The Moon Also Rises

by Nicroburst

Thirty-Nine

Yet Typhus is coming, he will not slumber forever. And the stormfront that precedes him has defeated us before, defeated a nation of Coromancers, trained from birth to wield Harmony’s power. The Equestria Celestia has crafted will be unable to do so much as delay Him. They will be crushed, washed away, as sand before the tide.

What halted him, then? Some say our sister turned the tides, and far be for me to neglect her contributions. But the lesson, Luna, the knowledge gained . . . t’was the Well—an old legend, proven true.

Thirty-Nine

LUNA LED a small group of ponies through the sky. The wind, rushing past her, did nothing to disrupt her mane or tail, glowing starlight streaming ethereal in her wake. It was entirely unfair, Rainbow thought, how easily she flew. She was drifting through the air, as if it were a gentle stream carrying her forward. All the while her escort, Rainbow included, were panting just keeping up.

Rainbow had tried to take point, intending to take Luna back to the field where they’d encountered the scouts. Apparently, that was a faux pas in the here and now: almost immediately she’d been ushered back, to take place one rank behind Luna, and to the left of the wedge formation.

Rainbow had little time for thought, as Luna set a demanding pace. Occasionally, she would have to correct their course, shouting to make her voice heard. But squinting into the rushing winds, trying to pick out the minute details she’d barely paid attention to in her mad rush away occupied the majority of her attention, and she could do nothing to assuage a growing sense of dread, as if heading back towards some implacable danger. Contrary to her expectations, Luna’s presence did nothing to reassure her. She knew, though she did not want to believe it, that their skirmish was more than a small tussle. Those ponies had been trying to kill her.

It was not long before they reached the expanse of plains, long grass rolling over small hills, gentle slopes and stretches of uneven ground, where Cirrus had first spotted them. The marks of their fight were plainly apparent, flattened grass, too dry and dead to spring upright, apparent even from this height. Luna dove, landing hard, the impact sending a rush of dust outwards. Rainbow, mimicking the other pegasi, were gentler, dropping in around the Princess in a tight circle.

One pegasi turned to Luna, his helmet flashing under the sun. “They’ve gone to ground, Princess. We could track them fairly easily from down here, but we won’t catch up without flight. They’ll spot us long before we see them.”

“They turned around, Cap’n,” another called, sweeping his gaze around the northern edge of the makeshift clearing. “No tracks north.”

Luna nodded. “Take three south,” she said, addressing the captain. “Box them in. Do not engage.” Her horn ignited, a faint tinge of magic spreading over the group. It settled into their coats, sparkles shimmering. Before Rainbow’s eyes, her bright cyan, and even the iridescent rainbow of her mane and tail faded, dulled, each colour shifting in hue until they resembled nothing more so than mud, a palette of brown and grey.

He saluted, before tapping the three nearest pegasi on their shoulders. The group took off, flying almost vertically up, before splitting out in four directions. Rainbow understood moments later. They’d find the edges of this expanse of grass, attempt to outpace the invaders there, and wait. The camouflage that was doing so well to hide them would become a trap they could not escape from. And there was nothing they could do from the ground: that strange weapon would not be able to reach the same heights a pegasus could.

Luna angled her head at Rainbow, just an inch, and two pegasi stepped in beside her. Not quite touching her side, they flanked her closely enough that her fur began to prickle, and—once again, intention flashing to her mind just a moment after the fact—blocked the expansion of her wings. She would have to brush them both, in order to fly, and that delay, infinitesimally small as it was, as she adjusted to the confined space, would allow them to react. She was trapped, too.

That inkling of danger grew stronger, and warning bells went off in her head.

Trouble was, she was a stranger here still. So many things were almost the same that she’d allowed herself to relax, only to be caught out. Both Rainbow and Rarity had thought they had the Princesses’ trust, or at least tolerance. They had no reason to suspect anything otherwise. But perhaps . . . perhaps there was something in Luna’s words, in the way she had peered at them, or considered their responses, that should have tipped them off, should have given them a hint of danger to keep their ears pricked.

She had allowed herself to feel, at least in some part, welcome. That sense of comfort evaporated in an instant.

Luna marched them forward. They moved no faster than a walk, a pegasi with his eyes turned to the ground accompanied by two watching the waving of the grass, listening for movement. Luna’s horn was lit, a dull, deep blue shimmering around it, faint enough to be almost invisible under the sun.

