Myths and Birthrights

by Tundara


Book Two: Chapter Twelve: Hope

Myths and Birthrights
By Tundara

Book Two: Duty and Dreams
Chapter Twelve: Hope


Gilda took a deep breath to steady her pounding heart. Her wings ruffled against her side, betraying her tumultuous feelings. A slight breeze wobbled the little boat, making her dig her talons into the wood. Over her shoulder, she glared across the still lake to where Zubu stood with the coppery, bare-skinned Phoenicians on the other bank. Her master made a shooing gesture with his mangled leg.

Extremely displeased with the entire situation, Gilda turned back to the small, round temple that occupied most of the little island at the heart of Phoenicia. Grabbing the oars, she continued towards the short dock. Her skin crawled, and her beak ached just being near the island. The air pressed down on her as if covering her in heaps of thick blankets. She could barely move and had to fight to suck in each breath. Every instinct she possessed, every fibre of her being, screamed to escape. This was a place mortals should avoid.

The jolt of the boat bumping into the dock sent an electric current through Gilda.

Her magical senses were on fire. Zubu’s training had attuned her to the true nature of the island. There was a being of unbridled power on the island, one who cared so little about others, or was ignorant of the effects of her magic, that her magic saturated the entire city. Along the narrow streets carved into the sinkholes rim there was a sense of the otherworldly, akin to a ghostly tapping at the base of the skull. On the island, it was like swimming through a soupy morass, cloying about the limbs and dragging along the brain.

Forcing herself up the aged stone pathway, Gilda prepared herself for the worst.

Each step contained a tiny torture. The pressure grew worse, until she was certain she would suffocate. On the temple’s threshold, Gilda paused. The weight of the very air was electric against her skin, and her wings felt like they were on fire.

Drawing on Zubu’s teachings, she channeled enough magic to push against that which permeated the air. Her next breaths came a little easier, and it was no longer like she was wading through a swamp of despair. Preparing herself, Gilda moved out of Sol’s light, and into the murky temple.

Instead of some great being presiding on an imposing throne, she found only a great heap of feathers. Clicking her beak, she looked deeper into the temple, wondering if she had missed something. Other than a few aged frescoes of Faust, the feathers were the only thing to be seen.

“And another supplicant is sent,” a voice intoned in a whisper that boomed through the temple.

Jumping back, heart racing as a cold chill swept over her, Gilda gaped as the feathers shifted, the slight part opening to a shadowed abyss, and a single eye. Terror unlike any Gilda before experienced clawed through her being, left her trembling with despair, and her sanity frayed at the edges.

She was an intruder, a blight in a place sacred and unknowable. Whatever was beneath the pristine wings was of someplace else, someplace old, more ancient than the stars, sun, or disc itself. Gilda understood the stories of unicorns who peered too deep into the nature of the cosmos and became gibbering mad-ponies, their psyche shattered by whatever they saw. Before her was such a secret, and her mind reeled with the impossible knowledge.

“What are you?” The question slipped from Gilda, fell from her tongue absent her bidding.

Nothing was said. Nothing needed saying. The answer was unmistakable, smashing over her like storm blown waves; Death.

Beyond simply the ending of a single life, rather, it was the end of all things. Cities, worlds, and all existence. The true ending to the great cycle. Even the gods.

Gilda scrambled from the temple. To stay was to invite insanity.

At the water’s edge she spread her wings and flew the rest of the distance back to where Zubu waited with Phoenicia's elders. They watched her approach, mouths agape, and eyes wide with shock. Fear transformed into anger, a burning armour forming against the insanity scratching at the edges of coherent thought. Panting, Gilda landed in front of the group, and they all took a step back. A few dropped their hands to knives on their hips, or tightened their grips on their spears.

Staring down the High Priestess, Gilda spat, “There. I passed your little test.” Before she could finish speaking, Zubu’s staff hit her soundly between the ears, setting her head ringing and stars sparkling before her eyes.

“You didn’t need to enter the temple, silly apprentice! Only approach it!” Zubu snapped, his words warbling in Gilda’s ringing ear.

The humans were far more impressed, and spoke to each other in hushed voices.

“The only other person to enter the temple, and emerge again, was Laramet, Goddess of Love,” said the High Priestess in a revenant whisper. Her face shone with awe, and she dropped to her knees, hands raised to the heavens in prayer. “All else lost their minds. You are god-touched, to have survived such an encounter intact.”

Gilda was brought up short, unsure exactly how to respond. She muttered a short, questioning thanks, and ran her tongue against the roof of her beak.

Turning to her master, the High Priestess said, “Very well, Zubu, we will read the fortunes of Ol’ Firemane’s Weave for you and discern the Empress’ goals. Afterwards, we will discuss what to do next.”

“Excellent!” Zubu beamed, setting off with the High Priestess towards her home. He slowed enough to gesture for Gilda to follow, then sped up to a brisk limp, Orenda riding on his back. Even the kitsune looked impressed and smiled at Gilda.

Heart still racing, skin electric, Gilda followed at a more sedate pace. Without anything to be directed against, her anger began to waver, and the fear creeped into the void created. For once, she had no acerbic words. A couple times she stopped, and stared at the temple on the island, and repressed a great shudder.

Pinkie’s enthused squeal, followed by a heavy thump upon her back, woke Twilight shortly after noon.

“Wakey, wakey, sleepy heady,” Pinkie said between bouts of bubbly giggles. “Today is exploration day! We finally get to explore the city. There are sooooo many new zebras to meet. There will be apothecaries and bakers and confectioners and dancers and entertainers and fences and glass spinners and hospitaliers and investment bankers and jailers and khans and lamplighters and midwives and newsies…”

Having long since tuned out her friend, Twilight yawned as she wriggled out of bed and made her way to the washroom to freshen up. Pinkie bounced along beside her, continuing to rattle off professions, while Twilight went to the sink. She had to reach down to splash water over her face and marvelled a little at her reflection as she combed her sparkling mane. Her features were longer, far more reminiscent of the princesses, than they’d been when she’d started her journey. Everything was longer, taller, sleeker. Her legs, her body, even her wings seemed to still be growing. Twilight hesitated to say she was beautiful, mostly as it was an adjective she placed on others, notably Rarity, Fluttershy, or her cousins. As had been the case since her Awakening, not a single strand had been put out of place while she slept. Brushing her mane remained, however, part of her routine, and routine was important.

