they choose to write. I’ll show you, later.” Rarity waved her hoof, smiling. “Anyway, the first big clue was when somepony noticed they weren’t ageing properly. By which, I mean, they weren’t ageing. At all.” “Wait,” Rarity said, stopping. “Ascended alicorns aren’t . . .” “Immortal? No. That seems to be exclusive to the Princesses.” Foresight sighed. “We don’t know why. Frankly, there’s a lot we don’t know.” “I see . . .” Rarity bit her lip. “And were they raising the sun and moon at this point?” “Sharp mind,” Foresight said, nodding his approval. “Yes, that started pretty early, actually. Given that they both received Cutie Marks for it, most had assumed that it was simply their Passion: amped up by Coromancy and their three-fold heritage. But no Ascended alicorn was linked with a natural phenomenon, either. So, we’ll say there’s weak evidence that a bond to celestial objects confers, or is related to, immortality.” “Anyway, we have Luna and Celestia. Jump forward a few hundred years or so, with generations spent ruling behind them. Now, Luna . . . Luna was always beloved by her subjects. She’s the type to spend her days walking the streets, always with time to lend an ear, or sample somepony’s labour. She wrote the majority of our laws, handled their enforcement . . . spearheaded diplomatic exchanges . . .” he waved a hoof in the air, “the list goes on. Queen, in all but name, and not against the will of populace, either.” “And Celestia?” Rarity asked, though a sinking feeling told her she already knew the answer. “A recluse,” Foresight said, shrugging. “She spent most of her time studying, holed up in a private library. She was liked, I’m sure, but . . . never very visible. She raised the sun in the morning, and lowered it at night, and that was enough. The subjects she pursued—well, who can say, really?—but where Luna sponsored the arts, the military . . . Coromantic development and growth, agricultural technique, social and moral theory . . . Celestia spent her time turned to history.” Rarity glanced across at him. Foresight’s gaze was distant, and his gait slowed. Abruptly, he gave himself a little shake, and flashed her a grin. “I remember Celestia quite well, actually. From back before the war . . .” *** “There are, as we know, three tribes of ponies,” Foresight said. The colts and fillies before him, arrayed in rows and columns, sat: some paying rapt attention, others drooling, heads planted firmly on their desks. “Similarly, there are three Aspects of Coromancy. Physical, for the Earth Ponies, Mental, for the Unicorns, Spiritual, for the Pegasi. The use of an Aspect demands, as we remember was demonstrated by Miletus in 772 AS, the use of the appropriate Implement. The unicorn’s horn and the pegasi’s wings are obvious, however, the specific Implement of an earth pony is harder to detect, residing inside their body. This allows alicorns, who possess Implements of all three races, able to utilise every Aspect, and distinguishes them from winged unicorns, or other such combinations.” Pausing, he surveyed the room, favouring those with quill in hoof with a smile. “Yes, this will all be on the test.” The chorus of groans was music to his ears. “For further review, read the chapters on Miletus’ early life, as well as Coromantic basics. Now, though, we have a special guest. She’s come all the way from the Celestial Tower, so please; give her your full attention.” Reaching out with his magical field, Foresight opened the door at the side of the classroom to reveal Celestia, mane billowing back in an ethereal wind. She’d not taken two steps into the room before the class was frozen, sitting upright in stark disbelief. The quiet chatter from the back had vanished, Foresight noted, trying his best not to grin. “Hello, children,” Celestia said. Her voice was melodious, tinkling. “I understand you’ve been learning a little of our history.” “Greetings, Princess,” Foresight said, dropping into a deep bow. Standing, “We’ve been moving through the earlier Sages as part of their Coromantic heritage. Just the first few, I’m afraid.” “We all started somewhere,” Celestia said, accentuating her words with a gentle laugh. “Did you know, children, that while my sister and I never knew Miletus himself, we were—are still, actually—good friends with his companion, Ingeir.” The class remained silent, though their faces were upturned now, eager. So easy, Foresight mused internally, to capture their attention with but the moniker of royalty. Celestia should teach more often. But then again, how much should he attribute to the air of mystery that surrounded her, the thrill of the unknown. He wasn’t immune to her presence, far from it. “It is a great honour to have you here, Princess,” he started. “We thank you for your time.” Celestia nodded. “Class, the Princess is here to tell you a few stories that relate to our discussion. She—we—believe that there is still a great deal to be learnt from the tales of our ancestors. Princess?” “Thank