//------------------------------//
// Act III ~ Chapter Twenty-Two ~ So Say We All 
// Story: Spectrum 
// by Sledge115 
//------------------------------//



Spectrum





The Team



TheIdiot



DoctorFluffy



VoxAdam



Sledge115 



RoyalPsycho



TB3



Kizuna Tallis



ProudToBe









Chapter Twenty-Two


So Say We All





* * * * *





“It is only when our characters and events begin to disobey us that they begin to live.”
— The French Lieutenant’s Woman, by John Fowles







~ Matinicus Isle, USA ~ August 19th, 2022 CE ~

Out in the Atlantic Ocean lay the Easternmost piece of land owned by a besieged country. With a population that had never reached a hundred, even prior to the Conversion War, it had proven a meeting point of good discretion. Its name, in an old tongue of this world, translated roughly to ‘the farthest shore’.

For Galatea, in all her travels, the world of Earth was undoubtedly the farthest shore she had ever visited.

In the distance, as viewed by her keen eyes, a sleek, arrow-like ship of gun-metal grey, covered in blue markings, drifted purposefully along the horizon. She watched it, as was her eternal duty. But even she fancied comforts, such as the battered cloak she wrapped over herself, protection against the unseasonal cold.

“Watchmare,” spoke a tired voice from behind her, above the sound of waves that lapped lazily at the beach. “It has been… a time since your last call. I had hoped to have seen you sooner, rather than later.”

Without even looking, Galatea knew who stood with her in this rocky cove. “Still dressed like that, Professor?” she asked aloud, turning. “You know that such a form is in terrible taste.”

The suit-wearing figure hung his head, as if ashamed. “Forgiveness then, Watchmare,” he said, while his hands tightly grasped a cane. “I had… forgotten such a thing.”

“Hm,” was her response.

The man slowly made his way to join her, taking a place by her side, almost. Despite them sharing in the same view, each saw something different. The figure saw the same he tended to. Death. Death that was about to come, and already she could feel the regret surrounding him.

“I did try, Watchmare,” the figure said quietly. “I tried to get here before they did.”

“I know.”

“Is there hope?”

“It hasn’t been lost just yet.”

“What comes next, then?” the figure asked Galatea.

To which she remained silent, for the answer was plain as day. This was the starting point, so best to bare witness, and allow the unfolding of what was to happen. Galatea knew the figure would have trouble watching such an event, but the reasons why were self-centered – despite his hesitation to admit such.

And so, they watched. They watched the battle occur between both sides, as humanity stood with those sympathetic to their plight against those who were the cause of said plight. The figure stood by her side throughout. Galatea didn’t need to look for her to sense his discomfort over those who were to rest eternally.

If only, some part of her thought, he could bother to look beyond that which blinded him. And even then, Galatea knew what he would say or try to say in response. It wouldn’t do to press him again.

Eventually there must come a time when distant observation was to cease. And that time was now.

“Watchmare–” the figure began, but she wouldn’t be there to hear him finish. It was time to try a more direct approach and be present among the chaos occurring below.

She ‘ported into it.

Galatea had spotted two combatants, rocked by an explosion, protected only by the root system of a tree that had grown over a boulder. One was human, a man wearing a faceplate. The other was an equine like her, a unicorn, lying injured, her fur scorched.

“Who are–” said the human.

“Ssh,” Galatea whispered, lifting a forehoof to her lips. “You will bring them down on our heads, and while you may have a death wish, I most certainly do not.”

She glanced around, before returning her attention to the hapless unicorn.

“T… they…” the unicorn tried to speak, “W… we have… we have to…”

“Gently, little pony,” Galatea said quietly. “You’ve fought bravely. Rest now. I will see that your task is done.”

With a final, gurgling rattle, the unicorn slumped.

“She’s…” began the man with the faceplate. He had an odd accent.

“She’s gone, yes,” Galatea looked at him. “And we may join her if we are not quiet and careful.”

“Well we can’t just sit here,” the man hissed. “We have to do something about that Imperial division. They’ll overwhelm the dock!”

“Thank you, human, I am aware of the situation…”

Galatea dared peek between the trees, assessing their options.

There ensued some further back-and-forth with the man, as he tried to ascertain who she might be, even going so far as ask if she worked for the PHL. But soon, her course of action was decided, and Galatea let the man know.

“You are still armed,” she told him. “I will attempt to draw them off and engage the worst of their forces. You can make it back to the rest of your group by then.”

He scoffed, wondering how she could pull this off.

For some reason it prompted him, as she hadn’t told him what to call her and nor did she plan on it, to address her by a variety of silly nicknames. Internally she smiled, indulging him by claiming she’d never had a nickname.

One like her needed to have her secrets, after all.

