It is gray, for one thing.
"Gray" isn't usually a quality that makes something noteworthy, but it's hard to dismiss any detail of the imposing structure before us. It towers over the rows and rows of quirky, idyllic little crystalline homes of cheery red and blue at its base, glinting in the fading light of evening, a great unfriendly exclamation point that dominates the snow-crusted landscape stretching out around its base.
I tug my Angora scarf closer around my neck, gazing up at the structure.
"Monolithic." I hardly realize that I'm speaking the word aloud.
Shining Armor glances over at me and puts a hoof around my withers. I instinctively press my body against his. Shiny is big for a unicorn, big and warm. He's joked once or twice about having a bit of earth pony on his sire's side, but I'd believe it as stone truth. I've felt his hooves stroking my coat on many a cold night in Canterlot, and there's no way in Equestria that those are the delicate, lily-clutching, tile-striding hooves of a full-blood unicorn.
It's good that Shiny's got a little earth-tribe blood in him. It's good that, as an alicorn, I am honorarily one-third earth pony. It helps me feel like less of an invader here on these sacred stones.
My husband raises his snow goggles, perching them above the base of his horn. "I don't get it," he says, gazing up at the bleak, barren spike of raw crystal. "Are there two castles? Because this doesn't look anything like the one in the picture that Princess Celestia showed you." He squints up at it, struggling against the glare. "It doesn't look much like a castle at all, to be honest."
"This is it. It isn't surprising that it looks different now than it once did." I summon up my best recollection of the mouldering tome that Aunty Celestia drew up from the forbidden section of the Archives. "'The castle and its monarch are one, just as the Empire and its monarch are one. As within, so without.'"
"So this castle"—he gestures at it with one hoof—"serves as a literal, physical indicator of the health of the Empire."
"Yes. And its roots run deep. The Crystal Empire sits at the nexus of all earth pony magic in all Equestria. Ponies have merely made do in the thousand years since its disappearance, forging local points of control; but with its reappearance, it has reasserted dominance over all the old crystal ley lines. The health of the Empire has the potential to spread across all Equestria."
A harsh, snowy gust whips at our manes.
"Equestria's in trouble, then."
I nod. "That's why we're here."
"Loving that confidence, honey, but do you have any idea what we're actually supposed to be doing? Because I'll be the first to admit that I have no idea." Shiny trots up and taps at the impenetrable crystal tower with one hoof, producing a strangely musical tone. "We already know that the locals'll be of no help."
"Third time might be the charm!" I say, sunnily. "We probably owe them another chance, at least." I cross to the nearest cheery-looking home and give the friendliest of all possible knocks at the door with my hoof. The door does not open, but a nearby curtain parts. I can see the glitter of an eye through the aperture.
"Hi!" I say, exactly as I did the previous two times. "My name is Cadance, and I'm an emissary from the Principality of Equestria, to the south. Can you spare a second?"
The eye disappears. I maintain my position of the stoop for a good minute, my smile unchanging.
"I'm not sure she or he wants to talk," Shiny says.
"I'm deciding to have a little faith," I say. My decision to do so is soon rewarded by the rattle of the door latch and the door opening the merest fraction of an inch.
"Hi!" I say, again, at the face that peers at me through the crack. “Do you have a moment to chat?"
"I'd ... rather not," says the pony within. Her voice is like frozen lead. "It's cold out."
"It is a bit chilly," I admit. "I'm afraid I'm spoiled to the balmier climate of my southern homeland, but—"
"You don't understand," she interrupts. "She told us that if it ever got cold, it was a sign that we should stay indoors for our protection. If it's cold, that means we're in danger."
"I understand," I say. "Or at least empathize. One question: who is 'she'?"
"She was ... good. Kind. She wanted to protect us."
"What was her name?"
The little pony behind the door opens her mouth as if to speak, but then winces, as though suffering a sudden, terrible headache.
"I ... don't remember. I'm sorry. Excuse me." The door shuts in my face.