you,” Celestia said, inclining her head to him. Foresight took a deep breath. “As you may know, I spend the majority of my time deep in research into our past. The Celestial Tower holds countless records, legend and myth alongside accounting and taxation alongside biography. Arcana mixed with farming technique. Many of these are unique, some are forbidden, kept under lock and key. What I have with me today,” unfurling a wing, easily as large as Foresight’s entire body, scroll case clasped carefully by her primaries . . . exhibiting it, before placing it on the lectern before her . . . “is not one of those.” She uncapped the case, and drew out the scroll within a golden aura. “Pass this amongst yourselves, and please, be careful with it, children.” She moved to the side of the room, and bent her horn towards the lectern, summoning a golden sphere of light. Quickly, it formed into shapes, colours distilled from the fractured sunlight. A landscape arose, populated with tall trees rolling back along the undulating hills, greenery saturating the vision against the receding yellows—now bright blue—both dropping back as sky and wending its way forward . . . stone, in the form of sturdy grey bricks surrounded with deep dark mortar, rose, piling high. The vision sparkled before them, and even Foresight’s jaw dropped. “This,” Celestia said, with barely a hitch to her voice to indicate the strain, “is Brightstream Valley.” A few students cooed, earning points in Foresight’s mind. They should recognise the name: it had been the focus of an entire lecture just a few weeks ago. Celestia noticed the lack of comprehension on the majority of students as well. “As I’m sure you’ve heard,” she said, “Brightstream Valley is well known for its relatively high magical density. Historically, young colts and fillies such as yourselves have journeyed there on their thirteenth journey, as a rite of passage to adulthood. Can anypony tell me why?” Silence, for three, four, five beats . . . then: a tentative hoof rose into the air. “Yes,” Celestia prompted. “Because . . . umm, be-because it’s easier to get a Cutie Mark there,” a filly stammered. “I’m sorry, what was that,” Celestia said, cocking her head to the side. “Speak up, child,” Foresight said. “It’s easier to get a Cutie Mark there,” the filly said, tensing her body and squeezing her eyes shut. “Very good,” Celestia said. “Now, the scroll . . . where is it? Ah, yes, you,” pointing at a colt who had just been handed the scroll by his friend next to him. “Could you read for us, please? From the top.” The colt cleared his throat, pushed his hooves to the top of the paper to hold it unfurled. “Ahh, hmm hmm, To my dearest Astara; Much has happened over the last week. The tower you designed was finally finished, and I spent last night inhabiting it. It was my first under a roof in some time, and while I must confess to miss the stars, the warmth of Luna’s night reaches me even here. And the view is incredible! You must come visit at the earliest opportunity. The valley stretches for miles around, and while its potency does seem confined to just this small patch, the wider wilderness is no less beautiful.” Celestia’s illusion moved, the field of view sweeping across the verdant fields, spiralling outwards and upwards. Everypony’s eyes were glued to it, taking in the lush green and browns. Foresight would later swear he could almost smell the grass. “I trust everything is going smoothly back home. Certainly your last letter soothed any lingering fears I held—not that I doubted you, my dear! It is merely the worrying soul of a father, I’m afraid. Oh, but Frisk is calling, and I must attend to matters.” The illusion narrowed, focusing in towards the top of the tower, large open windows showing a cluttered room, desk overflowing with books and scrolls, maps spread over the floor with corners weighted down by hefty tomes. A stallion paced in the middle, dictating to a unicorn, quill scribbling furiously across the scroll in his telekinetic field. “Visit! I cannot wait to spread word of our find here, it will surely set us up for life, but first you should see it for yourself. Eagerly awaiting with love, your father.” The colt took his hooves off the scroll, allowing it to furl itself back up. Celestia took it in her magic, quickly sliding it back into its case, stoppering it, and placing it behind the lectern. The illusion changed, tower melting back into the ground. “Now, children,” Celestia said, stepping forward and drawing the full attention of the room. “We’re all aware of the importance of Brightstream Valley, both from a historical and a scientific perspective.” She flashed a glance at Foresight. “They have learnt of the Valley’s mechanisms, correct?” “Ah, briefly, your Majesty,” Foresight said, bowing his head. “Excellent,” she said, turning back to the class. “To wit, the Valley contains an extraordinarily high concentration of harmonic magic. The correlation between geography and