From her bed stand Twilight retrieved her locket. Next to the locket rested a slender tiara, still in the brown box within which it had arrived. A letter, only half read, was pushed down the side of the red velvet padding. Twilight frowned at the tiara and letter, both sent by Iridia, and then shoved them both in the dresser.

“Right!” Twilight proclaimed after adjusting her locket so it sat a little more comfortably. “Ready for another day.”

“Well, afternoon,” Pinkie corrected, throwing open the curtains to show Sol already perched directly overhead. “Dashie isn’t even up yet. So, you beat her at least!”

Giving Pinkie a deadpan glare, Twilight grumbled something about stars, the night, and staying up to ungodly hours sitting on clouds. Stars that, apparently, refused to listen, several still twinkling up in the blue afternoon as they darted around Sol. Running a hoof down her face, Twilight ignored the small constellation. Dealing with an angry sun and belligerent stars first thing in her effective morning was low on her priority list. After coffee and eating she’d scold the rascals and offer profuse apologies to Sol.

Stepping from her chambers, Twilight quickly forgot about the misbehaving stars as she was confronted with a far more pressing problem. Prostrating themselves before her, two zebras in flowing golden gowns blocked her path.

“Oh, what now?” Twilight rubbed away an exasperated pinch between her eyes. “How long have you been here?”

“Since last night, your Divine Highness,” they said softly. “Her Imperial Majesty commanded us with your care, and are here to provide you with anything you require. Name your desires, and they will be fulfilled to the best of our abilities.” There was a sincerity to the pair that verged on unsettling.

“They are great, Twilight,” Pinkie exclaimed as she bounded from the room over Twilight. “You have to try out your happiness helpers! Rocky gave me the best hoof massage ev-ar, and Rumble is amazing at charades. That is what I call them, because Zebras names are so hard, and I feel bad whenever I mess up the ‘æː’ sounds. Or is it ‘ɑː’?”

Stone faced, Twilight wondered if she shouldn’t have dealt with Sol first, after all. The burning weight of the sun’s anger was paltry compared to the growing exasperation surrounding her.

“Fine, just show me to breakfast,” Twilight grumbled, unwilling to argue before coffee.

Evidently pleased by the reception, the pair of hoofmaidens led the way. They said nothing as they made their way through the guest wing. Twilight took the opportunity to inspect the palace, and found it to be as expected. Other than a slight difference in decorum, it was much the same as Canterlot Castle, or any other palace Twilight had seen. Perhaps a little closer to Everfree Castle before it had been destroyed and left as ruins by the War of the Sun and Moon. There was just a little bit more showiness and ‘strength’ as opposed to the ‘elegance’ of Canterlot Castle.

Gold paneling, emerald drapery, and marble floors covered in thick, plush rugs were everywhere. Nooks filled with various artifacts prevented monotony from setting in, along with modern style paintings.

Beyond Twilight and her party, there were groups from Hackney, Prance, and even Neighpon. The guest wing of the palace devolved into a mad-house of swirling servants, chatting foreigners, and frenzied activity as a result. Twilight’s own quarters, being the most secluded at the end of a private branch of the wing, were the quietest. Nearing the sea of bodies, she slowed, took a breath, and then turned around as she directed her hoofmaidens to find an alternate route. Pre-Coffee Twilight did not do crowds.

As they were going down the narrower, but far more empty, servants passage, Twilight detected the voice of Luna ahead. Speeding up at first, Twilight came to a sharp stop just before an intersection when she heard Algol. Signaling the others with her to be quiet, Twilight pressed herself against the wall, ear cocked to catch every word.

“It has been an age, Princess Lullaby. Little lyrical Luna Lullaby, lavender licks lewdly lain on her love. Or, so you wished. I have a message from her, you know. Been meaning to pass it along for fifteen hundred years. Meaghan—”

“Never speak her name,” Luna’s voice was soft, and so much more terrible as a result.

Breath hitching in her throat, Twilight tasted malice and pure hatred flow from her cousin. She’d only experienced such a coldness once before; when Luna was in the throes of madness, readying to charge Twilight and put an end to any hope of returning the day. Somehow, this was worse. At least there was the excuse of the Nightmare being an insane tyrant. Luna was… Luna.

More than most, Twilight saw through the chilly exterior Luna wore as an armour. Luna’s loving heart, the secret warmth she enjoyed when watching Her Little Ponies, few ever realised. Twilight heard none of that Luna as she listened.

Evidently, Algol failed to understand just how near she approached danger.

“Why?” Algol flippantly laughed, “I was not the one who sliced open her alabaster flesh after despoiling her pretty little body. The screams! The pleading! The laughter of the Tarkanians, drunk on wine and her exotic beauty, blood flowing, glowing darkly yellow from battle! So much vibrant black, it was like staring into a folded abyss! Even I was appalled. But then again, I have a soul, twisted and misshapen as it may be. The Soulless are so named for good reason. After that night, I understood better why you were so peachy-orange towards their kind, and purple-red towards ponykind. You were right, and I wrong to dismiss them out of hoof. Such a shame their civilizations were exterminated by Discord.”

Twilight was dumbstruck, fixed in place by the cruelty so casually displayed. Worse, Algol sounded so… happy! Not the cruel, sadistic sort of happy of Nightmare Moon or Leviathan, but the innocent pleasures of a foal who never learned the difference between right and wrong, who found it impossible to know when they were hurting somepony else.

“What does dueling Fleur gain you, Algol?” Luna’s voice was even more clipped, sharp against Twilight’s ears.

“So much, and so little.” Twilight could hear the shrug that followed. “You’ll have to wait and see, just like everypony else. I will not give you golden answers. The first of June, you have until then to make the hesitant blue pony ready for our duel. A short reprieve, as matters red and ghostly white draw me away.”

Hooves drummed a swaggering beat as Algol left. Twilight waited a few seconds before she went around the corner, followed by Pinkie and the hoofmaidens. Luna stared off into space, deep in thought that remained unbroken until Twilight cleared her throat almost in her cousin’s ear.

Through a forced grin, Luna greeted Twilight, and almost at once excused herself. “You’ll have to go on without me, Twilight. Fleur needs my guidance more than ever.”

