I leave this message written in hatred, for hatred is what I will become. It soothes my heart to know that you feel that hatred, too. I feel your resonance. Ours is a hatred born of confusion, of shock, of denial.
Forty-Six
“YOU ALRIGHT there, Rainbow?” Blitz asked, leaning forward.
She jolted, swinging her head up. “Yeah, yeah,” waving a hoof. “Just a lot on my mind.”
Her forearm ached a little where she’d rested her forehead, just closing her eyes for a few moments. She could feel the walls here, pressing around her. Small rooms—that was the only description that fit, really. Not a problem on occasion, but when it applied to virtually every building in the town, any self-respecting pegasus might find herself a touch restless.
A problem of economy, it was perfectly sensible for the builders to rapidly construct these huts, mass-produced from the nearby forest, and attached to each other to form mini-complexes. It got ponies into shelter fast, freed up more precious materials like fabric and metal for other uses. The earth ponies found it quite comfortable. That hadn’t stopped Rarity from sharing her own—in Rainbow’s mind, more trivial—complaints, which the pegasus was happy to reciprocate.
Each room was square, or near enough, made up of thin wooden slats supported a series of tall poles arranged at regular intervals. At first, gaps allowed light and a little moisture through, despite all attempts to stuff clumps of mud and grass in the cracks. Slowly, though. Coromancers had moved through the growing town, using their powers to grow the wooden slats into their neighbours, eventually creating solid walls, contiguous. The whole process had been almost automated, given the number of near-perfect copies, neatly arranged in rows and columns. That, Rainbow had decided, was the creepy part, the bit that got under her feathers: the way it had been so devoid of any personality.
“Well, try to pay attention,” Cirrus said. “I don’t like repeating myself, no matter what the Princess said.”
Rainbow stared at her dully. It wasn’t hard to reason out Cirrus’ attitude—nor could Rainbow wholly blame her for it. Luna’s announcement had lent her a certain credibility, but it also brought other little deceptions to light—harmless untruths that had simply been easier to gloss over.
Harmless, that was, until Rainbow’s stories were disproven. The burgeoning trust between them, credited to their shared Coromantic status and the social norms that went with it—a trust that remained incredible to Rainbow, even now, given the circumstances in which it formed—was rent, with no real hope of salvage.
She thought of it as akin to bludgeoning her way to the truth. She’d never planned to stay longer than she absolutely had to, and no matter the appreciation and, yes, admiration she felt towards these . . . these kin of hers, she could live with their disapproval.
“Sorry,” Rainbow said. “Sorry, I’m just . . . I’m thinking. Where were you?”
Cirrus sighed. “From the beginning, then. We don’t know anything about the war—at least, not any more than anypony else. Any other day, that wouldn’t be a problem. But, as I just finished telling you, we can’t just go back and check. The Storm’s still there.”
“After the Jump.”
“Yeah. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Blitz said. “It was crazy. The whole temporal stream was going nuts. Like being in the centre of a whirlpool.”
“You tried?”
Cirrus snorted.
“Only one of the first things the Princess had us trying,” Blitz said. “’Course, we can’t affect change. Self-consistency and all that. But scouting’s important nonetheless. Expect you know that yourself.”
“Yeah,” Rainbow said. “Yeah, I do.”
Cirrus snorted, took a long pull from the bottle between her hooves, dropped it with a hard clink back to the table. The Wardens had finished setting up the food supplies some time ago, turned their hooves to more . . . luxury goods. Not too much, rationed out carefully, but enough to let Luna start offering extra incentives, here and there. Cirrus had been one of the first in line. Not that Rainbow blamed her. “So that’s it. We’re stuck.”
“You could go forward,” Rainbow suggested. “Look for problems before they’ve happened, find some sort of . . . some victory, to give us all hope.”
“Ain’t that what you are?”
Rainbow blinked. “Well, yeah, I guess. But I meant more immediately.”
“What do you care?” Cirrus said.
“Hey. I care. I’ve my own life, but I still care.”
