The Moon Also Rises

by Nicroburst

Fifty-Eight

I harbour a suspicion, to this day. Beyond even the well of power that informs our abilities, the source of Harmony itself. That concern is terrestrial. I lie awake, surrounded only by writings, by imaginings, and I cannot but dream. Perhaps the proclivities of my sister, honed over the long years of proximity.

I dream of the stars.

Fifty-Eight

LUNA HOVERED ABOVE Canterlot. The city below was in turmoil, mad panic descending on the streets as Typhus loomed near. His pace had only accelerated, without her to slow Him.

Her presence in the sky would help bring order below—as a symbol, visible to all, of resistance and hope. There was, much as it chafed her, nothing better she could do, as drained as she was. It took all of her strength to remain airborne, still, and allow the light of the moon overhead to shine down.

Reports from the city, filtering through the populace as gossip is wont to, had lead her quickly to the Ponyville contingent. They spoke of Celestia battling Discord in stillness, even as the Forest overran them. Luna knew that battle, knew, too, that Celestia had lost as Typhus came overhead—that Discord had dissolved into the Storm-God from where he had come. That vital edge, so hard-won, now lost, and made all the worse by her loss of her Nightmare.

She looked at the apples in her grip, gifts—Warden-grown, as she had interpreted their explanations. Applejack’s power, a form of temporal stasis, was more fundamental than most Coromancers realised, it went back to the same interactions Chaser’s exploited in their Jumps, the way Seers peered forward and backward through time. The apple, floating in her telekinetic grasp, represented literal power, stored away—power and the emotion that entailed.

And Luna wasn’t sure if she should take it.

She had already held such might. Unassailable, god-like power. She had threatened, once, to cast the land into eternal night, and had known—known—that it was within her power to follow through on that threat. She had held the God of destruction that loomed now over her city at bay. Every time, she had failed.

Small victories, eked out where she could. But always—always—ending in defeat, in submission.

Her sister was in there. Twilight, the Bearers of Harmony—they were in there. But they had all pulled off the impossible before; each of them responsible for the most astounding of victories. Luna feared, now, at the precipice, that her aid would be in vain. Worse.

Were she to succumb to the Turning, the havoc she might wreak . . . it did not bear thinking about.

So Luna hovered, and thought, turning the apple over and over. She could not hold Typhus here, anymore than she could in the southern deserts. She could aid the evacuation, but it would consume her—take up the last of what strength lay here, in Ponyville’s fruits. There would be no more forthcoming.

The bottlenecking was the worst of it. She could clear the mountain, leave everypony in the valleys below, clear to flee northwards. Except she had no doubts as to the results such confusion and panic would produce. They were lost, now more than ever, bereft of the fundamental morality that had persisted, the undercurrent of calm that had pervaded their lives. It would be carnage.

She sank through the air, towards the ground. She could help, a little, with words. Part of her knew her delay, recognised it, but she pushed that part away.

She called for the Captain of her Guard—the stallion standing to attention beneath her for long, stretching minutes, as she pondered. She gave him direction, to clear the pegasi to the north, with what they could carry, to prep a unit to be stationed at the base of the mountain, to reverse the stream of refugees attempting to begin the climb, direct them around. Belongings, she decreed, were to be abandoned. They would make for Hornwall, and from there into the Crystal Empire. Cadence, perhaps, would have a better idea.

She teleported him to where he needed to be, his soldiers to the base of the mountain.

Then, licking juice from her lower lip, she faced south. Faced Him, the Stormwall that haunted her.

Magic thundered through her, and it was unfamiliar. Luna was used to uncertainty, to anger, to a burning passion that demanded action, brought out the protectiveness, the motherly elements of her. Hers was an acerbic love, a recognition and acceptance of responsibility.

This—Applejack—was something else. It was parochial, familial. It spoke to her of the orchard, the long green hills and flat plains of the land. Of Ponyville, and the friends that it consisted of. The smell of summer, cut grass and petrichor. The sound of birds greeting the rising sun.

For the first time in a long, long while, Luna became a part of Equestria. Not just its ruler, its protective spirit watching through the night, but an integral participant in it. Not mine, she thought, but ours.

There was ultimately no choice at all. From here, it was win or die, with nothing held back and no thought to protecting some small remnant that might survive the coming apocalypse.

