The Moon Also Rises

by Nicroburst

Forty-Three

I will attempt to trick him. I will awaken him, and open his eyes to the trap surrounding his mind. I will set in motion events that could doom the world, or save it. In doing so, I will expose myself to the Elements, and to Celestia herself.

Agyrt Vaeros will find you, once you have recovered from my defeat. He will reach out to you, and use you. He will seek an end to this, though what next, I cannot guess.

Forty-Three

PINKIE TRUDGED. Head down, she watched her hooves brush through the snow, one step at a time. She’d stopped paying attention to where she was going hours ago. The snow fell, ubiquitous and dominant. It saturated her mane, rimmed the lines of her body, and collected in the small holes that marked her steps, erasing the past hours, a second at a time. White and grey ruled the skies.

She was shivering, somewhere. Outside. She heard little cracks as she moved, ice shifting to accommodate her. She saw her breath steaming. She was burning up, somewhere. Inside. She stoked a raging fire. It caught in her throat and her shoulders, clutched at her heart.

The blizzard swirled around her. The snow was deep, here, each step falling into the drifts. All the way to her knees. Night had fallen some time ago. The ambient light hadn’t changed: the moon fared little better than the sun. She trudged forward, trusting in her blindness that it was north. Eventually, she would be swallowed entirely.

A claw on her shoulder stopped her. For a moment, her world was turned green, a flickering, roaring, verdant. Life run rampant. Sickly. Diseased. The snow melted, boiled, rose from her as vapour. Her shivering came to a halt, and she hissed, the sudden heat stinging her skin. She pressed forward.

This storm wouldn’t last. None of them would. At least here, in the snow, all she had to do was walk. There was no time for thought, for justification or condemnation. Just movement, movement and the fire.

Time blurred, became lost to memory. She could not say how long she had been walking. Hours became days became minutes.

Intermittently the green returned, but mostly she saw white. Mostly, she heard nothing, nothing but the wind playing a soft melody, sweeping, stirring.

Her hoof bumped something solid. She snapped her head up, and then craned her neck back. She stood at the base of a tall structure. Reflecting blue eyes and pink fur, it sparkled in the light. Wearily, she noticed the dawn, breaking far in the east. The snow had stopped, for now. She bit her lip.

“Made it,” Daerev said beside her. “Pinkie?”

“Mmm,” she said. They moved along the wall, now, looking for a way through. It was made of crystal, though she could not see through it. The light bent strangely, refracting, splitting into component colours, and casting them back out at her. It tinged the snow before her lavender, then sky-blue, then green, yellow, orange, red . . . a rainbow, laid out at their feet. It drew her forward, though it ran from her, and her hooves could never catch it. Mired in grey.

She shook her head, and for a moment, the world bent. The grey faded, and lavender rushed towards her, swept over her. She bathed in each colour, in turn, spurning only green, sweeping it past her in an instant. A sigh at her side interrupted the reverie, and Daerev passed her, forging on ahead.

Soon enough, she dropped the magic and followed him. She avoided the tracks he left, though his bulk had cleared ample room for her, preferring to clamber her way through the loose drifts. It had piled up against the wall, so that her legs sank down, and the snow tickled the underside of her barrel.

The gates to the Empire were wide open. She hadn’t expected that. But they were greeted with good cheer, even excitement, and ushered in with only the minimum of fuss—clothing to protect against the cold, food, water . . . Pinkie shrugged off the coat as soon as the ponies there had wrapped her in it. She preferred the cold, right now.

“-will want to see you right away,” one pony was saying, addressing Daerev. He glanced at Pinkie as she joined them. His fur was glassy, crystalline. Pinkie reached out, touched it, felt the sharp little pricks each fragment left when she rubbed the wrong way. The pony gave her a strange look, stepped a mite back. She hadn’t noticed that, the last time she’d been here. So long ago, then. Memories swirling like the snow.

