Spectrum

by Sledge115

Act I ~ Chapter Thirteen ~ Concordia Maxima

“You have done well to come,” said Elrond. “You will hear today all that you need in order to understand the purposes of the Enemy. There is naught that you can do, other than to resist, with hope or without it. But you do not stand alone.”
— The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien

“This is not the end. This is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”
— Winston Churchill

~ The Hall of Unity, Mount Metazoa ~ Tenth Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae ~

There was a slice of cake left. Two days old, it should still be edible.

While Galatea had persuaded the peculiar pink mare to strip down everything else for the modest ‘birthday party’ she’d ended up sharing with Celestia, Luna and Cadance, this was the one thing Miss Pie had been adamant about. You cannot have a birthday without a cake.

A soft mountain wind swept past the pillars, as she took the last slice from its package and peered at it. She’d eaten cake before. Not often, but she had. Sometimes she saved enough for all. Sometimes she’d been offered some.

It was a present, Miss Pie had said. For her. A rare chocolate from Southern Equestria.

Sitting on a bench, surrounded by the lovely lavender Luna had installed on the topmost spot of the Hall of Unity, Galatea reflectively took a nibble. It was delicious, sweet and perfectly moist.

A week on, Reiner’s locket remained lost – a victory for the infiltrator Redheart, for all that the night had ended in her capture. If the locket did lie at the bottom of the Everfree River, even the infiltrator’s own gem-tracker could not trace it through water. They had tried. Yet Madame Heartstrings, who’d taken it upon herself to find the locket that night – with far more courage than success – had still made herself useful.

This idea of hers to go North and find the evidence that, once, humans had walked this world, was too potent to ignore. Those waters which maps labeled only as ‘The Unknown’ were a place Galatea herself had scarcely ventured into, let alone documented.

If nothing else, in going there, perhaps there’d be more cake.

Celestia took another sip of her tea, contemplating Sint Erklass’ letter.

My dearest apologies, Celestia. I had an errand to take care of first. I’ve hastened my pace, but my arrival will be slightly delayed.

How is Luna faring? I look forward to seeing her.

With love as always,
~ Grandfather

The Reindeer would come. So too, after prolonged silence, it had been confirmed the griffons would attend the Convocation. Another letter said so, penned by the claw of the current Young Pretender – though Grizelda was just one claimant to the throne of Griffonstone. She simply benefitted from an aging, yet well-respected general’s support.

Celestia smiled fondly. Sint Erklass’ delay was a non-issue. With a summit to be held on a scale this grand, it’d be a minor miracle for all Twelve Families to arrive at the same time. The grace period she’d outlined, hopefully, would suffice.

Still, she drafted a reply, to reassure her once-caretaker his ‘tardiness’ was no offense. And she would be delighted to welcome him.

The filly sat alone. Her sister had left her there, in the nursery.

She waited, and waited. Her gaze fell upon the door. The one who would move the Moon, they called her, but she was too young to open a door by herself.

One by one, the toys moved of their own accord.

Or rather, by the will of the creature trapped beneath the mountain.

Twisted puppets, tangled in strings.

Moving closer.

Closer.

Memories of that night in Adlaborn had haunted Luna for the next hundred years. Puppets, possessed by a decrepit abomination, a perversion of the Reindeer’s prowess in artisanship. She’d hated puppets ever since. How they were unmoving, unless one tugged at their strings, a slave to their master’s will. How they resembled living things, but were never quite more than a mockery of flesh and blood.

And of course, the time she’d fallen towards the bitter darkness. A thousand years struggling in a prison of her own making, puppet to her rage and grief. Even now, after her freedom was won by the Bearers of Harmony, the image tugged at her mind.

Much like the being who claimed to be her other sister.

Luna knew her not, and the opposite was true. This Galatea knew nothing of her years of torment, yet Celestia had welcomed her all the same. She knew nothing of their stay with the Reindeer, of the obstacles in their ascension, nothing that a family should.

If her sister was a radiant Sun, then Galatea was an overcast sky, with dull colours to match. She lacked the warmth Celestia always seemed to emanate. Even the word ‘family’ held no meaning to her beyond a simple description. Nothing to suggest a bond in her heart. It was maddening.

The door swung open, and Luna was greeted by the sight of Celestia reclining upon one of her excessively large pillows, sipping a cup of tea. Luna’s nostrils picked up a smell of cooking – to the far corner of the room, a pan lay sizzling upon a little kitchenette. How like Celestia. She loved playing at being an ordinary pony, with ordinary habits. All the books she had written, under such colourful pseudonyms, attested to that as well.

Idly, Celestia was turning a familiar snowglobe over and over in her aura. A snowglobe containing the abomination who’d made puppets so hateful to the Princess of the Night. It was scheduled to be presented as a witness to the Convocation.

Luna gritted her teeth. With telekinesis, she cast her crown aside, where it landed beside Celestia’s own.

“Sister,” she greeted.

But Luna regretted the bile injected into those two syllables. Celestia looked disconcerted. She nearly stood up, then seemed to reconsider, as the snowglobe vanished back into her null-space.

“Good morning, Luna… Is something the matter?”

Luna nodded, yet stiffened, whatever rant she’d planned on dissipating.

“Ah...” Celestia said slowly. “Worried about Tiberius and Philomena? We did resettle rather hastily… Don’t worry, I’m sure Kibitz can take care of them just fine.”

With a strangled cry, Luna slumped onto the nearest pillow. Gazing at her in silence, Celestia took another sip of tea. Luna lay there, face down, for perhaps an hour. Or a minute. It couldn’t have taken Celestia long to wrap a wing around her shoulders.

Luna lifted her head, wordlessly accepting the fresh cup of tea her sister offered.

“‘Sister’,” Luna uttered woodenly. Celestia arched an eyebrow. “That is the problem. ‘Sister’.” She groaned. “What does it mean to you, Celestia? Being a sister. Having a sister.”

“A sister, you say?” Celestia replied, tapping her chin. “A sister means… company.”

“To read?” Luna said, on impulse.

“To play, and to read with,” Celestia agreed, a slight twinkle in her eyes. “And snowball fights, too, don’t you remember?”

“All too well,” Luna replied, a little smirk tugging at her lips. “I beat you then.”

“You didn’t,” Celestia snorted. “You had Ilsa helping you.”

“I most certainly did not!” Luna shot back. “Well, once or twice, but the point still stands in my favour!”

“Whatever you say,” Celestia replied serenely. Her expression turned wistful. “A sister means… someone to welcome you home.”

“And I will always be grateful for you, big sister,” Luna said earnestly. Celestia looked at her, with magenta eyes warm as the day the Element Bearers cast Luna’s thousand-year nightmare aside, before she returned her sister’s embrace.

Had anyone asked, Luna would have said she didn’t know how Celestia felt about discovering there was another alicorn, much less a secret sister. However, she could make an educated guess.

“Celestia,” Luna said, after a pause. “Would you say that to be a sister means more than blood?”

“Ah,” Celestia replied. Her expression remained steadily calm. “You speak of Galatea.”

“Yes,” Luna said shortly. 

“I see,” said Celestia. “Well… we’ve only known her a short while, including a party. You enjoyed that party, didn’t you?”

“I did. But Tia… we don’t know her. Not her past, not her goals… her relation to us. Sint, Ilsa, Anna... not once did they speak of her. Do you truly believe her to be of our kin?”

For a week, Luna had chafed to resist speaking ill of the enigmatic mare. Especially during Galatea’s party, which had been a quiet, yet happy occasion, where Luna couldn’t find it in herself to tarnish the atmosphere.

But if she did not speak to Celestia now, on the morn of this greatest of gatherings, she could hold her tongue for good.

“Our kin…” Celestia said, slowly turning the word over. “How do we define that, our kin? We who, in the first years of our life, were raised by a people apart from the old nations. Remember how before Starswirl, before Mistmane taught us, Sint told us he knew we were different from those ponies who’d come to visit. He wished for us to have a family, whereas most others would’ve reared us as ethereal pack-carriers, or as weapons of war.”

Luna nodded. “That much is true,” she agreed, but she kept her brows furrowed. “Yet Sint had no trouble treating us as his own, when he could so easily have given us over to be fostered...”

“Remember, little sister,” Celestia said gently. “Galatea was given no such foalhood.”

“Siblings would mean nothing to her,” Luna snorted, “were it not for our duties to the Sun and Moon. And, Tia, I doubt she has an ounce of self-determination within her…”

Her words trailed off. The memory of living dolls resurfaced.

Celestia understood all the same, as she usually did. “You don’t think of her as entirely… Awake.”

Luna nodded. “Yes,” she said coolly. “I would not be so surprised if she had… strings, leading her every move.” She let out another sigh. “The question is, who holds hers? What is it that sets her apart? I can’t even be sure!” Again, Luna planted her face into the pillow. “I don’t know, Tia. It’s all happening awfully fast.”

Celestia patted her with a wing. “Hm. Luna? Have you tried… entering her dreams?”

“Wards. Wards around her mind.” Luna’s muffled voice replied, before she raised her head again. “I should have expected it from an alicorn. Which, of course, does little to clear matters. You can blame her for that.”

She moved to take another sip of tea. To her chagrin, her cup was already empty.

“I know, Tia,” Luna said, spotting her sister’s inquisitive look. “I ought to show more respect for her privacy, a stranger who came asking our help. But she’s imperceptible. How do we know she is to be trusted? She knows us more than we know her.”

Celestia, much to Luna’s growing concern, remained quiet and contemplative. Perhaps she’d pressed the matter too far.

“Hm, I do wonder,” Celestia began. “How much of Galatea came from her nature, and how much came from whatever... upbringing she had?” There was the faintest hint of that mysterious smile. “Maybe we are more alike than it first seems.”

A whistling sound broke through Luna’s troubled mind. It originated from the little kitchenette.

“Oh,” Celestia suddenly said, flicking her ears. “I left the stove on. That’ll be the pancakes.”

Annoyingly enough, Celestia had changed the subject as easily as lifting a hoof. Luna could hardly suppress a groan against one of her sister’s many pillows. She did wonder how Celestia could possibly have brought so many pillows here, so quickly. Her own room was much tidier, by contrast, although she’d had to fit a telescope into hers.

These quarters at the Hall of Unity were smaller than their chambers in Canterlot, yet they were luxurious, with a view of the mountains. In fact, looking at what Celestia had converted into a personal lounge, Luna might have thought they’d never left Canterlot, were it not for the lack of fireplace or her sister’s rosewine selection.

“Dear, oh dear,” Celestia huffed, hurrying back from the kitchenette.  She’d slung on an apron, whilst in her telekinetic grasp she held a steaming pan. “Hope you don’t mind them crispy, Luna.”

The sole, varnished table in the room was packed to the brim with parchments. Celestia didn’t let that bother her, as her magic hauled two plates from a cupboard above the stove. Luna rapidly gathered that Tia meant for the two of them to eat lying down, plates on the floor. Of course. What else could those pillows have been for?

“Breakfast is served,” Celestia said sweetly. She swirled the pan, bringing forth a ladle to slide out the pancakes. “I’ve been practicing, you know.”

Luna grunted. “I’ve had my breakfast.”

“No, you haven’t,” her sister chided her. “Quick, Luna, before it gets cold. You really shouldn’t worry on an empty stomach.”

Seeing there was no can-do, Luna saw to her plate of pancake. Apricot. With the slices arranged into a nice smiley face. Hesitantly, Luna raised a slice, then bit into it. And actually, it did not taste bad at all, even if as Celestia had said, it had gone crisp.

“Thank you, Tia,” she said, a bit awkwardly. “I… see you’ve had plenty of practice. This is…” She let the taste and the word for it roll over her tongue. “Well-refined, if a little burnt, yes.”

Seeing Celestia had set down a bottle of syrup between them, she added some to her portion.

“I’m glad you noticed,” Celestia said affectionately. “And I think I understand. You worry of Galatea’s presence in your absence, Luna, and my safety.”

“Yes,” Luna said, quietly. “I… suppose I do.”

“I see,” Celestia replied. “I’ll admit, I’ve got my own reservations, but I’ll keep an eye out. But Galatea’s not the one who’ll be in the spotlight, this week. And how do you feel about this upcoming summit?”

Therein resided the question, Luna mused mid-chew.

The summit to come would bring people from all four corners of Equus, many indifferent, some hostile, most bearing ulterior motives. Where usually, Luna and Celestia ruled the skies, she now felt a great deal of uncertainty looming over them two.

She sighed, swallowing her pancake. “I am not sure. I’m not familiar with many of them, even from before… my banishment.”

“Hmm,” Celestia pondered, tapping her fork. “You worry of their conduct?”

“So many are foes to one another, and here we are expecting… nothing short of cooperation, between each and every one?”

Her sister said nothing at first. Her cup was empty, evidently enough, for she cast it aside on her empty plate. Luna, still quiet, still wearing a steely mask, quivered and moved closer to Celestia.

“I’m sorry,” said Luna. “It has been a while... But what about Chrysalis? Did she not unleash her forces upon Canterlot, impersonate Cadance while keeping her trapped in the mines?”

That too was a sore spot for Luna. Granted, she’d tried to play off her absence at the Royal Wedding lightly – and Celestia had known she needed her sleep – but she still cursed herself for her absence, especially when Cadance was involved...

“Not even Chrysalis would risk foul play when the eyes of the world are upon us all,” said Celestia, nuzzling Luna. “It’s you I worry for…”

“I know,” Luna replied softly, and she returned the nuzzle. “But I just…” She sighed. “I just want to make up for all those years, Tia, all those missing years with you. And by the stars above, I haven’t even met Grandfather yet, to tell him I am truly sorry.”

“You’re afraid he wouldn’t forgive you?”

“Yes, and… I cannot ask you to do it on my behalf.”

There was a smile from Celestia, and a knowing glance towards the door.

“You can tell him yourself, sister dear,” Celestia said with levity. “I was expecting plenty of company for breakfast today.”

Her golden aura opened the door.

There, in the doorway, stood a mighty stag. Standing even taller than Celestia, the great maroon Reindeer wore no ornaments or regalia, yet his presence carried the grace any ruler’s should. His appearance remained much the same as thousands of years ago.

As did the graceful, eternally young doe beside him – their old nanny, Ilsa. Or rather, the volunteer who carried Ilsa’s spirit within the shawl she wore. Her name was Lel, if Luna recalled.

Sint’s smile was warm and all-encompassing. And Luna, who’d hesitated before asking Celestia’s forgiveness after being freed from the Nightmare, hardly waited to go forth and pull him into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry, Grandfather…” she whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

That was all Luna could mutter, out of a thousand things which raced through her mind. She felt Sint return her embrace and Ilsa’s comforting forehoof on her shoulder.

“It’s alright, Luna,” Sint Erklass said kindly. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

She let him go, her eyes brimming with tears. But as she looked at them both, the Reindeer rulers of Adlaborn, she returned their smiles.

“I trust your trip treated you well?” said Celestia.

“Indeed it did, Celestia,” replied Ilsa. “We had to notify the Gift Givers of the Grove of our absence at the last second. And I’ve arranged for Cernunnos to assume leadership for the time being, though I regret that I couldn’t tend to his newborn.”

She shone a motherly smile, one which they remembered well. “Lucie has her father’s eyes.”

“Give her, and her father, our warmest regards,” whispered Luna.

“Wonderful,” Celestia said. “I would very much like to see the newborn, one day. But come now. We’ve got a lot to catch up on... and we’ve got pancakes.”

So Luna’s worries faded, amidst a breakfast shared with those she held dear.

Except for one moment, when her gaze flew over to the door slightly ajar, and saw the faintest hints of blue eyes, a flowing black mane, and the swish of a cloak.

After they’d finished their last morsel, Celestia led her closest family across the bridge to the Watchtower. Humbler and less prepossessing than the Hall, this was where Alexander Reiner would sleep in the following nights, close to quarters where Madame Heartstrings, the Element Bearers and Nurse Cross could also enjoy their privacy.

Sint Erklass and Ilsa Erklass, Princess Luna, all followed her into Reiner’s new bedroom.

Rooms at the Hall and Watchtower alike were prepared to receive beings of all shapes and sizes. As had been noted, Alexander’s physique most resembled that of a Minotaur’s, thus quarters ordinarily reserved for Minotaurs had been given to him. Consequently, this meant the human occupied chambers lined with granite, as opposed to the fancier marble of the Hall. Spacious yet unadorned, the sole furniture was empty bookshelves, guest stools and a sizeable bed.

When Reiner was presented with these living accomodations, Celestia had felt relieved to hear him say his military career had inured him to ‘Spartan’ conditions, whatever those were. All he’d requested were bedsheets, which Nurse Cross had provided.

It was slow going, but Celestia felt Cross was starting to digest the shock of the two Redhearts. While this Nurse had no Guard history as Redheart had, she was valuable as a medical expert who could handle Alexander Reiner’s alien biology. However, ever since the hospital incident, Cross had adopted a very ‘need-to-know’ approach. Such as now, where Cross was nowhere to be seen, having been informed of the upcoming visit.

The human was seated in his wheelchair, leafing through a book. Without even looking, Celestia knew it’d be a copy of Ponyland: Fact or Fable. Princess Cadance and Captain Shining Armor, who’d been contemplating the view from the window, turned to see who’d entered. And Lyra was lying on the floor next to him, browsing her own copy for the hundredth time.

Reiner looked up. His jaw fell when he saw the Snow Maiden and her grandfather. The Great Stag bowed his head, immense muscles coiling beneath his pelt-like boulders. With quiet decorum, Cadance and Shining returned the bow, their heads lower than his.

“Salutations, Princess Cadance, Prince Shining Armor,” Sint rumbled in greeting. “And welcome, Alexander Reiner. It is an honour to meet a child of Earth in the flesh.”

Reiner took a moment to reply. “This is an honour for me…” he said, “and the dream of every child on Earth.”

Then tears began streaming from his eyes.

“Alex?” Lyra whispered, taking his hand.

Celestia and Luna looked at each other. In all this time, they’d never seen the man cry. Yet here he was, tearing up. Wiping his eye, Reiner seemed to be forcing himself to look at Sint. But he could not. His eyes fell back to Lyra instead.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he said, choked. “It’s ridiculous… I didn’t even know him like I knew you, Lyra, but… You and the Great Stag alive in the same room, with a friendly Celestia, it’s... more than I can take.”

His mention appeared to make Lyra truly notice Sint.

“Goodness…” Lyra mumbled, mouth agape. She bowed clumsily. “Lord Hearthswarming, I-I… forgive me, I forgot my manners.”

Sint placed a forehoof on her shoulder. “Arise, Madame Heartstrings,” he said softly. “From what Celestia tells us, it should be we who bow to you.”

Lyra looked up, her cheeks pink. “That… that wasn’t me, exactly.”

The Snow Maiden came up to her, smiling slyly in Cadance’s direction. “From the start, you risked your life to aid the human,” she said kindly. “And this selflessness is reason enough.”

Reiner coughed. “I’m not special,” he said, rasping. “I’m just a soldier. Saving humanity’s what matters, and if we don’t move quickly… Well, they say it’ll take another fifteen years for the Barrier to finish Earth, but we’ll all be…” He looked away. “Gone long beforehand…”

Ilsa turned his way. “Like the Reindeer of one Adlaborn, you mean,” she whispered.

Celestia saw Reiner stare at her. “Yes. I told them about that.”

He nodded. “Aye, of course… you did the right thing…”

“But there was something we meant to ask,” Celestia sighed, meeting a glance from Luna. “Sister. Ask Grandfather about what he didn’t tell us.”

Beside her, Cadance and Shining each looked uneasy to suddenly find themselves caught in this family talk between immortal beings. Reiner and Lyra, however, their initial discomforture now past, watched with curious eyes.

Luna was the one to ask. “Grandfather,” she said quietly, Sint gazing at her with an unreadable expression. “Our other sister. Did you know about her?”

Sint’s lips parted in wonder. “Sunflare’s third daughter… She has come, too?”

“Shortly after the human,” Celestia said. “She met me in person. One of the first things she did was to… show me a vision of Adlaborn, burning.” She considered him. “So. You did know.”

Luna stared at Sint, her eyes glistening. “Why didn’t you tell us?”.

The Great Stag sighed, as Ilsa wrapped a foreleg around his own. “It was my promise to Sunflare. Her plan was that there must always be an alicorn in Equestria, standing watch.” Sint glanced towards Cadance, yet kept his thoughts to himself. “Had you known of the third alicorn, you’d have sought her out…”

“... Would that have been such a bad thing?” Celestia said softly. “It was a lonely time, Grandfather. I scarcely dared hope, until I found that one of Luna’s bloodline had survived…”

Her cheeks gone a deeper shade of pink, Cadance looked the other way, blatantly trying to avoid eye contact with Luna. For her part, Luna didn’t seem to have heard Celestia, her gaze remaining intent on Sint, barely containing her emotion.

Against all expectation, the one to speak was Shining Armor.

“Sire,” Shining said, stroking his wife’s mane. “I must agree, the Princesses have a right to ask. I’m married to an alicorn, and I spent years believing Princess Celestia was the only alicorn in the world. Most ponies don’t think about it, but…” He took a calming breath. “It’s my job to worry, as Captain of the Guard. Suppose anything bad had happened to Celestia?”

The Great Stag’s eyes were old and solemn. “Would you think I’d stay aloof, Captain? If worst came to the worst, I’d have stepped in during Equestria’s hour of need. But it was Sunflare’s final request that I trust ponies to rule themselves, giving them only a nudge where needed, trust all would be right whilst even one alicorn carried out her duties.”

“Who’s Sunflare?” said Reiner. “Has this got something to with my locket?”

Sint turned to him. “I do not know everything. But I can tell you a little of what I know. Are you familiar with Windigoes, Sir Alexander?”

“What’s a ‘sir’ about me…” Reiner muttered. “Oh, never mind. Yes, I know about Windigoes. Although for once, it wasn’t Lyra who explained ‘em.” Next to him, Lyra awkwardly shrugged. “I got that from Cheerilee. Aren’t they, like, evil spirits who cause Winter?”

“The truth’s a little more complex,” Sint said. “They’re not necessarily beings. Would you call a plague ‘evil’? Even the Krampus, the intelligence at their heart, isn’t malicious as you’d understand it. They do not feel or want anything, they merely… feed.” 

“The Krampus wanted something, alright…” Luna whispered anew. “For me and Tia, deep within Zamok Ustyag.” 

Sint went to hug her. “Yes, Luna,” he said softly. “But it’s been aeons since it could act directly.”

“An intelligence, you say?” Reiner asked.

“More like the manifestation thereof,” Sint explained. “I am the oldest being alive today on Equus, and we entered life at the same the time. The Krampus and I, two sides of a coin...”

“Well, that’s…” Reiner hesitated, rubbing his lip. “Timely? Like, how do these things happen?”

“Our world operates more on the mystical, perhaps, than yours,” Sint told him gravely. “But it was Sunflare’s belief that intellect, given the proper tools, will always bend the natural world to its will. She was a healer, in that way.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” said a frantic Lyra, who seemingly felt a need to say something, “Those ‘Old Ones’ Celestia mentioned, during her speech… I’ve read about them. Was Sunflare one of them?”

Celestia, Luna and Cadance looked to Sint, who chuckled wryly.

“Oh, no,” replied Sint. “The Old Ones came before. And when I was born, a few of them still lived. But they’d grown tired and complacent. The plague, they feared, heralded their final doom. No, Sunflare was an alicorn.”

Reiner gawped at him. 

“The fuck? More alicorns!”

While Ilsa looked a bit put off by his language, it was evident Lyra had gotten used to it by now. And Sint didn’t react at all.

“Yes. There were several alicorns in those days,” Sint said matter-of-factly. “But today, the only ones left are Sunflare’s own heritage…” He contemplated Celestia and Luna. “The third daughter was created by Sunflare to be everything you are not. An invisible, distant figure... But Sunflare knew it wouldn’t do, entrusting the Land solely to such a mind. So, she made you. To grow up living among us. Not one, but two of you, so you’d never be alone.”

Luna looked away from Sint, bowing her head. And despite the forgiving words Sint had given her sister, Celestia felt once again compelled to wrap a wing around Luna. Reiner observed all this in silence, Lyra faithfully waiting by him.

Then, Shining Armor sniggered. When everyone’s heads turned his way in bemusement, he clamped a forehoof to his mouth, but they knew they’d heard him.

“What is it, Shiney?” Cadance asked.

He gave the room a crooked smile. “It’s not funny, really,” said Shining. “But what Captain Alexander just said is kinda what I was thinking when I met you, Candy, and then, my mother-in– I mean, Princess Luna.”

“Actually, I think it is rather funny,” Celestia smiled, ignoring Luna’s scowl. “When you’ve grown used to people thinking you’re special as the only alicorn, it’s refreshing to see the reactions at getting more alicorns than we know what to do with.”

Reiner’s face showed a mix of wryness and despondence. “Yeah… yeah, I can picture that. But…” He grimaced. “The Celestia I know, that’s just what she’d want. To be the only alicorn. If there were any other alicorns who could’ve stopped her, they sure didn’t show up. Her sister got petrified, Lady Cadance is a wreck… Galatea took her sweet time… And as for the Reindeer…”

His sentence hung in the air, unfinished. Unsurprisingly, what mild humour Shining’s comment had generated was lost from the room.

“Just what befell Adlaborn?” Sint Erklass asked the human quietly.

“I can’t tell you much,” Reiner grunted. “All I know is that, three years ago, Cel– the Tyrant ordered it burned to the ground. Completely wiped out. As far as we can tell… she succeeded. No mercy, none.”

Ilsa’s brow darkened. “My grandfather isn’t so easily slain,” she said. “Yet, despite the corruption we’ve learnt of in this unknown Equestria, I still find it hard to imagine Celestia would face him in combat…”

For the briefest instant, Reiner’s gaze flickered towards Celestia. She met it without blinking.

“Well, that’s the oddest thing…” Reiner wetted his lips. “We really don’t know much about the holocaust of Adlaborn. Even though everyone knows it happened, it’s one of the Empire’s best-kept secrets. But rumour has it Celestia couldn’t fight the Great Stag herself…”

“Then…” whispered Lyra. “Who did?”

To begin with, it seemed Reiner would not answer. Celestia knew that even with Lyra, he’d been cagey about certain answers, despite his pledge of honesty. He hesitated a long time, so long they began to think he’d never speak. Then, on some cue of unknown source to them, the human found his tongue.

“They say the Tyrant has this… executioner,” Reiner said, as he surveyed the room. “A pale mare, her face always hooded. Whenever the Solar Tyrant has decreed that someone won’t live, this is who she sends.”

Despite his words’ simplicity, nobody felt they had an adequate reply.

“Alex…” Lyra finally said, looking at the ashen-faced human. “How was I… captured?

Nine days on, and she had never asked.

Sint Erklass coughed loudly. “I apologise, Madame Heartstrings. But right now, I think it’s more important my granddaughter and I hear how the good Captain came to Equestria.”

“Aye,” Celestia said, subtly brushing a wing over Lyra’s withers. “I believe Sint is right. The Captain and I discussed this. There are details he won’t be able to bring up before the Convocation– like my hidden sister, or his locket.”

Reiner’s shoulders slumped. “I feel like we’ve gone over this before, at the hospital. Still, if it’ll help, I’ll repeat everything I remember.”

“Most important of all, Grandfather,” Ilsa put in, with a meaningful emphasis on the last word, “would be that you meet the other sister at last.” She locked eyes with Celestia and Luna. “What is her name?”

“She can tell you that herself,” Celestia said placidly. “It’d be her right.”

This was how that opening encounter of the Great Stag and Snow Maiden with the human drew closer to its conclusion, as Alexander Reiner recounted what Lyra Heartstrings, and the Princesses Celestia and Luna, had been told at the hospital. To the Reindeer and to Princess Cadance and her spouse Shining Armor, it was a new story.

To Reiner himself, the story felt new in parts, stranded fibres of his memory knotting back together from a shock which had dispersed them. But he understood the need for the retelling. Once he faced the delegates of Equus, he’d have to know what to say and not to say.

~ Before The Watchtower, Mount Metazoa ~

“Not much further, son,” Darkhoof huffed as he carried himself up another boulder. 

“I’m aware, Father,” Basil shouted back. He was actually ahead of Darkhoof, several metres higher up the mountain. 

“It doesn’t hurt to be informed, though, does it?”

Darkhoof tried to sound insightful, but there was a hint of petulance in his tone. He had really been speaking to himself earlier, anyway. This was the hardest part of a very long trip. And now that he was three-quarters of the way up a sheer cliff-face, Darkhoof was beginning to feel it. He continued his difficult climb in silence. It didn’t help to waste energy and attention in such a precarious environment. This wasn’t too hard, thankfully, as the cliff had decent handholds, but the winds could get strong at this height, and the longer he needed to hold tight against the rock, the more his mind dwelled on the delays. 

Several more minutes of climbing and clinging followed, until Darkhoof felt his son's hand grab his own when he reached for another handhold. He smiled slightly. The strength was returning to the boy’s grasp.

“Father,” Basil called out, sounding pleased and relieved, “we’re here. We’ve finally made it.” 

Darkhoof pulled himself over the lip and straightened up, taking a couple steps from the edge, then stretching to work several kinks out of his back. Once he felt limber again, Darkhoof momentarily took off his glasses and wiped his brow. Despite the cool gust that swept them, both he and his son had worked up a bit of a sweat.

If ever there was a mountain unlike any other, surely it was Mount Metazoa. Neither the world’s tallest peak, an honour which belonged to Zamok Ustyag in the North, nor even the steepest, but certainly the most unusual. Through a combination of natural formation and the craft of ancient engineering, the mountain resembled the plinth on a fountain, with its flat-rock top and the four waterfalls which jutted facing the North and the South, the West and the East in equal measure.

The Southern waterfall was the standout feature, gloriously visible from their standing position. Within the front of the Hall, a stupendously tall archway had been built in the middle, allowing passage for the rushing current to flow past the arches in its fall to the valley below.

But the Hall’s whole style was more than reminescent of the architecture from a bygone era of far-off Ryuppon, for it was a jade pagoda lined with marble columns, upon which even the elevated roof consisted of three tiers, topped by a belvedere that, Darkhoof well knew, was host to an interior garden.

Basil whistled. “Damn.”

The lad’s reaction, though appropriately awed, couldn’t help but jar Darkhoof out of his reverie. Blowing through his lips, Darkhoof let his great hand swing and cuff the back of his son’s neck. Not so hard that it’d strike him off balance, but quite hard, for a Minotaur can take a knock.

“Mind your tongue, boy,” he chided gruffly. “Remember, when there is no good word to be said, best not speak at all.”

“Of course, Father. I apologise,” Basil said sheepishly, massaging the back of his neck. “Good thing it was you, not Mother. She wouldn’t have been half so merciful.”

Darkhoof made sure to keep the smile off his face. This was still a form of impudence, naturally, but it was a positive sign when his wife was referred to by Basil as “Mother”.

“She most likely wouldn’t,” he agreed. “That zebra has the heart of a bull, alright…”

But he said no more, wary of breaking his own rule about idle words. And perhaps because, though he felt glad to have the lad by him, he wished it were under different circumstances. In fact he’d have liked nothing more than be home, all four of them, safe and whole.

Dispelling the thought, Darkhoof again looked upon the Hall.

“Something troubles you, Father?”

“I wished to show you the Hall of Unity one day, lad,” Darkhoof told his son. ““Indeed, should it be you who were chosen to be the next Proxenos, we'd have undertaken this journey then. But in truth, this edifice, so magnificent, is merely one more burden, a legacy of old Asterion's vanity…” He breathed in, sighing, before gazing back at his son. “Were this an ideal reality, here is where a world would gather yearly for a common purpose. In practice, only extraordinary crisis brings this world’s people to set aside their differences, be it for a murmur…”

The explanation was sound, delivered formally and enunciated expertly. It would not surprise an onlooker if Darkhoof had read it from a book, held in a firm hand while the other readjusted his glasses. A lecture distantly delivered by a professor to a hundred faceless students.

“Vanity…” Basil tasted the word. “I remember reading the Hall had a distinct architecture. Sections, weren’t they? I can see the difference in the exterior carvings.”

He pointed up to one such wall, its rocky face reaching into the sky. The flowing patterns etched into the rock slowly turned simpler as it came down. Less decorated, gold details going missing, copper additions oxidising and camouflaging among the green moss.

“Scarcely different,” Darkhoof told him gravely, “than how any great building has been structured throughout the history of all cultures. Though when Asterion found humility and offered this Hall to the world’s peoples as a place of gathering… It was given over to accommodate many of their own values, but peoples oughtn’t be confused with the people.”

Tracing his index finger slowly down the air, Darkhoof illustrated his point.

“The one true place of unity are the gardens,” Darkhoof explained, indicating the pagoda. “Set between those archways. They are, for all intents and purposes, a rooftop feature, and you may question if a roof is a floor.”

He paused to let that settle in.

“Well, is it?” Basil had kept his streak of not holding his tongue.

