The Vault
The sun rose over the verdant hills, illuminating the valley with a soft, warm light.
Silver Sculptress’s eyes fluttered open as a few rays passed through her window and played across her face. She rose up slowly, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes. “Is it morning already?” she murmured. It felt like only a few minutes ago that she’d been carousing with Stream Dream and Butterscotch and all the others, sipping delicious wine and listening to Bookends read excerpts of his latest play to them. She didn’t even remember coming home.
The silver-coated, blue-maned mare looked outside to check, and found that it was definitely morning – in fact, it was just a few minutes after dawn. The sun was just over the hills, lighting up the houses and gardens of the settlement. The birds were continuing to sing merrily, excited over some event or other in their birdy minds. Down below, Silver saw a few ponies walking around on early-morning business, moving with a brisk sense of purpose.
A slow smile crept over her lips. “Yep. Definitely morning.” She laughed as she pulled her head back inside. “Awesome!”
And then she was rushing downstairs and hurrying out the door.
“Let’s go!” she told herself, as she stepped out onto her lawn. “Lots to do today, and not a second to lose!”
She couldn’t help but grin. These days, every day was an absolute pleasure, and she was determined to make the most out of each and every one.
***
Silver Sculptress’s morning routine usually began with a brisk jog around the village’s perimeter. She found that such activity was a good way to wake herself up, and it also helped inspire her. Silver was an artist – specifically, a sculptor – and there was usually something going on that could give her a great idea for her next work. Even if she didn’t come across anything, seeing her friends and neighbors in the village was fun anyway.
Besides, her ideas for her next work – certainly her most avant garde piece yet – would require a few supplies that hadn’t yet arrived. As long as she was waiting, she’d rather do it outside, in the company of her friends.
Her route took her down the main road to the edge of town, where a few farming ponies tended fields. Silver moved at an even pace, not trying to set any speed records but not dallying either. She smiled again as the fresh air blew through her mane and past her face. It was like the valley was saying hello to her, welcoming her back from the land of sleep. “Hello!” she said, and laughed.
“Morning!”
Silver turned to see Orangerie, a mare of moderate height and a bright orange coat. She had a cutie mark of a glowing orange, and a short, blunt horn that just poked up through a little slit in her straw hat. “Hi!” called Silver. “How’s the farm?”
“Great!” Orangerie trotted over to a tall orange tree that overlooked the path. “Just got a new crop in, actually. Want some orange juice?”
Silver smiled. Whenever Orangerie had completed a new project, she was eager to pass out samples to everypony she could find. This was good for the other ponies… usually. “Maybe just a small glass. I want to get around town before ten. I’ve got supplies coming in by then, and—“
“Of course!” Orangerie nodded rapidly, her head almost blurring. She unlatched the farm’s gate with her telekinesis, then led Silver inside. “One small glass, coming right up!”
Orangerie’s house looked more like a laboratory than a residence, with beakers and notebooks scattered around everywhere. Orangerie carefully moved a full tray of samples off of her kitchen table, then opened up her icebox and took out a jug of orange juice. Silver Sculptress chuckled at her balancing act. “So what’s the latest experiment?”
“Oh, the usual,” said Orangerie. She lifted her glass. “Cheers!”
Silver clinked her glass against her friend’s, then drank deeply. “Magic spells to help grow oranges?”
“Almost. You know how farmers select certain breeds of crops to be extra nutritious and delicious?”
“Yes…”
“I’m trying to breed oranges that are super-extra-magical!” Orangerie grinned. “I’m using all my orange-growing spells on just a few oranges, and putting their seeds in the next generation, and magicking-up those oranges too, and so on, and I think—“
Silver’s horn began to twinge. “Uh. Orangerie?”
“What?”
Before Silver could say anything, Silver’s horn seemed almost to pulse as it blasted a spell off. The magic smashed right into the ceiling fan, knocking it off its mount and sending it flying across the room and crashing into a wall… before turning into a gigantic orange.
The two mares stared.
And then Orangerie grinned. “It works! Yay!”
***
Fifteen minutes later, a still-chuckling Silver Sculptress resumed her jog.
Her route took her around the outer edges of the farms before swinging back in towards the center of town. More ponies were up and about now, and she found herself greeting a friend every few steps or so. This continued as she passed a quiet row of houses, then a big market square, and finally approached the Bakery of Bounty.
Silver opened the door and stepped into the room. It was a small shop, with a little waiting area for customers, a counter for the staff, and a large kitchen and baking room directly behind the counter. There were six customers already inside, talking merrily, as well as the baker, cooking up a storm. Silver took her place in line and smiled. “Morning, Bounty!”