“Of course,” Daerev said. “Lead on.”

Again, they were moving. There was no more snow here, she noticed. Curious, that. The sky—yes, yes—it remained overcast, clouds a sparkling white gleam, now, as the sun found its way to them. The streets were clear, crystal cobblestones with not so much as a spray of dirt to mar their sheen. Small houses were arranged in long lines, each boasting a garden, fresh grass growing, flowers blooming, despite the chill. For that, though, it remained desolate, quiet, the still of a frozen wonderland.

She blinked, and they were in a carriage. Daerev, too large, was nowhere to be seen. She shivered, met the eyes of the crystal pony seated opposite her. He was smiling, a gentle, warm smile. She looked away. The wheels rattled as they moved. The right window was obscured by green. The wind beat helplessly against the walls. It could not get to her, wrap her in its embrace. Her breath fogged up the window at her left.

They stopped in front of a castle, and Pinkie Pie stirred. She stared at the steps down from the carriage for a moment, at the hoof offered her. Then she jumped, and landed on crystal, and felt the tremors run up her legs, through her knees. She took a deep breath, and shook her head violently, exhaling.

“Come on,” Daerev said, gently, alighting behind her. He rolled his shoulders, cracking the tendons, and she winced. “Let’s not keep Her waiting.”

Silly Spike, Cadance isn’t a Her, she thought, and froze.

Inside, the palace sprawled gargantuan. The double doors opened onto a long hall, rising ever so slightly as it travelled. The ceilings themselves soared above their heads, and open doorways gave glimpses of rooms described by nothing so well as cavernous. It should have rendered the place desolate, an echoing silence that roosted in the mind and swam behind the eyes.

Instead, it felt spacious. Breathy laughter floated from every which corner, refracted like that light. The walls themselves sparkled, glimmering lights following their movements, fading at their approach, like coy children, wondering at the newcomers. But mostly, it was warm, and set against the briskness of the air outside, that made all the difference in the world.

She felt lighter, here, with some weight lifting from her back and some knots working themselves out of her muscles. She felt like she could rest, here, without fear of being caught.

“Daerev! Pinkie! So good to see both of you,” a melodious voice rang through the air, breaking Pinkie’s thoughts.

Cadance herself was radiant. The pink princess glowed with an inner light, moving towards them like a miniature sun. Every part of her was awash with it, and her smile . . . most of all, her smile beamed forth, a spotlight. Pinkie was briefly transfixed by it. But she knew smiles, in and out and front-to-back, and for all its gleam, her light betrayed her: Pinkie could see the taut muscles in her jaw, the stiffness of her lips; it was a brittle thing, a shield no less desperate for its radiance. She returned it, mirrored it, and Cadance faltered, if just for half a heartbeat.

The princess swept her into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and Pinkie clutched at her, pulled her closer.

“You . . .” she let out a strangled laugh. “So am I. Oh, Cadance, me too . . .”

They clung together for a moment. “Welcome to the Crystal Empire,” Cadance finally sighed. She stepped back, and rubbed at her face. “It’s too early for this. The two of you must be exhausted.” She turned, began walking away. ”Come, I’ve plenty of room for you. O-or,” she paused, turned back, “maybe you’re hungry? I was just about to break fast myself, if you’d both care to join me?”

A loud rumble filled the room, lasting five . . . ten seconds, easily, before it settled down. “Uhh,” Daerev muttered. “Breakfast sounds divine.”

Pinkie Pie giggled.

The food was served on silver platters, crystal lids designed to catch the light filtering through the palace, so that each drop of water on the heads of lettuce sparkled, each movement of milk splitting and refracting, shades of grey splitting out into a whitewashed rainbow, so that a soft glimmer covered everything. The simplest of touches, and yet, it had the unique effect of reminding her how far they’d come . . . more than any of the grandiose elements of the Empire, it came down to this minor addition.

