//------------------------------//
// Act I ~ Chapter Ten ~ Witnesses 
// Story: Spectrum 
// by Sledge115 
//------------------------------//



Spectrum




The Team



TheIdiot


I’m a Rankin Bass Character!



DoctorFluffy


Get that teleprompter out of my face. You think you can tell me what the news is? I have merged with the news. I AM THE NEWS!



VoxAdam


In Vino Veritas



Sledge115



 RoyalPsycho


I remember a time, long ago.



TB3



Kizuna Tallis



ProudToBe



With Help From


RanOutOfIdeas



And Guest Writing From


Jed R











Chapter Ten


Witnesses





* * * * *





“That world is one, but there are many, many others. They are not in our universe, but they’re here, right next to us, close as a heartbeat. There! I spread my wings, and I brush ten million other worlds, and they know nothing of it.”
— Kaisa, from Northern Lights, by Philip Pullman







The Tree of Harmony’s time had come again.

A day and a night ago, it had brought forth, before the eyes of Lyra Heartstrings, a human. The very creature the inquisitive young unicorn had yearned to see all her life. It had done so knowing that the discovery would not bring her only joy. This was no gift for Lyra. But in time it would prove, perhaps, a gift for two suffering worlds.

Big things had small beginnings. Hopefully, that would hold true here too.

Princess Celestia took the proper course of action by opening the Lady Sunflare’s final gift, a lantern carved of the wood from another Tree, its sister Tree, she who stood atop the world. Made of timber, not crystal, yet no less potent. Long before the Old Ones were young, its roots had reached deep into the mountain of Zamok Ustyag, its sap imbued with strange magic.

Now, once more, the Tree heard the same calling which its sister always heard in the North. For just as the Tree Atop The World’s roots drank in the magic of the world, its branches brushed against a magic in the sky.

Stars. And the dust which made them and all that was, and crossed the spaces between all.





~ North ~ The Great Workshop of Zamok Ustyag, Adlaborn ~ By the Equestrian Calendar, Second Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae ~

Sint Erklass stood tall and silent, the low hum still reverberating in his ears.

Centuries ago, this great atelier had been no more than a vast, cold chamber, empty but for its heart, and a dark heart it was. Yet on this day, he stood here amongst an assortment of crafting tools and clockwork devices, some of which filled the room up to the painted ceiling, and many more upon the ancient stone and wooden tables – the mark of a thousand tinkerers and inventors who’d called this place their workshop over the millennia.

Now, beneath the mountain crowned by The Tree Atop The World, the Northernmost point in the world, the chamber flourished.

Many knew it as the Great Workshop of Zamok Ustyag, carved inside the great mountain, and one of the greatest achievements of generations of reindeer artisans, a showcase and archive of inventions and other magnificent works. Fewer today still remembered what it had been truly built for, a function for a bygone era.

Cheerily lit and welcoming as the chamber looked nowadays, the Great Stag found, much to his consternation, that he could never suppress a dread feel, the further he approached its centre. All the wrapping and the tinsel in the world could not pull a veil over certain uncanny, uncomfortable truths, not to one who knew. But then, his life’s purpose was to bring warmth into the cold, not to deny cold altogether.

And to this day, an eldritch cold lay buried once more in the core of the mountain.

“Grandfather?”

The soothing voice of his granddaughter flowed into his mind, and Sint Erklass smiled, even before he turned to meet the Snow Maiden’s piercing blue eyes.

Back the way he’d entered, she stood within the intricately carved doorway, a graceful presence in the weathered chamber. Her pale coat was covered, as always, by a silver-blue shawl, and she had an appearance as fair as she did a thousand years ago.

“Ilsa,” he greeted warmly. “What brings you here? I’d thought you’d be asleep at this late hour.”

The Snow Maiden, or rather, the latest in a long line to serve as her host, advanced. This time, Ilsa’s host hailed from a clan of nomadic reindeer, roaming the world, like the ponies whose time predated the Six Hearthwarmers. They had returned to Adlaborn a few years ago, answering the Maiden’s Summon, for a new host to bear the shawl for her lifetime.

For brief, fleeting moments, the one who had been Lel of the nomads would shimmer through the cloak’s powerful influence, an image of what she had been in life – a young doe with eyes of warmest brown, adorned by tattoos of her tribe. Now, as with each bearer before her, the doe was but another vessel for the Lady of the North.

One would consider it a cursed existence, bound to a timeless soul for the rest of their natural lives. Yet Lel, like every one of Ilsa’s bearers, was willing to carry the burden, forever bound. A great honour, they said – and yet, an honour Ilsa herself considered the final mockery inflicted upon her family by that same eldritch being imprisoned here. 

In guilt, and for her dues, the lady eternal kept her thick, dusty journal filled with the names of those who had borne her burden for the ages. Lel the Nomad. Azalyne, the orphaned chieftainess of a distant tribe. Saelita, the warrior bard who sung dreams into reality. Eleyska, the star-dancer mage. Katarae, the peacemaking artist... And Anna, her sister, her first and most beloved, the original Maiden of Fire.

Like every time, Sint felt how she, like him, missed them all dearly.

“The same reasons that led you here, Grandfather,” Ilsa said quietly, tapping her ears delicately. “This Call, it reaches far, even into a sleeping mind.”

She paused, frowning as she looked over the Workshop, until she brought her gaze to settle firmly upon her grandfather.

“I looked… there is a new star in the heavens, where there was no star before,” Ilsa said. “So, it comes at last. Celestia sends tidings of great need, and the first place you step is this chamber. Am I wrong to assume, that you fear this unknown threat has its wellspring in an old source?”

Sint smiled, albeit wearily. His granddaughter was nervous, this much he could tell, much as the Snow Maiden would have liked to conceal it, within the confines of this great chamber.

Ilsa was tall, perhaps as tall as his beloved Celestia and Luna. But he was taller still, and without another word he stretched out a forehoof to pull her in a warm embrace. 

“Yes and no, my dear,” he said, chuckling fondly. “An old friend lies in wait in here, and I intend to commune.”

He looked past her to see a green-eyed, brown doe waiting quietly at the bottom of the staircase. 

“Unless,” Sint began, releasing Ilsa from his embrace, “Dear Freyja over yonder would like to do the same?”

The doe in question nodded, shyly, but remained in place. One wouldn’t have guessed at that she was the Fire Maiden of Adlaborn, the latest heir to the Great Workshop in a line which stretched back three-thousand years. Unlike her counterpart, though, she bore no enchanted shawl to bear the consciousness of a long-dead princess – merely her craft and a tinkerer’s mind.

“N-no, Lord Hearthswarming,” Freyja said quietly. “I suppose, yes, but– your communion comes first.”

Ilsa sighed. “I had to speak with you, Grandfather,” she said. “Freyja’s duties are well-known to her, but this Call you have received… something is off.”

“What about it?” Sint asked, his surprise unfeigned, for all he trusted in her wisdom. “The Call of Concordia has never been used in all of my years, not even before the First Hearthswarming Eve. Yet the message is clear.”

“And we shall answer,” Ilsa said dutifully. “Yet you wish to commune with… this creature, on the matter? Forgive me for saying so, Grandfather, but...”

“But?”

“It’d seem I was wrong… Which forces me to think that... somewhere in this, you are wrong too. I had assumed you entered this hallowed chamber on the suspicion that its aeons-old resident is no stranger to the current crisis.”

Sint looked at her, a chill in his breast. “Tell me then. In your dreams, did you sense the influence of forces from a plane outside our own?”

“Yes,” Ilsa nodded, “yet… something feels both familiar and unfamiliar.”

Machinery and gears in the Workshop tinkered on, filling the room with ambience that was all too welcome in his clouded head. It wasn’t as busy as it was during the daytime, where dozens of great minds pressed on for their latest creation, to present to the world or add to its collection. But the pleasant ambience couldn’t clear Sint’s head entirely, that some form of devilry must now be afoot in Canterlot for such a message, the only one of its kind, to be sent out.

“When Celestia retrieved the coffer of the Concordia Maxima,” Sint said simply, “some eight-hundred years ago, from the icy wastes in which it had been lost, you’ll remember, she offered it to me. I let her keep it, because I trusted her. It is hers by right.” He felt a watery film come over his eyes. “It was her mother’s. If Celestia sounds it, she does it for a reason.”

“Her mother’s…” Ilsa repeated, rolling the word over her tongue. “Yes. She, whose echo infuses the lantern, in manner most familiar to me…” she mused, tugging her shawl. “So many spirits, so many haunts, in those faraway days you told me about…”

Her eyes wandered, staring at something behind him. Sint refused to turn around. There was only one thing she could be looking at, alone in all the myriad merry contents of the Workshop. Freyja’s gaze was directed its way as well, for a phantom cold blew over them.

A darkened snowglobe, large as a good-sized dragon’s egg, full of perpetual snowstorm…

“She’s gone, Ilsa,” Sint cut in, a rare touch of iron to his tone. “Sunflare is gone, as are nigh-all the oldest nightmares the Old Ones begot. It has been millenia since Sunflare left this plane, in the company of her own conscience given shape. Much as I wish I’ll see her again, the Call serves as the final trace that she was ever here.”

“Grandfather, please,” Ilsa said softly, “you know how intimately I know your heart. But you taught me yourself that our desires for the light should not blind us to the dark. This is why I beseech you now to caution, for this creature, too, knows your heart well.” She paused. “You hear the Call, and you think to yourself, Celestia must have failed. Why else would she call the world to her, other than tidings of great sorrow… or great joy? You do not want to believe Celestia has faltered. And in your wisdom, you know she hasn’t. Yet still the Call goes out…”

Sint let her words carry through the air, and he listened, for she was right. He laid down a comforting hoof on Ilsa’s shoulder, and her eyes looked up to his own.

“Your care is a boon for me, dearest Ilsa,” Sint said softly. “Your temperance a valuable dam to an old, passionate soul. No, you say it true. Nonetheless… I sense the Krampus interlaced in this…”

“Please,” Ilsa told him warningly, “don’t let age and experience deceive you into thinking the creature cannot snare you.”

Sint noticed apprehension in Freyja’s eyes at this statement. He decided, then and there, that his next words must put her at ease.

“Age and experience?” Sint chuckled gently. “Words for the wind, my ever-young counsellor. What value is age without soul, experience without learning? Wasn’t it Anna, in her youth, her innocence, who after she’d been deceived, chose to break from the trappings that’d be expected of her tale, and aimed true?”

A glow seemed to fill Ilsa then as she remembered, and Freyja stood a little taller. The phantom cold over the room thawed, and Sint saw in them the same spirit and determination as Anna.

“I hear your words, Grandfather,” Ilsa said respectfully. “But I implore you, don’t forget that if the Concordia’s lantern is an offshoot of the Old Ones, the reasons they’d had to call in us, their creations, their Twelve Families, may not always have been noble.”

“No. But they shall be today.”

The Great Stag raised himself to full height.

“Adlaborn will stand,” Sint told his granddaughter. “Though our trials millennia past may pale compared to what is to come, I feel, we will not face it alone. Go to Vologdad, and inform Meisterburger Heavensky, Ilsa. We will prepare, and his word will help guide our people through the coming storm. We were a shield that guarded ponykind from the North, and we will serve as it once more. We were never warriors, but we shall protect.”

His voice echoed throughout the chamber, reverberating within its old stone walls – not quite intimidating, but determined and full of resolve, and for a moment he felt himself a younger, prouder stag, as he had been.

The sound of shimmering snow died down, drowned by the sound of tinkering machinery. Even in the absence of caretakers, the Great Workshop tolled on, as it had always, these thousand Winters – whether by magic or mundane machinery, none could tell.

“Anna would have liked it,” Ilsa remarked wistfully, “how this place has grown over the passing years,” she said, taking in the sight of the chamber in its entirety. “Her pride and life’s work. Her gift to the world.”

Her hoof traced around a nearby table, upon which were an assortment of toys mechanical and magical, music-boxes and snowglobes, all laid where their maker had left them. Each bore a unique flair and design, a mark of a thousand artisans who had given their all to create and expand their knowledge.

Adlaborn’s gift-giving tradition had existed for centuries before the First Hearth’s Warming Eve – yet it was only after the event that they spread it to all the corners of the world. Years since, the arrival of reindeer would be warmly anticipated every Hearth’s Warming, for they brought their best and finest works to share. 

And, as Anna Erklass had ensured, they too would impart some of their knowledge to the people they visited, and teach those aspiring souls who ventured North to their homeland. For even as their toys were outgrown by the children they were given to, their true gift to the world would endure in the hearts and traditions of many.

“She would have,” Sint agreed. “She would have indeed. Fret not, dear child. Should there be war, I will ensure Anna’s legacy is untouched by its wrath…”

“And I have no doubt you will, Grandfather,” Ilsa replied, her smile carrying with it a sort of longing for a child’s innocence, untouched and unmarred.

Sint glanced at Freyja, who for the most remained silent still, tapping her hoof quietly on the cobbled floor. Nervous as she may be, there was something in her eyes and the rhythm of her taps that implied a childlike giddyness.

“Please, dear Fire Maiden, you’re as welcome here as both of us!” Sint said warmly. “This workshop is at your disposal, yours in which to make wonders for generations to marvel at.”

“Oh, uh,” Freyja said, stammering. She wasn’t used to getting referred to by her new title. “I– thank you, Lord Hearthswarming, I’ll take good care of it. I promise.”

“It is yours to keep, child,” Sint replied, “to maintain, change and alter, for the workshop is always open for a bright mind.”

Freyja looked up at him, with a nervous grin. Always the same, with every new Fire Maiden.

“It’d be my honour, sir,,” Freyja said, and with that she came in, a light spring in each step. Much like a certain doe had, all those years ago, throughout the seasons.

“Ilsa?” Sint called out, a twinkle in his eyes. “When you meet the Meisterburger, would you kindly give my warmest regards to him on his newborn daughter? Amidst all his concerns, Cernunnos is deserving of recognition for what he gives to the world.”

‘I pray she will grow with her father’s love,’ Sint thought privately, ‘if this message, this Call is truly as I fear.’

The Snow Maiden’s smile, rare on her solemn features, could have melted glaciers.

“I shall, Grandfather,” Ilsa pledged. “I know that little Lucie will appreciate it as much as her proud parents.”

And she was gone up the staircase, in a trail of stardust.

His heart lightened, Sint Erklass excused himself to the Fire Maiden, whose precious work would begin soon enough, and moved, at last, towards the heart of the chamber…

“Great Stag...”

Centuries of their eternal conversation never dulled the icy chill that washed over him, as he paused midstep, hearing the voice. He glanced back at Freyja, who’d seated herself at a crafting-table close by the gateway, examining wood-cuttings. As expected, she’d not heard. This communion was meant for him, and him only.

But she would hear it. All through her duties as warden, a fire of joy to ward back the cold contempt.

“You, who have made your life’s work to keep the pain at bay… You sense it now, beneath the hum of the Call, do you not? If you stand, it shall come for you, and there will be no escaping it. What, then? Will you let it pass through you? Stare it in the face? When the pain is past, there is nothing. Only your memories remain...”

He steeled himself for his own reply. The being imprisoned within the Workshop was hardly a threat in its diminished form, but words could sway the unwary mind. It spoke in the Common Tongue, yet its affect was dark and twisted.

‘I shall not stand alone.’

The darkened snowglobe stirred, the winds within moaned, and in the gale, the eyes of the Krampus, once master of the Coal Realm, before it became Crystal, glared balefully.

“Remember, Lord Hearthswarming. The touch of ice and fire burns alike.”





~ Ponyville, Equestria ~ Passage from the Second to Third Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae ~

Throughout the hospital, the clocks softly chimed midnight, as one day turned into another, though Luna’s night still ruled over the land and Celestia’s sun would not rise for a good few  hours more. Strange, that. Had, at one time, the new day truly begun with the dawn, not midnight? He dimly recalled learning about it at school, once, but couldn’t remember.

But the receding chimes soon brought a completely different thought to Icewind’s mind.

“I can hear the bells… the bells are loud, tonight. It’s a night when you can’t help but hear them.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t hear anything.”

“Oh, but you will. Because I’ve failed.”

The image of her face, cheek scarred by whatever fight she’d got into before he got to her – that face, so pretty, but part of it gnarled with burns, looking up at the completely gnarled visage of the Death Tree in the moonlight. It was an image seared into his memory.

“You alright, mate?”

A friendly, but completely unexpected comment was what snapped him from his thoughts. Icewind saw Gibbous had pulled out a seat opposite him at the table, and sat down, proferring a hipflask.

“Oh, hi, Gibbous,” Icewind said, giving him a cursory nod. “Princess Luna didn’t get you back to watching… watching the other Redheart’s room?”