“Of the floors proper, naturally,” Darkhoof said, paying idle words no heed this time. “It is upon those upper storeys that the great and the good assemble, for their meetings in high places.” He gave another rueful chuckle. “But one cannot confer upon an empty stomach, or without respite. So on the storeys below, those in the middle, these worthies congregate to dine, amuse themselves or rest. However, the question then is, who provides for them? Do they provide for themselves? Or let me ask it differently. Although a Minotaur lives secluded in his house, sole Lord of his own home, does he till his own fields?"

Basil did not answer. Instead, he slowly kneeled down and placed his palms on the warm stone. Vines creeped from cracks on the ground, invading what would otherwise be a smooth surface. They looked rough and layered, meeting Basil’s caressing touch with prickles and pins.

With a quick heave, Basil grasped the vines and pulled. They popped out from the ground like a wild animal, a never-ending stream of vegetation coiling and snapping. Basil rolled them as he pulled more and more, until the whole heap was around his arm.

Once the ground had no more to offer, he simply bundled them together and turned to his father.

“Labour strikes me as a peaceful life, so long as it is the life you choose.”

Darkhoof laughed softly. “Whatever the Labyrinth may have deemed lacking in you in you, boy, let none say you are idle-handed. How are those restraints treating you, by the way?” he added gently. “You gave no sign of complaint during our climb.”

“They still weigh the same.” Basil brushed the metal with a finger. “But your advice held true. I can close my fists with ease.” He demonstrated by flexing his knuckles.

“A good thing,” Darkhoof said, his tone turning grave again. He did, however, rest his palm upon one of his son's shackled hands. “Basil. For you, one day, these cuffs may come off. But deign a moment to contemplate why, by our traditions, you are made to wear them.”

“I’m–” Basil stopped, sighing. “I fear what clouds my mind is their consequence, not their origin.”

So, the boy could speak with some wisdom, when he wished to.

“A Minotaur's strength of body,” said Darkhoof, “is equaled by few other sapient beings in the world of Equus… Yet, simply because a bull has the strength to carry the sky on his shoulders, it is not this which makes him master of it.”

“I understand,” Basil said humbly. “Believe me, no matter what…” He turned his spare hand’s palm upward and down. ““It feels good to merely see the sky again, after so long underground.”

“Yes,” Darkhoof nodded. “However, see again that Hall, over there. Aren't the foundations, the lower levels, so much squatter than those rising above them? Even when there is no Convocation in session, many still come to occupy the Hall for trade and refuge, but moreover, keep it prepared for when the upper levels shall be occupied, though they remain empty for decades…”

Basil cocked an eyebrow. “Are the lower levels more populated at any one time, then?”

“Indeed they are,” Darkhoof said. “By whose choice?”

And here he felt his son look at him sideways.

“Isn’t it yours?” Basil hazarded to say. “As the Hall’s caretaker, it’s within your power to decide for whom the doors may open. And a Minotaur is always taken seriously as a guardian to forbidden regions.”

Darkhoof raised a forefinger. “By this reasoning, any Minotaur caretaker could have opened up the upper levels generations ago. But, underused though they are, without them, the rulers would feel deprived of any place to gather when in need.”

The golden lustre at the topmost section of the Hall reflected the Sun into curious eyes below. The wind breezed through those restricted halls, with nary a soul to hear its silent symphony.

“Basil," sighed Darkhoof, for all appearances changing the subject, even though his son would know he hadn't. “I ask you keep this in mind. Maybe it seems the weight you’re made to carry has as little purpose as a building where the upper floors are kept empty almost at all times. This weight shall lift when you find something to put in its place.”

~ Aboard the Mikado’s Flagship, In the Vicinity of Mount Metazoa ~

The sound of running water, echoing off the walls of the garden-room, greeted Kuno as he entered the great doors. Taking a moment to drink in the calligraphy carved into wood and cast in bronze, the old Kirin stepped through the vast gateway, into the largest administrative room on the Dai Konpe.

Next to greet him was the off-white glare of the room’s lighting. Once the Prime Minister’s ageing eyes had adjusted, he took in the sight of the cavernous chamber, rows of cherry trees within beautiful, ceramic pots lining a central avenue before him. Above, raised trellis held flowers regularly watered by a deceptively simple sprinkler system, which concealed a more complex plumbing network below. Special troughs ran along the avenue, letting water flow to the centre. 

There was no grass, but the floor had been paved, and Kuno heard his hooves clack as he walked. The original commission had been for the exact wood used in the palace’s nightingale halls, but this demand had been overridden – the Mikado had found the idea distasteful, later admitting that stone was just as good at alerting him to visitors. 

A few birds, trained for this environment, flitted over Kuno’s head and he let himself smile. Finally reaching the centre, Kuno found the convergence point of every feature in the room. Now he stood in front of what took up the most space. It was a large pond. 

Perfectly circular, the pond was unsettled only by small ripples set off by water trickling from the troughs. Deep below the surface were the pumps that took water from the pond and circulated it back. Though the Dai Konpe was equipped to harvest clouds, if necessary, the garden-room’s water supply was designed to continuously recycle itself. 

In the middle of the pond was a circular platform. And on that artificial island was a tall, conservatively-built gazebo, and sitting in its roof’s shadow, with several small glinting shapes perched around him, was the Mikado. 

There was no bridge to the island, but that was no problem.

Kuno’s bifurcated horn was barely tinged by his aura’s glow as, without breaking his pace, he took a step onto the pond. Even at the lip of the shoreline, the land sloped sharply beneath the mirror-like surface of the waters, but Kuno’s hoof did not sink – or rather, it barely sank an inch, no further.

Traversing the pond came to the Prime Minister as gracefully as traipsing through desert sands would to a Saddle Mareabian, his crossing leaving only a swan’s arrow-like trace in his wake, without otherwise disturbing the tranquility. It did not keep his hooftips from getting wet, yet this was small price to pay, easily remedied as he touched upon the platform, where any moisture was sponged up by the softness of the gazebo.

“Blessed Mikado,” Kuno greeted, stepping back on land. “Do I find you well?”

Toshiro Kane looked up from the desk where, as ever, stacks of papers were lined up waiting for his signature. His expression was dispassionate, but he blinked to acknowledge Kuno’s presence, breaking his mechanical disposition from a second ago. 

“I’m fine, Kuno,” Toshiro replied, putting pen to the next document pulled from the pile. “What brings you here?” 

“I’d assumed you’d sooner hear it from me than a messenger,” Kuno told his Mikado. “We are nearing the East Coast of Equestria.” He breathed in, preparing for his next statement. “Not one pirate ship spotted over the whole trip, Kane.”

“Good,” Toshiro said tersely, laying down his pen. With a subtle series of motions, the Mikado shifted posture and slumped. Kuno found it amusing, in its own odd way. 

Saying nary a word, Toshiro lit his horn. Two ceramic cups floated over to the table. After the cups had set down, an ornate pot, which had been simmering over a tiny, gas-lit burner, was raised to pour. 

“I believe today’s offering is jasmine,” Toshiro said, his face still impassive. His statement, however, was clearly a question, as was the second cup in front of Kuno.

“A good offering back in the homeland, my friend,” Kuno said genially. “Though as we arrive in another land, maybe today warrants a special offering?”

Toshiro’s expression was totally deadpan. He didn’t look down at the teacup, instead holding Kuno’s gaze. Before blinking again, setting the teapot back on its burner, and sighing. “I’ll see what the kitchens can bring up.” 

His magic wrapped around a bell-pull and yanked it. Though there was no sound, Kuno knew that many rooms away, a bell had in fact been rung in the Dai Konpe’s galley. 

“So,” Toshiro said. “Won’t you take a seat?” He indicated a large, luxurious cushion, with a tougher one attached behind it as a backrest. 

“By your grace,” Kuno smiled, accepting gladly. “It’s a special time,” he continued, gesturing towards the desk’s papers, “to see you break with the custom of paperwork, such that our dear turtle-ship departed on the same day we were invited.”

“Well, we don’t normally get a summons like this, do we?” Toshiro asked, a thin smile on his face. “History doesn’t talk about many Calls. Or any at all.”

“No, that’s true,” Kuno said, laying his forehooves in his lap. “Strange, isn’t it. Any knowledge we may have on the Call stems, a long time ago, from one who still lives… But who’d have thought to consult the Great Tonakai about a myth that may never come to be?” He considered the Mikado. “Yet someone must have decided it’d come one day, if there’s a Hall of Unity…”

“Most prefer not to think about such things,” Toshiro interjected. “When something important, but essentially useless is left unused, you grow complacent. Its existence is meaningless, and when it suddenly becomes meaningful… well...” Kuno was suddenly fixed by a harsh, piercing glare from the Mikado, “that’s when people start to get scared.” 

“You don’t say,” Kuno replied, swallowing. Accustomed as he was to the Mikado’s moments of intensity, there were times he could still be caught off-guard. “But if we’re thrust into a situation which’ll require we meet with the world, then we should lay prejudice to rest as best we can.” He tapped his forehooves. “Of course, we can’t expect all who answer this Call to be our friends. What are you prepared for?”

“I’m quite sure we’re both capable of setting our own preconceptions aside,” Toshiro said, his thin smile returning. “And my acolytes… well, the prospect of my lowering their grades will keep them from opening their mouths out of turn.” 

In that moment, a tinkling of small bells rang, with a panel at the back of the gazebo opening up in the floor.

A young doe in servants’ clothes peeked her head through, then bowed respectfully, a new pot of tea in her magical grip. Without a word she took the jasmine pot off the burner, settling the new one in place. Her work done, the doe vanished back through the panel, as its contour seamlessly rejoined the floor.

“Wonderful,” Toshiro said, taking the tea-pot to pour into a new set of cups. Once done, he reset the pot and turned back to Kuno. “The only problem I foresee with less friendly individuals getting invited is that some of our more… disruptive neighbours will be brought along.” 

They both took a sip of the tea. Red tea it was, Kuno found to his pleasure, roiboos from the farthest zebralands. While the Mikado may have preferred his offering for the day, Kane obviously knew him well. There was a richness to the brew, a faint taste of bark found in few other teas, which lent it delightful earthiness.

“Yes,” Kuno said, once he’d taken his sip, setting the cup down. “And, rival or ally, each of them will come with the same request. To be given a share in return for whatever is asked of us… especially the people that were taken from us.” This was rather forthright, he realised, but it’d do no good to dance around the issue. “If only lower grades or a spot of tea sufficed to keep all of our own in line, Blessed Mikado.”

“Yes,” Toshiro said too, frowning. “How many denizens from around the world has Celestia incarcerated in Erebus, for dabbling in forbidden arts? But what Kana did was entirely her fault. While I don’t appreciate the Equestrians meddling in our affairs, the very agreement that has us currently travelling is what saw her taken away.”

“All old agreements allow room for haggling,” Kuno said, eyeing the Mikado curiously. “Seeing as this Call is something we’ve never experienced before... and we don’t know the full ramifications… What shall it be? Do you think you’re going to apply pragmatism, or be iron-bound by honour, even if it means Kana serving her sentence in Erebus?”

“It depends on who else answers the Convocation,” Toshiro replied. “And on whether or not any other representatives are willing to pursue the issue. It’s possible we’ll have at least a few friends there. Or amiable partners, at any rate.” 

Toshiro placed his cup in front of him and took a breath, composing himself. “Now,” he then said, looking Kuno in the eye, “you mentioned, just now, that we were entering equine airspace.” 

“Horseshoe Bay, yes,” Kuno confirmed. “Given the short notice this trip was organised at, we had to skip the usual paperwork…” He glanced wryly at the documents littering the Mikado’s desk. “But the Equestrians received our message yesterday, and given the unusual circumstances, they’ve agreed to let the ship through without fuss. Same as every national airspace thus far.”

“Very good.” Toshiro glanced at a page atop one of the shorter stacks of papers.

Several seconds of heavy silence went by. Kuno was trying to get a look at the page that held Toshiro’s attention without making it obvious. 

Eventually, a frowning Toshiro broke the silence. “Before you arrived, I received another patent form, from our more... troublesome investment. A warning from our offices in Abyssinia came shortly afterwards, mentioning their airspace should be termed ‘unsafe’.” 

“I’d heard rumblings…” Kuno said, feeling a tinge of nervousness, yet also relieved the Mikado had broached this first. “I wouldn’t worry about how it’ll affect us personally. Abyssinia lies too far South of our destination for that. But… I still wonder if we pulled out too few of our assets, concerned as we were with plausible deniability about our… friend.”

“I think the trademarks on his merchandise will give away at least a little of our involvement,” Toshiro said in response, dryly. “Still, we evacuated enough personnel to salvage a bare minimum of costs.” His voice took on a colder note. “I suppose we can make a return when His Majesty comes to us for more of his toys. We’ve already completed the new line he requested.” 

Kuno raised an eyebrow as Toshiro reached under the table, coming back up with a miniature figurine he placed on the desk. It depicted a figure Kuno was, regrettably, all too familiar with.

A tall biped, coloured white and dressed in black armour. Its legs ended in cloven hooves, whilst its arms, one of which clutched a crooked, crystalline staff, were tipped by three clawed digits. Its face was locked in a stiff expression of domineering confidence framed by thick shoulders, wide pauldrons and two pairs of long horns that jutted out the side of its head – the shorter pair pointing upwards, like a crown. 

“Doteki Toys announced that it comes in three different colour sets,” Toshiro intoned in a perfunctory drone, “has removable armour and three different accessory packs, sold separately. It is also posable, though I was told the board were considering leaving it static, so as to sell multiple poses instead.” 

Although the Mikado hadn’t given express permission, Kuno let himself reach for the figure and pick it up. He turned it over in his forehooves, surveying it critically.

“A very peculiar form of payment, that our ‘friend’ asked of us,” he muttered. “But it seems to make good its return on investment. Although goodness knows, I couldn’t tell you what my granddaughter sees in these ugly things.” He lay the figurine back down, not even sighing. “Still. The important part is what investing in the real thing did for us, eh? Outsourcing pirate-hunting…” 

He attempted a jovial smile.

“Really,” Kuno concluded. “The way I see it, heaviest was the price paid by the best and brightest in our fleet. I hear Kiku Ryoushi’s been smouldering… I find it hard it to blame the good captain. With fewer pirates around, we might’ve put her out of a job, or at least one she enjoyed.”

“Times inevitably change,” Toshiro said. Despite the gravity such a statement usually carried, especially in the Court itself, he said it with all of the weight of a casual greeting. “I’m sure some other problem will come up to bother our shipping. Our friend may, in fact, end up becoming one himself in future.” 

“Glad you’ve kept your foresight,” Kuno commented. “Even if you decided this short-term plan worked as a solution for now. Let’s hope our having Equestria’s backing will make him think twice about double-crossing us. While he might be bold enough, once his power base has grown, to take on one major power... Surely, not two.”

He spoke those words, he was aware, as though trying to reassure himself.

“Well, I have no complaints about enjoying a quiet trip,” Kuno added, leaning back to sip more of his tea. “Pirates,” he said sourly. “Now there’s a bunch who’d be so bold as to take on the Kirin flagship itself, no matter how low their chances. They’re no great loss. I’m just hoping I might come away from this summit with something to offer Captain Kiku. It’d be a shame to let her talents go to waste...”

“We’ll find something for her,” Toshiro said, his voice once again impassive. “Should it come to cutting ourselves free of our deal with His Majesty...” The derision dripped from his voice as he frowned at the figurine, “then, there will be plenty of work for her.” 

“Work,” Kuno repeated. “Yes, she’s been working hard, for one so young. How I wish I could say that more often. Ahh… whatever Kana’s sins, none would’ve faulted her hard work. Unfortunately,” he indicated the figurine. “This is the face of what most young females are interested in nowadays. This and what they call musical theater.” 

“Yes,” Toshiro sighed. “My son has even brought this nonsense into Court, thanks to his choice in concubines. Kaori has no discernible taste for these modern frivolities and Kaede is mindful of her appearance, but the others…” Kuno watched as his old friend cringed, rubbing his platinum ring of office. “One of them brought recordings of those new performances. It was a racket.” 

“Like... Oh, what’s the phrase? Ah, that’s it, like piercing the ears on an Abyssinian choirboy,” Kuno agreed, with a ghoulish smile. “Mind you,” he then said, images of long-ago travels resurfacing in his aged mind, “those aren’t half-bad to listen to, once you get used to ‘em. What they’ve at least got is choir-mastery. Whatever those concubines listen to, it doesn’t sound like it got composed, only regurgitated.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Kuno tapped his chin. “But on reflection, these are merely follies of youth. I’m sure your son will outgrow them… after all, we did, didn’t we, Kane? Whereas Celestia must be glad she’s immortal, considering who’d otherwise be next in line from her family.”

Toshiro frowned, but it wasn't entirely disapproval. There was a pensiveness in his eyes. 

“I’d sooner hand my nation over to Lady Kaori,” he said in a cold, heavy voice, “if my son ended up anything like Equestria’s Prince. If their own news is anything to go by, Blueblood’s a wastrel, little better than a pirate himself.” The frown faded slightly. “Yet he might be more open to deals than the Sun Princess... I frankly doubt he’s as well-versed in the art of double-talk.” 

“It’s a good thought,” Kuno said, stroking his lip. “Even if we should look into how well he plays… Someone adept at feinting with a blade must have some knowledge of deception. That said…” Here, he thought again of their ploy with the nation of Abyssinia. Despite himself, it made him feel heavy. Yet he pressed on. “Well, if the Prince decides to ever dip into our waters again, he’ll face a foe we’ve put up between us and his ilk. A weighty consequence, but I prefer it to letting Celestia deny us sending an outlaw to the copper mines.”

“At the very least,” Toshiro mused, “we won’t have to worry about her, should that happen.” His face shifted anew. “Speaking of deals. We’ll have to be careful at this Convocation. It has no precedent, and I expect the best from everyone on this ship, especially you, old friend.” 

Although the words were complimentary, Kuno felt how much hung on them.

“At no time is the world truly at Harmony,” the elderly stag said at last. “No matter how a noble soul such as Celestia may wish it. We could arrive at this gathering with the greatest goodwill… And never could we take it on faith that amongst the crowd, not one of those smiling faces isn’t concealing a plan to stab us in the back.”

He picked up his cup, without magic, to take a final sip.

~ The Hall of Unity ~

Nowhere except his books had Prince Blueblood seen such airships, all in one place.

The grand pagoda of the Hall of Unity was accessible by other means, despite its location atop the peak of Mount Metazoa, a mountain known less for height – on that front, it was easily overshadowed by the Arismapi Mountains in the nearby South – than for sheer steepness. Other than how it broke off into a few, marginally larger tiers on the way down, Metazoa was comprised of the smoothest cliff-faces known to the world.

Except, peculiarly, for the very top, where jutting lips of stone poured an endless cascade into the plains below, far enough for water to never touch the cliff-face.

But Blueblood’s eyes weren’t on waterfalls, even though one was pursuing its descent a few hundred paces away from the landing platform. He did feel a moment’s worry when one ship – Saddle Mareabian, going by the onion-top design covered in curlicues – flew close to the water, yet it soon dissipated. This was the other peculiarity of Metazoa’s waterfalls. They were thin as a curtain, creating no more a roar than a trickle.

This didn’t stop Metazoa, like all mountains, from falling prey to gusts of wind. One was blowing through his mane just now.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it, Sooty?” he told the stallion beside him, who was leaning over the railing to gaze at the ships.

“Indeed,” Awesome Fire said, not breaking his gaze. “Will you look at them… Normally, ponies have to travel far and wide just for a glimpse of outsiders. Now here they are, coming to us.”

Shieldwall had been more aggrieved by the wind than Blueblood, struggling to keep his pompadour from blowing apart – which was a funny thought, seeing as spontaneous combustion wasn’t his talent in their group. But he stopped and looked with them.

He whistled. “I don’t envy you, Bluenose,” Shieldwall told Blueblood. “You’re the guy with the tough job– meeting people! Me, I’m looking forward to what toys they’ve brought us. Oh, we’re gonna kick back and have ourselves a wild time, Sooty and I.”

Shieldwall nodded ingratiatingly at Fire, but Fire just rolled his eyes.

“Fun and games ended two days ago, Wally,” he said stolidly. “We will need to talk to people at some point, you know. Especially when Mister Diplomat here’s still wanted by some for trespassing into their waters.”

This wasn’t the first time either of them made fun of Blueblood for this, yet he still reacted.

“Hey!” he cried, turning on Fire with affected indignation. “Don’t you try pinning this all on me. We were all together on that trip, guys!”

“Yes, our ‘Grand Tour’, as you called it,” Shieldwall sniggered.

“What else?” said Blueblood. “A Grand Tour was a fine tradition for gentry stallions back in the olden days, and I fail to see why we should drop it.”

“I agree with you there,” Fire said, revolving so he now leaned with his back to the railing. “But I’m pretty sure it’s toeing the line for a ‘Grand Tour’, when the Kirin put you on a watch-list for harvesting lightning without permission.”

Blueblood glared at him. “You picked now to wind me up, didn’t you?” he seethed. “You really want me all hot under the collar before going to meet important guests.”

Fire smirked. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. So long as you manage not to lose your collar, or the rest of your clothes this time, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Although Shieldwall chuckled, if Fire had hoped to get a rise out of Blueblood by reminding him of the incident in the Gala Hall, he was to be disappointed. Fresh as the memory was, Blueblood had already planned his response to further teasing. 

“Actually, Awesome Fire...” Blueblood said smoothly. He let the phrase hang, taking time to look over the crowd. “I’ve a good mind that before the week’s out, I’ll have found someone down there to shed my clothes for me.”

Of his two friends, it was Shieldwall who blushed at this comment. Fire merely shook his head with a ‘here-we-go’ look on his face.

“Astron,” Fire said, his voice entirely serious. “You know that’ll just cause more problems down the line. It’s bad enough making a stop in port, breaking hearts and moving on.”

“Besides,” added Shieldwall, freshly recovered. “You’re not fooling anyone, if you think we believe you’ve got over that pirate lass.”

Blueblood noticed Fire trying, too late, to warningly shush Shieldwall. He contained himself as melancholy seeped into him at the thought of Celaeno. What he’d said hadn’t been just for show.

“I mean it,” he stated, keeping a cool, clear gaze. “Shieldwall’s right, it’ll be a tough job. Why shouldn’t I grant myself a little fun? Can you believe, I’ve never tried it with a Reindeer before... though, legend runs in my family that our founder and the Fire Maiden...”

The remaining words faded before he’d spoken them, for somewhere in his mind, he felt the memory dredge up of an old, nigh-forgotten tale from his youth, a tale more melancholic than his with Celaeno’s ever was.

“Never mind,” Blueblood said, glancing down. “Perhaps not. That might be… too much, even for Auntie. But I’m curious about Abyssinians, or even Diamond Dogs. Honest,” he said, catching their surprised looks. “People forget this, but many Diamond Dogs are a fine breed.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Shieldwall said. “I’m just surprised you’re less of a snob than I thought.”

Fire stared off resignedly. “There’ll be tears before bedtime…”

Ignoring him, Blueblood took out his pocket-watch.

“Half past ten,” the Prince read, before pocketing the watch again. “Auntie’s expecting me. Pardon me, lads.” He walked towards the staircase leading down into the hangar bay. “Now’s the time to make new friends… Or what passes for friends, in international relations.”

~ Day 1 of the Convocation ~ Tenth Day of the Month of Rophon ~

Few ever entered the Hall of Unity at the top.

Where they met was in the mountain’s heart, streaming in from different hangars and landing-pads, one for each of the compass signs, symbolic of the four corners of the world. As was tradition, mistletoe hung over every entrance.

From the North, the Reindeer of Adlaborn. From the East, the Kirin of Ryuppon. From the West, the arrivals were mainly bovine, the Minotaurs of the Tauren Isles and the Bison of San Palomino. From the antipodes of Equestria, too, people came – the Saddle Mareabians and zebras who were ponies’ own cousins, though barely any closer to ponies than to each other. Then others followed, from Neighpon, Monacolt, Oleander and much more.

And from the South came not only Abyssinians and Diamond Dogs, but the Changelings. Yet, while one may have expected Changelings to be last to arrive, they were not.

That distinction went to the griffons, who were Equestria’s closest neighbours, and thus ought have been amongst the first.

These were but a few, yet these were the principal players of the Twelve Families, here to meet below the vaulted ceiling. And in the centre awaited Equestria’s Royal Sisters.

By Luna and Celestia’s side stood Sint and Ilsa. They were the only Reindeer present, and they’d travelled light. Sint’s presence, however, more than made up for it. It was a presence all who’d grown up with the Reindeer’s tales and Hearthswarming gifts would welcome. Despite her earlier reservations, Luna found it comforting that he stood with them.

Next to Celestia was her discrete yet ever-present secretary, a trim white unicorn by the name of Raven Inkwell. She held herself stoically, dressed in what Luna knew was sober modern clothing, ergo a pair of square glasses, a stiff collar and red necktie. Since Raven wore her dark mane in a bouffant that covered her horn, she was sometimes mistaken for an earthpony. In her aura, she carried a notepad.

By contrast, the other figure who trotted up before Celestia looked as if they more properly belonged to an era when Luna’s linguistics had still been fashionable.

“Sir Archmage,” Celestia greeted him brightly. “Do you feel truly vested to fulfill your role as Master of Ceremonies?”

Indeed, the Headmaster of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns wasn’t clad in the suede or velvet he favoured, but a star-studded blue cloak of satin, complemented by the traditional pointed hat in honour of Starswirl the Bearded.

“Ready as I ever will be, Your Highness…” Spell Nexus muttered, adjusting his bearing. “I can live with the robes. They’ve got some style. But I’ll always find that hat a chore, I must admit.”

“Uneasy lies the head, Headmaster,” Celestia said merrily. “Still. I’m glad to see you here. Miss Inkwell?” she said to Raven. “Let’s take one last look at our plans for the Convocation.”

Raven passed her a sheet listing dates and times.

There was a flash and a smell of ozone.

“Greetings, Aunties.”

That voice of the stallion who’d just teleported in, though, was a bit less welcome. Although if Luna was honest with herself, she preferred Blueblood to Galatea. The mare, speaking of whom, had declined to make an appearance. Officially, anyway...

The Prince and two other stallions trotted up, brushing past Raven and Nexus, granting the latter a curt nod. 

“Blueblood,” said Luna evenly. “How nice of you to join us. I assume Cadance will not?”

“Well, she’s made it clear she needs time,” Blueblood replied. “Given one of the attendees will be… you-know-who.”

Nobody had to ask who. The Wedding Invasion remained a fresh memory.

He gave a respectful nod towards both Sint and Ilsa, as did the unicorn and earthpony he’d teleported in with. Friends of his from the gentry, naturally. From the unicorn’s red-and-orange mane and orange coat, it was easy for Luna to recall the name ‘Awesome Fire’. She found it harder to place the stocky blue earthpony.

But whatever his flaws, Blueblood was a diplomat, and Luna understood that he fit the task better than Galatea.

“Ah…” Blueblood said. “I see we’re starting with the Kirin. Of course.” He nodded towards Fire. “Yeah, um, better let you take this one, Sooty.”

Fire smirked thinly and trotted closer to Celestia.

As had been arranged, Toshiro Kane, Mikado of the Ryupponese Kirin, was brought forth in an elaborate palanquin of purple-and-silver, borne by four Neighponese servants. Luna had wondered if the ponies of Neighpon would show up to for this Convocation. After them followed another palanquin, simpler in design, though adorned by the same colours and sign of the Chrysanthemum. The Prime Minister’s.

Only an exceptional occasion could have called both heads of state from Ryuppon. Did that mean the Crown Prince had been left in charge of the country?

The palanquins stopped before Celestia. She’d chosen to face East, where her Sun rose from, and Ryuppon was one of the great nations of the world. Decorum demanded the Mikado would be the first she’d greet. A small metal staircase unfolded from the base of the palanquin, and Toshiro stepped down, while next to him, the Prime Minister did the same.

“Blessed Mikado,” Celestia said, inclining her head lightly. Toshiro responded in kind. “And Excellency,” she added to the Prime Minister, repeating the same gestures. “In the name of the Sun that shines over our two nations, I bid you welcome to Equestria.”

“And I take your welcome gladly, Your Highness,” said the Mikado, who didn’t smile, but there was a twinkle behind his glasses. “Especially after we were granted your esteemed visit to Ryuppon. Though I admit surprise we should meet face-to-face again so soon.”

Celestia nodded. “On no small matter, I guarantee. Nevertheless, I hope this may allow new openings in the exchanges between our nations.”

“Lightning’s power for Equestria, pure crystals for Ryuppon,” the Prime Minister quipped. “A fair trade, I’d say.”

His Mikado gave him a strange glance, but made no rebuke.

“I wish it were trade talks alone that brought us here,” said Celestia. “Yet I believe we’ll still have much to discuss on that front.” She indicated to Fire that he should step forward. “May I present Mister Awesome Fire, recently of the Royal Sky-Navy, and alumnus to the Guild of Engineers. He’s expressed great interest in what lightning and crystal can offer the future.”

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Fire addressed the Mikado, giving a bow so low that Luna found it bordered on obsequiousness. “A pleasure, indeed. But may I say it that, while Her Highness shoots for glamour, I know to keep an eye for the smaller, unnoticed things. My time with air-ships makes me aware of the engineering feat it’d require, just to have running water for gardens aboard a sky-turtle.”

Toshiro looked at him with mild interest, while Celestia’s assistants took note.

“Then I’m sure you’ll find your joy, Mister Fire,” the Mikado said, politely enough. “Have you called us here for this reason, Your Highness?” he then asked Celestia. “Will the Kirin’s technological prowess be needed in short order, with embellishments by the world?”

“In more ways than one,” Celestia said solemnly. “I’m glad you ask so astutely. One of my citizens would stand a lot to gain, if the Kirin extended their help, such as transport, for the trek she’s planned into the Unknown.”

The Mikado blinked. “I see. Well, Ryuppon is glad to provide, when the price is right,” he said impassively. “We can only ask your assurance that another great airship won’t be taken from under you, Princess Celestia.”

Fire looked troubled by this, but Celestia gave a musical laugh.

“I promise I’ve spoken to my nephew about being more careful,” she said pleasantly, “before I let him borrow another ship. I thought this’d be a time for him to prove it. Oh, by the way? Come say hello, Blueblood.”

And Luna noticed Blueblood was trying hard not to glare at Celestia, even as Fire struggled to suppress a grin. So was Shieldwall behind him. Even Sint and Ilsa were looking faintly amused. Only the assistants remained resolutely expressionless.

“Majesty,” Blueblood said, bowing. “Excellency,” he added to the Prime Minister. “While this is the first time we meet, I’ve had the pleasure of visiting your beautiful country in the past. And I’d happily visit again, if I find it welcoming.”

The Mikado barely inclined his head. “Prince Blueblood, it’d be Ryuppon’s delight if you were to stay a long, long time.”

Discrete as it was, the slyness in his tone didn’t evade Luna. She wondered how Celestia kept her smile on, time after time in these meetings.

Then the Mikado’s eyes fell upon Sint Erklass and the Snow Maiden.

“Great Tonakai,” he said, his note of delight sincere now. “Years have gone by since you visited Kyorito in the years of my father. I didn’t know that I’d see you again when my hairs have gone grey.”

Sint smiled sadly. “So many children, dear Kane. The years pass so fast.”

Luna coughed quietly. “Excuse me,” she said gently. “But we do have many others to meet. And time’s passing even now.”

“Yes,” said Celestia. “I fear you are quite right, Sister.” She addressed the Mikado, her horn lighting up, a golden orb emerging to float between them. “Chambers have been arranged for your convenience, Your Majesty. If your staff will follow the Archmage,” she said, nodding at Nexus, “they’ll find the place.”

She indicated the arched mosaic that adorned the wall behind them.

“The way up will open to your procession. You and His Excellency are invited to take the balcony places reserved for you at the Public Assembly.”

“Thank you, Highness,” said the Mikado. “Sir Archmage,” he added graciously, “my retinue and I place ourselves in your care.”

Nexus smiled, deferentially tipping his wizard’s hat. “Follow me, please.”

The Mikado and the Prime Minister took the lead in following Spell Nexus. The servants, having returned the palanquins in the interim, had come back with carts full of luggage enough to make Miss Rarity blush, in Luna’s opinion. Somehow, though, it all managed to fit past.

Spell Nexus’ horn glowed. The ornamental mosaic shone blue, melting into a shimmering, translucent pale blue surface, beheld by the marveling eyes and astounded mutters from those who’d never seen this. Beyond the opening, the floor curved subtly upwards and rightwards. Inside the walls of the Hall’s internal dome, a concentric onion-layer of sloping corridors circled in a spiral until reaching the central tiers, home of the Public Assembly.

With understated reverence, the Ryupponese procession were led by the Archmage of Equestria through this newly-opened entry-way, to be shown their quarters for the coming days and seats in the coming hour.

“Huh, neat trick,” commented the earthpony who’d come in with Blueblood and Awesome Fire.

But there was only so much time to admire the Hall’s magic. The order of these greetings had been calculated so that in the time required for the Archmage to accomodate one group, the Princesses could greet another.

Luna thought highly of the Minotaurs, a hardy, rugged people. Proud yet never arrogant, she had always been fond of their tales of old.

She was happy they were the next to march into the space below the dome.