But then, she’d had little to eat the last few days, and nothing she’d wanted to eat. So Pinkie let herself go, let her hooves dive forward, seizing at the bowls of oatmeal, trays of pastries, piles of fresh fruit and salads. The others were too busy themselves to chuckle at her expense. And with each bite, each morsel that slid down her throat, she felt herself thaw. Not entirely to her will, no, but the good cheer was infectious, and Pinkie could not help but smile at herself, and shake her head.

“Now,” Cadance said, leaning back with a hoof on her stomach. “I believe I know what you’re here about.”

“You do?” Daerev twisted his mouth. “I had hoped . . . we’re too late, then.”

Cadance nodded. “And yet, no. But we have everything under control. I insist, rest. Our problems will wait for your fresh eyes.”

They were lead away from the dining hall, and left Cadance at the intersection of two halls. The palace sprawled, far more elaborate and complex than she’d assumed from the outside. Scattered about, artworks, from crystal sculpture to frescos lining the walls to stained-glass windows, breathed a sense of home into it, while the staff, assured, confident, yet frenetic, moving with a graceful hurry that bespoke tested competence, gave it life.

“Pinkie Pie? Daerev?” a voice called out. They halted, the servants leading them already bowing. She caught sight of the voice’s owner, sharp intake of air, lips in a small ‘o’, bowed herself.

“Princess Luna!” Daerev said, rising. “This is . . . a most pleasant surprise.”

“Indeed,” Luna said, approaching. With a tinkling laugh, she lifted Pinkie from her position on the ground, and dismissed the servants with a wave of her hoof. “I shall guide these two to their chambers, good sirs.”

Luna waited a moment, watching them depart. Then, “I have witnessed the most appalling dreams, my little pony-“ eyes flashing to Daerev, “and dragon. Tell me. What happened in Hornwall?”

***

Daerev reached a talon into the far side of his mouth, gently dislodging a shard of crystal stuck between his teeth. He was thankful he still had some of his baby teeth. A dragon’s adult mouth was full of sharp, serrated edges, perfect for slicing through tough fibres, like those found in meat, and some vegetables, but the rounded, flat molars were much better suited to grinding through gemstones. Life would lose a little colour, were they no longer a staple part of his diet.

Cadance cleared her throat, and he withdrew his hand, abashed.

They were in the antechamber to her quarters, a spacious area furnished with long couches and plush armchairs so soft Pinkie’d sunk nearly an entire foot upon sitting down. Well-lit through the many windows lining the walls, Daerev could see, far below, ponies were moving through the streets, packing their wares away or returning home from a long day’s work. The sun glimmered on the western horizon.

“We have to find him,” Pinkie was saying, front hooves striking at the ground before her, punctuating each word. “We saw him take the train from Hornwall, he’s here, he’s here he’s here.”

“Boundless,” Cadance said, narrowing her eyes. “And he’s . . . he’s the one . . .”

“Yes.” Daerev stepped forward. “I know this is all so sudden. And I—we’re—so, so sorry. But . . .”

“He’s taken the Heart.” And that crushed the last little shred of hope in his chest. Too late, for all of his sacrifices. Perennially too late. He rubbed a claw over his face, growled softly under his breath.

All heads swivelled to see Princess Luna close the door behind her. She came forward, stopping abreast of Daerev to address them. “That has always been his goal.”

“Princess,” Pinkie murmured, inclining his head.

“Auntie,” Cadance said, moving forward to nuzzle Luna. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Luna nodded at Daerev and Pinkie. “After this morning, I visited Hornwall, and then Canterlot. What I learned . . . what I saw . . . is troubling. I have not been paying Equestria enough attention of late.”

“You’ve been preoccupied, auntie,” Cadance said. “Your absence, Nightmare Moon’s armour . . . we all know you’re doing your best.”

“Hmph.” Luna shook her head. “It matters little, now. What we need to know is exactly what he’s planning to do with it.”