“I have seen the worst excesses of this Empire…” Galatea said by way of goodbye, outlining those crimes she’d personally witnessed, and there were many. Some of which he wouldn’t understand. “If I had control of mine life, human, none of this would have come to pass.”

“That… doesn’t make sense,” said the human. “What does it have to do with you?”

“Everything, and nothing.” She shook her head. “Do not concern yourself. I have said far more than was necessary…” 

In a way, four years had made a difference to her as well. In her millenia of mingling amongst the people of Equus, she’d never grown this distant from them. Already she’d started to share more with a stray human than she rightly ought.

She allowed him a bittersweet smile as she ‘ported away.

Bunkered down as they were, the Imperial troops fired spell-beams and raised shimmering shields. The boldest of their unicorns interlocked shield-spells, pushing forward while groups of earthponies and pegasi brought up the rear.

But just as the Newcalf began to charge, there was a bend of space as the figure appeared. And from the top of his cane, its head spit from its body to reveal a blade in all its cold grey steel. With a wide and arced wave, came three spectral forms of endless cold that stampeded straight at the Imperial column. Before they could so much as react, the forms charged at and through them. Instantly after, they were left cast in ice and frozen in place.

Then, from the figure’s right side, another joined him. It was the previously hapless unicorn, dressed in armour for war, and with cold, uncaring eyes. From her horn, a beam surged out and struck the Newcalf. The great lumbering creature was, against the blinding light, left little more than a smoky outline of itself, and then dissolved, dust mixing with the sand underfoot.

“Thank you, mare,” the figure breathed as blood trailed down his nose. The mare, looking to him, bowed her head before disappearing into nowhere. The figure, stumbling slightly, adjusted his posture before raising the sword up high as the three spectral figures raced into it. He then rejoined the cane’s neck to its body, making it appear as it did prior.

As Galatea reappeared on the scene, the extent of the devastation grew clear in her eyes. And an unearthly chill shot through her. She had witnessed violence over the course of her long existence, how could she not have, and this was scarcely the worst she’d seen.

Yet the suddenness of it, the lack of forewarning and the ease with which the figure in front of her had slipped into this madness, except it was no madness. There’d been a control to it. A coldness, which pleased her not at all. This was not what she’d expected of him.

She found her voice, with all the difficulty of one accustomed to merely observe.

“Why did you do that?”

“You were putting yourself in harm’s way. I had to act,” came the figure’s response without effort. “I’d rather not lose you too.”

He had lost many, as had all in this war, she knew it well. But she saw his eyes, and the way he looked at her. It was no romantic love, but it suffered just as much from misplaced feelings. Never had it been clearer to Galatea that in beholding her, he saw only… an alicorn.

“Like you lost Celestia, you mean?” Galatea said icily. “Your precious Princess of Equestria?”

“That– that isn’t what I meant,” the figure denied, yet it was nothing but lies. “Too much suffering has there been for too long. Princess Luna, Princess Cadenza, the Reindeer, the dragons, even the Changelings– and the humans, then Lyra herself. I can still feel all these deaths, Watchmare, yet none are mine just yet. If we are to heal, there must be a decline of loss, before there’s nothing left.”

“Shall I tell you something about what you’ve lost?” Galatea demanded. “Those you speak of having lost are people I never got to know, and now may never at all. Celestia and Luna were more than Princesses to me. They were mine sisters.”

“There’s still a chance!” the figure insisted, his desperation clear as day. “Cadenza is kin to you as well through Luna’s line. You have someone left. The dream still can come to pass– we can return to better days.”

“By what means?” said Galatea. “By a slaughter, such as the one you just enacted?” She nodded curtly at the silver necklace he wore. “You know what’ll happen if you abuse that artefact’s power. You’re wielding a force that, by all rights, should have gone to Cadenza– but was denied to her until her rightful time had passed. Yet there are others whose lives matter, besides Princesses!”

“I’m aware of that, Watchmare, truly,” he said, wincing at what wasn’t visible to the naked eye. “And what I’ve done was not a slaughter, it was defense for you. Though I detest it, death is necessary as a release for them from forms they were forced into. If there was another way, I would have found it.”

“Apart from the suit you wear? The face you hide behind?”

“I-I… it’s necessary! You know this! To walk amongst them without judgment!”

“But do you truly act for them?” Galatea asked, to which she saw the figure’s words fail him. “If it were one of them and not mine self, would you leap to ‘defend’ them? Or do you prefer to walk as a specter instead?”

The figure grimaced at that.

“The dead do not return, nor do they walk freely,” he shot back, bluntly.

“And yet,” Galatea gestured to the spot where the mare once lay. “You surround yourself with them.”