I am about to return to the street when the door opens once more. I turn back around to see a tiny, yellow, sad-eyed colt at the door, extending his hoof to me. Resting on his hoof is an uneven but lovingly-crafted snowflake, snipped out of blue construction paper. I smile and accept the gift, feeling my heart warm.
“Thank you so much, this is lovely! Did you—”
I am cut off as the little colt is whisked hastily inside. I can hear the noise of a bolt being thrown.
“Gotta admit, that was kind of adorable,” Shiny says, as I trot back over. “But it didn’t get us much.”
"It didn't get us much, but it got us something. Enough to give me an idea." I fish the heart-shaped pendant out from beneath my scarf, the pendant that has been mine since I helped redeem the wicked enchantress Prismia with the raw power of love, earning myself both a royal title and a unicorn's horn on my forehead in the process. "Back in the Age of Legends, the Empire was protected both from the winter chill and from outside aggression by a heart-shaped block of cosmic spectrum that was found in a dragon's hoard. Even if she can't remember what's happened here, somepony in authority obviously taught her that 'cold' means 'danger.' If the protection of their cosmic spectrum has failed, the entire Empire might be on some kind of lockdown."
"Cosmic spectrum's the same stuff your crystal heart is made of. Is your pendant maybe cut from that same block?”
"Based on what Prismia told me about it, I think not. Same substance, different source. But cosmic spectrum’s always been rare, even in the Age of Legends, and it's virtually nonexistent nowadays. Aunty Celestia once told me that a piece the size of my pendant is worth more than Ponyville and everything in it."
"Whatever it was didn't save the Empire from this unicorn king who wiped it off the map. The one your aunts turned to shadow."
“Yes.” I bite my lip. "Something obviously went very wrong. It's likely that the Empire's heart was broken, or stolen, or worse. My pendant is probably a poor substitute, but it's the best we have."
I walk slowly up to the crystalline wall. My breath fogs up the smooth surface.
"This castle entrusted its safety to the power of cosmic spectrum for many, many years. Even if nopony here remembers that, I am hoping that it remembers."
My horn begins to glow. Light and love swirl out from me, and I feel the familiar hum of my crystal pendant beginning to vibrate in harmony with my aura. A small bubble of warmth gathers around Shiny and me. Layers of frost encrusting the shining pavement beneath me begin to melt away, creating sedate and glimmering pools at my hooves.
I turn to Shining Armor with a fillyish giggle. No matter how many times it happens, I am unfailingly, childishly delighted when magic just works like this. Buoyed by early success, I extend my point of power out to the surface of the tower.
There comes a great crash and for a moment, I know nothing. By the time I come to, I am on my back, supported above the ground by my husband's strong hoof. "Cadance!" he shouts. "What happened? Are you all right?"
"I'm okay!" I say, with more confidence than I feel. I gently work my way out of Shining Armor's rescuing grip and find my footing, trying to blink away the blurriness from my vision. "I'm going to try again."
He frowns. "Not a good idea."
"No, no, it's fine. I just wasn't prepared for it. There's so much power here, but it's cold. Numb. Like a hoof you've slept on wrong." My eyes narrow. "I think maybe it just needs a little convincing." My horn ignites again, but instead of trying to impose my will on the structure, even by the tiniest bit, I merely abide for a moment in my re-forged bubble of warmth and present myself to the structure.
"It's okay," I say.
With a noise like a calving glacier, the slab of crystal before me parts, seeming almost to fold itself out of existence in a hundred tiny places at once. I turn to my husband and give him a serene smile. He returns a wary nod, and illumination gathers at his horn. I follow suit, and together, we stride into the narrow, dim corridor that my magic has opened in the wall.
We do not walk far, only a matter of meters, before the cramped passage ends in a spiral staircase leading upward. Shiny exhaustively tests its soundness before giving me the okay, and even then insists on leading the way up. The climb is an uncomfortable one; whoever designed the staircase made it a squat thing, with far too many turns, and we are constantly in danger of chipping our horns against the curve of the stairs directly above us.
"Think the builders were going for deliberately unwelcoming?" Shiny says, as we ascend. "This may be the unfriendliest entrance to a building I've ever seen."