“The Crystal Heart?” Cadance bit her lip. “I’m afraid even we’re still not sure how it works, really . . .”

“Why . . . why does that matter?” Pinkie said. Her eyes were fixed on a window, facing north. She spoke softly, her voice just barely reaching Daerev’s ears, as if coming from a great distance. “If we . . . if we just stop him, here and now, then . . . then it won’t matter what the Heart is for.”

“No,” Luna said. “I have been blind too long. I must know what’s happening here. There is too much at stake.”

“Actually,” Daerev cleared his throat. “I agree with Pinkie on this one. He’s taken far too much from us all already. If we can find him, I say we put an end to this, permanently.”

“Violence does not beget you, drake,” Luna spat. She fixed him in place with her gaze. “Your dreams have been punishment enough. Do not mistake bravado for courage, nor martyrdom for sacrifice.”

Daerev wilted, and clamped his jaw shut. He could feel the fire, stoked, glowing, burning brightly at the base of his throat.

Pinkie hadn’t so much as twitched at his words, though Cadance was staring at him with wide-eyes, a look of such horror, betrayal, that once again he felt the tidal surge rip upwards through his gut, a wave that clenched his stomach and throat, tore at his tear ducts, and brought his jaw muscles to aching, a wave that he fought down, sheer will and the acknowledgement of cost, of the price he had to pay . . . in one sense, he hated this weakness, this terrible remorse, but in another he revelled in it. It meant he was not lost, yet.

“Sombra used the Heart to control the populace,” Cadance blurted out. “Could that . . . be . . .?”

And then Luna paused, and her face lit up in recognition. “Of course,” she breathed, and nodded once. “I understand . . . I see . . . yes, yes, well done indeed, my,” pausing, mouth twisting, lips bunching together, ears falling down flat on her skull, limbs tensing, shoulders held stiff, “my friend.”

“Princess?” Daerev ventured, his voice cracking on the second syllable.

“Canterlot, he killed Shining Armour,” a glance at Cadance in commiseration. “By testimony of Trixie, the murder weapon herself, we know that his aim in doing so was two-fold: to learn more about the Crystal Heart; its holdings, its security measures, its capacity . . . and to remove one of the more powerful obstacles in his way. Hornwall, he unleashed a group of criminals on an unsuspecting populace,” now meeting Daerev’s eyes, then a long, steady gaze at Pinkie, a pursing of the lips. “An affirmed motive there was to provide enough confusion and chaos to allow him to invade the then-sealed Crystal Empire ahead of his pursuers, and to slow them down significantly in their pursuit.”

“You’re saying we made it worse,” Daerev said, with a sinking voice. “If . . . if we hadn’t been chasing him . . . all those lives . . .”

Pinkie spat. Actually, physically spat on the floor. Everypony stopped, shocked, turned to stare at her. Finally, she moved, meeting Daerev’s eyes with accusation and affront. “Really? You’re going to take on those deaths as well?!” She marched across the room, lifted her front hooves, falling towards him, and grabbed him by the throat. “I can’t bucking stand it anymore, Daerev. Where’d little Spikey go?!”

Abruptly, she pulled back, and the world twisted, and she was gone.

Daerev stood up from where he’d fallen onto his back groggily, head ringing. Cadance was moving for the door in pursuit, but Luna cut her off, placed a hoof on her shoulder. “Not yet.”

“But . . . auntie . . .”

“I know. I’ll handle her. But we’re not done yet.”

“So much pain . . .” Cadance, wilting, collapsed into Luna’s embrace, folding against her as if all her bones had turned to water.

“Hornwall was not your fault,” Luna said, her back now facing Daerev, but raising her voice to carry over her shoulder. “Nor was it Pinkie Pie’s. Do not be so quick as to absolve the evil of those crimes.”

Daerev had nothing to say.

“But whether or not your presence exacerbated the situation there is tangential. Rather, I was drawing a common link to his actions across Equestria.”