“Princess–”

“I am no Princess!” Galatea cut him off. “But you haven’t accepted that. Have you? Don’t deny it. I’ve known it a long time. I’d merely hoped you’d let go of these sentiments…” She shook her head. “You’re slipping. You’re allowing that Amulet to warp your mind.”

To touch the power of an alicorn was to brave the pernicious influence of those who’d crafted them. 

“Those dark feelings will only worsen, and worsen. Lest you become a Chimera, if you want to make the right choice, Headmaster… shed yourself of the Amulet, and the past with it.”

“I… I…”

“So even that is too much for you?” Galatea said, disappointment lying heavy on her. “Very well. Then for your sake, I leave you as the specter you wish to be, until you can make the right choice. I’ll be watching, always, but you shall not see me.”

“G-Galatea, wait!”

“Fare thee well,” Galatea said, closing her eyes and willing herself away.

She still heard him desperately call her name through the aether, with all the excuses to contradict his own claims. But if there was to be hope for these forlorn worlds, then there must be better ways.

Or else all things would be no more than ghosts, ignorant of the future.





~ The Hall of Unity ~ Sixteenth Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae ~

Galatea blinked her way back into awakeness. Granite walls greeted her field of view. Frowning a little, she sat up, pushing away the covers. Gifted with her eidetic memory, a dream would remain sharp and clear in her mind for a long time.

Except this was no dream. It was yet another of the scrambled pieces of information which, in the last seconds of her life, had been transferred from one Alicorn of Doorways and Memories to the next.

She’d been left holding many cards. The problem was she knew the face of less than half of them.

‘A figure in human guise, known by mine other-self, who speaks of death,’ she thought. ‘And they wore the Alicorn Amulet? Could they be the Architect, in a whole other guise? No… if they were, the situation would be much different.’

Her other-self would not have been killed, struck down by the sister she’d never met. Her final gesture would not have been to communicate with Alexander Reiner, employing a mad oracle for her mouthpiece.

That Oracle… Galatea lay awake, still sitting, as she considered her own actions. When it seemed Luna might yet fail in Boston and even Cadance could not change the outcome, she had done as her other-self had done, reaching through that broken mind to speak with the PHL.

She had acted on instinct, guided by a distinct hum in her ears, heard through the Crystal Mirror. Prior to then, with the gaps in her knowledge, she’d wondered how the other-Galatea spoke through the Oracle. Now it was becoming clear.

‘Do they know?’ she asked herself. ‘Do they know that inside Miss Sugarbean’s skull, there’s the shard of a shard– a fragment of Mirror, a piece of the Prism?’

How would Madame Heartstrings react to that, she mused.

Within her, Galatea felt a twinge of guilt. In the short time she knew her, she’d begun to grow fond of the odd little green unicorn. Heartstrings, upon hearing of Reiner’s heart-shaped locket, had risked life and limb once it turned out Redheart sought it also. And in these last days, the little unicorn had proposed a plan which appealed to Galatea – an expedition, a ship-bound voyage of discovery into the Unknown.

A last detail from the memory flickered. There’d been a ship on the horizon. It looked familiar.

‘I haven’t been on a ship for years in this world,’ the thought occurred to her. ‘But mine other-self… She spent time on that ship.’

All realisations which seemed to bring her mind back to Madame Heartstrings. Bizarre. Sensing no further information forthcoming, Galatea chose to get up, stretching herself. She was used to early hours. These weeks of relative inactivity had been an anomaly. The anomaly of being hosted by her sisters.

She blinked, perplexed to think this way, then sighed. Right then, starting the day watching the mindless violence promised by that honour duel was looking appealing. But it was regrettable, Madame Heartstrings would be there, watching her friend do what humans were all too good at.

Outside, the day was breaking.



* * * * *



This was no grand arena, for the Hall of Unity had none. But the space where the ‘honour duel’ was to be conducted was the same domed chamber in which Princess Celestia’s entourage had greeted the arriving delegates from all over Equus. Alex wondered about the irony, as he tried to picture holding a duel at the UN Headquarters. Stranger things had happened in recent times.

It was before the arched mosaic which hid the Hall’s central entrance, that a small crowd of onlookers had gathered. Most out of curiosity, Alex suspected, like the Kirin, the Saddle Mareabians, a few griffons, and one blue dragon. But a few had a vested interest in how the duel turned out. Like Lady Cadance. Like Lyra, who stood glancing around nervously, the cause of her nervosity apparent – Queen Chrysalis was hovering close by, looking intense.

At one end of the chamber’s centre, Alex sat awaiting his prospective opponent, Nurse Cross having insisted he stick to his wheelchair until the last moment. She was busy fussing over him, casting a dirty look at the crowd.

“Madness,” Cross mouthed. “Soon as you’re done, I want you to come see me. Understood?”

