//------------------------------// // Fifty // Story: The Moon Also Rises // by Nicroburst //------------------------------// It’s just, the Brightstream is incredible. Far more than its beauty, or allure, or even the strange magic that grants us our Cutie Marks. I’m obsessing, I know. Luna tells me to go outside, mingle. Meet new faces. Maybe in a little bit. Fifty RAINBOW HAD NEVER seen the Castle, though Rarity had described it to her—at least, not outside of the Everfree. A tall, imposing structure, composed of grey stone and the beginnings of marble, though she’d no idea where they’d found the materials for that: she recognised it almost immediately nonetheless. More than just the towers, though, the buttresses and incomplete walls, were the beginnings of what seemed to be a sprawling stone city, spreading out from its base. Just the beginnings, but . . . the ground: grass torn up, dirt levelled, stone columns appearing here and there. Markings, laid out for at least a half-mile. And dust-covered ponies, masons, architects, builders, startled by the approaching train of civilians. They’d fled north, fearing the eastern flank, and then gradually curved around to approach the Castle, on guard all the while. The roundabout journey, slowed somewhat by wagons and scouts, had taken nearly the rest of the day, covering a solid ten miles, at least. The relative quiet, however, had only served to make everypony ill at ease—the question hovering around them like a bad odour, then, "Why threaten the east and leave the Castle unmolested?" A peculiar sensation, being herded, it left the back of Rainbow’s neck prickling and a dull ache in her spine from her constant swivelling. Several times, she’d offered to fly reconnaissance simply to get off the ground, to go do something. She wasn’t the only one, however, and some stern words from The Wall—a Captain in Luna’s Guard who’d earned his name several times over; rippling muscle covering a hulking frame that looked more immovable than the Canterlot Mountain itself—served to keep her mostly grounded. Appearances, as he put it, mattered, and if she got everypony riled up an’ flighty, the Thralls would cease to be her problem. Cirrus’ continued absence was beginning to plague her. Blitz and Crisp didn’t seem too concerned, and when she raised it with them, they’d shrugged her off. Gone to get Luna, yeah, sure. But shouldn’t she be back by now? And where was Luna? Off protecting some non-existent flank, now that everypony had moved? From what Rainbow had seen of the Princess, any Thralls in that area should have been squashed like bugs nigh-instantly. So she went looking for Rarity. Didn’t take much to find her, either, all cosied up on an old cart, nestled amongst blankets, while some poor sap pulled her along. Unbelievable. Trotting up alongside, “So I see somepony’s enjoying the rout.” “Shh,” the soldier pulling her said, twisting to catch Rainbow’s attention. “The Seer’s watching over us.” Oh. Well didn’t that make Rainbow feel like an ass. “Uh, so . . .” “No, I don’t know where the Princess is,” the soldier snapped. “Seer’s made sure everypony got out. ‘Side from that, she just said run.” “Run?’ “Look, Chaser, all due respect, but I just do what I’m told. You want; I’ll pass on a message when she comes round.” “Yeah, yeah,” Rainbow said. Prying her eyes from Rarity’s still form, she blinked once, twice. “Ah, yeah. Sorry, uh . . . just tell her Rainbow’s still alive. A-and that I wanted to speak with her.” “Sure,” the soldier said, turning away—his shoulder doing more to end the conversation than any farewell. Rainbow took the hint, moving back up the line. They were moving through the last stretch of the outskirts, now, just a little further to go to reach the properly developed area. Ahead, squinting, Rainbow could see ponies emerging from the stoneworks, coming out to meet with the head of the column. Her wings fluttered, but she stayed on the ground, occupying herself instead with a brief assessment of the defences. Walls, obviously still in need of a rather great deal of work, nevertheless stood high enough to provide cover from any ground forces—enough, too, she supposed, to shelter them from those ballistae—though, of course, presented no problem to fliers. Gates, open now . . . well, honestly, Rainbow had no idea how sturdy they were. They looked solid, thick wood and metal braces. Behind, stonework forming a labyrinth of hoof-high walls, demarking eventual development, more hindrance than obstacle. And