The silence, uncomfortable from the first step, soon grew oppressive. Nothing beyond the crunch of dead vegetation under their hooves reached her. With mounting anticipation, she watched the vanguard shift through the grass, the scene gaining intensity, a taut sense of expectation. Within minutes, Rainbow’s mind was screaming for the open sky, and the roar of the wind. Her first attempt to speak was immediately shushed by her flanking guard; the second left her with what she was sure would be a bruise by the morrow.

The others appeared to be at ease. Their peace of mind—at first guess, originating in the comfort of an alicorn at their back—seemed, to Rainbow’s eye, to be born of familiarity: the curious mix of boredom and tension that thrummed through her most experienced fliers. Was this apprehension mere stage fright, then?

The wall of grass ahead fell back with every step they took, brushed aside and flattened by hooves, only to spring up again once they’d passed; the effect being a bubble, an insulated pocket of space amidst green.

Ahead, the pegasi halted. Luna leaned forward, wisps of magic trailing her horn. There was a soft sound like that of a cork stopper, pulled from its bottle, but muted, dulled. And then the roaring of the wind, the crackle of the weeds: all picked up in volume, increased, as if she were moving at great speed, until Rainbow clutched at her ears, eyes wide, straining, spinning about to find the source of the sudden cacophony.

Everypony was frozen where they stood, none twitching so much as a wing. Rainbow had only enough time to see them breathing, rule out paralysis by way of stumbling across some magical trap, before the lead pegasi sprang into motion. Wings snapping out, hurling themselves forwards, hooves outstretched and grasping . . . they disappeared into the grass. Chasing after, as the noise came to her from amidst the storm of ambience, the faint sighs of repressed breathing.

Luna was racing past her, hooves making no sound with each heavy step. The guards flanking her nudged her, prompted her forward, and she followed, trotting in pursuit.

Now that she noticed, she wasn’t making any sound, either. Rainbow opened her mouth, tried to say something—just a whisper, just enough to hear her own voice. Nothing. Not a peep issued forth. She tried again, ballooning her cheeks and screaming until her lungs ached. The pegasi on either side didn’t so much as glance at her.

They came to a clearing, argence pinning the grass down in a wide circle. At the centre, pegasi sat still, heads turned towards Luna, rumps planted on the sides of fallen ponies. The unicorn lay unconscious, some yards away.

Rainbow imagined the scene. An ambush, of course, for these would have seen the pegasi overhead, divined the noose closing in around them. It was to be expected. Hence, the disguises, muting their vibrant colour to blend with the environment, the insulation of sound, to both locate the trap and spring it unawares . . . even now, Rainbow’s coat and mane returned to normalcy, as if mud, clinging to her, was being washed away by an invisible river, and the world outside retreated, until she could no longer hear the breeze passing by. Rainbow absently rubbed at her jaw, the muscles aching.

“I had thought you all perished,” Luna was saying, stepping closer to the downed ponies. The pegasi saluted, stepped off their captives, who were immediately seized in telekinetic bonds.

They remained silent.

“Your Master has been defeated,” Luna said, moving yet closer. “Your armies are scattered, your forces broken. Wherefore does Typhus yet draw such allegiance?” There was an edge to her tone, a sharp sibilant hiss that sent shivers down Rainbow’s spine.

Still, they kept silent.

“Is there no recourse?” Luna said. “Would you not rather to live, and live well? What meaning has this resistance to offer, little one? What mantra deserving of such pain?”

Rainbow made to move forward, lifted a hoof, acutely aware of the mounting tension, the distance, glazed-over look in the captive’s eyes and the hard lines running across Luna’s body, down her legs, all taut muscle and brittle intent, only to be grabbed by her guards and held back.

“So be it,” Luna said, and turned away. “Return this one,” gesturing at the unicorn, “to mine sister. She will rip the secrets from his mind. Of the others: dispose.”

“Yes, Princess!”

All saluting, the pegasi sprang to action, two grasping the unconscious unicorn and bearing him up, high into the sky. Briefly, Rainbow entertained the thought of him waking up as they bore him back—anything before . . . —but they could easily restrain him, particularly against the fear of falling.

Others pulled small blades from scabbards hidden underneath their barding, blades Rainbow had somehow missed or just pretended to ignore.

“Stop it,” Rainbow said. “They . . . they can’t deserve this.”

“What anypony deserves is immaterial,” Luna said. She shook her head.