“Will do, Sutra,” Alex whispered. With effort, he stood on his two feet. Yet he took the time to pat her forehoof. “I’m not letting you down again.”

Merely shaking her head, Cross headed off, wheeling away the wheelchair. 

A great, imposing creature took position in the very center. Alex recognised the Minotaur Proxenos. Darkhoof glanced his way, fingers entwined in a sign of tranquil contemplation. He thought he saw fatherly sympathy in Darkhoof’s bespectacled eye, but if so, the Minotaur kept it well to himself.

Then, from above, Alex’s opponent landed in a thump at the other end of the center. A Changeling, of the Ebony Hive, wings folding upon his red-finned back. The Changeling favoured Alex with a leering, toothy smile.

Darkhoof nodded at each in turn.

“The rules are simple,” he stated. “There are five rounds. The limits of what is permissible have been adjusted in accordance to the champions’ abilities. You, Captain Alexander, may only draw upon one special use of your runes in a round. Conversely, the Changeling may adopt whichever form they wish, but they must stick with said form until the round concludes. A round is deemed concluded once a champion is immobilised.”

He took off his glasses and wiped them, before replacing them.

“Are there any questions? Remember, this is a contest of endurance, not a fight to the death.”

Alex spoke first. “No, I think I’m good,” he said, hoping he was. Standing steady already required lightly focusing his runes. “Let’s get this done.”

The Changeling nodded curtly.

“Very well,” said Darkhoof. “Champions, take your places.” He held his large hands apart, ready to clap them once. “Upon my signal.”

Both Alex and the Changeling marched forward until they stood three paces from one another. Far enough not to take a swing, close enough to hear the other.

“I won’t go soft on you, human,” the Changeling smirked. “Rules or not.”

“Fine by me,” remarked Alex, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. There are no rules in war.”

The signal resounded, and then they were upon each other.



* * * * *



Celestia maintained her regal self-control throughout the first round.

But what this bout entailed, she privately felt, might as well have been designed as a miniature enactment of the confict which consumed Alexander Reiner’s homeworld. She even wondered if Queen Chrysalis, cunning creature that she was, had not secretly wanted this duel all along. It provided a showcase of Reiner’s strengths, his abilities, his special powers. And how one of Chrysalis’ top soldiers fared against them.

As it happened, the starting form which the soldier, Pharynx, chose to assume was a pony. A burly earthpony, broad and well-muscled, yet nonetheless far from the most exotic shape he could have picked. 

And all things considered, no doubt thanks to his experience, Reiner won fairly quickly. Pharynx put up a good fight, where a direct blow to the head could have given the human a world of grief, but Reiner swerved away every time. At last, Reiner did the daringly unexpected, and managed to leap onto the earthpony’s back. Pharynx bucked and kicked, yet astoundingly, Reiner never once looked close to falling. 

When the human pulled at the earthpony’s ear, Changeling imitation of their false bodies’ physiognomic traits worked against Pharynx, as it sent a rush of chemicals that turned the bucking, snarling beast rather docile in a few seconds. For some reason, Celestia noticed Princess Ember snigger at this. Darkhoof declared the round over.

Stepping off, Reiner only had the following to say. “I’m from Texas. I can handle wild stallions.”

It was said with some pride, yet simply, careful not to get cocky. 

Because Celestia sensed that Reiner knew what she knew. This had been Pharynx starting at the 
base template, this was him testing the waters. She saw it all too clearly. As the match would proceed, so too would it intensify.



* * * * *



Off in their own corner, Thorax couldn’t decide if he had to worry, or to cheer for Pharynx, who’d next assumed the shape of a Diamond Dog. Aphid, meanwhile, was hollering. In her own way, without that gentle voice of hers, instead stomping her forehoof on the floor and clapping.

The fight became a punch-up, human and Diamond Dog swerving to avoid the other’s blows while seeking to get a punch in themselves.

“Pssst,” someone whispered. Thorax swivelled his head around, and saw the Harlequin Queen-in-Waiting, Papillate lean towards him, curiously. She pointed at Aphid.

“What’s she… saying?”

Thorax furrowed his brows. “She says, ‘Isn’t my brother cool?’”

Papillate rubbed her chin, looking between him, Aphid, then Pharynx. A thunderous crash from the arena gave Thorax the answer, however reluctant he was to fight himself. Pharynx’s fist had impacted a sensitive spot in the human’s chest, forcing him to his knees. It was then only a matter of the Dog holding him there, clutching at his shoulders almost casually.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Very.”



* * * * *



Lyra nibbled at her forehooves. Tried to, were it not for Bonbon tugging at her. One victory, one loss for Alex so far, and now in the third round, the fearsome Changeling had upped the game – turning into a griffon, all cruel beak and talons.