magical saturation clearly indicates the river as a source or magical magnet—“ here the illusion moved with the river, golden motes of light hovering in the air, clustering themselves along the water’s path, so that it appeared as a stream of sunlight, winding through the air—“and Nightshade’s experiments proved this, manually redirecting the water and observing the resulting changes.” The illusion followed her words, first water carving a new path, juts a small change to bend the other way around a hillock, while the motes of light hovering above its surface were more sluggish to follow suit. “Now,” Celestia said, and with a stomp of her hoof caused the illusion to wink out. “Can anypony guess why we are discussing such a rudimentary summary of events?” Silence. And to tell the truth, Foresight wasn’t sure what the Princess was expecting, either. He’d been told she had a presentation, an attempt to reach out, if only a little. Capture the children’s minds, their hearts, and hope the population followed suit. At least, that was what he’d been told. And the missive had reeked of Luna. Celestia snorted, and Foresight’s hackles rose instinctively. “Do you not see? This scroll: the only copy of its kind, dismissed at large as merely the personal communications of a family seeking to exploit an unexplored region. And yet this is where we find the truth, the little clues that tell a story. This scroll was found almost two hundred years before Nightshade was born!” She took a deep breath, eyes widening as she took in the children’s faces. “Ah . . . ah, I am sorry, children,” she said. “I come to you to explain the importance of my work. As demonstrated,” waving the scroll case in the air, “the smallest details can reveal incredibly important . . .ah. This was a bad idea.” To Foresight: “I am sorry. Please try to smooth things over?” And just like that, before Foresight could so much as lift a hoof to interject, the Solar Princess turned tail and fled the classroom. *** “What I remember most, though,” Foresight said, “is that . . . it was a whine, almost . . . no, really!” “You’ll have to forgive me, dear,” Rarity said. “It’s just that your Celestia is so far removed from my own. I confess I have a hard time imagining her being so inept.” Foresight was shaking his head. “Then you missed the point. She was preoccupied—always has been. Luna deals with the present. But Celestia? Celestia looked to the past—and the future.” They stopped walking, Rarity reaching out to push open the crude wooden door that demarked her abode. She’d need to sweep again, she noted, stepping forward, and . . . maybe hang some fabric, curtains, yes, against the wall there. She shook herself, waiting out the shivers than ran over her fur at the dust already accumulating, the scuffed dirt floor, hoofprints leading to the cot propped up against the far wall. Rainbow was sitting there, head in hooves. She was mumbling something to herself, abruptly cut off as she jerked upright, hearing Rarity enter. “Hey there,” Rainbow said, dropping her gaze back to the floor. Rarity let her gaze rest on her friend for a moment, before ushering Foresight into the room and dragging a solitary chair out for him. Settling into it, he paused, brow furrowed, before slapping his thigh. “Ah, yes. Now you must have heard of Harmony.” Rainbow looked up. “Well, duh,” she said. “Who hasn’t heard of Harmony, for crying out loud.” “Good, good.” Foresight looked over at Rarity, taking a seat on the edge of her own bed. “I can show you all this, if you want. We’ve still got the scrolls, despite . . . everything.” “Some other time, perhaps,” Rarity said. “Of course,” Foresight said. “Now, Harmony . . . the thing is, our histories claim Harmony was once a pony.” “Wait, what?” Rainbow said, jolting upright. “As in, a pony? A living, breathing, pony?!” “That was my reaction, too,” Foresight said, chuckling. “I consider it a fable, myself. Still, in every story there’s a nugget of truth, or so they say.” “What a load of-“ Rainbow abruptly cut off as Rarity stuffed a hoof in her mouth. “Please, go on,” she said, gesturing with her free limb. Foresight smiled. “Well, accompanying the odd parable and such about this Harmony figure are a bunch of cautionary tales about Chaos.” Rainbow swatted at Rarity. Relenting, the unicorn pulled back, only to wince as Rainbow hissed. “Celestia told me.” “Hush, darling,” Rarity said, flicking her gaze at Foresight. The stallion was still smiling amiably, seemingly willing to put up with their rather rude bickering. “You can fill me in later.” Rainbow grumbled, crossing her arms and half-turning towards the wall. “Now, there were a whole bunch of artefacts and what-not associated with Harmony and Chaos, pony or not. Talismans, pieces of forgotten lore—you know, the classics. The important one, however, was called the Well. “The Well is like . . . a reliquary. A vessel, for Harmonic—or Chaotic—power. And I’m sure you can guess what that power might be . . .” Foresight trailed off, a hopeful look on his face. “Coromancy,” Rainbow said. She didn’t deign to look at them. “Yes!” Foresight said, clapping his hooves. “Or so we think, anyway.” But a different realisation was dawning on Rarity. Her mouth slowly opening, hooves gripping the edge of the bed, she blinked twice, caught Foresight’s gaze. “And—if I may—in these legends . . . was Chaos a dragon, by any chance?” Foresight whistled. “And you say you’ve never heard of this.” Oh boy. There were a whole host of implications hovering behind that particular tidbit—implications Rarity forced down, refused to pay any credence. There would be time for all of that, for discussion and internalisation. Only, later. “Draconic power is for all intents and purposes analogous to Coromancy,” Foresight said. “In all our interactions, we’ve never found any real way to differentiate the two. That said . . . well, you aren’t the first to make the connection.” “What does it matter?” Rainbow asked. She sighed, relenting, curving that proud back and turning back into the circle. “I want to hear about the Well.” “Right, I was getting there,” Foresight said. “So, Celestia’s always buried herself in mythology, history, that sort of thing”—shooting a glance at Rarity—“while Luna occupied herself with governing. Everything was peaceful, more or less. As peaceful as it gets, anyway. And then-“ “And then Typhus came,” Rainbow said. Foresight blinked. “Yes, that’s right.” His eyes grew distant. “If I remember correctly . . .” Rainbow swung to Rarity. “That’s what Celestia told me about,” she said, interrupting. “Typhus . . . he came out of nowhere. But from the south, moving northward. Always moving northward.” “Out of nowhere?” Rarity asked. “Pretty much, yeah,” Rainbow said. “Well, that’s not quite true,” Foresight said. “It’s more that it was unprecedented. We couldn’t see the warning signs.” “But in hindsight . . .” Rarity said. “We’re still putting the pieces together, of course.” “Of course.” “But . . .” Foresight was leaning forward, his eyes sparkling with conspiratorial gleam. “Typhus wasn’t the first unprecedented event in recent history.” “Dude, spit it out already.” “Alright, alright,” Foresight said, holding his hooves up. “About . . . what, twelve, fourteen years ago?—started this upward trend. Coromantic potential, in ponies and dragons. New recruits were stronger, learnt faster. Veterans picked up tricks that’d always been beyond them. More and more applicants weren’t just capable, they were powerful. A real Renaissance.” “You mentioned a calendar earlier,” Rarity said. “And suddenly I’m curious. We know the date, or thereabouts, by our reckoning. But what year is it to you?” Foresight blinked. “Why, 1016 AS. Ahh, After Storm. You . . . you said you came back a thousand years, didn’t you.” His mouth dropped open. “Of course. It’s cyclic! How’d we miss it?!” “Explain,” Rainbow said,her tone flat, though Rarity was bobbing her head. “After Storm—refers to a legendary period of storms that swathed the lands for weeks. There’s very little known about that time, our records don’t go back all the way, but . . . as legends tell it, a group of ponies discovered something. Something . . . world-changing. That’s where our stories of it come from, you see. It was the Well.” “It gave them the power to stop the storms. To bottle them up,” Rainbow said. “Celestia started with that,” she said to Rarity in explanation. But Foresight was lost in his own thoughts, rambling: “Yes, yes, and it fills slowly, so slowly, so that it was lost again in the chaos . . . but a cycle so that the dragons followed suit. Yes, and then“—his head shot up—“you’re here now. What are you looking for?” “Answers,” Rarity said. “Oh, Stars,” Foresight said. “He’s back, isn’t he? In your time? Typhus has returned?” Rarity and Rainbow exchanged a look. Rainbow half-opened her mouth. Rarity shook her head. Rainbow bit her lip. Rarity bent her ears forward, tilted her head down, and winked. Rainbow sat back, glanced away, and sighed. “Ahem,” Rarity said. “Yes. We believe he has.” “We have to tell the-“ “They already know,” Rarity said. “Why do think Luna gave us free reign, hmm?” Foresight nodded slowly. “That . . . I guess that makes sense . . .” “And yet parading the idea of His return about town might be—well, a rather inconsiderate idea, yes?” “I-I suppose so . . .” “So really, the only recourse here is to fill us in. We’d rather not return home empty-handed, nor leave our people to face this threat blind, as it ‘were.” Foresight clenched his jaw, snorting, and nodded firmly. “Quite right. Rainbow?” “What’s up?” “Why don’t you relate what Celestia told you? In full, this time. I . . .” He glanced around, eyes never quite meeting theirs. “No sense in repeating ourselves, is there?” “Ahuh,” Rainbow said. “Well, anyway. It started like this . . .” *** She stood facing the window, staring out at the grey horizon. It boiled, flashed of white flickering through the dark