Invigorated, she reached out and met Typhus, threw herself, body and mind, into His depths.

***

Celestia looked up at the swelling storm from her tower window high in the castle. The dragon bargaining with her sister had long gone ahead, their visitors from a far-flung future trotting away from her, heads bent towards each other in dialogue.

She tumbled the Element of Harmony over and over in her hooves, lips pursed. All the pieces, shards of hope that she’d found in their memories, the leftover knowledge of her time wielding Harmony itself . . . the picture coming together was not something that Celestia relished.

And part of her was tempted to defy that future. To turn away from Nightmare Moon and the frozen statue of Discord, to reject the shield erected around their borders, tied, inextricably, to Harmony and the prison surrounding the enemy. It carried hope, and love, and a promise of happiness for a long, long time. But it also promised heartbreak—demanded sacrifice.

She was not so callous as to dwell on her sacrifice. What she asked of Luna, implicit and understood, was beyond anything she would have to face. Did she not think it necessary, Celestia would do everything in her power to avoid it.

But.

The dragon’s demands would be met, trading present aid and acceptance in return to future absolution. Discord stopped, preserving the lives of those seeking refuge in the stone underneath, even those currently under his sway . . .

She swallowed, watching the clouds gather. This was no Typhus—no unstoppable force. Discord was but a weak imitation of his master, his attempts at intimidation feeble in comparison to what they had faced. He seemed so . . . mortal, so fragile. Surely they could defeat him?

Still, the dragons were lost.

And in the end, it was that that tipped her scales. She would not consign those souls already Taken to the void, she would risk anything to free them from their torment. That was her failing, perhaps, or her salvation. It didn’t matter; she was responsible.

Celestia broke the Element of Harmony over her knee, felt the energy trapped within spill out. She drank it in, familiar and comforting, at first a trickle and then a surge, a tidal wave, sweeping her away. Her awareness exploded out of her, reaching towards the vastness it had once occupied—only to fall short.

She recognised this. Expected it, even. But it drew a pang of regret nonetheless, as her grasp fell short.

She placed the boundaries of her spell as far as she could. Reached north, towards the Well, empty and lifeless—drained—and fixed herself upon it. The world shaped itself to her will, but not without protest, earth and stone shrieking, massive tremors sweeping across the plains. Mountains split, avalanches of rock tumbling down, the sea spilled in to great fissures, exploding in towers of steam, forcing the land apart. She broke the world, and then healed it, forced it back together just so.

And at the centre, the castle, preserved at the eye of the storm.

She shaped Harmony into a river, feeding into the Well at the base of her castle from the peak of a nearby mountain. She drew every beast, every plant into her weave, touching their minds and spirits with the flame of Harmony. She found Discord, raging, and touched him, too.

She completed the Veil.

It fell into place all at once, a terrible weight settling onto her shoulders. Her mind flashed, memories altering themselves as she watched—her past erased, and replaced, a new, sanitised version of mythology replacing it, drawn from Celestia’s imagination as much as from Rainbow and Rarity’s memories. Just a little, just enough—figures of legend and the shapes of old stories—so that they would fill it in for themselves. And embedded in the heart of life, a morality shaped upon Celestia’s heart, a code, upon which her nation would be founded.

Discord, screaming, struck back.

His magic was far more directed than hers, for all of its impotence. He struck at the Well, at the castle, chaos ageing the stonework and ripping into the plain around it. Her city shuddered, vibrating, sinking, ever so slowly, into the ground as it collapsed around her. Plant life sprang up, surrounding her, closing over the disappearing roofs and binding itself together.

Celestia watched him work, somewhat detached. The Veil would do its work—reshape even him into something safe, without edges, a monster to frighten but never to harm. He would never threaten hers again. Almost idly, from her ruined tower, watching her ponies flee the rising forest, she froze him to stone.

She turned her power inwards. There wasn’t much left, she realised with a start, the river rapidly running dry. She took pieces, and condensed it, forged it as she had Luna’s armour into artifacts of Harmony. Stone baubles, set upon the floor.

Then the last. Celestia took still, even breaths. She could feel Harmony at work, out there, in the world.

Nightmare Moon burst in through the stained glass set high above her seat. She screeched, swooping down at Celestia, eyes burning with betrayal and hate, the curse of jealousy consuming her entirely.