“You mean,” the thestral said, “the Redheart who’s not a Changeling, even though that’s the only explanation what makes sense to me? Ahh, Princess Celestia’s back in there, asking her a few questions. She can do fine without us Guards.” He swilled the hipflask about. “Fancy any? Seeing as we’re off the grind, again.”

“Not a good time of day, sorry,” said Icewind, indicating the cafeteria clock. “Bit past the magic hour...”

“Right, I forgot, you’re diurnal,” Gibbous said, pulling back the flask to drink from it. “‘Sides,” he added once he’d finished, “Winter’s agreed to fill in my spot next to Selene, until Princess Celestia heads back home.” He hiccoughed. “Said he had a duty… though, you ask me, really he’s after a word with Selene, for forgetting to wake him up earlier.”

“Maybe,” Icewind nodded. “He did miss his date in Canterlot because of that. Though, part of that was my fault, letting him write our reports while I was out looking for my date…”

“Sounds like you’ve both had a rough time today,” Gibbous said quietly, wiping his mouth. “Y’know, Icey… be honest with you, when you walked up to us, asking if we could help you find your missing nurse, I thought you were fretting over nothing. To tell it true, I only agreed to take a look around town as an excuse to stretch my wings…”

Icewind listened to him placidly.

“... but then,” pursued Gibbous. “While I’m in the air, up comes Selene, telling me we've got Changelings, and I know it’s gotta be serious. She’s almost as bad as Winter about sticking to her post... I swear, that guy, he’s got a way of freezing up the room. Not sure how you can bear him.”

“Maybe the freeze reminds me of home,” Icewind said, crossing his forehooves. “You wouldn’t complain about dark, closed-in spaces.”

“Fair point,” admitted the thestral. “And then… then it turns out whatever she is, she’s not a Changeling. Some night it’s been, eh.” He tapped the flask. “I dunno, we’re waiting for Celestia here, but when Luna was collecting your report, did she tell you anything?”

“It’s more like what I didn’t tell her.”

The words were out of Icewind’s mouth before he could stop himself.

In a matter of hours, he’d got used to the locket’s feel against his barrel, But all of a sudden, the pressure it exercised in the gap between his armour and his body – between his duty and his true self? – now came flooding back.

“Why, what’d you skip?” blinked Gibbous.

Momentarily, Icewind felt a chill more discomforting than any of his native town’s weather, before it caught up to him that Gibbous wasn’t asking about the locket. The thestral was just surprised by his answer. This abated the chill. A little.

“I…” Icewind started. “I feel like I’ve done something… wrong.”

“Wrong?” Gibbous echoed. “Wrong how?”

Icewind pressed his forehooves together. “Gibbous… ah…” But too much was running through his mind. And how could his fellow Guard even begin to understand it? “I don’t know. It’s just… in the Forest, I happened upon Redheart alone, you know? And she told me… things.”

Gibbous frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t know what she told you, Icewind,” he said slowly, tapping the hipflask. “But whatever it was, clearly, it’s been messing with your head. And if she’s a fake Redheart, it’s no doubt what she wanted.”

“That’s just it, though,” Icewind said. “You weren’t there in the room, when both the Princesses and the human came to see her. They seemed to think she was telling the truth, treating her like she was… she was a real Redheart. Particularly the human. It’s not like she had any reason to lie in front of them.”

‘Mostly,’ he thought, resisting the urge to feel for the locket.

“Now this is just getting screwy,” Gibbous said, rubbing his forehead. “How can that Redheart and the Redheart who was brought in earlier, barely able to stand, both be the ‘real’ Redheart?”

Icewind had to admit, the mere thought of parallel universes gave him a headache as well.

From what he understood, this Redheart and the human didn’t even come from the same other universe. If there was more than one universe, or two, how many more lay out there? How many more Redhearts and Icewinds and Winters, and Celestias and Lunas, too...

“Gibbous,” he said unexpectedly. So unexpectedly, the thestral jumped back a peg. “Tell me… how… How was it like, as a Lunar Guard, when Princess Luna came back?”

“Say what?”

“I mean,” Icewind shifted to-and-fro on his chair. “She was… she was Nightmare Moon, at first, right? She’d been Nightmare Moon for… for a thousand years. Then she got turned back into Luna, and Princess Celestia invited her to rule at her side again.”

A thought nagged at him. ‘Redheart didn’t say what happened to Luna in her world…’

“But before then,” he continued. “She was, like, the Mare in the Moon. An enemy of Equestria. More of a story to scare and delight children, true, but… still, an enemy. Yet the Lunar Guard kept renewing its oath to Princess Luna, centuries after her exile. I… how’d you work that out?”

Gibbous was fumbling with his hipflask, looking uncertain. “Well, that’s a tough one,” he said. “See, when Princess Luna was exiled, the Lunar Guard pledged they’d carry on their work in her name, waiting for the night she returned… as herself, as Princess Luna, using her true name once more.”

He stared at Icewind, batlike ears twitching.

“Ponies tend to forget this, but when Nightmare Moon showed up on that Summer Sun Festival, we thestrals played our part in keeping everyone safe, like Captain Nocturne did when he refused to join her side, the first time she turned. The Solar Guard don’t know the night like we do. And no Guard worthy of the name, Solar or Lunar, would’ve dreamt of going over to her side.”

‘Oh, Harmony, please help me.’

“Right, but…” Icewind began. “Thestrals just… accepted that their Princess had done a bad thing and got sent to the Moon for it? You know there was a lot of tongue-wagging after she came back, about how Celestia had treated her unfairly.”

“Wait, don’t tell me you believe any of that guff.”

“Of course not,” Icewind said, a touch piqued. “What I’m saying is, if a couple of neigh-sayers can talk that kind of talk, wouldn’t the Princess’ own people… disagree, with what Princess Celestia had done. Even if it was the right thing, is what I’m saying.”

Gibbous leaned back. “It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “We thestrals don’t mingle as much with other ponies, so we’ve always felt a bit apart from Celestia’s rule, compared to the rest of Equestria. And you’re always gonna get some young troublemakers, fancying themselves rebels fighting the power or something, who’ll talk trash about Her Highness.”

He popped open the flask and took another swig.

“But them’s just a few bad apples, as a friend of mine’d say. You find ‘em in every barrel. Frankly, Icewind, you need just look at Equestria. Whatever the time of day, we’re not doing too badly with Celestia as Princess, are we? And if some rube says otherwise, I’ve got a planet I’d like to sell them.”

“Nope, definitely agree with you on that,” Icewind commented, steepling his forehooves.

‘Yet Redheart said we could do so much more, and did, in the place she came from…’

“What’s all this got to do with the nurse, though?”

Icewind tensed. He glanced at Gibbous. “Well… the thing is…” He caught his breath. “It’s like this, you see,” he said, trying again. “She said what she was doing was for Celestia.”

“Hm.” Gibbous digested that. “Another Redheart, working for another Celestia… This is all very weird. But, I guess it almost makes sense. Not much else does.” He put down the flask. “I’m taking this one step at a time, Icewind. Won’t try working it out until the Princess herself explains things. If the… if Redheart’s story is true, though, just one thing bugs me... What kind of Celestia gives the order to hurt ponies?”

Icewind kept quiet, yet in private, his mind was on a slow boil.

‘She mentioned the name Lyra Heartstrings,’ he thought. ‘Isn’t that also the green unicorn Gibbous and Selene carried in from the Everfree Forest? She said the unicorn had betrayed Celestia…’

Again, the locket felt heavier against his breast. He wasn’t able to resist pressing his forehoof to his armour, that time. Fortunately, Gibbous was deep in thought and didn’t seem to find the gesture suspicious.

Icewind tried to imagine what would happen if Princess Celestia found out he’d lied to Luna. Merely thinking about it, the disappointed look in her eyes, only turned upon a select few in his time as a Guard – that arrogant mare who’d been her last student before Twilight Sparkle, or the naval officer who’d aided Prince Blueblood in his year-long joyride – made his heart edge up his throat.

Yet, no matter what, he could not imagine her ordering physical pain on him. However...

‘The human. Reiner. He’d have hurt Redheart terribly, if Princess Celestia hadn’t interfered. The way he shouted at her for that… It’s incredible, how she could just bear it so stoically.’

What was it Redheart had said about Lyra Heartstrings? 

“One of the explorers, a young unicorn, Lyra Heartstrings, persuaded Her Majesty they posed no threat to Equestria. But she lied.”

Despite the human’s violent behavior, evidently, the Princess had chosen to trust him. Probably because she trusted Heartstrings – now Icewind thought about it, didn’t he know Heartstrings from somewhere, if not personally, then once or twice by sight? That was it. He remembered the little green unicorn as one of many fresh, eager faces at Celestia’s School For Gifted Unicorns.

Without preamble, Icewind stood up.

“Where you off to, mate?”

“I…” Icewind glanced to the cafeteria doors. “I think I need to make my report... Not to Luna, not a written report. I think I must speak directly to Princess Celestia.”

‘I’ve been acting stupid.’ Discreetly, Icewind prodded his armour, testing if the locket was still in place. ‘No, I can’t tell Princess Celestia about the locket, not yet. Because… because if she gave Reiner her word, she’s honour-bound to return it to him... But all I’ve got to do is tell her what Redheart said. She’s Princess Celestia. She’ll listen, at least.’



* * * * *



“Your Highness, though I respect you and what you stand for, you’ll get no more out of me.”

Hearing that those words rang with conviction, Celestia sensed her eyelids closing up.

She fought back the push. This Redheart, while cuffed to a hospital bed, had been nothing but courteous and quiet in their interactions, even thanked Doctor Stable and Nurse Snowheart when they’d applied the poultice to her burnt cheek – two more confused people who’d need to be given the full picture, Celestia thought, eyes drooping further.

But Redheart had also proven stubbornly resistant to serving up answers she didn’t want to. When it came to Reiner’s missing locket, talking to her was like squeezing blood from a rock. It wouldn’t do to show frailty in front of her… Or would it?

“Nonetheless, Nurse Redheart,” said Celestia. “I have one more question.”

Redheart clinked her cuffs. “And I’ll answer, Your Highness, if it isn’t something you have tried asking me before, and something I may answer.”

Having been standing at the foot of the bed this whole time, squarely facing Redheart, Celestia did something she hadn’t planned on doing when she’d re-entered the room. She moved over to the beside, and pulled up a seat from behind her, non-magically.

It was two-parts for comfort, one-parts to ease her creeping fatigue. And Celestia knew it must have showed, because she wanted it to. When a lifetime’s worth of regal practice turned pushing back the little “tells” such as droopy eyelids into second nature, the real effort was to show just enough.

As expected, this simple gesture led Redheart’s eyes to betray greater discomfort than any battle of the poker-faces had.

“Tell me, then, if you will,” Celestia said, in a cool, clear voice. “How does the Solar Empire venerate Celestia? How much does it make me, my name, into an object of worship?”

Strange to say, neither Alexander Reiner nor Galatea had addressed this matter. Celestia was well aware how, in spite of her efforts, many of her little ponies insisted on treating her like the very ground she walked on was to be consecrated.

How much further might a conquest-seeking Equestria take her semi-divine status?

“Harmony is what the Empire sings the greatest praises to,” Redheart said simply, “but every newly-converted soul begins their life by thanking the First Servant of Harmony.”

As hoped for, one thing a believer in the Empire would not keep mum about, was her beliefs.

“First Servant… I see,” Celestia said, tasting the words and finding them bitter. “What you’re evoking here is Enlightened Absolutism.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Redheart said, though her voice hid a slight quiver. “What do you call the rule you’ve held for over two-thousand years, Highness? Even in this time, when you send Parliament a royal ‘proposal’, isn’t it a decree by another name?”

“No decree would be open to amendment.” Celestia let the tiredness seep into her tone. “My hope, when I issue a proposal, is always that my ponies will read it, think it over and, if possible, improve it, in those areas where I may be too removed from their everyday concerns to know best…”

“Listen to how you speak of them,” Redheart cut in. “They are your ponies. You guide them and they follow. It’s no different on my world.  We just… look farther about what we count as a pony.”

“Yes, you mentioned this... Pan-Equine Co-Harmony Sphere.” Celestia frowned. “You don’t think I never had the idea of putting together something like that? Why stop at uniting the three pony tribes, when I could bring all the world’s equines under one banner? Wouldn’t that bring an end to Saddle Mareabians enslaving zebras, the pointless wars in Zebrica, the vulnerable isolation of the hippogriffs?”

“On my world,” Redheart said quietly, “it has.”

“Yet can you really claim this came from your Equestria’s benevolence?” Celestia said. “By the sound of it, they only started making overtures to the other equine nations after Chrysalis’ Hive attacked Canterlot. If anything, I wonder that they didn’t get more backlash for their diplomatic self-interest.”

Redheart sat up straighter. “Don’t sell yourself short, Your Highness,” she said, smiling thinly. “You of all people should know how persuasive you can be.”

“Indeed… yet I didn’t persuade those tribes to let me rule them, all those centuries ago,” Celestia said, her eyes going faraway. “We were brought up, Luna and I, so we could move the Sun and the Moon without a massive cost to Equestria’s magic every day… It was the ponies themselves who decided this meant we should rule. They, who persuaded us…”

“Sun and Moon cover not just Equestria, but a whole planet,” Redheart replied, undaunted. “Honestly, it seems foolish that this world hasn’t appointed you as its supreme authority, its Absolute Light, for millenia already.”

“And by what right would that be?”

“Pardon?”

“Let me try another tack,” Celestia said. “Many’s the time I’ve had to deal with a hard fact, Ponies are flawed. They can be selfish, and short-sighted, and not listen to me, even when I know in my heart that they should… Both our worlds have seen the blight of Sombra. But I’m Princess of Equestria because most ponies would give me that honour. Most. Not all. Though your world is, perhaps, more unified than this world… in which one, would you say, have more ponies dissented against Equestria?”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, this is not a conversation I’m interested in having,” Redheart said, holding up a cuffed hoof. “Although I’d hate to presume what you’ll say next, I can guess. You’re not sovereign of the entire world because you weren’t asked to be. Fine. But if you decided to stop being the Princess of every pony who spoke against you, how long would you stay Princess for?”

At this, Celestia, almost unthinkingly, acting with her hooves, removed her tiara. Certain she had caught a stifled gasp from Redheart over that, she turned it over, examining it.

“Being Princess is just a title,” Celestia whispered. “I’ve known nieces and nephews who bore princely titles without having princely qualities, or the wings and horn of an alicorn. Equestria is a land which the Reindeer King, along with Starswirl, taught me and my sister that we could do good for with our special talents, and so we did.”

“And every few generations,” Redheart said, “a student of yours rises to prominence, for you to turn into a Princess. Lady Cadenza was one latest such candidate, until she disappointed the Queen, we know that.”

‘Wait a minute…’ In a flicker, Celestia processed what had been said. ‘There we go. Score one for the Sun Princess.’

It wasn’t such a winning move, she reminded herself, as she’d probably have soon learned the same from Reiner. But it was a game-changer, to learn Cadance was able to help humanity without being an alicorn.

Had she just found the point of divergence, or a direct knock-on effect of the divergence?

She rose, her earlier fatigue melting away.

“Well, then,” Celestia mused. “You speak of the Queen, Nurse Redheart. And this leads me, truly, to my final question, for which this was all mere buildup.”

It was undeniable that Redheart tensed while Celestia replaced her tiara.

“You look at me, and you see Celestia. Despite how the Empire might have conditioned you, that isn’t something your eyes can deceive you on. So. If I were to give you an order which contradicts the Solar Empire’s doctrine, how would you take it?”

Redheart checked her hooves. “That isn’t as challenging as you might think, Highness. When I renewed my oath as a Guard, I swore allegiance to Queen Celestia. You are Celestia, but not my Queen. I’m not sworn to take orders from you.”

Calm on the outside, and yet…

“And if I were, on a whim, to appoint myself as Queen,” Celestia said smoothly, “would that change your outlook?”

Was that a twitch? “No. Why would it? The act’s transparency would be... blatant…”

“Then explain this to me, Redheart. If what the Empire venerates is Harmony itself, not a person, not a sovereign... where’s the gain in the ‘First Servant’, as you dub her, giving herself a more ostentatious title? Isn’t that… a cult of personality?”

“Queen Celestia is the Voice of Harmony,” Redheart snapped, her own voice rising. “And naming herself Queen is what separates her from the gaggle of Equestrian princes and princesses– not that there are many around anymore, when one by one, they turned their backs on her for selfish pursuits! Good gracious, out of the lot, I’d never expected it’d be that fop Blueblood who never went turncoat, dying a hero’s death fighting the dragons instead!”

Two emotions entered into conflict within Celestia. The first, ridiculously, was a swell of pride in her nephew… Allegedly, he’d proven himself at last...

But the second, more rational feeling, was cold horror. This death sounded so… staged.

