//------------------------------// // VIII: The Chill // Story: Empty Horizons // by Goldenwing //------------------------------// “That’s everything.” There was a long stretch of silence as Twilight looked to the other ponies at the table. Applejack and Rainbow Dash were watching her with mirrored expressions of concern and shock. Sea Sabre’s face remained just as cool as ever, a stark contrast to the wide-eyed, twitchy excitement of Dusty Tome besides her. Trails and Flint weren’t seated at the table, instead leaning against the small kitchenette across the room. Sea Sabre was the first to speak. “So the dive was a success.” She closed her eyes, lips curling up into a thin smile. “That’s good.” She scribbled a few lines into the journal open before her and closed it with a wing. “Success?” Twilight echoed. “Weren’t you listening? We lost Lily Quick’s notes! Who knows how much ponykind was set back?” Applejack cleared her throat. “I think what Sabre here means to say, sugar cube, is that ya got what y’all came for.” “Yeah,” Rainbow said, gesturing to the three books Twilight had laid out on the table. “We came for the books, right? Believe me, Twi—I’m sorry about Owloysius and, well… everything else. It sucks. But you can fix Fluttershy, right? You can wake her up?” Twilight’s ears flicked back, her nostrils flaring as her brow furrowed. “You weren’t there, Rainbow!” she snapped. She grit her teeth, holding back the urge to scream. “You didn’t see the bodies. Those ponies died horrible deaths, and everything they worked for was destroyed! They died for nothing!” She could feel her throat tightening as the surge of anger subsided. Warm tears began to stream down her cheeks, and she slumped down in the chair. “Nothin’?” Flint chuckled. “I dunno ‘bout you, but if there’s a dozen horns down there then m’sure someone’ll find a use for ‘em eventually.” A ragged sob shook through Twilight’s body. Images flashed through her head of masked salvagers slicing the horn off her own dessicated corpse. Rainbow turned to glare at the stallion. “What the buck, dude?” Sabre glanced in his direction as well, her expression hard. “Flint, remove yourself.” Flint frowned, looking to Trails as if for support. “What? Why?” Trails rolled her eyes. She laid a hoof over his shoulder, guiding him out of the room. “Just come on. Haven’t you ever heard of tact, you witless buffoon?” Applejack watched the two of them leave before leaning over and pulling Twilight into a warm hug. “Hey now, it’s alright. T’aint fair what ya had to see, I know. It’s scary. We’re all scared.” “Hey!” Rainbow raised a hoof. “I’m not scared!” Applejack sighed, shooting her a sideways glare. “Yeah, well, I’m just about as frightened as a fat hen when a shadow passes by. I think we could all do with some good food and rest. How about we head on back to Heighton, get Fluttershy all fixed up, and then figure out where we go from there, alright? How’s that sound?” Twilight sniffled, leaning into the hug. “Good.” Sea Sabre stood up, nodding. “Very well. I’ll set a course for Mr. Rich’s estate. We’ll restock and await your decision.” “C’mon then,” Applejack said, gently pulling Twilight out of her seat. “Let’s get you to bed.” Twilight allowed Applejack to lead her around the table and towards the nearest exit. She saw Rainbow frowning worriedly as she stood to follow, but couldn’t muster the energy to tell her that she’d be okay. “Twilight, one more thing.” Twilight paused in the doorway. She looked back to Sea Sabre through blurry eyes. The other mare hadn’t moved except to turn and face her. “Wyrds can be very dangerous,” she said. “Even moreso when they take you by surprise. I know that that owl was your pet once, and I’m sorry that you had to go through that.” She began to walk for the same doorway that Flint and Trails had left through, still talking. “Things could have gone much worse in that tree of yours, but they didn’t. You did well.” She paused just outside the doorway, dipping her head slightly. “Thank you.” She stepped out of the room, saving Twilight from having to think up a response and force the words out. The three friends walked through the narrow halls of the Argo in silence, the steady clip-clop of their hooves on the metal floor barely audible beneath the persistent roar of the engines outside. Rainbow Dash came up on Twilight’s other side, and together she and Applejack provided their friend with the warm support of their bodies as they walked. The engine noise grew gradually louder as they approached the rear of the ship. The