Bounty B. Baker, a tall, brown-coated stallion with a croissant for a cutie mark, glanced over at Silver and nodded imperceptibly. Otherwise, he gave no sign that he’d recognized her. His entire body was constantly in motion as he worked on six things at once, kneading a loaf here, loading a tray of rolls into an oven there, spreading a honey-cinnamon mixture on a set of golden-brown croissants on one table and jotting down notes on another. He was working harder than any cook or baker that Silver had seen outside of the valley, but his actions weren’t hurried or rushed. Every motion was smooth, controlled, and accurate, as if the baker was performing some complicated dance to music only he could hear.
“Wow,” said one of the other customers. “He’s fast!”
“You should see him when he’s busy,” said Silver.
Rolls and pastries slid onto the counter with a blur of Bounty’s hooves. The other customers took their food and left, thanking Bounty profusely. Silver grinned as she approached the counter. “My usual, please!”
Bounty again gave no sign that he heard her, but he managed to slip a large croissant onto a warming plate and drizzle some apple butter onto it.
Silver moved over a step and breathed deeply. The scent of the bakery was almost intoxicating, and there were days when she felt the urge to just stand around for a half hour and breathe. It hadn’t been like this back home, when the only place to get food before work had been an old snack shop with buzzing flies and listless staff. She’d usually just skipped breakfast then. It was nice to live in a place where there was a real bakery, operated by a pony who loved to bake and who took such pride in making each pastry, roll, and loaf of bread the best it could be.
As Silver watched, an oven pinged high up on the left wall. Bounty hesitated for a fraction of a second, then picked up the baking boards he was working on and began to fly up. He reached one wing up towards the oven to open the door, held the board with his second wing, and flew with his third and fourth.
Silver said nothing. She’d seen Bounty use his four wings to this effect before, and while she’d been impressed the first few times, the novelty wore off quickly. She was more interested by the cookies he was taking out of the oven with those wings. They looked like a new recipe, and smelled fantastic.
“Want a sample?” Bounty asked. His voice was deep and rich, like an opera singer.
“Please!”
Bounty expertly wrapped her croissant and the cookie and slid them to her.
“Dinner at the usual place?” the sculptor asked.
Bounty nodded.
“See you there! Thank you!”
Silver Sculptress took the goods, already smiling at the thought of eating them. She turned without putting any money down – nopony paid for anything in the valley, there was no need – and left, humming merrily.
It was just past nine, she noted. She had just enough time to get to her next destination.
***
While most of the valley was bathed in sunshine every day, there was one little corner that was dark, cloudy, and gloomy. After all, some residents of the valley liked that, and it would be rude to disappoint them.
Silver trotted up to one of the larger houses, then knocked. “Hey, Tim! Tim, I’m here!”
“Come in!” called a voice. It was deep and growly, almost a roar – but Silver could hear the kindness behind it.
Silver opened the door – there were no locks in the valley – and entered the house. “Where are you?”
There was no answer.
Silver looked around the hallway, which was sparsely appointed – one little stand for an umbrella, a carpet for boots, and a shelf with a few books. The only light came from an open door down the hall. “Tim?” she called again, stepping further inside.
The air in front of her seemed to darken.
In one moment, there was nothing before her but the slightly damp air of the house. In the next, a sort of black thickness seemed to begin to flow out of the surrounding rooms. As she watched, it coalesced before her, rising higher and higher until it seemed to fill and block off the hallway. The light from the other room was blocked off until Silver couldn’t see even six inches in front of her nose.
Silver stared at the black morass for a moment.
Then a face appeared in the smoke, with shining blue eyes, gleaming white teeth, and a shock of black hair sticking out. “Hi, Silver! What’s up?”
Silver smiled. “Am I interrupting?”
“Nope. Just give me a sec to… pull myself together.”
The sculptor groaned. “If you ever make that joke again, I’m banning you from my exhibitions.”
The face just laughed, and then knitted its eyes in concentration. The cloud began to shrink, thickening and filling out into an equine form as it did so. As the folds in the cloud more clearly became the folds of flank, fetlock, and barrel, the body began to look as solid as Silver herself. In fifteen seconds, it was done, and Silver was looking at a pony with a perfectly black coat and mane – except for a few red hairs mixed in with his mane, a cutie mark of green books, and two bright, piercing blue eyes.
“If you’re done with the theatrics—“
“Never,” promised the pony. “I always do theatrics. Like when we met!”
Silver rolled her eyes. She still remembered that incident.
***
”I can’t believe there’s no locks here,” mused Silver. “So I can just go anywhere?” She paused as she opened the door, feeling like a half-hearted thief. “Hello?”
“WHO HAS DISTURBED MY SANCTUM?”
