> Friendship is Giant Robots
>  by 108Echoes
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter One: First Engagement
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Twilight had gone over the ANIMa setup already, but she couldn’t keep herself from making a fourth check, just in case she’d missed anything the first three times. The wires attaching her to the rusty bulk of the Nightmare Core were all in place. The Element of Magic was strapped securely to her head. The safety harness was correctly fastened and tightened. Fluttershy was back at the Anchor station, presumably doing a similar diagnostic. “Fluttershy?” Twilight asked over the headset. “Is everything working? Can you hear me?”

Fluttershy’s voice was clear through the communication spell. “Yes, Twilight. I’m not seeing any problems.”

“Good.” Twilight closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Initiate the ANIMa startup sequence. Remember, it’s alpha, theta, then induction. Oh, and remind Pinkie Pie not to start induction phase until after the alarm matrix gets disconnected. If—”

Fluttershy hushed her. “Don’t worry, Twilight, we’ve all been training just as hard as you have. You’ll be okay.”

Twilight opened her eyes and sighed. “It’s just, this isn’t a practice run anymore. I know we’ve trained, but it’s not the same thing, and—”

“Twilight, shh. Calm down.”

Twilight took another few breaths. “Okay! Okay. I’m ready. I’m calm. It’s just, this is the first attack since the ANIMa was completed. This is the first real battle we’ve had. If we don’t win—no, I’m calm. I’m okay. I can do this.”

“Your readings are still a little jittery, Twilight. Um, do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” Fluttershy asked. “No, wait, that’s silly. Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Twilight smiled weakly. “Actually, a lullaby would be nice. Thanks, Fluttershy.”

“Well, okay then, Twilight,” Fluttershy said. “If that’s what you want.” She started to sing softly over the headset, and Twilight closed her eyes and tried to relax.

The lullaby really is very helpful, she thought. Fluttershy has such a lovely singing voice. Twilight felt a slight tingle from the electrodes taped to her head, and then the world faded away.





The emptiness was warm, and wet, and all-enveloping. A low, thudding beat permeated the—air? water? vacuum?—the space around her. The beat filled her up, strong and steady, making her own heartbeat feel weak and insignificant in comparison.

Emptiness.

A voice. No, not a voice. Just a question in the emptiness, a question without a speaker.

Why do you fight?
Who do you fight for?
Who will stand by your side?
When you are alone, who will come to your aid?

Floating in the emptiness, Twilight tried to marshal her thoughts. This was—this was post-induction phase, so everything was working properly. Her body was asleep, back in the clearing with the Nightmare Core, but her mind was here. Nothing had gone wrong. Nothing had gone wrong yet, she corrected. No, nothing had gone wrong yet, with the machine.

Visions of the past four months raced through Twilight’s mind. The sleeping ponies who wouldn’t wake, no matter what happened around them, and the blissful smiles upon their faces. The creatures attacking Ponyville. Canterlot destroyed, Nightmare Moon back—a lot had gone wrong. This one thing, at least, was working as it should. So far. Twilight shook her head. She shouldn’t be thinking about that; no use dwelling. Time to get to work.

She spoke into the emptiness. Her voice sounded small and flat compared with the steady, echoing pulse around her.

“My friend, Fluttershy. She stands with me. Even now, she works at the controls of the ANIMa, so that she may keep me safe.”

Something began to take shape in the emptiness. An enormous, shadowy equine form loomed before her.

“My friend, Rainbow Dash. She stands with me. She risks the unknown to fight by my side.”

The darkness started to lift. She could see the shape a bit more clearly now. It had wings, fully extended.

“My friend, Applejack. She stands with me. She fights against the nightmares, to protect her family and her friends.”

The shape began to glow, pulsing in time with Twilight’s heartbeat and the steady rhythm surrounding them both.

“My teacher, Princess Celestia.” Twilight’s voice caught in her throat. “My Princess stands beside me. She longs to free her sister from the darkness. I fight for her sake. For Princess Celestia.”

The shape in front of her flashed, and spots danced in Twilight’s vision. When Twilight could see again, the darkness was gone, and the shape in front of her stood revealed. Before her was a magnificent statue of an alicorn, made of gleaming golden metal. Its outspread wings shone with all the colors of the rainbow. Its body was sleek, slightly built, but all four legs were tense with lean muscle. On its head was a long, wickedly sharp horn which shone with all the glory of the summer sun at high noon.

Twilight shivered. Almost four months ago, they had started experimenting with the Elements of Harmony and the Nightmare Core, a cast-off piece of one of Nightmare Moon’s monsters. With diligent experimentation and—though it pained Twilight to admit it—quite a lot of guesswork, they’d created this thing.

The Alternative Nightmare Induction Matrix. The ANIMa.

Nightmare Moon’s creatures were relentless. Princess Celestia would destroy them, over and over, but they’d return the next night, and the next. The Princess, as magnificent as she was, was only one pony. She couldn’t hold them back forever, not if they wouldn’t stay dead.

The ANIMa let Twilight and her friends fight the nightmares on their home turf. Nightmares that died here didn’t come back. Early experiments had been rough, but they’d come a long way from the days of protective fogs and glowing miasmas. Now the ANIMa—the voice, the emptiness, some strange magic none of her books described—took her friendships and turned them into this. All the feelings bound up in those relationships, this machine forged into a weapon.

Twilight felt herself drifting closer to the giant alicorn, and then it split apart into a thousand whirling pieces. She floated into the center of the cloud, and the giant reformed itself around her. There was a familiarity to the motions, a familiarity born not only of the past month’s near-constant training, but from the nature of the ANIMa itself: all her friends truly did fight with her. She blinked, shook a hoof, and felt the robot do the same. Twilight smiled, and spoke again.

“ANIMa formation complete. Initiate delta phase transition.”





Twilight and her ANIMa hung suspended in a starry void. That’s what it seemed like, at least—her body was back on Equestria, in the clearing outside of Fluttershy’s cottage. This was only a mental projection. Or a spiritual projection, or a magical projection, or something else entirely—the experiments hadn’t confirmed any of Twilight’s hypotheses. All they knew was that it worked. “Why” was currently unknown, a source of continual irritation to Twilight.

The others saw the dreamscape differently. Rainbow Dash saw a cloudless sky over an endless ocean, Applejack a barren field. In their earlier tests, before they’d decided on the current division of labor, Pinkie, Rarity, and Fluttershy had all perceived the dreamscape differently as well.

For Twilight, though, the dreamscape was a vast, starry void. Equestria stretched out miles beneath her, a blue-green patchwork. From here, it was beautiful, peaceful, pristine, and when she looked down she could almost forget about the darkness and the pain and all the sleeping ponies who would not wake.

Floating to Twilight’s left was Applejack, whose ANIMa took the form of an earth pony made of red-brown steel. Its legs and haunches were dense with muscles of thick cable, and two enormous gun barrels were mounted to its sides.

On Twilight’s right was Dash’s ANIMa, a bullet-shaped mass of spikes and blades. Equally spaced around its circumference were four enormous wings, and the entire machine flashed and blinked in garish colors. Twilight sighed inwardly, glad that Rarity had chosen Anchor duty and would never have to see this monstrosity firsthand.  

In front of them was a cloud of asteroids, distant now but growing closer by the moment. Twilight gritted her teeth. There was no time to daydream: they had work to do.

“Is everypony ready? No problems with induction?” Twilight asked over the communication spell.

“I’m ready, Twi,” Applejack said.

“Of course I’m ready, Twilight,” Dash said. “Let’s get moving!”

“Okay. Move out, team,” Twilight said. Applejack galloped forward, metal hooves thudding against empty vacuum. Dash flapped both pairs of wings and shot forward, glittering colors spiraling in her wake. Twilight flapped her wings and followed them.

As they neared the asteroid cloud, Fluttershy’s voice came over their private channel. Her voice was distant and distorted by the layers of sleep and magic separating them, but just clear enough that Twilight could understand her. “Remember, Twilight,” she said, “it’s not just the, um, storm. There are also three blue signals. Um, so be careful.”

“Roger, Fluttershy. We’re entering the cloud now.”

“Good luck, Twilight.”

“Let’s take care of this field, girls. Split up!” Twilight called. Applejack veered left and started firing upon the larger asteroids. Dash veered right and simply crashed into the cloud, smashing asteroids into dust and pebbles, each strike spraying rainbow sparks in all directions. Twilight raised her wings and came to an abrupt halt. She focused her magic through her horn, and a shaft of golden light shot out and neatly cleaved an asteroid in two.

The asteroids came faster and larger, and Twilight’s world narrowed down to her and the next rock. Dodge left. Shatter the next one with a strike from her forehoof. Move up, slice the next asteroid in two. Twilight misjudged her dodge, and a sharp-edged fragment cut shallowly across her flank. She caught her breath, twisted to dodge a larger chunk of debris, and then Applejack shouted in pain.

Twilight turned around to see what was wrong, and grunted as a smaller asteroid hit her in the ribs. Applejack’s ANIMa had a large dent in it, and an asteroid larger than she was floated lazily away. Applejack shouted something unintelligible over the radio and fired a salvo of bullets into the offending rock, which exploded into powder. A few wayward bullets continued through the dust cloud. One glanced off of Twilight’s leg, and another two spanged off of Rainbow Dash’s ANIMa before ricocheting out into deep space.

“Watch it, AJ!” Rainbow Dash yelled.

“I’m sorry, Dash. That dang rock—gah!” Applejack’s voice burst into static.

Something was wrong. The sensor matrix had detected three nightmares, but none had turned up yet—Twilight turned toward the spreading dust. There, in the cloud, two points of bluish light: nightmare one of three.

Most of the asteroids had passed, smashed small enough they would burn up in the atmosphere. A few stragglers could be easily dealt with. The real danger now was the nightmares responsible for the storm.

Two of the largest asteroids left suddenly shattered, revealing two more pairs of glowing blue eyes. The three clouds of dust swirled and twisted into a trio of vaguely equine shapes, and then Twilight’s ears were filled with low, mocking laughter. One of the nightmares drifted in front of Twilight, and the other two moved to hover in front of Rainbow Dash and Applejack.

The nightmare in front of her tilted its head. Though the shape’s mouth did not move, Twilight heard it speak. Its voice seemed to bypass her ears entirely and wheedle its way into her brain. It was a cold, dry thing, like frozen feathers, and it made Twilight’s teeth ache.

What are you? the voice asked. Why are you here? Flesh and blood, clad in dreams of power. Dreams of friendship. Only dreams, though: you are a weak, finite creature. You are not meant to visit this place.

It lashed out with a foreleg, moving almost lazily. Twilight moved to block its strike with her horn, but the nightmare was as insubstantial as—well, as a cloud of dust. Twilight thrashed her head, but then the thing was all around her, engulfing her in a cloud of stinging particles. Give up, the voice whispered. Nightmare Moon is risen again. She is eternal. You are not. Twilight gasped for breath, but there was nothing there for her to breathe, nothing but the whirling cloud and the endless starry void.





Someone called her name, so softly she thought she had imagined it. There, again. Who was that?

“TWILIGHT!” Fluttershy yelled in her ear. “Twilight, what are you doing? Fight back!”

Twilight’s eyes snapped open. Yes, Fluttershy was there for her. Fluttershy, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, the foals, Princess Celestia—all those still left awake. All of them waited for her. All of them depended on her. She would not let them down.

Twilight’s horn burned like a miniature sun. Her wings snapped out to their full extent, shining like the rainbow. She flapped her wings, and the dust cloud blew away. The eyes remained, twin points of disembodied ice-blue. They glared at her. What do you think you are doing, foal?

“I am not a foal anymore,” she said. “My name is Twilight Sparkle. It doesn’t matter that Nightmare Moon’s back. We’ve beaten her once before, and we’ll beat her again.” She smiled. Her horn flashed, and a wave of light washed over the glowing eyes. There was a scream that drove an icy ache through her skull, and then it was over. Twilight looked around. Applejack was dented but victorious, and Rainbow Dash was doing some sort of victory dance, spraying flashes of rainbow light in all directions.

“Is it over, Twilight?” Fluttershy asked. “I’m not picking up any more nightmares on the sensor matrix.”

Twilight took a deep breath. “It’s over, Fluttershy. Start the ejection sequence.”

“Okay, Twilight.”





Twilight opened her eyes and blinked a few times. There was something clouding her vision. Reddish. Oh, that was blood. That made sense. She looked up in the sky and saw a cloud of twinkling lights, quickly fading. They had succeeded, then. The nightmares’ attack had failed. We won, she thought. We actually won.

Twilight pulled the quick-release on the safety harness and stumbled free. She took off the headset, rubbed at her face. Just a little blood, and more soreness than real pain. She looked at her reflection in the Element of Magic. A few drops of blood from a scratch on her forehead, courtesy of her headset, and the white of her left eye was stained a bright red. Apparently some of the capillaries in her eye had broken. That was interesting; perhaps the result of mental strain? Previous tests hadn’t shown any signs of gross physical feedback, but this test had introduced several new variables. New data. She should record that, write it down somewhere. Need to keep good records, need to collect data. Maybe they could stop it from happening next time.

Twilight opened her eyes, again. She felt dizzy, tired, a little nauseous. She was leaning against somepony. Fluttershy. Fluttershy was at her side, holding her steady.

“Are you okay, Twilight?” Fluttershy asked. “You almost fell over.”

Twilight shook her head to clear the lingering dizziness, then realized Fluttershy was waiting for an answer. “No. Yes. I’ll be fine, just give me a moment.” Fluttershy still looked worried, but she nodded.

Twilight looked around the clearing, just off Fluttershy’s cottage, where they had set up the ANIMa crèches. Rainbow Dash was smiling and laughing with Pinkie Pie, but leaning heavily on a convenient rock. Applejack was fumbling out of her safety harness, with Rarity’s help. So they had all gotten out more-or-less okay. No permanent damage, at least. She hoped.

“Okay, Fluttershy. I’m okay now. Just needed to catch my breath.”

“If you say so,” Fluttershy said. She let go of Twilight and moved back, but not far.

Princess Celestia stepped out of the cottage, stooping slightly to avoid catching her horn on the doorframe. “Well, Twilight Sparkle,” she said, “your machine works. You’ve successfully repelled one nightmare attack. You have all done a wonderful job.” Twilight blushed. “It does seem to have taken its toll on you three, though,” the Princess continued. “Do you think you’ll all be all right?”

“We'll be fine, Princess, I’m sure,” Twilight said.

Rainbow Dash scoffed. “Of course we’ll be fine. We’d be even better if AJ hadn’t gotten sloppy.”

“Sloppy?” Applejack yelled. “Er, yeah, I’m awful sorry about that, Twi,” she said, turning briefly to Twilight. “But you, Rainbow, you could’ve given me a helpin’ hand, ‘stead of showing off. You’re not going to save Equestria with a pretty light show!”

Dash started to say something more, but Princess Celestia cut her off. “I’m sure you two can discuss tactics some other time. Right now, I promised Pinkie Pie”—she nodded in Pinkie’s direction—“that she could throw a party after you won. Go let the foals out of the lockdown shelter, and get the festivities arranged. Be generous with the food. Our winter stockpiles will stand a few unforeseen expenditures, and we should take this opportunity to celebrate.”

Everypony else filed down the path back to Ponyville, Applejack and Rainbow Dash still arguing. “I’ll catch up in a moment,” Twilight called to them, before turning back. She needed to record the results of this test. This success was good, but only through careful record-keeping could they continue to win. She started off toward the cottage-turned-laboratory, but Princess Celestia interrupted her.

“Twilight, if you’re staying behind, I’d like to talk,” the Princess said.

Twilight turned back and started to say something, but the Princess caught her eyes. Her gaze was intent, as if searching for something in Twilight’s expression, and any objections she might have made died unsaid.

Twilight looked away from Princess Celestia’s eyes. Did I do something wrong? she thought, shuffling her hooves in the dirt. Finally the Princess started walking back to the cottage. “You should wash, my student,” she said, not looking back. “Your appearance should not be marred by blood.” Twilight followed, still staring down at her hooves.

Inside, Twilight washed her face and hooves in a bucket of river water, acutely aware of the Princess watching her. Finally, Princess Celestia spoke. “Twilight Sparkle,” she said, “you did not look well, coming out of the ANIMa.”

Twilight looked up. “You don’t have to worry, Princess Celestia, it’s really nothing,” she began, but the Princess cut her off.

“I know what ‘nothing’ looks like, my student. You’re hurt.” She gestured to Twilight’s face. “Not seriously, perhaps, but hurt nonetheless.”