Argo had been custom-made by Crazy Rich for Sabre and her team, and as such had never been designed with spare rooms for guests. The ship had been optimized for speed and fuel efficiency, and so the only extra space was whatever was available in the cargo hold. The crew had prepared some makeshift quarters for Twilight and her two friends, however, setting up thin metal partitions along one wall to form a trio of simple, topless rooms. Each one had been supplied with a small desk, a wardrobe, and a surprisingly plush mattress. Rainbow Dash had largely ignored her room, instead opting to build herself a rough-hewn cloudhome which floated gently several meters above the center of the room. She’d even carved out her own makeshift furniture, giving her friends free range to loot the pieces the crew had supplied her. Applejack had refused the opportunity, mumbling about abuse of hospitality and the principle of the thing. Twilight had begrudgingly admitted that she could use an extra desk, and after further thought had decided that she didn’t like sleeping so close to the floor, so had stacked the spare mattress atop her own as well. She hadn’t found any use for the wardrobe, but it still bothered her whenever she walked past the room and saw it standing alone and unused. Twilight thanked her friends as they came out into the hold, gently pushing them away. She could feel their eyes on her back as she stumbled into her room and slid the door shut behind her. She stood there for a few moments, one hoof on the door, listening. She heard them speaking with each other in quiet tones, and then finally the sound of hooves and wings as they each went for their respective quarters. She sighed, crawling into her bed and curling up beneath the blankets. She had initially found it almost impossible to sleep on the ship, beset on all sides by the rumbling of the engines, the constant ticking gears behind every wall, and the periodic hiss of steam. It didn’t help that the location of her room in the cargo hold meant she was often unable to turn the lights out. With a lazy flick of her horn she cast a spell. There was a low sucking sound, and the noise gradually faded away to nothingness. Twilight closed her eyes, remembering when Celestia had taught her the spell. She lay in silence, the blanket pulled up high over her head. All alone. For a few blissful moments she cleared her mind. She simply existed, there in the moment. It didn’t last. The corpses that had been awaiting her in the library flashed before her. She thought of the weight that those ponies had taken upon themselves, and she wondered how it must have felt to realize they had failed. She had that same weight on her, now. That crushing weight of all of Equestria, of who knew how many years past, of the Princesses and her friends and family. Of Lily Quick, who had hoped in vain that someone might find her notes, if only so that the lives of her comrades wouldn’t have been wasted. Twilight clutched her pillow tightly, shaking. She curled up as tight as she could, but the weight didn’t go away. What was she, against all this? A flunked test was one thing. She had made just one mistake, and the collective works of Equestria’s last, brightest minds had been washed away into oblivion. She would have to start from scratch now, finding the answer when she didn’t even know the question. She didn’t have Rainbow Dash’s cocksure confidence, or Applejack’s steadfast grit, or even Pinkie’s unending optimism. This wasn’t some test that Celestia had conjured for her, designed to challenge but to still be achievable. This was the end of the world. She was going to die just like the ponies in her library. A thousand years would pass until some salvager came across her bones and took everything of worth, without even a thought for who she was. She squeezed her eyes tighter, willing it to all be a hideous nightmare. She wanted to open her eyes and be back in her library, with the sun streaming in through the windows. She wanted to read a letter written in Celestia’s flowing script that told her about a problem and how she could fix it. She felt so alone. Twilight flinched as her blanket was pulled down off of her face. She looked up to see Applejack standing over her, with Rainbow Dash hovering behind. Their lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear anything through her silence spell. Reluctantly, she allowed the spell to fizzle. Rainbow’s voice faded into being. It was a muted at first, as if she was speaking through a thick mask, but came into clarity