And then Daerev got it. From the sudden stiffness in Luna’s stance, he surmised Cadance had had that same epiphany, that realization that made everything clear.

“Both times,” Luna continued, “Boundless has applied his unique talents in one way and one way only. Despite his capacity, he has only rarely killed, and never openly, instead, taking what ponies he can find under his sway, and using them to kill, rendering them capable of murder. I conclude: he has made it his mission to dissolve the Veil’s influence over us, by any means necessary, whether he knows it or not. He has done so through fear and hatred and violence.”

“The Crystal Heart,” Cadance whispered.

“The Heart,” Daerev said.

“And the Heart,” Luna looked grave, now, her frame sagging under some tremendous weight, “can transmit emotion. Such is how Sombra used it. Such is how we used it to defeat Sombra. Indeed, the citizens of the Empire have been kept well-informed of your state, niece, over the past weeks.”

Luna pushed Cadance back to her feet, moved to the door. “That we persist tells me he has not the capacity or the knowledge to make use of what he had. But should he find some way to . . . suffice, we shall face an epidemic of fear and hatred the likes of which Equestria has not seen since before Moon’s Fall. I fear we are rapidly running out of time.” Luna paused. “I will comfort Pinkie. The two of you . . . be ready.”

And she disappeared into the hallway, the echoing sounds of her swift hoofsteps coming back and bouncing all around them.

***

“Pinkie Pie!”

Luna’s words bounced around her as she ran down the hallway. Her delay had forestalled Cadance and Daerev—critical, if she wanted to maintain the thin veneer of control she still retained—but it had also enabled Pinkie Pie the time to disappear completely.

The residents of Hornwall hadn’t been able to give Luna much information. All major remnants of that night of terror had already been cleared away—clearly a priority among the citizens—and reconstructions were well underway. Nonetheless, Luna could see the marks left in their downcast gazes, mumbling voices, and constant evasion. A visit to the lock-up, however, had proven far more useful. The prisoners there, quite apart from a valuable discussion of their erstwhile leader, Boundless, had inspired in Luna an appreciation of the frightening efficiency with which Pinkie Pie had hunted the various murderers around the city.

Of all the various Coromancers, Anchors were by far the most rare. Their particular brand of reality-bending was frustrating to deal with at the best of times: at worst, it bordered on Discord’s madness. Should Pinkie Pie wish to hide, there was precious little that could find her, and should she wish to find something—or someone—there were precious few who could hide.

Luna tossed her head. Anchors might be rare, but there were more than one. She was an Alicorn, a combination of all three races. She had inherited their potential, too, that of a unicorn Seer, a pegasus Conduit, and an earth pony Anchor.

She reached forward in time, just a little bit, trying to feel with her hooves rather than see with her mind. The texture flowed over her, through her, a slippery, slimy sensation, full of bumps and dints. Her tail did not twitch, nor her ears flop, she had no need of psychological barriers to her power, instead her body simply knew, understood with a precision that defied logic. With a fierce grin, Luna slipped to the side, and twisted the world, sinking into the shadows underneath the windows.

She emerged outside the castle, in an alley just off a large boulevard. Crystal ponies were going about their day, pleasant smiles abounding and tinny chatter resounding over the background buzz of the day. Luna glanced around and then trotted out into full view. The ponies there paused as she went past, watching their Princess with respect. Luna returned nods and smiles were she could, without slowing her step.

Pinkie Pie, as marked by a tell-tale flash of pink through the crowd, was just ahead of her. Luna, however, had the benefit of a parting crowd to ease her passage, and so she caught her quarry in moments. Pinkie gave her no more than a glance as Luna fell into step beside her—the ponies around them now giving way to hushed murmurs, gossip already beginning to spread outward.

“What do you plan?” Luna said, pitching her voice low, almost a whisper.

Pinkie snorted. “It doesn’t matter. Something.”

“Will you hear me out?”