Whatever his abilities, Alex couldn’t fly. Repeatedly, the Changeling swooped down and tore.  And once more in quick sucession, there’d been a particularly hard blow to Alex, staggering him. He withdrew, chest heaving. Even knowing Rainbow Dash, Lyra didn’t know flyers could strike that fast.

“It’s… it’s still going,” Bonbon whispered, “he’ll win. Don’t worry.”

Lyra nodded, eyes glancing at the vicious, delighted glare of the Ebony Queen.

“He'd better.”

At the last minute, Lyra’s wish was granted. As the griffon swooped again, the human swiftly leapt to seize its talon, pulling it down. There was a surprised squawk, a tussle, blood drawn as the griffon scratched at the human’s face. But he held firm, pinning the griffon down.

Darkhoof called an end. In the arena, Alex stood tall.



* * * * *



With the third round behind him, Alex was winded and he knew it. Every breath was becoming more challenging to take, and his muscles ached with the strain of successive combat. He was still out of shape. The last fight had been a particular challenge, given that flyers were normally countered by weapons-fire. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had to tackle a pegasus – and pegasi didn’t have sharp talons. He felt his face. His fingers came back slightly red.

The next round was about to begin, though, and Alex took his guard.

Although he couldn’t see his own condition, it looked like Pharynx wasn’t doing much better. The Changeling soldier was also taking deep, heavy breaths, focusing on Alex with an intense glare. 

Once again the signal was given, and Pharynx engulfed himself in the off-green flames of Changeling magic. Alex could just make out the writhing, twisting mass that Pharynx’s body had become through the fire.

As with the second round, the shadowy form grew and swelled, but this time it was even bigger. The flames rose up to an apex, far dwarfing Alex as they expanded to accommodate the increasingly massive form of Pharynx’s transformation. When they finally flickered out, a dark, hulking Minotaur bull stood where Pharynx had been.

The bull’s gaze flashed red, while a vicious smirk spread across his muzzle.

“Brilliant,” Alex muttered as his eyes ran over the hulking bovine. He saw Pharynx flex, limbering his muscular arms and shoulders to adjust to his new shape, and at last, crack his knuckles.

Concentrating, Alex let the power flow into his body, and he felt some of the soreness and fatigue fade away. But the moment Alex did this, the bull’s eyes narrowed as, letting out a braying roar, he lowered his head and charged forward on all fours. 

Shaken as the floor rumbled, Alex still managed to duck, spinning to his right and just dodging Pharynx, whose immense new body almost clipped him. But at that same moment, a loose left-backhand swing was made by Pharynx as momentum carried him forward. 

‘Steady, it’s just like when he was a Diamond Dog…’ Alex thought as he steadied himself. ‘Big arms, huge torso, lots of muscle but short, weaker legs.’ 

Pharynx quickly halted and span around, planting his hooves, preparing for another rush – and it was then Alex hit him. Opening with a right hook, his left arm still up in guard, Alex slammed his fist into Pharynx’ new muzzle, the chunky lips giving way as Alex forced as much magical energy into his arm as he could. Alex swore he heard a crunch, but it was probably just cartilage giving way, rather than bone breaking. 

Yet Pharynx recovered sooner than Alex expected, to send his own right fist in an underarm jab that broke through Alex’s guard and hammered his ribs. Alex gasped and fell back a step, leaving himself open to a left hook from Pharynx, which he barely blocked with his empowered arm. His bones shuddered from the impact. 

“More power,” Alex hissed, his runes lighting up as more thaumic energy was called upon. 

Pushing forward, Alex once again swung a right hook, connecting hard with Pharynx’s pumped-up arm. Ignoring the pain, he followed up with his left and began to rain blows on the Minotaur, each hit striking beefy muscle-mass that began to strain against the impact. 

Growling, Pharynx took several steps back, his every attempt to land a retaliatory blow interrupted by Alex’s relentless assault. It was after about six paces that Alex changed tactics. Making yet another attempt on Pharynx’s face, which as he expected, got narrowly blocked, Alex lashed out with a kick that connected with Pharynx’s left knee. 

Alex hadn’t empowered his legs’ strength that much, just enough to reduce the strain he was placing on them, but it was enough to make Pharynx cry in alarm and even stumble. The Minotaur’s guard dropped for a moment, and just as it was about to rise back up, Alex aimed for Pharynx’s open face. 

Pharynx ducked, barely in time to move his face out of the way of Alex’s incoming blow and put his shoulder in its place. Alex hit the powerful joint with all his empowered might. It forced Pharynx onto one knee. The hulking Minotaur was finally level with him. Alex smiled faintly.

It was then Alex realised he’d forgotten one thing about his opponent – bulls, and therefore Minotaurs, had horns. 