"The whole place feels reluctant, somehow," I say, my pendant still humming at my chest.
It is possibly a trick of the construction, or the unfamiliar angle of the stairs, but the climb seems to go on for much longer than it has any right to. I am teetering on the very edge of patient, regal frustration when the stairs open above me into a long, low chamber, and that is the moment I see it for the first time.
Many years ago, not long after Aunty Celestia took me under her wing, we toured the North Celestial Sea together. We made many such excursions in those days; Aunty Celestia told me that it was to introduce Equestria's newest princess to the whole of the land. One evening, we were ingratiating ourselves to a quaint little wave-washed village clinging to the shoreline, and they requested, no, insisted that we view their town's pride and joy. They led us out along the shore until we came to a great assemblage of interlocking hexagonal columns of basalt, some ten times the height of a pony, reportedly the foundations of a massive bridge laid down by the legendary Rockhoof himself. Aunty Celestia smiled and nodded, her eyes twinkling, and showed these proud villagers the utmost respect. In the privacy of our carriage, however, she confided to me that the perfect hexagonal structures of the causeway had not in fact been laid down by Rockhoof, nor by the hoof of any pony, but were instead a wonder of pure geology.
That is what I see before me when Shiny and I finally emerge from the claustrophobic turns of the staircase: a wonder of pure geology. How else might I describe it? Just like the basalt structures that towered proudly over the Celestial Sea, it is a perfect interlocking mass of towers, columns and stacks, the tallest of which rise all the way to the low ceiling overhead. Unlike Rockhoof's Causeway, however, it is not made from dull basalt, but of the same gray crystal of the castle itself. It gleams in the light of our horns.
A small seat has been carved into the base of the pillars, a gentle slope of crystal leading up to it.
"Whoa," Shiny says, stepping forward. I personally cannot speak. "Some kind of throne room, I guess."
I nod, finding my voice. "We shouldn't touch it."
"Agreed. But we're indoors, at least. Maybe this would be a good place to set up camp? It's out of the cold."
I hesitate, but finally relent. "You're right. The way the townsponies look at us, I suspect we're not going to find a welcoming hotel. And I've no interest in going all the way back to the rail depot, not in this weather."
"So, it's settled, then," Shiny says. "I'll get the bedrolls ready. You focus on keeping us warm. How long does your pendant's spell last?"
"Just as long as I concentrate on filling it with light and love," I reply. "So, not forever. But I'm sure I can keep it going for an hour or so and give us a head start on the night, at least." My pendant hums at my breast, even stronger than before. Is it somehow resonating with the crystalline walls around me? With the throne itself?
As I watch, I swear that I can see a faint wash of blue cross the gray surface of the throne. For one brief moment, it takes on the exact hue of my pendant.
"There's so much I don't understand," I say. "So much I don't know."
"Knowing and understanding can wait until tomorrow," Shiny kisses the tip of my horn. "But don't worry, hon. We'll crack this castle's secrets."
I give him a wan smile, and a quick peck on the lips. We engage in the barest of all nighttime preparations, satisfying the rumbling in our bellies with nuts and dried apricots. It is a poor meal, and by the end of it, I still feel like I would commit several felonies for a good hot rarebit, but it'll have to suffice for now. We snuggle into our bedrolls, and the light of my horn winks out as sleep overtakes me and the amulet around my neck goes still once more. The last thing I see before consciousness leaves me is the throne of the Empire, looming over our rude camp like an impassive idol to an ancient god.
"It's judging me," I murmur to myself, and then I am lost to dreams.
Shining Armor is poking me with his hoof. "Cadance!" he whispers, his voice harsh with what sounds like alarm.
My eyes fly open and I bolt upright, my wings quivering. I can see my breath steaming from my nostrils. Even though we're far away from the slicing wind outdoors, the cold has penetrated our little camp. "What's the matter? What's going on?"
Shiny's eyes are bright. "Nothing bad, I promise. Sorry for scaring you."
Something enticing tickles at my nose. I frown. "Shiny, did you ... cook?"
