//------------------------------// // Forty-Seven // Story: The Moon Also Rises // by Nicroburst //------------------------------// What the Veil will turn me into is something unreasoning. Something mad. That is as it must be, for Celestia’s legends to prove themselves true. Our sister’s game is to redeem you from yourself—from me. To convince you of a sin you never bore at all. Forty-Seven LUNA HADN’T ACTUALLY EXPECTED him to give in so readily. She’d made her threats and promises carefully, yes—doing her best to try to understand what the foal might have wanted, what he stood to gain, but even so . . . It appeared that she had overplayed her hoof. Annoying, actually, in that it precipitated a confrontation. Oh, she’d known this was coming. She had felt Celestia arrive just moments earlier: finally, finally deciding to involve herself, it seemed, and there was no way her sister could have known the Crystal Heart had been found. She ground her teeth together as she flew, wings spread wide to catch the air and turn her descent into a long, graceful glide. Unavoidable, inevitable—there was that word again—that this would happen. If she had been less forceful, perhaps, or stronger, more insistent . . . one day, either way, could have made all the difference. But no, that was in the past. Was she ready? Ah, now there’s a salient question. And truth be told, Luna wasn’t sure. Her arguments were marshaled, her conviction firm. She’d never been one to back away from a philosophical debate. Still, there remained a nagging hole to her mind. Something she couldn’t work out, o-or, some piece of missing information that would make everything line up neatly. The trouble was, she didn’t quite trust herself. There remained a . . . a box, for lack of a better description, in her mind. A mental process she was not privy to. She took in information, learnt details, heard testimony and rhetoric, and somewhere along the way, she reacted. The box provided emotional responses, leapt to conclusions, formed assessments. Even now, looking back—the logic behind her decisions seemed unassailable. But she couldn’t answer why. Perhaps she was simply too close to everything. Always a possibility—that she might be overlooking some crucial angle. Perhaps. How she wished Rainbow and Rarity had managed to return! They had the luxury of time, they could have arrived mere hours after they left, had they so chosen. Their prolonged absence was another worry, and not just insofar as it robbed Luna of her proof. She alighted gently on the cool stone at the base of the Crystal Palace. Pinkie Pie was not here, nor was the dragon, Daerev. Who else? Twilight stood ahead, to the side, and had brought Trixie with her. Celestia was still in the Palace proper, likely accompanying their niece. They would not remain absent long. The crowd surrounding them had broken out in a fresh wave of murmurs as she arrived, watching to see what new dynamic Luna brought with her. But they could not challenge her—could not speak for the future of the world. Ah. She saw it now—the way he had leveraged expectation. He leaned against the pedestal, the Crystal Heart held loosely in one hoof. Tense, though he was trying to appear calm. And yet they waited, watched. Frozen in the moment, in the belief that this one held the power. A hostage-taker with only the illusion of a hostage. If he could have used it, he would have. At least this one, she understood—felt his pain deep in her bones. She’d experienced something similar to it, in the days following Moon’s Rise. The isolation of the outsider, the loneliness of standing in the midst of a crowd, assured of their separation: the distance behind each smiling face. A child that knew only that he was different, but never how. “Well,” she said, to nopony in particular. The first thing to do would be to appear in control. “I had hoped to delay this further.” All eyes turned to her. “You knew?” Twilight said. Briefly, Luna entertained the idea of clearing the area. She was acutely aware of the crowd of ponies gathered around them. Listening to every word, judging every statement. They didn’t change anything, not exactly, but rather heightened the moment. Any misstep, a single poorly-chosen word, and how easy it would be to mis-characterise her arguments! But no. She would not stifle debate, nor shy away from the danger. And they would keep the others honest, as well. A double-edged sword, then. “In a way,” Luna said, deliberately side-stepping the question. “I believe this was always going to happen, eventually.” Trixie was frowning, no doubt remembering back to their dreamscape conversation. “Is it not better to prepare, with our eyes wide open?” “Knowledge is pure,” Twilight concurred. “But it is not inherently