Pharynx swung his head, his wide, curved horns raking Alex’s forearm, drawing blood. Feeling his vision go white, Alex yowled, but Pharynx was just getting started. Before he could recover, the Minotaur followed this up by reaching up and engulfing Alex’s arm in his mouth, biting down on his bicep with force – not enough to cause terrible damage, but still locking the limb in place.

Then, neck veins straining, Pharynx pulled up and back, lifting Alex up and over his head. Alex nearly panicked as the room span and he flew over Pharynx, slamming down onto the ground. 

Dazed from the fall, Alex had just enough time to raise his arms, wincing from the pain, to cover his face as Pharynx loomed over him. Pharynx was upon Alex in a flash, throwing all of his bulk onto him, pinning his arms in one huge limb and his legs in another, practically smothering him in bovine muscle. 

“Alright,” Darkhoof’s voice rang out. “That’s enough.” 

Obligingly, Pharynx lifted himself off Alex, snorting a bovine snort. The green flames enveloped him as he returned to his position, turning back into his regular form. Meanwhile, Alex staggered to do the same. 

Alex took a deep breath and ignored the aching in his limbs. As a near life-long soldier, he had long since gotten used to almost ceaselessly moving for hours on end. This fatigue was different, however. It wasn’t the exhaustion of his body having been pushed to its old limits. This was the feeling of his body bent from unprecedented stiffness. 

“Still need to recover,” Alex muttered to himself bitterly. If this was all he could do after being in recovery for so long, then he’d be useless to the war effort.  

“You feeling alright over there?” Pharynx called. Despite his words, his tone dripped with almost petulant amusement. “Do you want to call it quits right here?” 

Alex frowned and let out an irritated breath through his nose. 

“No, I’m good,” Alex replied in as casual a voice he could muster, waving off his opponent’s mocking concern. 

“Very well,” Pharynx drawled. “If you say so. Now, if you think you were ever ready to deal with a Minotaur, then wait till you get a load of this beast.” 

With that, Pharynx engulfed himself in the fires of Changeling magic. This plume, however, was massive, dwarfing all previous transformations. Alex guarded himself as Pharynx expanded in size, swelling in every direction. Huge shapes emerged from the large, indistinct blob that Pharynx’s body had turned into, opening up like the petals of a flower. 

Then it was over, and where Pharynx had stood was a monster. An immense insectoid creature that hovered on three pairs of diaphanous wings, supporting a rounded, heavily armoured body. Hulking pincered arms hung underneath the bulbous carapace, with a heavy stinger twitching at the rear. Pharynx’s new face was close to his old, vaguely equine one, but much larger and bearing a wide, slavering maw filled with rows of fangs. 

“What the hell is that!” Alex cried, staring at the abomination in a mix of awe and horror.

He’d never heard of a Changeling using such a monstrous form. If the Solar Empire could have used something like that, they would have. 

All Pharynx did was hover a little closer, a warbling, unsettling chuckle reverberating from his throat. The look in his various compound eyes, however, was familiar. He had been waiting to use this particular body. 

Barely wasting a second, Pharynx darted forward, far faster than his enormous body had any right to. Alex ducked and rolled, dodging the stinger that struck out for him. However, the moment it missed, Pharynx tucked his stinger in, keeping it from striking the floor, and spun in the air, swinging with his pincers. Alex rolled with the blow, hopping in a circle as Pharynx made one swipe after another, alternating his swings with lashes from the stinger-tail. 

Alex leapt back, putting some distance between himself and Pharynx. He swept his eyes over his opponent’s body, trying to find a weak point. Unlike every other Equestrian species, he had no information on this particular creature, and – whether it was Pharynx’s particular abilities or a general ability of the species – it was faster than it looked. 

Not letting up, Pharynx flew forward again with a vicious, squealing snarl. This time, Alex stood his ground, his guard up, and called upon magical power once again. When Pharynx was barely a stone’s throw away, Alex forced the power into his legs and leapt, flipping in the air as he claimed height to practically vault over Pharynx’s body.

As Alex passed overheard, tucking himself into a ball, he took the opportunity to lash out with his right arm – still empowered with a little thaumic energy. He struck one of Pharynx’s wings, denting the material, almost making a tear. Though the damage was minor, it interrupted the rhythmic beat of the wings, the struck wing misaligning and hitting the others. 

He landed on his feet, tumbling forward and rolling to bleed off momentum, Pharynx cried out, more in annoyance than pain, and lost control of himself, rushing down to the ground, his right-hand bank of wings almost tangled up together. Pharynx managed to roll with the impact as well, righting himself, but facing away from Alex. 