“It’s... I’m okay, Princess, really,” Twilight said. “I, um, I should go record the results of this test. Applejack and Rainbow Dash can record their experiences later, I guess, but I should really do mine as soon as possible—”

The Princess sighed. “Do your reports now if you must, my student, but I’d still like to talk. I worry about you and your friends. Do you think you can modify the ANIMa to be less—harmful?”

Twilight frowned and started over to Fluttershy’s ANIMa console. She noticed a twinge in her hindleg, but she ignored it. I don’t want the Princess to worry about me. I’m okay. She sat down, picked up a quill, and tried to write her report. “I could try, Princess,” she said as she wrote, “but I still don’t truly understand the system in the first place. The Nightmare Core is unprecedented, the Elements mostly unstudied. Most ponies thought the Elements of Harmony were just an old mare’s tale, so I had trouble researching them even before—well, before.” She coughed. “Now, well, any research is next to impossible, so I’m stuck with experimentation, which isn’t exactly optimal seeing as the ANIMa’s our only real defense. I mean, except for you, Princess! But, well, you’ve still got to raise the sun, and everything else. We can’t do that for you, but we can protect everypony. You need to be careful with yourself. There’s only one of you, and even you’re not inexhaustible.”

Twilight checked over the printouts from Fluttershy’s console. Surges of magic from the Elements of Harmony, heat from the Nightmare Core, everything in accord with previous tests. Still no hints as to why anything was happening. “While we still don’t know precisely why or how the ANIMa works”—though not for lack of trying—“we know what it does. To some extent. Normally, the Elements of Harmony express their power as a short burst of magical energy. That burst is extremely potent, but limited in scope. The Nightmare Core instead allows the Elements to express their power over a longer period of time, by manifesting a form based on the strength of the user’s friendships.” She snorted. “Or at least that’s the hypothesis. I wish I could do more experiments! I could try to modify the ANIMa’s mental feedback loop, but I’d be working blind. There’s no guarantee I wouldn’t make any side effects worse, or even break the system entirely. Even if I managed to minimize harmful feedback, the necessary filters would probably cripple our offensive and defensive capabilities. It’s—” She turned and looked at the Princess, who wore a slight frown. “Sorry, Princess Celestia, I’m babbling. What I mean to say is, I can’t know until I try, but anything I do to stop the ANIMa from hurting the Pilot is probably going to make it stop working entirely, or at least stop it from working well. We might be safe from the ANIMa itself, but the nightmares would tear us all apart.”

The Princess lowered her head. “I see.” She was silent for a long while, so Twilight went back to her reports.

“Twilight?” the Princess said softly.

Twilight turned around. “Yes, Princess Celestia?”

“If you don’t want to pilot anymore, if it’s too much, tell me. The others can step in. We can find new pilots. There are more options: you don’t have to do this.”

Twilight quivered—Does she think I’m not as capable as Rainbow Dash or Applejack? Is she trying to give me a graceful exit?—but she forced a smile onto her face. “With all due respect, Princess, being a pilot is the best way for me to help you. It’s my duty. Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and I all volunteered. They wouldn’t back out; I won’t either.”

“If Applejack or Rainbow Dash asked me, I would let them stop.”

“They won’t ask to stop. Neither will I.” I’ll show you how strong I am. I’ll make you proud, Princess Celestia.

Twilight again turned back to her writing, and heard the Princess sigh behind her. “Very well, Twilight Sparkle. Finish your report, and then go enjoy your party.”





Twilight walked into Sugarcube Corner— or at least, the fortified building that had once been Sugarcube Corner, before the Bliss. Pinkie Pie had found party decorations somewhere. The room was brightly lit and loud music was playing, but the party guests were subdued. Twilight was struck by how empty the place seemed: before Bliss Day, Pinkie’s parties had drawn every pony in Ponyville. Even at Diamond Tiara’s cute-ceañera, most of the ponies in attendance had been adults, proud relatives joining in the celebration. Now all those ponies were asleep, and the Corner was a place of loneliness rather than cheer.

In the center of the room, Pinkie Pie was trying to get the foals to dance, and meeting with little success. Twilight shook her head and moved off toward the drinks table. Spike was standing there, sipping punch and looking around. Twilight poured herself a glass of punch and went over to him.

“Twilight, there you are!” he said. He looked at her face and let out a small squeak. “Your eye! What happened?”

Twilight shook her head. “It looks worse than it is; it doesn’t even hurt. Should be gone in a week or two.”

Spike looked at her for a moment more and frowned, but he took another sip of punch. “If... if you say so, Twilight.” He paused. “The others said you stayed back at the crèche lab. What took so long?”

“I was just doing my report on the ANIMa run. And Princess Celestia wanted to talk a little.”

“About what?”

Twilight shook her head. “We just talked. How were you during the attack? The foals weren’t too much trouble, I hope.”

Spike chuckled nervously. “I can handle a little babysitting, don’t worry. Although next time, I’d really appreciate it if one of you could stay and help.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Twilight said. “Hopefully, we won’t have to scramble like that again.” For a few minutes the pair sipped their drinks in silence.

“Twilight,” Spike said, “are you worried?”

“Of course I’m worried, Spike. It’d be silly not to worry.”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s...” Spike gestured to the room. Pinkie Pie had dragged one of the Canterlot foals out onto the floor—Twilight didn’t know his name. Pebble? Pebble something. Pinkie was dancing wildly, whirling the little colt in circles. A few of the other foals had crept shyly onto the dance floor. “Well,” Spike said, “this has been the first party in months, and they’re still not sure what’s going on. Everyone’s been scared. I mean, I’m sure you did a great job today, but how long will it last? Do you think we can actually fix things?”

Twilight set down her drink and knelt down to look at Spike. “You’re scared. I’m scared too, Spike. But we have to keep going. We beat Nightmare Moon once, didn’t we?”

Spike shook his head. “Not like this, you didn’t. That was easy. She never even got close to winning.”

“She managed to banish the Princess, didn’t she?”

“But Celestia wasn’t fighting that time! She was just waiting for you and your friends to swoop in and save the world. And you did. And it only took you a day. It’s been four months, Twilight.”

Twilight hugged him. “I’m worried too, Spike. But we have to keep fighting. I know we can win. I'm more certain of this than I've ever been of anything else.”

From between her arms, Spike looked up at her. “How can you be sure, Twilight?”

She squeezed him tighter. “Faith. Hope. We’re not alone, Spike. Our friends are here. We can still win this.”
> Chapter Two: Scouting Run
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Rainbow Dash stretched her shoulders and tried to ignore the buzzing in her ears. This close to the Core, the buzz was a constant annoyance, but just quiet enough she could drown it out with her own thoughts. “Hurry up, Scootaloo,” she said. “And careful with the wings!”

Scootaloo made a few more adjustments to the pilot restraints. “I’m sorry, Rainbow Dash,” she said. “Is this okay? It looks kind of loose.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Dash said. “I don’t like them tight. Last time I swear I had bruises all down my legs.”

Scootaloo took a few steps back. “Okay then, Rainbow Dash! Good luck on your mission!”

“Ha, I don’t need luck. Those nightmares don’t stand a chance against me.” Dash tried to puff out her chest, but the pilot restraints didn’t give her enough room. “Sorry you won’t get to watch me fight, squirt. All the cool stuff happens in Nightmare-town. All you get to see here is a light show.”

“Don’t worry, Rainbow Dash!” Scootaloo said. “Someday I’ll be able to pilot, too, and then we’ll get to fight together!”

Dash smiled. “Of course we will, kid. Now go help Pinkie and the Princess, all right?”

“You bet, Rainbow Dash!” Scootaloo said, and scurried off.

Watching her go, Dash felt the familiar tickle in her ears indicating that Pinkie Pie had activated her half of the communication spell. It was not Pinkie who spoke to her over the link, though; it was Princess Celestia. “Rainbow Dash,” she said, “please remember that this is only a scouting mission. I wish to know if the dreamscape has any established landmarks, or if the nightmares show any form of organization. Most importantly, avoid getting into any unnecessary battles. I do not wish to see you hurt.”

“You got it, Princess,” Dash said.

Pinkie came back over the link. “Then you’re ready, Dashie?” she asked.

“Pinkie, I’m always ready. Let’s get this party started.”

Pinkie laughed. “Silly, this isn’t a party! You’re getting zapped into unconsciousness so you can spy on a bunch of crazy pony-eating ghosts and stuff. Have fun, Dash!”

Dash was about to respond when the electrodes pasted to her head and body switched on. The momentary shock distracted her, and the buzzing ache of the Nightmare Core grew suddenly louder. Dash barely managed to slur out an “I will” before she lost consciousness.





Rainbow Dash opened her eyes in a warm, damp void. Emptiness, as always. That voice/not-voice spoke again, as always, the same questions every time.

Why do you fight?
Who do you fight for?
Who will stand by your side?
When you are alone, who will come to your aid?

Dash leaned back and put her hooves behind her head. “What are you, anyway?” she asked. “I’ve asked Twilight, but she just gives me a long explanation I don’t understand. I kinda think she doesn’t actually know what the answer is, and she’s just trying to hide it. Isn’t that kind of funny?”

The void didn’t respond. Dash called out again. “Hey, I’m talking to you! Anypony home?”

Still no answer. Dash sighed.

“Fine, be that way. Pinkie Pie’s anchoring, so she’s a given. Applejack and Scootaloo. More, I think... Rarity and the Princess. Be quick about it, would you?”

Despite Dash’s request, the ANIMa took some time to form. A bullet-shaped central body. Two pairs of massive, powerful wings. Hard spars of metal twisting out into deadly spikes. Rarity added another layer of armor, a bejeweled carapace, and Princess Celestia was a halo of flames. The entire creation shimmered, throwing off sparkles and glimmers and fragments of shattered rainbows.

Dash grinned, and then she was inside the ANIMa, hooves locked into the controls, the machine itself all quivering eagerness for the mission at hand. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go have some fun.”





Rainbow Dash entered the dreamscape proper: a cloudless, starry sky, the full moon hanging above, and the ocean below her, a black mirror stretching out to the horizon. There was no land in sight, nowhere to rest if she got tired. If she were no longer able to fly, she would simply sink into the ocean and drown.

Dash spoke over the headset. “I’m in, Pinkie Pie. It’s as boring and empty as ever. There aren’t even any nightmares to kick around.”

Pinkie Pie giggled. “Well, you did just get there, silly. You’ll have to keep looking for longer than that!”

Dash sighed. “Whatever,” she said, and glanced around. Still the same stars, the same ocean, nothing changed from the last fight. Wait, there—a dark spot on the moon, something she hadn’t seen last time. A lone cloud floating in front of the moon, maybe, blocking its light? Worth a look. “Hey, Pinkie,” Dash said, “I take it back, I might’ve found something. I’ll go check it out.”

“Roger dodger, Rainbow lodger,” said Pinkie Pie. Rainbow Dash shook her head. She dimmed the lights on her ANIMa, flapped her wings, and sped off in the direction of the moon.

Having four wings was even better than having two. With four wings, Dash was faster, stronger, more agile, and her ANIMa slid through the air with a grace even she couldn’t match on her own. Dash did a few loops and twists for the sheer pleasure of it, savoring the feeling of the blades circling her ANIMa as they carved the air into ribbons. She realized she was getting distracted, and glanced again at the blot on the moon. It was larger now, closer. There were smaller shapes darting around it, and she could see some structure to it now: it wasn’t just a formless blob. As she flew higher still, Dash noticed a few wispy clouds scattered around her. They weren’t enough to stand on, but at least they helped to break up the emptiness.

A trio of shapes in the distance resolved themselves into purple-black pegasi. They were smaller than the other nightmares Dash had fought—still much larger than any normal pony, larger than even the Princess, but dwarfed by the ANIMa. Scouts or guards, probably, and headed in her direction.

Dash grinned. Best to make sure they wouldn’t report back, then; they could ruin her stealth mission. Dash shook off a momentary pang of guilt from Princess Celestia’s words: “Don’t get into any unnecessary fights.” Well, this wasn’t unnecessary. Dash’s ANIMa—she was still trying to decide on a name, but for the moment she was calling it “Spectrum Impact”—was awesome at many things, but stealth was not really one of them. The lights were dimmed, yes, and the wispy clouds provided some concealment, but that didn’t count for much. Her main advantage was surprise, and once that had run out, speed. Best to destroy the scouts. Dash looped around to catch them from behind.

Dash scanned her enemies as she approached. The three scouts were the most ponylike of the nightmares she’d seen so far. They didn’t have any extra limbs, they weren’t on fire, and they even looked to be made out of flesh and bone rather than dust, smoke, and fog. Dash caught a glimpse of a red mane, and realized that the pegasi themselves weren’t black and purple. No, they were wearing uniforms: the same uniforms she had seen on the bridge the first time Nightmare Moon had attacked, what felt like a lifetime ago. The Shadowbolts. Those hadn’t been real pegasi, though, just some of Nightmare Moon’s tricks. These weren’t ponies, either, not really. They were monsters just like the rest, and Dash needed to destroy them.

Dash flapped her wings and dove toward the Shadowbolts. At the last moment they sensed her presence and turned to face her. They tried to flee, but Dash adjusted her path and plowed through the center of the group, the blades of her ANIMa slicing the trio into bloodless shreds.

The Shadowbolts started to dissolve—not even real flesh after all, just another of Nightmare Moon’s illusions. One of the Shadowbolts looked at Dash. It had been ripped in half, and the edges of the wound were falling apart into mere traces of glittering fog.

The Shadowbolt looked into Dash’s eyes, and Dash looked back. It wasn’t wearing goggles. Its eyes were darkness, full of falling stars. It did not speak as it died. It simply stared at her, and Dash hovered, staring back, until it had dissolved completely.

Dash shuddered, spun, and sped off toward the moon. Couldn’t waste any more time.





Rainbow Dash drifted closer to the clouds. There’d been more Shadowbolt patrols between her and her target, but she’d avoided them rather than attacking. No time to waste on those... things. She was at the outer edges of the atmosphere now; she would never have been able to fly this high unaided. In the real world, the clouds stopped miles below. Here, though, the cloud cover had finally thickened enough for her to land on. She darted from hiding spot to hiding spot until she got close enough to look at what the nightmares had been guarding. A mass of cloud, shaped into...

Rainbow Dash realized what she was looking at. “Cloudsdale?” she whispered. Then, louder. “Cloudsdale?” Louder again, nearly yelling. “Cloudsdale?!”

After Bliss Day, Dash had gone looking for Cloudsdale. She hadn’t found anything. Nor had Princess Celestia, in her daily patrols across Equestria. Other cities still stood, filled with sleeping ponies and besieged by nightmares. Even other cloud cities still existed, though without pegasus attention they’d drifted to the ground and sunk into shapeless disarray. But Cloudsdale, her home, had simply vanished, like the morning fog as it was blown or burned away by wind and sun.

That was the greatest cruelty Nightmare Moon had inflicted. Not cursing all those ponies to endless sleep, not sending her monsters to hunt down the survivors—it was Cloudsdale. The nightmares could be fought. Her friends could visit their family members, even if they wouldn’t wake. And even ruined, Canterlot and other cities served as grand memorials to the fallen.

Cloudsdale, though, had vanished, and nopony knew what had happened to it, and Dash had been robbed even of her ability to mourn properly.

Now a city lay before her, its structure mimicking her home with exacting precision. But where Cloudsdale had been made out of puffy white cumulus and stratocumulus, perfect for bouncing around or napping on, this city was carved from massive thunderheads, swollen dark with rain and lightning. And where Cloudsdale had been full of pegasi, this mockery, this... obscenity was infested with tiny nightmares. She screamed at the city before her, at this abomination—

“Rainbow Dash!” Pinkie yelled over the headset. “Stop shouting! What’s wrong?”

Dash realized that her throat was raw, and that Pinkie had been yelling at her for some time. She took a few moments to catch her breath before speaking. “Pinkie, it’s...” Dash’s throat hurt, and her voice trembled. “The Princess was right. The nightmares have some sort of base here. They’ve been building.”

There was a rustling on the other end of the comm spell, and then Princess Celestia’s voice came through. “Rainbow Dash? You found something?”

“Yeah, Princess. The nightmares have made, well, a city. It’s... it’s a replica of Cloudsdale.”

The spell was silent for a long while, during which Dash couldn’t keep from glancing back at the city behind her. Finally, the Princess spoke again. “I’m sorry, Rainbow Dash. I know this is difficult, but I need you to fly closer. Try to see if they’re doing anything in particular. Good luck.” The line cut off.

Rainbow Dash shuddered. Go closer to... to that? “It’s for the Princess,” she whispered to herself. “She needs me.” She took a deep breath, and flew closer.





She looked down at the nightmares’ new city. It looked so fragile, so breakable. Safe inside her ANIMa, Dash was as large as any of Cloudsdale’s houses.