“In other words,” Celestia replied, locking away another troubling piece of news for later, “you may worship Harmony, but your whole concept of what Harmony actually means is centred in the authority of one person.”

“It’s how you’ve always taught it–”

“No, it is not!” 

Windows, furniture and utensils rattled around the room.

Redheart actually shrank back, frightened by Celestia’s slip into the Royal Canterlot Voice. And while Celestia herself hadn’t meant to do any of it, she also noticed a faint, glowing tinge on the edges of her rippling mane.

“If I held my ponies by the hoof,” Celestia said, softly now, “there’d be no point in sending out my students to write friendship reports... I’d be the one writing manifestos for them, dictating they learn by rote. But how would they learn from that? How would they grow? Why, if Twilight is still the Queen’s student, as Captain Reiner indicated she is, I’m sure it’s been months– who knows, years since she wrote to share what she’s learned about friendship, when Queen Celestia has all the divinely-given answers.”

Coughing, Redheart shifted back into place. “I’ve said enough. I won’t say anything about Lady Twilight.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Celestia said coolly. “One small detail, however. Enlightened Absolutism does not claim rule by divine right. If the Empire truly believed they were guided by a First Servant, they wouldn’t worship her. Luna told me about these ‘newly-converted’, the ones you say give thanks for what’s been done to them. Again, her description reminded me of nothing so much as the victims of a cult.”

She leaned forward.

“And that’s what you are, too, Redheart…” Celestia added, her tone turning more gentle. “You’ve just forgotten it. The difficulties Luna’s faced in probing your mind suggests magical tampering to me. While I still have much to learn of Captain Reiner, I feel that, deep down, a civilised heart beats within him. Beneath his pain and anger, he must know what bedevilment has compelled you.”

“We each choose what we believe, Princess Celestia,” Redheart said curtly, eyes gone dark. “For all your sakes, I hope you’ll soon find out which ‘bedevilment’ compels humans.”





~ East ~ The Mikado’s Quarters in the Palace of Kyiroto, Island of Ryuppon ~ By the Equestrian Calendar, Third Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae ~

Daybreak still lay just beyond the horizon, over in the Land Where the Sun Rises.

Nevertheless, at this unearthly morning hour, the Sun was at the forefront of the mind of Mikado Toshiro Kane, esteemed emperor of the Kirin, as he glanced at the roll of parchment far to his left, half of Celestia’s seal lying broken next to it, red wax flakes dotting the polished wood of the desk. The very first parchment of the day, it would also be the last, a long spell from now, to be once more perused after today’s business was completed. His eyes roamed back and forth, from behind his glasses at another proposal which lay before him, ready to be approved or dismissed upon his judgement – and his ability to discern a raw meaning behind pleasant, florid words.

None knew better than a Kirin that sweetest tongue hath sharpest tooth. Even as, in these last couple of years, the Mikado had been given reason to reconsider the proverb...

Not in this trifling matter, however.

“Minister Kurama’s proposal,” Toshiro mumbled to himself, by rote, “will be dismissed.”

He took the red ink-stamp, to press the ‘denied’ symbol onto the stapled parchment stack. 

Out of the shadows emerged an attendant. She stepped forward, silently, coming no closer than was proper for her status. Wordlessly, Toshiro lit his forked horn, and gracefully pushed the stack in a straight line across the air. The parchments came to land smoothly in the receptacle, the aura fading away. Nimbly, the attendant reached to slide the stack onto the tray slung across her shoulders. With the parchments secured, the Neighponese mare backed away, head bowed.

Aside from Toshiro’s mutterings, quiet reigned supreme between these four walls, as ever. Only the sound of the attendant’s shuffling hooves and the scratching of his quill provided any other disturbance to the silence.

He pulled another stack of parchment from the large pile on the right of his desk, and placed it in front of him for review. It was a request that shipping priorities be granted to one merchant guild over all the others who demanded access to Kyiroto’s docking facilities. Business as usual.

Toshiro was in the midst of reading through the opening when a peculiar buzzing sensation washed through him, jarring him from his professional equilibrium.

Accompanied by a low, bassy hum, a nigh-electric, biting tingle invaded his crossed hindlegs, a feeling he was most unaccustomed to. Alarmed, Toshiro didn’t leap, but he nearly fell back, posture shaken  – on instinct, his fiery tail uncurled from around his hips, restoring his balance.

He felt like he’d fallen into slumber and awoken at the same moment, the dream still lingering on the borders of his mind… The sensation was...

‘Electric? Some devilry of the Storm King? No… this is not his work…’

It was as if his body was a string instrument – a sangen, perhaps – and he had just been plucked.

Forehooves raised and eye wide, the Mikado’s gaze wandered to the roof of his great hall. The buzz stayed a moment, and went, but the feeling remained. A hum, somehow audible to his aged ears. Toshiro knew then.

‘The Call…’ 

His unsettled features were returning to their usual, austere frown. He knew what it meant. The Call required appropriate planning and responses. 

Toshiro reached out with his magic, pulling a hidden bell-pull. Two further attendants stepped out of the shadows, the Neighponese scuttling backwards for the doors to the antechamber, experienced servants who knew how to face their emperor even when they rushed.

The rich, brass note of a gong echoed through the great hall and in the chambers beyond. A noise that would not feel out of place in the hubbub of the great, bustling city around the Palace, but in here, it was portentous. Time passed, enough for Toshiro to school his face into a regally stern expression. Finally, the antechamber doors swung back open, and a single, richly-dressed Kirin stag stepped through. 

“Kuno,” Toshiro greeted in an even tone, the slight quirking of his lips the closest thing he could muster to a smile. 

The Prime Minister, though summoned at this hour, looked no more weighed down by fatigue than his ornate robes, the various badges that ceremony expected of him, nor the portable telescope on his belt.

“Blessed Mikado,” Kuno said, bowing his head with a grace that his age did not hamper. “How may I serve?” 

“I shall speak frankly,” Toshiro announced. “The Call has been sounded. The Call. As three-thousand years ago, the Great Tonakai foretold that our people may one day be called to answer on a matter which touches the entire world… that day, it seems, is here.”

Momentarily, Kuno’s professionalism disappeared, his mouth a little open in shock. Placidity was quick to shut out surprise, however, and a raised eyebrow of curiosity became the only concession to his emotions. 

“I see,” Kuno said. “Yes. Perhaps it was fated, but… before you summoned me, I was at my balcony, looking over the city. The first line of sunlight was appearing, yet something about it was… odd.”

“Odd? Odd, how?”

Kuno stroked his telescope. “An unexplained bump in the line. I looked closer, and I saw what looked like a star, hanging in the distant light of day.”

“That confirms it,” Toshiro stated. “All the signs are there. Each nation, I believe, will have been given a star of its own. We must follow ours… for one thing, our investments with Equestria are now grown too numerous to ignore.”

Toshiro’s words were laden with additional meanings, and Kuno caught them.

The Prime Minister nodded, a small gesture which set off a flurry of activity in the great hall’s periphery as the attendants noticed the subtle signal to begin making arrangements. It took only a minute for them to leave for their duties.

Alone with his Prime Minister, Toshiro levitated his desk aside and raised himself.

“There shall be a Concordia,” he told Kuno, “the first such convocation in over seven-hundred years, if history serves me right. And none were ever sounded by the mystical Call.”

“Of course,” Kuno replied, the older stag looking Toshiro in the eye.

Both of them relaxed, slightly, their stances growing less rigid and Kuno drooping as he finally showed his age. 

“I want a list of personnel, equipment and products to be drawn up,” Toshiro said, taking off his glasses. “Everything that we have, everything that we can provide at this Concordat and everything we can ask for in return.” 

“Yes,” Kuno agreed. “I shall have everything prepared. In fact, much already stands by, waiting only for your presence. Were we to set out for Mount Metazoa this very minute, your personal sky-turtle would lack a mere third of its conveniences.”
 
“Good. It is no more than I’d expected from you, Kuno. We can’t let an opportunity like this to pass us by.” 

“As you say...” Kuno said, one forehoof rubbing the other.

There was a slowness to his words that didn’t suit one who’d been thanked by the Mikado. Toshiro noticed it, and thought it unusual for his faithful Prime Minister.

“What ails you?” he demanded, yet as gently as he could allow. “I know you better than to believe the task ahead, however precipitous, would crush you.”

“Woe me, that I’d stray so far off the Path, Blessed Mikado.” Kuno said. “Though the Great Tonakai may not look favourably on how, in his words, our people have enclosed themselves in tinselled packages that shall never be opened, surely his heart beats as strongly for the well-being of us all, now as it did then. Yet if the Call is made, he too shall be present. And I must wonder at his reaction when, on this occasion that asks great giving of us, we shall come bearing demands.”

Toshiro pondered his words. Sentimental and guileless as the Reindeer King’s way of looking at the world may be, the old stag carried with him the authority of ages gone by, and the filial love of the Sun Princess. The Concordat, a meeting of equals, truly?

This reminded him. Horns sparking, the Mikado drew the parchment of Celestia’s letter to his eminent person.

“I would not worry so,” Toshiro said, unfolding the letter to show Kuno. “In her latest direct correspondence, Princess Celestia pronounced herself amenable to most of our conditions for crystal trade.”

“Apologies, Blessed Mikado,” Kuno said humbly. “But I fear this light is too weak for me to read this message by.”

“Ah,” Toshiro realised. “You do well to tell me, faithful advisor, for it had slipped my mind. Then come, let us read the message together, by the lamp-light. It’ll lend all the more credence to my words.”

They made their way back to Toshiro’s seat, an inlet amidst the shadowy great hall, basking in the churning glow of two large storm bulbs. Quietly, Toshiro again showed the letter to Kuno, who read it with keen interest.

“I understand your meaning,” Kuno said, looking up from the parchment. “This is indeed the Sun Princess breaking new ground for her people.”

“Yes.” Toshiro crisply folded up the letter. “Great changes are afoot in Equestria,” he said. “They pride themselves on harnessing the natural elements, yet only now after generations have passed, do they begin to see storm-clouds as more than pests to clear away, or drastic irrigation measures. When we have netted and tamed lightning’s power for centuries.”

“An appealing prospect, this exchange of resources,” Kuno agreed, “though, like the Equestrians’ own special magic, much trial-and-error lies ahead to discover how well the power works outside the land which birthed it.”

“Princess Celestia is true to her word,” Toshiro said. “If she speaks of co-operation, she means it… For all that I now both anticipated and dread the significance of this Call…”

Uncharacteristically, Kuno did not quite look him in the eye. “Co-operation, when a dispute remains unsettled?”

“What do you mean?” Toshiro asked, knowing full well.

“Forgive me, yet I must ask this. If Princess Celestia’s integrity is worth so much to her, would she accede to a demand about your former student?”

To sigh would have been unregal. Yet, in sorrow and in weariness, Toshiro felt tempted to.

“They say that Princess Celestia values her word,” the Mikado pondered, “but they say she holds another value dear. Showing kindness. And while she may uphold the justice of punishing Kana’s transgression against the laws of the world, the tragic nature of the circumstances behind it are liable to mollify her.”

Before the Prime Minister could answer, a clamour arose from beyond the double doors. Both stags’ eyes swept in its direction, perplexed. They didn’t have long wait for an explanation to this affront, as the doors burst open with a gust that belied their heaviness. Two figures strode in, the one at the back a very anxious-looking Neighponese. Spotting her most eminent masters, she bowed hurriedly, which could not be said of the young drake striding at the front.

The drake was glowering. And, bewilderingly, glowing. Her blue scales shone with inner light.

Toshiro frowned. “It appears your own student’s unruliness catches up to her, making her forget her manners,” he whispered to Kuno. Raising his voice, he faced the blue dragon. “Your Highness. You’re up at an unusual time.”

Princess Ember snorted. “Sure isn’t because I want to be,” she said grouchily, advancing. “Look at this.” She lifted a claw, which glowed like the rest of her. “You got no idea how much that itches.”

Mikado and Prime Minister considered the Dragon Princess. As required, she addressed them in the Language of the Cherry Blossom, painstakingly learned over three years. Yet it was evident she spoke it with greater reluctance than ever.

“A Call, I do believe,” Kuno mused. “But of another sort entirely. It is His Lordship her father who calls to her.”

“And to all dragons,” Toshiro finished for him. “No doubt is this a follow-on to the great Call of the Concordia. How interesting… it invites our cruder, less refined cousins in the West, too, they who live in such aloofness from the world…”

“Hey, old-timer,” Ember said sharply, her claw instinctively balling into a fist. She glanced, blinked, unballed it with a grunt. “I’ll grant you ‘crude’ and ‘unrefined’, but you’re one to talk about ‘aloof’. And that’s what I came here to say,” she stated, drawing herself up, “I’ve been bursting for an excuse to escape this morgue, and now I’ve got it.”

Kuno’s face filled with scorn. “Always an impudent hatchling, Ember,” he berated her. “Have three years taught you nothing? Why must you fritter yourself away in headstrong behavior, when there is so much you could use that strong head of yours for?”

Ember smirked. “Oh, don’t you worry, Master,” she said. “I’ve got big plans.”

“You have a right to leave,” Toshiro interjected. “When in answer to the Call of the Dragon Lord. But you’ve no idea how truly big this event is. This is about more than a contest of leadership. You cannot go without being informed.”

“It’s the Concordia Maxima, a convocation for all of Equus,” Ember stated baldly. Spotting their surprise, she added, “What? Didn’t think Dad would bother sending me here to learn how to read and write, and not brush me up on a bit of history? He says, if brains are the biggest muscles you got, might as well stretch them out like any other.”

Behind her, the Neighponese attendant, though deaf and dumb, shuffled nervously, sensing the weight of the discussion. None really paid her any heed.

Ember coughed, then, awkwardly, she knelt on one knee. “I’m here, because… I ask your permission to depart, Blessed Mikado,” she said, her voice gruff. “I extend my thanks to Master Kuno for his tutorage. By his grace, I know my letters and numbers. I pledge to put the skills taught me to use in a manner that brings no grief upon the Kirin people, my kin.”

Her delivery was stilted, but she’d made the effort to memorise the right words.

‘That one is not so sweet of tongue,’ Toshiro reflected, ‘though certainly sharp of tooth. Perhaps she will yet prove sharp of wit. How great a boon that would be to her kindred...’

“You have my permission, Princess Ember,” Toshiro said, “if my Prime Minister grants his.”

Kuno stayed deep in thought a moment, looked up, nodded curtly. “Go, Ember,” he said. “You were no easy student, but you learned. Pray it shall be enough.”

“Do you mean to leave this very morn?”

Nodding, Ember arose. “It’s a long way home, travelling South,” she replied. “Gotta get a head start. You’ll recall Dad said if ever I had to leave early, he’d send an escort to meet me, in a hideout off Bugbear territory. Who’d wanna tussle with two of us?”

“What about supplies,” Kuno started. “We can offer–”

“No need,” she said, holding up her claw with a grin. “Dragons can help themselves. Just hope this damn glow isn’t gonna stick all the way,” she added, peering at her claw critically. “Folks would see you sneak up on ‘em a mile off.”

Without awaiting their response, Ember made her exit. Like her entrance, it was informal.

She beat her wings, and swooped up, towards the ceiling of the great, cube-like chamber. With one great gulp of air, Ember breathed out a trail of dragon-fire, burning a hole into the roof, and swept through, leaving smouldering pieces of paper to fall in a slow, ashen rain.

Red-faced, the Neighponese attendant hastily retreated, almost tripping over herself. Neither stag tried to call her back. Kuno turned to Toshiro, his expression tired.

“Of course she’d have to show off,” Kuno sighed. “How much do we pay her father for a mere ten squares of that special paper? And she, one of the few whose fire can burn it… You know I tried my hardest to civilise her.”

“One can lead a dragon to gold, but one cannot make it invest wisely,” Toshiro said sagely, tugging at the platinum ring on his left forehoof. “That’s what separates us from our western brethren, dear advisor. Even so, while this she-drake may never be of demure character, her willpower isn’t to be faulted.”





~ Ponyville, Equestria ~

“Well now, look who made it!”

After the tale Lyra had told her, Bonbon, consumed by her thoughts, might have missed Rainbow Dash’s excited announcement. Yet it was Lyra herself who, even while clutching that absurd book by Howie Waggoner in one hoof – she didn’t seem keen on letting it go ever again – prodded her with the other, making her turn.

The arrival at the door, whom Dash had greeted so grandly, was Redheart. But in a wheelchair pushed by another nurse. And Bonbon instantly knew it was the Redheart she’d found drugged in her own home, not the impostor she’d uncovered without actually meeting. This Redheart looked drawn and wan, but was making the effort to smile.

She waved feebly. “Hey, guys.”