Silver had squeaked and jumped backwards as a black fog had rolled out of the house. It had risen up in front of her, something unnatural and feeling vaguely twisted. Silver had poked it, felt a shock of cold, and pulled her hoof back.
“WHO DARES DISTURB ME? STATE YOUR NAME!”
“I’m Silver Sculptress!” yelped Silver. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was yours! Please forgive me, oh…”
“I AM NAMED TITAN INVINCIBLEUS MONARCH! AND I… I…”
And then suddenly the fog was forming together, into the body of a pony with a huge grin on his face.
“I can’t believe the look on your face!” He broke down into laughter, falling back and kicking his legs in the air. “Oh, you should have seen it! What, did you think I’d eat you or something?”
“Uh… er…” said Silver, starting to feel silly. It was somehow impossible to feel afraid of a pony who looked that giggly. “Maybe?”
***
Silver chuckled as she followed Titan Invincibleus Monarch – he insisted on ‘TIM,’ not having much love for the odd name his parents had bestowed upon him -- into his study. “Do you have anything that needs copyediting?”
“Actually, yeah. C’mon into my secret lair!”
Silver couldn’t help but smile as she followed the pony into his study. The room, as usual, was almost bare – six bookshelves crammed against two walls, loaded with hundreds of books amongst them, and four typewriters set up on four desks against the third. The middle of the room was completely bare.
Silver nodded approvingly at the neat stacks of paper by each typewriter. “Books coming along, Tim?”
“You bet! Like I said, this atmosphere is great for the muse. Nice and cool and dark – a writer’s paradise” He chuckled. “I was actually right in the middle of two big climactic battles. The Cult of the Smooze is raiding the Cavallian Palace for the body of their great leader in one chapter, and the detective fighting the evil griffon assassin in the other—“
“Don’t let me interrupt you,” said Silver, quickly. “I’d hate if I delayed one of your books.”
“Aw, you always know just what to say. I’ll just be a few minutes.” Tim flashed a smile at Silver, then turned to his typewriters. The front half of his body puffed up, then dispersed into smoke that spread out throughout the room, with two tendrils splitting off towards separate machines. As they approached, each formed into vague approximations of dragon claws and began to strike the keys.
“Have I mentioned lately how annoying it is that I can only make one thing at a time?” asked Silver. This was nothing – she’d seen Tim write on four machines at once before – but she still couldn’t avoid that little pang of jealousy.
Tim said nothing. He was writing.
Silver waited. She knew the vagaries of the muse, how if one waited to jot down a thought or bring forth an idea, it could be lost forever. Every pony in the valley understood it. It wasn’t like the outside world, where things like ‘jobs’ and non-artist friends got in the way to drain one’s energy and ruin countless ideas. It was, in Silver’s opinion, one of the greatest things about the valley. They were all artisans who respected each other’s art.
In a few minutes, Tim finished and reformed. “Ah, perfect.” He sighed, sounding perfectly content. “Another two scenes done.”
“Anything for me to copyedit?” asked Silver, getting down to the actual reason she had visited Tim.
Silver had been a copyeditor before, when she’d lived in Manehattan. She’d hated her job; each and every day was spent reading dry, boring technical documents and finding the tiniest errors. She was allotted precisely two breaks; from ten to ten-past-ten in the morning and three-twenty to three-forty in the afternoon. Lunch was a few quick mouthfuls of hay before returning to work. She left each day utterly exhausted by the mindnumbing boredom, barely able to rouse herself for an hour or two to work at her art.
Tim’s work, though, was different. He had a way of infusing every page with an energy that belied his damp, dim working conditions. She’d never felt as exhilarated as when she’d read his depiction of the alicorn battle against the tyrant Discord. She loved to read his stories. Copyediting them – during snacks, during walks, as her bedtime reading -- wasn’t a job. It was a joy.
“Yep!” Tim levitated a short stack of papers over to her. “My latest short story. I’m thinking of having it submitted to Canterlot Daily.”
“High hopes,” said Silver, but without condemnation. Tim’s work was certainly good enough to qualify for such an esteemed journal. “I’ll probably finish this in the next few days.”
“Great. Hey, see you at dinner, right?”
“You got it. Bye, Tim.”
As she left, she heard clacking, and knew that Tim had already resumed his writing.
***
The last leg of Silver’s jog took her back past the town center.
“Good morning, Silver Sculptress!” called a voice.
Silver turned to look into the river. “Stream Dream!” she said.
Stream Dream was reclining, as she was wont to do, on her own little throne in the middle of the river. It seemed to be crafted out of water itself, flowing gently about her yet never losing its regal shape. The throne bore an insignia on its front denoting the tribe of seaponies that Stream had once been in line to rule, before the coup and all that had followed it.