“I don’t want to stand still.”

Luna bit her lip, acutely aware of the listening crowd. “This isn’t the time or place, my little pony,” she tried.

Pinkie just stopped where she was, her head dropping low, her entire posture moving from rigid and tense to . . . slow, almost defeated. Denying her response, Luna lit her horn, focused on a quick spell. Reaching out to touch Pinkie’s shoulder, she let the magic take hold.

The castle again, Luna’s private rooms. It was the closest place she was familiar with, after all, and a seat of her power. The little touches she’d grown so accustomed to the past few days gave her comfort now: and she wasn’t so blind as to deny the reaction she’d felt—the ease with which it repositioned her as the villain of the story. She’d had quite enough of that role.

“Pinkie,” Luna said, trying her utmost to instil in her voice some measure of Celestia’s calm, her tranquil seniority. “Pinkie, please, let me explain.”

“There’s no need, Princess,” Pinkie said, and the moniker stabbed at Luna. “I understand.”

“Doth thou?”

“Like it’s supposed to be so super-crazy-awesome,” Pinkie said, “just to know how somepony could be so mad. So . . . so broken. And for what?" She rounded on Luna, face contorting as she spat words like missiles. "Where's the line, Princess? Is this delay worth one life? Two? Three?!"

“Oh, child.” Luna swept forward, her hooves encircling Pinkie in a great hug. But not for the pink mare, still trembling in the wake of her impotence, no, for Luna, to still the ache in her chest and the pain in her arms, throbbing, burning, pushing her forward . . . she clenched Pinkie tightly, pulling her into her fur. “It is not worth anything. And yet is this not the path we must take? A paradox, verily, confronted with ice-cold logic? As ponderous and careful and inexorable as a glacier?”

Pinkie slipped from her grasp, suddenly slick, as if covered in oil. “That’s just giving up!”

“No.” Luna’s sad gaze caught her, froze her in the instant. “It is the best of a bad situation. Experience does not blind me to opportunity, Pinkie Pie. I have seen the devastation in his wake. I visited Hornwall myself, while you were numbing yourself in the ice. And I know, I know what will happen when we do nothing but sit and watch.

“You could destroy him. I could destroy him. Right now, without any particular difficulty or challenge. And what will we have accomplished? A cessation to pain itself— relief for Equestria, consolation for his victims? It is an admirable path, and a short-sighted one.

“Boundless is not unique. He is at best the first of his kind, a fact proven by the existence of Trixie Lulamoon, and indeed those souls you so expertly rounded up in Hornwall. And if we do not find some way to forestall him at the source—find some answer to this, some way to reconcile his toxic freedom from the strictures that keep us safe . . . then he will continue to haunt us.”

“And so you spend us,” Pinkie said.

Luna’s throat closed. Pinkie tilted her head to the side, her eyes tightening for just a moment.

“What do you know, Princess?” Pinkie whispered, before raising a hoof. “No, no. I don’t want to know.”

In silence, she left Luna’s rooms. The turbulent Princess remained behind.

***

The world manifested around Celestia in the space of a second, details flickering into being as she pondered their absence. Still, they were not all as she remembered them: the proportions of her room were correct, the windows were in the right places, as was her bed, bedstand, bookshelves . . . but the fireplace was lit, and the portraits were of old friends, long since dead.

“Luna,” Celestia said, turning to watch her sister phase into her dream. “How is Cadance?”

“No greetings for your sister?” Luna said. She’d always had a certain grace about her, Celestia observed. She faded into existence front to back, each inch materialising in a rhythm to match her forward gait . . . the door swinging closed behind her with a quiet click.

Celestia created a chuckle, observed it escape her passively. “Lulu,” she said, warmly. “I have missed you, you know.”

Luna ducked her head. “And I you, ‘Tia. I did not mean to convey anger, when last we spoke. I was merely . . . frustrated.”