Castle itself, however . . . ah, now that looked to be a challenge. It soared. There was no other word, really, even in its incomplete state. Easily ten, twenty times the size of any other building, it dwarfed the city around it. Slotted windows dotted its towers, heavy stone built out its base. Looking at it, Rainbow felt almost reassured: felt that this, as it had so obviously been designed to do, might actually have some chance of withstanding Him. The Storm that she didn’t remember, that Rarity had done her best to describe. Buttressed by the Princesses’ magic . . . this could be safe. Ah, but now she was called forward, with other pegasi—collecting supplies from burdened earth ponies for delivery to storehouses, while the wagons were unloaded and sorted. Others directed civilians inside, began what appeared to become an Impromptu tour . . . still more raced to the walls, in all four directions, passing word to workers still toiling away, joining in the efforts. She tried to keep an eye on Rarity, but quickly lost her in the middle of a trip, carrying sacks of grain to the northern edge. The sense of urgency had to pass, and as the hours drifted by without so much as a flicker on the horizon, everypony started to lose that fever-grip intensity, that rush, that call to action. Fading adrenaline gave way to exhaustion, civilians replaced by disgruntled soldiers chosen for first watch. Wardens worked alongside the masons, attention now devoted exclusively to the city’s defences, while others pushed themselves deep into the ground, bringing up groundwater and pushing the growth of new orchards, new crops. The operation moved with an efficiency that half-surprised Rainbow, though, reflecting, she supposed it only natural: an extension of a more violent age. Finally, escaping the watchful eye of the quartermaster who’d taken it upon herself to order around all pegasi, under some impression that they were better spent ferrying things about than anything else, Rainbow made it into the Castle. It didn’t take her too long to find Rarity: she had the advantage in that this wasn’t her first time navigating the structure, and those she did find wandering the halls were happy enough to help. She hadn’t heard from anypony, but then, that could just as easily be explained by the rush of activity that accompanied their arrival than anything else. Except, pushing open the door to the chambers they’d given her, she found Rarity still asleep, or, at least, in whatever the dream-like state Seers went to was. Dozing in a chair beside the makeshift bed—wooden planks supporting what appeared to be just a pile of cloth, haphazardly thrown together—was another pony, the soldier from before given some new posting. This one had a notebook out, quill lying limply in her fetlock. Rainbow grinned, tempted not to disturb the tranquil moment. It seemed out of place, somehow, amidst the chaos. Like a scene lifted from Equestria. As quietly as she could, Rainbow stepped across the room, gently plucking the notebook from the slumbering mare’s hooves. This was . . . a record, of sorts, of what Rarity had to say, Rainbow supposed. Still mostly blank, though at the top of the page, there were a few jotted points. Celestia fighting. Luna . . . unknown. Rainbow frowned. She hadn’t bothered to learn the finer details, sure, but she knew enough to know that Rarity should have been able to locate Luna nigh instantly. She’d had enough practice, that’s for sure. Unless there was something blocking her. And with Celestia apparently still tied up in battle—doing Sun-knows-what, honestly—well, Rainbow could make a few guesses. And, finally . . . ah. Shit. Rainbow paled, ears flicked back, and a shudder ran through her body, spreading from shoulders to tail. The word underlined, a question mark floating beside it, with ink trailing down the sheet from that final point—quill slipping in the mare’s sleep, perhaps—she had written Discord. The Spirit of Chaos himself. Well, that explained a few things. Was he related to the Storm, then? And if so, how? Her only experience with Discord had been relatively harmless, and even then they’d only just beaten him back—and that was with Twilight, and the Elements to boot. This . . . oh, and no Veil to insulate them, either. Rainbow looked down at her hooves, took a swift step to the bed, the notebook falling to the ground. She leant against it, and then clambered up, spinning around on the spot and tucking herself into a small ball by Rarity’s feet, as if she was