with a barely audible pop. “... okay tonight, Twi?” Twilight took a deep breath, steeling herself for conversation. “I’m fine, girls. Just tired.” She saw Applejack’s lips harden, but Rainbow spoke first. “Oh, yeah?” she landed, jabbing Twilight lightly with a hoof. “Do you usually scream into your pillows when you’re tired? Cause I usually just take a nap or something.” Applejack rolled her eyes. “Twilight, we know y’all ain’t alright. We’re your friends. Y’all don’t have to try and solve every problem in the world on your own.” Twilight’s eyes darted between the two of them, confused. Had she been screaming into her pillow? She looked down, and saw the wet smudges of her tears soaked into it. She shook her head. “Everypony’s counting on me, Applejack. I don’t know if I can do it.” Applejack sighed, settling down next to her. “Hey, now. Y’all’re the smartest dang filly I’ve ever met, alright? If there’s anypony that can do it, then it’s you, but y’all ain’t alone in it. You’ve never been alone. RD and I are right here by your side, and that ain’t never gonna change.” “Yeah!” Rainbow said, giving her a confident grin. “Just tell us what you need, Twi. We’re with you until the end.” Twilight sighed, laying flat on her back. “But what if I can’t do it?” “You don’t have to,” Rainbow said. “We’ll do it.” “And what’s the worst that’ll happen, huh?” Applejack added. “This world ain’t all that bad, is it? Nopony else is gonna die, Twilight. The apocalypse already done came and gone.” Twilight laid there for a few moments longer, taking comfort in the warmth of her friend’s body. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Rainbow grinned. “It’s been a few hundred years since we had a good old-fashioned sleepover, hasn’t it?” “Here we are, my lady.” “Thank you, dear.” Rarity stepped gingerly out of the cab, levitating a few bits over to the driver. He accepted them graciously, dipped his head, and pulled back out into the street. She looked up at the building before her, raising a hoof to shade her eyes from the noontime sun. When Rarity thought of an ‘apartment,’ she usually thought of the squat brick-and-mortar constructs that occupied so much of Manehattan, or perhaps the sleek glass-walled suites of the downtown area. What stood before her instead was far more reminiscent of the old towers that middling nobles and high-ranking bureaucrats often used in Old Canterlot. It was a tall tower of pale white marble, only slightly smudged by the ever-present drifts of ash and smog, at least six stories tall and topped with a round, conical cap. A broad stairway described a gentle ascent along the outer wall, with a single flat landing on each floor. Swirling designs of gold and silver had been painted onto the stone wall, mimicking the Old Canterlot style so well that Rarity was convinced it was intentional. Whitehorn’s card put his apartment on the third floor, and so Rarity started up the stairs at a polite trot. The tower was on the western reaches of central Heighton, giving her a magnificent view of the city’s sprawling dockyards, the ships painted red and gold by the setting sun. The third floor landing was wider than the others, stretching nearly halfway around the bulk of the tower. A trio of arching stone bridges anchored here, connecting to the network of towers that rose above the smoke clouds like a city of shining ivory built atop the dregs below. Hoof traffic was light on the bridges, which seemed to mostly service a colorful array of private cabs and carriages. A single arched double door was set into the eastern wall, and Rarity slipped through it into a wide hall that ran straight through to the opposite side of the tower. Electric lamps lining the walls provided steady light, and the plush red carpet combined with the warm orange paint to make a cozy, comfortable atmosphere. There were only four doors in the hall, two to each side spaced evenly apart, so Rarity didn’t have to look long to find the carved wooden “32” that designated Whitehorn’s home. She took a moment to check her appearance, straightening the short, blue-hemmed white dress she had worn today. She had come back from her tour of the city yesterday with her coat smudged with soot, and had spent two hours in Mr. Rich’s personal beauty suite that night, but she still worried that she might have missed a spot. Satisfied, she raised a hoof and knocked daintily on the door. It was opened promptly—though not so quick as to startle—by an aging pegasus mare with a pale green coat and a polite smile. “How could I be of