good, either. I won’t let you re-frame this debate at will, Princess.” She bowed low as she spoke, a duality to her that Luna had not expected. Defiance and submission, challenge and respect. Luna smiled. “And this debate is . . .?” Unfortunately for her, Boundless chose that moment to speak up. “I was promised, Princess, an explanation. And now that you’re here”—relaxing, lowering his shoulders, arms—”perhaps you would like to explain.” “My words for you are not part of the public domain,” Luna said, already prepared for the wash that ran through the crowd—the surprise that touched Twilight, Trixie. “I expect more circumspection if you wish us to meet you halfway. I suggest you instead use your time here to fight for the opportunity to conduct a discussion in a private setting.” “You did know!” Twilight said, stepping forward. “Luna, seriously, stop for a moment and just talk to me. I . . . I feel like you’ve been running rings around us. Playing both sides.” “There aren’t any sides here,” Luna said. “No lines drawn in the sand. No preconceptions.” “That’s preposterous!” Twilight cried. “This,” pointing her hoof, “is Boundless. He murdered Shining Armour!” Luna winced—noting as she did so a similar expression flash across Trixie’s face. Nothing, of course, in comparison to the reaction of the crowd, which recoiled visibly. It was growing still, and the hushed murmurs: ponies listening carefully and quietly passing the words towards the back, only grew louder, building towards a rumbling crescendo. Luna rolled her shoulders, stood a little straighter, lit her horn, and spread her wings. “Yes,” she said, her voice booming out over the crowd. More gently, “yes, he is. And he will answer for his crimes. But this is hardly a courtroom, nor a session of Court. None of us qualify as-” “Then arrest him!” “I wonder why you haven’t done that yourself, Twilight.” A new voice, approaching through the crowd—ponies backing away, bowing low, their uproar, already muted by Luna’s display, now fully quashed into silence. “Surely there is no need for all this drama,” Celestia said, Cadence at her side. She lifted a wing. “Take him into custody. We can discuss this further in the Palace.” “No,” Luna said, squaring herself. Now, that brought the attention—already burning bright—to a fever pitch. Idly, Luna cast her mind back. When was the last time the two sisters had dared disagree so emphatically, so publicly? Not since Moon’s Rise, surely. She carefully hid a sour face as memories of that night spread unbidden through all those assembled. Before Celestia could respond, Luna cleared her throat. “Equestria has not historically made a point of making its policy decisions public, an attitude I continue to question. However,” bowing her head, “I defer to your wisdom in this matter, dear sister. It is not this point of contention that stays my horn, but rather, a decided lack of ability.” Luna raised a hoof to forestall Celestia’s frown. “Oh, any one of us might easily overpower him. Even, wrest the Crystal Heart from his possession, place him in chains wrought of iron and magic. ‘Tis a trifling matter.” She noticed her speech falling back into old patterns. She gave herself an imperceptible shake. “You have heard, I trust, from your faithful student of old, the full spectrum of Boundless’ talents. Including, we—I—note, a penchant for breaking free of any and all attempts to restrain him. Herein lies my argument: he represents the crux of something unstoppable, something inevitable, such that all we may do is delay. Else, we must take steps to prevent his action, permanently.” As she spoke she let her eyes scan the crowd. Many refused to meet her gaze, shying away, or kicking at the ground, others were nodding ever so slightly, at least until the end. Her sister held her shock carefully, hid it in the rigidity of her stance and the billowing of her mane, but Luna saw the slight twisting of her muzzle, the narrowing of her eyes. Cadence offered no judgements, not yet, while Twilight had gone so far as to close her eyes, swaying slightly in the breeze, and Trixie stared at Boundless, her own muzzle drawn taut. Boundless himself was attempting to observe stoically, though the small smile, the quite-perceptible straightening of his back, all confirmed the wash of warmth that must have suffused him as Luna placed his life so squarely in the national interest . . . “You speak of a Passion,” Celestia said. “E’en so, dear sister, I find the idea of debating with a known murderer in full view and earshot of the public both nauseating and dangerous. Surely it is not outside of our abilities to relocate, if not postpone. If he posed any threat beyond rhetoric, I submit that we would be feeling its effects already.” Too true. And hadn’t