Celestia woke.
She woke slowly, gently—as after a good night’s rest, one filled with peaceful dreams. She felt… good. She had the vague memory of pain, of turmoil—but all she could feel now was peace and comfort. She couldn’t remember the last time she had woken this refreshed.
Celestia opened her eyes. She lay, curled tightly about herself, in the bottom of a circular depression in the dirt—maybe twenty or thirty feet across, and eight or ten deep. She stretched, then glanced up. The sky above her glowed orange—a strange, unnatural orange.
Someone would have to do something about that.
Celestia stood, and realized, to her faint surprise, that her wings did not hurt. She turned and flapped them experimentally; everything seemed to be in order.
Something about this struck her as odd, but she was at a loss as to explain why.
Celestia glanced around her little hole. It was too deep to really see out of, but otherwise not unpleasant. Not a place one would want to spend one’s whole life, though. Well, she thought, glancing skyward, no time like the present.
Celestia began to climb out of the hole, spreading her wings for balance. She stepped out of the hole and onto uneven stone. She took another step, then looked down and frowned; something about these stones seemed oddly familiar. She had been here, once. She… she had some sort of unfinished business. Something she’d left undone. Something she’d left behind.
And, suddenly, the pieces began to fall into place. Slowly, with a growing dread in the pit of her stomach, she raised her head. And, just as slowly, she saw the ruined pillars. The broken throne. The twisted statue.
And four burned, blackened forms, lying still on the tile.
She froze. She knew what she saw—but her brain would not accept it. Surely, those weren’t her four—not the friends that she’d lived and loved and nearly died for. No, that couldn’t be them.
She took a hesitant step forward—and the setting sun glinted off the gemstone around one of their necks. A stone shaped like a hammer.
Celestia froze—then broke into a run. “Cinder!” she shrieked.
She ran to him and kneeled by his side. She slipped her hooves underneath him, then pulled him close, feeling his skin crack and split under her touch. “Oh, Harmony, Cinder!” she cried.
He stirred at her voice. She sucked in a gasp, then whipped her gaze around. “Luna! Icy! Help me!” she called, her voice echoing fruitlessly against the stones. She turned back to Cinder. “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay,” she lied. “I’ve got you.”
Cinder opened his eyes a crack—and stared. He opened his mouth and tried to say something, but no sound save a gasp escaped his lips.
“Try not to talk,” she urged, feeling a tear run down her cheek.
He did not speak—but he raised a single, shaking hoof, towards her face. For just a moment, she thought that he was going to caress her cheek, one last time—but his hoof kept moving upward, until it touched something protruding from her forehead.
He touched her horn.
Her horn.
She froze again—but this time, gritting her teeth, she forced down her shock and surprise. Something had happened—but she could figure it out later. Now, Cinder, her Cinder, needed her. And she could help. She’d seen it done—Luna and Ice Dancer could both heal wounds. All she needed to do was figure out how.
Celestia gritted her teeth, and concentrated, harder than she ever had before, willing, demanding, pleading with herself. Every shred of willpower she had, she poured into making Cinder better.
Her horn flickered, sending out little sparks of golden light. “See?” she gasped, “It’s working!”
She tried to force more magic, more power, into her horn—just a little more, and it would all be alright. He would be okay. They would have that farm. They would have their happily ever after.
But, even as she struggled, she saw his eyes flutter shut. And, slowly, he went limp in her arms.
“Cinder,” she pleaded, “hold on!”
But, even as she said it, she knew it was no use. He was gone. And with him, everything she’d ever wanted.
“Cinder,” she sobbed, pressing his lifeless body against her, “Oh, Harmony, don’t leave me, Cinder.”
She wept into the silence.
* * *
Celestia wept for what felt like hours—but what did that even mean, in a world without time?
She wept, until, suddenly, she realized that she was no longer alone. Even then, it took her a while compose herself. Finally, she sniffled; she was no longer crying, but the tears were still wet on her cheeks. She felt drained. Exhausted. Like she had cried out everything she was, everything she hoped to be, leaving nothing but an empty shell inside her.
Finally, she turned—and saw the last person she would have ever expected.
She saw Luna.
The two of them looked into each other’s eyes for a long time, saying nothing. They had both been crying—one more than the other—but they said all that they needed in that one stare.
After several long minutes of silence, Luna swallowed. A moment of hesitation, and she fluttered her new wings slightly. Celestia stared, then slowly nodded, showing her new horn.
“Well,” Luna said, her voice almost deafening in the silence, “I think that we’re supposed to be the ones to fix this.”
Celestia looked back to the body in her arms. “Can we?” she said, in a tiny voice.
Luna looked away. “Not everything,” she said quietly. “But some things.” She glanced up again, then slowly walked to where Celestia sat. She put a hoof on her shoulder. “Come on,” she said, gently.
Celestia swallowed. She knew what had to be done—but she didn’t know if she had the strength to do it.
Slowly, reverently, she laid Cinder down, limp against the stone. His head lolled back, his mouth open and gasping. Celestia shivered and turned away—for just a moment, it looked as if he was still alive—still alive, choking on his own blood, waiting in vain for a powerless mare to save him.
After a long pause, she finally spoke. “I’m ready,” she said, in a small voice.
Luna swallowed. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know,” she replied.
Luna leaned in and hugged her tight, but Celestia did not move.
Luna leaned back and took her by the hoof. “Come on,” Luna said. “Time to get up.”
Celestia allowed Luna to help her to her hooves, then followed her to the shelf overlooking the valley. For a long moment, the two of them stood side by side, looking out at the sunset.
Luna swallowed. “Do you think we can do this?” she asked.
Celestia continued to stare. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice flat.