Unable to fully contain her disappointment, Twilight put on a brave smile. “Is there anything I can do to help? Algol is a fallen star. Maybe I could talk to her…”

“That is a terrible idea.” Luna said quickly. “Avoid that mare at all costs.”

“But—”

“No! Trust me, nothing positive can come from interacting with her. If it would do any good, I would kill her again. Algol is worse than a cockroach, and refuses death. Or, perhaps it refuses her.” There was a heaviness to Luna’s voice, ancient memories weighing on her. She grew colder, sharper, gaze burning with a winter storm’s fury as she stared off into the past.

Twilight tried to give Luna a hug, but Luna shied away. Wings drooping, Twilight asked, “What do you mean, ‘kill her again?’”

Luna shook her head. “I will tell you later, perhaps. For now, there is no time to waste on useless words,” she said, and then took her leave, marching off at a brisk pace.

Staring after her cousin, Twilight sighed, and wrestled with the helpless knot building in her stomach. The knot remained all through breakfast, leaving her food tasteless, and conversation a dull warble in her ears. Pinkie tried her best to cheer Twilight, going on about all the amazing places and tourist attractions to be explored. Twilight did her best to humour Pinkie, putting on a brave front, when inside she was conflicted.

Zebrican meals were group affairs, more akin to cafeterias, rather than the private rooms common within Equestrian and Old Queendom palaces. The only time the large hall quieted was when royalty entered or left, everyone standing so as to be able to then bow. Twilight’s cheeks darkened a little receiving such unearned treatment. At the head of the hall waited the Empress’ table, perpendicular to the rest of the tables, and slightly raised so all could see who sat with the empress. Twilight was brought to this, empty, table, along with Pinkie, and served by a flowing tide of waiters.

Nearing the end of her meal, with two warm, stout cups of coffee resting comfortably in her belly, she was approached by the Empress. Every eye in the hall already firmly affixed on her, Twilight squirmed under the intense scrutiny. There was an expectant hush, as if at any moment some great event would occur. Instead, Maatsheptra and her daughter sat down to have some spiced curry bean sauce served on a thick flatbread; a traditional Shalian zebra lunch.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Your Majesty,” Twilight said through a relieved smile. “We have to stop this duel, somehow.”

“Impossible.” Maatsheptra replied at once. “If of us were to intervene, it would cause great damage. Were I to prevent the duel, it would be seen as a gross intrusion into the personal honour of my closest advisor. The plots against me would triple overnight. Should you whisk Fleur and Rainbow away, the budding relationship between Zebrica and Equestria would be dealt a crippling blow that would last years. None of the nobles in my court would retain any faith in Equestria acting as a fair and equal partner. Sadly, at this point, even a very public and sincere apology by Lady Dash would prove insufficient. Algol was challenged, insulted in front of her peers, and her position has always been one viewed with envy and suspicion. Any perceived weakness will be seized upon by her many enemies, and that would result in a bloodbath.”

Twilight’s spirits fell as she listened. “Nothing can be done, then?”

“Not anymore.” Maatsheptra shook her head. “It is the great irony that with all our phenomenal powers, yours beyond anything mortals could imagine, we are utterly powerless to prevent all pain.”

Flinching, Twilight stared at her empty plate. Celestia always maintained some level of control over any situation she found herself, no matter how dire. Utterly powerless was a concept Twilight would never be able to ascribe to her cousin. Yet, it seemed more and more true of Twilight herself.

Supposably one of the most powerful being on the disc, and what had she done? Assisted Faust in putting Leviathan to sleep. As a regular pony she’d done so much more! Battled mad gods, brought ruin down on an invasion, tamed the Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Yes, the Elements of Harmony had assisted in two of those, but she’d done all the heavy lifting to reach Nightmare Moon and Discord without the artifacts.

A growing part of her wondered if she was meant to be doing more. Months wasted traveling by ship, only to have Faust and Celestia teleport back and forth across the disc, undoing the whole reason for Twilight’s lengthy voyage.

Twilight avoided thinking of southern Prance, and the consequences for Faust’s actions there.

“Today I will show you my city,” Maatsheptra said, bringing Twilight out of her ruminations. “Zerubaba is the oldest of the traditional Mara cities, dating back to before the overthrow of the griffons. History and myths run deep in her foundations. I am certain you will find it all fascinating.” Maatsheptra smiled sweetly, utterly relaxed, all formality cast away once seated.

Waiting for the empress to finish her lunch, Twilight tried to ask about Algol, but each time she was thwarted by Maatsheptra speaking first, usually asking about aspects of Equestrian life, or Twilight’s family.

“There is nothing more important than family,” the empress declared as she finished eating. “For us mortals, they imbue us with a small measure of immortality, carrying the hopes and dreams of those came before into the unknowable future. You will get to meet my daughter’s daughter’s daughter, and see in her some small fragment of me. But, come, let us view the city as it is today, so you may have fond memories of it in a century or two.”

With this the empress stood, and rigid social hierarchy was restored. She lead Twilight to the main courtyard, where a series of carriages waited to convey them through the city. Pinkie bounced off ahead, and into the crowd milling about the carriages. Nobles from Prance and Hackney argued over who should get to ride in the Imperial carriage with the empress and Twilight, while the contingents from Neighpon, Roam, and Zbori watched with faint amusement. Rainbow leaned against a nearby pillar, Maatsheptra’s son nattering away beside her. Lost mostly in thought, Rainbow muttered every now and then a non committal response to the young prince.

“Yes, in a few years I will get my ifrit—and it will be a Noble of course, just like Lord Halphamet’s Shaleh—be a chief among the Dahkrit, and I will secure my empire against all my enemies. I will destroy the dragon-lords with my fire, and—”

“Dragons are immune to fire, kid,” Rainbow said around a yawn. She pushed herself off the pillar as Twilight passed, and swung in beside her friend. “They swim in lava, are a hundred times our size, have scales hard as steel, fly faster than a storm’s winds blow, breath fire, and the old ones even use magic. You can’t do anything against a dragon. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Not to be dissuaded, Taoshetra puffed out his chest. “That is why I will have my Dahkrit distract the beast and tear off a scale from its breast so my lance will strike true its heart. I will carry its horde in a great procession, and—”

“Twilight, want to ride with me and Pinkie?” There was just a hint of desperation to Rainbow’s voice as she called to her friend. Her intent was obvious; to fill the carriage so the blustering prince had to ride in the other carriage.