service, madam?” “I was hoping to speak with Whitehorn.” Rarity proffered a small curtsey. “Lady Rarity. He should be expecting me.” The mare bowed, her smile widening ever so slightly. “Of course, my lady. If you’ll come with me?” The mare led her into a central sitting room with a small kitchen set behind a raised granite bar. A thick circular sofa occupied the center of the room, looking out on a curved, sliding glass double-door and the balcony beyond it. A pair of wooden doors lined one wall, while the other was empty except for a few landscape paintings, framed newspaper articles, and a tall but thin bookcase. The most surprising part of the apartment was the high vaulted ceiling, which gave space for a selection of small candelabra chandeliers to hang down and illuminate the room with their gentle glow. Electric lamps were still stationed around the room to provide a more consistent light, but the candlelight and warm colors gave the edges of the room a quiet, intimate feel. The mare closed the door behind them, gesturing towards the room. “Please, be at home, Lady Rarity.” She then walked to the further door, tapping politely with a hoof. “Sir?” “What is it, Fritzy?” The voice was muffled by the wood, but Rarity was easily able to identify it as belonging to Whitehorn. “Lady Rarity is here, sir.” There was a sudden thump from the other side. “Ah, Rarity! I’ll be right out.” Rarity walked over to the sliding glass door, looking out onto the city. The windows faced east, and with the bulk of the balcony and the bridges it was difficult to catch more than a glimpse of the smoke-clogged streets below. From here all she could see were the vibrantly painted, gleaming towers and the bridges connecting them. A click behind her announced the opening of the door, and Rarity turned to see Whitehorn stepping out into the room with a broad smile. “My lady! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He was wearing just a solid white button-down, sleeves rolled up, though he had left the shirt unbuttoned. Rarity smiled back, offering her hoof. “Just a few things on my mind, darling. I thought we might have ourselves a pleasant little soirée.” He smirked, taking the hoof in his own and dipping his head. “A Countess come to speak with me? What can I offer that Crazy couldn’t?” Rarity giggled. “I don’t know if I could keep Crazy focused long enough to actually have a two-way conversation. I think we both know how he is.” “Well, I’m certainly looking forwards to continuing our conversation from before. Take a seat, please.” Whitehorn gestured towards his kitchen. “Would you like a drink?” “Some tea would be marvelous,” Rarity said, settling down onto the sofa. The serving mare—Fritzy, Whitehorn had called her—had already made her way to the kitchen area. There was a quiet fwoosh as she turned on the gas and put some water to boil. Whitehorn sat down opposite her, the light from the window casting him into silhouette. “And pour a cider for me, Fritzy. Now then, my lady, how can I help you?” Rarity pursed her lips, uncertain exactly how to start. “I took that walk you recommended,” she began. “I was less than charmed by what I saw.” “Is that so?” Whitehorn asked. “What did you see, exactly?” Rarity’s lips curled into a frown just short of a snarl as she remembered. Laborers living in the eastern neighborhoods covered in ash, trudging about with tired eyes while those to the west laughed and joked over their bits. Worst of all was the Fifths, where the buildings were literally falling apart in some places, blocking off roads so pitted and potholed that the taxis refused to run there. “I saw enough.” He raised a brow. “My my, Lady Rarity. I didn’t think I’d ever see an expression so ugly on such a beautiful face.” Rarity looked up at that, momentarily unsure whether to be embarrassed, offended, or flattered. After a moment to recover, her frown twisted into a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, darling. It’s just so… so much has changed! I’ve never seen poverty outside of a novella in all my life. Every town had a few places a pony could go if she needed help. Why, even Celestia would open her doors to those in need!” Fritzy arrived with the drinks, and Rarity accepted her tea graciously. “Thank you, dear.” Whitehorn chuckled softly. “Many ponies would say that she still does.” He continued to watch Rarity, ignoring Fritzy as she set a tall mug of cider down in front of him. “That’s different,” Rarity said. She levitated the tea to her muzzle, allowing the pleasant aroma to soothe her. She