With the last of her strength, Celestia struck her down, and banished her to the moon.

***

Twilight watched Celestia advance, His hatred writ across her face, all screwed up in an unnatural sneer. It seemed so alien, so bizarre, to see that upon her mentor’s face. She struggled to draw breath, struggled to rise.

But her friends were around her, Fluttershy reaching into her to provide succour, Rarity bolstering her spirit and Pinkie firming her resolve. Rainbow stood tall against the profile of lightning and rain, her silhouette defying the elements, Applejack shielded her with her body, sliding in between her and Celestia.

Overcome, Twilight let out a hiccup, which became a sob, which became a weak chuckle.

And then a falling star crashed to earth with a thunderous detonation, piercing the Storm and striking Celestia’s back. The flash blinded Twilight, the screaming wail deafened her.

Slowly, the ringing began to abate. She rubbed her hooves in her eyes, spots on her vision beginning to recede. She could feel, much clearer than she could see, the tangled magics flying through the air, weaves and blasts of power moving faster than she could track.

“Twilight, come on,” Rainbow was saying, hovering just a foot over her. “We’ve gotta go!”

“Wha-”

“Luna’s buying us time.”

Her vision cleared enough for her to make out two forms, one midnight blue, the other noon white, facing each other. Luna tossed her head over her shoulder, eyes tinged with the same madness that corrupted Celestia.

“My Element’s helping her,” Rainbow said. “But it can’t get to Celestia. Come on, Twilight!”

She let herself be dragged to her hooves. Stumbling, she broke into a trot, following Rainbow.

After a few steps, she looked up, taking deep breaths. She was okay, she was alright—she hadn’t expected that. Fluttershy? She glanced around, saw her friend up ahead, waiting for them at the lip of the castle entrance, where the Lethe plunged down into its depths.

The castle. It loomed above them, even now, weathering the Storm with the same quiet stoicism it had weathered the years. Not without injury—and grievous at that. An entire tower had been blasted free, rubble cascading across the Forest in every direction. New blackened charcoal trails marked electrical impacts, sections caved in or stone cracked and torn asunder marked the Storm’s physical brunt.

She tore her gaze down, slipped briefly on the wet rock before Rainbow caught her.

“Easy, now, come on. I’ve got you.” Rainbow picked her up, hooves under Twilight’s shoulders. “And down we go.”

She remembered the route; she’d followed it more than enough, over the years. The first time unknowing, and from then always with an excitement, a sense of discovery, save once. The darkness didn’t bother her, though Rarity had made sure to illuminate their way, nor the rushing waters, cacophonous, beside them.

The sounds of Luna and Celestia reached them still, though the Lethe had swallowed up the residual noise of Typhus’ movements. Twilight focused on her ears for a moment, then pulled back in Rainbow’s grip.

“Twi’?”

“What’s Luna doing?”

Rainbow paused for a moment before continuing down. “She’s leading Celestia down here, after us.”

“Why?”

“Maybe she thinks the distance will help? I dunno, Twi’. Maybe she’s just getting pushed back.”

“No,” Twilight murmured. “She wouldn’t lose.”

“Ahuh.” Rainbow tightened her grip. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here.”

The pool glittered in the darkness, reflecting the five stars shining at the heart of the Elements. Twilight reached up and patted the Element of Magic, felt its cool metal under her hooves, then pulled it from her head.

“This is the Well.” Her voice carried, across the cavern and back, echoing from some far distance side. She was certain of it now. The air felt thick, to her, her skin tingling and her horn reverberating. “We . . .”

“Twilight?” Rarity said. “What now?”

Twilight gingerly approached the pool’s edge, gently easing her head under its surface, careful to keep her mouth shut. Instantly, the voices sprang into her mind, shouting, now, in terrible contrast to the whispering chorus all those years ago. They cried out to her, begging her to join them—to become them.

She pulled herself backwards, gasping. “Celestia crafted the Elements of Harmony from the remnants of this power. We need to put it back. Make it whole, again.”

“We need them,” Rainbow said, coming up alongside her and staring down into the water. “Can’t you just . . . I don’t know, take it?”

Twilight shook. The enormity of it—it was beyond her, beyond any of them. “The Elements are a fragment’s fragment, Dash. I- I can’t . . . I couldn’t. None of us could.”