on a cloud. She could feel the wood, vibrating against her—no, that was just her shaking. Such a dark time. Nopony batted an eye at blood, at violence. And for all the exhilaration, Rainbow would be quite happy to avoid it for the rest of her life, thank you very much. The details that stuck with her were always small, unnoticeable things—a peculiar smell, coppery, and a sinking pit in her gut, the sensation of falling. What would Discord be like, surrounded by . . . by all this? Sun and Stars. How could they even contest him. No Elements. No Twilight. Both Princesses—because now it made sense, oh yes, that’s why Celestia was still fighting, that’s why Luna was nowhere to be found—tied up. If they couldn’t win in the future, did they have any chance here? She wanted to talk. Wanted to stand up and scream. But with . . . ah, and Rarity still watching, of course . . . she was alone. Could find Blitz and Crisp, perhaps, and then . . . what? Fill them in on the literal God at their doorstep? Find something productive to do, anything, just to be doing something? Rainbow snorted. Walls weren’t going to help here, not for anything more than morale. This Castle was never a defence—not, that is, against the real threat. She swallowed hard, bit her lip until she drew a little blood. Took several deep breaths. It’s alright, Dash. Discord, psh. Been there, seen that. What, thinks he’s going to get in your way? Going to stop you getting home? Come on. You’re Rainbow Dash. Fastest pegasus alive. Hell, screw that—fastest pegasus of all time. You know the level of power you’re dealing with. Felt it, even, at your hooves, ripping open a hole in time. Seen it, shaking a mountain. And—and Rarity’s here. And a small army of Coromancers. Experienced, trained fighters, hardened in a war colossal enough to uproot an entire civilisation. They’re your friends, Dash, and they’re all around you. And—and two Princesses. Much more brutal than the figures she knew and respected—but much more potent, too. There was an intensity about them, Luna in particular, that was so foreign to her conception. The gentleness that characterised Celestia almost entirely absent. The thoughtfulness that she ascribed Luna replaced with grim determination and unshakable conviction. Luna was still weak, when Discord awoke. Maybe, this time . . . She knew, already, that they would petrify him. Somehow. It had taken the Elements . . . then would they find them? Wielded by the Princesses—ah, now that thought did make her feel better. Maybe Luna was off, right now, in search. Maybe this would all be over by evening. And—and Twilight was waiting for her. Not logically, on an abstract level, Rainbow knew that she could arrive back mere moments after she’d left. But that did nothing to assuage her emotional state, the stress and frayed nerves of their prolonged separation. She had to get home. Relaxing, finally, she stretched her back and limbs, sighing. A warmth draped itself over her shoulders—she started, flinching. “Easy, darling,” Rarity said, leaning forward to embrace her. “It’s going to be alright.” *** The world materialised in an instant. Celestia had been here often enough, she needed no time to visualise her mindscape. Instinctively seeking comfort, she recognised her old study instantly. Long, towering bookshelves covering near every wall. A long desk, lamps set low, scrolls and papers, maps, journals, documents and artefacts, all scattered in various mounds. And opposite that workspace, more open area, a large chair piled high with cushions, a small table, still holding days’ worth of cups and saucers. There were no windows, though a small brazier burned in one corner. It was a toasty, familiar space, someplace private and warm, where she could look inwards, to the depths of her mind, without interference. So to have it so roughly torn asunder was more than a shock. Discord entered just moments after her, appearing hunched over her desk, wearing . . . glasses? “Oh, no, ‘Tia, no no no,” he said, voice silk and ash. “This won’t do at all.” And then everything was fire. Celestia screamed—part out of fright, sudden heat at her flanks inspiring the urge to run, sudden noise and light disorienting her, and part out of the threat, the sense of violation . . . her books vaporised by the heat, her notes incinerated, her porcelain melting, cracking, sharp explosions filling the air. She threw up a shield of sorts, purely on instinct. But this was her mind. A second later, she’d recovered, and the flames