The seapony herself certainly looked regal; her coat was almost emerald, and her form seemed so perfectly proportioned that she looked almost… well, sculpted. “Good breeding,” was all she would say about that when asked. But it was clear that she liked to be asked, so Silver did so every now and then. It was good to keep one’s friends happy, after all.
Stream, like Silver and Tim, was an artist. Unlike them, she didn’t make anything permament, but instead amused herself by creating different forms and figures in the water. Silver didn’t object to this. Every artist worked in their own medium, and her water sculptures looked good enough, ephemeral though they were.
“Solar Flare just dropped by,” said Stream, sounding regal as always.
Silver straightened. She felt keenly aware, suddenly, that she wasn’t wearing her formal clothes. “Looking for me?”
“Not yet, but there’s a new resident coming by this evening. She wants our little group to welcome him.”
Silver nodded her head sharply. “I’ll be there.” To disappoint Solar Flare, the personal assistant of the valley’s Owner, was to disappoint the Owner herself – unthinkable. She loved them and had given them all they could ever want; in return, they loved her far too much to do something so vile.
“Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting somepony.”
Silver Sculptress smiled. “Bones?”
“…maybe…” said Stream, attempting to hide her pause in an air of offended regality.
“Just remember, no newcomers—“ said Silver, before Stream waved a flipper and sent a wave of water splashing at the sculptor.
One of the rules in the valley was that you couldn’t invite or bring any new ponies in; the Owner had to approve them first. This was for the safety and happiness of all concerned; this was how bad ponies were kept out. Foaling was prohibited for the same reason: what if a foal grew up into a bad pony? That wasn’t to say there were no foals in the valley; a few ponies did want to raise them, and the Owner obliged, finding those with no families and screening them carefully for goodness before allowing them inside. But creating your own was right out.
“We know,” said Stream. “Pharmarecist gave us a charm for protection.”
“A charm?” Silver frowned. “I thought Bones—“
Stream splashed Silver again. “For me, Silver. Don’t you have anything better to do besides speculate on my love life?” She raised an eyebrow. “In fact, I think I saw supplies being delivered a few minutes ago.”
Silver blinked. “A few minutes ago?”
“Why, yes. They should be back at your—“
“I gotta go!” Silver turned. She’d been waiting for this next shipment. It had included a few things that were especially hard to get. But if it had arrived…
She grinned. Her next and greatest work was about to begin.
***
Silver raced inside her home, not bothering to shut the door. Instead, she tore through the living room and dashed right into the workshop.
Four boxes – three small, one large -- rested in front of her.
“Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh!” squeaked Silver. She jumped at the largest box, attacking it with hoof and horn until she’d broken it open. Within was a solid block of the finest Xenophon marble. It was one of the best materials to work with – it broke cleanly and easily under the chisel, but was otherwise stable, sturdy, and never contained hidden faults. She’d once worked for a week on a scale-model of Luna made out of regular stone, only for a fault to crack and slice the sculpture in half. That had been a nightmare. This was a dream.
One of the perks of living in the valley was that you could get anything you wanted, as long as it existed. Silver hadn’t believed that at first, and had, as a joke, written down a few ridiculous items – a bottle of rainbow, a royal crown, an emerald the size of her hoof. The next day, she’d found a box in her living room containing all three, including an ancient crown studded with rubies that had belonged to some griffin high king two thousand years ago. She’d been embarrassed at first, ashamed of how much work she’d put the Owner through, until she’d mentioned it to Orangerie and learned that almost everypony did something like that at first. So she’d learned, and now she only used the requests board for special foods, clothes, and art supplies.
And a super-rare limited-edition dolly that she’d always wanted as a foal but had never been able to afford. But besides that, she only used it for necessitites and art supplies.
“Yes…” Silver hissed, levitating her chisel and hammer over the marble block. She was already visualizing the figure she intended to carve, seeing her outline appear before her in the block of marble. She carefully lay the chisel on the marble, planning to make her first blow. She took a step back, and began to carve.
When she next looked up, six hours had passed.
Silver grinned in exhilaration. Her muscles ached with exertion, but she didn’t feel even slightly tired. The marble block – once just a big slab – was now in the shape of a pony. Not just any pony either, but a specific one. The barrel was thin and sleek, radiating power. The wings, carefully held up by concealed supports, stretched out to the perfect length from the body, turned slightly upwards, like the statue was about to take off. The detailing of the feathers was such that each one seemed perfect – rounded at one end, sharp at the other, and primed for flight. Two legs were raised, like the pony was trotting boldly forward, ready to face any challenges head on. The tail billowed out, forever frozen in a brisk, flowing motion. And the head… Silver was quite proud of the head. Tilted at an upwards angle, with high cheekbones and sharp eyes, the head was not just that of a proud pony, but of a pony who deserved to be proud. Every inch of her was perfect.