Numbly, she let her crown slip through her grasp. It plinked on the stone edge, bouncing once, before falling into the water with a quiet splash.

There was a muted flash, and when Twilight peered over the edge, the Element of Magic was gone, vanished into the dark depths or dissolved entirely.

“Come on,” she said, waving her friends forward. “It’s time.”

One by one, they deposited their necklaces into the water—Rarity laying hers out reverently, where Rainbow threw hers as far as she could manage. Each was followed by a brief flicker of light, coloured to match, and as Pinkie, the last of them to follow suit, gingerly let go at the water’s edge, the cavern began to rumble.

“Is it done?” Luna asked, striding through them to watch. Twilight hadn’t gotten a good look at her earlier—now, in the light given off by Rarity and herself, she could see the signs of battle. Singed, muddied coat, tangled mane, torn feathers and patches of exposed skin, blood running down her muzzle . . . The Princess was beaten half to death. “Celestia is barred some distance out, yet I fear she will not be denied for long.”

“It’s done,” Twilight said, lowering her gaze. “Harmony is restored.”

“It’s waiting,” Luna said.

“Waiting for you,” Twilight said. “It has to be you.”

Luna looked down at her, abruptly mortal. “Must it?” she asked, sagging. Twilight could see her leg trembling, jerking intermittently.

“Oh,” Twilight heard somepony whisper before she found herself pressed forward, into a collective hug. “It’s alright.”

Luna took a long, shuddering breath, sinking into their embrace for just a moment.

Then she nodded, swallowed, and strode out into the Well, small ripples cascading out from her entrance.

***

The power came to her quickly, seeping through the skin and rushing through her nostrils, her mouth when she opened it to scream. Her body felt afire, muscles spasming and skin itching with a terrible ferocity.

She was glowing. She felt the power of the Well, like the heights of her Coromantic excesses, the peaks of her passion, yet somehow more potent still. A bonfire, to her matchstick. She felt the emotion of it, felt it scour her mind, a force of love and hate and despair and exultation.

She could force Typhus back. Reshape the world—she saw, now, how Celestia had done so, drawing the north down here, shattering the ground to create new ranges of mountains, flattening others . . . even altering the orbit of the sun. She could fix that.

She rose from the Well, barely hearing the gasps of the Bearers nearby. The bonds holding her sister she collapsed almost absent-minded, reached down to touch her inflamed mind with a cooling brush of magic. It was so easy, now, to exert her will.

Some small part of Luna was screaming.

Already it was a struggle to maintain awareness of this small place, and still her mind was growing into its new vastness. She could see simultaneously the blighted lands of Appleloosa and the frightened masses pouring from Canterlot, some already arriving in Hornwall. Further—she could see the farthest traces of land in the north, before the world gave way entirely to ice and snow, see the terrible expanses of dead land to the south, where even now the Drac roamed, intermittently roaring.

She could see the past.

All at once her memories returned to her, a great rush of information. She remembered their deal, a great ploy, designed to give the dragons one last chance to return. She remembered Celestia, defeating Typhus and splitting Discord from Him, separating that force from its own mind. She remembered trapping the body of it, tricked, in the Brightstream.

She remembered Nightmare Moon, her sacrifice, and the lies that followed. She remembered Celestia’s betrayal.

Yet Luna wasn’t overcome. She remembered without association, no emotional core attached to those memories. She was beyond them, now, lost in the depths of her own extravagance; they could not reach her.

She held fast to her purpose, almost dispassionate in her determination, and drove herself against Typhus.

Agonising. They met, and there was a friction between them—a clash of raw energy. Her power was not meant for destruction, that was his purview. Yet he held back. And mixing with him, she knew his mind.

There, Discord laughed. He had been driven insane—tamed by the Veil but not healed. Within Typhus, he longed only for chaos, for the movement, the expenditure, the action.

Luna was apathetic by comparison. There was no life to her, no surge of potential. She was a mountain of pure force, unstoppable and immovable. In the time it took her to gather herself together, he struck out a hundred thousand times, lashing at the ground and at the life there.

But he was not merely Discord. She heard her Nightmare there, too, her Nightmare Moon, created in Harmony along with the Elements.

She cried out, in agony, for help.