The cyan-coated nurse pushing her seemed nowhere as happy. Glancing at her, Bonbon could only find one word to identify the look in her eyes – haunted.

“Thanks, Sutra,” Redheart said to her fellow nurse, who merely nodded like an automaton. “I think I’ll be good from here. You’d… you’d better go back and check on our human patient.”

“Yeah…” Sutra said in the smallest of voices. “Yeah, alright…”

That was all she said before she left, walking as if in a daze, her figure vanishing past the edge of the doorframe.

“What’s up with her?” Dash asked, turning around to stare confusedly at the three other visitors in the room, clustered around Sparkler’s bed.

“Don’t you see? She’s had a shock, Dash,” Derpy spoke very quietly, as she hugged her husband and Dinky close to her. “I wonder why, though…”

Redheart rolled forward. “I guess,” she began, sounding hoarse. “Guess it’ll do that to you, learning your friend’s got a murderous twin, and they were hanging around you all day. Princess Luna told me and I still only half believe it...”

“No, that’s not it,” Lyra murmured. “It’s something… Something you didn’t hear, none of you. But I did, when…” She almost froze for a second, eyes fixed on Redheart, before recovering. “When I was in the room with the other Redheart.”

Everyone, including Zecora and Sparkler in their beds further along from Lyra, moved their heads in her direction. Bonbon wrapped a forehoof around her shoulders.

“Why, Lyra?” said Redheart. “What’d she say?”

“I don’t think we should talk about it here,” Lyra said, nodding meaningfully towards Dinky, who’d been unusually silent since arriving. “Celestia said she’d do some explaining. Maybe Sutra needs to talk it over with Alex as well.”

Derpy got the hint. “Alright,” she said, returning to her eldest daughter. “Sure you’re gonna be okay to spend the night, Sparkler?”

“Mom, I am a lot older than that,” Sparkler smiled wryly. She held up her chakra set. “Besides, you’ve brought me all the night comforts I need. And I’ve got a zebra for help.”

Zecora, whose stripes still hadn’t been reverted to their proper pattern, only shrugged.

Derpy nuzzled Sparkler. “If you say so. “She pulled back so the rest of her family could bid her goodbye in turn. “C’mon,” she said when they were done, she and Whooves each taking Dinky by the forehoof. “Time to get some shut-eye. Special order of muffins for all in the morning, everypony.”

Dash yawned, slumping back on her seat. “Boy, I really could with that, too. Muffins second, the shut-eye first.”

As the door closed behind Sparkler’s family, Redheart rolled over to Lyra and Bonbon.

“I’ve met him now,” she told Lyra. “The human. Reiner, that’s what he said his name was.”

Lyra nodded. “Yeah, Celestia came by to get him, after she’d finished talking to Sutra. Poor nurse isn’t looking any better… I hoped the Princess’s pep-talk would work.”

“I’m not sure she gave Sutra a pep-talk,” Redheart said. “She just told her the truth, because it needed telling. Like me. Reiner gave me the rundown, and her sister filled in the gaps.”

“Welcome to the club,” groused Bonbon, attracting a look from both mares, who’d apparently forgotten about her, even though she was holding Lyra. “I’m still waiting for the Princess.”

“What for, Bonnie?” asked Lyra.

Bonbon removed her forehoof, reaching into the curls of her mane. “To show her this,” she replied, pulling out the picture of Twilight’s friends and Lyra carrying the human in the Forest.

She smirked at their startled expressions.

“You weren’t as discrete as you thought, Lyra,” Bonbon smiled. “Featherweight managed to catch you on camera. All I had to do was pop by the Rangers and ask his mother.”

Dash, who’d leant in to listen on the chat, was now taking over indignation duties for Lyra.

“Why– that snooping, prying, Nosey Parker!”

“Is that how you found me, Bonbon?” Redheart asked, turning the wheels on her chair.

The image of a spy-kit, complete with grappling-hook, waltzed through Bonbon’s mind, before she consciously decided this was still strictly need-to-know.

“Sort of. It’s complicated.” She patted Lyra’s free forehoof. “Mainly, I was just getting tired of waiting for Little Miss Minty here to come home.”

It satisfied her to see Lyra blush at this nickname she hated.

“H-how’s Alex doing now?” Lyra quickly asked Redheart.

“Reiner? Gone to get more sleep, soon as we were done.” Redheart sighed. “The good news is, Luna said that, with the… enemy agent in custody, we may have a shortcut to finding out how to treat his burns.” She sighed all the deeper. “I never imagined I’d start thinking like a Guard again, least of all because of… me…”

“Yeah, it’s all real heavy, isn’t it?” Dash agreed from next to them, while Zecora scowled at being ignored. “Can’t believe that, only a few hours ago, I was fighting evil-you,” she said, rubbing her still slightly-red eyes. Then a frown fell on her face. “Well, ‘fighting’... that’s what was weird. All her punches kept missing, like she couldn’t really fight me…”

“Maybe she was being held back.”

Sparkler had spoken, looking up from her chakras.

“Held back?” Redheart said. “By what?”

“Well, it’d be wrong to say ‘curse’, seeing as those don’t exist,” Sparkler said, glancing at Zecora, who nodded along. “But there are… contracts, which force the signers into following them to the letter, no matter what. If she’s from a place where Equestria is evil, and still a Guard, maybe this is it. It’d make the Element Bearers untouchable.”

“That’s awful,” Lyra gasped. “You mean she’s as brainwashed as the Newfoals?”

“What are Newfoals?” Sparkler asked. Lyra felt confused, until she remembered she hadn’t used the word during her rapid explanation. But Sparkler seemed to deduce this, too, and moved forward. “Oh, you mean the human converts. Yeah… that’s debatable. Still, I was there, and from what I saw… I don’t think this Redheart was quite acting of her free will.”

Everyone silently contemplated the implications.

“How bad does that suck?” Dash said, shaking. “I… I mean, it’d be one thing if we were just gonna be fighting evil mirror-usses. Stuff like that happens in comic-books all the time. But if they’re really like us, just forced to be evil…”

“B-but then…” Redheart whispered. “What about Celestia?”

Bonbon didn’t fancy hearing any more.

“I’m going out.” She stood from her chair. “Sorry, Lyra,” she added, unconsciously holding the photo to her chest like a shield. “But I’ve gotta show this to Celestia. Someone rock-steady.” 

“Fair enough, Bonnie,” said Lyra, though she sounded disappointed. “And… after that?”

“Perhaps I can help,” Redheart said solemnly. “You spent a whole night watching over Reiner in nothing but a chair, Lyra. I’m sure we can do better for Bonbon. I’ll ask Sutra if they can fit a fourth bed in here.”

“That’s nice,” Lyra said, a little smiliness returning.

Dash yawned again. “Huh… I’d better be going home soon, too.”

“And I’ll be back soon,” Bonbon promised.



* * * * *



Events at the hospital converged as Princess Celestia let out her exclamation in the Royal Canterlot Voice, its sound, though not its words, reverberating through the door of the captive Redheart’s room and into the corridor outside.

It stopped Icewind in his tracks, and he saw that Winter and Selene, posted at the door, were not unaffected by it either. Selene’s wings flared up on defensive instinct. Even Winter broke his icy posture to look back at the closed-off room.

“Ooh, she doesn’t sound happy,” Selene mumbled, not yet noticing Icewind. “Jeeze-Louise, that could’ve given somepony a heart attack! You ever hear her get that mad?”

“No,” Winter said tersely. “It’s most unlike her.”

“What’s going on? Somepony let off a Sonic Rainboom in here?”

Icewind glanced to his left, opposite the door to Redheart’s room. The speaker was a rainbow-maned pegasus, head peeping out the doorframe.

But what caught his notice was the mare who trotted out from beside her.

“Well, that was… timing,” the mare muttered, reaching for a photo lying on the floor. She’d presumably been holding it and dropped it from the shock.

“Miss Sugarbean?”

She stopped to look his way. He moved forward, picking up the photo for her.

“Oh, it’s you,” Sugarbean said, taking the photo. “Thanks.”

“Howdy, Icewind,” Selene smiled weakly. “You seen Gibbous?”

“Yeah, he’s doing okay,” Icewind replied, only briefly glancing away from Sugarbean. “You?”

Selene sighed. “Same as ever,” she said, gesturing towards Winter. “With Mister Freeze here my silent accuser for making him miss his date.”

“Perhaps that was for the best,” Winter said stiffly. “Otherwise I’d have missed duty’s calling.”

Icewind knew him well enough to know he didn’t entirely believe that, but he probably believed in it strongly.

“So…” said the rainbow mare at the open door. “Was that a Royal Canterlot Voice? What’s Luna so upset about now?”

Winter looked at her somberly. “Luna’s busy reading our reports,” he said, gesturing towards Icewind, having finally noticed him. “That was Princess Celestia.”

‘Since… since when does Princess Celestia raise her voice?’ Icewind thought. ‘I’ve never heard her so much as yell at Prince Blueblood. But…’ And the image came back to him of the scene in the room with Reiner, barely an hour ago. The human screaming and threatening and having to be restrained. ‘It’s… you’d think she caught it off him...’

“Crikey,” said the rainbow mare. “Is she gonna go supernova?”

“I don’t think we’re anywhere near that yet,” Sugarbean told the mare, as she turned the photo over and over in her forehoof. “But she mustn’t have had a good day.”

“Eh, it’s not been all bad,” the rainbow mare shrugged. “Sure, having a human around’s made everything go almost as cock-eyed as Discord… but hey, I got my new Daring Do book. And I bet Lyra’s still pleased to know she was right.”

A voice replied to that from the room, at an angle Icewind couldn’t hear, though it sounded like an affirmative response. He wondered who it belonged to… though he had one guess...

He coughed. “Pardon me? Miss Sugarbean? What’s that picture you’re holding?”

Sugarbean’s head shot up. “Oh, um… just something I’ve got to show the Princess… in private, if you all don’t mind.”

“How come?” the rainbow mare asked. “We’ve all seen a human, by now.”

That was what was on the photo? Weird… 

‘And… hold on, there. Where’d she get a picture of the human? Isn’t she a civilian? I mean, it’s not like he’s really been kept secret, but… I thought he’d never left the hospital? So when’d they take a picture of him? What is this? How long’s he really been here?’

Sugarbean stared at the rainbow mare critically. “The thing is, Dash, when you’ve lived hearing your kook of a girlfriend spout off her wild theories and one turns out to be true, you wanna know just how much the government knew about it, on good authority.” She slapped the photo. “This here’s my bargaining chip.”

“C’mon, Celestia wouldn’t lie to us.”

No-one disagreed, though Selene’s ears twitched slightly.

“Look...” Sugarbean sighed. “Could you come out here, please?” The mare named Dash nodded and trotted forth. Sugarbean shut the door behind her. “I just wanna find out what Lyra’s got herself into,” she said, in a lower voice, “and how deep.” She looked around at all the Guards. “You guys get that, right?”

This was when she turned to Icewind.

“Right?” she repeated. “I mean, whatever was up with that Redheart… when I found the ‘real’ her, the scene had ‘Changeling’ written all over it. That’s how it seemed to me, anyway! What… what could be worse than that?”

“I can think of a few things…” began Selene.

And so, indeed, could Icewind, even as he was struggling to remember how exactly his meeting with Sugarbean had gone.

‘Didn’t she tell me Redheart was a Changeling?’ he asked himself, straining to unbury this stress-blurred memory. ‘Did she say something about her girlfr–’

Then the door to Redheart’s room opened. Celestia strood out, her bearing regal as ever, but her brow weighed by contemplation.

“Good evening again, my little ponies,” she greeted them, spotting Dash, Sugarbean and Icewind. “Were you waiting to talk to me?”

“Not me, Your Highness,” Dash said. “I’m just gonna up and fly home, in a minute.”

Celestia raised a wing. “Wait, before you do that, Rainbow Dash,” she said, “I’m going to need you first.”

“Oh… okay…”

Sugarbean stepped forward. “But me, Princess,” said the cream-coloured mare. “I… may, may we have a word, please?”

The Princess’s gaze met with hers. “Ah, evening to you, Bonbon,” Celestia smiled warmly. “That’s perfectly fine by me. How is Lyra now? I hope you didn’t tell her off too hard?”

Sugarbean, or ‘Bonbon’, smirked. “Maybe a bit. But it’s okay, she knows it’s gonna end in a kiss and a cuddle. It always does.”

‘Wait, WHAT?’ Icewind felt his heart plummet. ‘She’s… with…’

“Say, Highness,” said Dash, pointing behind the Princess. “You got really loud in there.”

Celestia’s smile faded slightly. “Yes, I…” She sighed. “I fear I had to argue my stance to Redheart. There are questions she raises about how Equestria is governed in our time, all of which I’ve asked myself before… and, normally, I’d appreciate her showing insight. Unfortunately… it’s all wasted, rendered moot, by one fundamental misunderstanding of what I’ve sought to make Equestria stand for…”

“That’s most unfortunate.”

Winter was the one who’d opined this.

“If I may say so,” he continued, “rather than ask what our country can do for us, it’s more important to ask what we can do for our country.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Celestia nodded once. “But a country’s dedication to its people is important too, don’t forget.”

“I’m glad you said that, Princess,” Sugarbean remarked.

“Why, Bonbon?”

Sugarbean presented the photo, ignoring Dash looking at her sideways. “Because, with the weirdness Lyra’s got mixed up in… I’d really like to hear what you know, about… about how much worse this could get.”

Celestia remained unfazed. Yet a gleam of recognition lit her eye.

“Naturally,” she said evenly. “And, I’m sorry, everypony…” Again, she surveyed them all. “Yet, from what I know, I fear more troubles lie ahead of us. The human has enemies… and I couldn’t tell it truer than to say those enemies are unlike anything we’ve never seen.”

Rainbow Dash’s ears drooped, Selene stared down at the floor, and Winter Truce’s lips thinned. Bonbon Sugarbean just frowned, anger simmering on her face.

“Okay,” she said. “That’s… basically, what Lyra told me.”

“Let’s speak privately,” Celestia said, moving to her side. “I’d also like to hear your side of this story. Dash,” she added, “please, meet me outside.”

“Um… sure, Princess…”

Celestia turned to Winter. “Thanks for taking on the extra shift,” she said. “You won’t have to put up with it much longer. My sister and I are returning to Canterlot within the hour. You and Icewind are welcome to come along. Oh, and, Corporal?” Now Celestia addressed Icewind. “Did you have news?”

“Not for the moment, Your Highness,” Icewind said dully.

‘This is a nightmare. That mare, Sugarbean… she knew all about the human, but she said Redheart was a Changeling? Yes, ‘Changeling’ is more believable than ‘parallel universe’, but… why lie at all? All it did was get me mad at Redheart… Oh. Oh, no. And… she’s Lyra Heartstrings’ lover. Plus, the way she and Princess Celestia speak with such familiarity…  what’s the Princess going to tell her? Does the Princess know something? I… I can’t do this. Not now. I need to wait some more.’



* * * * *



Within half an hour, Celestia was waiting outside the hospital. Luna stood next to her, pensive, and if she squinted, Celestia could just make out the haze of Galatea’s invisible projection, refracted in the moonlight – confirming the third alicorn was still awaiting them in Canterlot. Bonbon had gone to reunite once more with Lyra.

As she mulled over what the former Special Agent of S.M.I.L.E. had reported, Celestia wondered once more at the wisdom of such a mare pairing with a conspiracy theorist like Heartstrings. What was the sense in it? Truly, love worked in strange ways.

And that reminded her, glancing at both her fellow alicorns – one visible, the other invisible. If all went well, Cadance and Shining Armor should be arriving in Canterlot by morning, having taken the night-train, per Luna’s information. Six hours from now. They’d be the first in the convocation of world rulers and representatives to come...

Light shone as the hospital doors opened, and a familiar mare stepped out into the night.

“Beg pardon, Your Highnesses,” said Dash, holding up a cup of coffee. “Had to grab a pick-me-up.”

True, Celestia saw the poor mare had bags under her eyes. She didn’t want to say they’d likely have many more sleepless nights. She herself was feeling the adrenaline wear off, her tiara pressing on her skull. So many things to be considered… Reiner’s locket was still lost… And yet, she’d only be getting four hours’ sleep at most, if she had to meet Cadance and Shining at the station.

“I understand, Rainbow Dash,” she said. “And I’m sorry, I know what a long, long day this has been… “She took out the Chancellor’s Medallion. “Yet I’ll have to ask you come back to Canterlot with us.”

Dash stared. “Why, what for? A-at least let me fetch my book first…”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Celestia smiled benignly. “But I need you and the other Bearers to use the Elements for summoning Discord. You see, I agreed that after he’d done that job for me, he’d get a week’s leisure time... someplace of his choosing, and which I don’t know about.”

