The Moon Also Rises

by Nicroburst

Nineteen

With my passing, I endeavour to protect you. Mayhap you will feel my touch, in that climactic moment, and know that I cared for you. Know that, in my final moments of life, I shielded you from the terror of watching our world burn.

But I fear that any such comfort will be stripped from you. Memory is a fickle beast, and she knows it well. I can only advise that you hold tight to yourself, and do not trust the words of those you meet. We have been moulded into an evil, and though I must play that role, of it I will set you free.

Nineteen

TRIXIE woke to find herself tucked into an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. From where she lay, she could make out a door on the left side of the room, opposite a vanity and a chest of drawers. There was a simple mirror set above it. The waning sunlight filtered through the venetian blinds to cast a striped pattern of faded luminescence across the bed.

Trixie rose, throwing the covers back, and then made her way to the window. With one hoof, she poked a small gap between the venetian blinds and looked down at the street below. From her vantage point on the second floor, she could make out stone buildings, and a wide, cobblestone road.

That sealed it. She was at the Agency—in Canterlot, no less.

There was nowhere else she could be. Twilight must have taken her after she’d fallen unconscious, taken her back here. But why the room, the bed and quilt, when she’d expected a dungeon?

Welcome back, Cumulus whispered. And though the sound was carried to her across a void, only the barest edges of its echo reaching her, to tickle at her awareness, it filled her with joy. She wasn’t alone, not anymore. The silence she’d been subjected to the last two days was finally over.

Cumulus! she replied, trying to project the thought as loudly as she could. Where have you been?

I’ve been with Brash. He isn’t feeling very well, Trixie.

What? What’s wrong with him?

You are. And though he was just a voice in her head, Trixie got the distinct sensation that he was frowning at her, with that professional sense of disappointment that had followed him his entire life.

Trixie didn’t try to say anything further. He clearly didn’t want to speak to her, despite the reassuring greeting. They’d return when they’re ready, and pressing Cumulus would do her no favours.

Instead, she made for the door, only to find it locked. She rattled the doorknob for a second, before falling back to the bed. She furrowed her brow, and lit her horn, enveloping the doorknob in an azure glow. The lock slipped back into the doorframe with a soft click.

Stepping out onto a landing, Trixie glanced around. It was dark, nearly too dark to see, but after a minute her eyes adjusted, and the shadows morphed into shapes. In front of her were stairs, leading down to a long hallway—the entrance hall, she realised. That placed her at the back of the building. Underneath would be the kitchen, and living areas, and to her right . . . more guest rooms? Trixie poked her snout into several, quietly confirming her suspicions. Though why Twilight needed to be able to house ten ponies was beyond her.

Faint voices drifted up the stairs. Trixie paused, but she couldn’t quite make sense of it, individual words, muffled by the wooden floor, mixed, and became a simple stream of background murmur. Trixie turned, trotting down the stairs and towards the noise. Her hooves made gentle thumps against the steps.

She came to the kitchen door. Warm, orange light spilled through the crack between the frame and the door, accompanied by a loud cracking. Trixie could hear the voices more clearly now. One was clearly Twilight, another Rainbow. Trixie narrowed her eyes. Another, a third—it was that unicorn from Ponyville, the one in the bath. Rarity, her name was Rarity.

She half-expected the conversation to be about her. About the murder of Shining Armour, and her dramatic capture. She had no idea how Twilight had managed to find her. She seemed to have a knack for showing up at just the worst moments.

But instead, what came to Trixie from that room was not bitter. There was an underlying sadness, yes, the knowledge that everything had changed, irrevocably, and for the worse, but in the timbre and pitch of their voices, cadences rising and falling and dancing with a slow, smooth tempo, she heard comfort.

Trixie shivered. Pressing an eye to the crack, she could feel the warmth of the fire inside, could see their frames; seated at the table, Twilight’s back to the fire and her face bent towards Rainbow, to her right. A peal of laughter rose, undulating, from the white unicorn. Within moments, both Twilight and Rainbow were laughing themselves, and though when Twilight seemed to shudder, clenching her eyes shut firmly, the cyan hoof on her shoulder held her close, held her steady. Trixie bit her lip, a hoof rising of its own accord to press against the hard wood of the door.