Luna swallowed. “Might as well try…” she murmured. She glanced at Celestia’s cutie mark, then up at her face. “I think this might be your job,” she said. “Do you want to give it a shot?”
Slowly, Celestia noded.
Luna swallowed. “You, uh…” she paused, then chuckled.“How do I explain how to use your magic…? I guess, you, uh, need to think real hard—”
“I know,” Celestia said. And, strangely, she did.
She planted her hooves. She took a deep breath, then spread her wings. And, simple as the sunrise, easy as breathing, her horn flared to life.
It glowed brighter, and brighter, and brighter. The air around her began to shimmer with power, and the pebbles at her hooves began to tremble against the stone. Celestia groaned with the effort, a groan that grew into a defiant roar.
Luna took a slow step backwards, eyes wide, her mouth slowly falling open.
Suddenly, Celestia gasped, and her horn went out. The magic dissipated, and the pebbles fell still. Celestia dropped her head, her breathing ragged, sweat dripping down her forehead.
Luna ran to her side. “Celestia, are you okay?” she asked.
Celestia nodded. It had come so easily. Almost like second nature.
After a moment, Luna looked up—and gave a little cry. “Celestia, look!”
Celestia glanced up—then stared. Slowly, she raised her head.
For months, the sun had hung motionless in the sky.
And now, for the first time in far too long, the sun was setting. It moved slowly, to be sure, but it was moving.
As Celestia watched, she felt a fresh tear roll down her cheek. Whatever the Elements had made her—they had made her for this. And they’d given her the tools and the knowledge to make it happen—and make it happen right.
Even if they had taken everything else away.
Luna and Celestia watched the sun in silence for a while, until, slowly, Luna turned away. “Come on, Cece,” she said. “We still have work to do.”
Celestia snapped from her trance, then looked down at her. Wordlessly, she nodded, then turned away from the blood-red sun—now, for the first time in months, really, truly, setting.
* * *
By the time the sun dipped completely below the horizon, four bundles, each wrapped in their own thin, wool blanket, lay in a row at the edge of the shelf. In front of each, a sort of impromptu shrine: Ice Dancer's rusted skates, Woodwind's pan pipes, Corncob's favorite red bandana, and three horseshoe nails for Cinder. Beside them, in a neat row, lay their four Elements, their stones black and dull.
Celestia stared at the four huddled bundles. She tried not to think about what lay beneath them—though her hooves were still dirty with the ash.
Celestia was numb. She had already cried all her tears. Her sorrow had burned down into smoldering coals. Yet, as she stared at the bundles, she felt a deep, yawning emptiness inside her—a blackness that she wished that she knew how to fill.
Why? she thought to herself. Why did they have to die? She swallowed. Is this some sort of punishment? Because we got greedy? Because we wanted to fix everything, forever?
Or did the Elements need fuel? Did they need to take someone’s wings, and hooves, and horns, before they could give them to us?
And why just us? Why couldn’t it have been everyone?
She glanced over at Luna, who stood beside the Elements, carefully placing hers in line. And why, she thought, did it have to be Luna? Why couldn’t it have been Cinder, instead?
At that thought, she closed her eyes, and a fresh tear rolled down her cheek. Already, she hated herself for even having that thought.
“Cece?”
Celestia opened her eyes. Luna stood in front of her.
“Cece,” she repeated, gently. “I need your Element, too.”
Celestia stared at Luna for a moment, uncomprehending. Then, slowly, she reached up toward her neck. She undid the clasp, then held the necklace in her hoof. For a moment, she wanted to hurl it over the edge—make sure it couldn’t hurt anyone ever again—but, before she could let herself do that, she thrust it toward Luna.
Luna took it with a nod, then set it beside the others. One by one, she picked them up and dropped them into her saddlebags. She cinched the flap tight, then turned, her mouth open to say something to Celestia—but when she saw the hollow look on her face, she stopped and swallowed. Slowly, Luna walked over to her, then took her in a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply.
They held each other for a moment in silence. Finally, Luna broke away, then wiped a tear from her eye. She turned and looked out at the horizon, at the failing light, and at the first of the blossoming stars. Her mouth fell open, ever so slightly.
“I’d forgotten how pretty the night could be,” she said.
Celesta said nothing.
After a moment of silence, Luna glanced back at her, and her face fell. She swallowed. “Are you ready to head back down?” she asked.
Celestia turned and looked at the row of blankets. Finally, she nodded. “I think so,” she said.
Luna nodded as well, then turned and walked towards the top of the stairs leading down off the mountain. After a moment, Celestia turned and followed. She found Luna waiting for her; as she drew close, Luna lit up her horn, casting a little beam of light in front of her, then turned and walked down the stairs.
Celestia began to follow her—but she paused with her hoof on the top step. She turned back and looked, one last time, at the four little bundles on the edge of the shelf—then turned and started down the stairs before the tears could come.
They walked in silence back down the mountain. It was easier than it had been on the way up—but she barely noticed. Her heart and mind were elsewhere. After a short while, they passed through the little village they had stopped at, and Celestia carefully avoided looking at the doorstep where, just a few short hours earlier, she had been so happy.
Finally, as the sky in the east began to grow lighter, the trailhead at the bottom of the mountain came into view. Surrounding it, in the rock of the mountain itself, stood three or four shallow caves. At the sound of Luna’s and Celestia’s hooves, ponies—mares, foals, and old stallions—began to stick their heads out. When they saw who it was, they filtered out, one by one. As the two of them drew closer, Celestia saw strange looks and urgent glances pass through the crowd—even from this distance, the waiting ponies could see that they had changed.
Suddenly, she noticed one of the stallions pushing forward through the crowd. He reached the front just as the two of them came to a stop. He stared, wide-eyed, at them both, then dropped to his knees.
“The Daughters of Harmony,” he breathed.