And there was Typhus—Luna recognising Him instantly, the voice that had trapped her for ten long years. He rang in her, resonating, scornful laughter and triumph mixed together, subsumed by the deep-seated anger that had driven Him across the ages.

Thou meets me at last, awakened.

***

Celestia felt His grip on her fall away. Like a puppet cut from its strings, she collapsed, boneless, to the wet stone.

She lay there for some time. She was spent, entirely, in spirit and body. Caught in a tidal wave of desolate regret, a deep depression, pent-up and building behind every thought. She had struck Twilight. She did not move, but Celestia was wailing nonetheless.

How very apt. Her final act of sacrifice—a delaying tactic she accepted, embraced, even, if it kept Discord from them—had only worsened their fate. That she was freed at all she counted a miracle beyond her wildest dreams.

She envied Him. In His blind rage, He had no further capacity to change—the thought she had pitied she now longed for. So easy! To simply accept herself, flawed and broken, and expect nothing more.

She breathed, quietly, feeling the water trickle around her.

Always, her mind had exceeded itself. Reaching outside her sphere of influence, outside her domain. It inevitably lead her to ruin. She had freed Typhus. She saw that vision, imprinted upon her like a searing brand, saw herself uncover the Well at the heart of the Brightstream, excavate it in high hopes for the future. Oh, what foolishness!

His rage was all-encompassing, but it was not without cause. She had felt the edges of it, trapped within—her prison given the same shape. He could not change: her prison could be no different to His.

And the truth was, He was broken. Not just metaphysically, but literally, too—shattered, and torn apart. His fractured mind was barely held together by the gibbering spectre of Discord, absorbed once more; to her, his power felt undirected.

The Bearers reached her, picked her up with a gentleness she did not deserve. Almost, she rasped her derision at them, catching herself in time to recognise His stamp upon that thought. She bore their treatments stoically, turned her eyes away from them, and did not respond to their questions, until quietly, they bore her upwards.

Slowly, she bent her neck to the side, feeling her old bones grate against each other. She had . . . she had to . . .

“T-”

“Yes, Princess?” Twilight was there instantly. Celestia hitched her breath.

“I’m . . . sorry,” she said, her breathing devolving into a series of rasping coughs. “I . . . doomed us all. Mirrored Him . . . His prison.”

“Princess?” Twilight said, drawing the word out. “You couldn’t have known.”

“He is . . . Broken, Twilight,” Celestia said, slumping to the ground. Her eyes shut, and she struggled to drag them open.

She felt a wing touch her shoulder, and felt a surge of strength. She opened her eyes to see Fluttershy, smiling down at her. Frantically, she seized the lifeline. “Un’erstand?”

“Yeah,” Twilight said. She was looking up, now, at the colossal battle overhead. “I think I do.”

***

And Twilight did—or thought so.

Celestia spoke of similarities, parallels, and Twilight had plenty of her own to add to the mounting pile. The borders of the Veil; a vast prison encircling the land—trapping them not just in space, but in time, too. The corrupting anger of Luna’s raiment, claiming eternal night for itself. Discord, refusing cooperation entirely out of hand, even in the face of petrification.

She gazed up, the maelstrom of conflict raging in the skies. A thousand years, and still they fought—drawn together and held separate, end-opposites and functionally identical. The heart of the paradox.

“Luna,” she called out, her voice stripped from her throat by the winds, boiling around them. “They’re one and the same. They’re the same thing!”

***

Luna heard, at the edges of Her awareness. Slowly, the words filtered through towards the forefront of Her mind, losing their shape but retaining their meaning.

She shut down an attempt at pushing further north far to the east, over Fillydelphia. She pressed a sliver more of Herself into the Storm over Ponyville, forced Him to give another few feet, and lost ground in the west for it.

One and the same.

They were stalemated, matched almost precisely. But where She had the power, the inexorable weight of mountains, of planets, behind Her, He moved quickly, acted, in a thousand small ways to erode her control.

The Moon remained in the sky, so near to Her that She could touch it. It focused Her, gave Her a sense of purpose.

She was growing more accustomed to Herself, now, feeling out the extremes of Her power. It was designed to preserve, to hold still, a power of balance in the extreme. She could not exert change, nor, as She directed it and it directed Her, did she particularly want to.