She caught herself, arrested the movement and stumbled back. She had no right to that fire. Instead, Trixie slowly moved back to the stairs, walked up to her room, and sank down on the bed, stomach growling. She’d been sleeping since the afternoon, and it wasn’t likely she’d be eating tonight.

Trixie tried not to think on it, but the image of Twilight, with Rainbow and Rarity, seated around that table in the flickering firelight, and smiling would not leave. It was incongruous, beyond any simple explanation she could think of. Twilight couldn’t have healed, not yet. Not so quickly.

Trixie had felt her pain. No, when Twilight had thrust her magic on her, torn apart her defences as a child would tear tissue paper, and pressed her memories upon her, Trixie had done more than feel it. She’d lived it, every excruciating moment of shocked disbelief, hollow anguish and earth-shattering rage.

She couldn’t rationalise Twilight’s appearance. She’d been calm, almost happy, if not for that simple shudder, for the cyan hoof on her shoulder. Trixie had wanted to go to her, to prostrate herself and beg forgiveness. She’d wanted, just for a second, to take a seat in that circle, to laugh, and to smile.

With resignation, she wrapped herself in the blanket and settled down in front of the window, once again staring out into the night. Perhaps this wasn’t so different, after all.

***

Boundless wasn’t aware of exactly when he awoke. He drifted in and out in a haze, struggling to clear the fog over his mind. What made it worse was the near-absolute blackness around him; peppered only with motes of coloured light, hanging in the air. It made it impossible to tell the difference between sleep and awareness.

Eventually, though, the rough stone under his body grew irritating, and the dust in the air caused him to sneeze. With a jolt, he came to his hooves, snorting and coughing. Loose grit fell from his side, and, wincing, he kicked at a small pebble that had sunken an aching hole into his flank.

Stretching, he heard—and felt—a series of unpleasant cracks and pops run down his body. Nonetheless, it was better than the searing fire than had covered him before the dragon’s intervention. The spell seemed to have used his own energy, given how tired he’d been—and how hungry he was now—and though he wasn’t going to argue with the results, he’d never heard of a spell like that before.

Still, of late he’d found that there was a great deal he didn’t know. He’d thought himself ready, with everything set in motion and under control. He’d been wrong. Even if Trixie had performed admirably, Twilight had repeatedly broken the boundaries everypony else obeyed. She’d shown him how little he actually knew.

Boundless lit his horn. He might not be as proficient with magic as Twilight, or Trixie, but he knew the basics; more than enough to illuminate his surroundings. Brownish light spread from him, reaching into every nook and cranny, lit up every mite of dust and loose rock. The little lights dimmed next to his radiance.

He was in some sort of cave. Stone walls curved around, meeting smoothly in front of him. Oddly enough, there were holes—regularly shaped, like windows, carved into the stone. He could see dirt, packed tightly into those holes, with networks of tiny roots running throughout. Gems were inset in the walls, glowing faintly.

The rest of the wall, indeed, nearly its entire surface, was covered in tapestry. Boundless stepped closer to one, wincing a little as his leg complained. The pain, however, was quickly forgotten as he stared at the image.

It depicted a snow-white pony, an alicorn, riding on curling waves of light into a dark tempest. She glowed, the golden strands of fabric emanating from her form were somehow glowing themselves, doing more than reflecting in Boundless’ own luminescence. He reached forwards, softly stroking her with the tip of his hoof. She was . . . radiant, a beacon of hope.

Below her, the land lay in ashes. Ruined villages, towns, even cities, devastated under a dark influence. It seemed to wrap itself around something, some shrouded figure that stood on air. It radiated menace, and ponies lay prostrate under it, huddled together with their faces pressed to the ground.

In the air, opposing the figure, a second alicorn flew on navy-blue wings, wearing a silver headdress and armour. She wielded a lance of glowing argence, plunging it forward deep into the black shadows of the storm. It was a picture unlike anything he’d ever heard of, something of untold value—clearly Celestia and Luna, depicted fighting an evil that none knew existed.

Boundless stepped back, casting his gaze around the room. There were dozens of these tapestries, scattered around the walls of the cave. But there was no other sign of opulence in the room, no carpets or furniture to make it more habitable.