Her efforts were premature, as Taoshetra thrust out his little chest, lifted his nose so it shot up into the air, and marched up to the empress. “Take me with you. I need to see the city I am to rule.”

“No,” Maatsheptra said without pause. “You have magic lessons at 1, make-up lessons on arithmetic at 3, and then combat training with Lord Halphamet after dinner. Should you have wished to join us today, you should have attended to your tutors instructions with greater diligence, like your sister. Come, Hattmettren, you will ride with the Stars and I, and tell Her Divine Highness all the history you have learned about our great city.” To one of the guards, she then commanded her son be escorted to his chambers.

Pouting, face puffy with indignation, Taoshetra was lead away, and the royal party gathered into a single carriage. Flanked by Pinkie and Rainbow, Twilight peered out the windows with keen interest as they pulled out of the palace, lead by a procession of imperial guards.

After a brief interlude where places were sorted out in the carriages, Twilight and her friends went with the empress and her daughter, while the dignitaries from the other nations were placed into the remaining carriages.

As they rolled out of the palace grounds, Hattmettren spoke at great length about the three tribes of Zebras. Much like Equestria had its Earth ponies, Pegasi, and Unicorns, Zebrica was comprised of the Shali, Mara, and Zebenese. Unlike among ponies, the physical differences between the tribes were minute, and indistinguishable to outsiders. It was their cultures that set the groups apart. While the Zebenese were semi-nomadic in nature, guided by their shamans, and the northern Shali eked out an existence in the harsh frontiers, the Mara were great city builders and traders.

Though she’d learned all about the history of Zebrica from Fleur, Twilight listened to the princess with most of her attention. A portion of her mind remained on the task of stopping the duel.

Hattmettren’s knowledge of the city was extensive, almost encyclopedic, and reminiscent of Twilight on subjects of magical theory. Little by little, she was drawn in by the history of streets, districts, buildings, and the famous names or events that marked each place.

Some of the stories were fascinating, such as the Faustian monks who came to spread the lessons of the Book of Names, in 787, and were promptly captured, branded as heretics by the Shali priests. Mara warriors who’d befriended the monks rescued a small number, and brought the survivors to Zerubaba, where they built their monastery. The monks were later all killed by poison placed in their well, their monastery now a holy site for the Mara.

The aged, yellow sandstone building showed in clear delineations where it had been upgraded or repaired over the centuries from its humble origins, with just a small chapel and few outbuildings, to a wide temple surrounded by gardens, work sheds, and a villa for the resident priest and his herd.

Next, they went down a wide market street where the Zebenese hero Ramses the Golden had grown up as a pauper. His mother had been poor, blind, and died when he was young, leaving him to fend for himself. His father was a renowned rogue, a brigand with a band known as the Galloping Hordes of a hundred and one swords. Fate threw Ramses into the path of his cruel and selfish father. With the assistance of an ifrit, Ramses beat the Galloping Hordes, and rescued the single daughter of Zerbubaba’s sultan, winning her heart and the crown in the process. He went on to become one of the greatest kings in all zebra history. Many monuments stood depicting the royal couple, as they built several temples and expanded the city’s control further up the river valley, all the way to the river’s fabled source. He was also the founder of the Dahkrit, of which he was the first and mightiest to ever live.

As they approached the Tamil Tahree, Maatsheptra shifted sides so as to sit beside Twilight. The empress herself pointed out the grand temple, leaning close as she spoke. Twilight was aware of a startling warmth coming from the empress, and the spicy scent of fragrant incense and myrrh. Her heart gave an anxious flutter at the sudden proximity. She grew stiff, rigid with uncertainty on how to act.

The grand temple, and final resting place of Samala the Liberator, the Tamil Tahree’s polished copper dome and spired minarets loomed over the old temple quarter. Green hedgerows lined crystal blue ponds fed by hundreds of spouting fountains. Long legged pelicans bathed in the pure water, and swifts darted from tree to tower, and back again. Stray dogs lounged in the shade, ears hardly twitching as the carriage with its imperial guards rolled pass.

A change overcame Pinkie as they entered the temple grounds. Her mane drooped, and the sparkle faded in Pinkie’s remaining eye. Uncertain what could be causing her friend’s discomfort, Twilight reached over to hold Pinkie’s hoof. At Twilight’s touch, Pinkie lurched out of the carriage before it rolled to a complete stop. She glanced around once, ignored the nobles and dignitaries exiting the other carriages, and rushed off through the prostrating crowd.

Calling after her friend, Twilight jumped down, followed by Rainbow, and then their hosts. In the sea of monochromatic bodies, Pinkie was easy to follow, if not catch. She dashed up Tamil Tahree’s steps, and into the temple, drawing mutters from the assembled mass. Senses tingling that something was very wrong, Twilight gave her wings a hard flap to launch herself over the crowd.

Inside Tamil Tahree, Twilight found the typical solemn silence that permeated the temples of Equestria, and something more. An undercurrent flowed through the wide, open area that was familiar, yet disconcerting. The air tingled across Twilight’s tongue, and danced over her skin in electrifying currents. Her heart ran fast against her breast, and she felt as if she’d just had her first kiss again. With a sharp shake of her head she cast off the sensations.

Free of debilitating physical reaction, Twilight followed the current to their source. She was confronted by a large casket of jade and gold. Intricate reliefs hid detailed enchantments intended to ward off any who’d dare disturb the tomb. On the lid, carved from the same single block of jade, lay the lifelike image of Samala.

Her features were both alien and familiar. Twilight was strongly reminded of her herd-mother, Whisper. They had the same sharp, sunken features, reclusive pinch to the eye, and thin lips. A proud, overbearing countenance was also present, one Twilight never saw in her studious, shy mother, breaking the similarities. Also different, were the broad wings wrapped over Samala’s carven body.

From within the sarcophagus Twilight detected… something. She had no comparison to begin to parse what she sensed, except perhaps the strands that bound her to the stars, only the resonance was wrong. With a start Twilight understood. Samala had been a Valla, a fallen star. There was literally a tiny piece of Twilight in the sarcophagus, reacting and resonating to her own presence.

Looking up, Twilight was about to say something to Pinkie, certain this was what had drawn her friend, when she saw it.