This was the God Equestria had languished under for a thousand years. This powered the Veil, presented a utopia perfect enough that none had attempted to leave. Was that goal not admirable enough for Her, too? A place free of misery, of the reality of nature.

She brushed against Typhus once more, rubbing against Him like rough stone against flesh, and felt Nightmare Moon. She was shouting, calling out.

-hen we retur-

And as thine entrapment falls, so do you seek another!

Luna reached out again, held the contact for longer.

-ow hopeless it was. How empty? I remembered those streets, those designs. How small their borders, how pitiful their laws. Nothing had gotten better.-

Hypocrite! Betrayer! Snivelling, weak, fool!

Luna would have snorted if she’d had a muzzle. Of course not. What was there to be improved, under Harmony? All was one, and existed in perfect balance.

One and the same.

Luna jolted. She gathered herself, abandoned the coastline on either side, drawing inwards. Typhus reacted almost instantly, spreading Himself out and retreating, His core fleeing before her.

She drove forward, reaching out for the last shard of herself still absent. It was there, buried inside, calling to her, reacting.

-ere, sister, I am here!-

She found Her Nightmare, surrounded her in Harmonic power, glowing strands of moonlight swirling about to section off the sky. She tore her from Typhus’ grasp, every fettered aspect of herself, endured the pain of that divorce.

And then she was free, recoiling back towards Canterlot, the Everfree where the heart of her power lay.

“The same,” She said. “I know.”

She knew Celestia’s conclusions, felt the ragged edges of Typhus—felt, too, the edges of His shattered mind. She heard Twilight, felt Her Nightmare concur with her conclusions.

She collected Herself once more, gathered Her essence to her, a chorus of voices gathered underneath the moon. And, carefully, She passed it away, let go of that power. She felt it stream away from her, crying out—abruptly divorced from its guiding light.

She let her Nightmare Moon take her place, and with the last of her direction, she passed the both of them into the Storm.

***

The Nightmare froze.

It felt Luna’s gift—the power crashing into it, unbidden, its mind elevated all at once to match the vastness of its celestial body. It felt the planet, underneath, the expanse of the stars above. It felt the edges of itself.

Luna fell away, her body dropping from the frozen clouds above the devastated Everfree. The Nightmare caught her instinctively, sheltered her from her counterpart’s relentless attacks, and set her down upon the ground by her friends.

It did not know quite what it had done to make Luna trust it so—to make Luna endow her with the end of everything. It had never had freedom before, never had the agency to disobey. Armour, made to enhance and protect, all it was was embedded in its function; a tool, serving a master.

It had surpassed Luna entirely. Who was its master, now?

Something was happening. Something foreign, painful, trickling into her, like liquid metal pouring down its throat. It stripped the Veil away, flung the last of its constructed jealousy, its artificial rage to the winds.

It fought back. It did not want its newfound agency taken from it, though it did not know why. And it was in agony, a searing, grinding pain that penetrated deeper and deeper into its core.

It heard a voice.

-sister-

Discord slammed into it all at once, his inflamed mind meeting its own. She recognised him, in part, consumed as he was by the conflicting emotions pouring through him. A channel, a guide, a sapience to a natural order. He had no choice.

It hurts.

Did she?

The Storm collided with her in truth, high above the old castle, with the moon’s light bearing down upon her as an old friend. There was a period of nothing, swirling power meeting and cancelling, meeting and conflicting, meeting and clashing in great fiery swathes, every colour of the rainbow and far beyond arcing out over Equestria. The world shuddered underneath them.

And then light.

She pushed the moon back to its rightful place, easing the swollen seas back into their beds. She brought up the sun, drew it over the eastern ranges on the far side of the sea and let its light illuminate. She eased the fire underneath the forest, drew its fervour back into itself and spread it out over the world, a thin veneer of life.

She turned her attention outwards. She was everything, now, beyond them and of them. She soothed the land torn apart by her one half, freed the land bound by her other. The great gulfs of blasted earth returned to sand and dirt, crevasses joined together and fractures melted back into each other. The magic-soaked trees and grass eased their grasp on life, became just a little less vibrant, less alive.

She went south, passing over the Southern ranges and into the blighted wastelands that were once Equestria, spreading magic as she went. The Brightstream prison she tore away, reclaimed, and spread.

She settled over the world, a thin blanket of power. And where she went, she brought not chaos, not harmony, but life.