The captives were moving now, thrashing, struggling to break free of Luna’s grip, of the guards advancing on them. One lurched upright, taking two steps before a blade flashed across his throat, the airborne pegasus gone before he’d realised the danger. He slumped forward, hitting the ground with a thud, now writhing. His muzzle opened and closed, no sound escaping but for short pants. His eyes rolled back into his skull, exposing bleached-white sclera. His legs spasmed, kicking out at imaginary foes.

“Stop it!” Rainbow screamed, pressing forward against the hooves blocking her way.

Luna shot her a disgusted glance. Magic impacted the side of her head, dazing her, then wrapped around her muzzle. Strain as she might, she could not open her mouth, could make no more than small squeaks of protest. Eyes wide, ears laid flat against her skull, she watched—unable, now, to even turn away.

An earth pony lifted his head. Meeting Luna’s eyes: “Kill us if you like. More will come.”

Rainbow staggered, trembling legs temporarily unable to bear her weight.

“Who?” Luna demanded, striking the earth with a hoof. “Speak!”

But he was sneering; skin pulled back from his lips, and said nothing.

“Do you suppose to buy yourself time?” Luna said, her own muzzle twisting into some sort of grimace. “It will avail you nothing.”

Moving quickly, efficiently, the guards scoured the clearing, brought each pony together in a group, slit their throats, and stabbed their hearts. Mechanical, soulless, eyes averted but with nary a twitch. Rainbow threw up, thin vomit pooling on the hard earth and trickling down the slight incline between her legs.

That got her some attention. “As for you,” Luna said, her expression flat, “I would advise you to think long on your loyalties before presuming to judge us.”

Rainbow wanted to speak. Familiar, however, was this sensation, this . . . numbness. Too much, too fast, she was in shock, no longer able to quite process the events before her. She opened her mouth, found no air in her lungs, and closed it again.

Luna considered her. “A shame.”

The glow around Luna’s horn expanded: the same spell, bearing with it unimaginable pain, or . . . something else? Rainbow shook her head. Her thoughts moved slowly, only half-heartedly linking together, as if half-asleep. It was all she could do to feel, to dwell on the horrors before her.

Moonlight reached her forehead, and she fell. The last thing she saw before her eyes drifted shut were pegasi, flying low over the tall grass, earth ponies draped in their arms, alighting before stern Luna, so still.

***

Luna was waiting by the bed when Cadance awoke. The pink Alicorn stirred slowly, eyes fluttering open several times before sinking back into shallow unconsciousness, teetering on the brink. It was at least a half-hour more before she made a sound, a soft sigh. Her gaze traced the wall down from the ceiling, taking in the sunshine outside before finding Luna, inclining on a couch nearby.

“Luna,” Cadence said. A smile came to her lips, disappearing so quickly Luna wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all, replaced with a flat line, a creased brow. “Luna.”

“I wish to apologise for provoking you,” Luna said. She’d considered many approaches to this conversation. She’d had time: Cadence had been out all night and well into the next day. So much time, in fact, that Cadence’s staff had just about fully repaired the damage the castle has sustained during their fight, clearing out the odd sawdust-like scent of chipped crystal and freshening the room. “I regret the need for it.” She could shift blame, plead ignorance, affect sorrow, or hurt, or anger. There were a hundred different ways she could handle her niece, each with predictable fallout. “And I am sorry for what I said.”

None of those, however, had the appeal of a straightforward apology. Sincerity had its own uses.

Cadence shut her eyes. She said nothing for some time, Luna leaving her to her thoughts. Finally, she sighed, stretched, and sat up, throwing the blankets back. “I can’t quite believe you did that,” she said, turning away to stare at the wall. “But then, I can’t quite believe myself, either.”

“I have little trouble,” Luna said. “You underestimate yourself. It is a testament to the love you shared, not any failing on your behalf.”

“And after Twilight and I let loose on Canterlot, too,” Cadance said.

“Twilight has recovered, I am pleased to convey, at least as well as we could have hoped.”

Cadance shook her head, the ghost of a smile playing about her muzzle.

“But,” Luna said, leaning forward, “I am not here to pass on good tidings, nor to knock some sense into you. Cadance, my dear niece, you have worried us.”

“Well, that’s to be expected.”

“Please . . . talk to me.”

“What’s to say?” Cadance laughed a hollow, dry thing that bounced off the walls. “I haven’t the mind for this, Luna. The absence of hate . . .”

“It is empty, yes.”

“I . . . I just feel so . . .”