“Uh… that could be… complicated, Princess,” Dash said awkwardly. “See, Discord showed up earlier while I was with my friends, and he... kinda-sorta took Fluttershy with him.”

“Ah.” Celestia lowered the Medallion. “Sly old goat… yes, that does complicate things...”

Luna brushed back her mane. “But not to worry, Sister,” she said. “If Fluttershy’s anywhere on this planet, I can always visit her in her dreams, and tell her we need her back.”

“In that case,” Celestia said gratefully, “you may be in luck, Dash. We won’t need the Elements. And you can catch some sleep.”

“Ya think Fluttershy’s gonna be gone that long? Like, a week?” Dash goggled. “It’s hardly been five years since she’s dared step out her door for nothing but animals. And that’s only for her friends.”

“Discord seems especially fond of her,” Celestia smiled. “And the feeling, I believe, is mutual. I’m sure she feels quite safe with him.”





~ Antipode ~ Casabronco, Portuary Town of Farasi ~ By the Equestrian Calendar, Second Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae ~

“Well, that could have gone better.”

The Candid, they called him.

As Prince Abraxas muttered these words, awareness did not evade him that such a statement could be made of his land for the whole of the last twenty years. Staring out upon an unending emptiness of the desert dunes beyond Casabronco, a scant few miles from the small stretch of green land that comprised the coast, the zebra Prince of Farasi could only reflect upon an unassailable truth.

Misfortune always seemed to befall Farasi, since the Misfortune Malachite had been plundered.

Abraxas felt heat course through his mane which must have matched his smoldering glare. So long ago now, by his mortal reckoning, and still it burnt to dwell upon how he’d failed his people, on that wretched morn when the Storm King had come knocking. Stories were uttered amongst the smallfolk that his anger at said injustice was that which had turned his mane incandescent. Fine stories to tell, would that the stories were true. However venerable his lineage, where this resplendent property was passed down from father to son, still it seemed tawdry compared to the heroic tales that it sparked to life.

Perhaps, in future days, Prince Abraxas would share in his people’s sense of his worth. But this could only come about once he’d driven away the Grootslang for good.

He did not stand alone in his efforts, Abraxas tried to remind himself, like he did so very often. This much, he was thankful for. Ironically, however, of the four great Princes of Farasi, faced with the peculiar annoyance Abraxas had stumbled upon after having discovered he’d been called erroneously to Casabronco, never might the one best-suited to deal with the problem have instead been his wily and oft truant younger brother.

Alas, neither Prince Barbelo or Prince Aeon, princes of the abada and of the kelpies, possessed that family trait which he and Braze shared when they had so little else in common, the fire upon the very crown of their heads, the one sure means of intimidating the Grootslang into burrowing back under the sands as it fled anew.

But the sands he saw outside of Casabronco, presently, still looked untroubled… As curiously untroubled as he’d found them upon answering today’s summons for help.

In hindsight, perhaps he ought to have given closer thought to the oddity of what he’d heard. Known only as it was for wreaking destruction upon the towns and villages of the land, the last thing to be expected of the Grootslang should be to spot it entertaining itself at a dance-club here in Casabronco.

Certainly, when Abraxas had burst in, roaring with a fire to equal his mane’s, in the short time before his senses had caught up with him, his immediate impression had replicated the misunderstanding of whomever had first reported they’d seen the Grootslang. Considering the long snout of the creature’s face, topped by a pair of wicked yellow eyes, the whole of it complemented by generally serpentine features, this was a forgiveable mistake for a frightened soul to make.

His moment’s relief, once he’d calmed himself, had not lasted. Because if the being at that club was neither the chief tormentor of his people nowadays nor the Storm King returned, then who it had truly been could hardly be called an improvement – perhaps no Yaldabaoth, yet assuredly its closest avatar on this world, he who named himself Discord, Lord of Chaos.

“Your Highness?” said someone.

The interruption drew Abraxas’ eyes away from the desert, as he looked at the young zebra who’d spoken, coming to stand not far from him, upon the edge of the same strip of grassland that marked the town’s border with the desert.

Abraxas nodded subtly. “Yes, Madam Mayor?”

He could tell her title by the red sash she wore, but would have recognised the mare regardless. The little village she was mayor of had long held a special place amongst his love for his people.

“I’m so sorry to call you so soon after a false alarm,” said Marini, glancing around anxiously, “but I fear this may be the real deal. Something’s been seen making the waves beneath the dunes, and it looks as if it’s headed for Zebrat…”

On the outskirts of Casabronco, then.

“Then let us go, quickly,” Abraxas said, his hooves tensing up for the chase even as he said so. “I have wasted time enough here as is.”

Nonetheless, before he ran after Marini, Abraxas was unable not to cast one last glance at the club building, now emptied since his passage and his confrontation with the strange visitors.

As he rushed, sand billowing beneath his hooves and Marini’s, he found himself envying how carefree the scene he’d uncovered had looked. In point of fact, though a dance-club may not be so surprising a place in which to find Discord, what Abraxas had found a surprise was that a creature such as Discord would have companionship. A young mukadzi, a winged pony of Equestria, her complexion as yellow as butter and her mane pink as the sands at dawn.

Indeed, when the initial misunderstanding had cleared up, the mukadzi had proven pleasant enough. It was clear Discord had brought her here to impress her. Maybe even the beginnings of a courtship…

Abraxas felt a small smile forming on his muzzle at the idea, quite in spite of himself, but it did not last. Any more than the momentary détente at the club had lasted, thanks to Discord’s inability to refrain from making a witty quip concerning lighting up the dance floor and the fire in his mane. His reaction to this had not been very princely, perhaps, yet he’d been unable to hold himself. Such flightiness simply reminded Abraxas too much of his own brother.

Yes, had Braze been there instead of him, his brother could have played Discord’s game, using his wily ways to make the Chaos spirit leave by guile. He did have a way with spirits, Braze, reflected Abraxas as he and Marina kicked up a large bank of sand. Banishing Discord by force, conversely, was not a feat he felt sure lay within the power of even the most talented witch-doctor.

Still, Discord had departed, possibly to please the mare, going to who knew which pastures next. Grimly, Abraxas reflected that such could only be expected of a mad god, after all.

He considered the galloping Marini ahead of him. How much did she know of the whereabouts of her childhood friend, these days? Little Zecora, inspired to follow in the steps laid down by Mage Meadowbrook of the ponylands, now become a potion-brewing hermit in Equestria.

Years and years it was, gone by too fast, since Abraxas had his chance to visit the ponylands himself again. Seeing the rooftops of Zebrat nearing and Marini screeching to a halt, as she pointed forward, regret welled up inside him to think of how his duties as Prince had kept him from convening with his old friends so often as he’d wish, in the last twenty years.

Abraxas the Candid set his teeth.

Just as harsh on himself as he could be on others, he still felt he’d let down the Magical Council of the Stonecutters once before, by letting the Storm King take the Misfortune Malachite. What the Starry-Eyed One had thought was not known to him, but as was to be expected, the Caring and the Cheerful had lived up to their names, in missives saying they pinned no blame on him. Yet what he would have cared for most was to see the Cunning once more, after all this time. And someday meet the Council of the Stonecutters’ newest member, that most daring adventurer, on whom was recently bestowed the name of Constant…

He did hope the headstrong pegasus had made a smart decision, by choosing not to keep the Half-Gilded Horseshoe of Sunflare at her own house, the obvious place for thieves to steal it from, instead entrusting it with the keen, yet sometimes overly driven Zecora.

Before Abraxas’s burdened mind could move from this trail of thought to the question of where Braze, ever inclined to roam and to derelict duty, could have gallivanted off to this time, the ground between the houses burst into a cloud of dust. Behind him, Marini couldn’t stifle a startled shriek.

Like some sorcerous devilry of Saddle Mareabia, the beast sprung from the earth. Hissing. The Grootslang drew itself up, contorting upon itself in manners that did little to diminish its height, webbed palms reaching for whatever victims of its rampage that should fall into its grasp, be it belongings, dwellings or living beings. Only an instant that the green beast had required in order to look around, eyes flashing with malice, had granted a respite to all in its vicinity, and this would not last.

“Begone, foul worm!” Abraxas cried, his mane burning bright and blinding, the defiant phrase an overly familiar refrain to him.

There was still the proper ardence within his words, but more ardent was his hope that none would guess it took him twice the willpower it once had for his cry to sound half a strong.

Above this cacophony inside and outside his head, Abraxas barely heard the Call.





~ Canterlot, Equestria ~

For the first time in history, three alicorns were assembled in the throne room of Canterlot. As Luna had passed on attending the Royal Wedding, Celestia and Cadance had been the only two in the room that day. It was a historical moment, all the more as one alicorn was a stranger, lost to history – and with no-one there to document it.

Rainbow Dash had stayed in Ponyville, while Winter and Icewind had dispersed upon arrival, each looking deep in thought. Knowing what good friends they were, Celestia found it noteworthy neither had said a word to the other.

But perhaps it was just as well no-one was there to record the moment. The first gathering here of these three alicorns was going down in bickering, once Galatea had reverted from her earthpony form and finished her shift.

“Were I not truly your sister, you’d know the truth.”

Galatea sniffed upon saying those words, which didn’t do much to undarken Luna’s brow.

“You are an alicorn, Luna. One whose purpose demands an understanding of the hearts and minds of those around you. That is your privilege and burden, and always has been.”

Luna looked to Celestia, who was watching their exchange with a concerned expression. She’d raised a foreleg, allowing Philomena to perch on her as company.

“Dost thou believe her, Celestia?” she asked. Perched on Luna’s crown, Tiberius tilted his head.

“I do,” Celestia replied gently. “It… does not feel wrong. Not in the way I envision a trick like this would.”

Galatea gave a small nod, and Luna scowled. Tiberius followed suit, harrumphing – or squeaking, as possums do.

“Just because we share blood, do not think thou shalt be accepted so readily into our family,” she said scathingly. “Thou art a stranger to us, Galatea, no matter how familiar your visage may seem.”

“I am well aware of that,” Galatea replied softly. “Celestia already said something to that effect when we first met.”

Luna turned to Celestia, an eyebrow raised, “Sister?” 

“I did, Luna,” Celestia whispered, feeling a touch of regret. “But that is a matter to be discussed later. For now, I would ask that you prepare to summon Discord. Apparently,” she continued, glancing at Galatea, “we will need his aid.”

“For what?” Luna said slowly. “Oh… are you… you planning to ask his help in finding the locket? Drain the river, turn the fish into magpies, that sort of thing?”

“No,” Galatea said instantly. And sounding almost frightened. “Celestia. Luna. This is important. He can know about Alexander Reiner… but whatever happens, Discord mustn’t learn about that locket.”

“Can you say why?” asked Celestia. “Whatever happened in the other world, I’m sure he could bear it if he was certain it benefitted–”

“Mayhaps. But mayhaps not,” Galatea said darkly. “With the Bearer of Kindness’ promise to never use her Element against him, his affection for her is all that keeps him in check. If he found out the locket exists… he might see it as another weapon to threaten him with. He’d probably react violently. Or if he didn’t, he could still send it floating into the depths, just to be safe. He is volatile. Unreliable. He might simply do all this before we have a chance to convince him otherwise. With the fates of worlds in the balance, it is too risky.”

How much did Galatea know and not know? Celestia found it hard to gauge.

“Alright,” she said. “That’s only good sense. He is a most… well, chaotic ally. But we’ll require him tonight.”

Luna sighed. “I feel tired as it is, Celestia,” she said. “What with everything, my magic is still much too low for personal teleportation... Thank goodness the summoning is designed to work like flicking a switch, at least…” 

Celestia laid a hoof on her shoulder. “Get some rest, Sister. We’ll take care of this.”

Luna answered her with a yawn and a smile. “Alright. I have a garden to tend to, if that will be all.” That same smile faded when she looked at Galatea, and scowled. “Have a care, stranger. Our eyes are on thee. Come along, Tiberius.”

Without another word, she and Tiberius left the throne room, closing the door behind them.

“Well then. Not the best of her days,” Celestia said quietly, though whether it was for Philomena or Galatea, she could not tell. “She even–”

“Reverted to her ancient mode of speech, yes,” Galatea said, letting out a quiet, resigned sigh. “I have observed the both of you for millennia, Celestia. I know what her tells are. To be honest, I expected worse.”

Celestia snorted. She nuzzled Philomena. “Go on, Philomena,” she said. “Keep an eye on Luna, would you?”

The phoenix chirped, nuzzling her back. She gave Galatea a glance, before hopping off her perch and flying towards the nearest window.

“I suppose, at the very least, she doesn’t mind,” Galatea remarked, as she and Celestia watched Philomena disappear out the window. “Impressive feat taming her, Celestia. They aren’t known to be trusting.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘tame’ is the right word. Mischievous one, she is,” Celestia reflected. “But I trust her judgement and treasure her company, you know.” She turned to Galatea. “Know a thing or two about phoenixes, do you? Come now. You know so much of us when we know nothing of you.”

Galatea looked away. “There is not much you ought to know about me, Sister. I have nothing to hide. No ambition, no secrets, no desires. All that I am, you know. Mine task, mine purpose, is all there is to me.”

Taking in the sight of Galatea, as she stood in the middle of the throne room, felt as if Celestia were looking at the grey alicorn for the first time, all over again. For a brief, fleeting moment, Celestia thought of the spectre in the Adlaborn grove… and yet, another thought waded in.

“I don’t think I believe that at all. Surely there is more to that ferrymare I met long ago.” Celestia trailed off at Galatea’s wry expression when she looked back at her. Those weary, piercing blue eyes, that spoke of a carefully hidden lifetime. She held her tongue, though, and nothing more could Celestia discern.

“Oh, my,” Celestia said softly. “But… all this time, did you ever find any hobbies? Maybe friends from all over or, little ones to call your own…”

Not for the first time, the haunting look in Galatea’s icy blue eyes so strongly reminded Celestia of Luna’s kin.

“I’ve little time for any of that. Not when duty calls, because it was mine duty to stand apart,” Galatea said – almost recited, Celestia noticed – quietly. “The only chance you could have ever heard of me is from Sint Erklass. He knew that I was meant to exist.”

“He… he did?” Celestia’s stare drifted towards one of the stained-glass windows. “He never spoke of you to us.”

Galatea shrugged. “That was his choice. That was the way of things. Perhaps, by the time you were revealed, he understood well enough that mine role required you know not of me. Or perhaps he believed I had never awoken.” She shook her head. “But this is all ancient history. We must be concerned with the future, and the fight to come against your corrupted other.”

“Indeed,” Celestia said, not really wanting to think of it, much as she knew she had to. Such a strange thought. In her various works, it had been as easy as putting evil queen caricatures of her many facets into the role of petty villains to be vanquished by heroines, to inspire all her little ponies that they can be their better selves.

Redheart’s parting words struck her, right then and there. The bedevilment that compels. Not so much the human, Celestia added, but the mare that was and wasn’t her.

“The thing you said was amiss with my other self,” Celestia began, glancing at Galatea. “The thing that makes my other self so different from me. What was it?”

Galatea frowned thoughtfully. “Truthfully?” she said, walking a circle around Celestia. “There is no way for us to be sure. Not at the moment.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

“No, it is not, regrettably,” Galatea replied gently. “It could be anything. A personal failure, external influence...” She came full circle, back to facing Celestia. “All I can say for certain is that, for her, it happened long ago, which reassures me that you are not similarly corrupted.”

Celestia blanched. “I confess it has been a worry of mine, ever since… ever since Luna. How can you be so certain I am not…?” 

Galatea’s smile was a sad little one. “It is mine task to watch this world of ours, Celestia, and you are part of it. Poor watcher I would be, indeed, to let mine sister slip into insanity without noticing.”

“And yet...” 

“And yet,” Galatea sighed.

“It wouldn’t have been my first failure, then. What’s another, really, and one that burns a whole world away...” Celestia said wistfully, the memory of a fiery-maned filly, consumed by ambition, resurfacing with a vengeance. She drew a sharp breath. 

Galatea’s expression hardened.

“I should have done more as well. Before, and not after,” she said. “Do not blame yourself too harshly, Celestia.” She shook her head. “The whithertos and whyfors, as our people once said, must wait. It is the here and now that matters.”

Celestia let out a small chuckle. “‘Whithertos and whyfors’, indeed. Last I heard of that expression, the nobles still wrote their own complaints to me, a couple centuries before they hired their own scriveners.”

Galatea raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer I emulated the youth of today and attempted to be, what was it, ‘hip and happening’?”

Her expression saying this was so deadpan, Celestia couldn’t help but let out a real laugh. 

“Oh, dear, no,” she said. “I don’t think I’d be able to stand it. There are some things even immortals are too old for.”

“...Am I amusing you, Celestia?” Galatea asked.