"I swear I did not," he says, pushing in my direction a velvet pillow supporting a small deep-blue crystal dish full of steaming food: toast rounds, hot and mustardy cheese, a sunny poached egg. It is the most picture-perfect serving of rarebit I've ever seen. I look at him in puzzlement.
"Got up in the middle of the night to look for a chamber-pot," he explains. "When I got back, this was here."
A quick health spell confirms that it is exactly what it seems to be: a delightful little plate of cheese and egg and toast. I give it a tentative bite, find it delicious, and end up accidentally devouring the whole thing.
"Sorry," I say, sheepishly, my mouth still full of crumbs. "Did you—"
Shiny waves it off with a little laugh. "I'm fine. Thanks."
"One of the townsponies," I say, touching at the corners of my mouth with a crisp linen napkin laid out alongside the plate. "They must have brought it as a gift, or something?"
"I doubt it. See, there's more." He leads me across the room to a small, low passageway I'm positive was not there before. We pass through it, and for a moment I am certain that I am still asleep and dreaming. My breath catches in my throat.
"Crazy, huh?" says Shining Armor.
I feel my jaw hanging slack in a distinctly un-regal fashion as I crane my neck about, taking in the sight. I am not native to Canterlot, but I've lived there for many years, and I've seen my share of palatial halls. The sheer size and quiet opulence of the royal ballroom we find ourselves in puts all but the largest of them to shame. Shining columns near the walls rise toward a high, arched ceiling, barely visible in our hornglow. Between the columns, stately crystal-glass windows with sumptuous violet drapes let in a flood of moonlight. We step forward, and as we do so, variegations in the crystals create patterns that dance crazily in our moving light: sometimes hearts, sometimes snowflakes, sometimes spiraling geometric patterns that resolve and unresolve and resolve again as we move through the room. Soft music fills the air, an elegant Beethoofen E-flat major waltz, and it does not take me long to find its source: a polished modern gramophone, freshly wound.
I inspect the disc on the platter. "The Phoenix Chamber Orchestra," I whisper. "My favorite." I turn to Shining Armor. "Shiny, did you—"
"I absolutely did not."
"I don't understand. None of this was here before." My booted hoof strays to the amulet at my neck, which is humming again. "Did I make all this?"
"If you did, you have excellent architectural taste."
"That's what worries me. I'm not sure I do."
"Seems like it might be the castle's doing, then, and it's made you a lovely welcoming gift." He smiles rakishly at me, extending a gentlecoltly hoof. "Would Milady care to give this new dance floor a shakedown run?"
"Should we? I don't know..."
"Cadance!" he says, in mock dismay. "You'd turn down a welcoming gift?"
"I suppose not," I reply. "I suppose it can't hurt." As the dreamlike music fills the room, floating from the gramophone bell to the vaulted ceiling above, Shiny takes my hoof and twirls me in a perfect court dance. As we glide across the floor, our horns scribe intertwining curls of light—his, radiant magenta; mine, placid teal-blue—through the chilly atmosphere of the ballroom.
I grin, helplessly. "Oh, Shiny. It's magical."
"Straight out of a fairytale," he agrees. "Calling it now: best fallen empire reconnaissance mission ever."
"How long has it been since it's been just the two of us? No hoofmaidens, no stuffy courtiers..."
"No bumbling newbie recruits, no materiel requisitions officers..."
"No Celestia," I add, forming and loosing the words before I even fully realize what I'm saying. When my brain catches up a moment later, I find myself in a giggling, wide-eyed flush. "Sorry!"
"Why are you apologizing?" Shiny asks, dropping me into a dip. I smoothly transition from court to ballroom style, the perfect follow to his lead.
"Aunty Celestia is ... Aunty Celestia. She's noble, wise, beautiful."
"Something of a troll," Shiny counters. "Possibly crazy. Trust me, as her Captain of the Guard, I should know."
"She's not that bad! It's just, well, it can be difficult living in her shadow, is all."
"Mm-hm. You're not the first pony in history to feel that way, if you'll recall."
"Oh," I say. "Yes, right. Princess Luna."
"Still not 'Aunty' Luna?"