“What would you even look for?” Blitz asked, extending a hoof between the two of them. “I mean, besides who’s gonna make it.”
“I dunno,” Rainbow said. “All of it,” waving her hooves in the air, wings flapping slowly, “like, see who else made it out—a-and, when they’ll meet back with us . . . what? What’d I say?”
Cirrus pushed her chair back, stood, stern expression meeting her drink dispassionately as she strode from the room.
“Ah, ahh,” Blitz said. “Now just hold on, there, Rainbow”—laying a hoof on her shoulder as she made to give Cirrus chase—”let her go.”
“What bit her flank?” Rainbow asked, sitting back heavily and crossing her arms. She flicked her gaze at Blitz, hoping to see the fleeting signs of the crack of a smile, some notion of friendship persisting between them . . .
But Blitz was only looking at her. “This mustn’t seem very real to you, Rainbow. Stars know I’ve found it pretty easy to ignore the stuff I’ve seen after a long Jump. But we’re in the middle of a war. So when you ask after all those souls still missing—and let alone the ones we’re certain of!—you need to understand that you might be speaking about a brother. A mother. A lover. Even a son, or a daughter. And we don’t like to think about what must be happening to them, right now.”
“I-” Rainbow slumped back. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“I got my sister here, and she’s got me. Cirrus, she ain’t got anypony.”
A pause, before Rainbow lifted her head. “So, what happened?”
Blitz rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve been pretty shy of details-”
“I figured that much,” Rainbow snorted.
“-well, it’s because we’re really not sure. Typhus was . . . so dominant, so huge, that it seems like everything else barely registered.”
“Swept away.”
“Right.”
“Look, Celestia ran me through the basics. Somepony woke him up, far to the south. A great Storm, stretching horizon to horizon. I’ve seen it, myself. It defies belief.
“So you try to fight it. Wardens, and Chasers, and Sages: to halt its advance. Anchors, and Conduits, and Seers: to keep everypony safe, moving north, finding some way out of the mess.
“But it doesn’t seem to be working. Luna’s the only one who can reliably slow the Storm down—ponies everywhere are getting swept along with it, a great tidal wave of movement. Within months, weeks, the whole country’s practically given up. It’s the end of the world.”
Blitz was nodding, mouth tight.
“And then Celestia returns. Spearheads him with an old legend. The Well. The power of Harmony made manifest, radiant, awesome dripping all around her. I saw that, too. I saw her break the Storm apart.
“So now I’m trying to piece it together. For . . . for history. Or . . . it doesn’t matter. Luna’s said as much. We’ve heard the story from her. From Celestia.” Rainbow reached out, now, grabbed Blitz’s shoulder in her hoof. “I want to hear it from you. From the ponies working so hard to build this town, to build an entire castle, despite claims of still fighting the war. There’s something I’m missing here, Blitz. Something the Princesses are missing—or haven’t told us. That’s totally not cool. I’m on your side, and I want to help, if I can. So . . . fill me in?”
Blitz exhaled heavily.
“What happened to Cirrus, Blitz?” Rainbow pressed, leaning just a touch closer.
“It’s not for me to say . . .” he began. “No, really,” forestalling argument with a raised hoof, “you’ll have to turn that silver tongue on her. But you were right. There’s a few thousand of us here, no more, where we used to number hundreds of times that. And it’s not all casualties. We thought it was, at first. Ponies caught underneath His shadow, too slow or too brave. We mourned them, even as we ran.”
Blitz looked into Rainbow’s eyes. “Then they came back. Not as they were. The friends, family that we knew, that we loved and cherished—make no mistake, they’re dead.” His voice trembled. “Dead and gone. And not yet buried.”
“What’re you talking about,” Rainbow whispered.
“You’ll remember we took you out for a flight. Hadn’t expected much, I thought it’d be routine. A placation, from a Princess to a . . . a traumatised population. By the Night, I can’t see us ever really recovering from this. An entire generation, pathologically nervous. Happy, but not at peace.”
“The ponies we ran into? They tried to kill us. I mean, actually, really, kill us!”