“Yes, a little,” Celestia said, laughs subsiding, a smile remaining. “If you are our sister…” She sighed. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“You say that as though we shall have time for social interaction. I won’t mind it, personally, yet…”

“There is always time,” Celestia said, inclining her head. “Equestria is built upon the principles of the Pillars of Harmony. The chief of them is magic, expressed best among us through friendship. You must know this, if you’ve observed us all these years, as you claim.”

Galatea raised her brow. “A root philosophy that spawned many branches. Some of which were often ill-applied, or else entirely ignored among your subjects. The Imperial infiltrator is proof alone of that.”

“That may be so,” Celestia retorted, smiling coyly, “but that root still bears many fruits.” At Galatea’s unconvinced expression, she sighed. “Come now, Sister, if you are indeed what you claim to be, then there is cause yet for joy.”

“Joy, indeed?” Galatea said, a touch of old weariness seeping through. “I bring discontent to the sister you’ve always known, ill-tidings to your people, and you call my coming a cause for joy. Often have I thought, fleetingly, you might be too kind-hearted for your own good. Perhaps I was not wrong.”

“I’ve wondered the same,” Celestia said. “And in the end? I would rather open my heart and be wrong than close it and be right.  Kindness wins most battles, in the end.”

“Kindness is not necessarily a weapon,” Galatea said.

“No, it is not, but our greatest triumph has been the thousand year peace. How many wars have we averted then, since the last of the Thracian armies of old were repelled from our borders, since Sombra fell with the Crystal Realm?” Celestia countered. “For generations we have been blessed with the freedom to work towards happiness and peace. Perhaps that kept us from fighting a number of battles. It’s in that spirit of kindness that I will accept what you have told me… Sister. Because if you are right, then we may all be marching into deadly danger soon.”

“That much is true,” Galatea said stiffly. “We are likely heading to our doom, nothing more.” Her expression became wistful. “The last battle of the children of Sunflare...”

“Well,” Celestia said, smiling still, “If that’s how it is, I would like to at least have we three, Luna, yourself and I, sit together in friendship and the spirit of family. For surely, if you have been alone so long, such a joy is a thing to cherish?”

Galatea’s expression became unreadable. “It was mine role, and I regret it not.”

“Oh, I did not ask if you regretted it,” Celestia rejoined. “And now you have revealed yourself, Sister, is your role so rigid and so cruel as to demand you remain aloof?” 

“It…” Galatea began, and then she sighed. 

“What?” Celestia asked.

“After all this time… I never thought I would need to reveal mine identity to you, or Luna.”

“Never?” Celestia asked, frowning in confusion. “Not once?”

Galatea shook her head. “Even when Luna fell, I did not foresee the possibility that I would need to step out of the shadows. I believed you quite capable of handling things without help from me. I would have been a hindrance, if nothing else.”

Celestia chuckled. “Not so capable that meeting another sister wouldn’t be welcome.”

“Still, I never guessed this might come to pass.”

Celestia laid a comforting wing on her sister’s shoulder. “We can never foresee all possibilities, Galatea. Even you, for all that you have observed, have not that power.”

“That is so. It is good to know of mine limitations,” Galatea said, eyes shifting to somewhere beyond Celestia’s shoulder. “They can be many.” 

She sighed at that, and Celestia grew concerned.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, really,” Galatea said, her voice even. She averted her gaze, preferring to look at the nearest stained-glass window. “Merely… I fear, when faced with your alternate, that I will not be strong enough. That… that I would only see the little filly I saw in Adlaborn, so long ago.”

She’d kept her voice steady, and her expression impassive. But something passed behind the facade, from the twitch at the corner of her mouth, to the sorrow that belied that old accent.

“That makes two of us,” Celestia whispered. “I’ve many reasons to send Twilight to Ponyville in my stead. A thousand years and still I didn’t have the heart to confront the Nightmare a second time…”

She sighed.

“‘Whithertos and whyfors’,” Celestia recited, giving Galatea a comforting smile. “Don’t concern yourself with that. Not yet.” She kept her wing on Galatea’s shoulder. “There is much still to do.”

“The human’s locket would have been of such great help.”

“And telling us why is one more thing you’ve got to do.”

Galatea glanced at the wing on her shoulder, before meeting Celestia’s eyes, raising her eyebrow. Celestia offered a cheeky smile, and Galatea sighed.

“You do realise,” she said, “this situation has already grown too… chaotic, for secrecy to remain an option as long as I’d have liked. Yet in these times, more than ever, we cannot permit rumour and hearsay to stifle the facts. Every pony linked to the events surrounding the human in Ponyville will need to be addressed.”

Celestia felt her smile fade. “Yes… tomorrow, I shall call the girls to the Palace, have Alexander Reiner transferred to Canterlot, perform a trial-run on his hospital caretakers for the public announcement I’ll have to make one day, soon…”

She gingerly removed her wing.

“But what about you, Galatea?” As her sister looked at her in askance, she went on, “I mean, Madam Heartstrings now knows who you are. It’s only a matter of time before Twilight and her friends find out. What about the world? Should the world hear two life-changing revelations in one go?”

“It’d be more like three,” Galatea corrected. “The human’s existence is a revelation in itself. Yet, if I may be frank… you can keep it at two. There are some secrets, I believe, which are best kept longest.”

“So you’d rather the world didn’t learn of your existence?”

Galatea reached up to touch her goggles, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Not as the watcher, no. For that, I’ll trust Heartstrings, your student, and their friends. Oh, and your nephew, your niece and her husband. They’ve a right to it, I suppose, as honourary relatives. Beyond that, I can only plan on how I’ll introduce myself to the Reindeer King.”

Celestia did a quick count. “Then aside from him, that’d be twelve ponies, all told, in your circle of trust. Let’s hope it’s a lucky number.”

“Bah, superstition and nonsense, Celestia,” Galatea replied, rolling her eyes. “I find it so frustrating to hear the art of numerology misused like this. I’d have hoped better from you.”

“That was meant as a joke.”

“Ah. Pray forgive me.”

“And I cannot say I’m looking forward to planning for war,” Celestia murmured in resignation, “even if it’s only a war on the defensive, to start with. But you’re right, of course, we must prepare as much as possible, as soon as possible. I only wish there were some other way.”

“You have been blessed with a long peace,” Galatea said, tilting her head. What might have been warmth seeped into her voice. “A peace that you cultivated. Take pride in that, Sister. Millennia of harmony is no failure. All things must end, and from these ashes a kind act will be born.”

“Perhaps,” Celestia said. “But their ending is sad, nonetheless.”





~ West ~ The Mansion of the Proxenos of Delos, Republic of the Tauren Isles ~ By the Equestrian Calendar, Second Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae ~

Darkhoof sat on the beach, the great bulk of his arms resting upon his knees, as he gazed up in silence at the star. The sound of water crashing against rock was his only distraction – on occasion, the waves would land mere inches from him, before receding, their foam carrying away another few grains of pale sands, into which he’d dug the cloven hooves that gave him his name.

At one point, the water did hit hard enough for him to feel the spray. Noticing his sight had turned foggy, he removed his eyeglasses, to wipe them on the fur of his arm. When the put them back on, the night sky still told him the same thing.

Whereas all other stars had moved over the hours, this one had not.

“My Lord,” he heard, from behind him, the voice of his wife. “Come to dinner.”

But he didn’t turn, or answer. Then, without any words between them, he felt her forehooves wrap around his shoulders, her cheek nuzzle his nape.

“How deeply you stare, as if every problem were a question to solve,” she whispered, caressing him mournfully. “We have guests, don’t forget that...” 

His duties as proxenos recalled, Darkhoof heeded her at last. Gently removing her forehooves, he rose, shifting so he could see Unathi. The zebra extended her forehoof. He took it, gladly, for her to guide him from the shore, towards the cliffside path.

Though he stood a good three heads taller – but conversely, she was twice as wide in the hips, some adolescent part of his brain noted appreciatively, watching her sway as she led the way – then as now, she had no trouble showing him which steps to take.

Soon they were at the top, facing his mansion’s back door. While Unathi had come get him so he could play the host, it seemed the guests hadn’t done much waiting, if the light and sound from the dining-hall window were any clue.

“Fret not.” Unathi smiled sadly. “Though I’d never have trusted Thymos alone with His Lordship, the creature’s companion appears to exercise a mysterious pull on his madness. And our son likes her.”

Always, she referred to Thymos as ‘their’ son. Never Basil. And yet she had given birth to neither. Darkhoof questioned, in his heart, by what malicious whim of fate the Call had sounded only a day before his elder son was due to emerge from the Labyrinth, the full-blooded bull his younger son would never be.

“Do you have to go to Equestria?” she asked.

He looked at her, quizzical.

“I ask only for the sake of argument,” Unathi said. “I don’t even know what this Call is.”

Maybe there was a pinch of resentment in her voice. He hated to see her so. Gently, he pulled his hand from her grip, but only so he could place it on her back, kneeling to face her at eye level. 

“The Concordia is not a request,” Darkhoof said. “It isn’t even an order. It is necessity. I don’t know either why the Call was sounded. All I know is that it can only be made when the time is right, when circumstances are so dire, they dictate that banding together is not merely the right choice, or even a duty, it is merely a fact of life. And so I must go.”

Slowly, she nodded, dutiful resignation plain in her face. “Then I shall be thankful, at least, that tomorrow your eldest son shall return to us, a bull who can oversee our household in your stead. But, oh, my sweet Lord! Two years Thymos has been waiting for his brother... Now he must say goodbye to his father.”

Unspeaking, he leant in and kissed her.

“I won’t go immediately,” Darkhoof whispered, after they’d pulled apart. “Not until Basil is out of the Labyrinth. He shouldn't be thrust into this responsibility without warning. The Concordia can grant me one day with all my family.”

What neither said was how strange it would be for Basil to suddenly be in a position where his word counted more than hers, in his father’s absence. She had always been readier to use the rod on him than his brother, when both were boys. Her reasoning had been that he could take it where Thymos could not.

“I’m glad,” said Unathi. “Now come. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

While nights were seldom cold on the Tauren Isles, Darkhoof felt a new warmth once back inside his abode, entering the dining-room. By the light of oil-lamps from all four corners, the painted eyes of old heroes commemorated on his walls flickered with life, an effect he found most comforting. Someday, he would be gone for good, and sons of his sons would look upon his own fresco.

The clepsydra in the room’s centre told him he’d been outside for two hours. Normally, as he watched his guests helping themselves from plates of grapes and olives, he’d have been in the right to rebuke them for eating without their host – yet the lapse here was his, and most important was to make sure Thymos was eating properly.

“Greetings,” he said, speaking in Common. “I beg your pardon for my absence. I trust that my wife knew to compensate my failings as a host.” He added, almost perfunctorily, “As proxenos to Equestria, the food and drink of my house are the share-right of any Equestrian.”

Reclining on his chaise-longue, the Dyonisian Lord raised his chalice in mock-salute.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call myself Equestrian,” Discord chuckled, popping an olive into his mouth, “but my friend here – ooh, feels funny saying that, doesn’t it? Lord Discord has a friend! Anyway, my friend here most certainly is. And I must say, you are a much better host than our last one, Philip.”

Close by, the mare Fluttershy, whom Darkhoof saw was helping Thymos eat, just gave a tired, knowing smile. Although she was putting in the effort, her eyes undeniably drooped every few seconds. The pegasus was what Discord had called ‘jet-lagged’, another reason for Darkhoof’s self-reproof in leaving them hanging.

However, Unathi didn’t seem to feel as conciliatory, her nostrils visibily twitching at Discord’s use of his first name.

“You presume much, Lord Discord,” she said, heading to check on Thymos. “It’s no surprise that you showing up would herald trouble. Or do you claim that my husband hearing the Call was coincidence?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Discord said smugly, while Darkhoof took a seat by him. “Despite what your philosopher of a husband may espouse, not everything in this world works by cause and effect. Say, you guys get around to quantum physics yet?”

“Funny you should mention that, sir,” Darkhoof smiled. “Three years ago, I had the chance to test out a most intriguing theory, involving a cat in a box.”

“Oho? Do tell.”

“Yes,” said Darkhoof. “Why, the idea came to me from an Equestrian, what’s more. A wandering showmare claimed that, once the cat was in the box, and out of sight, it’d cease to exist.”

“And how did that pan out?”

“Unsatisfyingly,” Darkhoof admitted, pinching his nose-ring. “In hindsight, I should have read it in the mare’s character. She was about as full of herself as that renegade, Ionisus, the one who calls himself ‘Iron Will’.”

“Oh, my,” piped a small voice.

Darkhoof turned to the buttery pegasus. Unathi had taken over caring for Thymos, allowing his female guest to listen in on the conversation.

“Something troubles you, Dame Fluttershy?”

“No, I just…” She barely held down a yawn. “Ugh… I think I know both the people you’re talking about... Meeting them didn’t go very well. The…” Again, almost a yawn. “The world’s feeling both too big and too small, and it’s making me tired…”

He proferred an empty chaise-longue. “Then rest, please. It’s a small thanks for the care you have shown my boy.”

The pegasus nodded gratefully. “Goodnight, Thymos,” she told his son, to be answered by a fond grunt. Then she turned back to Darkhoof. “You know,” she said, laying down to the rest. “I felt worried when Discord said we were off to visit the Minotaurs, but you’re not what I expected you to be.”

She was dozing almost instantly after that. Darkhoof looked askance at Discord.

“She’s a nervous one,” Discord explained, swilling his chalice. “I guess she thought because I like Minotaurs, they must be a lot like me. Big, rowdy, loves to get wild–”

“In fairness,” said Darkhoof, pressing his palms as he threw Unathi a glance, “that image isn’t wholly unfounded.”

“True, but usually on special, festive occasions,” said the Dyonisian Lord. “And she is one thing I’m not. Peace-loving. Still,” he nodded in Thymos’ direction, “I’d have thought twice of bringing her, if Minotaur culture wasn’t so different from when I was last around.”

Darkhoof tried hard not to think about that, even as he watched his wife help Thymos raise his spoon with a thin, emaciated arm. Some of the soup missed his lips, to go dribble down the scraggy fur of his chest. With experienced patience, Unathi carefully placed the spoon in its bowl and picked up the napkin, though not before making sure nothing had splashed onto the crutches, resting against the table.

There were promising signs, Darkhoof told himself. Thymos’ horns were beginning to show. Yet they’d started growing two years too late, and still weren’t half as large as they should be on a fourteen-year-old boy...

“Sand Plague, eh,” Discord said thoughtfully. “Disease is one enemy no warrior can fight.”

Darkhoof closed his eyes. “But it’s a war we won, in the end,” he said forlornly. “And despite my loss, I was able to save one life from the throes of death.”

He heard more than saw Discord smile. “See, I knew Fluttershy would like you.”

“She’s a good mare,” Unathi’s voice said tersely. He reopened his eyes in time to see her throw the napkin on the table. “And that isn’t something to be wasted.”

“Isn’t there…” Darkhoof began. He swallowed. “You’re skilled in reworking the world, Lord Discord. Isn’t there something… you could do for him?”

Discord lowered his chalice, looking at Thymos. He rested his chin upon his paw. His expression had gone unusually serious.

“I know she’d want me to,” Discord said quietly, gesturing at Fluttershy. “But my magic is tied to me. Some things I can create, like the Everfree Forest, which start out tiny, only to grow over time, in ways even I can’t predict… Most things I do, however, need my presence to keep going. If I worked my magic on your son, he’d have to be bound to me forever. Or else the spell would fade. Besides… I promised her, no more tampering with minds.”

“You’re right,” said Darkhoof, while Unathi fed Thymos another spoonful. “That is a sacrifice I cannot make.”

“Healing is not Lord Discord’s speciality, Darkhoof,” Unathi commented. “His talents lie elsewhere.”

Before he could reply, there was a yelp and a thump. Though it hadn’t been so loud, it made Thymos drop his spoon. He moaned, and Unathi had to comfort him.

What had happened was Fluttershy had fallen off her chaise-longue.

“Discord…” she panted. “Luna… in a dream… She said… need you back in Equestria.”

The Chaos Lord sighed. “Seriously?”

“She said it was life or death,” Fluttershy wheezed, looking up at him. “Discord… please.”

“Oh, fine,” Discord muttered. “No rest for the wicked, huh? Well. Fluttershy, think it’ll be okay if I leave you here?”

Fluttershy gazed at Darkhoof and his family. Unathi had finished comforting Thymos, and Darkhoof was quietly observing, curious to see where this went next.

“I’ll be alright.”

“Good.” Discord took a final sip from his chalice. “Philip, keep her safe for me, will you?”

“You have my word.” Darkhoof frowned. “But, for someone who came to my house requesting space to recuperate in, you seem hale enough to take leave and travel, Discord.”