Whereas most of the delegates had arrived in luxury transportation, Luna felt certain the Minotaurs – there were only two, father and son, if the dark colour of their hooves was a hint – had walked on hoof, taking only the rides any common traveller could pay for. And since the Hall had resisted attempts to turn it into a tourist attraction, that meant no unauthorised airships for the last ten miles. To come this far, the Minotaurs would have climbed the mountain.

All the more appropriate, for a Hall built by their forefathers so long ago.

They both carried their loads on their backs, the son a head shorter than the father, yet his load no lighter. The father halted, indicating his son should do the same.

“Princess Celestia,” he said, puffing slightly. “Princess Luna. And all of you. Greetings.”

“Welcome to Equestria, Proxenos Darkhoof,” Celestia said. “When your wife sent word of delay, we were worried as to whether you’d make it on time. It’s good to see you here, in this Hall your people labour to keep pristine. And this is your son?”

Darkhoof nodded gruffly. “My eldest. Basil.” He turned then, not to Sint, but Ilsa, looking at her in some wonder. “Princess Ilsa… I met your grandfather once, not long after I left the Labyrinth. I never thought I’d meet you.”

The Snow Maiden wore a serene smile.

“An honour to meet you as well, Proxenos,” said Ilsa. “Princess Luna told about your people. I have to say, I’d never thought stories of the Labyrinth, retold a thousand times, could remain so compelling with the right storyteller. Do you agree, Luna?”

“I, ah, well...” Luna said, nervously. “Yes, indeed, Ilsa. A good story is always good company in the night-time.”

Her gaze darted elsewhere. Oddly, she thought she saw Blueblood eyeing Darkhoof’s son.

“And no Minotaur would disagree,” Darkhoof said. “Be they sad or joyous, we can hope, at least, to bring back many good stories from this gathering. Is the Dyonisian Lord in attendance? He came to visit shortly after the Call sounded. He and a mare.”

“Discord is here, yes,” confirmed Celestia. “Though, as often, he prefers keeping to himself, until something sparks his interest.”

Luna’s sensitive ears picked up Fire whispering to his earthpony friend.

“Know anypony like that, Wally?” he said, not looking at Blueblood.

Interestingly, Blueblood only exchanged small pleasantries with the Darkhoofs, shaking their hands in turn, before they headed for the upper floors. 

“Are you sure you won’t rest a moment?” Blueblood asked just as they were getting on, placing a forehoof on Basil’s backpack. “You must’ve had an exhausting journey, travelling on hoof. And only two hooves, too!”

“Thank you, Prince Blueblood,” Darkhoof said graciously, pulling his son away. “But today’s business cannot wait, we all know that.”

Nonetheless, Luna was sad to see them go.

The zebras of the plains, Luna wasn’t familiar with, even in the time prior to her exile. She knew that Prince Abraxas, who drew up with a full procession of councillors, resplendent in a robe of many-coloured plucked feathers, was Prince to only one tribe, the Ezebrantsi of Farasi. There were countless tribes, not all of whom lived on the plains. Some occupied the mountains. Others, what else, were people of the hills. She didn’t wish to embarass herself by asking one of Celestia’s assistants for pointers.

By coincidence, after Celestia had greeted Abraxas, their small-talk led to the zebra Prince revealing he’d also been visited by Discord and a pegasus, in the midst of his eternal pursuit of the Grootslang, which only the most urgent circumstances could have pulled him away from.

But Abraxas seemed in a fair mood today, turning to greet Luna with grace.

“When Equestria faces away from your Moon, Your Highness,” Abraxas smiled, “does your Moon’s light does upon all of Zebrica.”

Luna had felt a glow of pride at that, even as Abraxas moved on to Ilsa.

“To you, dear Snow Maiden, I wish I had the same thanks to offer,” Abraxas said regretfully. “Snow is… not known in Zebrica.” The fire in his mane burnt a little brighter, as if in echo. “For that alone, coming here may allow me to see marvels.”

That might have been all, with Ilsa giving a soft show of gratitude, yet Blueblood stepped in.

“I’m sure you’ll see marvel in the Maiden more than most, Majesty,” one Prince told another. “As they say, aren’t good things better when they’re a… rarity?”

Abraxas chuckled heartily. “You have a good tongue on you, young stallion.”

And Prince Abraxas moved on, exchanging a nod with Spell Nexus, Master of Ceremonies.

Yet after Abraxas had departed, with circumstances being as they were, Luna felt grateful the Saddle Mareabians, the next ones to approach, hadn’t come in with the zebras. Old feuds didn’t pass so easily, she knew.

Not to mention, their ambassador had personal cause for grief with Erebus, which remained Luna’s domain to this day...

Still, Lady Amira was the picture of respectful, albeit formal deference when she came forward to make the presentations, sided by her noble colleague Haakin. With their head-dresses, caparisons, nosebands and breast-collars, both where slightly overdressed in the manner of Saddle Mareabians, but Luna found them pleasantly understated compared to the pleats and baubles of the portly Malikah.

Unlike the Mikado before her, the Malikah didn’t bother to get off her palanquin, remaining lying there as she was fanned by two serving-mares.

“Your Highness,” Lady Amira said, bowing to Celestia together with Haakim. “In the name of Her Esteemed Majesty, Ylam-bint-Karistal, Saddle Mareabia extends the hoof of friendship.”

“As you extended it with such kindness mere Moons ago,” finished Haakim. “So too do we.”

These were beautiful words, heartwarming words.

But Luna knew, from the tiny glance Lady Amira threw her way, that what she’d discussed with the Warden last week would come true. In a thousand years, this hadn’t changed. The great and the good of this world, when they had friends or family in Erebus – or, more often, assets to their nation – would approach her for a word.

The word being, let’s shorten their prison sentence in return for a favour.

Once the thought had taken hold of Luna, it preoccupied her throughout the rest of the welcomings and introductions. She was running on automatic, her mouth speaking the right words when needed, eyes and ears picking up details around her – yet all the while, half her mind as removed from the waking world as the dreams she shepherded.

There was the Abyssinian Queen, a nervous look in her eyes, telling Celestia she feared a warlord’s designs on her country.

The Queen of Hippogriffia expressed similar worries when she arrived, clad in a traveller’s cloak to protect against the wind. Luna recalled Tia’s retelling of their last meeting, ten years ago, when Equestrian and hippogriff sailors had moved against slavers in the Southern Seas, aspiring to end their trade, Since then, little had been heard of Novo and her people.

Only Novo and her trusted general Skybeak were present for the occasion, and all the Hippogriff Queen had to say was that the hippogriffs liked their secrecy. But Luna saw the glint of a veteran warrior in Skybeak’s eyes, and little doubt was left of their people’s past mettle or camaraderie. Luna wondered if it would show again.

Then for a moment, things seemed quaint when the Queen of Diamond Dogs apologised for the bad dogs in her pack who’d take what wasn’t theirs, and the bison Chieftain of the Rainbow Crow Tribe assured there’d only been peaceful co-existence lately with ponies in the West.

It was a particular newcomer who snapped Luna’s attention back to reality.

“Well, well, well,” the voice of Queen Chrysalis echoed. “‘Sup, Tia.”

And there she stood, the Changeling Queen of Queens.

Much as Cadance and Twilight Sparkle and Shining Armor had objected, the Call had invited the like of Chrysalis and her kin. Now Luna understood Cadance’s absence.

Behind Chrysalis was a sizeable group, for lack of a better term. By her side, riding a huge warrior of the Red Hive, there was a small, timid Harlequin Queen-in-Waiting. Celestia had told her of the current Changeling politics, but apart from those two, Luna saw no other Changelings outside of Chrysalis’ own Ebony Hive.

Blueblood and both his friends were unable to hide some nervous shifting. Even Raven Inkwell raised an eyebrow. But Celestia held her head high. Sint and Ilsa stepped forward to stand by her.

“Queen Chrysalis,” Celestia said formally. “Mistress Papillate. I am heartened to see, despite our people’s differences, that when the Call was raised, you answered.”

“Why, of course, Princess,” Chrysalis said lightly, while the Harlequin just looked tongue-tied and her steed looked stoic. “So nice of you to invite me back... I wasn’t at all sure you’d want me, after last time I crashed the place.” Then her gaze fell upon Luna.  “Ah, you must be Princess Woona! At last, we meet.”

“Hello, Chrysalis,” Luna said impassively. “I’m afraid we did not have the time to exchange pleasantries during the wedding.”

Chrysalis cackled, slapping the large crate beside her. No-one else laughed, but she’d never been one to truly consider others’ feelings.

“Oh, my, my,” she said, turning her gaze to Celestia. “You didn’t tell us your baby sister had such a sense of humour! How delightful.”

“I try,” Luna said coldly. “Alhough, I hardly noticed your Hive’s presence.”

“Shame you had to miss the fun, Princess Luna, ‘Protector of the Realm’,” said Chrysalis, baring her teeth playfully. “Though on second thoughts, there’s no shame in that at all.” Before Luna could retort, Chrysalis turned to her lead guard, a soldier-type with purple eyes. “Here, go ready the luggage. Careful, it contains live creatures, remember.”

“You didn’t tell us you’d brought pets, Queen Chrysalis,” Celestia spoke up. Impressively, her tone remained even. “We could’ve arranged a few details.”

“Oh, no,” said Chrysalis, waving her guards away. “No, we simply had a little detour. One which involved the Dragon Lord’s daughter.”

“She’s answered the Call?” Celestia asked, surprised. “I don’t see her in your group.”

The Harlequin spoke then. “Um, we… we did have the Princess in our convoy,” she said, hunching. “B-but, it appears she’d prefer to blend with the crowd.”

“Yeah,” Chrysalis said, huffing. “You’ll meet her later, no doubt… Once she’s done sulking.”

“Hm,” said Celestia. “I shall have to notify the Archmage. The Dragon Princess needs to be properly quartered as well.”

“Quite,” sniffed Chrysalis.

She looked past Celestia’s shoulder, just as Nexus trotted back into view. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of her, but having prepared for her arrival, he kept his cool. Luna thought that Chrysalis was pointedly ignoring both Sint and Ilsa. Changelings, Celestia had mentioned, weren’t too keen on Reindeer for company.

“I don’t see dear Cadance here,” Chrysalis said. “Usually she tails you, Celestia…” She nudged the Harlequin. “But I do wonder where she might be now.”

“The Princess is unwell,” Celestia told her easily, before Luna could interject. “Would you like to see your quarters? I hear they’ve got an excellent view.”

“Shame,” said Chrysalis. “But don’t mind if we do!”

And so the entourage passed by with much chittering and the buzzing, in the wake of Nexus, who kept his eyes firmly ahead. Like Chrysalis had said, they were carrying a surprising amount of luggage. Warily watching Chrysalis leave for the multi-tiered storeys above, Luna understood too well what it meant for her sister to keep up a mask.

Thankfully, though, the final player to appear brought no memories of past transgressions.

Grizelda, the young claimant of the griffon throne, looked emblematic of her kin, scattered as they were in the inhospitable regions beyond the ancient stronghold of Griffonstone. She was no taller than Luna, her dark-brown plumage highlighted by her lighter, gold-brown crest. Despite her prestigious claim, Grizelda really bore only one mark to denote her as a pretender amongst many – the old Griffonstone sigil, embodied on a clasp of her red-lined cloak, which swooshed behind her as she entered.

She brought with her what Luna presumed to be household retainers. Not just an escort, but traders and crafters, about two dozen in total, all with a look that bespoke an eye for a bargain. The lone exception was the eagle-like eye of the old, respected, weary General Ironclaw. The Young Pretender’s trusted advisor, the one who ensured her claim wouldn’t be a simple dream. He wore a red vest that shared Grizelda’s sigil, complimenting his slate-grey plumage.

“Greetings to you, Your Grace,” Celestia said. “The Hall welcomes you.” 

“Thank you, Princess Celestia,” Grizelda said stiffly. “Apologies for our arrival time. It has not been an easy journey.”

General Ironclaw nodded, clearing his throat.

“It has not, but no band of marauders would hold our mission back for long,” he said. His words might have been pompous, were it not for his world-weary, steely tone. “Woe betide anyone who’d confuse a griffon for a parrot, devious blighters that they are.”

Impoverished, the griffons lived by trade, and the venerable general had made his living through protecting not just their caravans, but others’ against raids conducted by brigands, dragons and their ilk in the lawless lands surrounding Griffonstone. 

“Yes,” said Luna. “But here, General, we only have hospitality to offer you and your Queen. Please, make yourself at home.”

As grand and formal though it was, Luna thought the title of ‘Queen’ had less bearing upon the griffons who claimed it. Still, the Young Pretender deserved her share of respect, for she was a claimant who’d stepped forth to answer these summons. 

She saw Blueblood’s earthpony friend nudging Awesome Fire.

“Look,” he whispered, pointing towards Ironclaw’s waist. “Look at that.”

Luna followed his gaze. On his belt, Ironclaw wore a device Celestia told her had only recently come into existence, in the wake of a deal between the griffons and the Kirin. To her surprise, it looked familiar to her, although she’d never seen one before.

Then she remembered. While she hadn’t seen it with waking eyes, she’d seen something much like it in Alexander Reiner’s dark dream. It was a weapon that Ironclaw kept on his person, presumably at all times – a flintlock.

Fire stared at the earthpony. “Yes, it’s a firearm, Shieldwall,” he said, sounding bewildered. “Aren’t those my domain? Here I thought your whole purpose in life was to annoy me by coming up with new, tougher armour to block me with.”

The earthpony grinned. “You don’t get it, Sooty, do you,” he said. “How’d you think I do it? To make the best shields, I gotta know everything about what’ll punch through ‘em.” He laughed. “And for the record? Plate armour doesn’t have long. I’d wager that if–”

Awesome Fire and Blueblood were staring at their friend in what both clearly hoped were meant to be warning glares. It was more like one glare and ‘Dear-Celestia-not-again.’

“... Nevermind,” Shieldwall said, slinking back ever-so-slightly. “Could’ve said something I’d regret without you two.”

Griffons had sharp ears. Luna saw Grizelda and Ironclaw peer questioningly at Shieldwall.

Again, Blueblood spoke. “You’ll have to forgive my friend here,” he said, smiling to show white teeth, eyes going towards Sint and Ilsa, “He can’t hold himself anymore now everyone’s arrived. He really wants to unpack his presents. Wally never could wait for Hearthswarming.”

Both Reindeer gave polite laughs at that. The griffons did not, but nor did they look offended. That was a plus, Luna supposed.

“If you say so.” Grizelda yawned. “Sorry, but it’s been a difficult journey. Wish they’d soon finish that railway line they promised to Griffonstone… I wouldn’t mind getting this done so we can all hit the sack… or hay, I think that’s how you Equestrians call it.”

“I agree,” said Blueblood. “Formalities, they do so wear you down… A drink and a nap, those we could do with, I’m sure everyone agrees. Auntie?”

To Luna’s surprise, he was addressing her, rather than Celestia.

“I know it isn’t bed-time yet, not by a long shot,” said Blueblood. “But… once we’re done, maybe you could give us all your special brand of pick-me-up?”

Incredibly, Luna found herself actually smiling at him. “Don’t worry, nephew, I’ve made sure to prepare just that.”

“Splendid,” Grizelda said gruffly. “After travelling all night, I could do with the shut-eye.”

“Before then, we’d be honoured,” Celestia concluded, nodding to her assistants that proceedings were done, “if you, too, would join us.”

So it was the Hall of Unity welcomed the largest gathering Equus had seen in centuries.

Ember could scarcely believe what she saw. Beings from all over Equus – Abyssinians and Diamond Dogs, bison, griffons, zebras, ponies. Of course there were ponies. Kirin, like the ones whom she’d left behind. And there were creatures, beings for which Ember simply did not have the words. All mingling in the auditorium, while their leaders took places in the galleries. Whereas the crowd bustled with talk, the leaders were silent, watching the empty stage.

Like the central hangar, this chamber’s ceiling was covered in mistletoe, some hanging off the chandeliers.

This mix of peoples confused her. In her experience, the myriad races of Equus avoided each other often than not. A “not” which consisted of aloofness at best, hostility at worst. So what could have brought them all here?

Well, that was obvious. It was whatever had contacted her father. But what was that?

With her keen hearing, she caught snippets of conversation amongst the crowd.

“Has to be serious…”

“... Thought the Convocation was a legend.”

“Well, you know pony legends. Most often true, more often painful.”

“No, you can’t fake the power of something like the Concordia Maxima…”

“... Never thought I’d have seen another of those in my lifetime!”

“No, she’s not a griffon. She’s a hippogriff! One of their elite guards!”

“Is it true they eat meat?”

“Never seen a pony made of crystal before…”

The Hall of Unity was full of such conversations. More than she could possibly track.

Not that Ember really cared. Or at least, she kept telling herself. She didn’t want to care, but this was such a mystery, it was impossible for her not to wonder. And thus she heard her own voice joining the low din.

“Any idea what happened?” she asked her nearest neighbour, a griffon in battle armour.

“I’ve no idea,” the griffon said. “When Dame Grizelda called for us, I was drummed up as part of her guard. Don’t know what, but I was told that whatever happened, the summons here was…” 

He rubbed a talon under his beak.

“Not merely the right choice, or even a duty, merely a fact of life?” asked someone nearby. Ember was left with the distinct feeling that they were parroting someone. Surprisingly, it was not actually a parrot saying it. It was a Diamond Dog.

“Actually, I was told it was an emergency of the highest levels,” the griffon said, “Beyond someone flying a bit too close to Griffonstone over the Burnt Griffon Strait–”

The griffon tried to make it sound like a joke. Ember felt his eagle eyes raking over her, and she moved herself into a defensive posture.

‘How dare he…’

The Diamond Dog shot her a warning glare. And Ember made an effort to relax. 

“In my experience, that’s the worst we’ve had to deal with,” the griffon said. “I don’t… know what could be worse than that.”

“Planetary invasion?” the Diamond Dog asked, glibly.

“That’s silly,” Ember scoffed. “Like… from space? How would that even be possible?”

It was perhaps fortunate that at this moment, the Master of Ceremonies, or Archmage of Equestria, walked onto the stage, rapping his forehooves on the boards for silence.

The Archmage courteously moved as Princess Celestia appeared, flanked by two other alicorns. One seemed familiar, a mare of black and darker blues than Ember’s own colours. Presumably, this could only be Celestia’s long-lost sister, no longer lost. Ember had heard of, but had no interaction with the sisters during their visit to the Mikado’s Court.

But Ember didn’t know who the other alicorn might be. This one, a pink specimen with an odd mane of gradient colours, wasn’t just shorter than the Royal Sisters. She somehow looked younger too, despite or perhaps because of their ethereal youth. Less experienced, unable to hide a glimmer of worry in her eyes.

A murmur rippled throughout the room, while a smaller pony, a white unicorn with a notepad, took the side of the stage.

Finally, two Reindeer entered as well. A great stag – no, the Great Stag – and a pale doe.

‘Did Celestia send the Call?’ Ember wondered. ‘Probably... she’s the only one here who doesn’t look confused…

Celestia stood in silence, surveying the crowd. She seemed as though she ought to speak, explain, but never did she say a word.

Eventually, Ember couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Would anyone here mind telling us why are we here!”

For a second, all eyes were on her.

Momentarily, her mask cracked, leaving Ember to feel like a hatchling, so small before the eyes of so many.

‘Maybe I’ve made a mista–’

Celestia cleared her throat, mercifully drawing the eyes away, and onto the three alicorns.

“Honoured delegates, fellow people of Equus,” the Sun Princess announced. “Again I bid you all welcome to this Hall. From far and wide have you travelled. Here we stand.”

Celestia’s words were uttered in the Common Tongue, so all present my understand. Yet it was a Common Tongue as intoned by the great and good of Equus, with their peculiar lilt, a touch of the florid even to the simplest of words. And as befitted the Princess of All Equestria, spoken with the accent of Upper Canterlot.

Surprisingly enough, Ember thought, no-one bothered to interrupt her now.

“Why are we here? Isn’t that what you’re thinking?” Celestia continued, assured, but with a gruffness that Ember found surprising. “Away from home, uprooted in the middle of our day, or our sleep, because some ancient Call was sounded? And now I see looks of surprise in your eyes. Did not I send the Call? The answer is yes… A Call I’d have never made, unless something happened that led to my day, too, getting thrown out of balance…”

A few scattered mutters rippled amongst the crowd.

“Why are we here?” repeated Celestia. “Why come all this way? How many of us would sooner go home even at this very instant, and let the world sort itself out, as it has all these years? But all who stand here, you came because curiosity drove you, or duty... And for that, I thank you.”

The muttering died down, but tension remained.

“You who stand here, together, the Twelve Families of Equus,” Celestia declared. “Such is the name given in the ancient scrolls, a name assigned to us by the Old Ones, long ago. So that we who separated by land and sea, by tribe and appearance, may look another being in the eyes, and acknowledge them as kin. The pony, the horse and the zebra, equines all. Thus also the Kirin, the Basilisk, and the dragon… siblings in scales. And more besides…”

Ember had to smile with pride at that, though she noticed some grumbling from the Diamond Dog and the griffon, whose people hadn’t been mentioned.

Now Celestia let silence reign, for the time it took to breathe, and leant forward, her eyes on all of them, just as Luna’s eyes were on her.

“Thus spoke the Old Ones,” the Princess intoned. “They made it clear that, after their passing, we’d never be alone in the world... But even then, it was whispered they knew of another Family… the one condemned to wander alone.”

She turned to the Great Stag.

“Grandfather,” Celestia said, softly. “There is a Thirteenth Family, is there not?”

“Indeed, Princess,” replied Sint Erklass. “One long forgotten, but alive and well.”

And for a rare moment in her life, Princess Ember felt her heart catch in her throat. After her long journey, she’d casually put the burlap sack full of her things down on the floor, relieved to unload at last – but now she clutched it to herself.

Beneath her claws, it seemed, the Chaoskämpfer’s canister did thrum. Around Ember, a collection of gasps, mutters and whispers arose.

“But,” Sint added. “They never truly lived on Equus. Their place, it it said, belonged elsewhere, as the denizens of some distant, unknown realm, beyond even our stars.”

“It is not unknown!” spoke Celestia. “I know where it is. Long ago, when my sister and I were both young, the story was told to us… though we, as is so with children who grow up, let it recede into our dreams, a mere fairy-tale. A tale told to us by a legend… By Firefly the First, of Dream Valley.”

The name rang a bell in Ember’s mind. 

‘She couldn’t have,’ Ember thought. ‘She’d have been ancient! Even then! Like… ponies don’t live that long. They just don’t.’

And the canister thrummed all the more…

“In a time before our birth,” Celestia said, “all our births, save the Great Stag’s, Firefly crossed the Rainbow Bridge, and the Thirteenth Family was brought to Equus. Now, it comes again.” She paused. “It comes to us, from the world of Earth, calling itself ‘human’.”

Murmurs of disbelief rocked the Public Assembly.

‘Firefly? Earth? Humans?’ Ember thought wildly. ‘But… aren’t those just legends?’

Yet the canister’s thrumming was undeniable.

Finding herself unable to look at the Princesses or the Reindeer, Ember’s eyes wandered over to the leaders, sitting at their lofty positions in the galleries.

She could identify most of them thanks to her lessons from Kuno. Her old teacher himself sat up there with the Mikado. Toshiro looked his usual placid self, but Kuno, unusually, was frowning. Ember felt in no hurry to greet them.

As for the rest– Proxenos Darkhoof had steepled his fingers, deep in thought. Prince Abraxas had actually stood up, as if ready to go badger Celestia. The Dog Queen Caterina was chewing her lip. The Pretender Grizelda was leaning over her balcony’s edge, claws digging into the railing. The Malikah, the Queen of Abyssinia and the Queen of Hippogriffia all registered various degrees of shock on their faces. 

And last but not least, Queen Chrysalis. Like so often, she held Papillate close to her, comforting the younger queen. All the while, she stroked her chin, a calculating look in her piercing eyes.

The lull didn’t last long. In one of the galleries, a leader stood up.

“With due respect, Princess Celestia,” called the Abyssinian Queen, standing upright on her cat-like paws, “is this what you called us here for? The stuff of old fairy-tales, when a very real threat hangs over us?”

Her crown was smaller than that of the Princess whp now stared up at her – a mere tiara, really – but it gleamed in the chandelier’s light, a small Sun unto itself in the room.

“The Storm King encroaches on a dozen lands outside our borders,” said the Abyssinian Queen, her claw out-held to the gathering, “and moves closer to mine by the day. Alone, we cannot hope to stand against him!”

‘The Storm King… him again.’

Ember remembered Chrysalis’ words about the King working on a weapon to use on alicorns. She also remembered her Kirin mentors’ secret dealings with him. That was why she looked in Toshiro’s direction, to see how he’d react. The Mikado merely appeared thoughtful.

“I implore you,” said the Abyssinian Queen. “There are matters of more urgency for us to convene on than legends and archeological findings! If we don’t deal with this soon, half the world shall be thrown into disarray!”

Another, fiery voice pitched in.

“I speak my agreement!” said Prince Abraxas. “More than fifteen years ago, it was, that the dread Storm King inflicted his bane upon my land. He plundered Farasi’s riches, but oh, he did not stay to rule…” His voice dropped, yet still could be heard by those in assembly. “No… Only to enforce ‘trade and aid’ upon us from a distance, claiming it’d help us develop as a country…”

“Hippogriffia, too, agrees with Abyssinia and Farasi,” spoke Novo, the Hippogriff Queen. “Something is brewing along the Six Seas. Sightings of pirate ships grow scarcer every day… Yet, where this should be cause for jubilation, I instead feel dread, as I did many years ago. Other than perhaps the Unknown, it’d seem the Seas have found a new master. And not a benign one.”

She narrowed her eyes, aiming a glare at Celestia.

“Princess Celestia,” she spoke, “you know very well what we both saw, fifteen years ago, when our forces and yours encountered his before the shores of Farasi, and delayed his plans for who knows how many years. You sent your best guards, your own household regiment. Why do you now turn your gaze away?”

Celestia raised her forehoof, an appeal for silence. Beside her, Luna was deep in thought.

“I understand all of your objections, Your Majesties,” said Celestia. “I did not forget our alliance, Queen Novo, I assure you. Nor your people’s plight, Prince Abraxas, though so long as the Storm King’s has a stranglehold on all trade routes to Farasi, we can only offer so much relief. Alas… the past seems distant, the future uncertain. But trust me, here is a matter which concerns past and future in equal measure.”

“What are you talking about?” the Abyssinian Queen demanded. “It’s my people’s future which looks bleak, if we fail to deal with this now!”

“You’re right, Queen Saba,” Celestia said quietly, though not too quietly. “And I am sorry. Perhaps in these last few years, I’ve been too wrapped up in joy at seeing my past’s wounds finally heal, to take stock as I should have of the outside world.”

She looked each Queen and the Prince in the eye.

“But over the next three days, I hope to make you all understand why this takes precedence.” Celestia straightened herself. “The Thirteenth Family is back on Equus. And I promise you, they herald something that’ll overtake us all. Something big enough for me to call a truce with Queen Chrysalis and the Changelings, when our recent strife is so fresh a memory.”

Something about the pink alicorn drew Ember’s eye. She didn’t seem to agree with her aunt, yet she stayed silent. As for Luna and the Reindeer, they subtly nodded.

Ceremoniously, Celestia raised her wings.

“Meanwhile,” the Princess of the Sun announced, “I invite you all to ease yourselves. You’ve travelled far. Rest and sup as you wish. I shall stay here, answering what questions I can. The important thing to know is that, nine days ago, a former student of my School found proof of humanity’s existence, out in the Everfree Forest. This afternoon I shall call her forth, so she can make an offer to the world. Tomorrow morning, you will be shown her proof.”

Ember had heard of the Everfree Forest. ‘Something fishy’s going on, that’s for sure.’

True to his word, Blueblood wasted no time searching for a candidate to hook in.

With Awesome Fire engaged in buttering up the Kirin – whom Blueblood intended to steer well clear of, anyway – and Shieldwall presently seeking to cosy up to the firearm-wielding griffons, he had discounted looking amongst those delegations for now.

There were plenty of other fish in the sea.

The lunch buffet was a modest affair, and so would dinner be, compared to what Celestia had planned for every day as of tomorrow. By then, thanks to the tireless efforts of Raven Inkwell, the many hangers-on accompanying the delegates would have set up their own food-stalls on the grand landing.

Today, when they weren’t napping, everyone would mostly rely on dining what they’d packed for the trip. This buffet was more of a stop-gap for everyone to continue mingling, following Celestia’s pronouncement.

Not many people were attending it, he noted, lazily nibbling a cherry biscuit.

A few bison, a gaggle of griffons, many Diamond Dogs – they were never ones to turn down free food – and some Abyssinians, a zebra or two, and a couple of horses, all keeping their distances. None tempted him.

An assembly for lost souls, really. Or simple and quiet souls, like the woodland creatures hovering at the landing’s edges, waiting to service. He wondered why he’d come here.

Then Blueblood looked again, and smiled, knowing he saw his catch.

A common goat, on service duty. Amidst the strangeness of Equestria, at last Basil found a sight familiar from home on the Tauren Isles. Standing with stranger animals like squirrels or raccoons, true, but nevertheless. Sensible policy for any household, hiring servants you alone could communicate with. He felt impressed to see the Equestrians use it.

After he and his father had arrived, standing by only so long until Princess Celestia announced what the gathering was for, they had split up, destined for separate bedrooms. Basil knew it was painful to Darkhoof, following the days they’d spent sharing a cabin aboard ship and camping together on the road, that they could no longer share quarters.

Alas, the cuffs on his wrists were reason enough. A disgraced supplicant simply did not belong in the same room, let alone upon the same tier of the Hall as its Proxenos. Darkhoof’s last words to him had been of advice, to work on his abnegation, forgoing a meal today so he could focus on meditation and fasting.

Basil had tried this a while, sitting cross-legged in the sparse, windowless confines of his room. But eventually, such circumstances had got just a little too reminescent of his cell at the Labyrinth. He could bear the discomfort of sparsity, but his failure elsewhere ate away at him, to the point he’d given in and decided to simply eat.

Holding an empty plate, he wavered over the buffet, hesitant.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” said an amiable voice, in the Common Tongue, yet unmistakable was the Upper Canterlot accent, twin to the Sun Princess’s, were it not a male who spoke. “After walking up a mountain, I’d thought you’d choose sleep over food.”

Basil turned. Two paces away, and two heads’ height below his own, a white stallion casually helped himself to some olives. Surprised, he recognised him from the central hangar, the Prince of Equestria, who’d already helpfully suggested rest back then.

“That’d be the Minotaur way, yes,” Basil replied, cautiously. “But I’ve lived an ascetic lifestyle for two years. My father’s given me permission while he retires to fast in his quarters.”

“Ah,” said the Prince, biting an olive. “Ascetism... I could never do it, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “Still, I see you’re wondering what to pick. Might I suggest something?” He gestured to a pastry-laden tray on the table. “Griffon scones. Those are ascetic as they come.”

Basil studied him, yet the Prince didn’t seem in jest. Shrugging, he picked a scone, and tasted it.

The taste was like chewing sawdust. A violent cough overtook him.

“What do you think?” said the Prince.

“This is… it’s…” Basil rasped. “It’s terrible!”

The Prince smiled lightly. “Well, what do you expect? They’re half bird. When was the last time you ate something a bird baked?”

Two heads above the stallion, Basil stared down, unsure whether to laugh. “Did you set this up just to make that joke?”

“Maybe?” the Prince shrugged, innocently. “I knew a bird once. Parrot captain. Her skill was slicing, not baking.”

And though intimidation wasn’t on Basil’s mind, he inwardly marveled at the Prince’s nonchalance around a creature who towered over him.

Then again, hearsay of Blueblood’s association with pirates had reached even the Tauren Isles...

“Basil, isn’t it?” the Prince said. “I enjoy basil herbs… taste better than griffon scones, I’m sure,” he added evenly. “But that isn’t what it means, is it?”

“No…” Basil said, noticing a curious glint in the Prince’s eye. “It’s short for Basileus. A name my mother gave me.”

“Basileus,” the Prince repeated. “‘King’, in Old Tauren. Fancy that. You know my name?”

Basil raised an eyebrow. “Yes. But I heard ‘Blueblood’ was originally a title.”

“Well, isn’t ‘King’ a title?” smiled the Prince. “But, no. That’s just my surname. I’m Astron.”

The word rebounded inside the walls of Basil’s head. “... Asterion?”

“Close,” Blueblood said, wandering off with a wink.

In a multi-tiered structure such as the Hall of Unity, not only a chamber of conference like the Public Assembly sported balconies. Overlooking the buffet area, the balcony level stretched covered four walls, providing the Element Bearers an overhead view of the assortment of creatures milling out for refreshments.

While Twilight was keeping up a studious front in her observations, keeping a careful distance from the railing, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie were close to falling over from leaning forward. Rarity and Applejack, meanwhile, were surveying the throng with a critical eye. Only Fluttershy was hanging out of sight, huddled against the wall.

“Well, I say,” Rarity noted primly. “Someone down there’s being quick to make friends.”