Pinkie stood on the other side of the sarcophagus, and before her loomed the flowing, sparkling pink form of a shade.

Breath hissed through Twilight’s teeth. A single bounding flap of her wings and she stood between Pinkie and the fallen Gaean alicorn’s ghost.

“Are you alright Pinkie?” Twilight asked as she studied the shade.

It seemed oblivious to her presence, attention wholly on Pinkie alone. The energy of the tomb acted like a camouflage, masking the shade, making it hard to sense even with it right in front of her. Though close enough to reach out and touch the shade, Twilight only detected a slight alteration in the air, lesser than that given off by the tomb itself. If she weren’t staring right in front of it, Twilight would doubt it was there at all.

“Just a little droopy, but that’s because she needs my smile more than me, right now,” Pinkie said in an almost monotone voice. Devoid of her usual bounce, it sent a chill down Twilight’s neck.

Whatever the shade was doing to Pinkie needed to be halted.

“Stop what you are doing to my friend, right now!” Twilight’s commanding voice cracked through the otherwise silent temple. Still, she was ignored. Out of the corner of her eye, Twilight saw Rainbow edge around towards the shade’s back. A shake of her head told Rainbow that it was a bad idea to attack the shade. Frowning, Rainbow ignored Twilight’s warning.

A soft whump told Twilight that Pinkie had slipped to her haunches. Glancing back, Twilight was shocked to see Pinkie’s lustrous colour had faded to a dull peach tone.

Summoning her magic, Twilight snapped, “I’m warning you—”

“Hope,” spoke the shade in a voice pulled from a place beyond the boundaries of the disc. Lifting a smokey hoof, the shade indicated the temple, and then Pinkie. Again, it rattled, ‘Hope,” and a bubbly gasp came from Pinkie, a small amount of colour returning to her coat.

“I’m okie-dokie, just a little less pokie, Twilight,” Pinkie said, pulling herself up with Twilight’s help.

Behind the shade, Rainbow remained ready to pounce.

Her own guard still raised, Twilight asked the shade, “Why are you here?”

The shade regarded her for a long moment, then said in a tumbling rush, “Astraea. Hope. Stars. Dead. Secrets. Vengeance. War. Trap. Wrath. Dreams. Wisdom. Hope.” The shade whipped around the temple, then back to Twilight. “Madness will claim the Stars, and Astraea will fall again. The last apprentice meets the Knights of Harmony. An empire crumbles and the lost dreamer's spite reaches fruition. Sister slays sister, and wrath is unleashed. The dead call a titanomanchy! No! Wrath is released… Her chains broken… The skies bleed, and Ioka begins to die. Open the gateway of dreams. Dreams. Dead. Wisdom; Hope. Ioka dreams, or Ioka dies.”

Energy spent, the shade settled around Samala’s tomb, and, if Twilight did not know better, fell into a deep slumber.

“Oh, come on! More prophecies?” Twilight threw up her hooves with an exasperated growl. “And this one is just gibberish.”

“Yeah, but at least it didn’t do anything too crazy,” Rainbow commented as she approached, a cautious eye on the resting shade.

Sarcasm dripping from her, Twilight said, “No, it was only feeding on Pinkie’s spirit, and using her as a living shield!” A disgusted ripple went down her back, through her withers, and into her wings. “I am so tired of you girls being in danger because of these Geaen alicorns. Pinkie, how are you feelings?”

“Much better,” Pinkie grinned, colour returned to her cheeks, and eyes bright with barely restrained laughter. “She was hurting and needed my smile more than me. I’ve never given a smile quite like that, though. It was all… cold. And lonely.”

Shaking her head, Rainbow supported Pinkie and acted as a guide back towards the carriage. Twilight stayed behind, staring at the tomb, and the shade coiled around the lid. Something needed to be done about the shade, the last one loose on the disc. Dealing with the Geaens comprised at least part of her reason for coming to Zebrica. She still had to ask about where the last alicorn mentioned in Maatsheptra’s invitation was located. Unless, this was what she meant.

Cryptic messages, dreams, visions. Tyr, Fleur, Astraea, Shyara, Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow, Applejack, and now Pinkie; so many ponies lives upended, and those were just those close to her. Twilight’s head swam to think of the misery and suffering permeating southern Prance, and the small role she played in the destruction. All from a fight that should have been avoided. Twilight had so much power, and accomplished so little for all her vaunted status as a goddess.

No answer on what to do with the shade presented itself. There was no clear and present threat. Yet, it struck Twilight as the height of naivety to think that it would remain dormant, a fox sleeping in a hen coop. Her sensibilities recoiled at just attacking when there was no remaining provocation. By Pinkie’s own admission, she was trying to help the shade of her own free will. Anypony else Twilight would have assumed there to have been some form of coercion involved that she’d failed to detect. With Pinkie, it was impossible to rule out that her friend sensed the shade’s distress, and voluntarily gone to help.

“It is difficult, oft times, to make these decisions,” spoke Maatsheptra. The empress came up beside Twilight, and watched the shade with a calculating gaze. “I had Algol and my Dahkrit bring her here, rather than have such a wild entity wandering my country, terrorising villages and towns.”

“You placed a shade in the middle of a city instead?” Twilight’s mouth fell open at the seeming inconsistency of logic.

“This shade is drawn to places, objects, or souls that bring Hope. For zebras, there is no site which sings to my subjects hearts more than Tamil Tahree, resting place of the mare who cast off our chains and set our hearts free. Make no mistake, I do this not out of any sense of compassion or obligation to the shade. You alicorns brought this plague upon my empire, and so I enticed you here so that it may be resolved, rather than put into a temporary cage.”

“Wait, you brought me here to deal with this?” Twilight’s head snapped around, a frown firmly etched onto her features.

Maatsheptra gave Twilight a gentle laugh, smiled, and waited.

Infuriated, put on the spot, and sick to her stomach at the blatant manipulation, Twilight didn’t respond at once.

“It is difficult, oft times,” Maatsheptra hummed, as if talking to herself, “to make these decisions. What does a leader do when they see a threat to those they must protect? More so when it is but a potential threat, one dormant, waiting, circling like a shark. Should you act? Can you afford to wait? What then does this say about you? Are you still a good pony if you hurt others simply because they might harm somepony else? Or has the moral high ground been ceded, lost, no matter the necessity. These questions haunt us mortal leaders of nations and cities. How much more they must weigh when it is the affairs of the gods, and the entire disc, or even the cosmos themselves, at risk.”