Dash shook her head. Not Cloudsdale. This wasn’t Cloudsdale, just another trick. Another taunt from Nightmare Moon.

In the monstrous city below, nightmares fluttered back and forth in bizarre imitation of the real Cloudsdale. Some of the nightmares were shadows or mobile stormclouds, and others were monsters of flame or dust or rock, but most of them just looked like pegasi. Still, they were... wrong, somehow uncanny; whenever one of them glanced up, Rainbow Dash had to suppress a shiver. She flew on.

The residential district was swarming with nightmares, and nothing interesting happened there anyways. The Cloudiseum... Rainbow Dash didn’t want to see what kind of sports the nightmares watched. The factories, then. If the nightmares were up to something, they would be doing it there.

But... no, the factories were either too busy or too closed-in. Just making a quick fly-by wouldn’t get her any useful information. Dash grinned. The Princess hadn’t wanted her to get into unnecessary fights, but this wasn’t unnecessary, was it? No, this was simply the easiest way to see what those nightmares were up to. Dash flapped her wings. The blades on her ANIMa started to spin. She hurtled toward the factory district at top speed, rainbows bursting behind her. I’m done with subtlety and stealth, she thought. Let’s get this over with.





Rainbow Dash’s ANIMa lay on the floor, shedding feeble sparks. Only static came through Pinkie’s link. The flames granted by Princess Celestia had burned out, and Rarity’s gem carapace had shattered. Little nightmares crawled up the sides of the ANIMa, shredding themselves on its blades. As soon as Dash had crashed into the factory, the nightmares had swarmed her. Clouds of storm and dust, terribly deformed equines: all had turned toward her, as one, and attacked. They were weak, yes, but there were so many of them, and they were everywhere.

Dash tried to get her ANIMa back up, get back in the air, but the nightmares weighed her down. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It hurt. They were crawling all over, scrabbling at her armor. It hurt, but she could keep going for now. She heaved herself onto her side, crushing several nightmares beneath her, and looked up at the thing in the center of the factory, the thing the nightmares had been guarding.

It was a complex arrangement of hundreds of glass and metal spheres, hanging from wires or affixed to metal bars, and the entire construction ticked quietly, like some sort of bizarre clock. Its sheer scale made her dizzy, even with her natural pegasus resistance to vertigo. The machine was playing with space somehow; something that impossibly large shouldn’t have been able to fit into all of Cloudsdale, much less a single factory. At the very center of the tangle, perched on a sphere of swirled blue and green glass, was Nightmare Moon. She watched Dash, impassive except for the barest hint of a smile.

Dash struggled toward the giant machine. It was made mostly of glass, she could at least do some damage before Pinkie pulled her out. The nightmares clinging to her weren’t letting her move, though. They dragged at her, held her back, scrabbled at the weak spots in her armor.

There was a sudden piercing pain, and Dash screamed and twisted around. One of the nightmares had teeth, sharp ones, and it had started chewing on her wing—

Dash took a deep breath. No, not her wing. It was the ANIMa’s wing. It wasn’t her, she was still okay—

The nightmare ripped a chunk out of her—no! Out of her ANIMa! Dash clenched her jaw. “Not going to give in,” she said through gritted teeth. These were the creatures which had taken Cloudsdale from her, had stolen her friends and family. Dash tried to say it again. “Not going to give in,” she grunted—

But the other nightmares crawling on her ANIMa had apparently caught on. They were on her, gnawing on her wings, her ANIMa’s wings, whatever—Dash screamed again: one of the nightmares, a twisted monkey-beast, had picked up a shard of Rarity’s shattered armor and jammed it through the joint at the base of her wing. Thoughts of smashing Nightmare Moon’s device fled from Dash’s mind. They were all over her, tearing at her wings, she needed to get out. Dash thrashed around, tried to dislodge them, but it wasn’t working. “Pinkie Pie!” she yelled over the voice-spell. “Pinkie, get me out of this thing!” The other end of the spell still held only static, but Dash felt a sudden jolt run through her. The emergency wake-up? If so, it hadn’t worked. Dash kept thrashing, kept yelling. In the center of the factory, Nightmare Moon gave a low chuckle.

“Why are you here, little one?” Nightmare Moon said. “Are you, perhaps, homesick?”

Dash was too busy struggling with the nightmares to retort. Nightmare Moon sighed.

“It was very rude of you to interrupt us,” she said. “Such rudeness should be punished.” Nightmare Moon gestured with a wing, and suddenly the clouds beneath Dash gave way. She found herself falling towards the ocean below. The nightmares clinging to her released their grips and fluttered back up through the hole in the factory floor.

Dash spread out her wings to break her fall, but all four of them were shredded, and she held back a gasp of pain as the wind yanked at their ragged edges. “Pinkie Pie, what are you doing?” she yelled. Another electric jolt ran through her, and Dash convulsed. She could smell burning fur. “For Celestia’s sake, Pinkie,” Dash cried, “get me out of here!”





Another jolt, and this one worked. Dash screamed. Her eyes fluttered open. She coughed, spat on the ground. Her mouth was full of the taste of blood and bile, and her nose was full of the reek of scorched fur. Her fur. Scootaloo was there, saying something—was Scootaloo crying?—but all Dash cared about was getting out of these restraints—

The last straps came undone, and Dash’s knees buckled. She collapsed. She twisted around, grabbed the electrodes in her mouth, and tore them off. Scootaloo was pushing her head against Dash, trying to prop her up, and Dash’s side erupted in pain. She screamed—or had she already been screaming?—and then, mercifully, blackness.





Rainbow Dash opened her eyes. She was lying on her back, on a thin mattress, staring at the ceiling of Fluttershy’s cottage. Her sides still ached, but the deep, stabbing pain was gone. She’d been slathered in some sort of medicinal goo and wrapped with bandages. She was glad for the bandages. She wasn’t really in the mood to look at her injuries.

Fluttershy moved into view. “Oh, good, Dash, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Dash spoke, though her throat still ached. “I’ve been better, Fluttershy. Do... do you have a bucket? I need to—”

Fluttershy gestured to the side of the cot, and Dash rolled over and emptied her stomach.

Dash hung her head, breathing hard, and Fluttershy brought her a glass of water. “Thanks,” Dash said. She rinsed the taste of vomit out of her mouth, spitting into the bucket, then downed the rest of the water.

Then she looked up and caught sight of Pinkie Pie, lying on a similar cot with her eyes closed. She was covered with a thin blanket. “Pinkie? Pinkie Pie?” Dash whispered.

Fluttershy patted Dash on the shoulder. “She’s okay, just taking a nap,” she said. “Her console, um, exploded. It tore up her hooves, but she’ll heal.”

Dash sighed in relief. “That’s good,” she said. “That’s good. So, Fluttershy... what about me? What happened?”

Fluttershy kept patting her gently. “The electrical wake-up... failed. No deep tissue damage, thankfully, but you’ve got some bad burns down your sides. And you sprained a wing; your pilot restraints weren’t tightened correctly. I’ve given you some medicine and bandaged you up, and Twilight gave you a painkilling spell. Extra-strength. You’ll heal too, but it’s going to take a while.” She knelt and gave Dash a clumsy hug. “Princess Celestia wanted to talk to you. She shouldn’t be long, but you can rest for a little bit. If you want.”

Rainbow Dash shivered. She was in Fluttershy’s cottage, far enough from the Core that it shouldn’t affect her, but she could still hear its whispers. The sound made her teeth ache and her wings burn. No, she told herself, that’s just the sprain. It’s all in my imagination.

Dash nodded to Fluttershy. “Yeah, a nap would be good. Wake me up when the Princess is here.”

Fluttershy smiled, nodded, and carefully drew the blanket up to Dash’s chin.





That buzzing ache, like the indistinct chatter of a distant crowd. It was loud, all-consuming, filling her mind, drowning out thought and feeling. She was back in the dreamscape, but this time she was alone. No friends by her side. No ANIMa.

The Shadowbolts watched her. They towered over her, immense wings flapping slowly. They did not move to attack her. They did not open their mouths to speak to her. They merely watched.

Their eyes were beautiful. Empty pits, full of darkness, full of stars falling and dying. She felt her wings lock up, and then she began to plummet toward the ocean below. The Shadowbolts did not move to help her. They simply watched her as she fell.





Rainbow Dash woke up. A figure towered over her, wings outstretched. Dash shrank back—

No, that had been a dream. It was Princess Celestia here, standing over her. Not one of those nightmare tricks, the real Princess Celestia, with Fluttershy standing behind her.

Fluttershy coughed. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake you, Dash, the Princess just got here—”

Dash waved her off. “No big deal, Fluttershy.” Fluttershy nodded and left the cottage, throwing one last glance at Dash before closing the door.

Dash let out a breath. “Hey, Princess,” she said. “I’m sorry; I’d bow, but...” She gestured to the cot.

Princess Celestia smiled. “No need to apologize, Rainbow Dash.” Scarcely had the words left her mouth when her smile vanished. “On the contrary, I must apologize to you. It is my fault that you and Pinkie Pie are injured. This is... this should be my fight. You should not have to defend me.”

Dash shook her head. “No, Princess, it’s not your fault. I’m not doing this because I have to. I’m doing this because I want to, okay? There’s no way I’d let the nightmares get away with—” Images of the false Cloudsdale flashed through Dash’s mind. She gritted her teeth until the memories passed. “With what they’ve done. Besides, you’re the Princess. It’s my duty to help you, isn’t it?”

The Princess frowned. “If you insist, Rainbow Dash. Now, what did you learn about the nightmares before your unfortunate ejection?”

Dash started her story. She told the Princess about flying toward the nightmares’ base, and seeing the Shadowbolt guards, and sneaking up behind them—

“Rainbow Dash,” the Princess interrupted, “you mean to tell me that you engaged the nightmares? Even though you were outnumbered, and I gave you explicit orders to avoid combat?”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Dash said. “There might have been three of them, but they were all really small—” She realized what else the Princess had said. “I mean—I had to do it, you know? They were guards! They could have seen me, and then the entire mission would’ve been ruined!”

Princess Celestia sat down and looked at her intently. “I see. Very well then, Rainbow Dash,” she said. “Tell me what else you did.”

Dash felt her mouth go dry, but she tried to explain what she had seen: the false Cloudsdale, the machine in the factory, Nightmare Moon. She managed to keep her stuttering to a minimum. “And... well, and then I woke up,” she finished. “So, uh, that’s... that’s it, right? We’re done? I should really get some sleep, heal up—”

Princess Celestia stood up, but she did not stop looking at Dash. She towered over Dash and flared her wings. “No, Rainbow Dash, we are not done yet,” she said. Her voice was empty of emotion. She lowered her head and brushed her horn lightly against Dash’s bandaged sides, and there was a flash of white light.

Dash was wracked with pain and nausea. Her sides were burned and blistered and raw and it hurt. She writhed on her cot, and the rough scrape of gauze on skin traced new agonies through her. Her eyes watered, she clenched her jaw to keep from crying out—

There was another flash from the Princess’s horn, and the pain stopped—at least the most acute pains. The numbing spell on the bandages was still gone, and Dash’s body ached everywhere. She gasped for breath.

“Rainbow Dash, actions have consequences. That is a memory of what your recklessness did to you. Pinkie Pie’s injuries are less serious, thankfully—still, for the sake of thoroughness, shall I show you what she felt?”

Dash couldn’t answer. She was still struggling to catch her breath. The Princess spoke again.

“Twilight had warned me of your eagerness for battle, but I had hoped your loyalty would temper your aggression. I had hoped that you would obey me from the start, and that I would not have to do this. I am sorry, Rainbow Dash—truly, I am.”

The Princess lowered her head again. Dash shut her eyes. I won’t scream, she promised herself. I won’t cry. I can do that much. The Princess’s horn brushed against her side, and there was another bright flash through her eyelids—

A soothing warmth flowed through Dash’s body, and the pain passed. She felt her muscles relax. She felt warm and heavy, but pleasantly so, as she sank back against her cot.

“You bear the Element of Loyalty,” the Princess said. “Loyalty to one’s friends, one’s beliefs. You say you have ‘a duty to help me.’” Dash shivered and opened her mouth to say something, but the Princess took no notice. “Rainbow Dash,” she continued, “loyalty is a powerful virtue, but it is not enough.” Her voice shifted, becoming softer and... almost pleading? “Loyalty and duty are wonderful, but right now I need your obedience. Please, Rainbow Dash. I need to know I can trust you.” She bowed her head, turned, and started to walk away.

“Wait, Princess,” Dash said, her voice shaky. The Princess stopped walking, but she did not turn. “Please, Princess Celestia. I... I’m sorry, okay? I can do better. I’ll do better next time.”

“I am disappointed in you,” the Princess said, still facing away. “You may have seen something important, but your knowledge is incomplete. Still, we must accept what we have. I will be back with Twilight to ask more questions. Until then, you should rest.”





Rainbow Dash lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The Princess had come back, accompanied by Twilight, and they had asked more questions about the mission and the nightmares’ machine. They had called it an “orrery” or something. Dash didn’t know what they were talking about, but she did her best to answer their questions. After Twilight and the Princess left, Applejack came by. They’d talked, and Applejack had brought snacks, and that was nice, but eventually she’d had to leave for chores or something. Then Rarity had come by to check in, and then Fluttershy had brought some more medicine... boring. Being injured was boring. Almost boring enough to put her to sleep, but not quite. And Dash shivered at the thought of her dream; she didn’t want any more dreams for now. The buzz of the Nightmare Core had faded, but when she closed her eyes she could still hear its faint echoes.

“Hey, Pinkie Pie,” Dash called. Pinkie had been sleeping the whole time, occasionally snoring. “Hey, Pinkie Pie! Wake up!”

Pinkie sat up abruptly. “Wha? Oh, hi Dashie! How are you doing?”

“Bored. I thought you might want to talk or something.”

Pinkie tilted her head. “Sure, Dash, I’d love to talk. I don’t know what to talk about, though. What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” Dash said. “Uh, how are you doing? Fluttershy said the console exploded. You okay?”

Pinkie Pie showed her front hooves to Dash. They were bandaged heavily, but her bandages were dry, unlike Dash’s, which were still sticky with medicinal paste.

“I’m a bit twingey,” Pinkie said, “but I’ll be fine. And now I know that prickly hoof means something’s about to explode!”

Dash chuckled. “...Yeah, I hope you don’t have to use that too much. But I’m glad you’re okay, Pinkie.”

Pinkie Pie smiled. “Don’t worry about me, Dash, I always bounce back. I’m a very bouncy pony.” She paused. “But what about you? You’re not a bouncy pony. You’re more of a zoomy pony. You know... zoom. Whoosh!” She waved her hooves in the air to demonstrate.

“I’ll be fine, Pinkie,” Dash said.

Pinkie narrowed her eyes, and Dash felt heat rise to her face. “I said I’ll be fine, Pinkie Pie. I’ve already had Twilight and the Princess grilling me. Can’t you at least lay off?”

A frown crossed Pinkie’s face, just for a moment, and then she was smiling again. “If you say so, Rainbow Dash!” Dash blinked, and suddenly Pinkie was at her side, hugging her tightly. “I don’t want to make you all grumpy, Dashie. Smiles are good medicine. Soon you’ll be all healed and whooshy again!”

Dash shoved her backward. “Damn it, Pinkie Pie, don’t you know what ‘lay off’ means?” Pinkie stumbled and fell to the floor. She looked up at Dash, her lower lip quivering, and Dash had to look away. “Just—just forget it, okay?” Dash said. “Just... forget it.” She rolled over, ignoring the momentary pain in her sprained wing. “Look, I’m going back to sleep. Sleep and medicine’ll do more for me than smiles will,” she said, and closed her eyes.

Pinkie pulled the blanket over Dash. “Sleep tight then, Dashie,” she said, very quietly, and padded back to her own bed.

Rainbow Dash lay there for a long time, listening. Though Pinkie Pie went back to sleep quickly—Dash could hear her snoring again—Dash herself could not fall asleep, not for hours.
> Chapter Three: Research Expedition
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The past few weeks had been uneventful. Applejack had been running all the group’s missions—Twilight had been busy examining data, and Dash had been recovering from her injuries—but the dreamscape was quiet. Nothing unusual to report, which meant that Applejack could take time to relax. She didn’t. Any free time she had, she spent here.

The rest of the farmhouse was crowded with rows of makeshift beds, each bearing a sleeping pony, and shelves of machinery, each bearing an array of blinking lights. This room, though, had only two beds in it. These weren’t like the others, either. Those were flimsy things, built quickly, with neither skill nor care. These were true beds.