disappeared, her study emerging unscathed. Everything were it should be, just so, even the mess, comforting in its own way. “Aww,” Discord said, though . . . where had he gone? She’d lost him, it seemed. He had to be here, of course—couldn’t leave her mind, now that he was here, without her at the least knowing about it. “That’s no fun.” “We aren’t here to have fun,” Celestia said. “Hmm-mmm. And why are we here?” She gave a toothy grin. “To kill time.” A face pushed its way out of the stone wall, greyed skin forming from what should be solid rock. It grinned back. “Waiting on big sis’, are you? Think Luna’s going to save you?” Celestia snorted. “I need no saving.” “And yet we both wait. Might I-” the rest of his body pulling itself from the wall, dropping to the ground in a wet heap, dripping liquid rock from his skin “-then suggest a game?” “I think not.” “Oh, nothing serious. Merely chess. Apt, no?” The floor rippled, waves pushing out from the centre—stone fading back, colouring, lines appearing as if drawn by some great quill—a chess board, with pieces rising from the ground, animated, like beings stretching up from the shore of a lake, partially submerged. “Discord,” Celestia said, stressing his name. Reaching out, she clamped down on the borders of her world, affixed the walls firmly in her mind. Made the rules more, somehow, more physical, less abstract. Light became brighter. The air grew warmer. The floor firmer. Gravity heavier. “I’m not going to play games. I’m not going to debate. I’m not even going to fight.” Outside, in reality, the Element draped around her neck shimmered. The rock still dripping from Discord hardened, then shattered as he took a step forward. “In fact, I’m not even going to listen. You can have the corner, if you’d like. But kindly remain quiet. I wish to think.” He just grinned, started whistling a tune. “Ah, Celly, Celly. You’re going to try to ignore me? Me?” She could see how he became the creature from Rainbow and Rarity’s memories. The playfulness was already there, the subversive tendencies, the nothing-is-sacred mentality. How that rose from Typhus’ essence, she had no idea: it seemed almost antithetical to His being. A snap and feathers appeared, floating all around her. They waved and flicked, stirring in a sudden breeze, against her skin. And yet, Discord contained the same intensity. Something she’d witnessed in herself, in Luna, most certainly in Him. Just then, outside, the voice . . . there, Discord had reminded her of nothing so much as Typhus. Remove that fire, that mountain of will, and what would remain? An impotent joker, Invested with all the power in the world and naught to do with it but be a nuisance. Could she do that? Quench the Storm itself, even so reduced? With Luna at her side, maybe. But with the Element—yes. Some strange device—white, like china, cylindrical and hollow, with a red tapered end and a box in its centre, floated next to her head. Discord appeared at its far end, sucking in a huge breath of end. Some intuition made Celestia reflexively flinch just before a titanic sound issued forth—a veritable shockwave of noise, shattering cups and plates, knocking chairs over, blowing Celestia herself back against a bookshelf. She let go of the magic covering her ears, restored everything with a stomp of her hoof. Discord pouted, pushed once again to the far side of the room. She felt a strange pain, a line of fire crossing her upper chest, and a dull ache in the shoulder. She remembered the Well. Finally found, far, far to the north, well past the Crystal Empire, past even the nomadic tribes that lived at the base of those mountain ranges demarcating the northern edge of the world . . . it had glowed with golden light. Stepping in was transcendent—power flowed into her, through her. Transformative. Her senses had expanded, her mind tapping into ancient sources of knowledge. Suddenly she knew the history of the world. Knew the source of Typhus’ power. Knew the connection between her own might, and His. Enough to reshape the world, to tear down mountains and raise new ones in their place. Enough to move the stars in the sky, to spin the planet itself into a new trajectory. She had refused it. Claiming her body, with as much of that power as she could stand, she arced south—a comet of solar energy, titanic and unstoppable. But the power wasn’t hers, but . . . a hoof came to her chest, where the pain was still growing. Just another distraction—she could see Discord smirking where he waited. It