“Did you understand anything it said?” Twilight asked, already certain Maatsheptra had been listening the entire time. Her stomach grew tighter, the knot more tangled.

“Educated guesses only, I am afraid. Gleaning knowledge from this entity will be difficult I fear, as she exists in a state out of sync with the disc.”

Twilight released a noise from the back of her throat, caught her lip between her teeth, and tried to come to a solid conclusion as to what to do with the shade. She was trapped between two terrible outcomes; do nothing and risk the shade hurting somepony, or attack the sleeping, wounded creature. At such times, Twilight wished she had Fluttershy’s guidance.

“Well, I guess I could at least seal this place so nopony disturbs her, and so she cannot run off. Hopefully, Celestia or Luna will know what to do. I’d ask Faust… but, that seems like a bad idea right now.” Twilight sighed, and gave an involuntary twitch.

Faust had to know of the shade, and the fact she’d done nothing either indicated she wasn’t worried, or that she trusted Twilight to deal with the situation.

Lavender-White aether flowed along her horn, built at the tip, and then expanded in a bubble to the walls with their carved murals. The shade shifted, jumped from the tomb, and issued a long hissing moan. With a feline bound, it prowled around the growing edge of Twilight’s barrier.

“Your Majesty, what is going on?” called Hattmettren from the temple’s entrance. The princess stood highlighted by Sol’s golden rays, head tilted and a slight pinch to her brow as she shifted her gaze from her mother to Twilight, and then the shade. The glimmer of curiosity morphed into fear as the shade spun towards her.

With a beastial, primal howl, the shade lept at Hattmettren. Eyes held wide, mouth frozen in a shrill scream, the princess stood frozen with terror in the growing shadow of the pouncing shade. She tried to scramble back, hooves slipping on the polished marble, scream turning into a pleading whinny.

Twilight reacted with the speed of a thunderbolt. With one spell already underway, she called on another, instincts honed through a dozen adventures guiding the formula. Hattmettren barely began to raise a hoof in a feeble attempt to fend off the shade when she vanished, switching places with Twilight.

Accustomed to the cold, darkness, and disorientation of blinking, Twilight braced herself to meet the shade. Ethereal limbs struck her on the shoulders, and drove her backwards from the temple with shocking weight. Together they rolled down the wide steps. At the bottom they bounced once. Still following the dictates of honed instincts, Twilight twisted in midair and kicked her hind legs. The muscles along her back and wings flexed with divine strength, thick sinews rippling in adamantine strands. Ancient marble shattered from the power of her kick, and the few clouds in the skies where scattered by the force of her wings snapping out.

Knocked prone, the crowd watched in fascination as Twilight and the shade landed a second time. Shade pinned beneath her, Twilight experienced a surge of primal, physical strength. It took almost no effort to contain the struggling, screeching shade, it's ephemeral form kept solid where she gripped it.

Crystalline veins and flesh manifested in the shade, spreading from where Twilight made contact. Writhing like a python, the shade coiled up and around Twilight. A choked grunt lodged in her throat, Twilight planted her hooves as she strained against the shade’s own exceptional strength, fueled by the same primordial essence and vigor inherent to the gods. Young, newly ascended, Twilight began to pull the shade away, the vitality of a goddess in her prime so much greater than that of one fallen and incorporeal. Atop that, Twilight was the Goddess of the Stars, a being of the physical realm, and not something as intangible and shifting as Hope.

In that struggle, Twilight understood why nopony ever dared confront Celestia in a contest of raw strength. Not only were there the vast, oceanic reserves of raw aether able to fuel spells or aura, it filled every molecule of her physical being, muscle, bone, sinew and skin in the manner of the Earth ponies. A brief, flitting thought wondered if this was how Applejack always felt.

With a mighty yell, Twilight slashed her wings, and cut the shade in half. Screams of rage turned to pain, and fear, as the back half of the shade dissipated, evaporating like dry ice on a sunny day. Curling into a ball, the shade stared up at Twilight. Expressive eyes formed, pleading for mercy, filled with more than just fear, but a nameless terror. Intelligence shone in that gaze, pure intellect of a freely thinking entity, rather than some wild beast.

Somehow, that made the shade’s attack all the more unforgivable. An animal acted only as nature proscribes, whatever Fluttershy may believe otherwise. What Fluttershy did held magic to tame animals, a nurturing aura latent to her alone, and tied to her cutie mark. Special. Unique. Exceptional.

The shade’s fear abated, as Twilight loomed over it, and then melted entirely.

“Hope,” it said a final time. With a heavy crash like storm fueled waves on a seaside cliff, the shade collapsed in on itself.

Twilight blinked, and reared back in shock. Before her lay a blue diamond of incredible size and flawless clarity in the rough shape of a heart. Even uncut it sparkled with intense refracted light, and something like a pulse. Tentatively, Twilight picked up the gem. From it she detected the essence of the shade, dormant as it slept in a dreamless fog.

“There are insufficient words in either of our languages to fully convey my gratitude, Princess Twilight, for saving my daughter,” Maatsheptra said as she descended the damaged stairs. “You have saved that which is most precious to me, and secured the future of my empire. Gifts of unequaled value.”

With a sweeping gesture, the empress of Zebrica bowed, and with her bowed her guards and a crowd of thousands. Twilight’s chest swelled, and she felt a little worthy, perhaps, of the mantle of the stars. Rainbow stomped her hooves in applause.

Pinkie alone didn’t join in the celebration, a concerned droop to her mane.

Unnatural stars shone over Sweetie. They moved in slow motions, tracing a long arc across a velvetine expanse. She’d watched the stars for the last hour, unsure of exactly what she was seeing. Rolling her head show’d the stars setting to one side, and rising in the other in mocking mimicry of the sun and moon.

Moving caused a wave of nausea to sweep through her. Her stomach clenched as searing agony filled her every fibre, from the tip of her nose to the end of her tail. Fighting back a dry heave, she trembled and waited for the sky to stop spinning. Hooves clicking on stone warned Sweetie of somepony’s approach before the nausea passed. She tried to sit up and reach for her sword, only for her stomach to churn harder and her magic to sputter in the stale air.