Turning, Boundless could see the cave extending, sloping downwards. His light only reached so far into the blackness. He grimaced, staring down into the unknown. He didn’t really want to go down there, but it seemed that there was nothing else to do.

He started forward, at first moving slowly, practically dragging his left leg. But walking soon loosened his muscles, and within minutes his limp had vanished.

Then his outstretched hoof hit a wall with a small chink, the sound echoing in the tunnel around him. With a start, Boundless stopped, staring at the wall in front of him for a second before realisation dawned. He hadn’t hit a dead end—rather, the tunnel was curved. It descended like a spiral staircase, looping around, and around. Unaware, he’d been slowly walking closer to the side of the tunnel. With a shake of his head, he adjusted his step, and expanded the circle of light emanating from his horn.

He hadn’t been in a cave, he realised. He’d been in a tower.

The floor’s slope was noticeable, though not unmanageable, and soon Boundless grew worried. He had no idea where he was, but he didn’t think going down would be the way out. But the tunnel just extended, seemingly without end, diving further and further into the murky blackness.

At times, during the interminable trek, he fancied he could hear something beyond the sound of his hooves on the stone and gravel. It was the distant roar of a waterfall, streaming into the darkness alongside him. It made sense that the dragon would have taken him down the river. He’d just never imagined that this could have been where it would end.

Still, there was comfort in the notion. If nothing else, it implied that there’d be something at the end of the tunnel.

Boundless soon lost track of how long he’d been walking. He didn’t know the time beyond some vague sense of the hours since his awakening. His awareness seemed to contract into the darkness around his little patch of light, and the repetitive sound of his steps on the path. Eventually, though, the slope levelled out, and the box of light surrounding him expanded to a sphere as the walls dropped away. Before him, against the sea of black that extended outwards, he could see those motes of light spread out—tars, as if he was standing above the night sky itself.

Boundless sent a flare of power surging through his horn, sinking as much magic as he could muster into the light. It rose up around him like a miniature sun, washed outwards in a great burst, and for just a moment, he could see.

He stood on a high ledge, separated from the drop by an elaborate wooden balcony, carved with small serpents breathing tongues of fire. On either side, the ledge dropped away into long staircases, snaking around to meet at the front, and then leading down into . . . into a city.

It extended out underneath him for miles, stretching on and on into the distance, a vast network of stone and wood, buildings and streets interconnecting in an incomprehensible maze. It reminded him of Canterlot, in a way. There was a pattern to it, in the layout of the parks and hubs, in the low hills and sweeping valleys.

And it was destroyed. Boundless stood still, slowly sorting out the information he’d garnered in that one flash of light. He’d seen buildings, rubble, smashed streets and broken roofs, materials scattered here and there, covering the whole city. Something had happened, something had come in here, and ruined it, turned it into something new; created a desolate wasteland out of a thriving metropolis.

There was no life here anymore. Boundless glanced upwards, focusing his ligh. But where there should have been a sky, glimmering with starlight in the dead of night or glowing itself with the sun’s glory, there was only a ceiling of dirt, trailing roots and small strands of vegetation.

His eyes widened, sweeping the beam of light back down across the remnants below him. It was a buried city, completely covered over, on a scale that staggered him. How could something like this have happened? It was beyond belief, beyond anything he’d ever imagined. He’d thought the dragon had taken him to the end of the river—but that . . . that would place this city squarely underneath the Everfree Forest.

How could this be? It was a staggering discovery, well beyond anything else in Equestrian history. The implications alone . . . for all of his self-assurance, Boundless couldn’t deny some deep-seated sense of awe. His could still see his brief vision of the city, superimposed on the darkness below.

He let out a slight shudder, shaking his head and exhaling sharply, then turned, and headed for the staircase. His light waved back and forth, from the left to the right and back again, as he trotted down the stairs, effortlessly remaining in the centre of the path.

Halfway down the steps, he paused, cocking his head. There it was again, that faint roar of water, falling down onto rock and sand. It was stronger now, here, though only slightly. He was closer—closer to the river.

That river would lead him out. Boundless doubled his pace, taking the stairs three at a time. But while the rest of the staircase passed without issue, and he was able to cross the wide courtyard at its base in short order, once he’d moved into the city proper, he was forced to slow down.