was contained, held in physical form. Energy made matter. She didn’t know if she could take just some of that. She didn’t want to become God—to become Typhus in Typhus’ place. The Element represented control, represented choice. She stumbled, her knees buckling. Discord burst out laughing, clutching at his sides. She looked down, saw the traces of magic—dismissed them. Blood pooled, gashes covering her chest, her shoulders, wings, legs . . . she could feel it more, now that she was paying attention. She gasped, sucking in air, only to hear it whistling out. Strength faded, and she hit the ground. “Thing with chess is, only the King matters,” Discord said, walking forward. “But you don’t need a King to take a King. Any old pawn will do, if it has enough time.” He loomed over her. “Checkmate,” he said, waving as the world went black. *** Luna Saw. Saw the destruction of the town, the fires and the battle to retreat. Saw the refugees reach the relative safety of their Castle. Saw the Thrall army swarm over the buildings, reducing everything to rubble. Saw Celestia, drawn high into the sky, away from the protection of her soldiers. Saw Discord occupy her mind as Thralls flew towards them. Saw them buzz around her like flies. She flew, armour forming around her body—created from a compression, a transmutation of the air. It spoke to her, whispered plans, half-thought-out thoughts and ideas. She still wasn’t sure what to think about that. Now, though, she listened, and poured desperation into her wings. Air resistance inverted to propel her forward. Gravity flipped to pull her onward. She accelerated without end, streaking across the miles in an instant. She felt no wind, no grit collecting against her, heard no sonic boom as she tore past the sound barrier. Everything was sacrificed for the sake of speed, her Conduit nature allowing her to bend the energy moving around her to her whim. A touch too late to let go of the spell, she didn’t slow in time. There was a tremendous impact across her face and chest—red spray filling her vision. And then she was past the group, slowing down, dropping down and wiping at her eyes. The group of Thralls surrounding her sister was . . . smaller. She glanced down, saw scraps falling through the air, some scattered what seemed to be hundreds of metres away. Then she looked up, narrowed her eyes to slits, and showed her teeth. Fangs were just another suggestion from the armour. But Luna couldn’t argue with its logic, with the simple truth that expectation and perception counted for a hell of a lot more than most thought. A pony with draconic eyes and fangs was menacing and strange. The fear in their faces and bodies, the prey-line reaction to her presence . . . it made her feel strong. Had done so, in a time where, more than anything, she had needed that. To feel like the avatar of a people, like the Moon itself. Implacable. Immovable. They scattered. Single-minded, brain-washed into devotion, perhaps, but not suicidal. Celestia was gravely wounded all the same. Luna’s passage had done her no favours, either, blowing off two limbs entirely, while the rest of her body, covered in cuts and gashes, leaked blood like a sieve. Mangled wings could no longer support her in the air, and she fell, slowly, sustained by the same unconscious will that had kept her in the air while in the mindscape. Luna could see the glisten of entrails, the weak pulsing of her heart, pumping more and more life out of her arteries. Luna caught her, gathered her into her arms, lowered her head, and touched her horn to Celestia’s chest. The gemstone there, covered in blood, shimmered. She could feel the ocean of power in there, the contained might. She brushed it aside, gathered up her horror, the pounding of blood in her veins, the taut muscles and wide eyes and roaring in her ears. Conduits did more than twist energy. Conduits could heal. Argent light spread out over Celestia’s body as they reached the ground. Luna laid her out, closed her eyes. Saw skin knitting together. Saw veins close up—roughly, at first, and then finer, once she was stabilised. Saw the stumps of her two missing legs close up, awaiting more critical injuries. Saw the crack in her horn repaired. The tear in her intestinal lining sealed. “Ah-ahh,” a voice issued from the clouds. “That’s cheating, Lulu.” Luna ignored it, continuing her work. Stability, that was the focus. Celestia beginning to stir under her. Wind—no, not wind, just intensity, a focus full of desperate control, boiling