“Don’t move,” Apple Bloom admonished, swooping down to help prop her against a wall.

Sweetie blinked a couple times, working her mouth with a dozen questions that croaked in her dry throat.

“And try not to talk,” Apple Bloom added, lifting up a cup of some sweet smelling liquid.

Greedily, Sweetie guzzled the offered drink, and found it to be some sort of cider. A refreshing warmth flowed down her throat, and settled in her belly. Far too quickly the cup was emptied, and no more was offered.

“W-Where are we?” she managed to ask.

“Well, we’re not too sure.” Apple Bloom put on a brave smile. “We seem to be in a cellar vault.”

Peering through the slender light cast by the oddly moving stars, Sweetie perceived a large, circular chamber, of sorts. Iron gratings divided the room into cells, blocking off parts of the room. Boxes, chests, and heaps of copper coins filled one of the sectioned off areas, while the others were empty. The area they were in contained a table with a few gold coins, a scale, and abacus atop a thick ledger.

As she looked around, Sweetie was startled to notice that the pinpricks of light were given off by her Marlantian sword. The aurichalcum blade shimmered and shone with flowing lines of aether, like rivers of brilliant hues on a dusty red landscape as seen from the top of a mountain.

Pulling it closer with a careful aura, Sweetie drew comfort from the sword. She couldn’t continue to simply call it ‘the Marelantian sword’ any longer. A name jumped into her head almost at once.

“You are my Durandel,” Sweetie said to her sword. Pulled from legends told by Rarity as bedtime stories when their mother was away on a voyage, it struck her as somehow fitting name. “Just like the sword of Rolanda the Gallant, first among Queen Palladium's Paladins.”

Apple Bloom smiled from where she watched over Sweetie. Like this, they sat for a little while. Sweetie heard more than saw Scootaloo. Crates and rusted gates opened and closed with unconcerned bangs as Scootaloo explored.

“You think Shyara is okay?” Apple Bloom asked, her voice low and hopeless.

Sweetie refrained from shrugging and instead said, “I’m sure of it. You saw her growing, right? I mean, one moment she was a filly like us, the next she’s almost an adult. How is that possible?”

“Well, remember when Cadence and Luna told Twilight that she’d change after becoming an alicorn? Maybe finding their cutie marks has the same effect?” Scootaloo suggested from somewhere nearby, but her voice held little conviction.

“Shyara has a cutie mark?” Sweetie blinked a couple times, and tried to recall if she’d seen Shyara’s mark. She had a vague recollection of their being something on the filly’s flank, but when she attempted to remember the mark, it slipped out of her grasp.

“She’s the Goddess of Secrets, of course she has a mark. It’s a… something, in a something. It’s hard to see because it keeps trying to hide itself.” It was Apple Bloom’s turn to shrug. She then poked Sweetie on the flank, and mischievously said, “She’s not the only one with a mark, you know.”

It took Sweetie a few moments to process Apple Bloom’s meaning. Aches forgotten, Sweetie shifted around to stare at her bruised flank. There, still glimmering a little with the magic of its emergence, proudly stood her cutie mark; a musical note over a five pointed star, all contained within a shield.

Sweetie grinned, and then laughed, throwing her hooves around Apple Bloom in a crushing hug. Happiness, relief, and so many other emotions swelled in her chest. After so much searching she had her mark!

“There’s no way out of here,” Scootaloo declared, emerging from behind a crate. One side of her face was puffy, a large bruise spreading beneath her coat, turning orange into an ugly mulberry. Releasing Apple Bloom, Sweetie cringed. Scootaloo grinned, revealing a gap in her smile where she’d lost a tooth. “Pretty wicked huh? Not as bad as what happened to you though. I’m kind of jealous. I just hit the corner of a box when we arrived. Box got the worst of it, of course.”

Scootaloo gave a half-hearted chuckle that trailed off when nopony else joined in her dark humour. Sitting down, her armour jangling softly, she stared off at the door. Sweetie followed her gaze, eyes flitting over the large steel bars and mechanical workings of the locks. The door itself was solid metal.

Sweetie’s eyes widened. Stale air. A vault door. There was no fresh air coming into the room.

“We have to get out of here,” Sweetie gasped, her voice faint, as if coming from over a great distance. Scootaloo gave a lopsided nod, while Apple Bloom just smiled.

“I know,” Apple Bloom mumbled, words a little slurred. “But, unless your sword can cut those locks, it looks like our adventures are over.”

Sweetie stumbled towards the vault door, Durandel responding to her desperate desire to live. Blade glowing with molten hues, it struck the mighty door with a soft clang. Rather than bounce, as all logic dictated it should, Durandel burned brighter, and cleft the locks as if they were made of wax. Steel ran in glowing rivulets where the marelantian sword cut.

Falling onto her side, physical strength waning, Sweetie groped at the door with a sputtering aura. Next to her, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo wrapped their hooves around the spokes. Scootaloo slipped, banging her chin on a bar, and flopped next to Sweetie. Bracing her back legs, Apple Bloom heaved with all her earth pony strength. Slowly, the door swung open a few inches, just enough for fresher air to waft over the gasping fillies.

“Worst. Adventure. Ever,” Scootaloo wheezed, first to recover her breath. “If we get out of this, I am going home, and never complaining about aunti Holiday and Lofty’s fixation on crochet again.”

“Well, we’re still alive.” Apple Bloom tried to sound upbeat, but there was little humour left in her.

Rising to her hooves, Sweetie retrieved Durandel, and pried the door open wide enough for them to get out. The stony corridor beyond was lit only by flickering torches, tainting the air with the stench of burning pitch. Staying close together, the trio cautiously left the vault. They found their way blocked by a set of iron bars, a locked door at their center. Durandel cut the bars, and then grew dull, magic depleted, once more as it’d been when Sweetie found it in Lemarea.

Going slow in case there were any Diamond Dogs near, the crusaders made their way out of the cellars and into wide, lofty halls. Old banners broke the monotonous stone, and decorative swords and shields were placed on the walls. Narrow windows let in streams of sunlight, and a cool breeze. After the grandeur of Lemarea, the halls seemed drab and dull. Unlike Lemarea, they were not forgotten ruins, but lived in and well kept. Voices echoed from ahead, and mouth watering smells wafted across their noses.