Luna been all for postponing, just moments ago? She remembered . . . she wanted confirmation. “Rhetoric poses no danger before Honesty,” Luna quoted from memory. “Thus spoke Yellow-Tooth, as you well know. The truth is never something to fear, dear sister. Again, I defer to your wisdom. Merely, hear a word of caution. That which can be destroyed by the truth, must be.” Or was her sudden desire for the court of public opinion nothing more than an abdication—a surrender to the all-encompassing doubt that swirled in her mind? She believed what she was saying, yes, but the box in her mind, the nagging sensation of confusion refused to tell her why. “You need not quote Harmonic scholars at me,” Celestia said. “But it begets us not to move rashly. We lose nothing by considering our options before deciding upon the best course of action.” “Princess Celestia is right,” Twilight said. “And so in Princess Luna. I . . . I think there’s an incredible danger here. One we can’t afford to dance around anymore. Delaying these deliberations—hiding things about the nature of the world—got my brother killed. I- I feel, through the Element of Magic, a . . . a swelling. A build-up.” She sighed. “Equally, it is tempting fate to give him an open floor in full earshot of the populace. Any serious discussion must necessarily include you, Luna—surely that is safeguard enough, against falsehood? And against the eventuality of hiding our words—our thoughts?” Luna stared, mouth ajar just an inch. The sense of growth was something she could relate to, though till now she had not named it as such. But given the words, having her discussions named—yes, that would explain elements of her desperation, her growing willingness to act against . . . Was it enough? Eventually, she found her voice. Nodding, “I agree, and accept. Know, citizens, that I regret the decision to shroud these matters from you. I will fight to bring you an accurate summary as soon as I am able.” Cadence chose that moment to speak up. “My Empire. My rules. I won’t allow that”—pointing at Boundless—“to hold any more sway over us than already ceded to him. Cover us.” Luna lit her horn, sweeping her head to shroud the surrounding area with magic. A deep mist, midnight black and studded with motes of faintest light, began to seep up from the cobblestones, from the pillars of crystal around the plaza. The crowd, acting as one, took a few steps back as the mist thickened around them, quickly gaining in consistency until it was a fog, so heavy and oppressive it weighed on them, pressing them down physically. In moments, they were, for all intents and purposes, alone. Trixie and Boundless made little effort to hide their interest—the spell being utterly unlike any soundproofing or veiling effect they’d ever encountered before. Celestia and Twilight allowed themselves small nods, smiles. Cadence—ah. Yet to take her eyes off of Boundless. Therein lay the tension. Could she—no. Too risky. And Cadence deserved better. “There,” Twilight said. “Does this suffice?” Celestia was nodding. “Quite. Though I find his continued possession of the Heart troubling.” “How did he get it?” Trixie said, peering at the artifact, still held gently in Boundless’ hoof. “Traitors,” Cadence said. “No others could have removed it from its pedestal. They will be found, and dealt with.” “Okay,” Twilight said, trotting across to her sister-in-law. “Alright. I’ll help you with that, in time. Just, Boundless first.” Cadence’s nostrils flared. “Yes. Boundless first.” Wordlessly, Twilight pressed up against Cadence’s side. “This private enough for you, then?” Boundless spoke up, raising his voice to ensure he talked over any other interjection. “You promised me answers, Princess. I’m just as fed up with this as anypony else. All I want—all I’ve ever wanted, in some respects—is to know why.” “What’s he talking about, Luna?” Celestia said. “She helped him,” came a new voice, somehow penetrating through the fog. Luna felt nothing—could not sense movement or waves of sound through her magic, an impossibility that could only be attributed to one soul. Pinkie Pie, walking calmly through the black void, speaking all the while. “She handed it to him. Asked—told—me not to chase.” “Pinkie,” Twilight started. “We spoke about this. I’m sure the Princess has good reasons for what she’s doing.” “So let’s hear them, then,” Pinkie said. “But I don’t want to hear any more high-minded justifications. I- I can’t laugh at sorrow.” So mistrustful. So full of . . . was it anger, truly, at its heart? A frustration with the world? No, Luna was more astute than that generalisation—had experienced in full the vague complexities of guilt. Here, she reaped the fruit of her actions, the seeds so carefully planted. A betrayal, a