Silver had knows that she was good. The Owner had agreed to present any of the artisan’s works in any venue they wished, and while some ponies kept theirs secret – like Stream, whose sculptures would never leave the valley – and others asked her to use her power and wealth to share them all over the nation, Silver Sculptress had wanted to compete at least semi-legitimately. So the Owner had them placed in small galleries under an assumed name with no publicity, and Silver had waited to see if the market liked them. It did. Her works sold well, to collectors and even a few small museums.
But this was beyond anything even she’d done before.
Silver moved to the next box, breaking it open and removing two gleaming amethysts. She returned to the sculpture and began working them into the eyes, until the figure’s face seemed to glow with a fierce intelligence. This wasn’t the kind of sculpture who stared blankly into space, no. This was one who stared back. This was a sculpture that could only be gazed upon by the worthy and good.
Box three contained a large jar with a thick paste. It was some kind of nutrient formula; Silver didn’t know precisely what it was. She had approached Orangerie with her problem and had been given some kind of magical formula; she’d written that on the request board and hoped that somepony knew how to turn it into a product. Evidentally, somepony had. It looked like pudding, smelled like paste, and tasted like nothing. Silver covered every inch of the statue’s barrel and legs with it.
The fourth box thrummed slightly.
Silver glanced around, shutting all the doors and windows to the room and wishing for the first time in months that locks were permitted in the valley. The thing inside the box was extremely dangerous, so much so that it was said to be impossible to acquire on the open market. It was not available, not for love or money, nor for gold or honor. One could be a Duchess of the Night Court, or a millionaire businesspony, or the regent of Zaldia, and the contents of that box would remain forever beyond one’s grasp.
The Owner had acquired it in four days.
Silver popped the box open and looked inside, and a ball of fuzz, about the size of a cotton ball, floated out. It had purple fur, clear, fly-like wings, and a big smile.
“So that’s what a parasprite looks like,” said Silver. “One of the small ones. Doesn’t look so scary…”
The parasprite chirped and flew right over to the statue. It sniffed, then squeaked in joy and began to lick the nutrient slurry off of it.
Silver nodded and waited.
A few moments later, the parasprite was still licking in the same place – the slurry was designed to be incredibly difficult to actually remove. But then the little creature, paused, coughed, and then threw up… another parasprite of the same color.
“Perfect!” said Silver.
The new parasprite joined its parent, and soon two more joined it, and so on. In twenty minutes, every bit of the statue except for the eyes was covered in purple.
Silver grinned. This was the most realistic covering for a statue she’d ever seen. Some ponies used fake fur, some used carpets and feathers and all kinds of substitutes, but none of them were quite right. None of them looked like a pony; they all looked fake. But this was just right.
The parasprites formed a solid mass of purple, perfectly spread out, each one licking its own place on the statue. The waves of purple ebbed and flowed in natural patterns, conforming to the statue’s body – they were small enough that they didn’t obscure even the slightest of details on the marble -- while also filling it out, adding slight variations, and, in general, giving it a sense of life. It seemed like the statue hadn’t been sculpted, but had lived at some point, and simply been set in place. No carved object that Silver had ever seen could match that effect.
She had done it. She had created the perfect skeleton, then put the perfect ‘skin’ and ‘fur’ around it. This was museum worthy… no. This was worthy of the Owner herself.
Silver took the other item from the parasprite box, a small pouch of dust. She moved closer to the statue, then – knowing she had to act before they replicated again – dumped the dust all over them.
As the dust hit the parasprites, they froze. They wouldn’t eat anymore, or breed, or squeak. They would remain as the perfect covering for the perfect statue.
“No,” said Silver, looking at it. “Not a statue. A model.”
And it was. It was a perfect model of the Owner, the ruler of the valley, the one who gave them all they wanted, loved them, and asked for so little in return. She had taken this part of Treasure City, a part that hadn’t yet been filled by a vault, and turned it into the perfect home for those ponies who weren’t appreciated elsewhere, those whose talents and heritages were insufficiently appreciated – sometimes downright hated -- by the outside world. She had brought them all into paradise.
Silver felt silly, sometimes, for having been nervous at first. What had she given up, anyway? She couldn’t leave (or, more precisely, she could, but she would not be permitted to return), but why would she ever want to? Besides, she hadn’t been able to take vacations before either, working a sustenance-wage job with three sick days a year. She couldn’t bear foals, but she didn’t want any, and it wasn’t like she could have afforded that anyway on the outside world. There were no locks, but there were no bad ponies to keep out either, and no want to make stealing attractive. The Owner, technically, could enter her house at any time she pleased – she owned it, after all -- but that was hardly a lack of privacy compared to her old apartment. The walls had been so thin in that building, every neighbor could hear every argument, every romance, every drunken sob.