Having the sound to navigate by was extremely helpful, but though he was able to keep his orientation straight, he was continually frustrated by fallen beams, and rubble, blocking his path. The city’s destruction wasn’t absolute, but it was enough to slow his progress considerably.

The little that remained standing was remarkable only in its similarity to modern Equestrian buildings. But the materials themselves hadn’t decayed—the wooden beams were solid, the squared stone unmarked, and carvings still standing in clear relief. Nor were there any plants growing amongst the ruins; no moss on the stone, or vines crawling along the wood. The lights, gems, again set in stone, marking the walls wherever he went.

Boundless filed the observations away, steadily making his way onward. Clambering over a rock, he ducked into a nearby building. Though its neighbours had all collapsed, leaving debris scattered all around him, it still had three walls standing, just barely supporting a sagging ceiling.

Unfortunately, the windows on the other side were blocked, a wall of dirt and grit filling into the centre of the building. Looking around, Boundless spotted a small staircase leading up to a second story. From up there, he might be able to get over the obstruction.

When he reached the landing, the clear windows, looking down on the pile of dirt weren’t what caught his eye. The beam of light from his horn passed over the wooden floor, and up the neighbouring wall. There, on a shelf and nestled amongst books, of all things, he spied a dash of colour amidst the monotone grey of the ruined city. A dash of blue—it was a feather, resting gently in plain sight.

Boundless approached it slowly, tentatively reaching out to touch it, his hoof quivering. It was just a feather, and though the splash of life awoke something inside him, brought a small smile to his face and lent lightness to his step, it wasn’t the colour that concerned him. He hadn’t been the first pony brought here. For all he knew, he wasn’t alone at all.

His hoof paused, next to the feather, as he noticed the text running down the side of the book. It wasn’t Equestrian—wasn’t in any language he recognised. Idly, he pulled it from the shelf, turning it over in his hooves. Dust shook from its pages, flaking away from an embellished design. Boundless started, nearly dropped the book. The symbol was that of the Crystal Heart.

He licked his lips. What was . . . it didn’t matter. There was so much going on here that he had no idea where to start. He couldn’t piece it together by himself. But this book . . . maybe if he could find the pony that had dropped that feather; he or she could translate it.

Boundless began to run. Grasping both the book and the feather in his magic, he sprinted through the window, blown open at some distant point in the past, and down the mountain of dirt outside. The street ahead was mostly clear, and he moved with the urgency of sudden desire. He needed to get out of this place. Its wonder had faded, somewhere during the hours of walking, clambering, and climbing, leaving only an eerie stillness, and dusty, stale air.

Slowly, steadily, the ground began to rise. Mouth twitching, he forced a smile in between heavy pants, laboured breaths bringing small pockets of clear air amid the dust cloud his hooves kicked up. The incline made it harder to maintain his gait, but it also meant he was getting closer.

The sound of the river continued to grow, the roar eventually reaching a crescendo of roaring noise that filled his ears. He could practically smell the water, a sweet scent made all the better by the dust and grime that clung to his coat, mixing with the sweat and lather of his run.

The city ended abruptly, buildings pressing right up against a solid wall. Boundless moved his light over it, marvelling at its size. It was rock, and packed dirt, extending all the way up to the ceiling high above. Though he couldn’t see it, he surmised that it would circle around the city, enclosing it under the ground. A giant cavern, on a scale he couldn’t quite grasp.

Stepping forward, Boundless found a small gap—a fissure, in the wall. It seemed barely wide enough to squeeze through, but it was where the sound had lead him, and as he examined it closer, he found a dull smear on the rock; a tuft of matted cyan fur and the dull carmine of blood, long since dried.

The pegasus must have passed through here. Boundless carefully moved into the fissure, holding his body away from the jagged edge that had caught his predecessor. It was an awkward fit, stone pressing close on both sides as he shimmied forward, but he managed it with no more than a slight crick in his back leg, and even more dirt coating him, rubbing into his fur.

Despite his enthusiasm, the other side of the fissure proved to be far less exciting than the city he’d left behind. As Boundless began to climb through the caves he found there—regular, standard caves, so far removed from the wonders of the city it was as if he’d stepped into another world—he noticed water running over the ground, wetting the undersides of his hooves.