sense of loss, more than anything else a change, and no way to know how to react to it. Necessary, she told herself. Necessary, and inevitable. “I thought Daerev was with you,” Twilight said, almost as an aside. Pinkie nodded. “He can’t get through the barrier.” Ah. Luna nodded, reached through her magic to find the drake, opened a narrow tunnel for him to follow. Moments later, he joined the circle—conspicuously moving around the group to find his place, beside Trixie, if still some distance away. Luna took a moment to observe them all, now that all had arrived. All that could arrive, anyway. Boundless, against the pedestal, to her right. Celestia nearly directly opposite her, Pinkie to her sister’s left, Cadence her right. Twilight and Trixie opposite Boundless and nigh-equidistant between Luna and Celestia. Daerev at Luna’s left—Trixie’s right. How simple it seemed, laid out like that. How . . . clearly defined. Celestia cleared her throat. “Luna? I believe we were awaiting an explanation. The time for hiding”—ah, yes, now Luna could see the disappointment in her sister, read it in every shifting of her body, every movement of her mane, every crease flowing over her face—”if there ever was one, is over.” Luna nodded. “I trust we are all familiar enough with recent history that I may skip over the less salient details. Upon returning from my . . . sojourn? Perhaps, if I may, exile? . . . outside of Equestria, I found myself clad anew in the raiment of our old enemy, Nightmare Moon. Swiftly trumped in import by the events in Canterlot, I nonetheless continued investigations into the armour itself—for surely some secret pertaining to the years locked away from my memory lay within. Many of you, I think, have an . . . incomplete picture of what I have concluded, having engaged several of you in various aspects of my investigation. “Twilight, to you I gave some of the armour, and charged you with your own research. For this, I must apologise yet again, ‘twas a terribly timed attempt to provide an outlet—a measure of calm, in the aftermath of your family’s tragedy. And yet you accomplished, with an application of Coromancy in some respects beyond me, what I had not: the exposure of a communication, left behind. Etched in oceans of hatred.” Twilight was nodding, her mouth drawn tight. But Trixie’s eyes had widened, some inner realisation taking place. She glanced across at Twilight, but held her tongue. “Trixie, I appeared in your dreams. We discussed, among other things, your erstwhile compatriot, Boundless. There I first encountered the notion of an external force acting upon us. Choosing, in a sense, for us.” “The Veil,” Twilight said, nodding. “That’s what the Nightmare named it, yes. That’s what Agyrt asked me to investigate, in the south. I don’t know why he pushed me out there. Beyond its geographical limitations. But I have come to believe—through the Nightmare, through the mystery of what delayed me so, and through the on-going actions of this child of mine,” Luna held her breath as she gestured at Boundless, but they held their tongues, for now,”—that the Veil is hiding from us a threat unlike anything Equestria has faced before. Something truly foreign, vague, nebulous, titanic. Something so huge as to necessitate this great spell.” “Told you so,” Twilight said, glancing at Celestia, who tightened her mouth. “But . . . Luna? Your child?” Luna took a deep breath. “Of a sort. The Nightmare told me that during Moon’s Rise, when it had control over Equestria, it expended only the tiniest fraction of its energies on hindering your acquisition of the Elements of Harmony. Much of what remained went towards a . . . temporary suspension of the Veil. I . . . well, I suppose I halted it—prevented it from affecting anypony, at least until the Nightmare was purged from my body.” “Oh, hay,” Celestia said—the expletive strong, or at least unexpected, enough to cause everypony to halt, mouths half-open, muscles taut—”He was born then, wasn’t he? And so dodged the Veil’s imposition ‘gainst murder.” Luna bowed her head. “Some paranoia within me suspects this to be all of her design. A mad plan, sixteen years and change in effect. Her messages reveal that she was well aware of the Veil during our exile on the moon. Twilight can speak as to their content.” “Yes. More than that, though. It came across as if the Nightmare was . . . walking into a trap. Willingly sacrificing herself.” Luna cut back in. “She said that Equestria would regard her as a villain. As a monster. That she was fully expecting to be corrupted, herself—that by the time she returned to Equestria the Veil would have cast her in that role. Which begs the question, if we believe her, and if this message wasn’t fabricated somehow . . . what was