“Friends, once,” Blitz said. “Corrupted. There’ve been more. Many more.”
Rainbow furrowed her brow. “I could have helped . . .”
“His pawns. Thralls. Mindless, raving, fanatical. That’s who we encountered, out there. I’d hoped—we’d all been hoping. That with His defeat, they’d . . .”
“That they’d have been freed,” Rainbow said. “That they’d come back to you.”
“No,” Blitz said, and the emptiness in his voice sent chills running down her spine. “That they’d finally be allowed to die.”
Rainbow didn’t quite dare say anything for a long minute. The atmosphere, thick with revealed dread, hung around her, bearing down with almost physical weight on her shoulders. She retreated to her chair, sat silent and still.
“You know, I think that might have happened to me, once.”
“. . .?”
“A Spirit of Chaos and Disharmony awoke. Discord. Me and Rarity, and four other of our friends, tried to fight him. Instead, he turned us against one another. Sapped our will and . . . tricked us, in a way, into believing him. At the time, I was so, so worried—about everything but him. So convinced that I had to do something, anything, so long as it wasn’t near him.”
“I once saw a brother strangle his sister to death,” Blitz said.
Rainbow paused, her face paling. “Please, don’t . . .” she whispered.
“The family’d been slowed by their great-grandmother. They couldn’t leave her behind. So the shadow came, and fell across her, and the son frantically helping her along.”
Rainbow folded her ears flat across her skull, clenched her jaw, stared at the door.
“He dropped her immediately, of course. His coat drained of colour. I . . . I was right there. Hovering above them. Trying to . . . He sprinted forward. One great lunge, and he was on top of her. The both of them screaming. His hooves around her neck. I grabbed their parents, a-and I . . . I just l-left.”
Rainbow swallowed, nearly choked.
“We’d been told, you see. By the parents themselves, the very next day. Heard from the pony’s mouth what their son had done.” Blitz fell silent, his face granite, and cold.
“You . . . you knew,” Rainbow said, blinking back tears. “W-Why would they . . . why’d they have to tell you?!”
Blitz didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Distraught, shattered, they’d reached out to the nearest comfort, clung to anything in reach. Could they be blamed, for dooming their children in the throes of grief? Even if they had known Coromancy?
“I didn’t finish,” Rainbow said, clearing her throat. She felt hoarse, now, exhausted. No matter. “Discord twisted us. Not so much as . . . as that, but. But. But we beat him, Blitz. We did. Twilight . . . she somehow pushed through it. She brought us back together. So . . . so no matter, no matter how . . . how horrifying, how tragic it seems . . . He can be beaten.”
The words felt empty even to her.
Blitz took his time responding, just staring at the wall past her head. Eventually, though, he met her eyes, and while there was a flicker of the pony she’d first met, the smiling stallion with the downturned eyes, aglow in the rush of recent victories and sudden hope, it was buried, muted. Swamped by the encroaching dark. “You stopped pushing to come on patrol with us. Sure there’s a number of reasons for that. One of them’s likely Princess Luna, stressing her disapproval. At least, that’s what she passed on to us.”
Rainbow opened her mouth, articulating some protest, but he cut her off.
“Thing is, that group you saw was the tip of the iceberg. He got to tens of thousands of us, hundreds of Coromancers. And we’ve been here in this rickety little town for what’s verging on months. The rest of us are still watching, still searching, and we’re finding some, but not that many. They’re still out there, and I can only assume they’re coming. They all say the same thing.”
“There’s always hope,” Rainbow said, shivering. Hundreds of enemy Coromancers, thousands upon thousands of ponies. Hostile, under his sway, ready and willing to kill, main, destroy. It wasn’t something that bore thought. “I’m from the future. You guys have to win, right?” She was pretty sure she hadn’t even fooled herself.
“Dunno. We’ll just have to wait and see,” he said, twisted grin playing about his lips.
Standing, Blitz made to follow Cirrus out the door, leaving Rainbow in solitude.