and breaking and holding utterly, absolutely, still . . . she could hear nothing apart from the half-thought ramblings of her mind, see nothing but the flow of magic. Celestia’s breathing slowed. Her eyes fluttered. Her lip quivered, working itself spasmodically upward—quirking into a smile. “Lu . . . lu,” she said. Luna frowned, ears pricking up. They seemed to be alone, for better or worse. Still . . . maintaining the healing magic but relinquishing her fine control over its direction, she sank inwards, opened her Sight. There was less fog, here, thanks to her frantic accumulation of power. She could See herself, blazing, and her sister underneath her, a faint mote, no longer guttering. Feeding on her warmth. And . . . was there . . . there. A bonfire, a swirling inferno of might. Fiery, brilliant, she could See the magic coalescing and dispersing, flickering around the figure in random swirls. Tendrils extending outward concentrically, randomly, seeming to spin outward without purpose or direction. Those tendrils were touching her sister. Luna snarled, standing, kill it, let her anger—her guilt racing down the path of least resistance—spur her to yet greater heights of Coromancy. She swept power outwards, black and potent, save her, more demolished than dismantled the veil that hid the creature. At her strike, Celestia’s countenance relaxed, lapsed back into unconsciousness. A glance downward and a final pulse of health, and Luna had taken off, kill it, accelerating to breakneck speeds in an instant, striking at the creature—tall, sinuous, draconic—with everything at her disposal. Magic, gathered in a spear at the tip of her horn. Speed, concentrated in her wings and the air around her. Strength, in her hooves and body, lashing out. Save her. It twisted away, not fast enough to avoid her everything. Her magic scored a great gash in its torso, her wings drove it backwards, her hooves crushed it. She passed it, halted, spun on the spot, preparing another charge. And paused. The damn thing had already healed—blood dripping from her horn, she knew she’d hit it, and yet . . . She glanced back to her sister. Still breathing, and steadily. “Who are you?” “Discord, apparently,” it said, wry tone doing nothing to ease Luna’s mind. “You know, there’s a much more polite way to ask somepony’s name.” Discord. Celestia had told her of this creature, first seen in the minds of those two Coromancers she’d sent back. He was, she’d judged, by their utter naivete, and apparent success in dealing with him, no real threat. That, it seemed, had been a hasty assessment. “Come, sister,” he said, spreading his arms. “No need to fight.” Luna spat. “There is every need to fight. Prepare yourself!” She gathered her power together, concentrated it. Not in magic, this time, nor in her flight, but rather in her hooves, in the ground underneath her, and the rules of the world around her. There would be no dodging her, now. And yet, he looked confused. Hesitant, even. “But . . .” Sister? She charged. As expected, he did not strike back—again, merely trying to avoid her. But where he stepped aside, she was already there. When he slipped away, she followed. Dancing, an endless pursuit, twisting the world again and again. And each step landed squarely on his body, her hooves battering him and horn gouging him, blasts of magic—nothing compared to her full potential, but power nonetheless—charring the flesh and eating away at him, only for that same flesh to reappear, swirling together out of that bonfire of magic that comprised his mental state. Sister? He recognises me. Why? He recognises me! Luna grinned, a feral, fanged grin, a promise of pain and death. She understood. A fragment of Typhus, then, surely, recognising her handiwork, forged over months of delaying His advance, fighting Him at every turn. Turning His power against Him. She reached for that bonfire, found it. Grabbed hold of him, made her hooves grip him like glue. Bent his magic with her wings, called it to her. Swirling, raging, fiery. Collected it, solidified it, brought it into herself. Her armour grew accents, silver on embossed black, grew thicker, more solid. And he screamed. Discord fought, frantically, like a child fighting against its mother—tossed and turned and bucked in her grasp, and eventually got a hand free and snapped his fingers and was gone. Panting, Luna reached forward, felt at the fabric of the world. But she didn’t—couldn’t—follow. She relaxed, took a deep breath, let go of the fire. Let it stream