Luna waited. Around them, the air moved with sluggish melancholy: a wind, cold and fresh, eased its way under the window. The crystal walls, sparkling, reflected and refracted, an imperfect mirror, showed Luna herself thrice over, as if posed in various states about Cadance’s form. Their Princess was huddled, prone, daggers of light reaching into her, splitting her apart.

“It’s so . . . so big,” Cadance said, voice beginning to crack.

Luna stepped in close; let her niece feel the warmth of her body. Empty was not the right word, not for what Cadance was going through. Sorrow had ripped through her, and by her proxy, through the Mountain, that night. Now, with anger burned away, it was coming home to roost. But Cadance had to ask, first, had to be the one to extend a hoof.

Cadance cried. Leaning into Luna’s embrace, she rested the top of her head against Luna’s breast, hot tears soaking into the bedding beneath her. Luna murmured nothings, warm voice and soft fur conveying far more than any words.

Until finally, she looked up, tear-stained face imploring, and asked “You-you’ve . . . you’ve been h-here,” drawing a shuddering breath, “h-haven’t you?”

“Many times,” Luna whispered.

“H-how . . . ?”

“You change. You get used to the pit in your stomach. You block away memories, until they no longer sting. You find something, not to replace, but to distract, to occupy your mind. Eventually, you heal.”

“I- I don’t want . . .”

“The world was not always this forgiving. I have watched thousands go, in my time,” Luna said. “Ponies, my subjects and friends, died kicking and screaming in muddy soil. My hooves are steeped in blood, the remnants of wars so old they do not appear even in legend.”

Cadance stilled, beginning to pull away.

“Even now,” Luna continued, “I do not forget. We are spared that horror, at least. To return to a treasured moment, scarred enough to bear the pain, and find it absent. The swell of emotion vanished. The tick playing with the corner of their mouth, the sound of their voice, the shape of their face, all of it following pain into the void.”

“It’s so hard,” Cadance breathed. “So much time . . .”

"You will always remember.”

Cadance nodded, now sitting on her own. She drew breath, rose up to her full height, straight back, square shoulders. “Thank you, auntie.” She could bear it, only a little at a time, perhaps, just enough to feel the strain, but she could bear it.

Luna smiled.

“Would you like rooms here?” Cadance ventured. Her eyes revealed the truth. “It would be no trouble, really.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Luna said.

She had been left alone for far too long already. There was a time and a place for necessity. The death of a loved one was not it. Cadance’s actions had been hasty, unreasoned, yes, but they would be reversed. She had rejected Celestia’s reasons for delay at first, now she spat on them. It was not like her sister to be so lax, so merciless in her actions. It happened slowly, steadily, but the turning point was here and now, with Cadance gazing at her so helplessly—suspicion morphed to mistrust, and a dark voice now firmly rooted in the back of her mind repeated its sibilant message.

For the Sun has shown itself flawed.

Her sister had the best of intentions. Of that, Luna had no doubt. But she could no longer allow Celestia to commit to these decisions, not without more than mute protest. She understood, in a slow, snaking way, the path that led here. Even as far back as Moon’s Rise, freed from what she imagined to be a dark and corrupting spirit by the warmth of the Elements of Harmony—their synchronous choir repelling tainted thoughts and desires alike—even then, was she predestined for this? Was the Drac, who had taunted her, sent her over the edges of the map, just another move in a long and drawn out war, a collision between herself and her sister?

And how could she be sure she was not merely succumbing to temptation? It was easy, no? It was such a simple thing, to think of Celestia as a tragic failure, to hold her in esteem even as she stole the throne away.

She was not committed yet. Luna had yet to make her defiance open, to do more than manoeuvre and strategise. Would that Rainbow and Rarity might return, bearers of news, information, to free her from this dilemma! And yet, they might still be too late. So much was in motion that she could not See, could not choose . . .

And at the end of the corridors of her self-doubt lay Cadance, bawling on her shoulder as her heart was ripped asunder for the second time.

Cadance was smiling at her, a small smile, the sort that might convey gratitude, or apology. “The usual is still available,” she said. “I never . . . I never changed that.”

“And the rest?” Luna asked.

“Tonight,” Cadance said, nodding. “I am sorry.”

“Yes,” Luna said. “I know.” She stood to leave, pausing at the doorway to glance back at her niece. Cadance was frowning, the iron in her posture trembling.

“I’m going to find him,” Cadance said, quietly.

Aha. There it was: the resolve that forced her upright. She had no need for that kind of fire; it would only serve to prolong her misery.