***
“It’s easy to blame ourselves, of course,” Celestia said. “Foolhardy, incompetent, eager . . . as if responsibility were so simple to pin down.” She looked up from a steaming cup of tea, meeting Rarity’s gaze across the table. “The truth is, in our ignorance, we went poking around where we should not have. Not all the stories were friendly.”
Rarity nodded, sitting in silence. The room around them—an antechamber, forming the entrance to a suite of rooms. The Princess’ study and bedroom lay beyond two doors behind her, while sparse furniture covered the floor. Tapestries, clearly opulent in their day, hung over bare wooden walls, artworks salvaged but not yet restored. Spartan and austere, Rarity found herself idly wishing for the time to properly attend to the decor, and not just in the hastily-erected building housing the Princesses. While the fledgling town had found its roots, work continued on the castle, and the air of unease, the anticipation, maintained its dreary spectre, wrapping everypony in stifling gloom like a blanket on a stifling summer’s eve.
“But how could you have known,” Rarity said. “It is only natural to feel the urge to explore, to push beyond. It is, I think, something common between all of us,” spreading her hooves wide, “whether in my craft as an artist, or your archaeology.”
“Quite,” Celestia said. “And there is no sense in worrying about the past. Were I in full possession of all the knowledge I now hold, the Brightstream would have remained undisturbed. Alas, not even Chasers could bring about such a thing.” She took a sip of the liquid, though Rarity still felt hers too hot to attempt more than blowing vapour from its surface, and warming her hooves against the ceramic. “We must look to the future. The two of you, I suspect, share my views on how we may achieve such a thing.”
Rarity smiled, ducked her head, allowing a small part of her mane to fall in front of her face. “Yes, I suppose we do.”
“The time for subtlety is past, Rarity,” Celestia said. “I’ve seen your future, from both you and Rainbow Dash. It is something I aspire towards. Something bright.” She bit her lip. “Even so, you will know better than I the salient points in our discussion.”
“Brightstream Valley,” Rarity murmured.
“Pardon?”
Rarity cleared her throat. “Brightstream Valley. From . . . what I’ve learnt, it was a common place for younger foals to visit, in the hopes of attaining their Cutie Marks.”
“You do not know of the Valley?” Celestia paused, waved a hoof. “No, no, silly question.”
“Please, Princess, treat me as you might a child. Assume I know nothing of Cutie Marks, of Coromancy. Set aside Typhus for the moment. Of what significance is the Valley?”
“Very well,” Celestia said, leaning back. “The first thing to know is that everypony has a Cutie Mark. As a symbol, it denotes their talents, interests, identity. Some say it extends to their destiny, even.”
Rarity just nodded.
“Finding your Cutie Mark is more than just a rite of passage. It marks you as an adult, yes, but it also . . . unlocks, we would say, your true potential. Until a foal finds his or her Cutie Mark, for example, they are unable to use Coromancy.”
Rarity blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Yes, I thought that might surprise you,” Celestia said. “One of my teachers, decades—centuries—ago, mentioned something he termed a Spirit-Web. Receiving one’s Cutie Mark—though on this subject he remained vague, despite my best efforts—the gist was that the Cutie Mark changed something inherent in its recipient . . . that it allowed them to draw power through their foci and emotions. He was,” smiling, “very interested in all these inner workings.”
“I . . . see . . .”
“Enter Brightstream Valley. For years considered an idyllic retreat, it was eventually recognised as holding a statistically significant increase in the rate of Cutie Marks attained in close proximity to the Brightstream itself—the river that runs through the Valley. Foals from all over the country paid pilgrimage, in the hopes of finding their destiny there.”
“But why?” Rarity asked, her mind racing. “I mean, if the Brightstream accelerated Cutie Marks, then it must follow that Cutie Marks can be accelerated—that there exists some material or magic capable of . . .”
“Astute,” Celestia said. “Alas, as far as I have been able to tell . . . it exists as nothing more than a concentration of Harmonic power. Are Cutie Marks the same? A manifestation of each individual’s connection to that force? Quite possibly, though I would recommend a far greater investigation before arriving at such sweeping theories. It is true that Coromancy acts through an external force. ‘Tis just that—and even more so, these days—I find it difficult to believe that any explanation would stop at that.”