He had to slow down to avoid slipping, but even so, the water filled him with hope. Then, reaching a vantage point, he turned a corner to see it, mouth dropping open and eyes widening, dancing, and shining. The river cascaded down in front of him, a glorious spray of water that dropped from a tiny speck of daylight far above into a black abyss. A wall of mist hit him in the face, turning the grit to mud.

He stood there, for a minute, holding a hoof under the waterfall before he began the climb. And though it took over an hour of struggle, carefully positioning his steps and testing his weight, hauling himself up boulders and across crevices, he eventually gained the summit—emerged out to find himself on the bank of a river in the ruins of the old castle in the Everfree Forest, under a dying sun and a gathering tempest—with no more than a few abrasions, minor cuts and scrapes across his flanks and torso.

“Good evening,” the dragon rumbled, without looking at him.

“To you as well,” Boundless murmured, stepping forward to stand beside it, and following its gaze.

The dragon was staring at the heavens, his arms outstretched and mouth ajar. Rows of glistening teeth glimmered in Boundless’ magic. Above them, high in the sky, there was a whirlpool of air, crackling with energy. Silver bolts of lightning flashed through the growing clouds, shaking the sky and the ground with a shattering boom. Even as he watched, water coalesced in the air before him, forming bubbles, droplets that hung before the dragon. Affixed, they gathered into a stream that sped upwards, to join the gathering storm. It grew, and with it grew the promise it contained, of power and a furious need to destroy.

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing,” the dragon grunted, though it seemed to cost him. His shoulders shifted, as if bearing some enormous weight. “The Conduit and the Warden are not ready yet.”

“Who?”

The dragon glanced, eyes sliding from the tempest above, rolling down to stare at Boundless. With a snarl, he wrenched his arms down, and the water suspended before him abruptly shattered into tiny sparks of light, then fell to join the river. He gave the storm a final, dismissive glance, and with a gigantic roll of thunder, it began to move, heading south.

“It is no concern of yours, pony,” the dragon said. Boundless paused, waiting for him to continue, but he simply sat there, in the river, with water rushing around him.

“Very well, then. Why did you bring me here?”

“I saved your life, pony. More, I saved your vision.”

Boundless narrowed his eyes. “Thank you, I suppose. Why, drake? What interest could you have with me?”

“You may refer to me as the Drac,” the dragon said, eyes glinting.

“That’s not your name.”

“No. But it is a title, and it serves me well enough. Regardless, your gift is more important than you realise. Understand that I cannot protect you once you leave this river.”

“What, so all this, it was just a coincidence?”

“Not at all. Rather, a curious chain of events. Twilight could only have come to you at the river, pony, just as I could only have saved you from these waters.”

“How did she . . . she keeps appearing where she shouldn’t. Every time I think I know something, she shatters my expectations.”

“She learned well,” the dragon said, somehow working a rolling hint of laughter into his guttural speech. “It matters not. They have lost your trail, pony.”

“Why down there?” Boundless asked, gesturing back at the entrance to the caves.

“You awoke in what was once the highest point in this land. It overlooked more ground than Equestria itself. It was to show you the meaning of consequence. It was to give you context. Make of it what you will.”

“And this?” Boundless brought the book forward. His magic had shielded it well enough from the dirt and water, and the heart detailed onto the cover was in clear relief in the light-brown light. “This book I found in the city—next to this feather.”

“A remnant of the cities last guest,” the Drac said, dismissing the feather. “The book, however . . . that is more curious.”

“Can you read it?” Boundless asked, trying to keep the desperation from his words. To be so long without knowledge, to find so many clues, hints at the whole picture, sat poorly with him. It irritated, nagged, made him think and question, go over every last detail. He wanted to know.

The Drac took several moments, just staring at the cover. “Yes,” he said, finally. “Yes, I believe I can.”

“Well?”

The Drac cracked a smile, though Boundless saw more menace than mirth in the brief flash of white. “It will take time, pony. When you bring the artefact back to me, I will know more.”