“Eh,” Discord grinned. “Guess that’s just how good the air is in the Tauren Isles! I’m sure that once Sunbutt’s done with me, I’m gonna need it all over again. Poor little me.”

And, as usual, he snapped into thin air.





~ Canterlot, Equestria ~

When Discord appeared in the half-finished throne room, manifesting in the air with his trademark ostentatious flash of light, he only briefly glanced Galatea. Unlike Celestia and Luna, who were seated up on the dais as usual – the two thrones had finally arrived, thank goodness – she stood to the side, where one might have mistaken her for a sculpture.

“Oh, hello there,” Discord said. “Did those slow-pokes finally finish the renovations? Fancy the new throne room, Celly.”

Celestia herself glanced towards Galatea, who merely peered through narrowed eyes at Discord. Her expression was that of the plain and unassuming worker in the throne room, yet Celestia had experience with people concealing their feelings. Looking out for ‘tells’ as she was now, she hypothesised that Galatea hid repulsion, not for Discord’s bizarre appearance, but something which offended her on a deeper level.

“Greetings, Discord,” Celestia said. “We require your help with a delicate matter.”

“‘We’?” Discord asked, looking between Celestia and Luna with a slow smile. “Whatever for? In case you hadn’t noticed, I was on vacation, Celestia.”

Indeed, he’d showed up not just as himself, but wearing a peculiar assortment consisting of a most gaudy flower-patterned shirt, cap and sunglasses. Celestia wondered if he’d been wearing these before leaving, or changed along the way.

“Well, now,” Discord said casually, taking note of Galatea. “Who’s the statue?”

Galatea blinked first. Yet she only blinked once. She was still staring at him with what amounted to barely-concealed dislike.

“Yeah, that threw you off, didn’t it?” Discord smirked at them. “I know, I know. The irony. Me, Lord Discord, asking that question. I’ve had some experience with being a statue.” The mirth left his face. “Can’t say I enjoyed it much. So, are you going to tell me, Celly, where you got the golem from? You didn’t happen to have an other sister lying about, did you?”

“This may sound crazy, even to you, Discord,” Celestia said softly, while Luna scowled, “except it turns out that I did… That we did.”

“Wait, really?” Discord said, in mild surprise.

Momentarily, the Lord of Chaos said and did nothing, merely continued to hover where he was. His usual quick-wittedness seemed conspicuously absent. But it did not desert him for long.

Before Celestia knew it, there was that flash, and the throne room had converted into an expansive theatre-like space, with a stage upon which she and the two other alicorns abruptly found themselves sitting on chairs, blinded by overhead strobelights that barely let her make out the rows full of seats beyond the stage.

She was bewildered to see Discord with his back turned to them, standing before a podium while he addressed an unseen audience, now smartly dressed in a tuxedo.

“And the winner for best screenplay goes to…” Discord began dramatically, summoning an envelope and tearing it open. “Why, what a surprise!” he said, as he unfolded the note inside. “Princess Celestia! She gets all the awards!”

He turned to her while applause rose from what reminded Celestia of the Public Assembly at the Hall of Unity.

“Ahh, it’s as I’ve been saying for years,” Discord sighed, pulling up a gold figurine. “These awards ceremonies have longed ceased to carry any meaning.”

Celestia placidly ignored him, just waiting for this to run its course.

“Discord!” Luna snapped, leaping off her chair. “Concentrate!”

“What else do you think I’m doing?” Discord asked haughtily. “This is my way of processing. You’re meant to be the dreamweaver, aren’t you aware of how people gather their thoughts?”

“As interesting as this had been,” Galatea said, rising from her chair, the sights and sounds of Discord’s construct appearing to wash right off her, “I’d like to get back to business.”

“Ooh. Goal-orientated, are we?” purred Discord. “You remind me of Twilight Sparkle.”

Nevertheless, the Lord of Chaos must have felt intrigued by Galatea, because he needed no further persuasion to lift his claw and snap.

The throne room reverted to as it was before, halfway through renovations, and everyone had resumed their previous places, including Discord in the air, back to wearing his tourist getup.

“Now,” said Discord. “I’m guessing you called me here for a reason? Most people don’t call on me for the pleasure of my company, you know.”

“I’ll get to the point,” Celestia said. “We need you to breach the barriers of this world and to reach another.

“You shall provide the raw energy,” Galatea cut in. “I’ll grant direction.”

“Ooh, breaking things, how fun!” Discord said. “And quantum-hopping… I did it before, a long time ago. Ahh, I was a different beast then,” he sighed, with insincere theatricality. “I just have three different questions.”

He turned on the spot, holding up his lion’s paw.

“Where?” A digit went up. “Why?” A second digit went up. “And who are you? Are you gonna tell me that, or do I need to keep up with some droll nickname?”

Peering over his sunglasses, Discord pointed at Galatea, whose eyes narrowed still further.

“Mine name is of no matter to you,” the grey alicorn said darkly. “And you can call me whatever puerile sobriquet you pick. You are, after all, what I believe modern parlance calls a ‘smartarse’.”

Celestia and Luna exchanged questioning looks. This was a rather different attitude than expected from this newcomer.

“I know mine true name, and names have power.” Galatea finished. “Now will you help us or not?”

“I could, sure,” Discord retorted. “But you see, I don’t know you, which is pretty surprising, given that you’re an alicorn and I’m usually very good at knowing when beings like you are flittering about. Noisy beings, you are.”

Galatea gave a humourless smile. “Then I am grateful to stymie you, creature.”

Discord grinned, before disappearing and reappearing right in front of her, floating at eye level whilst lying prone, as though on a bed. He lay his chin on his hands and smiled at her, tapping her goggles.

“Why should I help you, Missy? What do I get?”

“It was mine impression you’d promised to aid Celestia in times of need.”

“That would be the big, fluffy white one,” Discord emphasised. He extended an arm to unnatural lengths, tapping Galatea’s goggles. “You’re not fluffy enough.”

“She isn’t me, no,” Celestia put in. “But I am asking you, Discord. Please.”

“I want an answer to my question,” Discord said, not looking at Celestia. “Why? I’m not one of your golden-armoured shinies, Celestia. I don’t jump when you ask how high. I want to know how bad that snake oil you’re peddling is.”

“Do you think you’re in a place to demand anything from us?” Luna asked, snorting indignantly.

“I’m the one you need help from,” Discord retorted. “So, yes.”

There was a pause, and then Galatea started chuckling. Luna looked at Celestia, who held up a wing to forestall any further comment.

“Shall I tell you something, Discord?” Galatea asked, once her chuckle had abated. “When I witnessed your age of discontent, and still chose not to reveal mineself, placing mine faith in Celestia and Luna… It made feel as I have only felt perhaps once…” She momentarily slowed. “No, twice before in mine life. Aware that I could do so much, and yet, truly, utterly impotent. You wouldn’t know what it’s like, would you?”

“Nope, can’t say that I do,” Discord said, resting his arms behind his head. “Oh, I’ve had those flashes of panic, when the Elements were used against me,” he said airily, his eyes closed. “I’m beast enough to admit that. And it’s a drag, spending centuries turned to stone, just waiting for your moment to come again… But having no power at all? Nah.”

“Strangely,” Galatea said, with a look of guile, “I find myself pitying you all the more for it. Because deep down, you’ve felt dissatisfied all your life, haven’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Discord asked. He actually sounded dumbfounded.

“You have so much power, so much talent,” Galatea said, a malicious twinkle in her eyes. “So much control over things, despite your penchant for randomness. It all comes so easily to you. Look at what you did just now,” she commented, nodding at the half-renovated throne room. “With but a snap, converting this room into a wholly different layout and back. You don’t need to learn how things are put together, because anything can be changed on your whim.”

He tipped the brim of his cap. “So what if I do?”

Galatea leant forward. “Because yet you get bored easily. You desperately, desperately seek gratification where you can find it, yet you hate losing. You don’t go looking for a challenge, only the ways to show off how you run rings around people. It’s a competitive game you like to play, but never one someone else can win, isn’t it? You just said breaking things is fun.” 

Discord flashed to behind Celestia. “I need an adult,” he whimpered, perhaps only half-jokingly, while Luna rolled her eyes, evidently chafing at keeping quiet.

“Take another look at the work around here,” Galatea said decisively. “What does it look like?”

Judging by his curious stare, Discord must have deliberately held back any witticism he had, in order to take a chance on where the grey alicorn was going with this.

“Frankly, my dear,” Discord said before long, “the place looks a mess.”

Galatea smiled thinly. “That’s right,” she said. “A mess. When you don’t have the skill to instantly change things, nothing’s so neat as to go from one state to another… Physics, you know.”

“And your point being?”

“Nothing,” Galatea said calmly. “I’d just have thought a Chaos Lord would have an appreciation for the organised chaos that is labour.” She sighed wistfully. “The neatness of getting everything you want with a snap… I believed it’d come to feel rather dull.”

She paused, allowing the words to seep into the silence.

“How would it feel,” Galatea finished, “to use what your powers to be helpful for a change?”

Celestia saw Discord’s eyes dart around the throne room. Almost on reflex, it seemed, he prepared to raised his claw to snap. But then he broke into a devious grin.

“Well, aren’t you a wily one,” said Discord. “Using what I must say I personally call some rather spurious logic to twist your argument around… I could be proud! Now. What’s your offer?”

Galatea took a deep breath.

“There is another world we must reach, one… occupied, by a corrupted Celestia,” Galatea told him. “And we must confront her, lend our aid to those fighting her. It will be… dangerous” She paused. “Will you lend us the power we need to reach that world?”

Discord chuckled. “Another world, you say? Oh, I do like this. What infinite possibilties the multiverse holds, indeed! And in return, I’d get a go at the ‘evil’ Celestia?”

Galatea hesitated but a moment. “Yes.”

The Chaos Lord let out a long, evil-sounding cackle. He bowed.

“You have a deal.”

“We will meet you tomorrow morning, Discord,” Celestia said quietly. His gleeful reaction had come as no surprise, but it still brought her no pleasure. “We shall begin then.”

“Whatever you say, Celly,” Discord said. “Wait till I tell Fluttershy.” He disappeared in another flash of light.

Galatea sighed, her elbows sagging. “That was… tense.”

“Where did you learn to do that?” Luna asked.

“Do what?”

“Put up that act of yours,” Luna continued. “Where did that come from?”

Galatea waved a dismissive hoof. “When I attended university, I took an elective course on drama. It is quite useful, mind you.”

Luna raised an eyebrow. Celestia suppressed a laugh. And Galatea, for her part, merely tilted her head. “It’s a long story.”

“Acting– well, you could have been more diplomatic with him,” Luna chastised her. “We did need his help, much as it rankles me to say it.”

“And we have procured it,” Galatea countered.

Celestia stepped between the two of them, a gentle smile on her face, her wings raised to forestall further conflict.

“Both of you, please,” she said. “Remember we are sisters.”

There was a short pause, and then Galatea let out another sigh, looking at Luna. “Mine apologies, Luna. Discord’s reign was a troubling time for me, as well. I did not wish to make light of that period, no.”

Luna nodded stiffly. “Accepted. Though, I still–”

“Luna,” Celestia said, clearing her throat.

Her sister rolled her eyes. Celestia didn’t pull her up on it. She was looking at both the alicorns she called sisters, now.

“In a week’s time,” Celestia told them, lowering her wings, “the Concordia’s representatives will gather from around the world at the Hall of Unity. I have a duty to tell them I intend to aid the human race, and that if I do, we must be prepared for consequences to the whole of Equus. Many shall protest. Many would sooner close their eyes. And some will hate us for it, feeling that, in our gesture of help, we are bringing doom upon them. This shall likely be the most dangerous undertaking in all our years.”

“That much,” Galatea said quietly, her expression resigned, “is true. If you will excuse me.”

She turned and trotted out of the throne room, shifting into an earthpony as she did so. Luna and Celestia were left alone.

“Seriously,” Luna said after a moment. “I do not like her.”

“Oh, my, what a twist, Luna.”

“You’re not helping, Tia. Especially when you sound like one of Discord’s stupid quips.”

“Come now, I thought you of all people might like her acting. Perhaps she knows a thing or two about theatre.”

Luna sighed. “I suppose,” Luna retorted. “Maybe you ought to ask her for advice there. And would that not be further reason not to trust her, what with all the… theatrics?”

Celestia could only let out a short, melodious chuckle at that, even as Luna harrumphed. “Oh, I’ve seen her backstage,” she said, putting a wing over her sister, “with neither a pair of wings, nor a horn. And believe me, Luna, if she wanted to do harm, as I stood alone, she would have done it right then and there.”

“Do you think so, Tia?” Luna asked tenderly. “And might we actually… perhaps we ought to ask Grandfather first, for good measure.”

“Alright, Luna,” said Celestia, smiling. “We shall. Take comfort in that, Sister. Even as others come to the Convocation, we’ll still have family.”





~ South ~ The Throne Room of the Ebony Hive, The Badlands ~ By the Equestrian Calendar, Third Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae ~

Queen Chrysalis sat back on her throne, fuming.

It felt strange, for one who enjoyed the small luxuries of being sovereign in the wastes of the Badlands, but at her lost moments, her throne was the safest, most comfortable retreat. It was the wellspring of half her power in this forsaken place, her birthright as Queen of the Hive, the shield which kept at bay the Equestrians and other magic-bearing trespassers. Here, in the Ebony Hive, the power belonged to Chrysalis, and no other.

Which was why she hated to be reminded she wasn’t the only Hive Queen in the world.

Alright, at special times of the year, she paid tribute to the First Mother, same as all those wretches who scraped an existence on this miserable world. And she’d have to go through the tedious process of publically giving a piece of her own chitin, same as the other Queens, to the great statue of the First Mother. And bow before it, same as the others. Symbolic, in theory, of how all were equal in the face of change.

She’d made it her life’s work to prove this wrong. Years of clambering her way to the summit were a testament to that. Starting when she’d clawed and bit at each of her sisters in the clutch of matriarch-born grubs who were one day to produce a Queen. Later, by using every trick to make her so-called fellow queens understand Chrysalis kow-towed to none.

Canterlot should have been the pinnacle, the crown jewel. It had turned into anything but.

And now she’d been forced to accept two unwelcome visitors into her own home. Well, if that was how it was, let them come here, into her inner sanctum. Although the power of the Throne, drawn from her special bond with all Changelings in her thrall, held no sway over either a warrior of the Red Hive, or even a lesser queen of the Harlequin Hive, Chrysalis knew other means to assert herself.

Thus, they approached her throne, the petite Harlequin Queen riding the great Red Warrior.

“Ebony Queen,” the warrior greeted.

Her twin horns, fiery mane and wingless carapace, built upon such a massive bulk, said it all. After her last conquest, Chrysalis had come to appreciate the advantages of such features; the Red Queen’s broodlings had served her well. This one didn’t look very servile, however.

“It is…” said the Red Warrior, “most interesting to make acquaintance with you. My matriarch sends regards for your… victory against the equines.”

While the words were pleasing, Chrysalis still suppressed a shudder. She’d never liked how these Red Hivers communicated, a trilling sound which was more felt than heard. Just a little too alike to the bug pests she ardently wished to make Changelings transcend one day.

Still, the words did please. They meant the Red Queen’s loyalty remained assured, for now. Now, to find out more about this new Harlequin Queen…

“You bring me fair homage, warrior,” Chrysalis said, putting on her most genial tone. “And may I ask that you return my thanks to the Red Queen. While I fell back from Canterlot without all its riches, victory was indeed mine that day, for the Sun Princess was struck down by my power. And that will forever be a stain on her legacy! Celestia is not invulnerable. It’s merely a matter of time until the Hives return, with my Ebony Hive leading the front.”

“Forget not our purpose here, Ebony Queen,” the warrior said with a slight growl, “my matriarch knows this, and expresses confusion regarding how close victory was. The Amberites are already calling for your Hive’s failure to be accounted for, and there is growing doubt.”

“Mandible, that’s enough.”

A youthful voice spoke, smelling sweet and fresh.

“Queen Chrysalis’ Hive isn’t the only Hive to run into failure, these past few seasons. The Amberites always call for something, even when full victory occurs.”

Atop the warrior rose the other visitor, the young queen. Chrysalis could see how underdeveloped this successor stood, probably hadn’t even finished the third molting yet. She, of course, fit the mold of the Harlequin Hive – diamond marks and patterns among a green-tinted chitin. Wings as well, probably. Her mane and tail were long as an adult’s, though still held specks of grey in them.

“I apologise for the words given by my steed and escort, Ebony Queen,” the young queen said softly, “my mother gives sympathies for your losses and recent defeat. She had hopes Canterlot would’ve proven grand as a new resource for the Nine Hives.”

‘I don’t need your sympathy, or your mother’s, you wet-behind-the-ears grub,’ Chrysalis thought to herself, keeping the sourness off her face with effort.