she before?” Gratifying, to know that she could still plan, and see her plans through. Twilight had acted exactly as Luna had expected. Empathy, the unicorn’s highest virtue, was remarkably universal in its application. Luna turned to her sister. “When Agyrt sent me beyond the Veil, he did so with specific words—and mention of the Guiding Light. There’s a title I’ve not held in a millennium.” Celestia’s jaw was clenched. She’d seen it coming—perhaps too late. “In fact, I recall bringing his words to your attention, sister,” Luna said. “I recall you denying any knowledge of the Veil at all.” None here were stupid. They didn’t leap forward with questions, or accusations. Twilight, of course, had already worked it out—she was primary to the facts, after all, whereas the others were working off second-hand knowledge. She glanced at Boundless, who gave her a delighted smile, more than content to wait, and watch. Celestia sighed. She bit her lip, eyes dancing about the group. Then, “Do you think I’ve done nothing, these past ten years?” “What?” Damn. “After you disappeared, I sought answers, sister. Obviously. And where better than the source of the mad errand that had taken you from me once more.” “Agyrt,” Luna said. “He was . . . well, I persuaded him. All I know of the Veil comes from him. “And?” Luna asked. “The Veil has protected us since the inception of Equestria,” Celestia said. “No external threat has posed any difficulties, either—regardless of how aware we are of them. Because when they cross the Veil, when they enter Equestria, they find themselves . . . changed.” “Nightmare Moon,” Luna said, narrowing her eyes. The information was not new. But still she staggered, scrambled—sought time, to think of another angle. Better than nothing, yes, though not one-tenth of what she’d hoped for. To catch Celestia is an outright lie, to have that fact known, proven, before all here . . . though, was she so antagonistic? Luna sent a question inwards, and received no answer. “And Discord,” Celestia said. “And Chrysalis. And Sombra. And many, many others.” “Agyrt told me of Typhus,” Daerev said. “When he sent me here, with Pinkie. Sent us after Boundless. Actually,” reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck,” he told me to help him.” Luna snorted. “This Agyrt has some answers owed us, I think.” “Quite,” Celestia said. Her eyes were hard, shining, boring. But Pinkie had spun at Daerev’s words, turned away, strode firmly towards Celestia, towards Cadence and Twilight. There she stood, mouth firmly shut, staring into the space between them all. Daerev watched her for a moment, before returning to the conversation. “Typhus is . . . well, as you say, Princess,” nodding to Celestia,” a threat. But, bigger. On a different scale entirely.” “If Agyrt is to be believed,” Celestia said. Daerev frowned. “I believe him. I don’t necessarily agree with him, always,” with a glance at Pinkie,” but I believe him. At least, I believe that he believes.” “If I may,” Trixie said, looking about the group. “What, exactly, are we doing here? It’s just . . . well, I mean, what’s this got to with him?” gesturing at Boundless with her horn. “Or with the Crystal Heart?” “You are aware, of course, of how Boundless was able to free you from the Veil’s influence,” Luna said, then held up a hoof. “Indulge me, and inform us?” “I- Well . . . it was, I was weak. I . . . I suppose he pushed me, little by little. Each step growing—not under his hoof, so to speak, but . . . growing in fear. I was terrified by him, by his capacity. A-and that fear drove me to . . . not to act. Not exactly. To obey.” Trixie’s throat had started trembling. “It wasn’t a choice, anymore. All that was left was the execution of his will.” “Dissolution of self,” Luna said, nodding. “I observed the same pattern in Hornwall. Though he did not take the time he did with you, Trixie, there Boundless was able to forcibly break the Veil over just a few ponies. What was the success rate, again?” “About half,” Boundless said. “The others died.” “Murdered by their comrades, I should think,” Luna said. “In the very act of freeing them.” Boundless nodded. “Luna . . .” “A mere moment, sister,” Luna said. “The act of murder is utterly prohibited by the Veil. The morality of that prohibition aside, it is therefore clear that committing the act of murder is what freed these souls from the Veil. And yet, how could they have freed themselves, when the means to do so is so staunchly locked away.” “Oh,” Twilight said. “I see.” She turned to look at Trixie. “I suppose its possible.” Luna gave her a tight smile. “Probably, I would say. Given everything else.” “Just say it,” Daerev said, one claw held against his face. “I can’t be the only one getting tired of talking in