And that was that. Boundless nodded, beginning to head upstream. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, the Drac had taken an interest in him, And while Boundless might be able to find somepony else to translate the book, he didn’t think he’d be able to wrest it back from the Drac’s grasp. Indeed, it could easily prove impossible to stay out of his grasp.

And it was a plan. For so long, he’d been making moves in a game he couldn’t see, a game he didn’t even understand the rules to, or the prize. To have the Drac force his way in, assume control with such confidence, and such knowledge was . . . comforting, in its own way. He had more of the picture, now.

“And, pony?” the Drac called. Boundless turned, glancing over his shoulder.

“Don’t drink the water.”

***

Trixie woke to the sound of heavy knocks at the front door. Groaning, she rolled over on the bed, then cracked her eyes open only to immediately press them shut again against the morning light. The air was frosty, and she pulled the covers tight around her, trying to hold the warmth of rest, to stay with it for just a moment more.

The knocks sounded again, more forcefully this time, closely followed by an annoyed yell. Muffled thumps came, hoof striking wood on the landing outside her door, then the faint swish of wings beating the air. It seemed Rainbow had gone to answer the door—a suspicion confirmed when the pegasus shouted back down the hall;

“Twilight!”

Trixie could have sworn she heard more than exasperation in her tone, though. There was a note of apprehension, a fear conveyed in the lifting pitch, and the way the shout carried back through the building, hanging in the air. Something wasn’t right.

Well, she was awake. Trixie rose, somewhat unsteadily, trying not to shiver, and clambered off the bed. Stepping over to the door, she heard more hoof-steps—Twilight, presumably—heading down the stairs. Trixie was planning to wait, see if she could hear any of the conversation, perhaps with her magic, but when Twilight let out a soft cry, a cry of pain and shock and disbelief, she’d gone through the door before she realised what she was doing.

She wasn’t the only pony on the landing. Beside her, Rarity gave her a glance—full of contempt, and disgust—then turned back to the scene before them. But while Trixie was aware of the sudden hostility, her attention was drawn to something else.

The knock at the door hadn’t been any regular pony. Standing before them, locking gazes with the approaching Twilight, Princess Luna waited, a dark, shaped plate of metal clenched tightly in her magic.

That was a piece of armour. In fact, it matched the descriptions Trixie had read of Nightmare Moon’s armour, matched the pictures drawn of that single night she’d reigned. And from their reaction; Rainbow’s choked call, and Twilight’s gasp, they knew exactly what the Princess was holding before them.

“Twilight,” Luna began, stepping forward. Twilight hurtled into her, clutching the alicorn around the neck in a fierce hug.

“Luna,” she said, smiling. “Welcome home.”

That brought a similar grin to Luna’s face, and for a moment, the scene froze, each pony revelling in the sudden peace. But it couldn’t last, and when Twilight stepped back, she turned her attention to the artefact.

“Is this . . .?”

“’Tis the armour of mine enemy, yes,” Luna replied. “Alas, I am unaware of how I came to be wearing it.”

“Rarity says you crossed the border with it. Do you remember anything?”

“I do . . . but mine sister assures me that those memories do not serve me faithfully. Has it truly been ten years since I last laid eyes on thou?”

“Ten years,” Twilight murmured. “You disappeared just a few months after the Lethe, Luna. Where did you go?”

“In truth, Twilight, I have come to ask of thou a boon. Please, grant me thine expertise. I find myself convinced that mine lost time hath a greater significance—and that ‘tis wrapped in this.” Luna proffered the armour to Twilight, extending it towards her.

She’s reverted, Cumulus said. It’s an offer of partnership . . . but, Trixie, listen to the speech patterns. She’d gone back to the old ways. Why?

“Can’t you do that yourself?” Twilight asked, cocking her head.

Luna took a step forward. “Perhaps . . . but I fear its influence. Should the armour take me, thou wouldst be hard-pressed indeed to stop me.”

Twilight nodded, swallowing as she considered the object floating in front of her. Slowly, the dark-blue field enveloping it receded, replaced by the softer lavender. “Alright, Luna. I’m yours to command.”

And as the Princess of the Night bowed, eyes twinkling, Trixie couldn’t help but feel the weight of the world settle around them, some small portent that slipped between them, fluttering away into the night's wind.