Yet this was force of habit. In truth, she’d expected a turnaround from the proud warrior, and prepared herself to deal with it. This opening of the new queen, the unknown player, was an interesting development. Unless the new Queen of the Harlequins was putting on a facade – and given they were all Changelings here, the possibility wasn’t to be discarded – a willingness to pacify shone through. That was good.

So Chrysalis chose to tread lightly. At least to begin with.

“Welcome, young queen. And speak not of defeat,” she said amiably, laying her forehooves upon the armrests of her throne. “To think of defeat is to invite it. Let me give you the following wisdom. This is no defeat, only setback.” She paused. “I believe we have not been introduced, young one. What is your name?”

The young queen took a moment to compose herself, another weakness.

“I am Papillate of the Harlequin Hive,” she introduced herself, bowing, “representing my mother at this time, under her request. She believed this would be a trial for my future.”

A most polite little grub.

Before, Chrysalis had planned to show up this new queen, but she hadn’t thought Papillate would be so eager for cordiality. It gave her an idea. Although she had acquired a bad reputation over the years, and rightfully so – why not show some cordiality herself, when it was for such a pleasant guest?

“Your stance on the Amberites does not go unnoticed,” Chrysalis commented. “But we’ll get to them when the time comes. First, how about a little drinkie?”

The young queen nodded. “Please.”

“Very well,” Chrysalis smiled. “I have a selection.” She clapped her forehooves, an unnecessary gesture to summon her drones, but an ostentatious one. “Which of these would you prefer? Fresh water from the spring? Cactus juice? Or… how about some lemonade?”

Papillate blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry? I… don’t think I’m familiar with that last drink.”

“Yes, yes...” Chrysalis said, as a serving-drone entered with a tray bearing three glasses of the stuff. “You will find that, while Canterlot didn’t yield all the love it had to offer, my Hive and I did not return empty-hoofed from our raid. This, dearie, is refreshement as only Equestria can offer. You should try it.”

Without further prompt, her drone placed itself, with its tray of lemonade, before Papillate’s bewildered eyes.

Papillate looked to Mandible, but the warrior stood impassively. She turned to stare at the yellow liquid. Beneath her mane – were her horns undeveloped as well? – a light shone as a glass rose to her mouth. After hesitating, the young queen sampled its contents.

“It’s… sweet. Like honey’s nectar.” Papillate noted, sounding surprised at the taste. “The equines are hoarding this?”

“This, and much more,” Chrysalis said, affecting sadness.

With a flick of her horn, she levitated her own glass of lemonade towards her forehoof, and took a sip. She was beginning, slowly, to feel at ease, though the Red Warrior, Mandible, had not touched a drop of the lemonade. Sighing, she slouched back into her throne.

“The equines talk of sharing, but they do not share with the likes of us,” she said. “Now say, Papillate. Once your delight at this nectar’s sweetness wears off, you may think I’ve only been grabbing the sprinkles. Perhaps you’d be right. Perhaps the Amberites have good reason to say more could be done.”

She paused to let the words sink in.

“Yet see also how my Ebony Hive followed me as one, into Canterlot. How we shared our victory while we had it, how we all met our setback as a single hive, bound by royal jelly. In our ups and our downs, the Ebony Hive and its Queen are one. Where were the Amberites, then, if they desire these treats as much as we do? Did a single one dare to move out, grab what they could, even as their decaying hives turn to sand?”

The younger queen stayed silent, a thoughtful look in her dually-pupiled eyes, until–

“Ex-excuse me, Ebony Queen. I believe I’ve forgotten something,” she suddenly said, setting the glass back on the tray and standing straight. “My half of the exchange, it seems.”

Just as hoped. Feeling a tingle of excitement, Chrysalis grinned, drawing herself up.

“Good,” she whispered. “Then come to me... Step boldly, I won’t bite.”

Papillate approached slowly, eyes now closed, as if in mute prayer. She stopped before Chrysalis and slowly reopened them, to look deep into Chrysalis’s own. Her long mane parted to reveal a sharp, diamond-shaped stub of a horn that had yet to fully mature. Magic was beginning to collect onto its tip.

Chrysalis knew what she was expected to do. Yet it was crucial to make the younger queen comprehend that, even if she followed procedure, Papillate wasn’t her equal in this.

Ceremoniously, Chrysalis’ horn alit, and with a nod, she touched it against Papillate’s. The flux of both queens’ magic caught in a nexus. The spark of one began to flow into the other. Feeling, memory, thought, like the motes of pollen in a wildflower, all brushed another and mingled together in snatches of light within Chrysalis’ mind, just like in Papillate’s.

For a minute, they held, mentally joined as each quietly gazed into the other’s eyes. But Chrysalis required something more, befitting her status as Queen of Queens. Subtly, she raised her right forehoof to stroke Papillate’s cheek. Though Papillate made no reply, she understood. Reaching out to take hold of Chrysalis’ forehoof, she brought it to her lips and leant forward to formally kiss it.

It was the opening Chrysalis had been waiting for.

Her other forehoof shot out to grab the younger queen by the scruff of her neck. With Papillate’s lips still pressed on her forehoof, the younger queen’s cry was muffled out. Chrysalis paid her no heed. Applying just enough force to grip upon Papillate’s neck, she brought the younger queen’s head to a level below her chin, careful not to sever the electric connection between their horns, though they no longer touched.

Licking her own lips, Chrysalis opened her mouth wide, above Papillate’s exposed horn. Her forked tongue darted out to touch the sparking tip. It crackled and frazzled, and the two-way flow of magic ceased, but the flow itself did not. Chrysalis closed her eyes contentedly as she drank the essence of Papillate, a stream of emotion redirected into her expectant jaws. She kept it up, even as her lungs began to protest, telling her she had to stop, take a breath, lest she choke – the delicacy pouring from the struggling younger queen was too delightful! Chrysalis held her down, minute by minute, until she thought she would burst.

Eventually, however, her appetite was satiated. Almost.

Reluctantly, Chrysalis eased her grip on Papillate, gingerly reopening the gap between them. Released from the Ebony Queen’s grip, Papillate gawked up at her, but she got to say nothing as Chrysalis planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Delicious,” she breathed. “A fine first offering, my dear young one.”

“I–” The young queen tried to speak, her eyes wide with shock, “I’m… I’m glad you like it, Ebony Queen?”

“Oh, very much,” Queen Chrysalis said sweetly, ignoring the stoic warrior she knew hovered in the background. She trailed her forehoof down Papillate’s chitinous back. “You don’t mind if I keep you in my lap just a moment longer, do you?”

“U-uh…”

“I believe that’s enough for now.” Mandible spoke up, getting in between the two, “she’s still young, Ebony Queen. I think her mother would appreciate it if you would give her reprieve from being a meal.” Single-coloured eyes glared into Chrysalis, almost challenging her. “You wouldn’t want to overstep yourself and suffer, would you?”

Though it didn’t make her happy to think, Chrysalis had to recognise the warrior had a point. Still, she wasn’t about to openly admit it.

“Why must you Red Warrior types always be so uptight? You’re no fun,” she pouted, blowing out her cheeks. “Besides, you do me and the young one both a disservice. Little Papillate here is no meal. Think of this as her… education.”

She smiled at the still startled-looking younger queen.

“But, duty is as duty does, I suppose,” Chrysalis sighed wistfully. “Alright, Papillate, my dear,  hop along now. There’ll be plenty of chances to resume this. That is, of course, if you really want to.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it, Ebony Queen,” Papillate said with uncertainty, lifting herself from Chrysalis’ lap to turn around, and lower her forehooves to the floor.

So overwhelmed was the younger queen, she didn’t realise she had committed the double faux pas of turning her back upon royalty – a breach of protocol, even from a fellow royal – and compounded it by giving said royal a rather scandalous eyeful of her lower body.

Chrysalis, however, was not complaining.

“I know you will,” she said teasingly, leaning over to pat Papillate’s upraised rump. Twice.

The younger queen gasped, blushing furiously as, pulling in her hindlegs, she clattered upon the floor, a second too late to escape Chrysalis’ prying. Mandible had watched the whole occurrence with her usual placid silence, but the look on her face made plain what she thought of it.

What came next came without warning, however. Just when she believed she’d got her fill of Papillate, an unprecedented wave of energy burst from the younger queen. One moment everything was normal, and the next, they were overwhelmed.

Chrysalis felt connected, she felt connected beyond the usual means between a Queen and her broodlings. She was above and beyond, she transcended the heavens themselves. A mighty and stunning sensation that held her without clear equal!

… She… she felt…

She was left panting from the experience, she wanted more and all she knew was a clear pull towards the source...

Papillate, brought to lie on her stomach, looked up, but someone else spoke first.

“What was that? Weird,” Mandible said blandly, stepping forward. Of the three, only she looked completely unaffected. “It felt familiar yet ancient, like a call of some kind...”

“A Queen, maybe?” Papillate supplied, struggling to get up, with a flash of inspiration gracing her eyes, “could it be the First Mother has returned to us?”

Having finished rubbing her head, Chrysalis, too, righted herself, still on her throne. She contemplated Papillate. Things just kept getting more interesting with her around...

“What an astute little thing you are,” she said fondly. “But, take it from an old expert… well, heh-heh, maybe I’m not so ‘old’, but that’s beside the point. Alright, take it from someone who’s been at this game of subterfuge for a long time. Seeing is believing. So we won’t know until we check it out.”

“We should go, then.” Papillate said with determination. “I can still taste it. I can sense where it came from. Whatever this is, it must be important.”

Mandible frowned at this, “Young queen, we should return and inform the other Hives first. Your mother…”

“Mother can wait,” Papillate interrupted firmly, sidling up to Chrysalis, “and even then, she would applaud me taking the initiative as it is.”

The proud smirk Chrysalis wore was positively devious. Just as the Changeling Queen of Queens ought to be.



* * * * *



“... And so, with the village’s cheer restored, Princess Ladybug returned to her realm with her head held high, and warmth in her heart just as she had given to her newfound friends...”

The book was closed, with hooves gentle as they could be.

“... The End.”

Still with bated breath, leaning against the walls of his nook, Thorax beheld the book with awestruck eyes. The Tale of Princess Sunrise Ladybug, the title read, by Sunny Skies. Upon it was an illustration in the water-colour likeness of a pegasus princess, pink as the loveliest of roses, drawn with grace and tender care from her elegant, feathered wings to her sunny cheer.

“Wow...” was all the Changeling drone could muster, running a hoof over the well-worn cover. He’d been told it used to be a foal’s. It didn’t matter to him where it had come from. It was well-loved, from what he could sense. A quick whiff of its love-scent told him much – traces of lovely, fragrant jasmine.

Here in his nook, leaves covering the entrance and shielding him from the Hive outside, Thorax held the book close to his chest, scenes from within dancing behind his eyes.

Princess Sunrise Ladybug, a wealthy and flighty soul, finding herself drawn to a faraway village by a twist of fate. A friendship formed between her and a humble little filly named Flake. Then came the villagers’ plight, for an evil sorceress had come to take their joy away. And finally, how the lessons in humility Flake had taught Princess Ladybug became the key in her triumph.

Ah, what a tale it had been.

Heart fluttering a little, Thorax opened the book again, to one page which had caught his eye. Again, there was Princess Ladybug, in a water-colour that covered a whole page, as she entered Flake’s village, facing dead ahead so her courageous, slightly narrowed, yet benign eyes seemed to stare at the reader. Below her regal muzzle, the Princess’s lips formed a firm line, defiant.

The Princess from the storybook actually reminded Thorax a little, perhaps due to her looks, of the alicorn Princess who was supposed to get married when Queen Chrysalis had decided to crash the Royal Wedding and invade Canterlot.

Thorax couldn’t help wincing at the memory. He hadn’t been part of the operation to move Princess Cadance into the caverns beneath Canterlot, naturally, but Pharynx had told him about it, in rather gleeful detail. True, his brother had been pleased that Cadance put up a fight. Yet Thorax could only feel sorry for her. Dragged away from her own wedding, when she’d come so close to thwarting the Queen’s plan by spotting that her “wedding photographer” wasn’t who they claimed to be. This had forced Chrysalis to improvise, issuing a vague threat against Canterlot to throw Celestia off from noticing Cadance had already been replaced.

In his heart, Thorax felt glad Cadance had got away. Even if it had meant the Hive going hungry for another three months.

This storybook, though, and the fairy-tale Princess inside, were something different… 

Gingerly placing the open book on the ground, Thorax lay down to contemplate the page-filling picture of Princess Ladybug. Despite the love-scent of jasmine that hung over the paper, here was little love left for him to actually feed on, and yet still he came back to this book. The most curious sensation took hold of him whenever he did. As if he felt hungry, but in a pleasant way. Like just looking at the book caused the scent to renew.

He knew he’d been dreaming lately, with the pink pegasus Princess’s face a frequent visitor to his dreams.

A forehoof gently stroked her image as Thorax felt himself imagine that he wasn’t stroking the creamy paper, an admittedly nice feeling in itself, but running his forehoof through the Princess’s lustrously rose mane. On the page, Ladybug’s eyes remained the same as ever. Not fearful or rejecting, simply the eyes of a lovely Princess. As so often before, Thorax wondered what it was to be a Princess or Prince of Equestria, like the happy couple from Canterlot, living in a world of blossoming colour so different from this dank and drab Hive.

His gaze moved away from the Princess’s own to fall upon the firm line of her lips. The scent of jasmine grew stronger than ever, making him sigh.

Following the motions of his dreams, Thorax let his eyes close as, slowly, he pressed his lips to the page, imagining it wasn’t paper they touched, only the pretty pink pair of his Princess… 

“What are you doing?” growled a voice.

Eyes shooting open, Thorax pulled away with a sputter.

“P-Pharynx! I– you’re back early!”

There he was, head poking through past the leaves that covered the nook, frowning – Thorax’s big brother in all of his grumpy glory.

Pharynx’s glare moved from Thorax, to his book, then back at him.

“Yeah. So what?” Pharynx answered, with a huff. “Quit day-dreaming, grub. The Queen needs us. We’re leaving.”

“But–”

“We’re leaving right now.”

And before Thorax could protest, he was yelping when Pharynx bit into his tail and yanked him out of his nook. He fell into a heap, rubbing his head.

To his horror, he saw that Pharynx had let go of him only long enough to pick up the storybook, between sharp jaws, and to toss it down one of the Hive’s many holes in the ground, scattering  pages everywhere.

“Pharynx, my book!” Thorax whimpered. 

“Quiet,” Pharynx said, biting back down. “Aphid’ll ge‘ou a’udder one,” he said, speaking through a mouthful of wispy tail-hair. “C’mon.”

What else could Thorax do, after a weak scrabble, but slump and let it happen, reaching out despondently as a backward-walking Pharynx dragged him through the dirt and away from the precious little corner that was his private place.





~ Ponyville, Equestria ~

“C’mon, Bonbon,” Lyra said, laying down her book. “You can go to sleep.”

“Nuh-uh.” Her girlfriend shook her head. “Think I’ve forgotten how you were after the Wedding Invasion? And this could be twenty times worse! No way I’m gonna be asleep before you. Somepony’s got to keep an eye open.”

“It’s already been the longest day ever,” said Lyra. “And here you’re talking of keeping an eye open. Has it gotta be you?”

“Yes,” said Bonbon. She hopped onto Lyra’s bed, ignoring the camp-bed Sutra had set up. “Lyra, I don’t think you realise how much I look out for you.” She indicated the book. “Think I haven’t sussed your game? You’re reading cos’ you don’t wanna fall asleep. Probably don’t even realise that’s what you’re doing.”

Lyra grinned wistfully. “Actually… you’re wrong.”

“Really?” Bonbon blinked. “I know you. You’re hiding it, but inside, you’re still fussing about that lost locket.”

“Yeah…” Lyra sighed. Then she turned the book over. “And it’s going to fuss me for a while. But what’s in here… it takes my mind off it. Long-lost things, coming back.”

Bonbon recognised the page. It was Lyra’s old favourite, the sketch of a pearl ‘human’ buried on the beach.

“What do you mean?”

Trailing her hoof over the sketch, her ears upright, Lyra was quiet. She checked the two nearby beds. Despite the conversation, Sparkler and Zecora were both sleeping.

“Bonnie,” Lyra said. “I know you’re not gonna like this. Yet I feel it’s something I must do… That human, the female in the picture. She’s got something to do with us, I know it. Alex knows it, too. I saw it in his eyes. Things are gonna move real fast now, and I don’t wanna be left behind. Waggoner’s expedition was onto something, searching for Dream Valley. I’d love to see Earth, where Alex comes from, but…” She sighed deeply. “I doubt it’d be a good idea. Not right away. No, I want to look elsewhere.”