Seeing a chance, Alex charged forward, empowering all of his limbs. With so much magic in his body, the room blurred and not even a heartbeat passed before he was on Pharynx. His opponent pitched forward as Alex slammed his shoulder into the creature. Pharynx was barely able to catch himself on his pincers, but his body was low to the ground and his forelimbs were now pinned as they tried to keep his bulk from hitting the floor. 

Alex aimed for the joints as he threw one punch after another at Pharynx. He felt the bones in his hands and arms jar every time he did strike the chitinous armour. By his point his arms were screaming in pain and exhaustion. There had to be a weak point in the beast’s defences, but he had yet to find it. 

With a cry, Pharynx threw his body back, almost throwing Alex as he did so. Spinning in place, Pharynx swung back. One pincer was raised in guard, blocking a right hook that Alex made, whilst the other broke Alex’s own guard and impacted him in the stomach. 

Alex fell back, wincing from the pain in his abdomen.

His arms felt dead by this point, shaking as he held them up. More thaumic energy flowed into them, but doing so formed the beginnings of migraine. It felt like there was a growing pressure between Alex’s eyes that pressed down on the insides of his head from there. For a moment, Alex took his eyes off of Pharynx to shake his head in an instinctive attempt to clear it. The pain only worsened, his head throbbing as he cleared out the aches from his arms and legs. 

Pharynx didn’t wait, jumping forward on his stinger like a spring. Alex barely avoided the attack. He was just able to jump away, but he lost his footing, landing on his back and jarring his already disoriented head. 

‘I’m gonna lose’, Alex thought, groggily. ‘I’m almost spent, and there’s no way I can beat that thing with my bare hands.’

Legend said that Hannibal Barca, in his crossing of the Alps, had once forced a prisoner to fight one of his war-elephants, unarmed. He’d been most displeased when the prisoner won, killing the elephant. When pressed, humans could accomplish remarkable feats.

Somehow, though, Alex didn’t see it happening here. He’d fallen too far below his standards.

… His normal standards. But he could still call upon the super-normal.

It would strain him, in a different way. Yet, blurrily spotting the massive outline of Pharynx lunge towards him, Alex decided that if there was a time, the time had come.

Groaning softly, he held up a hand. On his whole body, runes glowed blue. His concentration poured the thaumic energy into his hand. Static sparked at his fingertips. He felt the skin of his palm rapidly heat up from the raw power coalescing in the space above it, rippling in the air. A swirling, churning ball of blue lightning manifested.

Alex only just saw the descending Pharynx’s eyes widen in the surprise, too late to shift his bulk’s momentum, as guided by the focus of the mind, the blue lightning-ball burst into a beam, which shot straight forward, impacting right into the underbelly of Pharynx’s monstrous form.

In a flash of blinding light, the creature was sent hurtling back, landing face-up, some way away. But Alex left his opponent no time to find his bearings. Summoning his willpower, he pulled himself to his feet and rushed over, leaping straight onto the confused, squirming creature. Pulling in his fist, now returned to normal, Alex brought it down onto the creature’s jaw.

Repeatedly. Once, twice, three times, until he decided it was enough. Finally he relented, to see. Through swollen lids, Pharynx’s four eyes stared up, dazed, and clouded over, his tongue lolling. He remained immobile.

Darkhoof strode into view. “I believe that did it, Captain Alexander. Step away.”

Panting, sweating, Alex felt only too happy to obtemperate. He slid himself off the prone mass. No sooner had he done so, there came Nurse Cross with the wheelchair, muttering obscenities. Wearily, Alex eased back into it.

But Pharynx, it seemed, was only out cold for a minute. A couple of Changeling drones had hovered over to see to him, and no lasting damage was found. After a burst of the green flames, Pharynx was returned to his regular appearance, still prone on his back. The two Changelings helped him up, to what looked like grudging thanks.

Nearby, a debate was going on between Darkhoof, the match’s arbiter, and one of the spectators, concerning the match’s outcome.

“The human cheated,” growled Chrysalis. “You stated he could only make one special use of his runes per round. Well, I saw him use them twice on that last one!”

“How so, Your Majesty?” Darkhoof enquired, eyebrows furrowing. “By the set rules, his use of that energy beam was permissible.”

“He jumped over Pharynx,” Chrysalis said, “higher than I’ll accept to believe a creature with those fragile little legs could possibly manage! That should count as special use!”

Darkhoof stroked his nose-ring, in thought.

“Hm,” he said at last. “I’ve given your objections due consideration, Your Majesty. However, I think you may have got human physiognomy confused with a Minotaur’s.” He indicated his own namesake pair of hooves. “We are better known for the strength of our upper bodies, it is true. Yet humans, though bipedal, would appear to have an even distribution of physical strength. Am I correct, Captain Alexander?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Alex. He was thinking of how, while he could not imagine a Minotaur running on two legs, the raw power of one charging him on all fours had been as terrifying as any bull from Texas. “During my training in the Marines, I was taught to focus on my whole body, not just my hands because they sometimes happened to be carrying a gun.”