mass, clouds roiling and rolling and mixing about, like waves crashing angrily over one another along a long beach. The wind ripped at her mane, even at this distance, catching and pulling against the ethereal breeze that kept it aloft. Her rain slick armour shone under the moonlight, slivers of argence rippling over its surface as the cloud cover moved. Water plastered her fur to her skin, ran in rivulets down her face and body. For all their adversity, Luna stood strong. She’d always stood strong, and, Celestia knew, she always would. “I’m afraid, ‘Tia,” Luna whispered, barely moving her mouth. Celestia rocked back on her hooves. “I- Lulu, I . . .” she licked her lips, “We’re going to be fine, Lulu. We’ve pulled through worse than this.” Now she turned, and suddenly the strength that Celestia had perceived in her stance meant something else—meant rigid terror, a stark disbelief. “Have we? Truly? Worse than this?!” sweeping her hoof to the side, gesturing . . . Despite herself, Celestia looked, followed that gaze. Already, the Storm was swallowing the land. Its front moved forward, smooth as a glacier, and, at this distance, about that slow. Inexorable. Inevitable. Celestia found herself trembling. In an instant, Luna was at her side, wings reaching down to embrace her. “No, ‘Tia, no, don’t cry. I’m sorry. We’ll be fine, sister, truly we will.” “I . . . I have to . . .” “’Tia . . .” “You know I have to go!” Celestia broke away, turned her back on her sister though the return of the wind bit cold deep into her. “The Well, Lulu . . . it’s the only way . . .” “They will not understand,” Luna said. Beneath them, on the ground, thousands of ponies made their way north—a slow, ponderous trek. If she didn’t succeed . . . if her sister couldn’t delay the coming chaos . . . “They will label you a coward. A traitor.” “It doesn’t matter,” Celestia said, feeling a strange laugh bubble its way up her throat. “I was never their hero. You know that.” “You were mine,” Luna said. “I . . .” she turned aside, a slight blush gracing her features. “I have something for you.” Grasping Celestia’s forehooves, she placed a trinket in them, soft magic gently releasing the object. Smiling, Celestia took the locket; dawning sun engraved on both sides, and fastened it about her neck. The two sisters stood in silence, side by side, watching the end of the world. “Not one more,” Celestia whispered, more to herself. Luna heard, of course. “We shall see.” “Not if I can help it. Not if we can help it.” “No.” “Remind me,” Celestia said. “Remind me, that phrase . . . you used to mutter it to yourself, when you thought nopony was listening.” Luna cracked a smile. “fiat justitia ruat caelum,” she said. “Let Justice be done-“ “Though the Heavens fall,” Celestia finished. “Yes. That’s the one.” “Be careful, ‘Tia, and fast.” “Be safe, Lulu, and strong.” And Celestia turned north, joined her people’s flight as a beacon of light, dazzlingly bright, drawing energy to herself as she flew—the Sun’s energy, the Sun’s light, though it had not yet risen . . . a glowing figure, lighting their path. Always before it had been Luna’s role to show them the way. Now . . . now it was her turn. Her turn to save them. The earth passed by underneath her, too fast to see anything more than blurred colours, drab greens and dull browns making up most of the terrain, with the odd splash of blue to signify a lake. Within an hour, Celestia had passed farther than most explorers, within two; she was off the edges of any maps they’d had to study. Finally, she slowed, banking towards the ground to land on cold dirt, a grit that crunched under her hooves. From her saddlebags she pulled a tattered scroll, yellowed, creased. One of the last surviving accounts of the Well. This was their best hope, their only hope. Many had claimed the Well lay to the south, the east, and the west. Even among the few who gave the legends any credence, the prospects of ever finding it were diluted, say, by the diversity of its proposed locations. The truth was, nopony knew. But this scroll, this missive—a simple letter urging a family member to flee—it meant something. Celestia knew it. And it told her to pack warm. The snow lay before her, still far to the north. Amongst mountains not yet visible. She hoped to find some civilisation—some other life that could guide her through these lands. Without a guide, she would be searching for a needle in the haystack. A thousand haystacks. Shivering, Celestia summoned the magic to create a small fire. Before she surrendered to sleep, however, she pulled a small sheathe of paper from her bags, and a quill. Shuffling through the pages to find blank space, she paused, quill held inches away. Luna had been concerned with how their subjects would perceive her. That was not something Celestia liked to dwell on, no matter how frequently it appeared in her thoughts. With a frown, she dipped the quill in a little ink-pot, and wrote. Often, I wonder how others see me.