No, she hadn’t lost a single opportunity, and she’d gained so much. Why had she ever worried?
She scribbled a quick note, stating that the Owner could do whatever she pleased with it, but – if she could be so bold – she would encourage her to place it in her personal collection. As a personal gift, from Silver Sculpturess, the artist, to Vicerine Puissance, her patron and hero.
Then Silver realized that it was almost dinnertime, and she would risk being late for Solar Flare if she dawdled. Her exhaustion forgotten, she raced out the door.
***
“…all I’m saying is, are we sure democracy is such a bad idea?”
Stream Dream sniffed as she sipped her lemonade from her floating throne. This restaurant was built right up against the river, so Stream could participate when the group ate out. “Honestly, I don’t trust it. Doesn’t matter how many voters you have, somepony has to be in charge, and I really don’t see how that’s different than what we have now.”
Tim leaned back in his chair, shrugging. “I dunno, Pferdreich seems to do okay.”
Silver Sculptress looked up from her angel-hair pasta. “I don’t get it either. I mean, would I be voting?”
“Sure.”
“But I don’t know anything about governing. I’d probably vote for some idiot with a nice mane.”
Orangerie giggled at that.
Bounty cut into his food with swift, smooth motions. “I think the idea is that, if the ponies can vote, they would educate themselves. With such a great responsibility, how could they not?”
“You'd be surprised," said Stream Dreams. "My ponies used to interact with a democratic tribe, and they voted some of the silliest laws you ever saw. For instance--"
Stream was about to say something else, but her special somepony, Bones, knelt and nuzzled her. She smiled dopily and nuzzled back. Bones was yellow coated; he spoke little, listened a lot, and had such a strong build that he could probably drag houses around. Stream seemed unable to keep her flippers off of him.
“Aw,” said Orangerie. “You two make such a cute couple!”
“A seapony and an earth pony,” mused Tim. “There’s a story in that.”
“I—“ began Bounty.
There was a soft cough behind them, and immediately, all six ponies turned – and bowed.
Solar Flare was a pegasus-unicorn hybrid. She had a pure white coat and a rainbow-colored mane. Her horn was unusually long and pointed, almost a sword. She looked, in short, like a miniature version of the Tyrant Sun. Even the other ponies of the valley had feared her at first.
Yes, they had feared her. But not Puissance, the Owner. Because Puissance recognized the special and the good. She had not shunned Solar Flare, nor had she stoned her, nor had her thrown out of her province for being cursed (as some other noble, some pony named Blueblood, had apparently done). She had given her a home, supported her talents, and eventually made her chief of her staff. Such was the virtue of Vicereine Puissance.
It was Solar Flare who journeyed out into the cruel world, who braved anger and hate to make contact with those precious ponies who were worthy of protection. It was she who, at Puissance’s orders, protected and shepherded those worthy back to the valley. And she did more than that; it was said that she guarded Puissance, watched over her when she slept and checked her food for poison. Such was her love, her vast and incredible love, for the greatest pony in the world.
“You have a new neighbor,” said Solar Flare. Her gaze swept over the six. “Samareai and Neighja will be raising him, but of course he will need additional friends. Please introduce yourselves and make him feel welcome.”
“Of course,” said Silver Sculptress. No other answer was possible.
From behind Solar Flare stepped a young foal. He looked perfectly… well, normal. His coat was orange and his hair was straw-colored. His wings flapped a little, though they seemed unable to carry him yet. He had no cutie mark, but did wear a magic charm of some kind on a chain around his neck.
Solar Flare left without another word. Silver watched her go, then looked at the foal. “Hi there!”
“Hi,” whispered the foal. He looked nervous. “Um…”
“Yes?” Orangerie said, kindly.
“I’m…” He backed up a step. "I'm, uh..."
“Are you scared?” asked Stream Dream, gently.
The foal quickly shook his head.
“It’s alright. It’s okay to be scared. We were all scared, at first,” said Stream.
“No thanks to Tim,” added Bounty.
“I’m not scared,” protested the foal. “I’m real brave!” He tried to smile, but it was weak.
The six looked at each other. It was Tim who spoke first. “What’s your name?”
“Iceheart,” said the foal.
Tim nodded. “And, Iceheart, I don’t suppose you’re… different, from other ponies?”
“What? No!” yelped Iceheart, in an obvious lie. “I’m not different at all. I’m normal!”