Tip-toeing to be next to her, Fluttershy studied where she was looking. “Oh, uh, yeah,” she began. “Billy’s always wanted to be where the action is– at least, that’s how he put it, so I thought…”

“I wasn’t talking about the goat, darling,” said Rarity. “Although, I’m glad for you, that you managed to get so many of your animal friends to volunteer, and in so little time.”

“Raven Inkwell is a wizard at organisation,” Twilight agreed, grinning. “I honestly didn’t know how the Princess would pull off setting this up in a week, but she did.”

“Sure is a pretty rum place,” Applejack said as she gave the Hall another lookover. The layout was more than old marble pillars. Everything about it had a shine, but moreover, there was a sense of life to it. Scarcely a speck of dust troubled the air. “How’d they keep it so… clean? So tidy?”

“That’s something I’d been wondering about,” Rarity nodded. “Who looks after all this?”

“Hm, well,” said Twilight, the fond and familiar memory resurfacing of yellowed pages by candlelight, “I believe custodianship of the Hall traditionally belongs to a Minotaur. In fact, it’s one of the Proxenos’s duties, as part of their liaison with Equestria.”

“Really, a Minotaur?” said Rarity. “Like the guy I just saw Prince Blueblood turning on the charm for down there? Pish, where was that charm on the night of the Grand Galloping Gala…”

“Where was the fun?” Pinkie saw fit to add. Going with her words, she leaned over the railing as her gaze swept over the crowd, a barely-suppressed bounce to her demeanour. “Where’s the fun now? Oh, girls, if this were any, any other occasion, nothing’d hold me back from launching a huge ‘come-and-meet-all-the-creatures’ party!”

“Yeah, they did kinda skimp on banners and confetti,” remarked Dash. “I’da thought there’d be parades, fanfare… Maybe a Wonderbolts display, but heck, they could’ve put up a big welcome concert by DJ Pon-3 and it’d still be totally awesome…” 

“Sadly, this isn’t really party time,” Twilight said, to a soft sigh from Pinkie. “Princess Celestia has told me she’s aiming to deliver the news little by little. Having extra staff and performers at the Hall increases the risk this’d leak out prematurely.”

“Yeah,” Fluttershy said quietly, her forehoof touching Pinkie’s on the railing. “You know I’d have happily asked my animal friends to help you throw that party, Pinkie.”

A lull settled over their talk, spent by each of them silently watching the crowd below, in all its colourful ebb and flow. While Twilight would have been first to acknowledge she was still a learner in the finer details of socialisation, her research on the peoples of Equus had familiarised her to their inter-relationships. She wondered how, witnessed from above, the subtle dance may look to an aspiring member of high society like Rarity, or the social butterfly that was Pinkie.

Aside from Prince Blueblood and the Minotaur, whom Twilight assumed had to be son of the Proxenos, none of those who trod the marble tiles on the lower floor were leaders, delegates or representatives. These were the retinue, the airship crewmates, the many habitually-unseen faces of the servitors who tended to the diplomats’ accomodations, culinary requirements and means of transport – while Twilight had heard of the expression ‘a well-oiled machine’ in relation to the Kirin, she saw it much like her own role as a librarian, an invisible presence ensuring all was in its proper place.

To no-one’s great surprise, Abyssinians and Diamond Dogs kept to opposite ends of the room. Raven Inkwell, so Twilight understood, had prepared for this by arranging for the fish stands to be placed far from the stands serving gristle or spare ribs, and it was a testament to Raven that she’d managed to oversee the placement of meat-based products without flinching. More subtle was the interplay between bison and griffons, or zebras and horses. While none openly avoided each other, their movements brought them to circle around the other, precluding direct contact.

As with so many things in life, the sight gave Twilight’s a flutter of anxiety. Her and her friends’ own encounter with the bison two years ago, and the role they’d played in resolving the conflict between San Palomino’s tribe and the pony settlers, remained a point where she felt midly disbelieving that matters had sorted themselves out so neatly.

“They do wear such fabulous dressing, don’t they?” Rarity’s admiring voice cut into her head. “Even the servants. I’ve always wished to visit Saddle Mareabia some day.”

Twilight saw what she was looking at. At one of the stands, two horses were thanking a hedgehog for a piece of puff pastry. They wore ornamented cloth over their backs, accentuating the elegant curve of their frames, so much taller and leaner than the average pony.

An approaching pair of zebras, talking amongst themselves, briefly paused to see the horses move away from the stand, before proceeding to give them a wide berth.

Next to her, Fluttershy was staring at the stand, frowning slightly. “Say, girls? Does something here not look right to you?”

“Yeah,” Twilight said regretfully. “Yeah, it’s not right. But it’s part of history.”

“Actually,” said Fluttershy, glancing at the hedgehog. “I… I wasnt talking about…”

But Twilight felt too wrapped up in the flow of information pouring into her.  As she indicated the horses and zebras, she was mentally revisiting what she’d learnt from guest lectures by Professor Shriek at Celestia’s School. And so she dealt with her strain in the best way she knew. Even when it wasn’t easy or pleasant, she shared her knowledge.

“They don’t get along. And for good reason. It used to be worse than that. They… they’d take zebras prisoner, you know. Take them from their lands and put them to work.”

“What?” gasped Rarity. “Who did?”

Twilight found it painful to swallow. “The Saddle Mareabians. They abolished the trade six-hundred years ago, but it took them another two-hundred years to end it entirely. Sl… Slavery, I mean.”

“Twilight,” Rarity said, her shocked stare mirrored by the other four’s. “You don’t mean that. I thought this was all just stuff from trashy romance novels. Taking a stallion to be shared by a herd of mares and–”

“No, that’s not how it works,” Twilight said quickly. “I… I mean, they do still have a herd system in Saddle Mareabia, but they’ve never done it like that. It’s, it’s more… civilised.”

There was a snort from Applejack, whose brow had darkened. “Ain’t nothing civil,” she muttered, gazing contemptuously at the horses, “‘bout snatchin’ people from their homes and forcin’ them to work… But I just plum don’t get it, Twi’. Those delegates we saw at the fireworks in Ponyville, there didn’t seem to be nothin’ wrong with them…”

“It was centuries ago,” said Twilight. “Although, as you can see, old hurts still linger.”

Some of Pinkie’s mane had lost its lustre. “It’s horrible,” she said, quietly. “They really were nice, the delegates. How can someone have… that, as their dark past, and be so friendly?”

“Yeah,” growled Dash, crossing her forehooves. “Why are we asking these guys for help? They don’t sound much better than… than the fake Redheart’s side.”

Applejack gave her an odd glance. “The ‘fake’ Redheart?”

“Isn’t that what she is?” Dash snapped. “Like, she can’t be the real Redheart. The real Redheart would never do these things. She’d never try to kill Lyra.”

“I’m… I’m not sure it’s that simple, Dash,” Applejack said in a subdued tone. “No-one knows what they’ll do until they have to do it. It’s tough times what bring out the truth in people… And war’s ‘bout as tough as it gets…”

“That’s not what you were just saying about the Mareabians,” retorted Dash.

With her shoulders at rest upon the railing, Applejack sagged. She sighed and took off her hat, beating it against the marble surface.

“I dunno, girls… I really don’t.”

Staying silent, they resumed watching the goings-on below. The room hushed as two new figures crossed, taking no apparent notice of their surroundings. Changelings, both of them, one wearing an officer’s helmet. Only once they’d passed did the hubbub resume.

“It’s kinda funny, right?” commented Pinkie. “A few months ago, we were fighting them off. Now here they are, as guests.”

“I still don’t get that,” Dash muttered.

“Super-ancient treaty, sorta like a mega-special double-Pinkie Promise, I think,” Pinkie said, chuckling softly. “Why, if we’d known then… We could’ve invited them to come back later, after we’d baked some more treats. Then they wouldn’t have had to crash the Wedding.”

Someone gave an irked harrumph behind them. 

“I, for one, don’t welcome them. Princess’s orders are all that’s keeping me in check.”

Recognising her brother’s voice, Twilight snapped her head back. Shining Armor had appeared in one of the doorways leading away from the balcony, now clad in his regalia as Captain of the Royal Guard.

“Shining! I wasn’t sure if you’d show up.”

She knew this hadn’t been an easy week for Shining, even less than for Cadance. And he sported the tired face to prove it. Organising a skeleton security detail for this Convocation, composed of old and trusted Guard veterans, would be tough enough for this week. But then there was the news of how Redheart, a youngish yet well-respected veteran, had moved against their Princess. To say nothing of what that Princess had become for this to be a reality.

And capping it off was the Guard’s fruitless search for the human’s locket in the Everfree River. 

“The Changelings?” Twilight noted. “Yeah, Lyra isn’t keen on them, either.”

“I can’t imagine why. Poor girl,” sighed Shining. “Once you recover, it makes you feel icky to have had Queen Chrysalis messing inside your head. Worse, actually… But I guess that in war, you make… strange bedfellows. I’ve talked about it a lot with Captain Reiner. It’s how Redheart got close to him.”

“How so?” asked Rainbow Dash.

“Reiner and I had a chat two days ago,” Shining explained. “During which he ran some of his PHL’s workings by me, and the geopolitical situation on the… other Equus. That’s how I learnt Redheart had been hired as an independent operative.”

“Where’s Redheart now?” Dash demanded, almost hissing.

“Still in custody,” Shining said. “We’ve placed her in a secure location, here at the Hall. She’ll be ready to come out and testify.”

Twilight was deep in thought as her brother led them away.

“Uh, Shining?”

“Yes, Twilight?”

Stopping still at the doorway, Twilight pointed at two other figures present, currently talking to one another. Two very tall figures, with vast, majestic wings tucked to their sides.

“W-what are we doing here?” Twilight stammered out. 

“Oh, you know,” said Shining, rolling his eyes with that cunning smile of his, “I figured you guys would want to meet two of our oldest friends and allies.”

“I thought the Reindeer were the oldest?” whispered Fluttershy.

“Our other oldest friends and allies, dear,” Rarity added, awed. “Why, historically, hippogriffs have been very enthusiastic in volunteering for the Guard…”

“Whoa,” said Dash. “Awesome.”

Twilight could only nod, too, finding few words. Indeed, the hippogriff diaspora, dispersed throughout the mountains and highlands of the world, had often come to Equestria seeking opportunities and a new lease in life. Where the griffons sought to reclaim their old nation, the hippogriffs had only recently – a few decades, in the grand picture – coalesced their own nation.

Now stood the Queen of Hippogriffia, that fledgling state, yet even with only her simple blue headdress, she bore a regal aura not unlike Princess Celestia herself.

And she was looking right at Twilight.
 
“Ah, Captain Armor,” greeted the dark blue officer by her side, clad in light armour and a golden helmet, “come to join us for the view?”

“Your Majesty, General Skybeak,” said Shining Armor, bowing to them. He gave Twilight a glance, smirking, before continuing. “As a matter of fact, I wanted to introduce the Bearers of Harmony.”

“H-hi, hello, eh-heh,” said Twilight. “I’m… um…”

“Princess Celestia’s personal student, isn’t that right, sis?”

Twilight glared at Shining, yet it faltered when Queen Novo looked right at her. Proud, magenta eyes met hers, and Twilight had the distinct feeling her friends had retreated, leaving her alone to stand before this bird-of-prey-like Queen.

“Oh, another of her students?” said Novo haughtily. “Hah! Well, I hope your questions are nowhere as intrusive as that last one’s. What was her name… Sunrise? Her mane was about as incendiary as her impudence…” She shook her head. “Anyways, pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”

Twilight gulped. “Twilight. Twilight Sparkle, Your Majesty. I’m a librarian.”

‘Why’d you say that, Twi’? No, no, no explain–’ 

“A librarian?” General Skybeak said. “Splendid. Have you got any books to recommend, Miss Sparkle? My daughter won’t stop pestering me for new ones. She’s a very curious soul.”

“So you told me, General,” said Shining, chuckling. “They could use a few more books, you know, Twi’. Of course, they’d need to be specially enchanted…”

“Why’s that?” Applejack said, frowning.

“Ahem, that is classified information, I fear,” Skybeak said, looking sternly at Shining. “All I’m at liberty to say is, the area hippogriffs currently inhabit has, ah, adverse effects on paper.”

“Oh, dear,” said Pinkie. “Is it the humidity? I heard hippogriffs live close to the equator.”

“… Yes,” Skybeak answered, though it sounded stiff. “Humidity. That’s what it is.”

Upon hearing this, Twilight’s ears perked up. “O-oh! Oh, alright, okay. Well, that’s great, I’ve got a few good books, made from paper spellbound to be particularly resistant to the elements. Where would you like to start?”

And so it went on, and Twilight’s thoughts moved away from Changelings.

She and her friends, she understood, would lack a practical role in the unfolding of this Convocation for the first few days. But the Bearers of Harmony must be witnesses to this momentous event, much as any delegate here was called to witness.

However, to Twilight, none of this counted so much as the mere joy of learning with her friends.

Only some time later, while Twilight and the five other Bearers concluded conversing with people whose faces hadn’t been seen anywhere else on Equus for years, Lyra Heartstrings was gearing herself to introduce herself and her beliefs about a myth unseen throughout the world for generations, to people she had never met.

“Madame Heartstrings,” said Sint Erklass. “Be well, we have faith in you.”

Lyra didn’t doubt his sincerity. Yet standing here backstage, carrying her copy of Ponyland: Fact or Fiction, her moment was soon come to present before the Convocation, and she wasn’t feeling it.

From between the Erklasses and Princess Luna, a tall grey earthpony emerged, her eyes covered by her goggles.

“Curb your anxieties, Madame Heartstrings,” said the earthpony. “I comprehend them. So long had I grown accustomed to be seen this way, that very nearly did I doubt mine courage, when time came for me to stand unveiled.”

Lyra did not recognise her. Until she did. “... Galatea?”

The earthpony’s lips twitched.

“Well deduced. As you can see, I’m bestowed with more than one means of going unnoticed.”

Sint Erklass strode towards her. Still she stood there, firm and unmoving, even now that her form as a regular pony made her much shorter than the massive stag.

He looked her over. Before, faintly, he smiled at her.

“Then that is your name,” Sint Erklass said. “Greetings, Galatea.”

Galatea nodded cursorily. “Guardian of Joy,” she stated, lifting her goggles. “Now you know. But while I am wearing this guise, you should no longer call me that.”

“What should we call you, then, Sister?” frowned Luna.

Lyra thought he saw a flicker of uncertainty cross Galatea.

“Shale,” the grey earthpony finally said. “Call me Shale. It’s a name the pink one came up with… Said I remind her of her own sister...” She pulled out a tin box, profferings its contents. “We had a birthday party without you, Guardian. But there was cake left.”

Chuckling, Sint Erklass delicately reshut the lid. “Thank you. I think it’d mean more to you.”

“If you say so,” said Galatea. “When I met Celestia, I pledged I’d supply answers upon communication with Captain Reiner. The locket’s theft threw this plan out of kilter. Still, I informed the Captain that I was one reason he was here. When his memory waned, I coaxed it.”

“But, you’re not the reason he’s here, are you?” said Lyra. “That was your other-self.”

Galatea hesitated. “That can be explained later. Someone else wants to see you.”

To Lyra’s glee, Bonbon trotted up to her.

“I know your ‘tells’,” Bonbon smirked. “When you’re nervous, you crumple up your forehooves. I guess you’re trying to make a fist or something. Break a leg, honey.”

She quickly popped Lyra a kiss for luck. It made Lyra smile. In the background, she heard Galatea conversing still with Sint Erklass.

“... Asked what you should call me… But I wonder if I could ever call you Grandfather…”

Then the moment was upon them., as Celestia called her. Lyra left Bonbon to watch in the wing, while she took to the stage, before the delegates of Equus. 

“Good afternoon, everycreature,” Lyra began. She addressed them in Common, with her best Upper Canterlot accent brought out for the occasion.  “My name is Lyra Heartstrings…”

The specifics of her speech would later blur with every other time she had delivered this lecture, like she had only days ago to Princess Celestia and the Bearers before a hospital bed in Ponyville. Yet as she told the delegates about Howie Waggoner’s ill-fated expedition to the Sunken Dream Valley, the sinking of the Nellie and the treasures it held, asking of the world’s to help her trace this precious heritage of the world’s history, Lyra did not crumple her forehooves once.

“You should’ve been there,” Ember was saying that evening, casually resting against the cage, her legs crossed and arms folded.

Garble snarled viciously, causing the Changeling standing watch to recoil. Ember had asked if she could chat with her currently imprisoned bodyguard, and there wasn’t much the Changeling could say to deny her.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Garble muttered, gritting his teeth.

Audaciously, Chrysalis had managed to bring in a caged dragon right under everyone’s noses. When Ember had asked, Chrysalis had merely said that if anyone enquired, she’d tell them Garble was suffering from ‘the disease of ignorance’.

“Come on, Garble,” Ember chided gently, holding up the gem she’d brought. “They went through the trouble of getting food for everyone. And they’ll be expecting me back at dinner. Any idea how hard it was to find a good ruby that hadn’t been pinned to some fancy dress?”

His only reply was to blow smoke, parted by the wire-mesh.

Shaking her head, Ember looked around Chrysalis’ quarters. Their layout wasn’t much different from her own, but even in the short while since they’d got here, the Queen had already settled in. All of them had. Ember wondered who’d left a sizeable number of pillows in her room.

These quarters, on the other hand, were moist, dripping and covered in wax, which filled the air with a green tinge. Ember had taken care not to step in any, but at this rate, the next time she came here, she might as well fly across the room. The only thing that still looked remotely like furniture was the bed and, of course, the dog-crates. The Timberwolves were currently asleep. She didn’t like to think what the damp atmopshere would do to their fur.

The Changeling on watch drew up beside her, his green aura towing a mop and another, empty crate the same size as the one currently occupied by Garble.

“Alright, that’s the Timberwolves sorted, now it’s time to make him switch for the night,” the Changeling spoke up. “Excuse me, Highness.” He pointed with the mop at the spare crate. “Would you be so kind to put the ruby inside?”

Shrugging, Ember rolled the gem into the crate, while Garble merely huffed. 

“How much longer’s he gonna be in there?” said Ember.

“He’s… in there right until he gets his shot. Queen’s orders.”

“Pity,” Ember said, not meaning it. “He’s missing out on a lot. Did you get to hear what Celestia was talking about?”

“Um... no?” the Changeling answered slowly. “I was… uh, guarding your friend.”

“We’re not friends,” Ember said, with a dismissive little wave. “I guess you could say that you were guarding my… guard.”

“Excuse me, I’ve got to do this,” said the Changeling, wheezing as he pushed the spare crate to connect with Garble’s crate, bridging the two. “Mind… mind helping me make him move?”

“How?” asked Ember. “His door’s still down, you know.”

Without a word, the Changeling jumped atop the occupied crate, mop balanced on his back, and flicking his horn, unlocked the clasps which held the wire-mesh in place.

“It’s designed to come off,” he explained, sliding the mesh upwards. “If you know how.” 

Before Ember could reply, she heard angry thumping from where Garble was being held.

“You’re a buncha fools,” snarled the red drake, “if you think I’m gonna move from one cage to another, just for one dumb ruby!”

The Changeling sighed. “I’m sorry…” he whispered. “I really, really don’t want to do this…”

Ember saw him press his forehoof upon a depression in the crate’s obsidian surface. Her ears picked up a buzz and crackle from within – and a pained yelp, rapidly followed by scrambling ‘bump’ that rocked the previously-empty crate.

“Static electricity,” the Changeling said, as he slid the mesh back down, locking its clasps to the new crate’s opening. “Causes a strong itching sensation.”

All Ember could do was shudder. Truly, Queen Chrysalis had a knack for bringing others to heel.

Heaving, the drone pulled the crates apart. While the green wax covering the floor provided a helpfully slippery surface, he was visibly finding it a strain to tug an obsidian crate occupied by a ten-stone dragon. A dragon who still seethed at this treatment, as Ember saw when Garble’s face came back into view, eyes behind the wire staring at her with loathing.

“So,” the Changeling said, suddenly, startling Ember. “What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“Um, the, uh, meeting,” the Changeling clarified hurriedly. “You were going to… uh…” Seeing Ember look taken aback, he paused. “Here, uh... “ He dropped the mop. Using a forehoof, he began chipping away at the wax Ember had carefully avoided. “I can sweep his cage later. Let’s… let’s talk.”

He was creating a space for her to sit in. Ember hadn’t really paid him attention before, but now she gave him a closer look.

“Do I know you?” she asked, frowning.

“Um… we’ve… we’ve met.”

Ember noticed the little drone’s eyes dart towards Garble, and it struck her. She hadn’t been able to distinguish the drone before. Changelings looked so alike. But she did now.

“Ah. Yeah.” Ember said. “Last time I saw you, you were pretending to be him.”

This was said with a nod towards Garble, who glared back, his ruby still untouched.

“What makes you think I wanna talk? Especially with you?” Ember said snidely. “If you’ll recall, I almost tore your head off.”

Hit by her stinging remark, the Changeling wiped his brow nervously. Ember suspected it was a gesture he’d picked up elsewhere, though. Changelings didn’t sweat.

“W-well, do you…” he mumbled. “D’you have someone else to talk to?”

Caught by surprise, Ember almost reeled back. “What in the Chaoskämpfer’s sacred fire are you on about? Of course I’ve got people to talk to. Lots of people.” She gestured her thumb at Garble. “Him, for starters.”

Garble snorted mockingly, teeth clicking against the wire-mesh.

“Oh…” said the Changeling. “I… I thought you hated talking to him, and you only did because… because you had no-one else.”

Ember peered at the odd little drone.

Now she thought about it, this was actually the third time she’d seen him. The first had been when he’d tried play-acting Garble at the campfire. But the second had been very short – just him staring at her, right after Chrysalis had caged Garble.

“You’re wasting your time, roach,” Garble said with a leer, making the Changeling jump. “She thinks she’s too good for you. Heck, she thinks she’s too good for dragons. Comes with being a Princess.”

The Changeling drone was quivering on the spot. All of a sudden, a feeling of anger surged in Ember. An image came back to her, of this same drone, frightened, her claws around his neck. She had hesitated. Garble wouldn’t have.

“The Princess will speak with who she pleases,” Ember snapped. “At least he’s offering, even if he’s just a roach. You haven’t even touched your food.”

“Oh, you wanna talk?” sneered Garble. “You got it, Your Highness. From now on, I’m gonna gab your ears off. And he can’t leave his post, or he’s gonna be in trouble. Think Chryssie would make us share a cage?”

The anger just kept boiling, until she caught sight of the Changeling furtively bobbing his head. By following his movement, Ember saw that Garble’s new crate was covered by a rolled-up tarp. Catching his drift, she reached out for the tarp, and pulled it down.

Just as she’d hoped, it muffled Garble’s indignant cry. This was, after all, designed to conceal the noises made by rowdy, anxious hounds – and now, a dragon.

“There. He’s not here,” said Ember. 

And the Changeling burst out giggling.

Ember hadn’t known Changelings could laugh. Well, Chrysalis laughed often. But she was the Queen. Drones only ever wore expressions of bland malice. Didn’t they?

“Okay, he’s not here,” the Changeling agreed. “Thank goodness. I’ve no idea how come I got stuck guarding him. Ah, must be the Queen’s idea of a joke… He’s secure as he’s going to be.”

“Probably,” Ember agreed airily. “Knowing Chrysalis.” She sat down. “Now, you said you wanted to hear all about it?”

The Changeling sat beside her. “Yes, please.”

Much of what Ember had gleaned was built from assumption and speculation, from hearsay between the other delegates and what she’d heard herself. Therefore, initially, her words came out as a string of events.

As she continued, however, they began to form a coherent narrative. Celestia had stated the matter would be presented little by little, yet the first day alone had been overwhelming. Before anyone could raise a question, the Princess had already decided to turn to the root of it all – the very existence of humans.

It was a meeting that ended rather suddenly. Barely an hour had passed, Celestia only taking a few questions before calling the day off. There was a nagging feeling in Ember, though, that Celestia had ended it early to let them settle. Before the truly game-changing revelations. Whatever those were...

Or, as Chrysalis had sneered, knowing how Celestia worked, the Princess expected them all to make friends. Ember couldn’t help but agree with her. Yet here she was, sitting down with a Changeling of all people, talking freely.

“It’s pretty absurd,” Ember concluded, yawning. “But we’ll see what it’s all about, I guess.”

The Changeling has been listening intently. “I see. Sounds like, um… something, I think.”

The poor drone was out of his depth, obviously, and Ember wondered what went on in his mind without a Queen to lead him on.

“... So, why does she keep Garble in this room anyway?” Ember asked idly. “Isn’t she all… you know, about quarantine?”

“It’s so she can mock him whenever she wants,” said the Changeling, quite candidly. “Furthermore, the Queen wishes to minimise the risk to others who haven’t taken their shot.”

“... You don’t actually believe what Chrysalis said, right?”

“I can’t leave my post,” he said, but there was a pause which Ember thought indicated hesitation. “You can come in to check on him. But I must be guarding your… guard.”

Ember snickered. “Got you there, hah!” she said triumphantly. “Okay, fine, I’ll let you be... we’ve got days and days ahead here.”

She strode over to the doorway, skirting around the green wax on the floor. Before she left, however, she shot the Changeling a final look.

“What did you say your name was, again?”

“I… I didn’t–”

“Yeah,” Ember said. “Which is why I’m asking now.”

“... It’s, it’s Thorax.”

“Huh,” Ember remarked. It was, like most Changeling names, pretty simple to remember. “See you around, Thorax.”

“Take care… Your Highness,” Thorax replied. For a moment, Ember thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile on that inexpressive, chitinous face.

Of course, as she shut the door behind her, she lingered briefly. Long enough to hear a most curious exchange, although she shrugged it off as easily as the day turns to night, before retiring to her own quarters afterwards.

“You know you still ain’t got no chance with her, right?”

“Okay.”

“... ‘Okay’?”

“I know.”

Night came to the Hall of Unity, one night heralding many.

At the Watchtower, Fluttershy reclined by a windowsill, feeling the breeze run through her willowy mane, the light of the Moon shining upon her face. She tried not to look down. So long as she didn’t look down, she could understand what other pegasi saw in the horizons, that vast majesty where mountain peaks and night sky became one.

She’d snuck away from her sleeping friends for this night-time meeting. Dash was going a little stir-crazy over secluding herself in the Watchtower, but Pinkie and Twilight were both caught in excited anticipation, each for their own reasons. And Rarity and Applejack, for once, had found common ground, giddy over all they could write to their little sisters about the Twelve Families.

How odd to think she was the one doing some work, tasked by Celestia to direct her animal friends as a makeshift staff for the Hall.

“Well, I guess we’re here, too...” she whispered. “Aren’t we?”

From above popped a draconic, mad-eyed face, hanging upside-down.

Discord laughed. “Yes, we are,” he said mirthfully. “But don’t worry about it, sweet Flutters. Our parts don’t come until much later, after all the talking. Let Tia handle the workload.”

Fluttershy nodded, humming. “You’re sure she’ll ask you to go to Earth? You’re still weakened from your fight with the Krampus...”

“She will.” He grinned. “Discord at half-power’s still Discord.”

In the distance, she spotted the silhouette of Luna, finishing her rounds. She thought the Princess was carrying something.

Craning his upside-down neck to look, Discord saw it too. “Lavender,” he commented. “Luna renews it every night. Does the same in Canterlot.”

“What for?”

“Eh, says it helps ‘em sleep peacefully.”

“Oh,” Fluttershy whistled. “That’s so thoughtful.” She looked up, past him. “But what’s all the mistletoe for, then?”

“To honour Sint Erklass? Peace and goodwill, all that.” Discord shrugged. “Fellow’s too ‘holly-jolly’ for my tastes. Yet in the old days, mistletoe did stand for peace and friendship.”

He slid down slightly, the light revealing the mistletoe steam held coiled in his tail.

“I rather prefer the modern interpretation, though.” He sniggered, before closing his eyes, lips puckering expectantly.

Smiling, Fluttershy took his head in her hooves, still-upside-down, and gave him that kiss.

~ Day 2 of the Convocation ~ Eleventh Day of the Month of Rophon ~

Rosey-fingered Aurora stretched her palm across the horizon. Thus many an ancient epiphet would describe the morning dawn.

Unlike the majority of the ancient sayings and legends he’d become involved with in his time, Prince Abraxas could not be certain as to what extent such a personification of the Aurora had its roots in the living, breathing firmaments of his world. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna were known to move the Sun and Moon on their trek across Equestria and beyond. This was indeed known by all. But that there may be a carrier of the Aurora, just as ponies were the crafters and artisans for myriad little elements of the natural world…

Well, if a carrier of the Aurora there was, theirs was a mystery yet to be unveiled.

“Greetings, Candid,” said a voice he’d long yearned to hear again.

Abraxas did not, in fact, turn from the balcony, the topmost point of the Hall where this meeting had been agreed to take place, yet he had no need to. Keep his feelings to himself though he may, his visitor would know how welcome their presence was.

“And greetings to you, Cunning,” Abraxas replied, permitting himself just a tiny smile.

They spoke in Old Ponish, which few who might eavesdrop on them would have understood.

“I heard you had guests,” said Spell Nexus, moving into the periphery of Abraxas’ line-of-sight, casually resting his forehooves upon the balcony railing. “Many guests, actually…” He smiled, most wanly. “Please, do not think I make light of your troubles, my friend,” he said, that smile faintly diminishing. “You saw you were not alone in the Public Assembly. The threat of the Storm King is familiar to many… And, devoted as you showed yourself to come here, I dare not imagine how much it must weigh on your mind, being away from Farasi when so many troubles continue to blight it…”

“The abada and kelpie princes shall handle the Grootslang,” Abraxas said quietly. “I have faith in Barbelo and Aeon. They have the willpower for this task, even if they are two princes short.”

“Ah,” said Nexus. “Then your little brother is off doing his own thing, again?”

“Braze does care for Farasi,” Abraxas sighed, “but I fear he loses sight of how a land and its people are intrinsically bound together… Nevertheless, I feel he missed out on something. A visit from Lord Discord to a Casabronco dance-club would’ve been to his taste…”

“So would the sights and sounds of the Convocation, I’d have thought,” noted Nexus, adjusting his Archmage’s hat and robes absent-mindedly. “Things have just kept happening lately, starting from when Miss Twilight turned up in my office as I was dealing with a smoke-bomb incident…”

Though Abraxas knew better than to ask, he could wryly picture the scene. Curious it was, that where his patience was limited for these antiques from the likes of Discord or Braze, he tended to look more fondly upon similar anecdotes related to Celestia’s Headmaster.

“But that is what you wished to talk about,” said Abraxas, “was it not? A matter of the unknown glyphs given to you by Princess Celestia’s student.”

Spell Nexus’ demeanour grew more business-like. “Indeed, yes”, he agreed, pulling from within his robes a scroll, which he began to unroll. “Glyphs, or should I say, runes. That’s what Twilight called them.”

In the unicorn’s aura, the scroll of parchment opened to reveal an elegant sketch of symbols. Leaning away from the railing, Abraxas squinted at the symbols.

Something felt familiar about them.

“What are these?”

“A thing I reckoned that I should tell you about,” said Nexus, “before you and everyone else sees the human with their own eyes today.”

Abraxas looked up at him. “Who else has seen these? How do they connect with the human?”

“Believe it or not,” Nexus chuckled softly, “those two questions go together. I’m actually the only pony for now, probably, who’s seen these runes without meeting the human yet. Twilight told me they were tattooed to his body.”

“Tattooed…” Abraxas repeated in whisper. “Yes…”

Nexus gave him a concerned look. “You’ve seen those before?”

“Not I,” Abraxas shook his head. “But I’ve heard of such markings. My grandfather spoke of runes like these, linked to the sorcery of the Saddle Mareabians, back in those days when Farasi lay under their heel…”

“The Saddle Mareabians,” Nexus said with a frown, rolling up the scroll. “I see. And you think those might be the markings your grandfather spoke of?”

“I cannot be sure,” Abraxas acknowledged. “The old stallion was a child then.”

“Hm,” Nexus murmured. “Princess Celestia is aware my own research into Canterlot’s archives has turned up precious little so far. I must look further afoot if I’m to find out more, and this may mean approaching the Saddle Mareabian delegates… Which I fear might have to wait a few days. Relations between Equestria and Saddle Mareabia have been a bit shakey, as of late.”

Abraxas snorted at that. “I’d be lying if I said that I felt sorry for House al-Husan and their run-in with Princess Celestia.”

He recalled, not without satisfaction, when the first rumours on the wind had reached Farasi of Celestia’s arrest of the Court Sorcerer. In a sea of troubles, this news had been cause for a moment’s elation. Alhough he felt guilt in taking joy at the misfortune of others, it eased Abraxas’ soul that misfortune hadn’t been Farasi’s sole lot since the passage of the Storm King.

“I heard there was a little commotion in Ponyville last year,” Abraxas said, seeking to veer his mind onto a different course, “which nearly spoiled the Saddle Mareabian delegates’ visit?”

“The business with the Alicorn Amulet, it was, yes,” Nexus stated, raising an eyebrow at him. “Another old artefact which could be dangerous in the wrong hooves. If it were in someone other’s keep than Princess Celestia, I’d have said the Stonecarvers should make a move for it.”