“And yet we must begin somewhere,” Rarity rejoined. “A greater understanding of the interplay between Cutie Marks and Coromantic potential could serve as a seed of something more refined.”
Celestia nodded. “Just so. However,” raising a hoof, “I must insist that we table this topic. As interesting as picking your brain might prove, we were talking about the Brightstream.”
Rarity sucked in a breath, paused, considering Celestia’s words. Finally, she released it, a long exhalation, and nodded back. “Very well.”
“The river is special, Rarity. Whatever happened to make it this way, I do not know. But you should see the waters. They glimmer and sparkle like nothing else. Submerge your head, and you might hear a choir of voices, calling out.” This last Celestia spoke with baited breath, subtle emphasis placed just so, to draw attention to the words. She met Rarity’s eyes with a knowing gaze.
Rarity looked away. The comparison stood out immediately: her mind, accustomed to searching for and finding patterns in everything she looked at, wasted no time in joining the dots. Still, she hesitated.
“You think of the Lethe,” Celestia said.
Rarity started. “Yes,” she replied, glancing back. “How . . .”
“An educated guess. I made the connection too, when I saw it in Rainbow’s memory. It is not the same.”
“Isn’t it?” Twilight had told her about the inside of that river. The turbulent, churning waters. The struggle to hold herself together, to hold Rainbow together. The voices, entreating them both to give in, and give themselves away. “Twi—my friend—saw the Lethe as a . . . a personification, if you will, of Harmony. It didn’t bring the two of them together, it melded them, created one being in their place.”
“Brightstream has no properties matching those of the Lethe,” Celestia said with a frown. “Whatever conclusions your friend has drawn, they belong solely to that river, not this one.”
Rarity shook her head. “Typhus was found in Brightstream. You told me that yourself.”
“Yes,” Celestia breathed. “Or, to be specific, sort of. We followed the river. Back through the Valley, past the southern mountain ranges. I—we—thought that if we could find the source, we could . . . maybe puzzle out why the Brightstream was so important.”
“Instead, you woke a God. And the river’s source?”
“A vast pool,” Celestia said. “Waters still, churning, tidal, motionless. All at once. Words . . . do not suffice.”
“And the Brightstream? When Typhus was released . . .”
“You are thinking that He was its source. I have had the same thoughts. Unfortunately, any definitive study was precluded under the circumstances.”
“Ah,” Rarity said, and fell silent. Eventually, “The pool?”
Celestia nodded. “That’s what began my search for the Well. Where the Brightstream is well-known, the Well is only mentioned a few times, here and there . . . scattered about in the histories. It was either utterly insignificant, or . . . or information about it had been deliberately hidden away. I chose the latter.”
“Of course. What other recourse was available to you? To anypony?”
“Exactly.” Celestia sighed. “Luna was growing weaker by the day. It was everything we could do just to delay His advance, to try to retreat north faster than He could follow. We found little success even before I left.”
“What happened to them all? All the ponies swept up in His wake?” Rarity asked, eyes carefully studying Celestia’s face. “There have to be more of you than the scant thousand here.”
Celestia fidgeted, ruffling her wings and ducking her head. “They were swallowed whole.”
“All of them?” Rarity whispered.
“We called them Thralls. He . . . He took their minds, turned them against their own kin.”
Rarity sucked in a short breath. “The scouts Rainbow encountered. That’s why Luna’s still sending out patrols.”
“Yes. They’re still out there, Rarity. Tens, hundreds of thousands of ponies. The group Rainbow helped bring in was far from the only one.”
“The castle. You’re trying to build something defensible.”
“You thought it vanity?” Celestia gave a hollow chuckle. “No. This town will be overwhelmed, even with my sister and I, despite all the magic we can bring to bear. To be entirely honest, I doubt stone walls and a drawbridge will do much to change that. Even so, it is better to build than to dwell.”