“Tell me,” Luna said, “do you agree with my sister?”

Cadance pricked her ears upright, and she turned her face towards Luna. “Celestia?”

“She would that we persist in this ignorance of death,” Luna said. “That this pony be prevented from visiting such pain upon you. That all be prevented from committing such a crime.”

“I don’t follow.”

“The First Murder in a Thousand Years,” Luna said, intonating her words. “And you are not curious as to why?”

Cadance was openly frowning, now, the corners of her mouth straightening to form a flat line.

“There exists a spell that marks infants,” Luna said, “All infants, of all species, in the moment of their birth, across all of Equestria. It is called the Veil. It prevents such crimes, prohibits them utterly. One . . . just one, was born free of it. Why?”

The logic was surprisingly simple, now that she thought of it. She had followed Boundless’ life, in bits and pieces, snatches of moments, from the side of the Lethe, sixteen years ago, before she lost ten years to the world outside Equestria, before the Drac had brought her to question everything she believed to be true. He had been born on Moon’s Rise, indeed, in the precise moments during which her brief reign over Equestria lasted. Was it a coincidence that he was the only one free of the Veil?

To do so on a nation-wide scale will drain me beyond hope of resisting our sister’s plans.

It was the Nightmare’s doing: one, final act—but of terror or of justice? What might that cost have been, to hold back the Veil from the newborn, to prevent its action, just for that one . . . maybe not to the extent that the Nightmare might have beaten the Elements, but drained her nonetheless, so as to offer only a token resistance? That the Nightmare had chosen this child, over her own life . . . Some stratagem, designed to invoke complacency in Celestia, in the Bearers? Or was it sincerity, in its most naked form . . .

What did that make Boundless to Luna?

“Celestia believes this spell vital. She points to the pain spared across a millennium of peace, and considers it justified.” Luna held Cadance’s eyes. “What about you?”

“I agree. Unequivocally.”

“I am not so sure.”

“How can you say that,” Cadance cried. “You’ve witnessed this first-hoof,” spreading her hooves to either side, “all this devastation, this tragedy! What could possibly be worse than . . . than . . .?”

“I don’t know,” Luna said. “I- I don’t know! My memory is denied me! My past-“ she cut herself off abruptly, clamping her mouth shut, remained still for several moments, breathing. “Ah,” she said, eventually, “ah, I am sorry. You have no need of my woes to add to your own. It . . . Suffice to say that there is more we do not know.” Luna advanced on Cadance, hooves clacking against the crystal floor. “I agree with you, and Celestia, in my heart. That such misery might be avoided . . . That that is a goal worth fighting for. What worries me, however, is that it might not be me saying as such.”

“Does that sound all so bad?” Cadance asked, in a small voice. “What I might trade, that . . . he be here with me.”

“Oh, oh, dear. No, no, this is not the right time,” Luna said, retreating. “I . . . I am so sorry, Cadance, for everything. Just rest for now, and I will send you sweet dreams to ease your sorrow. Just, just rest.”

Cadance complied without protest; likely still exhausted from their fight and the emotional whirlwind she was flying through. Simple enough, really, to forestall thoughts of vengeance and retribution, though Luna might have chosen other topics in hindsight.

Luna left Cadance’s bedroom, stepping past guards and servants as she made her way down the hall. It was only a short trip to the rooms Cadance had set aside for her, but even so, she had to brush off no less than four attempts to assist her in some fashion—from chefs inquiring about the evening’s menu to masseurs eager to ply their trade. She was in no mood for company. Thoughts hidden behind a mask of careful self-control were spilling out now, piling up on one another, and the Day grew late.

***

Rainbow woke to bright light. She took some few moments, rubbing at her face to clear the last of her sleep away, before pushing herself half-upright and looking around.

Rarity stood nearby, under guard. Ponies, clad in polished armour gleaming under the waning sun, held spear-tips to her throat. She was rigid, head held still, eyes bouncing around the room.

Luna sat on her makeshift throne, atop a dais. Proud and regal, staring down her muzzle directly at Rainbow. She couldn’t look at the Princess without swallowing, trying and failing to suppress a wince. No longer befuddled by shock, she cast all consideration of Luna’s brutality from her mind. There would be a time and a place to grieve, to ponder, to process.

It appeared Luna had put her to sleep. Why? Everything had seemed to be progressing smoothly . . . they’d met the Princesses, gathered information interesting if not vital. Had something changed?