Two full-size beds in a single room was crowded. Twilight had argued against the extravagance of real beds, the wasted space, and though Applejack had finally acceded to putting them in one room, she stood firm otherwise. Her family would sleep on real beds, not splintery plywood or repurposed hospital stretchers. Applejack would not submit her family to that last little indignity.

On their beds, Granny Smith and Big Macintosh slept. They were both smiling in their sleep, as all the Blissed did. The machinery beside them ticked on, heedless of Applejack and Apple Bloom’s presences, and the two sleeping members of the Apple Family were just as impassive.

Apple Bloom huddled against her big sister, who put a foreleg around her and held her close. “Applejack,” Apple Bloom said, “please promise you won’t leave.”

Applejack looked down at her little sister. “O’ course I won’t,” she said. “I’ll stay with you ‘til you’re ready to go. You’ve still got chores to do, after all.”

Apple Bloom shivered slightly against her, and Applejack suppressed a shiver of her own. By rights, the farmhouse should have been warm, filled as it was with sleeping bodies and buzzing machinery, but it still felt chilly. “That wasn’t what I meant,” Apple Bloom said. “I wasn’t talking about you going off to do chores on your own.”

Applejack looked away and took a deep breath. “Apple Bloom,” she said, “you know that I can’t—what’s that?”

The lights on Big Macintosh and Granny Smith’s monitors, formerly a steady green, were now blinking red. As Applejack watched, the blinking got faster, and the machines themselves began to give off a high-pitched whine.

“Apple Bloom, get back to Ponyville,” Applejack ordered. “I need Rarity to anchor for me. Find her, then get to the lockdown shelter. Go!”

She didn’t react, so Applejack grabbed her and started pushing her to the door. “Apple Bloom, get movin’!”

“Wait a moment, sis,” Apple Bloom said, squirming out of Applejack’s grasp. “I don’t think it’s nightmares.”

The whine was easing off. Applejack’s muscles started to relax, just a little. “Then what do you reckon it is, causin’ this racket?”





Applejack, Apple Bloom, Rarity, Twilight, and Princess Celestia all crowded around the briefing table in the ANIMa crèche lab, formerly Fluttershy’s cottage. Princess Celestia nodded to Twilight. “My dear student will explain the situation to you,” she said, “and what your mission entails.”

Twilight flushed. “Thank you, Princess,” she said. She took a deep breath and began.

“Applejack, the sensors around Sweet Apple Acres are picking up some strange readings. They don’t appear to be related to an imminent nightmare attack, but they’re definitely unusual, and we should investigate further.

“We’re going to be trying something new. Previously, the ANIMa has not shown any patterns in where it enters the dreamscape. Indeed, it seems that all three pilots perceive the ‘same’ location as having markedly different qualities. Like you, Applejack, you perceived our first battle as taking place in the middle of a field full of dead crops.” Twilight paused. “The dreamscape obviously has some correlation to the physical world,” she added, apparently to herself, “so there’s got to be some objective truth to its particulars. Seems we’re not equipped to understand it, though. Not fully. Not yet.”

She shook herself. “But back to the subject at hoof. Previously, we’ve relied on the ANIMa to deliver us to wherever we need to be; this time, we’ll attempt to direct it. The sensor activity seems to be restricted to the immediate vicinity of Sweet Apple Acres, so you’ll be looking for the portion of the dreamscape coterminous with the farm.”

“Co-what now?” Applejack asked.

“Coterminous. Um, in the same place. Though it might not look the same—in fact, I’d say that’s likely. The underlying geography might be similar, but aside from the false Cloudsdale Rainbow Dash reported, we haven’t seen any buildings in the dreamscape. And since we haven’t detected any nightmare activity recently, it’s unlikely that there’s any construction dream-side.” She trailed off for a moment. “Unless... no, never mind. Just go to Sweet Apple Acres. See if you can find anything unusual.

“In addition, Pinkie and I have been working on a new sensor suite, which you’ll help to set up. Our previous sensors have had limited range. This new version makes use of scrap we’ve gathered from defeated nightmares, which we think will let the sensors penetrate deeper into the dreamscape, which should in turn allow us to gather more data with improved accuracy. Pinkie and I have set up four sensors around the perimeter of Sweet Apple Acres, and two more within the farm’s limits.

“However, the new sensors aren’t working yet. Pinkie Pie seems confident that we’ve achieved penetration into the dreamscape, and I’ll admit she has a certain knack for constructing Bliss-related devices, but the fact is the sensors aren’t active right now, and we need to find out why.” Twilight took a deep breath.

“So, in summary: your mission is to enter the dreamscape, find the part of the dreamscape corresponding to Sweet Apple Acres, and watch for any unusual phenomena. You are also assigned to help dream-side setup of the new sensor suite. We do not expect nightmare attacks during this mission, but in the event of an attack you are authorized to destroy any aggressors.” She turned toward Princess Celestia, a hopeful smile on her face. “Did I miss anything?”

The Princess smiled and shook her head. “Not that I can think of, my student. You were quite thorough. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”





Applejack opened her eyes and stretched. She was in floating in that same damp void that preceded every mission in the ANIMa. She shuddered. “Ain’t natural, not havin’ anything for a pony to stand on,” she muttered. The void took no notice of her complaints.

Why do you fight?
Who do you fight for?
Who will stand by your side?
When you are alone, who will come to your aid?

Applejack spoke, her voice strong and clear. “I’m fightin’ for Apple Bloom. She’s family, and I’ll do all I can to protect her. Rarity’s out there anchorin’ for me. We might not get along all the time, but I can’t fault her dedication. She’s always willin’ to help a friend.” She paused for a moment, then chuckled. “Aw, heck, I’ll use Rainbow Dash, too. She’s been fair twitchy, what with havin’ to heal up. I’m sure she’d appreciate bein’ able to help out.”

Applejack’s ANIMa started to take shape in the depths of the void: an earth pony sculpted from red-brown steel. Muscular, especially around its legs and haunches, but not lacking in grace. This time, its horseshoes were studded with gleaming spikes, apparently Rainbow Dash’s contribution. Mounted to her ANIMa’s sides were two long, thick metal tubes. Gun barrels.

Applejack’s great-grandpappy had owned a gun. Being a settler was hard work, occasionally dangerous, and with the Everfree Forest so close it was safest to be prepared. Since Applejack had been born, the gun had never been fired in earnest, but it stayed above the mantel as a testament to their family’s past.

Applejack fought for friendship, and she fought for kinship. Previous testing had proven that the ANIMa couldn’t use any of the Blissed, for whatever reason, but Applejack still had one family member left awake in Ponyville. So she called Apple Bloom to fight with her, as her sister and as a representative of the Apple Family. The guns were her contribution. They weren’t fancy or elegant, but they were reliable and powerful. Louder than a mare could believe, with a recoil like getting bucked in the ribs, and they packed one hell of a punch against the nightmares.

The pieces of the ANIMa clamped tight around her, interrupting her reminiscence. As the machine hummed to life, Applejack almost felt as though her friends and family were standing next to her. She felt a familiar warmth growing in her chest. Pride for me and mine, she thought, and hope for the future.

“Hey, whatever you are,” Applejack said to the emptiness, “would you mind settin’ me down someplace specific? I’m lookin’ for the part of the dreamscape that’s co-ter-mi... that’s in the same place as Sweet Apple Acres. Would you mind helpin’ out?”

There was no response; she hadn’t really expected one. As the void faded away, though, and the ANIMa began to shift from “somewhere in-between” to just “somewhere,” Applejack almost felt as if it had listened.





There was a sudden, horrible wrenching that made Applejack’s stomach twist and left her dizzy. Wherever she was, it felt... incomplete. The air around her was filled with a cold gray-blue haze, and nothing else. Whatever help the void offered, it apparently didn’t amount to a complete trip.

“Hey, Rarity,” Applejack called, “d’you have any idea where I am?”

Rarity’s voice was very faint—not the static that came from a disrupted link, just faint, as though she were speaking from very far away. “I’m having trouble hearing you, darling,” she said. “Is there some sort of complication?”

“I asked if the ANIMa could just go ahead and bring me straight to the farm. Only it don’t seem to have, uh, worked.”

Rarity was quiet for a while. “I’m not... entirely sure what you mean, Applejack. Does there seem to be any immediate danger? Do you need to eject and try again?”

Applejack shook her head. “Let’s not go that far just yet.” She looked around. The uniform field of haze wasn’t giving her any clues. If only she had some way to understand it better... “Rarity, could you put Twilight on—huh.”

At Twilight’s name, the haze pulsed with light and Applejack felt a tingle run through her ANIMa. “Actually, Rarity, I think I’ve got an idea.”

Applejack turned in place, looking for any landmarks. Nothing, still, so she picked a direction at random and spoke to it.

“So, uh, whatever you are, it don’t seem like there’s a whole lot here. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like some extra help. Could you send Twilight here? She’s the one with all the brains, and I could use her advice.” The haze flashed again, the light purple this time, and Applejack’s ANIMa shivered. Another presence joined Rarity, Apple Bloom, and Rainbow Dash in the ANIMa: Twilight Sparkle.

Twilight’s presence in the ANIMa faded into being as an array of sensors, feeding Applejack a constant stream of information on her surroundings. There was too much information, too fast and too technical for her to understand most of it, but she could pick up enough through intuition and guesswork to make it useful. With the help of the sensors, Applejack could see—or, rather, she could sense—that the fog wasn’t evenly spread. There were thinner patches and thicker, and the fog twisted into a particularly dense knot right over...

...there.

Applejack trotted over to the tangle of fog. It was slightly larger than the ANIMa, perhaps the size of the barn at Sweet Apple Acres. Thick tendrils of fog coiled around some sort of coldly-glowing core, hiding it from sight but not from her new sensors.

The sensor readouts were confusing, but they didn’t seem to indicate any danger. Applejack took a deep breath, lowered her head, and charged forward into the breach.





With an oddly lighthearted popping sound, Applejack burst forward through the cold glow and into... well. Not a brighter place, or a more welcoming one, but more familiar. She recognized those rolling hills: they matched the hills around her home. The proud apple orchards were gone, though, replaced by stunted weeds and dry, yellowish soil. She was standing in front of where the barn should have been. At her back was another fog bank, this of the same dead yellow as the ground, and its clouds twisted in on themselves in dizzying coils.

“Well, Rarity,” she said, “it looks like I’m here.” She glanced back at the billows of fog where the barn and farmhouse should have been. “And I think I figured out what was makin’ the sensors act up.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Rarity said. “What about the new sensors—do you see any sign of them?”

“Six sensors in all, right? At the corners of the farm, at the farmhouse, and in the fields.” Applejack glanced back at the billowing fog. It was thick, opaque, and somehow ominous. “Uh, I’ll have to go lookin’.” She trotted off toward the northeast corner of the farm, not looking back at the yellow cloud.





Applejack approached the far corner of Sweet Apple Acres, and saw what she assumed was the first sensor. It was a silvery metal spike, gleaming wetly, planted firmly in the dusty earth. Whereas the rest of the dreamscape was organic, if dead, this object was undeniably artificial. She reached out toward the object with one hoof.

When she touched its smooth, slick surface, she felt a slight tingle run up her foreleg. Inside the ANIMa, her fur stood on end with electric charge as the spike opened, unfolded into a flower of razored spines. Blue-white sparks fluttered along the edges of its petals in an oddly comforting display. Applejack stared at the flower until Rarity’s voice interrupted her reverie.

“Applejack, the northeast sensor just activated. What did you do?”

Applejack gave her head a quick shake to clear it. “What? I’m, uh, I’m not rightly sure,” she said, rubbing the numbness out of her hoof.

“Well, whatever you did, it seems to have worked,” Rarity said. “Well done, Applejack.”

“Don’t speak so soon, Rarity. I’ve still got five more.”

“Of course. Rarity out.”

Applejack looked out, beyond the boundaries of Sweet Apple Acres. As far as she could see, more of the same powdery yellow earth. She shook her head. No use in sightseeing; she had a job to do.





Three of the other sensors were set at the northwest, southeast, and southwest corners of Sweet Apple Acres, and activated with the same ease as the first, accompanied by Rarity’s short confirmations after each. Applejack had her misgivings, though. By the time she reached the fifth sensor, the one in the fields, her concerns had grown unignorable. Her right foreleg, the leg she had touched each of the sensors with, was growing increasingly numb, and she had to concentrate to avoid stumbling. And after each activation, she had to fight the urge to stare into the crackling sparks. The way they danced across the sensors’ silver petals reminded her of a forest fire she had seen when she was much younger. Up close, the flames had leapt back and forth, their graceful acrobatics almost tempting enough to keep a foal from running away from the blaze. It was beautiful, but it was a beauty best appreciated from a distance.

She used her other foreleg to activate the fifth sensor, struggling to avoid falling forward onto her weakened leg. As the sensor unfolded, Rarity came in again. “That’s the second to last, Applejack. You’re almost done.”

“I’m glad of that,” Applejack said. “Though I do wish Twilight’d been able to turn ‘em on without me.”

“I’m sure she did her best, and you certainly seem to be doing well enough now, dear.”

Applejack shifted her weight. She was almost done, no sense in complaining now. “I suppose.” She started off toward the mass of haze where the farmhouse should have been. “Last sensor, comin’ up.”





Applejack stood in front of the tangle of yellow clouds. Somewhere in there was the final sensor, and then she could get out of this barren mockery of her home.

She suppressed a shiver. She’d been avoiding that connection, she realized. Sweet Apple Acres was supposed to be a place for the green and the growing. This dry, dead land of yellows and browns was... wrong. It was a place that shouldn’t be, that should never have been. That it was so close—

What was Twilight’s word? Co—coterminous, that was it. In the same place. That these dead fields should overlap with her farm, with her home, was just wrong.

Applejack shook her head. Just one more cruelty the nightmares had inflicted upon them. She took a deep breath, held it, and walked forward into the fog.

With each step, the fog seeped into her ANIMa. It had no particular scent, but it tasted sour, and its dryness stung her eyes. She shut her eyes against the fog and concentrated on the information fed to her by Twilight’s sensors. Applejack stumbled through the fog, blind except for Twilight’s aid. It seemed so much larger inside the cloud than it had looked from the outside...

She tripped over a rock, or a root, or something else invisible in the cloud, and her weakened leg collapsed underneath her. Her ANIMa was filling up with yellow haze, and Applejack closed her eyes. Just need to catch my breath, she told herself. I’ll be up in just a moment.





Before Twilight Sparkle had come to Ponyville, Applejack had never seen the Princess. Granny Smith had had her stories, and she’d shared them whenever she got the opportunity: the honor and responsibility the Princess had bestowed upon them, detailed descriptions of her royal stature. Heh, how great-grandpappy had gotten to kiss the Princess’s hoof, and how great-granny had yelled at him afterwards. Stories and memories, and they were as much a part of Applejack’s heritage as her name, her home, or the apples proudly emblazoned on her haunch.

But Applejack herself had never met the Princess, and had never thought she’d have the opportunity. After activating the Elements of Harmony, though, and freeing Princess Luna from the influence of Nightmare Moon—only for a little while, whispered a voice in her head which she tried to ignore—she had finally gotten to meet the Princess. Princess Celestia had asked to talk with those ponies who had helped redeem her sister—not that it did much good, the niggling voice said.

The Princess had been... beyond all of Applejack’s expectations. Graceful, wise, kind. Everything that royalty should be. And the Princess, despite her royal duties, had wanted to talk to a simple country pony. The Princess had asked a few questions, but mostly she’d stayed quiet, letting Applejack explain her life and what had led her to that ruined castle.

Applejack had stumbled over her words. She’d tried to remember the etiquette lessons from her youth, but she’d never expected that she would need them on the farm, and so the lessons had been mostly forgotten. But the Princess had not laughed at her and her admittedly uncultured ways. Instead the Princess had smiled and spoken, her voice quiet, but filling the halls like the sunlight through the shattered windows.

“Applejack, you need not be so delicate. This should be a time of simple, straightforward joys; I am in no mood for ceremony now. Even if I were—from one of those who has returned my sister to me, I would forgive a thousand indiscretions. And you, Applejack, bear the Element of Honesty. You need not, indeed should not, hide your true self from me.”

The thread of memory started to slip away from Applejack, but one line remained. “One of those who has returned my sister to me...” Applejack knew little of royal affairs, but she knew about family. And Princess Celestia, it seemed, was fighting for the same thing.





Applejack opened her watering eyes. The fog had pulled back, held at bay by a shimmering golden wall. Applejack looked down at herself. Her ANIMa had another new addition: at the base of her throat was a shining golden sunburst. As she watched, the sunburst flashed again, and the fog retreated further. She took a deep breath, finally clear of the choking haze.