“A challenge I can imagine our newest member would relish, Cunning,” said Abraxas, tapping his forehooves to the floor. “Though I’ve not yet had the pleasure to meet the adventurer for myself. I only know she thought it prudent to leave one or two artefacts, collected from her past exploits, in the care of one my subjects living abroad…”

“The zebra of the Everfree,” Nexus nodded. “I’ve read the same correspondences as you, remember, Candid?”

“Of course. Forgive me, this does sometimes slip my mind,” Abraxas sighed quietly. “It has been too long, and there have been too many worldly concerns.” A frown began to shadow his brow. “Now that I think about it… Considering what the Court Sorcerer was arrested for, when I know his chief wife was standing this close to Zecora’s doorstep during her state visit… I cannot help but question the wisdom of lending my subject the Half-Gilded Horseshoe of Sunflare, capable as it is of opening the Spirit Circle…”

There were many, many matters which the Council of the Stonecarvers involved themselves with, but none approached the trepidation of matters pertaining to the necromantic arts. Arts which, to Abraxas’ shame, his own brother had shown morbid interest in, though Braze knew nought of Abraxas’ place amongst the Stonecarvers.

“I’m sure Miss Yearling knows what she’s doing,” smiled Nexus. “She is not foolhardy.”

“I’d like to judge that for myself, Cunning,” Abraxas said gravely, “particularly as she seems to think nothing of publishing her adventures under the guise of fiction. Including that which touches upon us and our secrets.”

“Using aliases, mind you.”

“Hm. For our names. Not so much our given titles,” said Abraxas. “But I trust your word, as I trust the vouching of the Caring, and the Starry-Eyed One, and the others of our Council.” He gazed out unto the morning skies. “Had the Storm King not destroyed the Misfortune Malachite, I can believe Miss Yearling is the one who’d have got it back, after all these years. Ah, had she only brought back the luck of Farasi…”

They began their march back towards the stairs.

“Be of good faith, my friend,” Nexus said, slapping his back. “While I’ve still got research to do, what comes of today’s meeting may herald a new dawn for Equestria and the world.”

After all she’d striven for, Grizelda found herself lost for words at last. Humans, the Thirteenth Family. She couldn’t deny it filled her with curiosity, yet it brought pause to all she’d planned for. Here they stood, her people’s chosen few, waiting to be ushered into the dining-hall – an outlandish tradition, accustomed as she was to open air and yurts. But one she’d have to get used to, she suspected, once Griffonstone was hers and her people united at last.

“Something troubles you, Your Grace?” said Ironclaw.

The title remained foreign to her, even after she’d called for the throne of Griffonstone.

“No, not quite,” she replied. “But will this change anything, General?”

With their banners gathered after years of effort, she owed much to the veteran general. She had questioned it at first. Why would a famed mercenary pledge his sword to her cause, not seek the throne himself? His answer had never changed through the past four years. He’d found a warrior, a leader, and a brave soul. Any ambitions he’d held for the throne had dimmed as he got on in years.

While she’d had her doubts, it was through his wisdom that she now stood at the head of thirty-thousand griffons – travellers and warriors, bakers and traders, although only a sixth were under her direct guidance. The rest, scattered yet united in their hearts, had chosen her as leader. And many more, she hoped, would pledge their allegiance in the years to come.

In time, Griffonstone would prosper once more, with her at the heart of it.

And yet it was when they were so close to marching on Griffonstone that the Concordia Maxima called upon her.

Part of her wished she hadn’t been chosen by a far-off call from a distant land. Yet another part hoped this mythical call would further her credence, and she would be Pretender no more, but the Queen in Griffonstone.

“We shall see what happens, Your Grace,” said Ironclaw, echoing her thoughts.

The dining-hall’s doors opened, and in the pair strode. 

Great and welcoming was the dining-hall, its walls decorated by carved wood, the floors paved with marble, topped off by dining tables covered in cloth. Her people remained outside, as did the others, for only the leaders were invited in. No matter. When she sat the throne, she would ensure prosperity followed, her longhall open to all griffons. Gone then would be the days of windblown tents and decrepit homes. Griffonstone would rise.

At the very least, her entourage had much to pick from the food-stalls outside, even if they’d have to pay money for it – exotic cuisine ranging from the finest of Canterlot to Farasi. She too had brought the finest the griffons could offer. The tinmaker Wolfram, one of her own and more, was also a skilled baker.

Yet even with Ironclaw by her side, apprehension filled her mind as they took seats at their pre-alloted table. Grizelda glanced around.

The dozen or so round-tables in the hall were arranged in a few staggered rows, presenting the image of irregularity. One by one, they were filled by various delegates, one table for each nation, but set as close neighbours. She saw the two Minotaurs sitting close to the Dog Queen, the Night Princess showing the Snow Maiden to her seat, the Sun Princess speaking with a hippogriff…

“Don’t mind me,” said a youthful, brash voice.

And Grizelda looked over her shoulder for the speaker. She was met with a blue dragon, who was sitting alone, her elbows resting on an empty table

“Sorry,” the blue dragon shrugged. “All the other tables were full.”

Reflexively, Ironclaw reached for a flintlock that wasn’t there. Grizelda shot him a sharp, if undecided look. He’d told her many times before that of all the raiders he and his warriors faced, none challenged them more than dragons.

There one sat. Small, vulnerable and yet, brought here too.

“Easy, General,” Grizelda whispered. She turned to the blue dragon. “You must be the Dragon Lord’s daughter. Well, I cannot blame you for the seating arrangments. Practical joke of Celestia’s, I shouldn’t wonder. You stick in your corner, we’ll stick in ours.”

The blue dragon might have retorted, if this wasn’t when, just to liven things up, Queen Chrysalis chose to appear, her young Harlequin ward in tow.

“Aaaah, I see Ember’s found our table, Papillate. Excellent! Wonderful, just wonderful.”

The blue dragon blinked. “What? But…” Horrified, she swept up the place-card, looking it over.

Grizelda’s eagle-like sight allowed her to read what Ember had only now spotted. The table next to the griffons’ had been reserved for both dragons and Changelings.

“No way,” groaned Ember.

Privately, Grizelda agreed with her. Especially as Chrysalis’ gaze fell upon Grizelda, and her mischievous smirk widened.

“Good morning, Young Pretender. How nice to see you here.”

Another voice replied before Grizelda’s. “Good morning to you as well, Queen Chrysalis.”

When Grizelda saw who it belonged to, it finally gave her some relief. One more empty table waited close by, but its occupants were arriving. Queen Novo, flanked by her trusted advisor and brother-in-law, General Skybeak.

“And to you, Queen Grizelda,” added Novo.

Somehow, it eased Grizelda to see herself mirrored in the Hippogriffian Queen and General. She placed a placating talon on Ironclaw, and his shoulders relaxed. 

“My title is not yet earned, Queen Novo, but I thank you. Let’s be ready for this banquet.”

With this motley assembly shooting each other wary glances left and right, all took their seat without another word. The Harlequin, Papillate, had brought a footrest on her back. Servile, she placed it at Chrysalis’ hooves.

A dragon and Changelings didn’t make for ideal neighbours, but with hippogriffs also present, Grizelda saw the logic in Celestia’s seating arrangments. They were the omnivorous Families of Equus, stacked together into a corner. It would spare them discomforted stares from herbivores if meat was served.

This breakfast just might be peaceful. And what a breakfast it was.

It took most of Grizelda’s self-discipline not to let her beak hang, as the workers of the Hall, mostly domesticated animals, brought such a feast as neither she nor Ironclaw had ever seen. Exotic delights and beverages in silver trays, composed of colours and flavours from all four corners of this world.

Fish and vegetable, bread and fruit of all sorts in tray-carts, for them to choose from.

Grizelda even noticed some who weren’t ponies nor animals amongst the serving-staff, including from her own griffons. Celestia must have meant this as a surprise, covertly co-opting a few of those in the crowd who knew how to cook.

She recognised Wolfram’s stout and hefty build approach. Pushing up his tray-cart, the fat tinmaker smiled nervously as he presented her with her own feast – cooked in butter, a grey fish that she didn’t know the name of, but smelled delicious nonetheless.

“Thank you, Wolf,” she said gently, with a smile as queenly as she could make it.

Her Wolfram, the poor soul, stammered and mumbled something, then gave her a respectful nod before hurrying off. One of these days, she’d have to show Princess Celestia his tinmaking skills. Perhaps the Reindeer as well, to prove that her people’s artisanship continued to thrive. Not to mention his baking. These days, a griffon often took on more than one trade, out of necessity.

There would be time to talk. For now, she would enjoy this breakfast. Delicately, she handled the unfamiliar tools in her grasp. Ironclaw had given her a brief rundown on what to do at a dining table, but also confided he’d never cared much for the etiquette.

The fish, by all appearances, was larger than any fish she’d caught in the desert ponds. Much too large for these knives, these forks. But to her benefit, the fish had already been cut in an odd little pattern that reminded her of a chessboard.

Picking up a piece in her claw, she bit into it.

It was an odd, unfamiliar taste, and it threatened to overwhelm her. Savoury, salty, different from the rough-cut fish served in the few coastal griffon settlements. A far cry from the rodents, rabbits and hardy scones she’d grown used to in the desert.

She let the taste settle. Foreign, an assault on her senses... this was something she needed to enjoy while it lasted. She swallowed, and took another, larger bite of the delicacy.

“General,” Grizelda said, pausing to let Ironclaw swallow too. She remembered her manners. “We ought to give our thanks to whoever made this… delicacy.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” said her General. As far as she could tell, he too liked his meal.

Yes, they’d enjoy this stay, indeed.

She looked around to the neighbouring tables. The Dragon Lord’s daughter was greedily tucking into her gemstone pile with every crack and bite. Queen Chrysalis, unusually, had been quietly sipping from a bowl of porridge together with the silent Papillate. Queen Novo and General Skybeak, meanwhile, had settled for the most seasoned hay-and-flower dish Grizelda had seen.

When all were done, their plates emptied and bellies full, Grizelda turned to Queen Novo.

“Queen Novo, General Skybeak,” said Grizelda. “What news is there of the Storm King?”

That brought silence, and curious glances. Good, Grizelda thought. She had their attention. At least, the ones that’d bother listening to her.

General Skybeak furrowed his brows. Novo’s expression was scrutinous. 

“Day by day, his forces encroach upon our waters and Abyssinia’s, and Hippogriffia… does not have the strength it once did, long ago,” said General Skybeak. “As my Queen said before, like the Abyssinians, we fear that if left unchecked, the Storm King’s plans may present a threat to the world as we know it.”

“Yes, truly,” added the Queen. “I understand Celestia’s urgence, but in all honesty, there are matters that concern us in our own corners of the world. And I fear this is one problem too many for us to handle alone.”

Skybeak darted a quick glance to the other side of the room.

“It’s those damn Kirin’s fault,” he muttered, so only his neighbours could hear. “Making under-the-counter deals all the time… Oh, they’ve given themselves a pretty alibi. But you mark my words, when the Storm King invades Abyssinia, most of their businesses will have ‘conveniently’ moved out of the country.”

Ironclaw was staring at Grizelda, looking uneasy. She understood his feelings. While she had no great love for Kirin, her General’s mercenary business made an ideal testing-ground for them to try out new-fangled devices such as flintlocks.

“So it’s true?”

Of everyone at the tables, the Dragon Lord’s daughter was the last she’d expected to hear speak.

“The Storm King, making deals with the Kirin?” whispered Ember. She shook her head. “Those nefarious old geezers… I couldn’t get outta the Mikado’s Court fast enough.”

Involuntarily, Grizelda snorted with laughter. “What’s that? A dragon, playing house with the Mikado?”

“You should show Ember more respect,” spoke Chrysalis. To Grizelda’s astonishment, the Changeling sounded quite serious. “As Tia said yesterday, Kirin and dragons are of the same Family, remember? She was Prime Minister Kuno’s ward.”

Here, she patted Papillate on the head, provoking a blush.

“The delights of which I’ve only recently discovered, having a ward,” Chrysalis said cheerily, licking her lips.

“Regardless,” said Novo. “The Storm King’s threat can’t be ignored forever. Ten years it has been since we last crossed swords, and we have not seen a single hair of him. If we are to delay further on the issue, Celestia better have something of tremendous importance to show.”

“The discovery of the Thirteenth Family is not nothing,” pointed out Ironclaw. “Humans… How much do we know about them? Would they be our allies? Our enemies?”

“Hm,” said Novo. “Celestia and the Guardian of Joy seem hopeful...”

Grizelda saw movement at the doors. A hush fell over the room. “Speaking of which… I think we’re about to find out more.”

In the doorway stood Princess Celestia.

“Good morning, everycreature,” the Princess said genially. “Had a nice breakfast?”

The collective answer was generally positive.

“I’m glad,” smiled Celestia. “Now, if you would be so fine, I ask you to follow me, back to the Public Assembly. The time has come to greet the Thirteenth Family.”

Chrysalis smirked. “Stay close, Papillate,” she stage-whispered to her ward. “I promise they won’t hurt you.”

But she was intrigued, Grizelda could sense it. They all were, from the Mikado to the Queen of the Diamond Dogs, the Malikah to the Abyssinian Queen, as they shuffled in Celestia’s wake to the chamber.

Today’s meeting would be held behind closed doors. For once, the leading figures of Equus stood on the parquet, level with the stage.

Two people awaited them on that stage.

One was a little green unicorn, with golden eyes and an unkempt mane. Next to her was an unknown creature in a wheelchair.

Bipedal, smaller in stature than an adult Minotaur, yet closer to simian in appearance – this creature matched the descriptions from the ancient scrolls. The hairs on his head and chin were blond, and his forearms showed good muscle. How the rest of him looked, none could have said, as he was clad in an odd assortment that Grizelda thought resembled a camouflage pattern. She estimated that when he stood, he could have stared Celestia right in the eyes.

Eyes… Grizelda knew eyes. And there was something about his eyes.

Lyra swallowed, her grip tightening on the wheelchair handles.

“Easy, kid,” Alex said softly, with a weary smile. “You’re doing great. Let me do the talking, okay? At least for this part.”

Quietly, Lyra ran Princess Celestia’s directives through her head one more time.

‘It’s too early to explain about Redheart or the Empire. We need to ease them in. Under no circumstances should you mention the locket.’

She glanced towards the wings. Twilight, her friends and the Royals were all giving her encouraging smiles. Even Bonbon nodded benignly.

“Okay.” Lyra nodded back, willing herself to look onto an auditorium which held Diamond Dogs, and a dragon, and the Ebony Hive Queen.

Memories of a hypnotic glow, of her caught in a bridesmaid’s dress, rose up...

Alex patted her forehoof. “Trust me,” he whispered with understanding. “I know.”

Celestia stepped upon the stage, positioning herself perpendicular to Lyra and Alex.

“Delegates of Equus,” the Princess stated. “We are told that aeons ago, Firefly crossed the Rainbow Bridge. I remember that Firefly was old when we were young, my sister and I, during our childhood in Adlaborn. In her tale, she did not come back alone.” Celestia held out a wing in formal presentation. “Today, as it was then, a pony finds a human. Behold, Madame Lyra Heartstrings, and her find, the human Reiner.”

There was a calm, that ghastly calm interlude.

Equine ears flicked back, the flame in Prince Abraxas’s mane sparked, Kirin and Abyssinians narrowed their eyes, Diamond Dogs sniffed the air, Minotaurs stood stiff, and much more. Even Chrysalis looked nonplussed.

This last one actually comforted Lyra somewhat. Her deepest fear had been that Chrysalis would recognise her from the Royal Wedding.

‘Good. Let the evil hag feel uncomfortable for a change.’

It was an unlikely candidate who delivered the first question. A dark-brown griffon in a red cloak stepped forward.

“I am Grizelda,” announced the griffon. “Claimant to the throne of Griffonstone, Dame of the Redcloaks, and much else. I greet you, human. Tell me, do you carry a title?”

Alex shrugged modestly.

“Captain,” he said. “Military rank. Some call me ‘Commander’, but that’s just a silly, pretentious nickname that stuck. ‘Captain’ is fine.”

“A military title.” Grizelda smiled. “I did not expect that, least of all from Celestia. She claims you come from the mythical world, Earth. Is this true?”

“It is, yes. Until several years ago, I’d never even heard of Equus.”

“How did you get here?”

Alex glanced at Celestia, who said nothing. “It’s hard to explain… I’m not even sure myself. Honestly, it feels almost like an accident. Still, I’ve spoken with Celestia, and I do seem to remember seeing rainbows at some point.”

But Lyra suspected he couldn’t tell them the whole truth.

Ten days ago, as time flew on both worlds, Alex had been called to Boston.

A secret message had come from Amethyst Star, begging he meet her at the local portal-station. The trans-dimensional knowledge of Time Turner’s family was the PHL’s lone asset in matching the Solar Empire’s portal system. Which, as Alex was later to learn from Galatea, was the result of disassembling Discord for a power source.

No doubt about it, the Empire harnessed life itself.

A portal-station was an unconventional place for a meeting, yet no surprise from Amethyst. When not at her lab, where she slept half the time, she could be found at a portal.

The responsibilities of heading the PHL’s paramilitary wing, appointed by UNAC, continued to lie heavily on Captain Reiner since Defiance. He’d told himself it was the lesser evil, compared to letting men like the now-Brigadier General Robert Gardner direct resource management and technological development. 

Someone had to do it. And it’d be a cold day in Hell before he let someone like Gardner have power over the PHL.

The net result was that it left him little time for summons, not when there were rogue HLF elements to keep under control, convoys to protect from the PER, or just the worrying prospect of a Second American Civil War, spurred on by said rogue elements. President Kaine’s insistence that it was the nation’s duty to hold onto democratic processes in 2024 had proven a double-edged sword.

The portal-station was situated at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library & Museum. In the manner of PHL operations, evacuating mankind’s legacy to hidden vaults had permitted them to co-opt vacated buildings for their ends. Call it propaganda, yet former museums made a good introduction to refugees from Equus.

As he entered, Alex had to allow himself a wry smile, despite another tense talk with Maxine. Talking to her was never easy before Washington, but after what happened to Agnes… 

It was something, at least, to be in a building such as this. One that once held various manuscripts of Ernest Hemingway’s, including unused endings to A Farewell to Arms. Who knew how this war would end...

In the atrium, the glass-grid surface of the elevated pavillon loomed high above, but he did not halt to admire the void. Since the Library’s conversion into a way-station, practicality had taken over, and the concrete tower adjoining the pavillon wasn’t lit as it had been in peacetime. No need to make yourself an easy target. They hadn’t removed the huge suspended American flag, though. Typical. Of course the politicians chose to place a portal-station to the USA within an atrium pre-decorated by one of the largest Stars & Stripes in existence.

At the base of the concrete pillar, surrounded by its perimeter of PHL guards and medical staff, the portal lay dormant, a gateway to nowhere, awaiting the next contingent. Not for the first time, Alex’s mind conjured up Stargate.

“Captain Reiner,” said Amethyst, passing between two guards to meet him. “You’re here.” She checked her wrist-watch. “The portal’s scheduled for activation in fifty minutes. But I’m sorry, this couldn’t wait.”

“It’s alright, Specialist,” Alex said reassuringly. “I was told things were jam-packed ‘round here.”

Amethyst nodded glumly. “The Smith Hall’s full to burst with those needing medical assistance. Things have been getting uglier on Equus. Nurse Redheart’s doing all she can for first-aid… but that’s not why I asked you here.”

She had led Alex up the stairs, leaving the din behind them.

They’d checked in on the Smith Hall and its patients, briefly, yet soon she led him into the larger of two conference rooms, currently serving as her office. As Amethyst had notified, two other senior PHL figures waited patiently at the table. Them, and a third he knew well.

Cadance and Zecora sat on either side of Bonbon, whose head was bopping up and down. Oddly, Cadance didn’t seem too focused either, as if something lay on her mind. His heart tightened to see Bonbon. She still wore her silver wedding-band, and clutched the golden lyre.

Having greeted them, Alex took a seat opposite, while Amethyst joined the others.

“Alright,” Alex said quietly. “What’s this about?”

Amethyst consulted her wrist-watch again. “Captain,” she began. “Alex. I’m not sure how to put this. But… I think we’ve got... an answer.”

“An answer to what?”

“To…” Amethyst breathed in. “To how Celestia can possibly do this.”

It took him two heartbeats to reply. “… You’ve found out why she went crazy?”

“Oh... poor choice of words, sorry.” Amethyst said awkwardly, sharing a look with Zecora. “And yet… Something I’d forgotten has resurfaced.” She gently nudged Bonbon. “From her.”

Alex gazed remorsefully at the broken, moaning mare.

Every time he saw Bonbon, that terrible evening came back to him. The news of Ambassador Heartstrings’ capture aboard the Thunderchild, with the Imperials’ surgical strike at Reykjavik barely repelled at the cost of the valuable experimental ship, and losing the symbol of friendship between two worlds.

What was left of Bonbon was testimony to defeat. Too late to stop Lyra’s petrification and consequent shattering, Bonbon had barely been snatched away before the same fate befell her. Amethyst had never told him the full details of what happened. He assumed it had to do with her family’s knowledge of portals.

Alas, brute-forcing Bonbon’s passage, when her mind had already taken a blow from witnessing her wife’s execution, had done her sanity no favours. Yet it came with a curious, occasionally handy side-effect...

“Bonbon,” he said slowly, so as not to frighten her. “Did you see something?”

“Not where…” Bonbon gurgled. “Is when… All goods things comes in threes… Harmonious Trinity left to fill, atonement for Faustian bargain…  This architectural pathology, an Empire grown fat, ripe for the bleeding… The Red Prince, Demiurge, blind Yaldabaoth thinks itself master of matter… From the Tohu wa-bohu it crafts, yet it won’t share knowledge.”

Cadance sighed. “Same as always, Alex. That’s all we can get out of her.”

“Captain Reiner, look sceptical if you must,” said Zecora. “Valuable news we learned earlier, in this you can trust.”

“Give her a minute, Cadance,” Amethyst said. “It’ll happen again. She promised.”

What would happen again, he wondered. That question was soon answered.

With little warning, a change came over Bonbon’s eyes. For years, they’d been misaligned, unstuck in time and perception. But now they aligned – and glowed white.

Amethyst held up a forehoof as Alex gasped. “Don’t be alarmed. I was expecting this.”

“Amethyst…” Alex murmured, keeping Bonbon in his sights. “What’s going on?”

“It’s complicated. A few nights ago, I received a message in my dreams… Or a place between dreams and awakening… Didn’t they use to say the Concordia’s Call works like that? But I remember finding myself on the Plane of Images… And this voice spoke to me.”

“A voice? Saying what?”

“My voice,” echoed someone from within Bonbon.

Bonbon’s voice it was not. It carried reverberation, and from what could be heard, it was too deep, too measured. Though somehow, unmistakeably female.

Alex half-stood, immediately wary. “Who are you? What are you?”

“Have no fear, Captain Rener. I come in Harmony. This means of communication is impractical, and I sense that it displeases you. Yet without safe passage to Earth, it was mine only option.”

He didn’t feel like sitting back down. “That isn’t an answer. And the last time someone said they came in Harmony–”

“Mine own sisters never knew of me. But in this exceptional situation, I’ll make an exception. Whether you believe me is your choice. I’m Galatea. I am an alicorn.”

“Did you choose to come here?” said Grizelda. “Or was it an accident?”

Alex smiled crookedly, as his smiles had become in recent years. “I think it depends on how you look at it. Ever since I learned another world existed, well, one full of intelligent– or sapient, I think that’s the right word? Ahem. When I learned there was this alien world, my first thought was how much I wanted to see it.”

Grizelda contemplated him with one eye, eagle-like. “But are you an explorer?”

There it was. Alex collected himself. “No,” he said simply. “I am… a soldier.”

He noticed Lyra whet her lips, as some in the crowd muttered with consternation. But the Pretender Grizelda smiled thinly.

“That is the straightest answer you’ve given so far.”

Naturally, one of the first things Alex had registered was that Cadance looked miffed to learn there was another alicorn – a greater alicorn – while she was still a pegacorn. Certainly, they only had a mad oracle’s word to rely on. Yet the guaranteed steadfastness of Zecora and Cadance helped him believe what Bonbon spouted. This wasn’t a new manifestation of Bonbon’s curious condition. This was different.

An alicorn unknown to Celestia or Luna, was what Galatea had called herself. Living in secrecy for millennia, while the Royal Sisters had made themselves known on that Hearthswarming three-thousand years ago. Not that Galatea, who identified as a keeper of memories, chose to step forward until she’d felt a stigmatic response to the bloody, fiery death of Adlaborn and the Tree Atop the World.

Galatea had spoken, but it was Amethyst who gave the explanations, drawing on what she’d learnt from her dream-like conversations with the mysterious alicorn. Otherwise, Zecora and Cadance listened on, silently.

In less time than it seemed, Alex had learnt much about Galatea. Save for one thing.

“How can you help us?” he asked, eyes never leaving Bonbon’s illuminated, ghostly face.

A stranger’s voice spoke through Bonbon. “With mine only possession. Information. Knowledge.”

“Ma’am,” Alex said gruffly, pressing his palms on the table. “As a military commander, I’m never one to turn down intel… But in this war, unless you got information about the Barrier, I hate to say this, but information alone’s not gonna help much.”

“What if I told you I have precisely that?”

At that second, Alex thought his heart had stopped. “Say what?”

The glowing-eyed Bonbon bobbed her head serenely. “This is what I came to tell you,” she intoned in an echo. “In mine investigations, mine search to aid Equus, I uncovered what powers the Barrier.”

Amethyst flinched as Alex’s gaze darted to her.

“Did you know about this? Amethyst! Did you know?”

“Galatea told me, yes,” Amethyst said, in a careful tone. “Told me she knew. That’s all. Then she told me I should bring you, and Cadance and Zecora, to meet quickly.”

“Miss Star says so, and it is true,” Zecora nodded. “We know no more than you.”

“All Amethyst said was that it’s got to do with crystals,” said Cadance.

“Heed me, Captain Reiner,” said the voice of Galatea, resonating from Bonbon. “Heed me well. I’ve travelled mine world, under many guises, making associates out of lost and broken souls, in order to elucidate how Celestia could go so awry… and when that proved beyond mine grasp, I sought to uncover the truth of her Barrier. I found it.”

Pressing both forehooves together, the oracular mare lifted her head.

“The Barrier is powered by the Crystal Heart.”

“Although I wasn’t formally sent to represent my government,” said Alex. “I was entrusted with the authority to speak on their behalf. I am not here to make any challenges or declarations of war from Earth to Equus.”

“That’s a relief,” Grizelda noted snarkily. “But why would a soldier come here?”

“Well,” Alex began. “Guess they couldn’t find anyone better.”

That drew a few good-natured chuckles from the Public Assembly.

“... Now you see the scope of our tragedy,” Amethyst finished saying. “If the Barrier’s powered by the Crystal Heart, it’s powered by the feelings of love and devotion the Tyrant has built up in her Empire. Sly old creature… She knew positive emotions are more potent than negative ones.”

“To think she’d use love, real love, to such ends…” Cadance whispered. “It breaks me.”

“But that’s absurd,” Alex protested. “We know Newfoals are hollow shells. We know their emotions have poisoned the last remaining Changelings. How can…”

“Alex,” Amethyst said. “The facts don’t lie. When the Barrier started growing, there was only a small number of Newfoals in Equestria. Nearly all Slow Newfoals, as we know now. Their love alone couldn’t have kickstarted the Barrier.”

“If it consoles you, it’s likely that as more Newfoals were produced,” Zecora said, a forehoof on Bonbon’s shoulder, “through that too, one must assume the Barrier got a boost.”

“Yeah, that’s some real consolation,” Alex muttered. “Dunno, though. The Barrier’s been moving two miles a day since 2019… So maybe you’re wrong somewhere.”

“Maybe,” said Amethyst. “Yet not about this.”

It seemed to Alex that she glowed. Not a glow such as Bonbon’s eyes, but that of some inner fire.

“About what?”

Amethyst was smiling. “Captain…”

There was a knock on the door. Everyone in the room, apart from Bonbon, glanced around.

“I’d better take this,” said Cadance, nodding apologetically at Alex. “The staff at the Smith Hall said we’ve got a couple of tough cases.”

Amethyst consulted her wrist-watch. “We might be getting more soon, with the portal opening in ten minutes. You go check what it is, Cadance. I’ll finish briefing the Captain.”

“Alright.”

When Cadance went to the door, she was careful to open it ajar, so the person on the other side couldn’t see inside the conference room.

“Lady Cadance,” said a guard’s voice. “Your presence is urgently requested at the Smith Hall.”

Cadance momentarily shut the door. “Thought so.” She contemplated Bonbon. “I don’t like leaving Bonnie, but, Zecora, think you’ve got this?”

“While none can change that Miss Sugarbean’s mind is broken in two,” Zecora said sadly, “In my hooves she ought be as well-cared for as with you.”

“Thanks,” Cadance smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

No sooner had she left, with time running down until the portal’s opening, Amethyst Star launched into her plans. Despite the ghastly revelation of the Crystal Heart, she looked the giddiest in years.

“We can turn the hourglass, Alex,” Amethyst said fervently. “We can make this right.”

“Wait, you’re suggesting… time-travel?” Alex stared at her. “Amethyst, I’m sorry, but… even with magical ponies running around, that sounds like crazy talk.”

Amethyst shook her head. “Time-travel would be a horrible idea. I’m not sure we even could change the past. And if we could, we might just make things worse. But–” 

“Then what’s this about ‘turning the hourglass’?”

“Sorry, Dad’s rubbed off on me,” Amethyst said, smiling wide. “Turn the hourglass, reverse the polarity, whatever you want to call it, don’t you see?” she gushed, a big grin spreading on her face, “All this time, the Barrier’s beat us back… Now, we can beat it back.”

“What?” Alex gasped. “You’re saying we can destroy the Barrier?”

Amethyst’s smile faded a little. Just a little. “No… no, I’m sorry, I can’t promise that. But we can push against it. Make it stop moving. We can make it retreat!”

As the conversation with Galatea had gone on, Alex had been on the verge of sitting again. Now he found himself standing upright.

Did he dare hope?

He’d heard something from Viktor Kraber while he was lounging about the mess hall. Kraber had been reading a book aloud with Aegis. And he’d said, ‘To live without hope is to cease to live’. Could Alex argue with that? To ignore the slightest hope, to keep retreating would mean all but acknowledging they’d die. That there was nothing to be done.

No. He’d have none of that.

“Amethyst,” Alex said, counting his breaths. “What’s your grand idea?”

Unable to contain herself, Amethyst paced around her side of the table, nearly knocking over Zecora when the zebra tried to shield Bonbon. However, Zecora looked caught in her enthusiasm. And while Galatea did not speak through her again, Bonbon was quite calm.

“Amazing,” Amethyst said breathlessly. “It’s a chance, Captain. It’s terrible to hear what they’ve done with the Crystal Heart… but now I know! Now I know how they’re doing it! With that, I know how to change it!” She whooped for joy. “Eureka!”

Amethyst paused then, catching her breath. She fixed Alex with a stare, beaming.

“All I need... is your locket.”

Instinctively, Alex’s fingers went to the heirloom he always wore, right next to his dog-tags. “You…” he said, mouth agape. “What locket?”

She tittered. “Oh, come off it, Action Man. We’re friends. You don’t have to put on the tough-guy act ‘round here, we know the real you.” 

“You don’t know–”

But he could not finish. Amethyst was still beaming at him.

“I don’t know about this,” Alex mumbled, addressing the hidden figure inside Bonbon. “I might be a head of the PHL’s military operations, but I’m not the unilateral boss of the damn army. I’ve got to answer my people, my superiors…”

“Captain Reiner,” Galatea spoke. “You are stalling.”

Her voice carried weight. As if his hands were moving of their own volition, Alex pulled the locket out from under his jacket, holding it on its chain, where all could see.

The glowing-eyed Bonbon seemed fascinated. “There it is.”

“It’s lined with citrine crystal, isn’t it?” breathed Amethyst. “Just what we need...”

Alex’s fist closed around the locket. “Amethyst… Why does it have to be my locket? Couldn’t you… use any crystal?”

“Captain” Amethyst said, with utmost sincerity. “Crystals are my field. Ever since I gave you those runic tattoos, a little of Equestria’s magic is imbibed in you. Maybe you wouldn’t survive long to magical exposure away from home, assuming the Tyrant didn’t lie… but in this controlled dosage, magic’s power is yours.”

“I know, why are you telling me this?”

Slowly, Amethyst  neared him, from around the table. “Because I think you still don’t understand how our magic works. Listen to me, Alex. Your locket means something to you, a leader of men, comrade of Lyra Heartstrings. In your hands, with the crystal within, it’s as potent as the Crystal Heart. The fact it’s also heart-shaped is just a bonus.”

She enveloped his closed fist with her forehooves.

“We can create… not our own Barrier, but a counter to the Barrier,” Amethyst whispered. “Channeling the hearts of those who love us and our cause through your locket. Yes, it’d be like an arm-wrestling match. The Barrier’s too big to go down immediately... But it’d even the playing field. With the Barrier retreating, we can reclaim the lands you lost.”