from her mouth and her eyes, burning deep holes in the ground where it pooled, a liquid inferno. She returned to Celestia, cradled her sister’s head in her hooves, bent over her, and resumed healing. *** “Luna was there,” Rarity said. Rainbow had calmed some, her . . . what looked to Rarity to be some sort of panic attack—not something she’d usually associate with the pegasus—fading. “She did . . . something. And he ran.” “Discord?” “The one and only.” “Ran from Luna?” Rarity frowned. “Yes.” “But why?” It did seem a bit strange. The Discord she remembered had presented a threat such that Celestia had not even attempted to intervene, aside from deploying them, as the Elements. And yet here was Luna, demonstrating some hitherto unknown ability to scare the God of Chaos—to send him running, tail between his legs. And . . . this was different Discord, too, removed from the calming influence of the Veil. A Discord tempered by ruthlessness, by a sick sense of humour, by a . . . a bloodthirstiness that was so unlike her picture of him. Through everything he’d put them through, there had been no real physical trauma, no lasting damage beyond the emotional. Was that, then, entirely the Veil? She swallowed, hard, suddenly possessed with images of what could have happened that day. How easily he could have slain them! And then what recourse, left to Equestria, but to pit two wholly underwhelming Princesses against him? Because it wasn’t just Discord that was different. She Saw Luna tearing through those Thralls, smashing them to pieces in an instant, so that mere globs of flesh remained. Power given weight, given consequence. “Rarity,” Rainbow paused, bit her lip. She hadn’t moved from Rarity’s embrace, though now she pulled away, staring seriously at Rarity’s face. “Yes, dear?” “Have you tried looking forward?” “I don’t follow . . .” “Well, we’re outside of whatever it was that blocked your Sight, right? A-and we’re here to learn more about it, for Luna.” “Yes . . . oh.” The Veil’s creation. Now why hadn’t Rarity thought of that? She couldn’t imagine that she was as eager to return as Rainbow, but she had to admit that the thrill of discovery here had paled a little, next to the danger. And . . . she missed home, too. She wanted to see Sweetie Belle again, and the girls. The Carousel Boutique. So look forward, to the Veil’s inception, and at the worst discover how long their visit here might last. “Yeah. D’you think?” “I don’t see why not.” “Now?” Rarity hummed. “I’ve been pushing myself all day, dear. I’m afraid I’m quite exhausted.” “Please?” She smiled. “I’ll try. But while I do, could you find somepony in charge? Let them know what happened out there? I think perhaps everypony might like to know that the Princesses will be here soon enough, safe and sound.” Rainbow nodded, letting a grin play across her mouth. “Sure thing. Anything else I can get for you? Some company, . . . oh, yeah, welcome to the Castle. I’ll give you a tour later.” “All I really want is a long hot bath and a glass of wine, dear.” “Okay,” Rainbow said, turning to mock salute as she left the room. “I’ll see what I can do.” Rarity yawned, closing her eyes briefly, as the door clicked behind Rainbow. She wasn’t lying—exhaustion was a mild word for the bone-deep dullness, the opacity of thought and general weariness that permeated her every fibre. But she wanted, more than anything, to go home, just as Rainbow did. And the thought, the idea, inspired her, gave her some of that old thrill of discovery she’d feel whenever the dots lined up just so . . . Energy rose, unbidden. Thought and feeing swept forth power, inside her, around her. She sank into herself, felt forward, blindly, reaching out. Further and further, feeling for that curious resistance that had so hampered her efforts, looking for Luna all those months ago. Like trying to stare through a white silk curtain, billowing against your face—moving and shifting and retreating, with no magic, no hooves to hold it still. She felt a pounding, dull for now, but surely growing, developing into a headache. She needed to rest. And then, there it was. The Veil. Stretching out, a vast barrier against her vision. She opened her eyes, clenched her jaw, and fell back into the pillows, not caring in the slightest as her body flinched, hitting the hard wood underneath. Tears began to crop up at the corners of her eyes. “Two years,” she whispered, to herself, before huddling over, curling herself inwards and desperately, frantically, seeking sleep.