“You already beat Him back. I saw it myself.” Rarity rejoined. The memory, still fresh in her mind despite the intervening weeks—months, nearly—stood out in sharp detail. Celestia, arcing across the sky as a spear of Sunlight; Luna, spinning, looking to her sister in shock and joy—the Storm, recoiling, turning inwards, caught in a moment, in the open wound Luna had forged around herself. Driven back, away. Ponies, alive and dead, revealed underneath His shadow.
“We . . . we imprisoned Him. All the way back to the Brightstream, to the Source in which we found Him, we flew. Harmony boiled in me, hotter than fire, than the Sun.” Celestia shifted in her seat. “It was transcendent, more than anything I’ve ever felt before. I was a part of everything, every tiny scrap of the entire world.”
“What happened to it, Princess?” Rarity asked. “In . . . afterwards?”
“I couldn’t hold it back at first,” Celestia said. She stood, moved towards her bedroom. “Of course, the fury, the . . . the fire, that died down, little by little, as we pushed south. I didn’t know if it would be enough. But,” glancing back, “Luna was at my side, and . . . it was like riding a great wave forward. No time to think about the risk, about anything at all except going, doing. And most of it went to refashioning His prison. Not . . . not perfect, not as it was. But something.”
She disappeared behind the door, leaving Rarity to ponder. She didn’t think Celestia was hiding anything—the reaction to whatever she had taken away from their memories was enough to assuage her of that fear. Even so, it was so frustrating. Not even getting them, all, any of them, to divulge the right answers, no, just to ask them the right questions. This . . . Well, that Celestia described, like a repository of Harmonic power, it seemed incredibly important. Perhaps more so than any other element of the story slowly being revealed to her here. And yet they had still to mention the Veil, to even touch on the actual subject Rainbow and her had come so far to uncover. Surely their simple existence precluded defeat, in the here and now?
If Typhus really was awakening again, if he was to march on Equestria . . . would it be enough? Could she really be sure of that? Just because it had happened before?
And why did her Luna—nay, Celestia—not seem to remember anything?!
The door opened, Celestia emerging. Immediately, Rarity’s attention was drawn to the beautiful amulet around her neck—golden loops leading up around her neck, gracefully meeting each other at the top of an inset gemstone that lay over Celestia’s sternum. Rarity touched her own chest, remembering the feeling of the Element of Generosity, lying there.
“This . . . is what’s left of it,” Celestia said, gesturing at the jewellery. “After . . . everything, I couldn’t just hold it in myself. So, instead, I . . . fashioned it, into this. I . . . “ blushing, “I don’t really remember how. But I can still feel it in there. An ocean of power, just . . . waiting for me. Diminished greatly, but still so much more . . .”
“The Elements,” Rarity said.
Celestia opened her mouth, closed it, flicked her ears. “I thought they were catalysts, no? Your memories indicated only a rudimentary understanding, but also the generally accepted notion that they allowed you to draw more. Not that they were more.”
Rarity shook her head. “I’m not paying any credence to anything I thought I knew anymore. Patterns, that’s what will help us solve this.”
“Your future is . . . intoxicating. So warm. So devoid of all this conflict.” She sat back down, taking her necklace off before waving her arm towards the windows. “Even your enemies are tame in comparison. Nightmare Moon taunted you, Discord attacked your friendships, Chrysalis,” making a face, “sought to keep you all alive, if imprisoned. Would that our world was so taken with mercy.”
“I was certainly unprepared for this,” Rarity said. “It wasn’t easy, seeing even as little as I did of . . . everything. Sometimes I envy Rainbow her coma.”
“I can imagine your shock,” Celestia said, giving Rarity a warm smile. “Not everything is different.”
Rarity returned it as best she was able. “No. Not everything.”
They sat in silence for some time, sipping at their tea. Rarity’s cup had sufficiently cooled, and she found the flavours remarkable: a rustic combination that couldn’t quite mask an acrid aftertaste. Nonetheless, the presence of tea even here managed to calm her nerves, soothe her mind, and she found herself slowly unwinding, sinking back into her chair. She’d need a proper spa treatment or three after all this. For now, though, the tea would do.