had seen a few unnerving displays of faith during her tour. They stood out with their bright cleanliness in a city otherwise choked in smoke, from squat stone buildings in the eastern districts to the immaculate white and blue pyramids to the west. Stained glass windows depicting the Alicorn Princesses marked them to passerby as churches, where the common pony went to worship Celestia and Luna and pray for divine guidance. “The Princesses aren’t gods. They never were.” “Then what were they?” Whitehorn sipped at his cider, leaning back into the sofa cushions. “I’m no historian, but I’ve seen some classic artwork. Crazy certainly has an impressive gallery of it. The Princesses certainly look like goddesses in every painting I’ve seen.” Rarity’s ears flicked. “Please don’t look to educate me on my own dead culture, darling,” she quipped. “You’ve only seen a few paintings. The Princesses were no more gods to us than a mare is to her foal. Powerful, certainly, but not to be worshipped. They loved us, and so we loved them back. We bowed out of respect, and raised magnificent monuments and held enthusiastic celebrations, but we never went into some cathedral to pray for them.” She snickered, tossing her mane. “If you wanted guidance then a simple letter would more than suffice.” “Hrm.” Whitehorn nodded thoughtfully, one hoof against his chin. “Do you know, Countess, I believe you may have just touched on the problem.” “And how is that, dear?” He stood, walking up to the glass behind her. “Quite the view, isn’t it?” Rarity followed his gaze. The windows faced east, giving a clear view of the tower city awash with the red and gold of the setting sun. She was irritated with the elliptical way of answering the question, but a small part of her enjoyed the melodrama. “It reminds me of Canterlot. Not quite as majestic, but… gorgeous, certainly.” Whitehorn seemed to think for a few moments before continuing. “This is what the rich see whenever they look out their windows. The ponies in power. Come, join me.” He snorted, shaking his head slowly as she stood. “Some of them never even go down to the surface. They have everything delivered, or use errand foals to conduct their business. They have their own personal ships that dock right at their front door if they need to travel. On some of the higher islands they even need to import the air they breathe.” Rarity arrived at his side, tea floating besides her, and simply took in the view. It had become clear to her that the architects of upper Heighton had a developed liking to the Old Canterlot style. For a few vanishingly quick moments she almost believed that it was real, that she truly was back in Canterlot, speaking to just another client in his tower top suite. With a twitch of her eyes the illusion shattered. These towers were a poor mimicry at best of the true Canterlot, and although the architects clearly drew inspiration from the ancient city, they hadn’t refrained from adding their own innovations. She sighed inwardly, but kept her face controlled. A lady did not entertain idle fantasy. She didn’t say anything, simply waiting. She had the feeling that nothing she said would influence the conversation at this point. Whitehorn slid the glass aside, stepping out onto the balcony. Rarity kept stride with him, her gaze following his as he looked down to the city below. “None of them see the city as it truly is,” he said. It was a harsh contrast, between the vibrant gleam of the towers and the ruddy haze of grays and browns of the city. There were patches of color below, where the richer citizens were able to afford the expense of the constant cleaning and painting needed to fend off the relentless advance of black, but they were few and far between beyond the center of the island. Rarity looked away from the city, up to the unicorn besides her. He was nodding again, to himself more than anyone else. “It sounds like you’ve spent some time thinking about this,” she said. “I have,” Whitehorn said, still looking down on the city. “I think we could make things better, if we had more ponies like you.” He turned to her, meeting her eyes. “Mares and stallions that understand how far a little generosity can go.” Rarity felt her cheeks warming. She took a deep sip from her tea and looked away to the horizon in an attempt to hide her blush. “I would love to help, Whitehorn, but all I have is the bits that Mr. Rich gives me and my hooves. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” He didn’t say anything at first. Rarity was just beginning to wonder if he might have walked back inside without her hearing when he finally responded. “There’s an island to the west of here. Fellis. It’s become something of a refugee haven in the wake of some recent calamities, and I’ve been planning a trip for the past few weeks.” Rarity tilted her head, looking back to him. “Why do you bring it up, dear?” “Perhaps you could come along,” he said. “You may not be able to write an article on it, but I’m sure the help of a powerful Gifted like yourself would be appreciated in the refugee camps. I’ll be traveling on a friend's yacht. There’s plenty of extra room if you or some of your friends would be interested.” Rarity turned to face him fully, confident now in the state of her cheeks, and smiled. “It sounds lovely, darling, but I’d have to talk it over with my friends before I could go gallivanting away to another island.” He shrugged. “I can certainly understand that. I won’t be leaving for a few days yet, so you have time to think it over.” He stepped back inside, raising his voice. “Fritzy! Give Countess Rarity the details on my Fellis Island trip.” Rarity followed him in. “Isn’t that a bit premature?” He looked over his shoulder, flashing her a grin. “Hardly. If you’re interested in coming, then all you have to do is show up on time. If not, well… I’ll understand. My door is always open to you, either way.” “Oh, well thank you.” Rarity dipped her head. “I suppose I had better get going, though. My friends should be returning from their dive soon, and I’m looking forward to meeting them when they arrive.” “Of course,” Whitehorn said. He reached out and grabbed her hoof, lifting it up to his lips. “A pleasure talking to you, my lady.” Rarity’s smile widened. The blush had come back. “Likewise.” Okay, I think I’ve got it. Twilight’s quill floated back to the top of the page, ready for the hallowed triple-check. She was sitting at an oversized writing desk that she’d dragged into Fluttershy’s suite that morning, and her back was just starting to develop the satisfying ache of too many hours spent hunched over parchment. Her friends milled anxiously behind her, on the very edge of her awareness. She’d wanted to begin her study the instant the Argo made landfall, but her friends had insisted on dinner and a full night’s rest. They had even convinced her to eat breakfast first, much to her chagrin. She had some vague sense that they were watching her like some errant filly, relieving themselves in shifts. They spoke quietly while in the room, though it would have hardly mattered even if they shouted at the top of their lungs. She had cast a noise-dampening spell over herself hours ago. The three salvaged books were all propped up before her, with scrolls of parchment arranged beneath them. She brought one scroll to her eyes with a gentle flick of magic, chewing on her quill. She had synthesized a comprehensive thaumotopsy spell from the various diagnostic techniques in the books, but hadn’t quite committed it to memory yet. With her mind refreshed, she turned to Fluttershy’s sleeping form, pulling the magic from her own reserves and weaving it around the yellow mare’s internal leylines. Both of their eyes gleamed white as excess magic bled off into the air. Nothing had changed since the last time she checked. Fluttershy was enchanted by a hibernation spell of incredible complexity, wrapped around a plain and simple regeneration. The first mystery was in the design of the enchantment’s outer shell. It had all the redundancies, dead ends, and needless complexities of instinctual magic, and a sort of cyclical architecture similar to what she had seen during her brief interaction with changeling magic during their attack on Canterlot so long ago. Maybe a side effect of being interred within a cocoon? It was impossible to verify anything without a test subject. What truly puzzled her was a scattering of aberrations along the outer edges of the shell, spidering their way inwards like cracks in a glass. She’d seen nothing like it before. The cracks were more than an absence of magic; they had a substance to them that warped the spell matrix around them like a great mass warping space around itself. Twilight could only assume that their interference had caused the enchantment to persist even after Fluttershy had been removed from the cocoon. Despite the cracks, Twilight took some comfort in what was otherwise a complex but understandable spell. She didn’t want to touch the dark cracks that worried at the edges, but she hoped that they could be worked around. She had already devised