Silver shrugged. “That’s too bad. We’re all different, after all. Here, different is normal.”
“You are?” Iceheart blinked and looked at them closely, with a look Silver Sculptress had seen many times, and once worn herself – a look of fear, that it was all too good to be true, and hope, that it was real. “I… wait." He pointed at Silver. "You have both a horn and wings! How can you do that?”
Silver smiled. Her wings had hung at her sides all day; even now, it was hard to use them. Still, she managed to raise them halfway up. “I’m what’s called a ‘hybrid.’ That means I have both unicorn and pegasus magic. Like Solar Flare. But… can you keep a secret, Iceheart?”
The foal nodded.
“When I was little, all the other foals made fun of me for being different. They said that I was a ‘wannabe princess,’ and they called me bad names. And then, when I got older, everypony said that I was a princess and I had to solve their problems. And when I couldn’t, they said that I didn’t care about them and they got mad at me. They hated me, and said that if I didn't fix everything that was wrong, I was a bad pony and they wouldn't be my friends.”
“That’s unfair!” said Iceheart.
“In the end, I couldn’t deal with it. I moved, and every day thereafter I wore a shirt or a dress that hid my wings. I hid them for so long that they weakened. I can’t fly anymore.” Silver Sculptress sighed. “But now that I’m here, I don’t have to hide my wings. I can take them out whenever I want.”
“Can you fly again?”
“Er… no.” She smiled. “But I've been meaning to practice again. And you know what? Maybe we’ll learn together. Would you like that?”
Iceheart smiled a little. “Yes! And… the ponies here like you?”
“Yep. I’m friends with everypony! Except Tim,” she joked.
Tim pretended to scowl.
Orangerie interjected, “I’m a hybrid too. I have unicorn and earth pony magic. I used to work on a farm, but I couldn’t do what I wanted.”
“What did you want to do?” asked Iceheart, climbing up onto the table so he could better see Orangerie’s smiling face.
“I wanted to combine earth pony and unicorn abilities to grow amazing crops. But there’s so few hybrids that nopony knows that kind of thing is possible. Most farms are run by earth ponies, and even the ones with more diversity have almost no interaction between unicorn researchers and the earth pony farmers. But in here, I can develop new spells, and then try them out on plants I grow myself. It’s the life I’ve always wanted.”
Iceheart turned to Bounty, who fluttered his wings. "I have been called a 'double pegasus," he said. "It was impossible for me to hide my difference. Other ponies thought I was some sort of monster and feared me. The only ponies who can look past my wings are those in this valley. And Vicereine Puissance.” He paused. “Puissance is the greatest pony who ever lived,” he added.
“He’s got a crush on her,” whispered Tim.
“I do not!” Bounty blushed. The others laughed.
Tim stood up. “And I am Titan! Invincibleus! Mon—“
“TIM!” groaned the other five. Iceheart continued to giggle.
“Oh, fine.” The black-coated pony stuck out his tongue. “If you wish to ignore my longer name, there are some who call me... Tim. I’m an illegitimate descendant of this famous unicorn named King Sombra. That’s why I can turn into smoke.” His front hooves, dissolved, then reformed, to demonstrate this.
“What’s illegitimate?” asked the foal.
Tim opened his mouth, then paused. “Uh. When you’re older, kid. Anyway, my parents were all about keeping pure lines of Sombra’s descendants, building up magical power, conquering the world, yadda yadda. That’s why they gave me such a stupid name. Me? I just want to write my books. Here, I can do it, and I don’t need to worry about some bozo thinking that I’m going to, I don’t know, eat Luna and take over Equestria or something.”
“I, darling, am Stream Dream,” said the seapony. “I used to be the heir of a princess of seaponies, but then my wicked stepsister usurped the throne. I was chased out. Do you know how hard it is to find work when your only job was practicing to be a princess? But the Vicereine saw there was more in me than just… just some rich pony who knew nothing about anything. She brought me here, and she protects me. Nopony will overthrow me. Ever again.”
“Bones,” said the last member of the group. “Null pony.”
“That means magic doesn’t affect him,” said Orangerie. “Spells that could level a mountain just pass right through him.”
Bones nodded.
“Is that why ponies didn’t like him?” asked Iceheart.
“In part,” said Stream Dream. “The rest was his cutie mark. Dearie?”
Bones rose and showed his flank. There was a skull on it.
“He got it when three of his friends were injured in a carriage crash and he helped set their legs. He spared them all from permanent limps,” said Stream Dream. “His special talent is medicine, especially bones. Of course, the fools outside didn’t get that. They thought it meant he was some kind of poisoner or assassin, and when they learned he was immune to magic too, well, you can imagine the chaos. But Puissance saw the real him. He lives here now, and he does what he wants. When a pony is injured, he heals them.”