“Do you enjoy it?” Celestia asked. “The Wardens brought all sorts of seeds with them. Frivolous, perhaps, but one can hardly fault their diligence.”
“It is lovely,” Rarity said with a sigh. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to simply sit back like this.”
Celestia made a small noise of agreement.
All too soon, though, the peace faded. She began to fidget, the silence turning from calm to oppressive, small aches appearing in her flanks where she lay on the chair. She stood, moved about the room, taking long steps to stretch out her legs.
Celestia sighed, eyes tracking Rarity about the room. “Luna’s worrying me.”
“How so?”
“She is more . . . abrasive, shall we say? At least,” frowning, “when I remember her, it is always with a smile. That was one of the things I loved about her.”
“Her smile?”
“Her positivity. Her optimism. Not . . . not even the way you remember her—or me, for that matter. Not convinced of the goodness in everypony. Luna, my Luna, followed the path of justice, and all the punishment that entailed. An edge that seems dulled in your mind. No, she believed in change. That even though we weren’t there yet, we were still moving forward. Always moving forward.”
“I . . . see.”
“You can’t,” Celestia said, wearing a weary smile. “Of course you can’t. ‘Tis no surprise, given the disparity between your Luna and mine. But you will have to take it from me: she is harder, now. Quicker to judge, and less eager to . . . “ she waved a hoof, searching for words, “to embrace change, I suppose.”
“She’s been through a war,” Rarity noted. “As horrible as your journey must have been, it pales next to the experience of fighting Him back, on the frontlines. Witnessing the destruction, the death . . .”
“I know. Still I am worried.”
Rarity didn’t know what to say.
“You also remember Nightmare Moon. Not pleasant memories, those.”
“No. But we saved her.”
“I know. More interesting to me is what happened afterwards. Luna, emerging . . . fragile. Young.”
“I always thought the Nightmare had taken most of her strength with it,” Rarity said, shrugging. “She recovered before too long.”
“There was power in the Nightmare, yes,” Celestia said. “But compare, contrast. I’m sure you’ve recognised Luna’s armour, in the here and now.”
She could still see it, despite the intervening months. Obsidian, argent, flashing over a war-torn battlefield. Light glinting off hard edges. Lightning, ice, rain, a hurricane boiling underneath her hooves. “I thought . . . when we first arrived,” Rarity said. “Thought it was her.”
“Rainbow comatose. Typhus looming far above you. Bodies all around, falling, bleeding, dying. And . . . the Moon. Risen to hang over the horizon, so large as to swamp out the entire sky. Luna told you to be cautious. To be circumspect. To question, investigate, consider. In so many words: to be paranoid.”
“And the Nightmare,” Rarity finished.
Celestia smiled a sad smile. “Is that why you’ve held back, Rarity?” She leaned forward, fixing Rarity in place with a hard gaze.
“No,” Rarity said, leaning back into her seat reflexively. “I don’t under-”
Celestia cut her off. “Why you don’t simply See your answers. You’ve the power to do so. Your Spiritweb may not be connected to the ponies around here, but to Luna? To myself?”
“You’re different,” Rarity said, trying to find her footing.
The shift in the conversation, so abrupt, from placid calm and a chance to centre herself, find some way to move forwards to a hailstorm, pounding on her chest. Celestia didn’t give her the chance to consider her answers, the chance to find her balance against this line of attack—suddenly she realised that even she was now perceiving this as a battle, where surely Celestia had been thinking of it as such from the very beginning, each party vying for information, for control . . .
“I know,” Celestia said. “But that’s just it, isn’t it? Have I described you accurately, Seer? Have I found the chink in your armour?”
“This was a mistake,” Rarity said, leaving her cup on the table as she rose from her seat.
“No,” Celestia said. “You’re from our future. You’re incapable of making a mistake. Self-consistency. That’s why Chasers tend to use their power the least, of all the Coromancers I’ve known.”
Rarity didn’t answer, turning to leave.
“Fear, Rarity!” came the call from behind her. “You are ruled by your fear!”
And the building began to shake.