There, planted in the ground at her hooves, was the final sensor. This one was tarnished by the acrid fog, more grime and gray than the gleam of silver, but Applejack ignored that. She pressed her right hoof against the spike and waited for its activation. The spike began to unfold—was it just her, or was this one slower than the others had been?—so Applejack took her hoof off of it. Her leg was entirely numb.

Applejack watched as the spike completed its unfolding, and sputtering sparks started to run down the edges of its tarnished petals. She blinked the haze out of her eyes. With the final sensor on, it seemed that the smog was starting to clear up. She rubbed a hoof across her face. Yes, the smog was clearing away from where she was, moving away—

Applejack looked up. The cloud had drifted away from her, high into the sky, to coil instead into thick yellow-brown twists. As Applejack watched, the coils of fog tangled, separated, reformed, finally settled into a set of three birdlike shapes. Nightmares.

“Oh, damn it,” Applejack said.

Rarity responded quickly. “Applejack, the final sensor’s on, but I’m picking up nightmares on the console. Are you okay?”

Applejack tested her numbed hoof. She couldn’t fight with it, but it would support her weight. Probably. If she were careful. “I’m fine, Rarity. Looks like I’ll just have to clean up before we’re done here.”

Together the nightmares let out a long, shrill caw, like dying ravens, and then they dove at her. “Sorry, Rarity, can’t talk right now,” Applejack said. “I got some fightin’ to do.” Rarity started to reply, but the link broke into static and cut her off.

Applejack fired a salvo of bullets at the descending nightmares, tearing through their smoky wings, turning their unified dive into an undignified tumble. They righted themselves quickly enough, but Applejack charged into the middle of the group, striking out with her good foreleg. She caught one of the nightmares a solid blow in its chest, and the spikes on her horseshoes shone with a sudden prismatic gleam. The nightmare shrieked and dissolved, wafting away like smoke from a campfire. Applejack planted her front hooves and bucked at the second nightmare. Another solid blow, another flash of rainbow light and it too was gone, but Applejack fell to the ground, her numbed leg collapsing under her.

The third nightmare shrieked again and slammed into her, its claws and wings scrabbling at her ANIMa, filling Applejack’s ears with its maddened cries. There was no intelligence there, only rage and hunger. She got to her feet, the creature still beating at her armor. The sun emblem around her neck flashed, and the creature squawked and jerked backwards. With her good leg, Applejack brushed it off and crushed it underhoof.

Applejack shook her head, her ears still ringing from the nightmare’s screeching. The static in her link faded. “Well, Applejack,” Rarity said, “is it over? Did you win?”

Applejack took a deep breath. The fight had been quick and easy, the nightmares hardly any threat at all. She scuffed her hoof in the parched earth. Her final strike had left cracks in the ground. The earth was dry and dead: nothing would grow here, not while the nightmares were still around.

“Yes. I think we’re done here, Rarity,” Applejack said. She closed her eyes, and gave a satisfied sigh as she felt the gentle electric tingle calling her back to wakefulness.





As she opened her eyes, Apple Bloom scampered over to help her out of the restraints. “Didja do good, sis?” she shouted.

Applejack laughed. “O’ course I did, Apple Bloom.” She pulled on the quick-release, shucked off the bonds, took a step towards her sister—

and promptly fell over. Apple Bloom cried out and rushed to her side.

Applejack’s right foreleg had collapsed beneath her. She took a closer look: under the fur, her skin was traced with bright red patterns, like flowering vines, which led from the base of her hoof almost to her shoulder. It didn’t hurt. In fact, she couldn’t feel her leg at all.

“Don’t worry, Apple Bloom, I’m okay,” she said. “Just... just a lil’ shaky. Help me up, please?”

Apple Bloom turned sideways. Applejack leaned on her and very carefully got back up, keeping her weight off the numb leg, then let her little sister lead her back to the cottage.





Applejack woke up on a cot in the crèche lab. Her leg was still numb, and smeared with medicinal salve, but she was otherwise fine. Twilight was over by the ANIMa consoles, glaring at the one in front of her. At her side sat Princess Celestia, watching calmly. As Applejack stumbled out of the cot, Twilight looked up and smiled. “Hey, Applejack, you’re awake. Feeling okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Applejack said. “But I’ve been worse, too. How ‘bout you? The sensors workin’ okay?”

Twilight sighed. “I’m honestly not sure. Here, take a look.” Princess Celestia stood up and moved back against the far wall of the cottage, making a space for her.

She stepped in and took a look at the console. A simple square screen, an array of buttons and switches, a row of dials. Twilight had outlined a rectangle on the screen with strips of tape, and several blinking blue dots moved back and forth inside that box. “Don’t look like much, Twi,” Applejack said. “Mind tellin’ me what’s strange here?”

Twilight gestured at the screen. “That rectangle represents the boundary of Sweet Apple Acres. The sensors cover more than that, but that’s not important right now.” She pointed a hoof at one of the dots. “Here, that one. Watch!”

The dot in question moved toward the line of tape. As soon as it reached the tape, it blinked out. On the other side of the rectangle, a new dot appeared. Applejack raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, it just moved across. Why's that strange, Twi?”

“Because it doesn’t make any sense!” Twilight shouted. “Those dots are nightmares; more of them turned up a little while after you left the dreamscape.” Applejack tensed a little, but Twilight waved a hoof. “That’s not the weird thing. The alarms haven’t reacted; the nightmares aren’t even acting aggressive right now. What’s weird isn’t the nightmares—it’s how they’re moving.” She rubbed her forehead. “Look. When you were in the dreamscape, you could see beyond your immediate location, right?”

Applejack nodded. “But it all looked pretty much the same, if you ask me. Just more empty fields and all.”

Twilight shrugged and continued. “Well, the dreamscape’s appearance seems somewhat fixed, but it makes sense that you could see out from the farm. Sweet Apple Acres is, after all, part of the rest of the world. You can enter, you can leave.

“Here’s the weird thing: these nightmares aren’t leaving. To all appearances, they can’t leave. They’re just wandering around. Maybe that’s a little weird; I’d expect their motion to be regular, organized, but I don’t pretend to understand their thought processes. That’s not important, anyway.

“What’s strange is that the nightmares appear to be physically unable to exit Sweet Apple Acres. When they cross the farm’s boundaries, a little within our sensors’ limits, they blink to the other side. That doesn’t work, not unless they’re moving within a closed space, not unless you map the farm onto a toroid or something. And then how are we still able to get readings, if they’re closed off? And look at this!” Twilight fiddled with the console controls for a moment. “Ah, none of them are moving up or down right now. But if they get too high or too low, they blink over to the other side that way, too. So whatever’s going on, the dreamscape version of the farm’s turned into a closed manifold in four dimensions!” Twilight smacked the console with a hoof, then winced. “Ow. That hurt.”

Applejack blinked a few times. “Um. Well. That sounds... serious?” She chuckled nervously. “Look, Twi, I’m not quite sure what you’re sayin’, but don’t you think you’ve been working hard lately? Maybe you should take a break.”

“I can’t, not right now! I’ve got to—”

Princess Celestia had crept back next to them, and now she brushed a hoof over Twilight’s shoulder. “Twilight Sparkle, perhaps your friend is correct. You have been working most diligently; you should have some time to relax.”

“But Princess, I don’t want to disappoint y—”

The Princess placed her hoof over Twilight’s mouth. “You could never disappoint me, my student. I’ll watch the consoles for you, for a while.”

Twilight lowered her head. “Okay, Princess,” she said.

Applejack gave a quick bow. “Then with your permission, Your Majesty, I’ll be takin’ Twilight?”

“Yes, Applejack. Fluttershy said that you should be gentle with your leg, but gave no further warnings. I believe that you should be safe as long as you take care.” She paused. “Hmm—while you’re out, would you send Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash to me? They should be feeling better by now... I’ll have Rainbow Dash deal with these nightmares. They may not be aggressive now, but there’s no sense in leaving such enemies so near to us.”

Applejack bowed again and left the cottage, Twilight following docilely behind.
> Chapter Four: Compound Defense
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie had been assigned to look after the foals. They were gathered in the building that had once been Sugarcube Corner, and was now only another shelter against the nightmares. Pinkie’d found a stash of board games to distract them, so while the foals played in the front room, she and Dash were baking in the back.

“Sky-two!” Pinkie called out, before turning back to her mixing bowl.

“That’s my bumblebee,” Dash said with a groan. “Go again.”

Well, Pinkie was baking. Dash was watching, for the most part. She’d also snagged a Battleclouds set from the front room, and Pinkie called out squares in between mixing ingredients. Dash was growing more and more irritated: even with her attention divided, Pinkie had managed to win six games in a row.

Applejack and Twilight walked in. Twilight was staring at the ground, but Applejack at least was cheery. “Hey, you two,” she said, “the Princess was wantin’ to see y’all down at the ANIMa crèches. Twi and me can take over here.”

“What?” Rainbow Dash looked up from the game. “Why’d she call for us? Did she seem mad?”

Applejack frowned. “Not that I noticed; she’s just got a mission for you. It’s been three weeks and she wants you piloting again. Did I miss somethin’?”

Dash rubbed at the back of her head. “Oh, well, of course not,” she said. “There’s nothing for her to be mad about. Did she want us right away? I kinda want to finish this game.”

Applejack shrugged. “Wasn’t urgent, I don’t think. Pinkie, care for some help with the baking?”

“That’d be great!” Pinkie said. “Rainbow Dash, I pick storm-seven.”

Dash glared at the game. “Got my thunderhead. Go again.” She looked up and noticed Applejack limping. “Hey, AJ,” she said, “what’s up with the leg? You okay?”

“Oh, this? Just from the ANIMa. Ain’t nothin’ serious.”

“Well, that’s good,” Dash said. “Don’t tell me the nightmares are too tough for you! I bet I could’ve taken ‘em.” Applejack rolled her eyes, but didn’t deign to respond.

“Um, rain-six!” Pinkie said, and started rolling out some sort of pastry dough.

“And that’s my cumulus. Your turn again, Pinkie.” Dash turned back to Applejack. “Come on, I bet my ANIMa’s stronger than yours. We should have them fight! Like, head to head. Twilight, do you think you could set that up? It’d be awesome!”

Twilight sighed and finally looked up from the ground. “Rainbow Dash, that’s a terrible idea.”

Dash hopped up on the counter, narrowly missing one of Pinkie’s mixing bowls. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you know you can’t beat Spectrum Impact!” she declared, and stamped her hoof proudly.

Applejack, Twilight, and Pinkie all looked at her. “What’s ‘Spectrum Impact’?” Twilight asked, a slightly apprehensive look on her face.

“That’s what I named my ANIMa!” Dash said. “You know, because, like, rainbows and such. Spectrum. Why, don’t you like it? I’ve got some other names, too. Prism Bolt. Rainbow Smash. Nightmares’ Worst Nightmare! Why, what’ve you named yours?”

“Huh,” said Twilight, “I hadn’t really thought about it. I suppose I’ll have to consider a name.”

“I don’t much see the point, myself,” Applejack said. “They’re just machines.”

“I wouldn’t call them machines, precisely—” Twilight began.

Dash hopped down from the counter. “C’mon, Applejack!” she said, flaring her wings. “Why not name it? You name apple trees, for Celestia’s sake. And I know for a fact that you named your hooves. Your hooves!”

Applejack bristled. “Well, that’s different, ain’t it? At least apple trees are alive.”

Dash and Applejack glared at each other. Applejack was scowling, but Dash couldn’t hold back her grin. It’s so much fun, watching her get riled up, she thought, but Twilight stepped in before Dash could say anything further.

“The ANIMa might not be alive in the same way a tree is,” Twilight said, “but it’s not just a machine. It’s a complex system of magic and technology which draws upon emotional connections, allowing us to fight the nightmares on equal terms. Rainbow Dash, if you want to name your ANIMa, there’s nothing wrong with that. Applejack, if you’d rather not, then that’s also fine.

“The ANIMa might not be alive, but it represents the spirit of something living: our friendship.” She shoved Applejack and Dash apart. “So stop arguing! We’re supposed to be fighting nightmares, not each other. And arguing won’t strengthen your connections; it’ll make them weaker, and your ANIMa will suffer similarly.”

Dash’s smile turned into a scowl to match Applejack’s. “Aw, don’t be so serious, Twilight. I was just playing.” She held up a hoof to Applejack. “We’re friends, aren’t we, AJ?”

Applejack’s scowl shrank a little, and she tapped Dash’s hoof with her own. “Course, we’re friends, Dash. I just wish you’d be a little more serious.”

“Life’s too short for seriousness. C’mon, Pinkie, we both know I’m not going to win this game. AJ and Twilight can finish the baking here. Let’s go see the Princess.” She turned and walked out.

“You got it, Rainbow Dash!” Pinkie said. “Oh, Applejack—there’s a pair of pies in the oven, too. Could you take it out in, say, ten-ish minutes?”

“Sure thing,” Applejack said, and Pinkie followed Dash out the door.





When Dash and Pinkie reached the ANIMa lab, Princess Celestia was already there, prodding at one of the consoles. She looked up as they entered. “Ah, you’re here. Thank you. I have a mission for you, Rainbow Dash.”

Pinkie went over to her console and started making adjustments, while Dash shifted uncomfortably from hoof to hoof. “Thanks, Princess,” Dash said. “With Applejack doing all the piloting, I was worried you wouldn’t need me. Or that you wouldn’t want me to pilot anymore, after... you know.” Her sides were still tender, though all but a few of her feathers had grown back.

Princess Celestia smiled indulgently. “I only want you to be at your best. You made a mistake, Rainbow Dash. We all make mistakes, and we should all have a chance to redeem ourselves.” A shadow passed over the Princess’s face, quickly enough that Dash wondered if she’d imagined it. “Besides,” the Princess continued, “I believe this task will be more suited to your predilections, and to your rather singular talents.”

“You bet, Princess,” Dash said. “What’s the mission?”

“It’s quite simple, really. I need you to go to Sweet Apple Acres. There’s a group of nightmares there, and you’re to find them and destroy them.”

Dash grinned. “All right, this seems more my speed,” she said. “Uh, Sweet Apple Acres, though? Like, do we need to roll the Core over there or something? ‘Cause it’s pretty big.”

The Princess frowned. “No, I mean the dreamscape’s equivalent. That area of the dreamscape which... overlaps, I suppose, with Sweet Apple Acres. Applejack found it necessary to ask the void for assistance in order to reach her destination; other than that, this mission should be quite straightforward.”

“Gotcha. You ready, Pinkie Pie?”

“All set!” Pinkie said, and hopped out the door. “Come on, Dashie,” she called back, “I’ll help you get the restraints on.”

Dash smiled and shook her head before following Pinkie out of the cottage and over to the crèches, and the Nightmare Core.





As she was being strapped in, Dash looked out at the sky. There was a storm brewing over the Everfree Forest. It’d be trouble if it broke past forest limits. Everfree storms were wild and unpredictable, and there wasn’t any more weather patrol to keep everypony safe. Heck, most of the ponies left awake couldn’t even fly—either they weren't pegasi, or they were too young.

In weather patrol, Dash had had power. Even at her young age, her raw ability had earned respect. In the space of minutes, she could bust out a job anypony else would have spent hours on. It had been quick and easy work, enjoyable in its own way, and it left Dash time to relax.

The present was far less enjoyable. There weren’t enough ponies left awake to do all the work of environmental upkeep; Dash had seen how the land farther away from Ponyville was deteriorating. Equestria was growing wild, like the Everfree Forest writ large. And piloting was harder work than weather patrol had been, even if it didn’t take much time. Piloting consumed her thoughts even when she was away. When she was actually near or in the crèche, as she was now, she could feel the Core. More than just its physical presence, it was a shadow squirming through her head as its buzz and hum caressed her skin. It felt like a bad case of feather-mites, that same parasitic itch and crawl. Dash shifted uncomfortably, and Pinkie, tightening the straps around her belly, noticed her twitching.

“What’s wrong, Dashie?” Pinkie asked.

Dash shook herself, as much as she could in the half-buckled harness. “Nothing, Pinkie.”

“Ooh, I bet I know what it is! Dash, are you ticklish?”

“What? No.”

“That’s what somepony who was ticklish would say! Tickle-tickle-tickle!”

“Stop it, Pinkie,” Dash said with a sigh.

“Tickle-tickle-tickle!”

Pinkie’s roving hooves poked Dash in her still-tender side, and she hissed in sudden pain. “I told you to cut it out!”

Pinkie pulled back, a worried expression on her face. “I’m sorry! Are you okay, Dashie?”

Dash took a few breaths and bit back her anger. “Yeah, I’m fine. Absolutely rosy.” Most of her anger, anyway. She took a few more breaths as the flare of pain settled, then looked at Pinkie and smiled sheepishly. “No, I’m sorry, I’m okay. Just—nerves, I guess. The Core, it’s kinda making me jumpy. Not like I’m scared of it—like, itchy or something, you know?”