a counterspell that—taking into account the warping influence—should fizzle the enchantment along the clean sections, like cutting wood along its grain. Allowing the thaumotopsy to fade, she opened her eyes and reviewed the scroll where she had written the counterspell. It was irritably sloppy, stained with revisions and margin comments, so she took some time to create a clean copy on a blank sheet. Everything was in order. She had triple-checked her work, leaving nothing left but to go through with it. There was the usual pull to check over it a fourth time, but she knew the time investment wouldn’t be worth the negligible gain. She had already done the calculations on that. With a hiss and a pop, her hearing returned to normal. Not that there was much to hear. Her friends were being very quiet. She stood up, stretching her neck. “I think—” Her voice cut out as her dry throat rebelled. She paused to gulp down the glass of water that somepony had set at her desk, turning to face the rest of the room. “Okay. I’ve got it.” It looked like Applejack and Rarity were on break from the vigil. Rainbow was slouched against the doorframe, mouth hanging open as she snoozed, while Pinkie Pie bounced in place besides her. “Oh, I’m so excited! I can’t wait to speak with her again, and take her to parties, and to have tea parties, oh! And to play chess with her, and—” Twilight looked up at that. Chess? Rainbow startled awake. She stood up, stretching. “Huh, what? You’re sure it will work?” Twilight gave a tired little nod. Now that she’d pulled herself out of the pile of scrolls and books the hours without rest were starting to catch up to her. “Don’t worry, Rainbow. She’ll be fine.” Applejack stepped back into the room, with Rarity in tow behind her. “Y’all about ready to kick this rodeo off, Twilight?” “I am.” Twilight positioned herself at the base of Fluttershy’s bed, open scrolls levitating before her. “You girls can stay and watch, as long as you keep your distance.” She squared her hooves and closed her eyes, feeling for the enchantment wrapped around her friend. Much like demolishing a building, the fizzling of a persistent enchantment was a great deal of preparation for just a few moments of action. The trick wasn’t in destroying the spell, per se—any novice magus could smash a spell matrix, given enough time or power. The difficulty came in doing it so that the spell would collapse inwards—canceling itself out—and in ensuring that any leftover magic was dispersed safely. Twilight’s horn glowed as she charged her magic, placing her mental chisels as she had calculated at precisely the right points. She took a deep breath to steady herself, and released the charge. It was immediately obvious that something was wrong. She had discerned the warping influence of the dark cracks, but there must have been some flaw in her model. Her own magic was pulling tighter around the cracks than she had anticipated. A chill ran down her spine as the dark cracks suddenly lurched into motion, worming their way towards the regeneration at the center of the enchantment. No! The distortion could have deadly effect once it reached the healing spell, and Twilight had precious little time to circumvent the issue. She could hear Fluttershy start to whimper and twitch as the cracks licked at the edges of the regeneration. Twilight grit her teeth, pumping more energy through her horn. It would be messy, but it would keep her friend safe from the immediate danger. The other mares let out cries of alarm as the enchantment burst apart into a kaleidoscope of charged magical sparks. They held too much energy to fizzle quickly, and so Twilight drew them all into her own horn, wincing as the wild energy surged through her body. She took deep breaths, calming her racing heart and allowing her body’s natural processes to dissipate and contain the surplus energy. Finally she opened her eyes, hooves trembling and an oily nausea building up in her gut. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds since she began. Fluttershy looked back at her with wide, trembling eyes. The yellow mare scanned the room, only slightly relaxing as she recognized her friends. “Uh, girls?” she whispered shakily. “W-what’s going on?” “Fluttershy!” The name came from four mouths at once, and soon the room was filled with cheers and shouted greetings. Fluttershy pulled the bedsheets up tighter around herself, letting out a little “Eep!” at the sudden cacophony. A hoof slapped Twilight’s back. “Nice one, egghead! Took you long enough, though!” Twilight looked up at Rainbow blearily, cheeks bulging. I need to sit down. She’d never had this kind of reaction to absorbing wild magic before. Rainbow frowned, leaning back as she looked over Twilight’s face. “Uh, Twi? You feeling okay?” Definitely not. Twilight opened her mouth to voice her thoughts, only to be suddenly interrupted by a spat of high-velocity bile. Rainbow flinched back—too late. The vomit splashed against her chest, staining the blue fur black. “What the—Twi? Twilight!” Twilight’s legs finally gave out. The floor rushed up to meet her, the anxious calls of her friends echoing faintly in her ears, and she fell back into the darkness. She floated there, lost in the black. It was cold and quiet, and though she had no sense of time passing, she sometimes felt her body being pushed or pulled by unseen currents. After some eternity her thoughts drifted lazily back to her, and she wondered if she had finally died. Perhaps the strange cracks had filled her up, eating her own magic from the inside out until she was nothing but a shriveled husk bundled up on the plush carpet of Mr. Rich’s guest suite. Is this the afterlife? She had always imagined it to be a happier place, with rolling green fields and sunshine and all of the family and friends that had perished in her absence. Maybe she had been deemed unworthy of that fate, sentenced instead to this infinite nothingness as punishment for her failures? The thought should have petrified her, yet in her current state she couldn’t seem to muster more than a passing curiosity for the notion. There was another tug at her body, this one stronger than all the others before it. From the corner of her eye Twilight saw a glimmer of pale blue light, the rays passing by like sunlight filtering through the ocean. It was gone as quickly as it came. It might have been days before the light returned. It was brighter this time, much brighter, and Twilight realized that she was floating in water as cold and dark as that on the bottom of the seafloor. Her fear seemed to catch up with her all at once, driving out the calm serenity that had fallen over her mind. In an instant she was awake and alert, her heart pounding in her chest and the blood rushing in her ears. She tried to turn to look around, but found that she couldn’t move. She had an instinctive urge to scream, yet she couldn’t even make a strangled whimper. She couldn’t even open her mouth in an attempt to breathe, even though her lungs burned for lack of oxygen. All she could do was dart her eyes about in a terrified, primal attempt to understand what was happening. She was falling, drifting deeper down into the water. With a muffled thump her body landed against something hard and flat. The light passed over her again, and Twilight recognized that she was lying upon a familiar looking wooden floor. Something grabbed at her tail and began to pull. Again she tried to scream. Again her body denied her. Warm tears began to fall from her eyes. Cold talons grabbed her legs and turned her onto her back. The light was bright as the sun now, silhouetting the bulky form of a griffon standing over her. She recognized the windows, the jagged hole where the door had been, the shape of bookshelves hinted at by the way the light fell. She was in her library, now flooded with water. The black shapes of waterlogged books and bodies floated in the water. Owloysius sat on a gently rocking perch by the door, only his eyes visible in the dim light. “Now what have we got here?” the griffon said, leaning closer. She didn’t seem to even notice that they were currently at the bottom of the ocean, drowning under thousands of pounds of water. Help me, Twilight wanted to say. Her eyes were fixed to the griffon’s cool grey pupils. She couldn’t look away. Splotches of red floated off her face, and Twilight realized that she was crying tears of blood. The griffon snorted. “Just another unicorn that died alone and worthless.” A single talon came up to stroke at Twilight’s horn. “Well, not completely worthless.” No! Get away! Help! Sweet Celestia, Luna, anypony! The griffon held a bonesaw in her other talons. She hummed a cheery tune as she set it at the base of Twilight’s horn. “Here will end the story of Twilight Sparkle, who died alone when she had nobody left to fail.” Please, stop! Stop! I’m sorry! The grinding of the saw against her horn filled Twilight’s ears, even as her head exploded in pain. Unable to open her mouth and scream, she could do nothing but watch the griffon work, her horrified shrieks echoing through her mind.