“What do you do when nopony’s injured?” asked Iceheart.
Bones considered, then nuzzled Stream again. Stream blushed.
“Eww!” said Iceheart, but he was smiling. “You'll get cooties!”
“So,” said Silver Sculptress. “As you can see, everypony in this valley is a little bit… special. Now, if you don’t want to tell us about yourself, that’s fine – nopony will force you. Just know that, if you tell us, we won’t judge you.”
Iceheart froze for a few seconds. “Well… uh… I am! I am special, I mean.” He paused, looking at the six expectant faces, then gulped. “I… uh… my Momma…”
He removed his necklace, and suddenly he was different.
He was still a foal. But running through his coat, his mane, even his face were veins of ice. One eye was normal, and one was a crystalline orb. Two of his hooves looked like any other ponies; the other two ended in icy clumps that froze the grass beneath them. When his tail flicked, shards of ice flew off and into the river.
Nopony spoke for a moment. Then Stream Dream, who had once been raised to be a princess and so knew most of the varied creatures of the world, said, “By chance… do you have windigo heritage?”
“Yes,” whispered Iceheart. “My Momma, she was a great explorer. She was always going places nopony thought anypony could go. One time, she went real far north. She wanted to see the top of the world. But she got lost, and she vanished… but something saved her. That’s what she told me. Something saved her, and she fell in love with it, and later she had me.”
“What was your mom like?” asked Silver Sculptress.
“She raised me, and she got me this charm so other ponies couldn’t see what I looked like, and she protected me.” Iceheart smiled wistfully. “We had a lot of fun… on the very coldest days of the year, when everypony was inside, she’d get all bundled up and we’d go into the woods and play around and make snowponies and everything. And then she’d make herself hot chocolate and me cold lemonade and… she was a good Momma.” Iceheart looked away. “But she got sick and had to go to a hospital, and one day they told me that she died." He was quiet for moment. "And they sent me to my cousins, but I dropped my charm one day and they screamed and said I was a freak and beat me up and kicked me out…”
Before he could say anything else, Orangerie had scooped him up in a hug.
Iceheart smiled. “But… but it’s okay now, right? I wound up in Amblerja, and I was trying to find somepony to let me stay for a night or give me food when I ran into Solar Flare! And she knew what I was, and she gave me this big feast and said I could live here until I grew up or even after and I wouldn’t even need the charm anymore! So now I’m here!” He paused. “Where is ‘here’, anyway?”
“Treasure City,” said Bounty. “Where the Vicereine keeps her warehouses and vaults.”
“We’re in a secret vault,” said Orangerie. “The spells on the dome over the city are amazing – I mean, not just making it invisible, but we have actual weather, animal migration, everything! But nopony can finds us, or break in. The ones who don’t like us because we’re different… she protects us from them.”
“I don’t think where we are has a real name,” added Tim. “I just call it the Zoo.”
“It’s not a zoo,” Silver Sculptress hastened to add. “It’s a treasury, like any other. Where the Vicereine keeps special treasures. She’s realized that we’re special, good, worthy of being set apart. That’s all there is to it.”
"And..." Iceheart paused. "If I wanted to leave...?"
There was silence for a moment.
"You can leave," said Silver, quietly. "Anytime you want. The Vicereine will provide transport to anywhere in Equestria, and for us, enough money to live on for a year -- in your case, she'll probably set you up in a foster family, and pay them until you're through school. But -- and this is very important, Iceheart -- if you leave, you can't come back. Not ever. That's the first rule. Do you want to leave?"
Iceheart shook his head. “No! No, I was just asking. I mean, it sounds like things are really good here. And... no mean ponies can get in? None at all? I really don’t need the charm at all?”
Tim was stroking his chin. “No, you don’t need the charm. But there’s one thing you definitely do need.”
“Er… what?”
Tim leaned back and called inside to the proprietor, a diamond dog who had abandoned the primitive ways of the other dogs he had known. “Hey, Wolfgang! Can we get some ice cream here, please?”
“Coming right up!” the chef yelled.
Iceheart’s smile widened. “Yay!”
Silver Sculptress patted the foal on the head. “You’re going to be very happy here,” she said.
***
The meal was delicious, as always, and Silver Sculptress chose to end it with a toast.
“To the mare who brought us all here, the one who took us in and gave us all we could ask for, who values us for what we are more than any other pony ever has, who lets us practice our talents and create the most beautiful art we could dream of... the Vicereine who loves us so much and asks only that we love her in return. The one, the only, the greatest in Equestria… Vicereine Puissance!”