With Zecora and Bonbon silhouetted in the background, Amethyst looked up at him.

“We’d fight fire with fire… where the fires would be the fire of love.”

“I wish to ask a question.”

When Alex saw who’d spoken, a sick feeling rose in his stomach, which he barely contained. He’d read about Changelings, heard of their victimhood by the Tyrant. But to see one in the flesh – the grinningly cadaverous, insect-like figure of Queen Chrysalis aroused no sympathy, only an instinctive repellence, even to his soldier’s eyes. Next to him, he felt Lyra stiffen up.

Alex kept his tone neutral. “Yes, what is it, Your Majesty?”

Without warning, Bonbon slammed her face upon the table, contorting, writhing in pain.

“Bonbon?” cried Zecora in alarm, as she reached for her. “What…”

But Bonbon’s convulsions were out of control. Her chair tipped over. The lyre she always carried slid from her grasp. A stray hindleg struck Zecora in the chest, leaving the zebra gasping. Twitching, groaning, froathing at the mouth, Bonbon fell to the floor.

“Bonbon!” shouted Alex, running up to her, Amethyst right behind him. “What’s the matter?”

And Bonbon, snapping her neck back, began screaming. Spittle was flying everywhere, her body racked with spasms.

Alex didn’t think twice. He ducked and went to grab her forehooves.

“Zecora, help me hold her!” he yelled, not looking back as he tried pressing himself on the convulsing Bonbon. “What’s happening? She looks as if she’s having a fit!”

“Captain, this is no fit!” Zecora shouted back, going for Bonbon’s hindlegs. “Bonbon’s never experienced anything like it!”

The glow in Bonbon’s darting eyes sparked madly. Alex saw those eyes burning right into him.

“Captain Reiner!” Bonbon screeched. Not in her voice. “It’s me, Galatea!”

“Galatea?” Alex spat out. “What the hell are you doing to her!”

Bonbon shook her head desperately. “That’s not me! Our connection’s being severed! Captain, the Tyrant is here!”

“What! Where!”

“On mine side, on Equus!” cried the echoing voice. “She found me!”

Amethyst thumped Alex’s shoulder. “Alex! We’ve got to get Bonbon to Cadance! The pressure on her mind’s gonna kill her at this rate!”

“Wait!” Holding Bonbon as best he could, Alex tried to look into her eyes. “What about you, Galatea? We’ve got to help you!”

“I’m worlds away, there’s nothing you can do!” responded the voice. It sounded calmer, now. Yet it was the voice of one marching to the gallows. “I’ll fight her as long as I can. Mine part here is played out, Captain Reiner. I’ve told you what I know. Now, trust Amethyst Star!”

He’d thought he might get some last words, some proper farewell.

Instead, Galatea just went. The glow in Bonbon’s eyes died. Vanished as if it had never been. The spasms left her, too, and her limbs went limp. Tongue lolling, Bonbon’s head weakly turned over. She’d lost consciousness.

Alex hadn’t realised he was sweating. The locket still dangled from his neck. Grunting, he roughly thrust it back beneath his jacket. He wiped his brow. He had to wipe it three times.

“Alex…” Amethyst said gently. She placed a hoof on his shoulder, the same shoulder she’d thumped. “Galatea’s right. There’s nothing we can do for her.” She gestured at Bonbon. “But we can still get her to safety.”

His teeth were clenched. Like Bonbon, he felt like screaming, too.

“How many, Amethyst?” Alex whispered. “How many has she taken from us? Lyra… Luna… now this, this alicorn, Galatea. Why? They wanted to help us… they wanted to help us…”

“I know, Captain,” Amethyst said, head bowed. “It’s sick. But we’ll make it right.” She’d been kneeling beside him. She promptly stood up. “Come. I just need to do something first. Once today’s transfer is over with, we can commence work on our plan.”

Wearily, Alex nodded. As he stood, he picked up Bonbon in his arms, gingerly moving her head to nestle into his chest. With his training, carrying a little pony like her wasn’t hard, yet she was light, far lighter than she should be.

Wordlessly, Zecora tucked the battered old lyre between her forehooves.

Having emerged from the conference room, Amethyst trotted a way ahead of them, heading for those stairs back towards the Museum’s spacious, crowded atrium. Although the Smith Hall lay in the opposite direction, and Bonbon was in uncertain condition, Alex couldn’t help but gaze after Amethyst, from his vantage atop the stairs, as she passed by the guards to enact her day’s duties.

While other specialists were practiced in the craft of opening portals between worlds, it was a highly delicate operation, and Amethyst trusted herself to perform it above others.

Again, his gaze was drawn to the huge American flag that hung from the ceiling. He wondered how much he still believed in it.

A point of light sparked in the portal’s centre, heralding its opening. A token number of PHL, composed mainly of Equestrians, formed a semi-circle facing the portal, but many faced outwards. The foremost task of guarding a portal was to shield it from possible outside assault. He saw Amethyst nod into a headset. She’d requested a password from the other side, and it checked out.

It was rumoured, and he’d heard Amethyst ponder it, that the Empire had ansibles. If only the PHL possessed similar instant-communication, rather than having to rely on garbled radio messages or old-timey mail, via unstable portals. Like shield technology, this was an area where only Equus’s resources could provde what they needed. Resources they were low on – the Empire, not.

The numerical indicator above the keyboard displayed how many refugees were scheduled for transfer today. A dozen. Not a bad number, yet there were about six times that amount lying on indefinite wait at the Smith Hall. He saw the first pair of refugees, a couple by the looks of them, one a pegasus mare, the other a male griffon, emerge blinking onto Earth. A crumbling, ephemeral haven, but still sought by those who wished to look upon a new world, before it vanished forever...

Something nudged his elbow.

“Captain Reiner?” said Zecora. She gestured at Bonbon. “Think of what’s best for her.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Alex sighed, thinking of the Smith Hall. “Let’s go find Cadance.”

An alarm bell rang throughout the building.

“Yes,” said Queen Chrysalis. “Several years… you’ve been here a while.”

Alex let his chest decontract.

“More like ten days,” he said glibly. He tapped the wheelchair. “Rough landing.”

The Public Assembly chuckled again.

Out of the ensuing chaos, what Alex remembered was one word.

Not merely a word. An invective.

… Or an order.

Jump.

Before that there’d been the refugee couple, looking around in panic, the harsh screeching noise of the alarm in everyone’s ears. The troops reacted with sensible discipline. Two of the guards pulled the refugees to safety, to the stairs atop which Alex stood.

All others concentrated their aims on the portal.

There was Amethyst, crying to make herself heard above the alarm.

“Something’s picked up this station’s coordinates! Perform emergency shutdown!”

Jump.

Yet the safeguard failed.

… And a look of horror dawned on Amethyst.

Even from afar, as the guards and the refugee couple rushed past him, Alex saw it, and understood her horror. The safeguard had been sabotaged. He called out to the ones below.

“This is Captain Reiner! Destroy it! Destroy the portal!”

“Too late! They’re coming through!” Amethyst had called back just as a purple shield wrapped itself around the gateway.

“Zecora, take Bonbon!”

Those were his orders to the zebra, in the process of handing her the unconscious body, before he raced down the stairs, his runes burning.

Amethyst saw him hurtle towards her.

“Alex, no! What are you doing! We need to get out of here! I still need you to–”

Jump.

Then their surroundings dissolved into white light, drowning out even his runes’ brightness, knocking him back. The effects of a flash grenade going off.

In the bright void, he couldn’t make out the enemy until they were atop of him.

A spell hit him in the chest, scorching right through his protections, tearing up his skin, filling his nostrils with the scent of roasted flesh. Half-blinded, he saw the unicorn, a dark silhouette against the void, move to strike again...

A well-known mohawked equine figure slammed against them.

If only he could find his tongue. He was torn between wanting to thank Zecora or chew her out. What was she thinking, abandoning her post like that? Were there no troops down here to hold back the tide?

… But, from what little he could distinguish, the tide wasn’t turning.

A shadow fell across his eyes.

Like a prophet parting the tide, he thought he saw Bonbon. Back on her hooves. Her eyes aligned, gazing right at him, unperturbed by the chaos.

She nodded at the portal.

“Jump,” she whispered.

The last Alex remembered seeing was her vanish into the aether.

“But you say you’d heard of Equus, Commander?” Grizelda blinked. “Oh... My apologies, Captain.”

“No, it’s fine,” Alex said, running a hand through his short hair. “I’m used to it. The name confusion and the roughness. It comes with the job. And, yes… humans found out about Equus recently, but I’d never gone there.”

“Roughness,” Grizelda nodded approvingly. “I trust that, much like my own people, yours have been… scattered, and separated under a dozen different flags?”

"Hundreds, yeah,” said Alex, nodding back. “You catch on quick, Your Grace." He took a breath. “Admittedly, our world’s larger than Equus. Without other, uh, intelligent species, we spread out. Settled where we found water and fertile soil, and sort of... moved on. In six-thousand years, we’ve gone from mud-hut villages to cities in the thousands. Separated by borders we drew up ourselves and more languages than I can count.”

Grizelda let him speak.

“You’ll find no great unifier from where I come from these days, Your Grace,” lamented Alex. “We’ll find a cause, band together... and when all’s said and done, go our separate ways.”

A great hand was raised from the throng. Alex, to his unexpected delight, saw it belonged to none other than a Minotaur. A real, live Minotaur. Wearing glasses.

“Pardon me, Sir Reiner,” said the Minotaur. “I am Philip, Lord Darkhoof of the Minotaurs. I believe an important question has been forgotten. Do you have a first name?”

“Alexander,” said he. “My name is Alexander.”

The Minotaur nodded thoughtfully. “It is a good name. May I ask another question?”

“Yeah, well,” Alex said. “What’s another question, at this point. Fire away.”

“Really?” said Thorax. “That’s how he put it?”

Ember chuckled. “‘Course, I didn’t take him at his word.”

Thorax was a better listener than Garble, and Ember had seen fit to visit him again – ostensibly to bring Garble his daily meal, but she could hardly contain what she had to tell. And this time, she’d taken her new guitar along. Besides, Ember had seen the ruby she brought lying uneaten in the corner of Garble’s enclosed space. Lamenting a waste of good food, it hadn’t been tough for her to again bid Thorax he draw the tarp down on the crate.

The Changeling lay opposite her, and had cleared a spot of wax so Ember could sit. Like the previous day, she’d been telling him everything. All of what Reiner had said at the breakfast-table, then later on, in the formal environment of the Public Asssembly.

“But that’s all I got to ask him,” clarified Ember. “If he was a warrior, who did he fight? He got vague and evasive… just said he’d done a lot of fighting in the desert.”

Thorax sucked in air. “Oof. I can’t imagine a worse place. When it’s hot, even Pharynx has trouble hiding how the Sun does murder to his chitin.”

“I quite like the desert,” Ember shrugged, though she chose not to mention how she’d ‘obtained’ her new guitar in a desert raid. “Matter of taste. And that was it. You ask me, I think he didn’t like talking about fighting. Must be cos’ of his pony friend.”

“Huh,” Thorax said simply. It may have sounded inexpressive to the untrained ear, but Ember understood he was unaccustomed to conveying his thoughts. Such were Changeling drones. “Still. Sounds better than the other day.”

“Definitely more engaging,” Ember agreed, plucking the guitar’s strings. The drone seemed to enjoy whatever noises she made with it. “This… human, is pretty interesting. He had a lot to tell, but he had his hands full.” She raised her claws. “Heh, bet his hands aren’t as good as these. They look too soft.”

“Mmm, maybe,” Thorax added. “Probably couldn’t play the guitar like you.”

With a twinge of guilt, Ember thought back to the guitar’s original owner. Thorax didn’t need to know about her raid on the pig caravan.

“Eh,” said Ember. “He didn’t say much about who he is. In the end, the meeting was just ‘hey, here’s a human, gaaaze in wonder!’ We’ll just have to see if he’s got more to show.”

“Hm,” Thorax pondered. “That can’t be all, can it?”

“Actually, no,” Ember said. “There was Madame Heartstrings’ idea…” She glanced back at Thorax, who was resting his chin. “But you’d have to hear it yourself, I guess,” she chuckled. “Tough luck.”

“Darnit,” he muttered. “Why must you tease me along?”

“Come on, just ditch Garble and go see for yourself,” Ember said with a huff. “You’re a Changeling, you can put on a disguise. Chrysalis doesn’t have to know.”

“... I would, but I can’t. Queen’s orders.” 

Ember let out a frustrated sigh. There was no way to get around his rigid view, no matter how hard she tried. In time, perhaps, but not today.

But the thought of Thorax in disguise led her mind back to that ambush in the Forbidden Jungle, and Thorax-as-Garble praising her music. This was nothing like what Garble would have said. She wondered what there was to this drone.

“When you were… you know.” She paused her guitar-strumming, and Thorax looked at her. “Garble. By the campfire.”

Thorax blinked. “Yeah?” he said, tilting his head. “What about it?”

“... Okay, look,” Ember backtracked a little. “Did you not see how Garble acted before?”

Thorax glanced at the crate behind him, and then back at her.

“Um. Is… is this about what I said at the campfire?”

“Yeah, guess it is,” Ember said. Even as she continued to pluck at the guitar, she felt herself frown. “I thought a Changeling would be better at the disguise thing.”

“Oh, I… I did watch Garble, you know,” Thorax said, oddly defensive. Perhaps his abilities were a point of pride. “But…”

“But…?”

“I don’t know, I guess...” Thorax began, with a drawn-out sigh. “I just thought it’d be more natural if I– I mean, if Garble liked it. Uh, not saying it wasn’t good– which it was! I just, darnit, I’m sorry. Was I– gah, I mean, Garble– not supposed to like it?”

“I… didn’t say that,” said Ember. And there was an unfamiliar bashful feeling inside her. “So… you’re saying you liked it, but you tried pretending Garble did?”

Thorax had lowered his head to the floor. The poor Changeling was frightened, obviously. Ember rolled her eyes.

“It gets a little mixed up,” Thorax admitted. “But… I don’t know, Princess. It’s hard for me– even for most Changelings– to pretend you’re something you’re not. So I said it as myself. I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to like it, was I? Look, I’ll make it up to you, I’ll say I didn’t like it! Yeah, that makes it right, right? I’ll, uh, I’ll even–”

His words died down as Ember put a claw to his lips. “Okay, okay, I get it,” she said calmly. “I’m glad you liked it, actually, Thorax.”

“.. .You …you are?” Thorax said, cautiously. She nodded, and his head rose higher. “Oh, uh, then… then I like it.”

“There, was that so hard?” Ember smiled thinly. “I could use more practice, but I’m glad someone liked it.” 

The Changeling formed a tiny smile. Ember found it suited him. Perhaps he should be smiling more often.

It faded quickly. “I… don’t know if we can talk much longer.”

Ember blinked with surprise. “Why not?” she said, in a low voice. “Is that now part of Chrysalis’ orders, too?”

“Oh no, no-no,” Thorax said nervously. “Not… exactly. But… I won’t be here all day...”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Ember said, nodding at Garble’s crate. “Frees you up from watching this twit.”

“Yeah, but…” He swallowed. “The Queen also wants me as her fo– by her side at mealtimes. Luckily, my friend came in today, but… if the Queen comes in and sees us talking…”

Always Chrysalis, always getting in the way. Ember frowned, but said something different.

“I didn’t know you had friends.”

“Me neither,” agreed Thorax. “She’s from our Hive, too. Just sort of started talking to me and Pharynx. Pharynx was annoyed at first, but now I think he’s just used to her butting in.”

Thorax looked up.

“Oh…” he said, in a small voice. “She must’ve snuck in through the window.”

Ember felt wax drip on her head.

With a yelp and a fiery breath, she jumped away, glancing up in time to see something dark fall off the ceiling and scuttle into the underside of Chrysalis’ bed with a chittering noise.

“I think you scared her…” Thorax said, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. “Aphid! You can come out now. Ember didn’t mean it, uh, did she?”

“I scared her?” Ember asked indignantly, watching the other Changeling slowly creep out from underneath the bed, a bag slung over her shoulder.

While Aphid’s dark, chitinous husk matched Thorax’s, she was small, smaller than he was, which only served to emphasise her large bug-eyes. Curiously, her otherwise identically-shaped fin was coloured purple. Aside from her helmet, the little drone wore no armour, and looked harmless.

But Ember knew better. “What the– when did your friend arrive?”

“She, uh, she came in right after the… presentation.”

The other Changeling was giggling, having made no other sound. While Ember realised she was gripping her guitar tightly, smoke rosing from her nostrils.

“Uh-huh…” said Ember, without loosening her grip. “How long was she up there?”

“Probably long enough to listen… I think you must’ve scared her when you came in, so she… uh, hung up there for a while.”

The little drone named Aphid nodded vigorously, her bag jiggling. She nudged Thorax and pointed at Ember.

“Um, you should probably introduce yourself,” Thorax told Aphid. “I mean, the Princess knows your name, but, yeah.”

As a response, all Aphid did was boop his snout playfully.

“Sorry,” Thorax told Ember. “She’s… she’s pretty shy.”

Ember peered at the drone. “Now that could’ve fooled me,” she said dryly. “But now she’s here, you get time off, right? Isn’t it her turn to guard Garble?”

“Uh, no, that’d be Pharynx’s job,” clarified Thorax. “And actually, I did ask Aphid to come in early… I just… forgot you’d be popping in, Princess.” Again, he showed Ember a half-smile. A rather sheepish one. “Watch this.”

He thumped the crate. Immediately, Garble gave a loud snarl, audible even under the tarp. It made Aphid jump back in fright, her bag almost slipping off.

“Sorry,” Thorax said to Aphid, just as sheepishly. “Had to… had to show the Princess you need the company, if we’re letting the beast out of his cage.”

“Wait, what?” said Ember, eyes widening. “Isn’t that against the Queen’s orders?”

Aphid, who’d been staring darkly at Thorax, now glanced towards Ember, blinking. Then back towards Thorax, considering him a moment, before she started giggling again.

“I-I d-didn’t...” Thorax stuttered, embarrassed. “I mean we’re… gonna give him some space. Aphid’s agreed to help, while I’ll keep… guarding your guard. Garble.”

At this, Aphid giggled harder than ever, and she patted Thorax on the back – not roughly, or even jovially, but gently, Ember noticed.

“Yes, yes, I appreciate your massages,” said Thorax, mildly pouty. “But do you have to rub it in? That’s what she does,” he added, addressing Ember. “She’s a masseuse. Though she’d say… um, she’d call herself a fan-girl.”

“A ‘fan-girl’?”

“For the Queen,” Thorax said tiredly, going to lift the tarp. “Aphid, lend me a hoof?”

Ember tensed. “That’s Garble in there,” she warned, raising a claw. “He’s a brute. If you’re not careful, he’ll bite your heads off.”

“Well, uh…” Thorax slowly looked away from her. “Then I’m… glad you’re here, Princess. Didn’t think you’d help...”

As it turned out, Ember needn’t have worried. 

Timid as both these drones were by Changeling standards, she was amazed to see them work in harmonious synchrony as Thorax unlatched the door. Blinded by the sudden light, Garble didn’t have time to yelp when, adroitly, the drones each released strings of wax into the cramped crate to bind his limbs – wings behind his back, legs and tail attached, forearms before his chest, even clamped his jaws together.

Thorax nodded at Aphid. She took a deep breath and darted into the crate, wings flitting, to push Garble’s mass while Thorax carefully pulled at the last remaining green string, their combined efforts easing the trussed-up Garble out of his prison.

The red drake’s eyes burned into them, hateful as ever, but his jaws were locked, and Thorax ignored his gaze.

He knelt by Garble, whispering. “I’m very, very sorry about Chrysalis… I know it must be awful, locked up in there, unable to move… I thought… Aphid could do something for that. She’s done it for me lots of times.”

The dragon merely snorted, or tried to. But Aphid, reassured he’d be no threat, giggled and leapt onto Garble’s back, rubbing her forehooves. Ember saw what she intended then. Sure enough, Aphid began delicately massaging the mantle between Garble’s wings, with expert smoothness.

It was like a burning light had gone out in Garble’s eyes. She actually saw him untense, his eyes drooping, ears flicking as he released a blissful, if muffled sigh.

“~Gooood boy,” Aphid whispered, sing-song.

Those were the first words Ember had heard her speak. Yet her attention didn’t stay on Aphid. Her gaze slowly turned towards Thorax, as she saw him in a new light.

Thorax rubbed his neck abashedly. “It… it seemed like a nice thing to do…”

“Yeah…” Ember said, staring from him, to Garble. “Yeah. For a Changeling, you’re... uncommonly focused on ‘nice’, you know.”

He looked up at her. “Do dragons do ‘nice’?”

Ember prepared to reply, but her gaze fell upon something. The guitar, still in her grip. Her guitar. Except, could it really be called ‘her’ guitar?

She turned from him, sharply. “I’d better go. Next meeting starts soon. Apparently, that green unicorn wants to say something.”

As she stalked to the door, though, something inside her halted her step. She turned around. While Aphid was still massaging Garble, Thorax hadn’t moved. He was standing on the spot, watching her quietly.

“Well…” Ember said. “You said… you’re there with Chrysalis at mealtimes?”

Thorax looked down at the floor. “Yeah… In the background.”

“Okay… I…” Ember trailed off. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

She left then, not wanting to lock gazes with him.

As the dining-hall filled for a late lunch, Blueblood’s eyes were on a particular figure. From his place by the door, he allowed his gaze to rove over their bronze-toned, muscular chest, their pink, bovine lips, their shock of curly black hair… Seated by his father, Basil Darkhoof cut such a fine picture of masculine beauty. 

He smiled to himself, remembering the note he’d slipped the young Minotaur.

Tomorrow, daybreak. Meet me in the steam-baths.

These pleasant thoughts were cut short, however, by a new arrival casting its shadow. Literally. Before Blueblood had turned, he knew few beings at the Convocation cast such a long shadow.

The evidence stood before him, in the shape of the Great Stag. By his side, like always, was the Snow Maiden.

Not his actual granddaughter, for her physical self had long passed away, but a doe called Lel. A doe of two shadows. Hers, and that of Ilsa’s, borne in the shawl around her neck.

“Hello, Prince Blueblood,” said the Stag. “I trust you’re enjoying the refreshments?”

His tone was warm, yet seeing him, Blueblood felt a cold shiver. Did it have to do with the Snow Maiden’s accompanying presence? In a way, maybe it did.

“Enjoying them fine, sire,” Blueblood said carefully, raising his cup. “I’ve a taste for exotic fruit.”

“Ah,” the Stag said sagely. “Not unlike your ancestor, Astron. I remember young Polaris. He was charming, dashing, and much the same in his tastes.”

Blueblood tried to smile, nervously. “They do say a Blueblood can steer his way towards any creature’s heart, when he puts his mind to it.”

“Quite,” agreed the Stag. “Your talents are in-keeping with ancestral tradition, dear Prince. You have the potential to make a story for yourself like Polaris’. In all tales, each retelling may bring something new while remaining true to its spirit.”

His warm tone, Blueblood felt, belied an icy depth akin to the Snow Maiden’s eyes. Here the Maiden chose to speak.

“Tell me, what retelling would your tale be?”

He saw her eyes had turned.

“We do not blame sons for the sins of their father, Prince Blueblood,” said Ilsa Erklass, “but don’t mistake our forgiveness for your ancestor’s mistakes as acceptance of yours. They are cut from the same cloth. I’ve remembered his and felt them long enough.”

Although the eyes of Ilsa’s bearer were the warmest brown, they turned as icily blue as the Snow Maiden’s truly were. She tugged at the glimmering shawl which held her spirit, and untold others that once bore her spirit as their burden.

The doe Lel was merely the latest. If Blueblood’s memory served, the first had been...

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of people to meet.”

Blueblood didn’t wait for an answer before he turned away, ardently hoping the darkness of his mind wouldn’t show. Of course a meeting with the Reindeer always led back to his family history. His ancestor’s star-crossed romance with the Fire Maiden, and the fate which ultimately bound her to her sister’s particular form of immortality.

All the fault of a Blueblood.

He went to pour himself another drink, bitterly wondering if the Winter nights of the North could feel half as cold as the Winter in his heart.

Seated as Cadance was at the table of Equestrian Royals, facing the entrance to the dining-hall had permitted her to witness Blueblood’s encounter with the Reindeer, even if what they’d said went unheard by her. At this vantage point, what Cadance’s ears mainly picked up over the hubbub were Celestia and Luna in discussion over the effects of Reiner’s introduction. From what she could garner, Celestia maintained that careful adherence to a script would pay off, while Luna was agitated by the long wait until the truth could spill.

She gave a smile tinged with rue. To this day, the full story of her cousin’s bloodline was one where gaps waited to be filled in her knowledge – but Cadance’s memory of her adolescent years with Blueblood, and with Sunset Shimmer, let her see as few could where the gap lay in him, a grain of truth to the fable of all Bluebloods.

Next to her, Shining was listening to the two senior Princesses in silence, a soldier taking point of his surroundings. His plate of beets and daisy lay untouched, the surest sign of his hidden worry. He’d spoken a lot with Reiner, ever since that time the three of them got together so she could tell the human of her childhood and ascension in Florentina.

After being the focus of attention then, Cadance was even starting to feel left out, now.

It did give her some wry amusement, to wonder if this was how Miss Bonbon felt all the time, overshadowed by a personality like Lyra’s. At least, drawing on from what Cadance knew of Bonbon, the mare didn’t seem to let it get in the way of love.

“Shiney?” Cadance said gently, getting her husband’s attention. “Pardon me, love? If I’m not needed here for the moment, I think I’d like to check on how Twilight and her friends are doing.”

“Of course,” Shining said, with an accompanying smile. “You do that. We’ve got time again.”

Cadance stood up and left the table, heading for the same doorway Blueblood had just vacated. As usual, she made sure to approach by creating as wide a berth as she could from the table at which Queen Chrysalis sat, together with the Dragon Princess – who looked nearly as displeased by the seating arrangements, if this as possible, as Cadance would have – and a diminutive Queen-in-Waiting of some other Hive. She wasn’t sure whether it was her imagination, but Cadance kept sensing a sickly-sweet vibe radiating between Chrysalis and that Changeling.

She did, however, give a friendly nod to Queen Novo and General Skybeak of the hippogriffs, who returned it in kind. This Convocation was her first time meeting with hippogriffs, whom until then she’d only heard stories of from her Aunts.

No wonder Shining had been so eager to introduce them to his little sister.

One thing Cadance hadn’t told Shining, however.

She reflected upon this as, having descended numerous flights of stairs, she at last reached the gate to the bridge which led from the Hall of Unity to its adjacent Watchtower, the afternoon wind catching her by surprise and blowing her mane into her face. The fact was that, for once, it wasn’t principally Twilight she wished to catch up on. Twilight and the other five would still be tucking into lunch at this time, in the privacy of the Watchtower. Cadance could go and see how they were doing later, at the end of the meal.

Upon crossing the stone bridge and coming to stand before the Watchtower, the youngest of Equestria’s Princesses was set on her goal. A moment, perhaps the only one she’d get alone, with the newest relation she’d never she had.

Cadance was still running the thought through her mind even as she ascended another staircase, one that led her to a rough wooden door.

Breathing in deeply, Cadance gathered the will to knock three times.

“Who is it?” said the voice from within.

It was a surprise to Cadance that she didn’t wholly recognise it. The voice she’d been expecting was of an indefinite brogue, likely the accumulation of centuries mish-mashed. But what had responded was plainly spoken in a particular dialect, a cloth-cap Trottingham elocution.

Had she come to the wrong door? Cadance swallowed. “This is Princess Cadance,” she said. “I’m here looking for… for ‘Shale’.”

Whoever was behind the door seemed to ease up. She heard the key click in the lock. And when the door opened halfway, Cadance found herself greeted by a pair of blue eyes, belonging to a tall earthpony of greyest shades.

“This is an unexpected visit,” Galatea said. She wasn’t smiling, yet the look in her eyes was cordial, welcoming. “What brings you here, Cadance? Come on in.”

“Uh…” 

Cadance felt herself falter before she’d even started, though she crossed the threshold as invited. Now that she actually was inside Galatea’s bedroom at the Watcher, a possibly even sparser location than what Captain Reiner had set up, her words were failing her.

Galatea did smile then, showing understanding. “It’s alright,” she said softly. “I know how odd this must feel for you. You didn’t know me until a few days ago. Until a few days ago, I only knew mine sisters from afar, watching over thousands of years apart.”

How much that one statement encompassed only made Cadance feel dizzier. She resisted an urge to hold her head.

“At the door,” Cadance said suddenly, finding a detail to pinpoint. “What was that?”

Galatea blinked, a rather disarming gesture for one with such eyes.

“What was what?”

“How you spoke,” Cadance clarified. “I’ve never heard you speak like that before.”

“Ah,” said Galatea, her shoulders relaxing. “Well, I’d imagine you must know something about intonation, accent and– cadence, isn’t that so, Princess?” She chuckled slightly. “A person picks up a way of speaking, depending on when and where they are. Why, while I didn’t have the pleasure of witnessing it in the flesh, memorable event that it surely was, you must know Luna had some difficulty adjusting her parlance for the times!”

“Yes…” Cadance nodded slowly. “But you sounded so… I dunno…”

“Unrefined? Is that the word you’re looking for?” Galatea smirked, spotting Cadance goggle at her. “I’m not an immortal alicorn who’s moved in the same circles as your regal aunts, Cadance. I merely grew into my surroundings, just like they did… Just like you did. After all… how much work went into you shedding your provincial Oleandrite accent?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I have my ways.” Galatea shrugged. “But even if I didn’t, I could guess.”

The other alicorn – no, the earthpony, was it? – had been entirely on the mark in her assessment. Cadance distinctly remembered the many hours spent, with Sunset looking over her shoulder, correcting her often, in order for her pronunciation to be molded into what fit the upper echelons of Canterlot society.

Looking at the alicorn opposite her, though, Cadance spotted no sign of that same condescension, nor the haughty expectations. 

“A fine guess,” Cadance added. “It was a lot of work, alright. Guess you could… guess you could call it homework all on its own.”

“That it was, no doubt,” agreed Galatea. “But I do hope you haven’t lost it wholly.”

“No,” said Cadance, whistling through her lips. “No,” she repeated, elongating the ‘o’ vowel per the Oleandrite tonality. “Heh. It was one thing to learn that, as an alicorn, I’d been blessed with the Gift to understand all languages I could read… And yet, the pronunciation still remained a matter of hard practice.”

“Lovely,” praised Galatea. “Curious things, accents are. They can tell you things about the speaker, many things… Some the speaker may not even know. What did you think mine was?”

“Yours?” Cadance asked. “Trottingham, wasn’t it?”

Galatea laughed. Not a chuckle, nor a snort, but a full-blown laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, “you did get it right. But that was Celestia’s guess for mine true accent when we met a second time and before she knew who I was. Would you have guessed it was Stratusburg, actually? I suppose times do change…”

Perhaps it was a trick of her senses, Cadance thought, when she caught a melancholic tinge to Galatea’s voice and a longing look.

“Tell you what. There’s a story there, but I’d love to hear a story from you too,” Galatea said, as Cadance tilted her head. “What do you think?”

Cadance thought of it for only a moment. “I’d be happy to.”

“Wonderful. Here,” Galatea said, nudging her bed, “please take a seat, Cadance. I’m sorry, it’s a long walk here, and an equally long story.”

“I’m sure it is,” said Cadance, taking her offered seat. “I’ve got time, don’t worry.”

Only then did Cadance finally remember what she’d actually come here for. She’d wondered where this alicorn, this aunt of hers, unknown even after she’d met one aunt and then the other, could have been during the childhood when she’d known no family, save those kindly villagers who’d taken her in. Earthponies. Like the guise Galatea presently wore.

The love of an earthpony was a powerful force, indeed. Maybe, Cadance reflected, there was a reason why her Northern crystalline people were a branch of that tribe, off the great tree of ponykind and the Equine Family.

But as their stories went on, of ferrymares and princesses, orphans from faraway lands and mysterious enchantresses, Galatea’s accent and her own a merry melody in the air, Cadance realised there was no other place she’d rather be.

And before you knew it, the end came, after an afternoon of individual deliberations.

Ember sat on her bed, finding the room eerily quiet. She didn’t feel like going to dinner. Only the second day, and she felt isolated. Maybe because Garble was no longer around to amuse her. Maybe because she was surrounded by faces from across the planet. What did they see her as? No more than her father’s daughter? Did they even view her as an equal?

Releasing a sigh, she idly gazed to her bag. Sticking out of it, light reflecting off of it, a canister. The same canister the Chaoskämpfer gave her after choosing her as delegate to the Convocation. Per legend, the Kämpfer’s flame could be used to speak with him regardless of location.

With no other thought, Ember slowly retrieved the metal canister, admiring its coltan, a dull black sheen. Slowly, she placed it onto a cushion, where it made a soft sound. Her claws quickly worked to twist knobs and undo locks, and its lid slid open with a hiss. It was nearly time.

“Great Chaoskämpfer. It is I, Princess Ember,” she spoke, as the fire started to slowly escape from the opening. “I call upon your fire to light the way, for not only myself, but everyone here. Please respond, so we may hear of what lies before us.”