The clank of mail and metal boots on stone drove them into hiding. Darting behind a tapestry, they waited with bated breaths, hearts hammering in their chests. Sweetie dared to peak as the patrol passed, and was surprised to see a pair of griffons in polished armour. A hungry shroud hung over the griffons as threatening as that exuded by the diamond dogs. Revealing themselves to the griffons would be bad.

Wetting her lips, Sweetie glanced left and right to make certain the hall was again empty before she darted over to the windows. She stared down onto a dry, dusty land, the sweep of a cliff giving way hundreds of hoof lengths below to jagged, rocky slopes.

A deep, gruff voice jolted Sweetie from her thoughts. Swinging around, she saw a griffon, a servant of some sort she guessed from the burgandy vest he wore, pointing at her as he spoke in a language she’d never heard before.

“Oh, come on,” Sweetie sighed. Her eyes connected for a brief moment with Apple Bloom’s, and then she turned and dashed down the corridor, leading any pursuer away from her friends.

Shouts followed after her, alarms beginning to ring soon after as the castle leapt to life. From every direction came the stamping of soldiers moving to repel an intruder. A door at the end of the hall burst open as guards sprang forth. Sweetie ducked aside and through the nearest door, not caring where it took her. She simply had to lead her pursuers far away from Apple Bloom and Scootaloo so her friends could stay hidden. There was a moment where the guards hesitated, looking to each other for confirmation of what they were seeing before giving chase. Sweetie sped as fast as she could on three legs up a narrow set of stairs intended for servants. Ignoring the first landing, she made her way up to the second and shoved her way out into another corridor.

Here, servants squawked and darted out of her way, marvelling at her until the guards appeared. A tall window of grimy glass waited at the end of the corridor of narrow doors. Without pause, or thinking what might be on the other side, Sweetie leapt up, catching the drapes in her good hoof, and smashed through the thin glass. Burgundy cloth billowing about her, Sweetie began to plunge towards the all too distant ground.

With a sharp thwap, the drapes grew taught, and Sweetie swung back towards the castle. Another window shattered just as the guards leapt into the sky after her, wings spreading wide and keen eyes searching for the fleeing filly.

Bouncing roughly, Sweetie felt the stitches in her shoulder tear open. The room spun about her before, her legs refusing to move. Gathering all her will, she commanded her battered body to stand, forcing through the exhaustion closing in around her. Breaths coming in ragged growls, Sweetie searched for her next escape route.

She was confronted by a tiny dark blue filly half in a frilly white dress, head cocked to one side in curiosity. Sky blue mane done up in intricate braids highlighted her horn. Wings stood out defensively, and slowly began to relax. The filly’s griffon hoofmaids stood shocked on either side, frozen in the act of dressing their charge.

“New friend!” the filly cried, leaping out of the dress to wrap her little hooves around Sweetie’s neck, and bear her to the floor with a muted thump. Bubbly giggles erupted from the filly, her wings giving excited flaps. “Why come through window? That’s silly.”
Sweetie lay frozen, unsure what to do until the filly was pulled off her, replaced by talons against her throat. Guards rushed into the room from every direction, the sky outside the windows dark with their wings. Durandel was snatched from her side, and she was hauled up and from the room, back hooves dragging in the confusing whirlwind. Blood running down her side again, head spinning from the exertion, Sweetie didn’t fight as she was taken to the throne room.

Tossed down at the base of a worn set of steps, she hardly had the energy to lift her head to glare at the griffon king.

He was an older griffon, grey around his eyes and beak, with a commanding bearing. Plush robes of imperial purples and golds clung to his still fit frame. His every movement was precise, like he belonged in a gladiatorial arena and not on a throne of carven stone. Beside him rested a gilded scepter on a velvet cushioned stand.

A guard brought him Durandel, the king inspecting the sword with keen interest. Running a talon over the razor sharp ridges of the hilt, he let out a long, pleased chuckle. His attention then shifted to Sweetie as the guard was waved aside.

The king spoke in a deep, rumbling voice in a language Sweetie never before heard. He tried again, this time in Prench, Sweetie recognizing only a few phrases.

“What about Equestrian?” He then asked, displeasure beginning to show. “Or, are you mute, child? Ah, no, Equestrian it is,” he said, noting Sweetie’s reaction. “Tell me, assassin, who sent you? Certainly not Celestia. She has another, far more potent, tool than some filly.”

“Nopony sent me,” Sweetie said, unsure whether to laugh or sigh at the accusation. She pushed herself to stand straight, to show strength and carry conviction in her words. A slight wobble in her legs, and quaver in her voice gave away her fatigue. “A series of unfortunate events brought me here, and nothing more.”

“Oh? That is disappointing. I am uncertain whether to believe you or not, especially when you went right to my precious youngest daughter’s room, and threatened her life.” As he spoke the alicorn filly entered from a side door, lead by the griffon queen.

Taking her throne next to her husband, the queen held herself with regal poise. An image that was quickly ruined when the filly leapt up onto the throne and wriggled around until she was ensconced beneath a protective leg.

“Tell us, Talona, how the pony attacked you,” the king commanded, giving his ‘daughter’ a doting smile.

Grinning, Talona excitedly told the court how she’d been getting dressed—that the dress was far too frilly and uncomfortable, and she hated it and wanted a new one—when there was a whole bunch of shouting and running about outside—which was all much more exciting than putting on some stupid dress—and then a guard told the maids that there was an intruder and to be extra alert—she should have been allowed to go look for the intruder, but the maids said ‘no’, and she doesn’t like that maid anymore—then the window went ka-smash and a strange filly was knocking her over and then the other guards showed up and took the filly away.

Still grinning after her hurried, rambling explanation, Talona pointed Sweetie, “Can I keep her? I need a new hero after losing Blinky and Gilly.” Her eyes went huge, lower lip puffed out in the strongest of pouts.

Cooing loudly, the king cried out, “How can any father so ‘no’ to such a cute face!? Of course you may have her. Call the slave-binder, he has work to do. Have this one properly branded and broken. Oh, and search the castle for her friends.”

Sweetie’s protests were choked off by iron hard claws grasping her by the throat to drag her away. Smug on his throne, the king wiggled his talons at Talona, and laughed as she playfully batted at them like a cat with a ball of yarn.