“I get it, Dashie. I’m sorry for the tickles, too.” Pinkie fastened the last of the straps and gave Dash a quick hug. “Good luck, Rainbow Dash!”





Why do you fight?
Who do you fight for?
Who will stand by your side?
When you are alone, who will come to your aid?

Rainbow Dash sighed. “This again, really? Are you gonna do this every single time?”

As with every question she asked, the void didn’t respond. “Fine, be that way,” Dash said. “Last time I was here... last time didn’t work out so well. I’m gonna go simpler this time, just the essentials. Strong. Sleek. Straightforward.”

She paused. Essentials... “Pinkie’s anchoring for me, so she’ll be here. Scootaloo’s a little brat sometimes, but she’s a useful brat. And... Applejack. Applejack’ll be here for me. And I’m going to Sweet Apple Acres, if you can take me there—the nightmares need to learn that this is our world, and I’m just the pony to teach ‘em.”

Dash watched her ANIMa form. A tough shell, an array of spikes, four powerful wings: its pieces faded into being and locked into place around her. Her ANIMa held her tightly, as both armor and weapon. She stretched out and flapped her wings, feeling the ANIMa move around her. “Let’s go,” she said to the emptiness, and she was gone.





Rainbow Dash woke to a storm.

The normally mirror-placid ocean thrashed beneath her, and the skies above shook with rage and thunder. Weather at last, Rainbow Dash thought. It’s about time. The dreamscape’s expanse of weatherless ocean had been getting on her nerves. It was good to finally have some excitement.

Most pegasi wouldn’t fly even in tame storms. Lightning could be called but not controlled; it struck wherever it wished. And this? This wasn’t a tame storm. This was a fury Dash had never seen before. This storm was a thing of power, and of glory.

Dash laughed as the thunder shook the world around her. No pony-crafted storm could match this. It was exhilarating. Lucky I’m not flying alone, though. The ANIMa might be a little fragile, but I’m sure it can take a lightning strike.

As if to test her resolve, a bolt of lightning flashed into being at her side, carving a blazing path from sky above to sea below. The lights on her ANIMa flashed as if in greeting. Pinkie’s voice buzzed into life, and Dash struggled to hear over the riot around her.

“Are you all right, Dashie? The Core’s all sparkly-flashy here, and—hey, that rhymes. Dashie, flashy... anyway, are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay, Pinkie,” Dash said. “But are you sure I’m actually in Sweet Apple Acres? ‘Cause this place doesn’t look anything like Equestria.”

“You’re there, Dashie. Go get ‘em!” If she said anything more, the thunder drowned her out.

Right, thought Dash, piece of cake. All I have to do is find the nightmares in this storm, rip ‘em to pieces, and get out, all without turning into a crispy pegasus. I can totally do that. Somehow.

First order of business was to find the nightmares. In this torrent, it would be like looking for a raindrop in a cloud, almost literally, but it had to be done. Out of sheer defiance, Dash screamed into the storm, “C’mon, nightmares! Think you can take me? I’ll tear you apart!”

Much to Dash’s surprise, her challenge drew challengers. Well, she thought, that’s step one dealt with. Easier than I’d expected, too. Looks like it’s my lucky day.

Out of the storm they came to her. They took form as birds and beasts, a flock of indistinct screeching shapes, and Dash laughed. “This is for Cloudsdale!” she shouted, and dove toward them. She folded her wings and went into a tight spin, the air around her shrieking at the speed of her passage. She plunged into the center of the flock, and the nightmares squealed again as her blades tore into and through their unreal flesh. Scraps of her enemies, in shreds of cloud and mist, blew away in the gale.

Dash laughed in exultant fury as she spun, and the nightmares’ cries were a sweet melodic counterpoint to the thunder’s percussive cracks. She spun faster and wilder, closing her eyes to better appreciate the sounds of battle.

The nightmares’ cries faded out and Dash slowed, her eyes still closed. Even the storm seemed to settle around her. They hadn’t even tried to fight. They’d come to her in panicked disarray, and she had torn them into momentary puffs on the breeze.

It was too easy. It was fun, yes, and it was what the Princess wanted her to do, but it was unsatisfying. It just wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even a contest anymore; the nightmares couldn’t stand against her strength and speed. It was... boring. “Hey, Pinkie, how many nightmares left?” she asked.

“Just the one,” Pinkie said. “You know, the one right in front of you? Look around, silly!”

Dash opened her eyes. Hovering before her, gazing at her with star-filled eyes, was the last nightmare of the pack. Its four legs were long and spindly, its wings were ragged, and its flowing mane shone like starlight. In another time and place, it might have passed for an especially gangly pegasus, but in its eyes was nothing equine. It was just another monster, like the ones who filled her beloved Cloudsdale.

“Hey, you,” Dash said. “Yeah, you. Nightmare. Wanna race? I’ll even give you a head start.” The lights on her ANIMa blinked faster, and the tips of its spikes gleamed in the pounding rain. The nightmare stared back at her, showing no signs of comprehension.

With one wing, she gestured to the last wispy remnants of its fellows. “I’ll race you. You get a head start. If you can outfly me, then you can go free; otherwise, you end up like those guys. Capisce?”

Lightning flashed, and the nightmare squealed. With a sudden panicked flutter, it turned and began to fly away from her, as fast as its wings could carry it. Dash grinned.

One second passed. Two. Three, and then a crack of thunder. “That’s enough time, I think,” Dash said. “Ready or not, here I come!”

She raced after the nightmare as it fled, shrieking, higher and higher into the sky. With a gleeful battle cry she chased it. The clouds grew thicker, and her four wings beat hard against sodden air. The light of the nightmare’s mane grew dim; Dash strained to go faster—

and burst out of the water in a sudden spray.

Dash looked up at the sky, then down at the sea below as it snapped at her ANIMa with white-capped waves. With a quick curse at the nonsense of the dreamscape, she looked around for her quarry. Almost got you, she thought, as she saw it darting away through the watery peaks. You can’t keep this up forever. She sped in its direction. Where it dodged waves, she smashed into and through them in blasts of seawater, throwing shimmering drops into the night air.

She caught up to the nightmare. As if sensing its imminent destruction, it turned to face her. It hovered just above the waves, staring at her with those beautiful, empty eyes.

With a shout of triumph, Dash collided with the nightmare. Her ANIMa tore through its body, spikes sinking deep, and its pieces blew away in the storm. She laughed. “That’s the last one taken care of, Pinkie!”

Pinkie cheered. “Great job, Rainbow Dash! I’m so proud of you. I’ll start the exit sequence, okay?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Dash shook the rain off her sodden ANIMa and rose above the waves, to look out at the storm. She could feel the ANIMa slipping away. In a breath of wind it dissolved, and out of its protective embrace the cold dream-rain soaked into Dash’s coat. For a fleeting moment she felt small and vulnerable, before she sank into blackness.





Dash unfastened the pilot restraints and went back over to the cottage, the buzzing in her head not inhibiting her pride—nor her swagger—in the least. “Who’s awesome? I’m awesome. Did you see me, Pinkie?”

“You were awesome, Dash!” Pinkie chirped. “I couldn’t see you fighting nightmares, of course, but you were awesome!”

Dash deflated a bit. Just a bit. Right, she thought, Pinkie couldn’t actually see any of that. Well. Still awesome. Just... not as awesome as it would’ve been if somepony had been watching.

She looked around the cottage. “Hey, where’d the Princess go?”

Pinkie shrugged. “She went off to the Everfree Forest. I said, ‘That’s silly, it’s all stormy! You’ll get all wet!’ but she didn’t pay attention.”

“I guess she’s trying to deal with the storm or something?” Dash shook her head. “Whatever, doesn’t matter. What matters is, I did it! I beat the nightmares. I’m awesome.”

Pinkie plopped down by her console. “Since I don’t actually get to see you being all awesome, Dashie, how about you tell me? I wanna hear!”

Dash chuckled nervously. “I’m not really a great storyteller, Pinkie. Sorry.”

“Awwww. Can’t you at least tell me a little?”

“I... sure.” Dash sat down in front of her and tried to figure out how to begin. “Well, I suppose I’d better start with my ANIMa. It’s called ‘Spectrum Impact.” What do you think of the name?”

“I was there earlier, silly!” Pinkie said. “But it sounds like a good name. I like it!”

“Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, it’s got, like, spikes all over it. Those are from Scootaloo. And wings—it’s got four wings.”

“Ooh! Who are the wings from? Fluttershy?”

“The wings? Heh, this is kind of embarrassing...” Dash rubbed the back of her neck. “They’re from Applejack.”

Pinkie cocked her head. “But Applejack doesn’t have wings. Why not Fluttershy? Or Scootaloo! Scootaloo could have been your wings instead.”

“Pssh, they’re hardly any better at flying than Applejack is. And Applejack... well, she can’t fly, but flying’s about strength and speed, right? And Applejack’s strong and fast, right? So it makes sense.” Dash paused. “It does make sense, doesn’t it?”

Pinkie shrugged. “I guess so, Dash. It’s your ANIMa, after all! But what about me? What am I for you?” She scooted a little closer. “Because you know, you are awesome, Rainbow Dash,” she said. “But it’s not all you.” She nudged Dash’s side. Dash winced at the pain, but Pinkie didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, Dashie, I was helping too!”

Dash nodded, rubbing at her aching side, but managing to keep the grimace off her face. “Yeah, you did. Thanks for anchoring for me, Pinkie. And fighting—you’re strong, Pinkie. You turn into, like, this shell-armor for me, lights flashing all over, it’s great.”

Pinkie’s smile got even wider. “That’s because we’re such good friends, Dashie!” Her hoof moved to Dash’s withers and began to stroke up and down. “The ANIMa gets stronger when you get closer to your friends! We’re close, aren’t we, Dashie? We’re close?”

Dash shrugged. “Sure, Pinkie, whatever. We’re friends.” She paused for a moment. “Hey, wait a moment. You said, ‘the ANIMa gets stronger when you get closer to your friends.’ And Twilight was talking about that, too. What’s that really mean?”

Pinkie shrugged with one arm and kept massaging Dash’s shoulders with the other. “That’s just what Twilight said. She hasn’t done ‘thorough testing’ yet.” She wiggled her free hoof in an attempt at air quotes, while her other hoof traced little loops down Dash’s spine. “You knooo~ow, we could do some testing. Get... closer. Huh, Dashie? You wanna try it?”

Dash rubbed her chin with a hoof. “Hmm, closer? And this would make my ANIMa stronger?”

“That’s what Twilight thinks,” Pinkie said breathily. “You could test her hypothesis, you know. It’d be all... sciencey.”

Dash laughed. “This is great!” she said. “Oh, this is such a great idea!”

“You think so?” asked Pinkie Pie. “Oh, good, I was worried—”

Dash darted out from under Pinkie’s hooves. “Yeah! Thanks, Pinkie, I’ll see you back in town!”





The storm had already broken past the edge of the forest and was quickly spreading across the sky; Rainbow Dash had reached Ponyville barely ahead of the cloud front. And Applejack hadn’t even been in town! Twilight had said that she’d left for Sweet Apple Acres, which meant Rainbow Dash had to go back through the storm to find her.

She set down in front of the farmhouse. There were lights on inside, almost certainly Applejack’s doing. So she walked in, shook herself mostly dry, and went looking. She tried to breathe, to keep calm, but her heart fluttered in her chest. Relax, she told herself. It’s just Applejack. And it’s for the ANIMa, too. It’s a good idea for both of us.

Dash reached the top of the stairs and found Applejack, walking out of one of the rooms and pulling the door shut behind her. When she saw Dash, she swiped a hoof across her face and smiled. “Heya, Rainbow, I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Everything all right?”

Dash sauntered closer and tried not to trip over her own hooves. “Oh, everything is wonderful,” she said. She stood in front of Applejack. “And it’s only going to get better, you know?” Without further hesitation, she stepped forward and pressed her lips against Applejack’s.

Applejack pulled away from her kiss. “Rainbow—what do you think you’re doing?” she said, her eyes wide.

“What does it feel like I’m doing, AJ?” Dash said. Feeling a little woozy, she moved in for another kiss, but Applejack stumbled back against the door behind her.

“Look, Rainbow,” Applejack said, “I’m flattered, really I am. But do you think this is a good time? We’ve both got a lot to deal with—”

Dash rubbed up against Applejack, breathing in her scent. She smelled of apples, earth, and sweat, the smells of hard labor done well. “This is a great time, Applejack. I mean, look, you hurt your leg, right? That wouldn’t have happened if you’d been better prepared. C’mon, let’s give our ANIMa a little boost. It’ll be fun.”

Applejack pushed Dash away. “What are you talking about?”

Dash scooted closer. “Well, Twilight and Pinkie were talking, you know? About how the ANIMa’s powered by friendship, by how close we are. So, d’you want to get, uh, closer? Wink wink?”

Applejack pushed Dash away again, harder this time, and her eyes were narrowed. “So wait, this is just about the ANIMa? It’s only about ‘getting a little boost’ for you?”

“No, it’s not just that! Like you said, we’re both under a lot of stress. We deserve a little...” Dash licked her lips and tried her best to sound seductive. “A little relaxation, huh? A little fun?”

Applejack’s face did not soften. “I think you should leave now, Rainbow Dash,” she said.

“Oh, come on, AJ, you know you wa—”

Applejack shoved Dash back, hard. “I think it’s time for you to go, Rainbow Dash. Now.”





Despite the storm, Dash found herself flying back toward the ANIMa crèches, and the Core. She didn’t know why she was going there, but she didn’t really care. Maybe Pinkie Pie would still be there, and they could talk. She could get back in the ANIMa, hunt around for a bit; smashing nightmares sounded good right now. Or maybe nopony would be there, and she could just hurl rocks at the Core until she calmed down. Stupid Core! she thought. Stupid nightmares. Stupid Applejack. Life was complicated enough before the world ended. Now...

Dash reached the cottage, and heard somepony moving around inside. She landed a short distance away and walked the last few feet up to the cottage door, calling, “Pinkie Pie? That you?”

The door opened. Rarity stood there. “Rainbow?” she asked. “Why are you here? You look... my word, you look terrible! Quickly, come inside. I’ll make tea.”

Once they were inside the cottage, Rarity put on a kettle of tea, then fetched a towel from somewhere and passed it to Dash. As she dried herself off, Dash asked, “So, Rarity, why are you up here? I’d expect you to be back in town, hiding from the weather.”

Rarity frowned. “Princess Celestia came by and asked me to take a look at the data we’ve gathered. As I’m sure you’ve heard, Applejack had some trouble with her last run, and... Rainbow? Is something wrong?”

Dash rubbed harder at her face. She was muddy, it was getting in her eyes... “No. Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “Shut up.”

Rarity clucked her tongue. “Oh dear. Rainbow Dash, did something happen with Applejack?”

Dash hurled the muddy towel at Rarity, who caught it before it hit her. “I told you to shut up! Nothing happened. Nothing’s going to happen. Just... I’m leaving. Tea’s stupid anyway.” She turned, but the door locked itself before her eyes. “Open the door, Rarity. I’m leaving, and I don’t want to break a window unless I have to.”

Rarity flicked her head, and the curtains swished shut. “Nonsense. Rainbow Dash, you are going to stay here, and you are going to drink your tea, and you are going to tell me what happened.”

Dash glared at Rarity, who met her gaze calmly. Finally, Dash flopped down in the middle of the mud-stained carpet. “Whatever, Rarity. Pass me a cup of tea.”





Dash sipped absently at the dregs of her now-cold tea. “So that’s how it is. I just don’t understand her! I like her; she likes me. She had some trouble in the ANIMa, and this would give her a nice boost in the cockpit. What’s wrong with that?”

Rarity stared blankly at Dash. “You told Applejack you were only interested in her because it would provide you with a mutual advantage?”

“What? No! Applejack’s great. She’s strong, she’s pretty, she’s athletic. Come on, I’m not gonna hook up with just anyone.”

Rarity sniffed, and her voice got quiet. “Yes,” she said. “I notice you haven’t propositioned me, for instance.”

Dash choked on her tea. “I’m not—I didn’t mean—”

Rarity burst out laughing. “I’m joking, dear. You’re not my type, and I very much doubt I’m yours. I think you and Applejack might make a very nice couple.”

“If that’s true, then why didn’t she just say yes to me?!”