To complete the show of respect, Ember slipped back, and kowtowed before the canister, her snout pressing the bedsheets.

Emerald-green fire arose, the flames molding themselves into something new. The head and neck of a dragon, whose eyes spoke of an ancient wisdom, unconsumed by the emerald blaze. By the head’s proportions alone, this dragon’s size in life must have been far larger than most.

“And I appear before you, dragonet, willing to provide answers,” the Chaoskämpfer spoke through the projection, his voice soft and quiet like candle-light. “Although a distant spirit, I’m here to grant you and everyone else aid for what lies before us. Speak now, dragonet, and tell me what is it that troubles you.”

She licked her lips, nervously. Sharing feelings had never been her forte. Yet if she couldn’t talk with the Chaoskämpfer, she couldn’t talk at all.

“I’ve no idea what I’m doing,” Ember stated flatly. “Dragons don’t do… diplomacy. We barely even trade, except with the Kirin, and they’d trade with anyone. I’m like an errand-girl, and now I’ve brought you here… what do I do?”

“Well, what have you done thus far, Ember? What has occured to drive you to this state of mind?”

Ember sighed. “Chrysalis… damn her,” she said, rubbing her head. “I let her walk over me too easily. Alright, I did get some fun out of what she did to Garble, but… if I want to be Dragon Lord, what sort of Dragon Lord will I be, if I can’t stand up for my people?”

“Hmm. You’ve had an encounter with the Changeling’s current Swarmarch? Well, I commend you for your pragmatism, Ember. There are times where a Dragon Lord must act on what is necessary, rather than just. Sacrificing one’s dignity for others is a labour you’ll have to bear in future. To be a great Dragon Lord, you’ll need to know when it’s best to act and when best to placate the egos of others.”

“I despise him, you know,” Ember said candidly. “Forgive me. But I don’t know why you chose Garble as my companion. His buffoonery makes me laugh sometimes, but that’s it. Yet… I hate it, but I feel like I’m gonna have to make it up to him somehow… for his dignity…”

“His purpose is not limited solely to entertainment, and you’d do best to not underestimate him, much as he underestimates you. There is a lesson you’ll each learn from your experiences. Give him time, and you may see why.”

“I hope you’re right,” muttered Ember. “Because I sorta feel like Chrysalis did us a favour… Imagine him, knocking around the representatives. Not that I’ve been doing much better… All I’ve reached right now is one Changeling drone. A drone.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“It’s… it’s not enough, is it? He’s just a drone.”

The Chaoskämpfer gave a knowing smile, an amused look in his eyes.

“Has your father ever told you of his time in the Gauntlet of Fire? Of how his left claw hadn’t healed when the previous Lord’s Call came?”

“Not really…” said Ember. “Dad, he... never talks about the Gauntlet. I guess he doesn’t want me getting any ideas.”

“And yet, he sent you to be educated by the Kirin,” the Chaoskämpfer remarked idly, “I’d say Torch doesn’t want to appear ‘weak’ by letting others know how he succeeded without use of might.”

“You’re joking.”

“I remember him so vividly,” the Chaoskämpfer began. “He approached the mouth of my mountain, most of his hoard dragged behind him in the dead of night. Torch offered nearly all he had for my assistance. The Dragons’ Elder looked to Ember with a piercing gaze. “He was desperate, he was willing to make any deal if his hoard didn’t suffice… including an egg.”

Ember thought over the Chaoskämpfer’s revelation. Learning that her father almost sacrificed everything to become Dragon Lord was shocking enough. But then her mouth fell open as the weight of the Elder’s words hit her. To dragons, she’d always been small, but now, she felt tiny.

“Wait…” Ember whispered. “If he… I was his only… Dad… did my Dad try to sell me?”

“He was young, Ember. Young, and so desperate to become Dragon Lord,” the Chaoskämpfer said softly, stretching his ethereal neck forward to rub his forehead against her’s. “I told him to keep his gold and stow his offers. He didn’t need my help to win the Gauntlet. For what he lacked was not power, no. All he had to do was to use what little he had… his cunning. It was after misleading the other dragons into fighting each other that he won. I remember him the following night. Sceptre in the claw, a look of guilt on his face for what he’d almost done.”

Ember’s head rose, subtly, from her kowtow. “Guilt? Guilt for what?” she asked, straining to steady her voice. “For what he almost did? Or… because he used his head, and that’s not what a ‘real’ dragon would do? Huh?”

“Guilt for being so desperate, that he almost gave me an egg. Oh yes, your father used his head. I think he’d want you to do likewise in that regard.”

An unpleasant burning, unlike the embrace of dragonfyre, took hold of Ember. “Know what? After what you’ve told me,” she spat, “I’m not sure I care about what my Dad wants.”

“So, what do you want then?”

Groaning, Ember rose entirely, chafing to bow any longer.

“I don’t know!” she shouted, pacing around the bed. “I thought coming here, I’d get to show, I… I don’t know, somebody, that I’m not just some little princess! But so far, all I seem to get is more jeers from knuckleheads like Garble, or mocked by Queen Chrysalis, if I’m noticed at all!”

“I think you’ve forgotten something, Ember,” the Chaoskämpfer said simply. “Use your wits. What do you have?”

“Have?” Ember chuckled bitterly. “Alright, I’ll bite. I’m a dragon without a hoard. Chrysalis even took my bodyguard from me.” She tapped the side of the Chaoskämpfer’s bag. “All I’ve got is my armour, a sceptre that doesn’t belong to me, a guitar that… I stole, and… a drone who hangs on to my every word. Goodness knows why. I was this close to strangling him in the jungle.”

There was a look in the Chaoskämpfer’s eyes. He adopted a wistful smile.

“Sometimes, life surprises us in how we meet our companions.“

Ember placed a claw to her forehead. “Great Chaoskämpfer… Thanks. But I want to be alone.”

He merely nodded, his head a rock of ages. “As you wish, dragonet,” he said softly. “Yet know that while I’m here, you’re not alone. And maybe you won’t be after I’m gone.”

The emerald-green flames receded, of their own volition, back into the canister.

Ember slumped onto her bed, head in her claws, rocking to and fro. She’d get over it soon, she knew. She was a dragon. Dragons were tough.

But at that moment, inside, she’d have liked to be anything other than a dragon.

~ Day 3 of the Convocation ~ Twelfth Day of the Month of Rophon ~

Watering the lavender was becoming a routine. But Luna found it put her no less at ease than centuries ago. Since her return, she’d realised it was one activity she looked forward to, besides playing with her abacus. It was a personal regret that her sister hadn’t thought to mention the beauty of her lavender. Still, to have others notice the pleasant smell sufficed. It wasn’t like she was the only one awake in these early hours.

Luna strode up the staircase leading to the top of the pagoda. The flowers’ soothing aroma would travel down, as intended. Watering the lavender, and lowering the Moon to start the day. Then Celestia should awaken, and her shift would end.

She found Darkhoof practicing his own daily routine – his idea of an early morning workout. In the past few days on Metazoa, she’d come to appreciate his company.

“Ah, good morning, Proxenos,” Luna greeted, with a tip of her gardener’s hat. “I trust you had a restful night?”

Acting on reflex, the great Minotaur cracked his knuckles before answering.

“Surely if I hadn’t, you’d be aware?”

His tone was easy enough, for someone who’d just done hard exercise. But his face was lined with a look he couldn’t quite hide. Not that she saw it for long as Darkhoof headed for the ornamental basin, to splash water on his face.

“Most refreshing,” Darkhoof commented. “Really, Your Highness, I’m grateful you don’t mind your flowers mask the scent of this old bull.” He coughed. “I found the gardens were always the hardest to tend, while looking after the Hall. Night’s rest is good, but I get restless during the day unless I start by pushing myself.”

“Don’t we all?” agreed Luna. Holding the watering-can in her aura, she dilligently went to water the lavender at the balcony. “And do not worry. I’m flattered my flowers are of some use other than an old mare’s hobby.”

“Gardening isn’t just a pastime for the old,” Darkhoof said, wiping himself with a towel. “Those who know Minotaurs only as fighters are surprised to learn we find it an honoured profession.”

“I’m only as old as I wish to see myself, mind, though my sister would disagree,” said Luna. She wiped sweat off her brow. “It is a time-consuming hobby, but I find it as enjoyable, and more personal, as spending time counting stars.” She looked at Darkhoof, chuckling. “My mentor, Lady Mistmane, would take me to garden at hours such as these. She taught me much about the beauty and value of the art.”

“She taught you well. I see you pour a nurturing spirit into it,” Darkhoof remarked quietly. “I’ve often wondered if that’s how alicorns see the world. Parents pass on before their children, but a gardener watches as what they cared for grows old and is reborn, many times over...”

That, more than anything, caught Luna’s attention. She set her hat aside, and the watering-can.

“Perhaps,” Luna replied softly. “I don’t know how Tia does it. But, a gardener takes care of their garden, like you said. In the stead of each flower, so too another grows... beautiful as the last, perhaps even more. And our duty is to ensure they grow.”

She glanced to the expanse surrounding Mount Metazoa. Beneath the starry skies and the light of the Moon, these vast, rolling steppes seemed almost serene.

“Time passes. I haven’t known a mortal life, and I spent a thousand years in timeless sleep. But there are times where my sister would tell me how many friends she has seen pass over the centuries. Time passes, but memories remain.”

Luna turned her gaze to the lavender, bristling softly in the cool morning breeze.

“And those memories are what we treasure the most. What of you, friend Darkhoof?”

“Me?” replied Darkhoof, sighing. “A Minotaur spends his life apart, in a house of memories. Sometimes I feel we only have children so they shall tend to the images of long-past ancestors… The Labyrinth is made to teach one lesson, to those who brave it. Every living being dies alone.” He was looking over the expanse. “It is not a lesson my son took well…”

“I see,” Luna said shortly. “Perhaps his… insight, differed from yours?”

Darkhoof shrugged. “You could say that, Your Highness.”

Luna considered it, for a moment. “Time changes one’s outlook. Grandfather taught us much. We were to be those who’d move Sun and Moon, who’d shoulder the burden as seasons changed. Yet he and Ilsa, and Anna, assured us that no matter our purpose, we deserved to live. And we’re forever grateful for his guidance, long after leaving the safety of Adlaborn. But never did I unravel if this was his plan from the beginning, or if he’d had a change of heart in years gone by.”

She sighed, heavily.

“Perhaps in time your son would see it as you did, Proxenos. Or impart his own thoughts. Give him enough time, and he’ll give it to you as well.”

Now she smiled. It was a sad, reminiscent smile.

“If only I’d heeded such advice many centuries ago. I confess envy for those who hesitate not to resolve their issues, in a matter of years, months, days... For my sister and I, well, it always felt like there was a next time, until it was far, far too late.”

Luna glanced back at him.

“Apologies. I do believe my sister’s usually the one who gives our little ponies advice on a dime.”

Darkhoof’s eyes crinkled. “Perhaps you are growing into it, Princess Luna.”

“Perhaps,” Luna snickered. “Thank you, Proxenos, and I do wish you the best with your son…”

Something did come to her mind. Of a gift, given back to her only recently, but which had been hers many, many years ago.

“Princess Luna?”

“To grow into it… yes, ah...”

Luna regarded him with a knowing look. The question of her immortality lingered on, a question that hardly anyone had ever asked her directly.

“Our nature is unknown to most,” Luna said softly. “Including ourselves. Kind as he is, Grandfather imparted that we were meant to be more. But I do wonder, should I ever perish, would an afterlife await me? And for that…”

She raised her uncovered hoof, looking at it thoughtfully.

“Do we have souls, after all? A question that will not be answered easily, I fear, even with our millennia of experience. Tell me, Proxenos. What do your people think of souls?”

Darkhoof eyed her queryingly. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask long ago, Your Highness. But then… maybe you were still young, in the days of Asterion?”
 
“Beliefs change, Proxenos, as do the people who hold them,” Luna answered. “Though I’ve read my share of myth and legend in my youth, I wish to keep myself knowledgeable. And the days of Asterion have long passed.”

He nodded, as if this answer satisfied him.

“Then you’ll know what they accused him of,” Darkhoof said solemnly, “of arrogance, of madness, perhap shunning his fellow beings. Poor, woeful Asterion, who believed himself the first Minotaur… or at least, the first to see the world for what it was.” The Proxenos paused then, his eyes going back to an old story. “Asterion had an ambition. He thought he could build a house so large, it’d encompass the Sun, the stars, the world.”

Luna leaned on her watering-can, still held afloat in her magical aura. She’d heard the story many times over, but what was one more time, really, to an immortal?

“He was haunted by the idea that none of these last forever,” Darkhoof explained. “It was his hope that, in this house, he’d be able to keep their death at bay. Day and night he laboured, pulling stones, setting mortar… But no matter how large his house grew, there was one thing he never allowed inside its walls, which were built to preserve celestial beauty alone. People would have spoiled it. Ruined it.”

Breaking for a moment in his story, Darkhoof sat on the edge of the fountain.

“Then, came the inevitable,” he said. “One day, he discovered his house had grown so big, he could no longer find his way to the centre.” He chuckled wryly. “What do you make of that? Though this isn’t how the tale ends, naturally.”

Luna tapped her chin, humming.  “Dreams hardly ever end, do they? Their stories unwind, onward until morning arrives, for one rude awakening,” she said wistfully. “And the same goes for Asterion’s domain.” 

“Ah, then you do remember the end,” Darkhoof smiled. “They say he wandered nine days, trying to find the centre again. And when he did, he came face-to-face with… himself. Literally.” He chuckled again. “Well, not quite. A small pod of Changelings had made their roost in his house’s centre and, sensing him approach, chose to play a trick on him. Exhausted and delirious from his long search, he couldn’t tell for sure what he saw. So when he demanded what they were doing there, the Queen, who’d taken on his shape and had a poet’s tongue, told him these words.”

Here the Proxenos paused for reflection. 

“These words… ‘We are like the spider. We weave our life and then move along in it. We are like the dreamer who dreams, and then lives in the dream. This is true for the entire universe.’ And then she asked him if he’d ever loved anyone but himself. That, they say, is when Asterion’s eyes truly opened.”

Darkhoof stroked his beard.

“But even then, he couldn’t fully let go of his compulsion… Something in him required that he never be idle, be it with his hands, or to take in the world’s beauty. So he decided he’d travel. Yet to others, his heart should always be a mystery, unless he chose otherwise. This was how he forged his armour, a house unto itself, only to be opened for those to whom he’d bare his heart. And this is why, to a Minotaur, armour is akin to their soul.”

Luna gently set down her watering-can, smiling.

“Many a time have I heard this story, Proxenos Darkhoof, in various forms and languages. But like all stories that pass through the millennia, the essence and heart remains. Thank you, for a lovely retelling, one that I think I shall remember. All the more appropriate, for this Hall of Unity was his greatest gift to the world.”

“A house to encompass the Sun and the world,” Darkhoof repeated, matching Luna’s smile. “Always a grain of truth in each legend…”

Luna cleared her throat, adjusting her hat one last time.  “Now, your story isn’t the only Minotaur legacy brought here. In my possession is an artefact of Minotaur origin. I’d like your assessment on its... readiness, for we expect it’ll be of use in the coming days."

‘Artefact’ was putting it lightly. It was an heirloom. Privately, Luna knew the time would come when she’d return it to its rightful owners. And the word caught Darkhoof’s ears, evidently.

“An artefact, you say? If it’s from your time, in all likelihood it is undamaged. Unfortunately, it may even be that the knowledge of how to create such artefacts is… not what it once was.”

“Will you be able to assess it, though?” Luna asked. But she knew the answer already.

“Have some faith in us. We remember our legacy well, Your Highness.”

“I thought as much. Come. Dawn is upon us, and it’s best we start early.”

With a glow of her horn, Luna wore her hat once more, and looked up to the Moon. And with great care, it began to lower. Celestia had not arrived yet, but these days, one could do away with formalities.

The pair descended back into the Hall, the Moon lowering with each step. Soon, the first rays of the Sun shone through the windows, and Luna met her sister halfway down the stairwell. She looked as laidback as Luna felt this morning – unadorned, with a cup of tea in her aura.

“Good morning, Luna, Proxenos Darkhoof,” Celestia said brightly. “I do believe I’ve missed the time by a few minutes.”

“Tis’ alright, Sister,” Luna said reassuringly, tipping her hat. “Take your time, these meetings do wind our breaths.”

With a polite nod exchanged between the three, they continued on their respective paths. Already, throughout the Hall, the first delegates began to emerge from their quarters, giving both Luna and Darkhoof a nod or salute, acknowledgement of all sorts.

They turned around a corner, and came across a Changeling.

He didn’t seem to notice either of them, too busy glaring at the lavender pots by the window. Before Luna’s disbelieving eyes, he reached out and bit into the flowers.

“Soldier,” Luna said firmly. She maintained what she hoped was her best, most polite smile, though Darkhoof’s glance her said otherwise. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

The Changeling turned, frowning. “Inspecting these bushes,” he said, like it were the most obvious thing. He dropped the torn flowers from his mouth. “They are a safety hazard.”

Luna raised an eyebrow. “And…” she said, choosing her words carefully. “How does my lavender pose a threat to the Convocation’s proceedings?”

“Not the flowers,” the Changeling said patronisingly. “The enemies who’d use them as a hiding spot. I’d suggest removing them entirely.”

Luna nodded stiffly.  “That’ll be considered, Soldier…?”

“Pharynx,” said the Changeling. And Luna now recognised him as Chrysalis’ lead guard. “Do consider it. Our Queen would very much appreciate the increased security.”

“Right,” said Luna. “I’ll be sure to… consider it, then.”

At the very least, the Changeling had the courtesy to nod before moving to the next hallway. Luna hoped he wasn’t seeking more lavender pots to ruin, or she’d be having words with Chrysalis, with or without her sister’s approval.

“The things I do for a good night’s work, Proxenos,” Luna said resignedly, readjusting the lavender. Thankfully, Darkhoof lent her a hand. “All these meetings can be exhausting to deal with anyway, but in times such as these, we must make do with what we’ve got, and present our best smiles, it seems.”

She looked down the hallway the Changeling had gone. No scattered pots yet, at least, but she harrumphed nonetheless. They moved on.

At last they arrived in her quarters, which lay across from Celestia’s.

Gloomy, dimly lit by candles. Luna had made it her own and It was home. At the balcony stood her telescope, and an abacus lay on her simple bed. Pots of lavender and chrysanthemum were hung all over. Thanks to the breakfasts Celestia prepared each morning, she hadn’t bothered with the kitchenette. Overall, Luna kept it as clean as she wished. Which was to say, not very, given the notes scattered on the floor.

“I apologise for the state of these chambers. We’ve not had the time to properly ready them.”

“Never mind,” said Darkhoof. “Should you need a hand… It takes patience to navigate a Labyrinth, you know.”

“No, no, no,” said Luna, stifling a laugh. She placed her hat on the coat-rack, and set her watering-can aside. “I can clean up after myself, Proxenos. But I’ll ask if you’d be so good to help me open this chest.”

The wooden chest lay where Luna had left it, beside the bed. It wasn’t a plain thing, for Reindeer carvings adorned the wood. With her telekinesis, she removed placed the chest between her and Darkhoof. The great Minotaur held onto one side, her magic held onto another, and together they opened it with a heave.

Darkhoof’s gaze fell upon the artefact in the container, and his eyes widened.

“Like I said, we’ve not yet had the time to present it, unfortunately.” said Luna. There was a reminiscent look in her eyes. “Grandfather brought it with him as a gift... the Gift Givers of the Grove are quite prescient, might I add... and he informed me that I ought to seek you out instead for its properties. He’s many things, but he’s no blacksmith. But your people are, and it’s most fortunate we should meet at this early hour.”

Her horn lit up and she lifted the artefact from its box – a unicorn’s headgear, made out of what could only be obsidian, with a silvery metal horn protector. Intricately forged and crafted with carvings on its side in a long-dead language, there was no question by whose labour it had been made, nor for whom. There, at the base of the horn, was a white crescent Moon.

“It’s a little old-fashioned,” said Luna serenely. “But we could use a little old-fashioned, and would this armour not fit as a timeless mare’s soul?”

“Princess… this is… this is...”

“One should always come prepared, Proxenos. Shall we begin?”

Basil found Blueblood, as promised, in the steam-baths.

Within the hazy humidity of the room, the princely stallion’s coat shone white. He was waiting by the edge of the pool, a bath-towel wrapped around his haunches. In his forehooves, he carried a strange piece of folded-up paper, almost arrow-like in shape.

The Prince saw who’d arrived, and nodded welcomingly.

“A miniature Kirin Paperwing,” the Prince explained. “I made it myself... to remember. You fancy watching an experiment?”

This was unexpected. Basil thought about it.

“I’m my father’s son…” he said. “I hope.”

Blueblood patted the spot next to him. “Sit, and I’ll show you.”

While Basil sat, careful not to let his own bath-towel slip, Blueblood softly blew on the Paperwing, and released it into the steam rising from the water.

Basil thought the Paperwing would sink and land in the pool. It did not.

“It was one of those Summer afternoons,” the Prince whispered, “when the pegasi are pulling double rainfall duty. An hour away from storming... You could feel your hairs stand from all the electricity.”

The Paperwing glided, to and fro, one graceful circle to another.

“Of course, I hadn’t looked up the forecast. Have I ever? I went out in my airboat. And, fool me, I got caught in an updraft.”

Sometimes the Paperwing rose, sometimes it did sink, but never low enough to hit the water.

“But the wind... I felt it was begging me to play with it, to never come down. Push and pull, like we were dancing... For fifteen minutes.”

At one point, the Paperwing’s very tip skimmed across the water. It left behind, much like the Kirin who’d conceived it, the parting trace a swan might upon the surface.

“That's the day I realised there's an entire life behind things, and no reason to be afraid. Ever. Paper's a poor copy, I know. But it helps me remember. I need to remember.”

Finally, the Paperwing flew back to Blueblood’s waiting forehoof. The Prince stared at it, wistfully, before letting it drop gently to the floor. He turned his gaze to Basil.

Basil met his gaze. Without premeditation, he felt his hand move to Blueblood’s bath-towel, loosening it. Now he was caressing the stallion’s haunches, as the stallion’s wrapped around his in turn.

Then, feeling his eyes close, he leaned forward, in tandem with the Prince of Equestria.

In the leisure-room next door, Queen Chrysalis lay on a massage table, her crown replaced by a hair towel, while Papillate lay on another.

“Ooh,” Chrysalis crooned, as Aphid kneaded her shoulders. “Yes, dear girl, that’s goood...”

A vent connected both rooms. Her tongue darted out, tasting the air.

Smirking, Chrysalis looked over to Papillate, who returned the smirk in kind. The little Queen-in-Waiting was learning.

“Heh-heh. Tastes like it’s getting… steamy, in there,” Chrysalis grinned. “I’d call that a good omen, for today.”

Omens, however, have a way of proving as opaque as steam. Or as shifty as a Changeling.

No sooner than all the delegates had finished convening for today in the Public Assembly, Ember’s instincts picked up the taste of a dread in the air such as she hadn’t felt there before. The light-hearted memory of her banter with Thorax, or her laughter at Garble’s expense over the past few days was all but forgotten when Princess Celestia noiselessly strode onto the stage, bearing a face most grave.

“An enemy is coming.”

That brought a screeching halt to the delegates’ talk, as all eyes turned to the Sun Princess.

“There is a war,” Celestia stated. “War so unforgiving, the human race has found itself driven to the brink, to seek every means to an end, all to escape, and to delay the unrelenting enemy.”

‘What?’ Ember thought. She dared not speak, this time, or join the growing murmurs.

“In the human’s own words…” Celestia continued, as the murmurs died down, “this crossing, or perhaps this twisting of the threads in reality’s loom goes further than beween our two worlds. Him coming here, he says, was not his first experience of otherworldy visit… Neither for him, nor for his kind as a whole. Maybe a thread looped back; maybe it’s a sign of what’s yet to come in the pattern. Who knows? All that matters is…” She took a deep breath. We did it.”

The room erupted. It would have been pointless for Ember to try and mentally transcribe it, but she could tell, among the ringing in her ears, that everything said amounted to variations on “How’s that even possible?”

“Alexander Reiner has told me he comes from a world under siege,” said Celestia. “Half of its population destroyed, as if they were never there, overwritten by the works of a corrupt soul. Millennia of history, destroyed, forgotten, leveled by a wave of magic that erases them mercilessly. And worse yet is what this corruption seeks to do to humans.”

Celestia had to pause.

“From what he’s shown us, it transforms them, crushing them into pony-shaped things with virtually no free will, not as much a mind as a set of restrictions. It regards humans as… as raw materials. For machines, for soldiers that die in droves. All while the true spirit of friendship bleeds dry, and virtues are twisted into perversion.”

Behind the ivory-white alicorn, two figures reappeared on the stage together. Ember saw them to be Princess Luna, who’d taken over the task of guiding Alexander Reiner in his wheelchair. 

Meanwhile, Princess Celestia had paused again, letting the weight of her words sink in. Despite the eternal poise for which Celestia was known, Ember was sure she detected a hint of revulsion in the Sunbearer’s voice. Or perhaps that was she, who was just projecting.

“In another world,” Celestia said slowly, solemnly, “the Equine Family wages war on the Thirteenth Family.”

‘That’s…’ Ember thought. ‘I can’t believe this! This… this is too much–’

The atmosphere grew fiery. Tempers flared. Creatures yelled at the top of their lungs, clamouring to be heard. The griffon general leaned to whisper to the Young Pretender. Loudest were the zebras, and the Saddle Mareabians, and for a moment Ember thought Celestia had lost control of the room.

But it was the rumbling, aged voice of Sint Erklass that spoke above all. The Great Stag had until now sat quietly in his gallery. Flanked by the regal, steadfast Snow Maiden, his was a presence most welcome – had he bothered speaking earlier.

‘Now you speak, you old buck.’ Ember thought. ‘Always the one voice of reason. Typical.’

“Let her speak her mind,” Sint said. His towering gaze panned around the room. Some of the… less capable races present wilted under it, even if it wasn’t a particularly hard stare. “Isn’t that why we’ve gathered here, to answer the Call, this warning of old? So we may bear witness?”

‘Yawn.’ Ember quietly if half-heartedly sneered at the old stag’s words.

As she’d predicted, his words were regarded as trustworthy advice by the greatest powers of this gathering, outright gospel by some of the smallest. But who’d openly deny such an obviously wise and rational statement?

‘Not us,’ she thought, answering her own question.

She wondered whether to bring out the Chaoskämpfer. As the murmurs of agreement rose in the room, it was clear Sint had swayed the gathering’s flow in his favour.

“Thank you, Grandfather,” said Celestia, and the Great Stag nodded. “I understand each of you have your reservations. That this is an uncertain prospect. That coming here is folly. I assure you, it is not. I believe the human was sent to us so that, where one Equestria betrays Harmony, we may restore its truth.”

They paused. There were no murmurs, though Ember saw lingering doubts in quite a few – from the Malikah to the Young Pretender.

Princess Luna, now, stepped forth to make a declaration.

“The enemy understands. It understands fear. It understands desperation.”

The dark alicorn’s horn alit, and the room grew darker. Discontented murmurs rose once again, but Luna hushed them with a regal nod of her head.

“Do not fret,” Luna said softly. “I do not intend to frighten. I merely wish to show it as it is. As Alexander Reiner remembered.”

In his wheelchair, the human held his hand to Luna’s forehoof.

“I remember,” Reiner said gravely. And it began.

There was a sense of opening. The human’s eyes shone, and–

There is a set of canyons and rock spires that remind Ember of some canyons of the Dragon Lands, except that isn’t quite right.

This isn’t rock, this is concrete. 

And this is a city.

A massive tower of brass scaffolding rises above it all, scraping the sky like the tail of a dragon as they fly above the planet. It is beautiful, and haunting in its similarity to some of what she’s seen of Equestria. The stony architecture, the stucco, the brick. All feels familiar. And yet it is not. There are vehicles akin to horseless carriages in the streets, streetlamps with no visible flame, lights that cannot come from fire. They could be from crystal, but somehow every instinct says they are not.

She hears whispers in the air. Screams in the dark. The crack of lightning and skies alight with thunder and fire. She sees a unicorn, mint-green and bearing a golden lyre upon her flank. Their words are distorted. But it all comes down to the same.

Fight. Survive. Live.

She sees endless streams of people fleeing the great barrier. Pegasi, unicorns, earthponies. Joined by hippogriffs, zebras, and the ponies of the Crystal Realm. A thunderous march. A thousand smiles. A white mare with the sun above her. Smiling contently over her people. Her Empire. An empire built upon ash. Forged in war. Drenched in the all-encompassing purple. Grotesque. Malignant.

In the streets of the city a battle did occur, with humans clad in strange suits, wielding weapons more advanced than any in Equus, against armour-clad equines raining fire and a sickeningly violet rain from the heavens above. 

A human in rags runs through the city. Towards a train packed with people. And they scream. Arms outstretched. Doors wide open. He doesn’t make it. An earthpony nails him in the back with a crossbow, and he starts…

… There’s no single word to describe what happens. He melts like candle wax. He screams in unmistakable agony as his body bubbles, melts, twists, all things a body should never do. And then in the human’s place apears something that is not a pegasus. It has the wings of a pegasus, the build of a pegasus, but is not. Its eyes are as if an artisan has cleanly and bloodlessly removed them, replaced with glassy orbs.

The expression on its face is and is not happy. It looks happy, but something feels lacking. Some essential soul. It joins the fight against humans with the childish glee of a young drake smashing things to see what happens.

The Barrier approaches. The battle is lost. And it will be lost, time and time again. So many twisted, turned, and smiling. What can they do do but run?

There he stands. Alexander Reiner leads his people into battle. A horrid affair in the streets. The bodies of the fallen scatter the ruins of a city once shining with a thousand lights. A thousand lights to be extinguished beneath the violet Barrier.

The scene changes. But the story remains the same. The Barrier ever looming. Another sacrificed so others may live. Day by day. Week by week. A city falls. Another stands. The story repeats again, time and time again. Another battle. Another retreat. Millions dead. Millions awaiting the sweet relief of death.

Alexander Reiner stands weary, but defiant. His gaze lands upon the Barrier. Behind the Barrier, the Solar Tyrant stands. Tall and proud. Beloved above all. 

And the Sun shines brightly on her people, as it sets for another.

Princess Luna felt cold.

Colder than that night in Adlaborn, when the Krampus’ twisted, corrupted puppets approached. For she had seen what Alexander Reiner lived. There wasn’t much she could have done to worsen it, and therein lay the primal, gut fear she held of puppets and strings. On far-off Earth, humanity faced them, fought them, and now, they were losing to them, one puppet amongst many in an eternal worship, and concert of madness.

“The war is not over,” Luna finally said, to the silent, entranced chamber. “The Empire’s will has yet to falter. And in time, they will turn their eyes here.”  

The vision faded, slowly. The air in the hall had turned icy. The fog dissipated, revealing herself standing at the centre, and the human Reiner. She looked around. The last pieces of her projection began to fade into the air, leaving a large group of bewildered, horrified, and perturbed delegates.

Until only the Imperial symbol remained, as she intended. Not a word was uttered. Anyone who might have looked at Luna’s sister would have found Celestia’s customary tranquility replaced by a grim countenance. The sunburst sigil above her glowed in the dimmed light of the room, casting the room in a sickly, pallid, yellowish tone – the same sigil upon her flank. There, finally, Luna fully understood what Alexander Reiner had said of the enemy. She saw that Celestia’s half-shadowed visage was akin to that of the Queen herself.

Celestia coughed, her gaze haunted. And Luna felt that icy dread intensify as she understood that her sister was announcing a moment had come at last.

“We have one more call to make.”

The Princess of the Sun left the assembly little time to digest her words.

From her side, the Snow Maiden emerged, holding a small globe. Ilsa had discreetly snuck away from the Reindeer’s gallery while Luna made her presentation, timed to perfection by Celestia for dramatic impaect.

Before all their eyes, a stoic Ilsa released the globe and let it fall to the ground.

Hidden in the crowd, Ember watched, apprehensive, feeling glad for the warm of the Chaoskämpfer’s canister by her. What new devilry was this globe? She got her answer when the globe randomly leapt aloft, began to hum, to shake and to vibrate.

From within, eyes opened. Yellow eyes, of a soul consumed by pure, unadulterated madness. Through the crystal surface, they emitted a gaze that suggested no hint of sanity in the slightest. All Ember could distinguish was purely eldrich. They watched as Celestia stepped forth and prepared to ask the globe’s occupant a question –

It let out a high-pitched screech. One so dreadful, everyone who heard it was forced to cover their ears, as the entire building seemed to shake.

“Didnt want this. Didnt want…”

The creature growled at the crystal sphere that encapsulated it.

“Confined again,” said the thing, as it angrily hissed, pressing against the globe which held it imprisonedl. “Confined again, confined again!” It began to thrash, growing only more infuriated. “Confined again. Not asleep. No good!”

Before it could let out another scream, a golden glow overtook it and dragged it over to a recovering Celestia.

“Father Krampus, calm down,” Celestia asked politely, yet the creature just rambled and thrashed in her telekinesis.