"We're getting there," I say. "Eventually. But, yes, I'm pretty sure she felt the same way, once upon a time. It didn't end well."
"No, it did not. And I'm not eager to see history repeating itself over a matter of your pent-up frustration."
"Shiny!" I protest. "I'm not going to give in to dark forces over this. I'm not even particularly frustrated!"
"So, the thing where you sneak out of the castle at night, in disguise, and take part in violent full-contact roller derby matches. Not trying to let off steam? Not even a little?"
I flush. "Okay, yes. It can be hard to spread your wings and soar on your own around her, and yes, it can be a little irritating. A lot irritating. It's nice to have distance sometimes, is what I'm trying to say."
"Exactly," says Shiny, giving me an underhoof turn. "Maybe this place appeared at just the right time. I have no interest in seeing you become a monster, Cadance. Equestria has too many of those alrea—"
There is a distant roar. It is not loud, as such, but it seems perfectly attuned to the frequency of the crystalline walls all around us, so much so that the whole place vibrates with sympathetic resonations. The gramophone's needle skips across the record, hissing as it hits the blank grooves at the center. Shiny takes a half a second to carefully set me down before rushing to the ballroom's towering windows; with a few awkward wingflaps, I beat him there.
The moon is gone.
For a moment, I think the snowclouds have merely returned. It would make sense, and it would be no cause for alarm, but some deep and primal part of my being is not hearing it. I am transfixed, a primitive prey animal like my distant ancestors, catching the barest whiff of a lurking predator that will destroy me not out of negligence, but of sheer, burning hunger.
"Shiny, can you—"
"Way ahead of you, dear," Shiny says. He scrunches his face up in concentration and his horn flares a bright magenta. The black sky takes on a reddish hue, now the color of sunset rather than midnight, and my husband winces as the strain of casting a city-sized barrier causes what I know to be lances of pain through his skull.
The roar again. Louder. Not frustrated, questing. Coming closer. "Shiny—" I begin.
"I know!" he shouts. "It's still coming!"
"Is it trying to break through? With repeated impact? Like the Changelings did during the invasion of Canterlot?"
"There's no impact at all! I don't get it! Nothing should be able to get through that shield!"
"Except light," I breathe.
"Huh?"
"Your shield! It lets light through!"
"Yes! But—"
"If light passes it, so does shadow, right?" I say, practically babbling. "The unicorn king! 'Turned to shadow,' Aunty said!"
"Light!" Shiny says. "Light and love! Cady, your amulet!"
"My amulet's ward isn't like your barrier spell! There's no way it could shield the whole city!" My eyes go wide as I furiously calculate. "Unless—"
I bolt out of the ballroom, half-airborne, back toward our camp, my amulet pulsing at my breast. The gleaming bulk of the Empire's throne rises up before me. For a second, I can once again see a shimmer of blue cross its cold, gray surface.
The roar again, loud, close, just outside the wall now. I hear it rise up like a wave, threatening to overwhelm the tower and everything inside.
I crash bodily into the throne, my shoulder striking hard crystal right above the carved seat. The impact rings and vibrates throughout the entire narrow little room like the strike of a carillon bell.
"Light and love," I whisper. "Light and love. Light and love. Light and love and light and love and light and love and—"
A great lash of energy rocks my little pony body. For a brief, incandescent moment, my horn, my amulet, the throne, the castle, the entire lost Empire, it is all one thing.
My vision goes white.
Seconds later, Shiny is there, having followed hot on my hocks, and he finds me seated placidly upon the Empire's throne, my horn glowing a tranquil blue.
Through new, high windows that never existed before, moonlight spills, as though it had never been obscured. The only sound is the low, susurrating hum of my magic and the hiss of the gramophone from the other room.
"So," I say, recovering my breath. "Still the best fallen empire reconnaissance mission ever?"
"It's moved down a peg or two. Is it still out there?"
"I don't know," I admit. "I don't hear it or feel it. I don't think it's gone forever. But I think we're safe as long as I can keep focusing my magic."
"How long is that?" says my husband, ever the tactician.
I try an easy grin, with a confidence I do not feel.
"I'm fine."