Celestia waved her hoof. “Think nothing of it. I heard the borders have been reopened.”

“Yes,” Luna said. “Cadance was distraught when I reached her. I am assured, however, that my presence aided her to no small degree.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Celestia said, smiling. “I would have gone myself. You know that, right?”

“I- . . . Yes.”

“Luna?”

“Have you heard of Hornwall?”

Celestia scrunched her muzzle. “Only in vague rumour. You know how well words withstand a pegasus’s flight—or, rather, how poorly.”

“No, ‘Tia, it is as bad as you’ve heard. It seems that Boundless fled there immediately after leaving Canterlot.”

The dream shifted around them. The walls, full of whitewashed stone and mortar, became murky grey, a pecked, mottled texture, with putty bulging and oozing down its length. Portraits morphed between faces,

What Celestia said was: “I see. And now?”

“We have cornered him in the Crystal Empire.”

“He’s after the Heart.”

Luna’s eyes widened. “I confess, it took me some time longer to reach that conclusion.”

“I suppose you would have,” Celestia said, smiling. “You never put much stock in legends. It’s the way they think—myself included, sometimes. Always a bauble, an artefact or trinket that holds sway, never the ideas that caught your mind.”

“I should have seen it sooner.”

“You could make the same accusation of me, sister. It is fruitless. You have found him, and brought this nightmare to a close, as you ever have.”

Luna shook her head. “I doubt it shall prove so easy. He has evaded capture thus far, including repeated encounters with Twilight Sparkle.”

“You suspect . . . what, a Passion?”

“Yes. It is evident even in what little I have Seen . . . Harmony has blessed him with a most unusual gift—that of breaking down barriers, resisting stricture. “

Celestia paused. Boundless’ talents for destruction and . . . actually, that made a lot of sense, given the information she’d been able to gather about his past. He’d always seemed to idolise a life of crime, taking to the streets as soon as he could and resenting those who tried to keep him safe. Combine that with a less-than-dizzying intellect, and she’d been surprised to see how little time he’d spent in prison. But a Passion for freedom, for breaking through walls? What force could hold such a creature down?

Luna was still speaking. “Young Spike believes it an all-or-nothing affair, and has taken it upon himself to bring Judgement.”

Celestia did a double-take, her mind sent spinning by the abrupt shift. “Daerev’s done what?!”

“Daerev?”

“A new name, to represent his transition away from childhood—and, I suspect, towards what he believes to be draconic morays.”

“Ah.”

“Quite. We’ve the Drac to thank for that mess.” She frowned. It would take years for Spike to grow into himself, even without the added complications. And still, she couldn’t intervene without appearing to intervene: an act that would most definitely do more harm than good. If what Luna said was true . . .

“Well, he’s become taken with the ideal of the martyr.”

Celestia bit her lip. “Spit it out, Luna!”

“Pinkie Pie stopped him, as far as I can tell,” Luna said. Celestia breathed a sigh of relief. “But the fire is there.”

“In more ways than one, I take it?”

“Indeed.”

A delicate situation, then. “And Pinkie Pie?”

“Chafing at the bit. She fears for the civilians, for Boundless himself. She cannot see a way to please all parties.”

“They’re growing up,” Celestia said.

“Perhaps.”

Celestia moved to the window, stared out at the inky blackness of the night sky. As Luna moved to stand beside her, it seemed to gain life, to sparkle and twinkle, to wave hello back to her. A cold embrace, argent and void.

“Do you ever wish for a static world?” Celestia whispered. “One where everypony could live and die children? A world free of hard choices, free of the pain caused by strife?”

“All the time, 'Tia,” Luna replied. “All the time.”

Comments

[RTStephens]

So it sounds like Boundless' plan is to create some sort of anti-harmony bomb.

Too bad Pinkie and Spike are left feeling so helpless when the culprit is practically right under them.

And Darth Luna helping Boundless out as well. So many pieces to keep track of.

Keep at it!