“Didn’t sleep, only awake. Didn’t sleep, only awake.”

It was a mantra, almost.

“Didn’t sleep, only awake. Didn’t sleep, only awake.” the Krampus ranted and raved, as Celestia tried to prod it. Thankfully, this seemed to have some effect. “Remain to watch, only watch, as flesh of my flesh, son of my skin, scum and stinking, putrid and pathetic…” The creature sneered. “Still. Out. There!”

“Sir, please,” Celestia said. “What are you looking for?”

The Krampus looked to Celestia, eyes still consumed in insanity, and bared its teeth. 

“Abomination it is. Churlishly cheated demise and death. Cheated his victims for what he’s done. Callously cannot comprehend characters, cannot all completely feel his fractious frustration. Took everything… he can’t have it all, no-one can, and it is all, all anything that is not him sees…” Slowly, something changed in the yellow eyes. “Couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t make him pay for what he did to her…” Was the thing crying? “C-Couldn’t... couldn’t stop him from ruining us any further.” The creature tried to breathe, before shuddering. “Sorry. Sorry, I can't remain much like myself. Too broken...”

Celestia seemed touched by this in her own way, before recomposing herself. “Father Krampus, tell us what you know while you’re lucid. Please.”

“Fought. Fought him, flesh of my flesh, to make him pay. We did what what we could, didn’t we? The lot of us... you and Scorpan my eldest son, we… confronted him.” The Krampus seemed to be struggling with itself, trying to say something which got choked up. “You got hurt. Hurt bad, but cast him down. I… I could not.” Again, the creature shuddered. “Failure. Despite everything, failure.”

“Why?” Celestia asked lightly, as the Krampus grimaced. “Why was it a failure?”

“Didn’t know of the Bag.” the Krampus said through clenched teeth. “Allowed him to crrrrrrrrawl his way out. Allowed him to wait. Allowed him to return and couldn’t make him pay.” It began to thrash again, savage rage overtaking it. “You will be found, flesh of my flesh! You will suffer! We know about the Bag! Never let you escape again!”

Its voice was so loud, the rage so raw, both echoed throughout the Hall.

And then, then Ember watched as the yellow eyes looked towards her. The Krampus was looking right at her. What was it–

“You.”

Ember blinked, as her mind seemed to lag. The Krampus had turned its gaze right upon her, and there was a sneer to its tone, but neither was aimed at her. It was sneering at the canister.

“You know.” said the Krampus. “You know.” This was a statement, not a question. “Come out!”

Suppressing a tremble, Ember turned the canister’s knob, summoning forth the Chaoskämpfer’s emerald-green smoke visage, to many gasps.

But the Chaoskämpfer, called up, just glanced at the Krampus. Despite his stoic exterior, there was pity in his eyes.

“Talk!” the Krampus almost screamed.

The Chaoskämpfer closed his eyes and took a breath.

“S-Sir?” Ember found herself asking, before the Krampus’s mad gaze turned itself directly at her.

“Not you.” It pointed at the projection. “Only him. Now, talk.”

“What would you like me to say first, Oh Father Krampus?” the Chaoskämpfer said calmly, “You have already confirmed that the enemy we face is something I wished to never see again.”

“So you do know him.” said the Krampus, as the eyes of everyone present turned towards the Chaoskämpfer, who sighed in resignation. “Who. Are. You?”

“To dragons, I’m known primarily as the Chaoskämpfer,” the Chaoskämpfer said, its voice more vulnerable than before. “But I’m also Spykoran the Elder, oldest dragon alive. And even then, centuries upon centuries ago, I had another name. I was once known as Spike, slave to the Lord of Midnight Castle, Tirek.”

Not a single soul dared to speak, and the Hall waited with bated breath.

“For a time, I was friends with three human children who came to Equus. One was named Megan.” His gaze looked to the sitting human, who seemed dumbstruck by what he’d just heard. “It was thanks to Megan that Tirek was vanquished, the land saved, and everything put to right. And I am reasonably certain that you, Alexander, are her heir.”

But before anyone could process this, the Krampus had one last thing to say.

“The Architect… the Architect! She brought forth the human child...” The creature grinned sinisterly. “It all unfolds.”

A solemn silence held, even after the snowglobe had hit the ground with a soft chink.

A pall hung over lunch that afternoon.

There was only one, long table this time, and once the doors had been closed to the crowds, no-one, from the resplendent Princesses of Equestria to the meek Hive Queen-in-Waiting, passing through the Great Stag and the Proxenos, or the Malikah and the Chieftain of the Rainbow Crow Tribe, not to mention the Queens of Abyssinia, of Hippogriffia and of Diamondia, nor even the Young Pretender or the Dragon Princess, looked eager to speak first. Even Prince Blueblood and Queen Chrysalis seemed lost, the Mikado noticed. 

But none of that could match the dazed, almost ill look on Alexander Reiner’s face.

Only the Master of Ceremonies, and the Prince of Farasi, were showing some inkling in their eyes that what lay unsaid might carry weight, should they ever find the words for it. In the event, it was neither they nor Toshiro who cast the first coin into the pot.

Close by, the Snow Maiden voiced her thoughts.

“An imperialist Equestria…” Ilsa mused. “It’s unreal.”

“Perhaps…” Toshiro stated,  feeling practicality take over. “Perhaps. Yet let us look at the facts. The human, clearly, is very real. So was the testimony from the Elder of our draconic kin. And Madame Heartstrings does speak passionately about the old LP-426 expedition.”

Agreement was voiced all around the table. Next to Toshiro, Kuno gave a polite clap.

Chrysalis harrumphed. “I certainly did not expect you to carry such an artefact, Ember.”

Ember shrugged. “No good reason to show it before.”

From the way Chrysalis was staring at Ember, Toshiro suspected that one way or another, the Changeling would be getting her answers. He himself wondered if Kuno’s former student had more tricks up her sleeve. Judging by his look, Kuno wondered the same.

Sint Erklass spoke. “I’d feared worse, after the Krampus escaped its confines,” he said. “And I wonder now if it spoke to deceive us, in its opacity. But I doubt it, just as I doubt we’ll get much more out of it. The old monster’s long given up on worldly matters. These days, it appears to have no goal, other than await the Final Winter of the world.”

“The Krampus pointing us to the Chaoskämpfer was clue enough,” said his Snow Maiden.

Reiner laughed throatily. “You… you seriously believe what that freak said? My mother, coming to Equus thousands of years ago? I’m thirty-seven! Humans don’t live that long.”

Celestia pressed her hooves together. “Alexander…” she said gently. “The Krampus may be mad, but it is ancient and, in its way, wise. It knew whom in the room could give us more answers. Why would the Chaoskämpfer lie? Forgive me, there’s no delicate way of putting this… At this point, you seem in denial.”

“I’ve just been told my Mom was some kind of Chosen One!” Reiner snapped, his temper flaring. “Like… something out of Harry Potter! Or The Wizard of Oz! This crap doesn’t happen in real life, let alone to a… teenage girl!” He seethed, light shining off his runes. “Just… goddamn it all…”

He took shallow breaths, rubbing his eyes.

“He’s under intense stress.” Papillate commented. “Huh, reminds me of an overtaxed drone during a frenzy.”

Chrysalis stroked her chin. “Spykoran mentioned a name, next to Reiner’s mother,” she said. “Tirek. It rings a bell.”

“And what would that be, Queen Chrysalis?” Reiner asked, sounding defeated.

“Dunno,” Chrysalis said carelessly. “Some overlord of yore? Midnight Castle… I’d never heard it’d anything to do with humans before.”

“Scorpan and Tirek were the Krampus’s sons,” Sint said softly, looking down. “And Tirek became the last of the Old Ones… An ignominious end for them. And in her twilight years, Firefly came to reside in Adlaborn, her age much prolonged.”

Steepling his forehooves, he turned to the beleaguered-looking Reiner.

“Thus if the Krampus spoke true, I’ve no doubt of your mother’s hand in the rescue at Midnight Castle, Sir Alexander. Firefly had forgotten a lot, but she hadn’t forgotten the Rainbow Bridge, or the human she brought back.”

“Then could Dame Firefly have been this… ‘Architect’, of whom the Krampus spoke?” asked Prince Abraxas.

Toshiro spotted him share a glance with Spell Nexus, the stallion that today served as Princess Celestia’s Headmaster, Archmage and Master of Ceremonies all in one.

“I find that supremely unlikely,” said Sint Erklass. “Just how she found an access to the Rainbow Bridge, I was never quite able to get out of her… But I’m certain she had help.”

Chrysalis was tittering. “‘Had help’. And some help she brought back, too!” She sniggered. “I’m sorry, but if Captain Reiner’s right, and his dear momma was just a teen, I fail to see how a teenager could beat something like Tirek. Not unless she had help herself.”

“What sort of help, Ebony Queen?” Papillate asked guilelessly.

“Like, oh, I don’t know,” Chrysalis shrugged. “The Alicorn Amulet? I’ve always wondered what’d happen if a Changeling tried harnessing that accursed artefact…”

“Did that even exist back then?” said Ember.

“Hey, you tell me, Ember,” Chrysalis harrumphed. “You’re the one with the can of Dragon Elder.”

But Ember’s response came down to throwing her a dirty look.

An uneasy quiet reigned at the table.

“I sense that Princess Ember here is not the only one with secrets,” muttered Queen Novo, to more murmurs of agreement.

She’d stared Toshiro’s way when she said that.

“Indeed,” was Toshiro’s sole comment. “This is a game-changer... But!” Here, he lifted a forehoof. “It should not detract from the value of Madame Heartstrings’ proposed expedition.”

The shift in topic didn’t go down a storm with all at the table, so to speak. Novo and the Abyssinian Queen were simmering. Abraxas seemed to resent moving from his musing, letting it be shown with a sizzle of his mane. A lot of the others were frowning. Meanwhile, Captain Reiner, instead of looking relieved, only looked more despondent.

However, Blueblood hadn’t been able to hide an eager beam. Good.

Ember snorted contemptuously.  “And I expect you’re motivated purely by joy of discovery, Blessed Mikado?”

Had she still been at his Court, he’d gladly have flogged the impudent she-drake.

“I don’t claim to act without interest, Ember,” Toshiro said coolly. “But supporting Heartstrings’ expedition would serve us in the same way Princess Celestia was served by reintroducing us to the myth of the Thirteenth Family. Am I not correct, Celestia?”

Celestia dipped her head. “You see clearly, Toshiro.”

“I thought so,” said Toshiro. His eyes surveyed the whole table. “I foresee terrible things. Reiner’s war might even come to us. However, we cannot thrust the public unknowingly into any of it. But the publicity around Heartstrings’ expedition would be a wonderful means to get people interested in humanity… and it’d be profitable.”

“How can you think of money at a time like this?” demanded Grizelda.

“Your Grace,” said Kuno, loyally. “I know how you’ve built your claim on restoring your people’s pride in being griffons. In some cultures,” he nodded respectfully at Abraxas, “it is said that to be rich is to have many followers. Yet there are things which only money can buy.”

“Excuse me,” said Novo. “Supporting this expedition, raising public awareness of the Thirteenth Family… these only have value if you want to prepare Equus for involvement in this war. What about those who don’t want it?”

The Abyssinian Queen and the Malikah nodded together.

“You are free to withhold your signatures,” said Celestia. “However, I have pledged support to Captain Reiner. When the time comes, Princess Luna and Lord Discord will be sent to Earth. We’ve considered every available avenue, and they’re our best options in presenting our words to the people of Earth.”

“With all due respect, Highness,” asked Kuno. “Why the risk? Should we risk your sister’s intervention or her presence at all?”

Toshiro thought he saw Luna exchange an enigmatic glance with the Minotaur Darkhoof.

“Worry not, Excellency,” Luna said. “We have taken the precautions for the task as needed. With Discord’s presence, I daresay our safety is mostly assured. If not, then we’ll be ready for it.”

“Yes,” Celestia said in agreement. “Princess Luna’s departure shall remain independent of whichever decision we reach after tonight’s presentation, and we shall see that good fortune follows her in her duty.”

From her ornate saddlebag, Equestria’s foremost of Princesses retrieved a peculiar device of metal and wood. Dozens of buttons lined it, and Toshiro thought he recognised it as a device for those who preferred to write without a pen or quill...

“It’s a typewriter,” Reiner said flatly, confirming Toshiro’s suspicions. On the device’s back was a mark not unlike Celestia’s own.

Celestia nodded. “And yet,” she said, pushing it forwards with her magic, ensuring every soul on the table could look upon it, “this device has presented us a means to communicate with the Empire. My student, Miss Twilight Sparkle, has confirmed it is bound to a different realm across time and space.”

To Toshiro, it seemed no more than a machine, not unlike a Kirin’s, with its assortment of elaborate springs and gears.

“We shall test this device tonight,” said Princess Celestia, who for a change, made no attempt to hide her apprehension. “But let us all be aware. Doing so may constitute our point of no return. Therefore, we must consult someone who can confirm the truth, from another point of view.”

In a sterile room, Redheart sat still. Unchained, but a prisoner. Alone. She was alone. Nothing mattered. She had her orders. She failed. She lost. And here she sat. Alone. She remembered, briefly. The Bearer of Loyalty was there. So was the traitor. Why was she with the traitor Heartstrings? Nothing made sense. Nothing was clear. She was a prisoner now. Memories blurred together. Her orders were clear. Had been clear. What were they?

She pawed at the ground. Nervous. Afraid?

Do not let– Reiner leave.

That failed. He left. And here she was.

In his possession is– locket. Retrieve it swiftly and–

Taken. Safely hidden. Icewind listened.  She should have stayed. Should have kept her promise. No... duty called. She had to answer. And she’d won then.

Success is– too late to prevent this Equestria– securing this locket–

But she was here now. Prisoner. Alone. 

May Her Majesty watch over and protect you on your endeavour.

The Queen protected all. The Queen…

… Wasn’t here. 

The door swung open. What time was it, now? She needed to remember.

“Good evening, Redheart,” the presence spoke. Ancient. Warm.

“Has she been fed?” spoke another. Younger. Female.

“Yes, m’lady,” said the Guard. “If I may, I wouldn’t bother with her. She hasn’t said a word.”

“That is quite alright,” said the Great Stag. “You may leave us.”

The door swung shut. They were in here with her.

“Why did you do it?” the Snow Maiden asked immediately. Harshly. Icily. “How could you? You, your people, how could you have burned it all to ash?”

“Ilsa,” said the Stag. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, I… Grandfather. I defer to you,” the Snow Maiden answered.

Redheart imagined her as she’d been – sad, quiet, gentle, but fierce. Protective. As she was now. Silence. Nothing but the wind, she imagined. She’d face him if need be.

There they stood. The Snow Maiden, beautiful, pale, forever young. The Great Stag, towering, wise and eternal.

“What do you know of Adlaborn?” the Stag said. His voice was grave. Mournful. “What do you make of its fate, in your world?”

Redheart shook her head. “I cannot answer that. They left us. They locked their gates.”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

“The Queen told us. So we left them be.”

“You don’t know,” said the Stag. Not a question. A statement. 

What did he know? She turned away from him. She grimaced. Defiant. Or so she hoped.

“You left. You left Earth to its fate and judgement. You shouldn’t speak."

“And who told you this?” the Stag demanded. High and mighty.

“No one. But it’s the truth. I know it is. The Queen knows it. You don’t act. You never do."

“I see. And these are the Queen’s words.”

She said nothing. She had nothing to offer him. Adlaborn was sealed off. It had turned away. Thought nothing of them all. Leave them be, the orders were. The Queen’s words rung true.

“Thank you for your time, Redheart. I apologise for intruding upon you at this hour.”

“Grandfather, was that all?” asked the Maiden. She sounded doubtful.

“It would appear so,” the Stag replied. Firmly. “The truth is hidden away from her, and I fear telling her would do her no good at this state.”

She didn’t respond. She never had to. But why did she want to?

“Very well, then,” said the Maiden. “I… I suppose I’ll have to tell Celestia and Luna.”

She felt them move away, Stag and Maiden both.

“... How could she do this? Our Celestia, such a sweet filly, a just mare,” said the Maiden. Her words grew strained. “Earth, Adlaborn, the Changelings... Lucie! Heavens above, we’d only just heard of her birth, and here… Grandfather. I don’t know if I can take it.”

“There, there, Ilsa,” said the Stag. She heard them leave. The door shut. “We shall make this right. For everyone, from Alexander Reiner, to the mare whose cell we’ve just visited, to those who’ve lost their lives and their very souls in this war on Earth.”

Redheart leaned against the wall. She closed her eyes. She heard them speak, one last time.

“If what I fear is true, Ilsa,” said the Stag, his voice fading away, “then those who started this war may have been its first victims.”

She wondered what it meant.

Again, Candid and Cunning, Prince of Farasi and Master of Ceremonies, Abraxas and Spell Nexus, met at the balcony which overlooked the valley from the topmost point of the Hall. No Aurora parted the skies at this hour, but the beginnings of the dusk were coming to settle over the faraway mountaintops, a veritable book-end to their previous meeting – perhaps a book-end to the significance of the Convocation as a whole.

Both of them stood in contemplation before an exchange was made.

“I have misgivings,” said Abraxas. “This news of what sounds like a prismatic refraction, joining together the course of worlds that rightfully ought have stayed apart… And Father Krampus, at the end, spoke of the Architect by that very name.”

Nexus’s eyes darkened. “Wouldn’t word have been sent by the Starry-Eyed One, if she sensed a flow was in motion that could lead to her, via a mention of her foremost title, coming to the notice of this Convocation?”

“It’s a mistake to assume the Starry-Eyed One is all-knowing, my friend,” said Abraxas. “How else could the Storm King have stolen, with such contemptuous ease, the Misfortune Malachite right from the coffers of my capital? After all, that is what our Council is for. I knew the risk, as one who operates in the light as well as the dark.”

“Your misleading question about the Architect’s identity won’t throw off that trail,” said Nexus, “only obfuscate how much you already do know. We can be sure that, with their curiosity now piqued, quite a few of those convened here’ll want to take a closer look at the lost era.”

“Like the little green unicorn, your former schoolgirl?” asked Abraxas. “The one who asks to back up her findings with an expedition?”

Nexus nodded sadly.

“What do you intend to do about that?” said Abraxas.

“Operate in the light, what else, just as you put it,” Nexus whispered. “Would anything less be expected of a scholar, the Headmaster of Celestia’s School to boot, than to sign up for this journey of scientific discovery to the North? I shall keep an eye on things, seeking to keep you as informed as I can.”

He paused, staring out onto the valley.

“First, though… I still must confer with the Saddle Mareabians, regarding this matter of runes.”

“Be careful in your steps,” Abraxas said solemnly. “Who knows what you might unearth.

The Alicorn Amulet, the Half-Gilded Horseshoe, the Misfortune Malachite, the Liber Grogar... Those and so many other noteworthy artefacts, twenty-two at last count, the Stonecarvers had been directed to consider as their lives’ mission to safeguard, for the greater good of the world.

But they were only mortal, and moreso even than immortals, they could stumble.

Three days had now passed, and little by little the story was revealed.

A human, a war, and another Equestria. There were, of course, hushed whispers over why Celestia had brought them here. Whispers that Pharynx hardly cared for. He knew what the Diarchs of Equestria intended them to do. After all, he’d served the Ebony Hive and its campaigns long enough to know war loomed on the horizon.

And he scoffed at the idea. 

He passed the halls, the scent of lavender was strong in the air, fresh and enticing sleep – all too overwhelming for a guard. But of course a guard’s duty was never done. In his stride, he reflected on the other races in attendance. While like most Changelings, he was kept in the dark about their Queen’s plans, as should be, he was privy to pick up on the relations between the people of Equus.

They weren’t ready at all. Half the races here would be at one another’s throats without the Equestrians to mediate. The other half were quietly tucked away in their corner of the world. The Changelings had no business being invited here. There’d come a time when Celestia’s compassion would prove her undoing, and he’d be by his Queen’s side when it did.

‘This is no alliance,’ Pharynx thought. ‘This is a rabble.’

What business did dragons have with Changelings? What business the far-flung people of Adlaborn, the Bringers of Gifts and Joy, with war?

He turned the corner, huffing. Once the decision was made, and the ramshackle alliance faced whatever dark magic this ‘Solar Empire’ brought, the folly of it all would be seen. One wrong word and the so-called ‘alliance’ would come tumbling down. One dead weight and the waves would claim their unsteady ship. Changelings knew that better than anyone.

As lightly as everyone was taking Chrysalis’ claims about Garble, Pharynx did not. An entire Hive wiped out by disease was proof that excess caution was still not enough. The other peoples of Equus didn’t understand, and never would.

His brother’s foolish attempt at cozying up to a dragon was something else to nip in the bud. 

Finally Pharynx arrived, and there his brother stood guard at the door. Obviously Chrysalis had now retired inside with Papillate. Thorax’s stance was rigid and proper, but Pharynx knew his brother would be glad not to get too close to their Queen.

He had to say this before Thorax made a fool of himself, if he hadn’t already.

“Oh, h-hello, Pharynx,” Thorax stammered, as Pharynx drew closer. “What’s–”

“I know what you’re playing at. It won’t work.”

His brother blinked, and tilted his head. Thorax had always been infuriatingly dense, but with the dragonet around, he’d been worse than usual.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about–”

Thorax’s words cut off when Pharynx grabbed him by the ear, and hissed.

“Don’t play dumb with me, grub,” he said harshly. “I know you’ve got your sights on the Dragon Princess. Now, Aphid might be blind, or maybe she doesn’t care... but I’m your big brother, and I do. So, let me tell you first... Grow up. You think this is some pony-tale, huh? Like their campfire tales? She’s out of your league, and the Chaos Lord’s not gonna turn you into a prince.” He said this last part while twisting his brother’s ear. “Understand?”

He paused, awaiting a good response.

With the ear still held firm in Pharynx’s grip, Thorax weakly nodded.

“Good,” said Pharynx gruffly. He let go. “No funny business, y’hear? We’ve got a job to do.”

And he marched along, leaving Thorax to rub his sore ear.

He didn’t doubt Thorax was trying to hold down tears. Pharynx quietly sighed. The least he could do not to shame his little brother any further was not to watch.

Ember felt anxious now. She’d sought Thorax, to pay him another visit in the guise of checking on her bodyguard, the routine she’d settled in nicely over the past few days. Princess Celestia had announced that at noon-time, they’d have the final piece of the puzzle.

Amidst all this madness, Thorax had been the one person she could relax with.

Ember had eagerly gone over to Chrysalis’ chambers, ready with a last bit of levity, that one final tease for him to finally, finally join her in listening.

No sooner had she stepped into the hallway that Pharynx blocked her way, firmly declaring that no other guests may visit the dragon in quarantine. Princess or no princess, he’d made it very clear. He was dedicated, Ember had to admit. But it didn’t help her sudden burst of anxiety.

Today, she’d chosen not to mingle with the crowd, instead taking a balcony seat, like the other leaders and delegates. This gave her a clear vantage point of where Celestia stood, presently.

Ember leaned forward in her seat. Celestia stood still, waiting for everyone to finish arriving. Including, inevitably, Chrysalis and Papillate, who came into the same balcony as Ember, Chrysalis greeting her with that wicked smirk of hers.

“I see the show hasn’t started yet,” said Chrysalis, taking a seat as Papillate did likewise. “Ugh, all this sitting around, though...” she added, reclining to stretch out her hindlegs. “Massages aren’t enough. My legs ache!”

But then Ember spotted the Changeling who’d trotted in after Chrysalis and Papillate, and her eyes widened.

“Come, Thorax. I need to rest,” Chrysalis yawned, not looking around. “No, don’t bother transforming. You’ll do fine as it is.”

Ember had barely got a breath out when Thorax, averting his gaze, shuffled himself beneath Chrysalis’s outstretched hindlegs, kneeling. And before her own eyes, the Changeling Queen stretched her hooves across his back.

“Ah, much better,” said Chrysalis, crossing her legs. “Don’t worry about your watch-dog, Princess, Pharynx and Aphid have him covered. But I need my footrest, don’t you agree?”

She didn’t wait for Ember’s response, and simply looked past the railing, down to where Princess Celestia stood, now joined by Princess Luna, Alexander Reiner and Lyra Heartstrings.

Ember glanced at the little drone.

“... Thorax?” she mouthed.

The sight was absurd. Him on all fours, Chrysalis’ hooves upon his back, his wings delicately rubbing her soles. Yet she found no mirth, as her eyes met Thorax’s own. And he never had looked so resigned.

She might have said something, but Papillate put a hoof on her shoulder, shaking her head. Then Celestia stepped forth, and the word on the tip of Ember’s tongue evaporated at seeing the Sun Princess. In Celestia’s face, too, was no laugh to be found today.

“Fellow leaders, people of Equus… witnesses,” Celestia spoke. “I stand before you bearing a witness of my own. A witness to the transgressions of the Solar Empire.”

Out stepped a white earthpony.

“State your name,” Luna said.

Redheart stared at her forlornly.

“Redheart,” she croaked. “Formerly of the Eighth Home Regiment.”

“Do you recognise this device?”

Behind Redheart, Archmage Nexus made an appearance, directing for the the ansible was rolled onstage by two stallions. Awesome Fire and Shieldwall, who’d spent the last week examining it, furnished it with a dictaphone. Bringing the rolling table to a halt, they bowed, then left after Nexus, impassively.

“No.”

“So you say.”

Luna’s horn shone, taking Redheart’s forehoof in its grasp. She offered little resistance as Luna pressed her forehoof to a pad on the ansible, lighting up the keyboard.

“It appears to recognise you.”

“Excuse me.” From her balcony, the Abyssinian Queen had stood. “Aren’t we being a bit reckless? If that thing connects to the Empire, we–”

“They know already.”

The human had spoken, so gruffly as to startle Lyra by his side. Luna saw his eyes, haggard, pained, his brows twisted in anger.

“Your Majesty, I’m asking for help, too,” Reiner declared. His hands, Luna noted, clutched his wheelchair so hard, he was going to break something. “I’ll beg on my knees if I have to. Because the Solar Tyrant won’t rest until every soul on Earth sings her praises, every second of every day.  We’re winning every battle, yeah, but the Barrier’s it. That’s it. That thing touches us, we’re gone. All that’ll be left of us will be a bunch of little pony-shaped things with all the autonomy of figurines on a fucking cuckoo clock. We’ve had everything at our disposal, everything. Weapons that could wipe out Canterlot and the mountain it stands on in the blink of an eye. And we still haven’t cracked the goddamn Barrier.”

He struggled to stand. Lyra held onto Reiner’s hand, and Luna shot him a worried look. He remained seated.

“I’ve fought men before, killed for the flag I was born under. I’ve seen death in every walk of life. But this isn’t death. It’s so much worse. I’ve fought things that were men and are now but soulless, smiling puppets. And this fate awaits every single of my people on Earth. I have welcomed death. But billions haven’t, shouldn’t welcome it. They deserve a future without the Tyrant. I’m asking for help, alright? I wish it’d never come to this, that we didn’t have to fight to the bitter end. But she’s shown us her mercy. She’d turn us into her zombies and call it mercy– We’d rather be six feet under, or on our feet, when she comes knocking!”

There was a gasp from his side.

“The ansible– look!” cried Lyra. “It’s, it’s doing something!”

There were gasps, and murmurs, and Luna saw all eyes turn to the stage, and even Reiner turned to look. She followed their gaze, where she saw the ansible’s keys moving of their own accord.

Swiftly, Celestia cast a spell presenting its words to those in attendance, a projection on the wall behind her.

And Luna read it out loud.

“He lies.”

Reiner paled. “It’s her…”

Celestia put her lips to the dictaphone. “Greetings...” she said. “Am I addressing Queen Celestia of the Solar Empire?”

Briefly, the keys didn’t move.

Then, slowly, they did.

“Yes.”

The room sucked in a collective breath.

Celestia licked her lips. “Then I am glad that we can speak at last, Your Majesty. This is Princess Celestia.” 

“I know who you are,” Luna read.

“Of course you do,” said Celestia. “We share much common… But we are more different than alike, I should think.”

The typewriter clicked away.

“If that is what you believe.”

“I don’t believe it. I know it,” Celestia said, narrowing her eyes. “The Conversion of mankind, the holocaust of Adlaborn… Do you deny those? Why are you doing this?”

“Justice.”

Even Celestia had to gasp. “You call this justice? For what?”

But the answer, lengthy as it was, came quickly.

“The Thirteenth Family walks alone for a reason, Princess Celestia. Humans murdered and butchered anything that challenged their primacy. Do you know what happened to their closest cousins, the Neanderthals? They ate them.”

“What about Adlaborn!” cried Celestia. “Don’t you call that murder and butchery!?”

“Nothing so crude. We were clinical. To cure illness, sometimes must one cut out the benign cells with the malign. And humans, believe me, are very ill. The year we arrived, they were on the cusp of disaster.”

The letter concluded. Another took its place.

“Earthponies. Pegasi. Unicorns. Horses. Zebras. Hippogriffs. Griffons, too. These are the people welcomed under our banners. Our prosperity. Together as one. Mankind would turn against its own for the pettiest of reasons.”

Redheart moaned. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” she begged, on and on. “I failed.”

“Where they once lived, the land flourishes. The Barrier does not destroy. It purifies. Restores it to what it should be. Whereas they have destroyed their world. And when they run out of creatures to dominate, they will come for you and yours. They are too irresponsible, too brutal, to be allowed to continue as they do. They are a blight. They are lucky to receive the correction that we bring.”

Celestia wrapped a comforting wing around Redheart, her face calm and soothing. Yet Luna wondered if beneath her sister’s sorrow and regret, lay fury tranquil as water, over this undying loyalty to another Celestia.

Something changed. The former Nurse and Guard turned to look at her, fearful.

“We should, we should have tried harder. With you. Brought you back together, Sun and Moon. I’m sorry, I’m, I–”

“Shhh, Redheart,” said Celestia. “It’s not your fault. It never was.”

Amidst Redheart’s tears and Celestia’s words, Luna finally understood what Sint and Ilsa had both meant, days earlier.

She joined her sister’s side, lowering her gaze to Redheart’s level. “Whatever your faults, whatever’s been done to my sister and myself… We forgive you.”

Then Luna heard more typing. Startled, she rushed back to the ansible.

“Redheart...” Luna’s voice faded. “You have been a faithful and dutiful soldier.”

Not a soul dared to raise a voice. As the ansible wrote itself out, only Redheart’s strangled breath and sobs filled the air.

“Thank you, and rest well in harmony.”

There was a short cry. Everyone turned, staring at the source.

Redheart laid limp at Celestia’s hooves, her eyes closed. She looked almost… peaceful.

No time to linger on, even as the murmurs grew. Luna smelled something burnt, something twisted and ancient and eldritch. And it came from the ansible, which wrote another message. A lengthier one. The smell grew fouler still. A few of the serving-beasts at the doors had to open them, to let in a breath of fresh air.

Bracing herself against the sickening, deathly stench, Luna read aloud.

“By the power entrusted upon my being,” she read, as it was written letter by letter. “I, Queen Celestia, Sol Invictus, hereby reaffirm our noble cause, to unite the equine peoples in Harmony’s name, to purify and cleanse the Earth of its decadent rulers, and to release humanity from their own sins for their own good.”

She coughed. The smell was overwhelming. Yet she pressed on.

“Tread carefully, Princess Celestia. My Empire has no quarrel with you, but the path you follow shall lead your subjects astray. I’m who you should have been, who you are, who you will become. Our cause is just and true. Whether you choose to stand aside or in our way, the Sun shines on the Twelve Families of Equus, now and always.”

Smoke rose from the ansible.

”Harmony above all.”

And there was a blinding light. 

The device ruptured and tore itself apart. When all was said and done, the smell had dissipated, leaving the smoking, charred remains of the ansible.

Celestia turned her gaze away from the burnt, ruined device, on to the mare who lay immobile at her hooves. Luna bowed her head. 

The room was deafeningly silent, until she heard her sister speak.

“Sleep now, Redheart,” Celestia said gently. “May you find peace at last.”

When Alex wheeled up to her, Lyra was still backstage, staring at the wall.

“Lyra...” he began. “Remember when you asked me how you were captured?"

She turned to look at him, nodding quietly. He sighed, the words and the memories weighing heavily on his soul.

“It was the Thunderchild, Lyra,” Alex whispered. “An experimental warship. Capable of going below the waves, like a giant submarine. A fortified haven. We… were seriously thinking underwater cities. Tests showed the Barrier’s reach shrinks in the oceans… And you– no, she was onboard, off the coast of Iceland, when the Imperials caught up to her…”

His voice broke. He was drinking in her face, wanting to remember every inch of green.

“It sank, Lyra. It sank and they caught her. Took her back and turned her into a statue, then broke her into a million pieces. They say… I don’t know, nobody does, but… they say it’s the Tyrant’s assassin who did it. The… that same ghostly creature who killed the Great Stag…“

He’d said all he could. He felt like a man three times his age. And still he forced the last words.

“You were on a ship… a ship… Lyra, I… I don’t want you to go on this expedition.”

Lyra shook her head. “I’m sorry, Alex,” she murmured. “I’ve got to do this.”