circles.” “Dissolution of self,” Luna repeated. “Both Trixie and the individuals freed in Hornwall were able to act because they weren’t acting out of their own will. Something stronger than fear, as Trixie put it. She claims it wasn’t a choice. I believe her. And that is a powerful secret indeed.” Trixie had shrunk in on herself, eyes locked on the ground before her. She sucked in a great lungful of air, shook herself all over, as if shaking water from her fur, and spoke: “And this is relevant how, exactly?” “The Crystal Heart,” Luna said simply. To Boundless, “Why did you take the Heart?” “At first, curiosity,” he said. “I . . . wanted to understand. To know the difference, rather than just see it. I’d heard, read, that it connected emotions. That was . . . appealing. And when I’d made Trixie like me, when I’d set her free, too, I knew that I could give that gift to others. “And then we were attacked. I was left stranded—chest shattered, floating in a river. Trixie taken away by Twilight, there.” He had their full attention, now, Twilight even reacting slightly as he spoke. She remembered the incident, though Luna couldn’t bring herself to blame Twilight for the supposed injuries. “And I met a dragon.” “Ugh!” Pinkie cried out, throwing her front hooves into the air before stomping them down hard. “This is getting super old!” She pointed at Boundless. “So even you’ve been manipulated by that . . . that . . .” she scrunched her face up, muzzle working furiously, but no more sound issued forth. “We . . . don’t know it was . . .” “No,” Daerev said. “It’s Agyrt. Don’t be stupid.” “Well, that’s just bloody brilliant,” Twilight said. “Anypony else? Any other contact we should know about?” Luna raised her hoof. “Are you serious?” “Not me,” Luna said, quickly. “You heard her, Twilight. Nightmare Moon.” “Oh,” Twilight said. “Of course. That makes it better.” But Boundless was still grinning. “He told me to go get the Heart. To bring it back to him.” “The second reason,” Luna said. “But why . . . it doesn’t matter.” “What?” “We can deal with Agyrt’s machinations, such as they are, at another date.” “I concur,” Celestia said. “Today is for Boundless.” “Isn’t that obvious?” Trixie asked. “Maybe we can’t restrain him, but that doesn’t mean we can’t trap him. Leave him in the middle of a desert—little hut, and so on. Teleport food and water to him now and then. He can’t leave without dying from thirst.” Luna blinked. “That . . . is an elegant solution, if cold-hearted.” Twilight spoke up. “He was isolated. Terribly cut-off—disconnected from society. His Passion doesn’t make him a threat, nor-”sharing a glance with Trixie”-does his ability to murder. He can learn empathy. We all can—no. We all must.” “Doesn’t deserve to,” Cadence said, returning Twilight’s shocked look with a glare. “Irrelevant,” Boundless said, waving his hoof. “I refuse your gifts, much as you refuse mine.” “Not quite,” Luna said. “To the crux of the matter, finally. I . . . had wished to be better understood, a’fore this came to a head.” “And you wished that Rainbow and Rarity might have returned,” Celestia said. Luna shook her head, gracing her sister with a small smile. “Nevertheless, I propose that we make use of Boundless’ talents to bring down the Veil.” “I cannot allow that,” Celestia said. “Lulu . . . please. Is there no other way?” “No. I demand at least that I hear your arguments, sister—and that those gathered here hear mine.” Maybe she had misjudged Celestia. Her sister seemed . . . heartlessly vague, at times—often with decisions that seemed outright nonsensical. She’d assumed that Celestia would be her greatest obstacle here: that she must manoeuvre and outmanoeuvre even to take the public opinion. It seemed so, so black and white, so clear cut in her head. The truth or a lie. A falsehood in exchange for a false peace. And yet here Celestia was, quietly admitting knowledge of her plans. Defusing her attacks with gentleness. Refusing—blatantly, to Luna’s ears—to pick up the tools, weapons, she had carefully lain at Celestia’s hooves. The knowledge of Nightmare Moon’s role. The message engraved in her armour. Was she the only one to suspect an abiding influence, then? A paralytic sense of doubt, doubt that followed from the ominous box inside her mind—and from the Veil itself. “The Veil is safety. You cannot argue with results. And here we have heard testimony that Boundless’ inception was the result of an unprecedented event—that of an outsider planning, over a thousand years, to carry attack within the Veil. It . . . it would require fundamental knowledge of the spell-work. Not that I am suggesting the Nightmare was in some way responsible for its creation—else why attack it?