Rarity sighed. “Because, darling, you were rather tactless.” She sipped at her tea. “And besides, while I can’t say I’m particularly surprised that you’re interested in mares—no offense intended, dear—I’m not sure Applejack is. Honestly, I’m not sure she’s interested in anypony; she shows a peculiar lack of interest in matters romantic. It rather makes her a dreadful bore when talking at the spa.” She held out the kettle for Dash, but Dash shook her head, so Rarity shrugged and poured herself another cup of tea. “And Rainbow, dear, think,” she continued. “Do you want Applejack because it would be useful to have a relationship with her, or do you want her because she’s... well, because she’s Applejack?”

Rainbow Dash looked down into her empty teacup, and didn’t say anything.

“Hmm,” Rarity said. “In that case, I would recommend you sort out your own feelings before you talk to Applejack again.” She tilted her head and the curtains slid open. “It’s stopped raining, dear, if you would like to leave. I think I’ve kept you long enough.”

“What?” Dash looked up. “Oh... oh, yeah. Yeah. Thanks, Rarity.” She got up and flew out of the cottage, brow furrowed, and Rarity closed the door behind her.
> Chapter Five: Hers, in Flesh and Spirit
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Twilight collapsed. Her ANIMa thudded to the ground, raising a cloud of gray moon dust. The static of her broken link with Fluttershy filled her ears. There was no other sound. Twilight raised her head and glared at her foe, the most defiance she could manage for the moment.

He was an alicorn, immense and once-majestic. In his ruined form, Twilight could see the echoes of former glory, and even that slight resemblance to Princess Celestia made her feel physically sick. Bile burned at the back of her throat.

The alicorn in front of her could have been princely, once. Now he was a monster. His mottled gray hide was covered in bruises, sores, and half-healed cuts. He no longer had the toned muscles she’d expect of an alicorn; his skin hung loosely on his emaciated frame, and his ribs were caved in. His wings were tattered rags, and his horn was a spur of yellowed bone. His eyes were worst of all, like a dead thing’s. He looked toward Twilight, but those cold eyes showed no signs of surprise, or interest, or acknowledgement.

Twilight took a deep breath and struggled back to her hooves. Her enemy tilted his head to one side and stared at her emptily. Focusing energy into her ANIMa’s golden horn, she sent a silent prayer to Princess Celestia: “Give me strength. Give me the will and the power to triumph.” An orb of sunlight began to grow at the tip of her horn, throwing the moon’s surface into sharp monochrome relief. From that shining horn, Twilight’s connection with her Princess, came a beam of blazing sunlight, lancing toward the monstrous thing in front of her.

The sunbeam hit her enemy, and he did not flinch.

Twilight focused on her memories of the Princess. She forced more magic through her horn, and thought back.

When she was just a foal, that first glimpse of Princess Celestia raising the sun. How majestic she’d looked, how beautiful.

At the entrance exam for Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. That soothing touch bringing her out of her uncontrollable surge of magic, and the offer to become the Princess’s personal student.

Princess Celestia, raising her in Canterlot. Sending her to Ponyville. Talking with her at the Gala. Princess Celestia had always been there for her: teaching, leading, guiding.

All that I am, Twilight thought, all that I could be, is because of the Princess. I can’t fail her. Her horn throbbed painfully, but she shut her eyes and gave all the energy she had over into her spell.

There was a deep, wrenching crack. Twilight fell to her knees.

Her ANIMa’s armor was dented and sparks sputtered from its joints, but that was no matter, merely a consequence of battle. Her ANIMa’s horn was damaged as well. One long, spidery fracture ran from base to tip.

The nightmare before her was unharmed.

It stepped forward. It raised a hoof to crush her.

Twilight sobbed, waiting for its final blow. The static in her ears broke, and Fluttershy was screaming again. I’ve failed you, Fluttershy, Twilight thought. I’ve failed everyone.

I’ve failed the Princess.

There was a jolt—not the finality of the nightmare’s attack, but from the emergency mission abort. Twilight couldn’t bring herself to care.





A warm light shone through Twilight’s closed eyelids. She opened her eyes and looked up to see Princess Celestia standing above her. She was struck for a moment—more than a moment—by how beautiful the Princess looked in the glow of the rising sun. Then Twilight shook her head. Such thoughts were inappropriate, were something to be ashamed of, especially for somepony as flawed as her. The Princess tried to meet her eyes, but Twilight flinched and looked away. She couldn’t face the Princess, not now. Maybe not ever again.

She was in the ANIMa lab, lying on one of the spare cots. She didn’t know how long she’d been out, how long she had made the Princess wait. Her throat was dry and her lips were cracked, but she managed a whisper. “Please, Princess Celestia,” she said, “I’m sorry. Please don’t...” She trailed off. “I’m sorry, Princess,” she finished weakly. There were no words to properly articulate the depth of her failures.

The Princess placed a gentle hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. She flinched and tried to pull away, but her muscles wouldn’t respond. The Princess took no notice. “You have nothing to apologize for, my dearest student,” she said.

“I failed you, Princess!” Twilight blurted, finally mustering the will to roll away from the Princess’s hoof. “I know why you haven’t had me running missions: it’s because you think I’m weaker than the others. And you’re right, Princess; I don’t have the same strength as Applejack, or Rainbow Dash. I shouldn’t have volunteered for pilot duty. I wanted to impress you, Princess, to make you proud, but I—I couldn’t. I can’t. I can’t do anything.”

The Princess placed her hoof back on Twilight’s shoulder. For a moment Twilight leaned back, savoring the light pressure on her coat. She wanted nothing more than to accept that comforting warmth, and to... no, but she shouldn’t. She couldn’t. She wasn’t worth it, and so she took a deep breath and pulled away. “Please don’t, Princess,” she said. “I just... please. I should rest.”





Twilight drifted in and out of sleep. There was very little difference between the two. She stared at the ceiling with eyes open or closed, ignoring the others as they flitted around her.

A word drifted through Twilight’s mind. Stupor: noun. A state generally characterized by the apparent lack of higher cognitive functions. The sufferer remains rigid and mute, and almost entirely unresponsive to outside stimulus. While stupor itself is not a disorder, it is usually symptomatic of serious mental conditions.

Twilight knew the word, but she wasn’t listening to her inner dictionary. The crackling voices of the Core were too loud. They rose and fell in pitch, like a hymn sung by a wildfire. She couldn’t understand the song; its chords escaped classification. She wanted to join in, but no pony throat could make those sounds.

A single, sweet voice rose from the chorus. The voice filled her up, giving her the completeness she had been lacking, strengthening that in her which was weak—which, as Twilight knew all too well, was most of her. The voice whispered to Twilight that she was strong, that she was worthy, that maybe, just maybe, she could be loved. Inimitably beautiful, that voice led the song to a shimmering climax which echoed through Twilight’s head.

The last harmonic sizzles faded, and once again Twilight could think clearly, see clearly. And what she saw was Nightmare Moon, the source of their destruction, stepping delicately toward her with a cheerful smile and a halo of starshine.

Twilight screamed and recoiled. She fell backward, tumbling down into darkness. Above her, Nightmare Moon grew smaller and smaller, more and more distant, and with the smile still on her face, she called, “Twilight Sparkle, you need not flee. I’ll be waiting for you again.”





Twilight kicked off her sheets as she woke, shaking, from her nightmare. Her Nightmare, perhaps.

The Princess was there. Twilight didn’t know if the Princess had only just come back to the ANIMa lab, or if she had been there all night. She hoped for the former: she was not deserving of such devotion as the latter would have implied.

The Princess saw the violence with which she awoke and moved closer, to place a gentle hoof on Twilight’s forehead. “Twilight Sparkle,” she said, “my most faithful student, are you well? Your sleep seemed... disturbed.”

“I’m fine, Princess Celestia,” Twilight said, “just a bad dream. Nothing you should worry about.” Then she remembered herself, and her voice dropped to a mumble. “And... don’t say that. Like that. I’m not your most faithful anything, I don’t deserve that title.”

The Princess shook her head. “If you insist on calling me ‘Princess,’ then I will continue to call you ‘my most faithful student.’ You deserve your title far more than I deserve mine. Equestria is finished, Twilight Sparkle. There is nothing left for me to be Princess of.”

“You’re still the Princess. You’ll always be the Princess. You’re...” Twilight trailed off. “You’re my Princess,” she whispered into the thin mattress.

Princess Celestia’s ears twitched, but she did not respond. She gazed at Twilight, and Twilight could not bear to meet those beautiful, ancient eyes. Instead she buried her face in her ragged gray pillow.

The silence stretched on. Twilight couldn’t face her, but she needed to say something to break the silence. Finally she mustered her voice. “Do you... do you still love your sister?” she asked. “Princess Luna? Nightmare Moon?”

For a long moment, there was no response. Then the Princess said, simply, “Yes.”

“Why?” Twilight asked, head still down. “After the Bliss. After the first time she became Nightmare Moon, even. She’s caused so much pain. How can you still love her?”

Another long, slow pause before the Princess spoke. “We are of a kind, my sister and I. We understand each other, in a way mortal ponies cannot understand us.” She trailed off, then began again. “Twilight Sparkle, I still love my sister. That will not prevent me from doing what is necessary for the good of Equestria. I must put my citizens’ well-being before my own feelings. If you ask because you are worried that my resolve is lacking... rest assured, my faithful student, that I will do what I must.”

The Princess pulled the blanket up around Twilight and tucked her in. There was a soft touch on Twilight’s shoulder, but she shrank away.





Twilight Sparkle stood upon a shining disk of blue light. Above her shone the innumerable stars. Before her stood Nightmare Moon.

Nightmare Moon stepped toward Twilight, and that starry mane reached out to embrace her. Twilight flinched, and Nightmare Moon giggled. “Twilight Sparkle, please don’t try to run. I only want to talk to you. I must admit, I am intrigued by your defiance.” Her mane was light and cool as it brushed against Twilight’s skin.

Twilight’s knees shook, but she kept her voice steady. “Why are you doing this?”

Nightmare Moon gestured to the space around them. “This? I already told you, I wish to talk.”

“Not—not the talking. Why are you attacking Equestria? We beat you once before, with the Elements of Harmony. You got better. You were Princess Luna again, and everypony was happy. Why couldn’t things have stayed like that?”

Nightmare Moon stepped closer as her mane stroked along Twilight’s back. She reached out one metal-shod hoof and ran it down the side of Twilight’s face. Where Princess Celestia’s touch was warm, Nightmare Moon’s armor was cold and hard, but there was a tenderness to her movements.

“Twilight Sparkle, my sister and I are of a kind. I understand her in a way no mortal pony can.”

Twilight shivered. “I know. She told me the same thing, that you understand each other.”

“So Celestia told you that? You are her dearest student, I suppose. I should not be surprised that she confides in you.” Nightmare Moon set her hoof down, and the metal of her armor chimed on the hard blue light on which they stood. “But it’s not true, her version of it. It hasn’t been true for more than a thousand years. I understand her, mind and spirit, but she has no concern for me. She abandoned me, her only sister, in favor of you mortals.”

“She had to,” Twilight whispered. “You were attacking Equestria. She had to stop you.”

“That's not true!” Nightmare Moon roared. Her mane, twined about Twilight’s body, went suddenly frigid. Its touch against her skin was cold enough to burn, and Twilight tried to escape, thrashing, but Nightmare Moon’s mane only twisted tighter. “Before I ever thought of eternal night, my sister had abandoned me. She turned away from me, so that she could sate her pride with your adoration! She left me nothing!”

Then Nightmare Moon was smiling again, and her mane subsided to a gentle chill, numbing the pain in Twilight’s limbs, though it did not loosen its grip. “My sister abandoned me, Twilight Sparkle, but I’ve never abandoned her. I still love her.” Her mane, already tight, constricted further around Twilight’s body.

“Yours will be the last generation to walk Equestria, Twilight Sparkle. You will die, or you will sleep. Celestia will be Princess of a mausoleum.” Nightmare Moon’s mane was crushingly tight, but there was no anger in her voice as Twilight struggled to breathe. Indeed, she sounded almost amused. “And when the pain has grown too much for my beloved sister, she will join me here. And she will beg for my forgiveness, and we shall embrace, and she will know hope one last time.”

Nightmare Moon’s smile was gentle and caring, even as spots danced before Twilight’s eyes. “And then I will kill her. This long, sad saga will end. And I shall finally be at peace.”

Twilight could hear a creaking in her chest. As the world faded into blackness, Nightmare Moon’s smile shone like starlight.





Twilight woke tangled in her sheets, gasping for air. Princess Celestia was already there for her, rushing to her side and setting a hoof upon her forehead. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

The Princess’s touch was gentle and warm. Twilight caught her breath. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, Princess,” she said. “I’m okay. It was—nothing. No. I’m fine.”

“If something is wrong, my student, I want to help you. But if you insist you’re okay...” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Then I suppose I must accept that, as well.” A moment of silence passed between them, and Twilight gazed up at the Princess’s face.

She caught herself staring and looked away, an instant before the Princess opened her eyes. Twilight blushed, then took a breath. “Princess Celestia,” she said, “would you tell me about Nightmare Moon? The first time, I mean, a thousand years ago. None of my books had anything besides foals’ stories. Since... since we’re fighting her again, I’d like to know.”

The Princess turned away. “My faithful student, there is a reason no histories remain of that time,” she said, and Twilight suppressed a shiver at her tone. For one brief moment, the Princess’s soft voice had rung with echoes of starshine and ice.

“But if any deserve to know, you do,” the Princess continued, her voice once again full of the warmth Twilight knew so well. “You are my dearest subject. I trust you, Twilight Sparkle. More than that, I would... it would be good to be able to confide in somepony.”

The Princess sat down, still facing away. “You know the story, of course. Ponies worked and played during the day, but slept through the night, and so Princess Luna became jealous. She held the moon in the sky, stopping our natural cycle of night and day. In order to finally end the night, I was forced to wield the Elements of Harmony against her. I imprisoned her within the moon, and took control of both the day and the night. From then on I ruled alone, until she was released.

“The old tales are, for the most part, lacking only in details. Is there anything in particular you would like to know?”

“Is...” Twilight hesitated. She didn’t want to press the Princess about her sister. “The Elements, then,” she said. “Why didn’t you keep them? Why’d you abandon them in that castle?”

“Because they were not mine to use anymore. Before, my sister and I had wielded them together. I had to take all six for myself, and even one such as I cannot use such power alone, not for long.” The Princess took a deep breath. “And more than that, I was no longer worthy of them.” Her voice held a tinge of anger. “Kindness, Laughter, Generosity, Honesty, Loyalty, and Magic. Tell me,” she said with a mocking laugh, “tell me, which of those virtues did I demonstrate when I banished my sister?”

She sighed. “Let me tell you something, Twilight Sparkle, one of my hidden shames: I was not always as I am now. Before Luna’s imprisonment, I had not thought much of the ponies in my care. They were such fragile creatures, I thought, and while I had a duty to guide them, I cared little for their well-being.”

The Princess’s voice grew very quiet. “I placed my sister’s happiness above my subjects’, Twilight Sparkle. The stories make me sound like a hero, as though I stood against my sister’s madness before anypony was hurt. That’s not what happened. I didn’t want to fight against my sister. Instead I watched and waited as Equestria withered around me. I did not act when I should have.

“There were other ponies who tried to stop her. Many gave their lives in the attempt. The blood of those would-be heroes is on my hooves. And my sister had followers—as now, there were creatures who served her, and in the endless night they would go hunting. Their victims’ blood, as well, is mine to bear.

“Once my sister was gone, I learned to love my subjects. There was no one else there for me, and a thousand years of isolation would have driven me mad. I found worth in the lives of mortals, but only because I had no other option.”

The Princess finally turned to face Twilight again. “Twilight Sparkle, there are no histories of the Sisters’ War. Save for in my memories, those stories are gone.” She hung her head, brushing her horn against Twilight’s own. “Until now, of course, with what I have told you. I am sorry, my faithful student; I should not burden you so. You should... you should rest. Heal.”





Nightmare Moon was lying down, a short distance away on the shining blue plain. When she caught Twilight’s eye, she yawned ostentatiously. “Hello, Twilight Sparkle,” she said. “What lessons have you learned today?”

When Twilight refused to reply, Nightmare Moon rolled over, exposing her belly. “Oh, Twilight Sparkle, my sister’s dearest student, can’t you answer?”

At Twilight’s continued silence, Nightmare Moon laughed and gave a pleased little wriggle. “I heard, of course. I’m in your head, Twilight Sparkle, am I not? You can’t escape: I know everything you say and do and think. You have no secrets from me.” Nightmare Moon rolled back onto her hooves and stood, though she kept her distance.

“But you know, I think my beloved sister left out a few key details. Would you like me to enlighten you?”

Twilight rolled onto her back, to look away from Nightmare Moon and up at the sky. The stars shimmered above, unreachable and silent.