Beside her, another brilliant white light formed. Rainbow started, turned to look. Celestia herself, bending over, radiant horn touching the temple of—that was the unicorn! The one who had . . . who had tried to kill her, to kill all of them.

And Rainbow realised her mistake. Stories and tales of war had amounted to an adrenaline-fuelled rush in her mind, a thrill always careful to assure her of safety. She should have noticed the dour faces of the ponies she’d met, the seriousness with which they rebuilt. They had fought, recently, for real, fought not for control over Equestria, or some magical artefact, but for their lives, in the most immediate sense.

“Well, sister?” Luna called.

“As we suspected,” Celestia said. “He has been Taken.”

“And the others?”

Celestia shook her head.

“Can you . . .’ Luna made a vague gesture with a hoof, glancing at Rainbow and Rarity as she did so.

“No. It was not by force, but persuasion. His mind . . . contains His seeds. ‘Tis not the domain of Harmony to refute such a choice.”

“Though the Heavens fall,” Luna murmured, nodding at the captive. Promptly, guards moved forward, took the unicorn in a conjoined telekinetic field, and carried him from the room. Rainbow closed her own eyes, counted to three, taking slow, steady breaths. Stay focused, Rainbow. Keep your mind on task.

“And these two?”

Celestia’s head was bowed, and her jaw clenched. At Luna’s prompting, she shuffled over, coming to stand before Rainbow. Such a sight, usually so comforting, an assurance of peace and safety, now inspired naught but dread . . . Celestia’s face drawn taut, limbs bending to bear her visage down to Rainbow’s . . . “Hold my gaze, little pony,” she whispered.

Rainbow had practiced this with Twilight many times before. She was well used to the sensation of a Sage, pushing her way into her mind. With Twilight, it had always been about trust, a gentle, comforting presence, settling comfortably alongside her. This, however, was entirely different.

Celestia pushed into her mind like a drill through rock. She was not cruel, not needlessly rough, but nor did she delay, attempt to coax Rainbow out. Defences were stripped away in an instant, thoughts laid bare, and no heed given to how much Rainbow squirmed under her attentions. She flicked through her entire life, barely glancing at each page . . . searching, searching for something. Images ran through Rainbow’s mind, painted themselves before her with a vividness she could not have attributed to her memory. Painful images, private images, memories of failing, of falling, of redemption. Of Luna, addressing her, and sending her to the past.

“Ah,” Celestia said, though she did not draw away. “They have had contact with Him, yes. But . . . what’s this? How . . . they broke free. Not a choice, not a choice . . .” she hummed under her breath, “Discord, Discord, who is Discord?”

Rarity made a strangled sound on the sidelines, immediately silenced.

“Is this . . . me?” Celestia said. “Elements, elements . . . Twilight Sparkle. And . . . finally . . . t’was a Nightmare. Night-mare, Mare of the Night, Mare of the Moon.”

Luna cleared her throat, and Celestia turned away, leaving Rainbow to collapse.

“A fragment, sister,” Celestia said. “It exists with fractured mind and spirit, but it exists. It must be responsible for the Taken.

"Will we never be free of Him?" Luna asked, sighing.

"They named it Discord, and turned it to stone.”

“Petrification,” Luna said, leaning back. “An interesting solution: it would keep Him separate, keep Him weak . . .”

“Something to look into,” Celestia said. “I shall turn my attention to it immediately.”

“How did they break free of His touch?”

Celestia shook her head. “They do not know themselves. It is worth pursuit.”

“Later, ‘Tia,” Luna said. “We must tend to our safety first.”

“Yes, sister,” Celestia said, bowing.

“As for this Night-Mare . . .” Luna said, trailing off.

“T’was you who sent them.” Celestia hummed. “It appears much has been lost, over the years. That thine divine raiment should be feared so . . .”

“Enough. You know my question.”

“No, sister. They mean us no harm. Their little story was, to my great surprise, somewhat honest. They seek information, nothing more, though they come as observers, not scholars.”

Luna grunted. “Scouts. My scouts, apparently. Fine, fine, set them from your mind. The other may not have known anything, but I see no reason to disregard his most gracious warning.”

“Oh?”

“Discord comes.”

Comments

[RTStephens]

I wonder if that mind read that Celestia did is the reason she's so well prepared for the future. It would explain a few things.

Time travel can be such a pain!

Nice, quiet scene with Luna and Cadance after the blowout last time. Touching, really.