—but merely that she was likely there. Who else could pose such a threat?” “A false sense of safety, sister,” Luna said. “Because it is predicated on entrapment. Merely look at the devastation wrought in Hornwall to see the folly of that belief. See what their ignorance of morality—see what the reliance on a higher form of good does, when that higher form can be stripped away. Must we not develop in ourselves that strength? As Trixie has, underneath Twilight’s tutelage? And is not the truth more valuable, even, than . . .” she tilted her head, tongue flicking out as she sought words “. . . some optimisation of happiness?” “The Forest,” Trixie whispered. But “Yes,” Boundless said. “Yes, Princess. It must come from within.” “I . . . I am not sure you should listen to me,” Daerev said. “But is this not like the changelings? Ah, a homogenisation of life? It sounds to me that everypony, everything in Equestria is by definition approaching life from the same groundwork, the same root prohibitions. How can we diverge when we work from the same building blocks, save only in the most fatuous sense?” “No, no,” Celestia said. “It is . . . a framework. A guideline. Not a prison.” “A playpen,” Twilight said, “that we can grow beyond.” “At risk of what,” Pinkie said, “a bruise? A broken bone? A life?!” “At risk of sorrow,” Twilight said. “Of anger, and hatred. And of aspiration. And hope.” “You would listen to this monster,” Cadence said, staring at Luna. “At this thing. And agree with it?” “No,” Trixie said, breath hitching. “Not monsters. Nor slaves. That’s a . . . a false dichotomy. A wrong question. We can be both, or neither.” She looked around. “I’m proof of that, if nothing else. I- I was a slave, first. Then a monster. Now . . . something else.” “Something better,” Twilight said. “You want to turn all of the Empire—all of Equestria—into him?!” Cadence, yelling, thrust a hoof at Boundless while moving forward to glare at Luna. “Oh, spare me, Auntie, there is nothing useful about that transgression. That anypony would require . . . it is insulting. To me, to Twilight, to Shining Armour.” “Celestia’s right,” Pinkie said, though her ears were drooping, her mane clinging to her neck. She spoke despondent, “It limits sorrow. You argue for higher goods—by exposing yourselves to greater pain. Except . . . haven’t we been happy? This Veil has done nothing to limit the beauty of life. Only . . . only preserve it.” “Ignorance is not bliss,” Luna said, sharply. “This is why you’ve kept Coromancy so tight-lipped, sister, is it not? That widespread knowledge of our Arts might threaten the utopia created for us?” Celestia dipped her head. “In a sense. The Veil was not my ultimate outcome, though safety was. Coromancy has never been a solution—it merely intensifies. Good and bad.” Luna snorted. “I’ve no doubt.” “But why now?” This last from Cadence. “We’ve the monster in our power. We even have means of dispatching him, finally—and twice over, at that,” casting sidelong glances at Trixie, and Daerev. “Why force this issue now, save for this nebulous threat, this Typhus . . . of whom the only word we have is that of the Nightmare and a deceiver who has been playing every side and more besides!” “Because we have an opportunity, now,” Luna said. “Both the tools and the knowledge to use them. I said before that the reason Boundless had come here—had targeted the Crystal Heart—was that it bore the means to . . . “expand his range”. We cannot allow him to do so as he has before. But. “The Crystal Heart shares emotions. I believe, done properly, we can use it, with him. That we can . . . co-opt his intentions. That we can tear down the Veil.” “I told you, Luna,” Celestia said, moving forward. “I won’t let you.” “Oh, not me, sister,” Luna said. “I am subject to the same restrictions as the rest of you. No, I am not the one you have to fear, save that I will not let you take away their right to choose!” The black mist swirled around the party, not so much gathering speed as gaining turbulence. “Her?” Celestia turned on Trixie, faced the mare squarely. “You would have her decide the fate of Equestria? Very likely set in motion events that will lead to the deaths of hundreds of thousands?! Madness, Luna!” “Oh, this is rich,” Boundless said, stepping forward. The Crystal Heart sparkled in his grasp. “I should think, Princess, that if there is a choice to be made, it should be mine. That is, after all, why I was born. Is it not?” His horn caught light, and a brown translucent sliver of magic appeared in the air before him. Almost immediately, a swathe of magical auras surrounded it—purple, gold, and bright pink—but it swept through them like butter. He snarled, held the blade up towards his own throat. “Mother,” he said, looking squarely at Luna. “I don’t think I want to play anymore.”