Nightmare Moon moved into view. She stood over Twilight, her mane brushing lightly against Twilight’s body. “Do you know what we are, my sister and I?” Nightmare Moon asked. She leaned in close, face to face, her slitted blue-green eyes boring into Twilight’s purple ones. “We are—were, rather, in my sister’s case—creatures of spirit. This is our natural home, in the spaces between the stars. Together we left this realm. Together we took on flesh, so that we might guide you mortals to wisdom. For your sake we gave up our connection to this plane. Celestia is still severed from her true home. Such devotion she shows to her subjects!

“Flesh is a mask, though—our nature is still spirit, in truth. In the mortal realm, we cannot truly die.”

Nightmare Moon’s smile stretched across her face. Her teeth glistened in the starlight. “If you killed Celestia, she would return here. One thousand years ago, that's what she did to me. Do you understand, Twilight Sparkle? That is my sister, the one you so adore. She murdered me, and bound my spirit in the very moon I had once guided. For one thousand years my soul was chained.”

With one armored hoof, Nightmare Moon traced little circles across Twilight’s chest. Twilight did her best not to react, not to shiver at that icy touch. “My sister and I are not the only beings of this realm. For one thousand years I wept, and my pleas for mercy echoed beyond my prison. Others, knowing nothing of our conflict, heard me, and they broke my chains and set me free.

“You know those others. They are creatures of the same glory as my sister and I, and you cut them down like wheat before the scythe. That is true death for me and mine, to be slain in spirit rather than in flesh.”

She pressed her hoof down harder. The edge of her frigid horseshoe cut into Twilight’s chest, and she barely resisted a gasp of pain. Nightmare Moon only smiled. “You come here,” she said, “impinging on our realm, carrying weapons made from the bodies of the dead, and you think yourselves heroic. You and yours have already lost, my lovely Twilight. All you do now is cause us new suffering, and prolong your own.”

Nightmare Moon lifted her hoof. “I don’t want to hurt you, Twilight Sparkle. I don’t want to hurt anypony.” She laughed. “You think me a monster, but why? I have killed nopony. Look upon the faces of those who sleep: I have granted them happiness.”

Twilight struggled to her hooves. “That’s not true,” she said, trying to maintain her composure. “The Princess told me. One th-thousand years ago—and now. Your monsters have hurt ponies. Killed them. And so did you, when they tried to stop you.”

Nightmare Moon inspected her hoof, her voice bland as she spoke. “Celestia lies, then. None of that was my doing. My servants, my followers, I won’t deny that they’ve killed. They can be... overzealous, and it is most regrettable. The fact remains: I, myself, have never taken a life.”

She coiled herself around Twilight, and there was no warmth in her body. “Can you say the same, Twilight Sparkle? Every ‘monster,’ every ‘nightmare’ you destroy—those are lives you’re ending. Not mortal lives, either. Even mortals’ lives have value, of course, and their murder would be unforgivable, but you are no run-of-the-mill murderer. Each time you kill, you extinguish one of the ageless spirits of the cosmos. Creatures born of the same power which birthed my sister and me.” Nightmare Moon licked her lips, her tongue surprisingly pink against the darkness around them, and her voice became low and intimate. “That is a sin even the greatest villains might hesitate to perform, but you and your friends fight on.” She rubbed herself against Twilight and cooed. “And my sister, of course, my dearest sister! How stained her hooves are, with my own blood!”

Twilight tried to escape from her caresses, but Nightmare Moon followed her. She pressed close, her cold, silken coat rubbing against Twilight’s, and she leaned down and spoke into Twilight’s ear, her breath whisper-gentle. “Ah, I’ll admit it, Twilight Sparkle. I’ve lied to you; such is the nature of night, that even its brightest lights leave shadows. I have killed, indeed, but I have never killed another.” She ran her hoof down the side of Twilight’s face. “Twilight Sparkle, the only blood which stains my hooves is mine own. Ask your dearest Princess about that.”

Twilight took another step back, but there was nothing left for her to stand on. She fell, and her mind was filled with Nightmare Moon’s low, mocking laughter.





When Twilight woke, there was a damp rag draped across her forehead, and Princess Celestia was by her side again. “Ah, my faithful student,” she said, “are you feeling any better? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“What happened on Bliss Day?” Twilight asked.

The Princess blinked. “Twilight Sparkle?” she said. “Are you feeling all right? Perhaps you need water, or food—Fluttershy has a meal prepared for you—”

“I’ll eat, if you want me to,” Twilight said, “but please, tell me. I want to know.”

The Princess looked at her sadly, then nodded. A bowl of salad and a glass of water floated over to Twilight, who took them. As Twilight began to eat, the Princess sat down and closed her eyes. Finally, her eyes still closed, she began to speak.

“My sister and I are not creatures of flesh, not by nature,” the Princess said. “This plane is not our home. You’ve seen our home, or at least some fragment of it.”

“I have?” For a moment Twilight panicked—Nightmare Moon was only a dream! And how could Princess Celestia know about those dreams?—but then she realized what the Princess was referring to. “Oh, wait, are you talking about the dreamscape?” The Princess nodded. “But it’s a terrible place! How could that be your home?”

“The dreamscape is, judging by your descriptions, a shadow of the deeper realms from which my sister and I came,” the Princess said. “That would be why it seems different to each of you: the worlds of spirit are not meant to be seen by mortal eyes, and so you shape them with your own preconceptions. You’re not in the true deeps; you see only a piece of the truth, and that blurred as though through smoked glass.

“Long ago, my sister and I took on mortal form, so that we might guide Equestria. We voluntarily separated ourselves from the realm of spirit.” The Princess’s eyes were still closed, but her voice shook just a tiny bit. “One millenium ago, I... forcibly expelled, let us say. I forcibly expelled my sister from this plane, so that I might bind her spirit and bring back the day. On Bliss Day, my sister preempted that tack. She returned to the world of spirit on her own, before I might bind her. She fled this world, so that she might call upon broader powers than she had here. And so that she might summon allies.”

The Princess’s voice was ragged now, but still she continued. “On Bliss Day, Princess Luna killed herself. I watched. I could not stop her.

“I cannot die in flesh, not truly; death here would only return me to my natural home. And if I were to leave here, I would be able to fight Nightmare Moon directly, as equals, without the interference of her minions. But Twilight Sparkle, my dearest student, I do not want to die. If I go back to the realm of spirit, I will not be able to return here, not for a long, long time. My... my attachments to this world dissuade me from such a course.”

The Princess stood, her eyes still closed, and walked over to Twilight’s cot. “And if I were to face Nightmare Moon on her own terms, I might very well lose. My own cowardice will not let me leave. Instead I live on, and send children to fight in my place.” The Princess leaned over Twilight, lying prone on the cot. “Twilight Sparkle, my faithful student, that is the truth you seek. You fight because I fear to.” A teardrop fell onto Twilight’s face, then another, then yet more.

Twilight took a deep breath. Princess Celestia smelled like no normal, earthly pony: she smelled like fresh air, like sunshine on flowers, a heady scent that made Twilight feel ever-so-slightly dizzy. She tried to gather her thoughts. “It’s okay, Princess,” she said. “I can fight for you. I want to fight for you. Please. We can help you. I can.” Through her haze, Twilight lifted her head and kissed the Princess on the lips. She was warm, and soft, and tasted of salt.

The Princess recoiled and Twilight’s dizziness shattered like glass. Struck by the enormity of what she had done, Twilight tried to apologize, but she didn’t have the breath to speak. The Princess, wordless, fled from the room. Twilight tried to get out of the cot, tried to say something to make the Princess come back, but she tumbled to the floor instead, and sank into blackness.





Twilight crouched on the shimmering blue plain. Nightmare Moon stood above her.

“So, Twilight Sparkle,” she said, “have you been enjoying this lesson? Is your teacher to your liking?”

She laughed. Her mane tangled around Twilight and pulled her to her hooves. “Does my sister’s beauty overwhelm you?” Nightmare Moon asked. “Is that why you serve her with such fervor? Out of love?” Again she laughed, her voice ringing out across the stars.

“Of course, she does not love you back. You know that, I’m sure.” Nightmare Moon lowered her head and looked into Twilight’s eyes. Her mane held Twilight in place. “And know this, Twilight Sparkle: my sister is as the Sun itself. She is not beautiful, but beauty; not powerful, but power; not glorious, but glory; and if you approach her too closely you will burn. Like a moth before the flame, so are you drawn to her.”

Nightmare Moon gave another low chuckle, and then she leaned down and kissed Twilight on the forehead, just below her horn. Her lips were cold, as cold as the void between the stars, and her kiss burned. Twilight screamed, and Nightmare Moon covered Twilight’s mouth with her own. From that spot on her forehead, and from her lips, pain spread throughout Twilight’s body, sweeping away thought and emotion. Her throat was bloody raw and still she screamed, on and on into the endless starry sky.





Twilight Sparkle woke. She was no longer on the thin medical cot in the crèche lab. She was on her own bed, underneath her own covers. Sitting next to the bed, watching her, was Princess Celestia.

Even though she was lying down, Twilight’s knees wouldn’t stop shaking. “Princess,” she said, “I’m so sorry for ki—for what I did. It was inexcusable. I can’t—” She stopped. She wasn’t sure what else to say. The kiss had been wrong, it had been a filthy thing for her to do, she could never absolve herself of that sin—but she kept thinking of how the Princess’s lips had felt against hers, and how much she wanted to repeat that depravity—

Twilight blinked. Princess Celestia was smiling at her. A little stiffly, perhaps, a little distantly, maybe, but the Princess was smiling nonetheless. That was not the expected reaction. Twilight had expected—she deserved—punishment. Why would the Princess smile?

“Twilight Sparkle, my dear...” The Princess hesitated a bare breath, then began again. “My dear Twilight. Your repentance is... excessive. You are still young, my student, and I recognize that. I will not punish you for a moment’s mistake made in fleeting passion. This is simply a youthful crush on your part, of no great import. It is... good, that we can clear the air between us. You need not worry so.”

Twilight went rigid. Two lines echoed through her mind.

“I will not punish you for a moment’s mistake.”

That was... good, wasn’t it? The Princess forgave her? But no, there was another part.

“This is simply a youthful crush on your part.”

“No,” Twilight whispered. “No, Princess, please don’t say that. It’s not just a crush, Princess, I love you.”  Twilight’s voice was rising to a broken shriek. “I’ve loved you ever since I first saw you, when you raised the sun when I was just a filly. Princess, please, do anything to me, just don’t say I don’t love you!”

The Princess’s face was a frozen rictus. “Twilight Sparkle, that was not love—infatuation, perhaps, but you are young. You are only a child, Twilight Sparkle: you do not, cannot love me.”

Twilight cried out and lunged at the Princess. She pushed the Princess over—her crown clanked to the floor—and covered the Princess’s mouth with her own. Between hot, desperate kisses, Twilight murmured, “Princess, no, please, I do love you, I’ll always love you.”

The Princess’s body was rigid beneath her. She murmured something Twilight couldn’t understand, and she tried to push Twilight away, but there was no strength in those lovely, slender limbs. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Princess started to relax. Twilight continued her fierce, tear-stained kisses, and the Princess started to move against her, to respond with something of the same desperation.





Twilight Sparkle woke slowly, her mind hazy, groggily trying to hold onto her dream. Such a dream was shameful—sinful, almost blasphemous—but it was a welcome escape from Nightmare Moon’s intrusions.

She blushed. While merely having such a dream was bad, the true disgrace was that she had enjoyed it. It isn’t my fault that I dreamed about the Princess, though, she told herself. It’s because of... stress. Even so, she knew it was inexcusable, yet another addition to the long, long list of her failings.

Twilight yawned and stretched beneath the covers. She shivered as the chill breeze from outside swept through the room.

She pushed the covers off of her head and realized several things. Firstly, she was in her own bed. The morning breeze was not entering through a window, but through the open door to the balcony.

Secondly, last night had not been a dream. It had been wonderfully, terribly real. A whimper escaped her mouth, of mixed horror and ecstasy.

Thirdly, Princess Celestia was nowhere to be seen. Twilight’s breath became fast, shallow, panicky. No, she thought inarticulately. It’s not—it can’t—I shouldn’t—

“Twilight?” came a soft voice from the balcony. “Are you awake?”

Twilight’s fluttering heart skipped a beat, as her panicked thoughts dissolved into simple relief. Princess. She shifted on the bed. “Yes, Princess Celestia, I’m awake,” she said.

The Princess stepped delicately through the doorway. She wasn’t wearing her usual armor, and even unadorned and tired she looked more beautiful than anything Twilight could imagine. She gave a weak smile, the shadows lifting from her lined face. “I’m sorry, I meant to be here for you when you woke up. I went outside to look at the sky. To stargaze. I only meant to be a moment.”

Twilight shifted again. The divot on the bed, where the Princess’s weight had rested, was entirely cold. Still, she did not counter the Princess’s statement.

The Princess took a deep breath. “Twilight Sparkle—no. Twilight. Just ‘Twilight.’” She paused. “Twilight, you are my student.”

Twilight’s heart was still racing. She knew what the Princess was going to say: that it had been wrong, that it had been a mistake, that they should both forget it had ever happened. She knew she would never be able to forget it. But she had never gone so far as to even hope for the Princess’s love—that she might have one night of bliss was more than she could have dreamed of. She would do as the Princess wished. She would bear this memory silently.

The Princess took another deep breath. “Twilight, no matter what has happened, or what will happen, rest assured that you will always be my faithful student. I care for you very deeply, Twilight Sparkle. I do not want to see you hurt, least of all by me. I—last night was a moment of weakness on my part. For that, I can only apologize.”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” Twilight mumbled into her pillow. “It was my fault.”

The Princess exhaled. “You are young, Twilight Sparkle. I mean no insult by that; it is a simple statement of fact. You are young, and I am old, and it is my responsibility to resist my baser impulses. I should not have given in to my weakness.”

“You’re not weak,” Twilight said, still mumbling. “You’re strong, and graceful, and beautiful, and I love you.”

The Princess closed her eyes. “And yet I have wronged you.”

Twilight got out of bed and crept up toward the Princess. Very slowly, very delicately, she moved closer. The Princess did not react.

Twilight kissed her on the lips. Soft, delicate. Gentle. The Princess did not pull away, but nor did she reciprocate. Finally, Twilight pulled back.

“Do you regret it?” Twilight asked. Her voice was very small. “I don’t, Princess. Last night was the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you, Princess. If—if there’s any way I can help you. If you need somepony to talk to. Please, Princess, let me help. Don’t shut me away from you. Don’t—don’t keep all your problems bottled up. I want to help you, Princess, however I can.”

And, with a start, Twilight realized that she had been overlooking something for the past five months. “Princess,” she said, “where have you been sleeping?”

The Princess smiled wanly. “I haven’t, my student. I don’t need to sleep, and it hardly seems wise given our current circumstances. If I ever do need to rest for a moment, then the cots at the ANIMa lab are available to me.”

“Even if you don’t need to sleep, you should at least have someplace to lie down for the night,” Twilight said. “And, since we know you can fit... maybe you could stay here at the Library? With me?”

The Princess frowned. “I do not think that would be wise,” she said.

“Would it really be that bad,” Twilight asked, “to be a teensy bit unwise, just this once?” The Princess didn’t answer, so Twilight pressed on. “We—we wouldn’t even have to do anything. We could just share the bed, you know, just be next to each other. You’ve done so much. For me, for us, for everypony in Equestria. You need to rest sometimes, and I—I could be there for you.”

Twilight moved closer, not kissing, just leaning close to the Princess’s warm bulk.

“Thank you, Twilight,” the Princess said. She nuzzled against Twilight. Her lips brushed against Twilight’s forehead. Twilight looked up, and the Princess kissed her on the lips: gentle, and warm, and loving.

With a screech, the sirens turned on. Nightmare attack.





Twilight stood upon the grim gray plain of the moon. She glared at her opponent, the rotting gray alicorn.

She lowered her head. Her horn was a perfect lance of golden flame, lighting up the moon’s surface like a second sun. She pointed her horn at the nightmare’s heart.

She charged, and the nightmare met her charge with its own.

Her horn slid smoothly into her enemy’s bony chest. Twilight gritted her teeth.

Magic raced through her ANIMa. Twilight whipped her head up, tearing her horn from her enemy’s body. As Twilight watched, her foe was consumed by golden flames, until Twilight at last stood alone.

She took a deep breath. “We’re done, Fluttershy,” she said.

Fluttershy’s voice buzzed through the communication spell. “Okay, good, Twilight. That’s good.”

“Yes, Fluttershy,” Twilight said. “It’s very good.” She took another breath and surveyed the moon’s empty surface. “I’ve won, Fluttershy. Me and my ANIMa: Glory of the Dawn.”