“And so, a leap like that is physically feasible for a human?”

“To a well-practiced human,” Alex said. He grimaced, nearly groaned. “But, I gotta be honest, without the runes supporting me, I’m barely standing up straight as it is right now.”

“There you go,” Chrysalis said triumphantly. “He used a boost. He shouldn’t even be walking!”

“Yes,” said Darkhoof. “But you forget, it was stipulated that the Captain using his runes to replicate his levels of stamina in an uninjured state would be permitted. Otherwise, this’d have been quite an uneven fight.”

Chrysalis hissed with displeasure. Darkhoof paid her no heed, moving to finish his piece.

“In my authority as arbiter of this trial by champion,” Darkhoof announced to the crowd, “Hereby do I declare the human Alexander Reiner, wielding runic power as his allotted weapon, to be the one and only honourable victor, by a tally of three to two. If such is your inclination, you may give him a round of applause.”

And applause there was.



* * * * *



As the crowd dispersed, Pharynx, ignoring the pounding in his head, broke away from Aphid and Thorax to approach the human Reiner, who was beginning to be rolled away. There were a few ponies in proximity, the nurse and that mint-green unicorn, both of whom looked dismayed as they saw him, but he didn’t care about them.

Pharynx lightly inclined his head.

“You fought well, human,” he said quietly. “If you, and others of your sort, can put that kind of energy into every fight… You might still win your war.” His eyes gleamed darkly. “But just be glad this wasn’t a real fight. I wouldn’t have held back at all in a real fight.”

“If that was you holding back…” Reiner smiled thinly. He shook his head. “I did need the exercise. A real fight would’ve been different. Trust me, after the shit I’ve seen, this was just a bit of fun.”

Beneath his gleaming eyes, Pharynx smiled back, equally thinly.

“Then we’re on the same page. Now get going, before I decide to have you cocooned with that wheelchair of yours. I’d like to see your runes break through that.”

“Oh, they might surprise you,” said Reiner. “Even I’m not sure of all they can do.”

Pharynx left it at that, going to rejoin his Hive. The Queen wouldn’t be happy. He’d lost this fight. And while Changelings healed fast, he’d be feeling the pain a while. But, he reflected as he felt Thorax and Aphid embrace him, none of that mattered.

It was what he lived for.

 



~ Day 7 of the Convocation ~ Sixteenth Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae ~

This was it, this was it had all been leading to. For her, anyway, thought Lyra.

At the Convocation’s opening, making her presentation on Howie Waggoner’s expedition and the Sunken Dream Valley had not been so different from explaining it to Princess Celestia along with Twilight’s friends – just as she had done, before the hospital bed of a sleeping human she hadn’t yet known was called Alexander Reiner. Anymore than she’d known of his world. Or his connection to a picture in her book, symbolic of a past bond between their worlds.

She had not told the Public Assembly of the human Alex’s family history, though she’d suspected it from the sketch in Waggoner’s book. The little statuette of a human girl, buried in the sand. Her face, so similar to his, too many traits in common to be mere shared traits of the species. And that locket she held up…

A locket whose existence Lyra still couldn’t reveal to the Public Assembly. Of all things, it had been a dragon’s essence in a canister that spilled the truth about Alex’s mother. Spykoran, the Eldest of Dragons. But to reveal the locket’s existence would have undermined the very goal they’d worked towards, Celestia had reminded her sadly. A tool which could, in one swift stroke, turn the war’s tide, was a tool that’d lead either to coveting or to abjuration of responsibility. And Alex had reluctantly agreed, muttering something about splitting the atom.

In short, telling of Waggoner’s expedition had been a labour of passion, which Lyra had slipped back into with ease, no matter whom she told it to. This was different, quite different. Princess Celestia was counting on her, like she’d counted on Twilight so many times. 

And as she stepped back onto the stage, Lyra’s every sense was bombarding her. The Public Assembly’s murmurs were deafening. Her saliva tasted dry. The scent of lavender and mistletoe were now offensive to her. The blur of the crowd came into far too sharp relief.

‘What am I doing here?’ she thought. ‘I’ve made a mistake I’vemadeamistake Mimiss–’

Closing her eyes, Lyra slowly applied the relaxed breathing technique Cadance had taught her. Princess Cadance. But Lady Cadenza’s words from last night were also good counsel. She dared to again look upon the Assembly, scanning for a friendly face. She resisted the temptation to glance at Bonbon, in the wings. So were Celestia and Luna and Twilight and Applejack and… And then Lyra’s eyes found someone.

The leading figures all sat in their galleries. But in the lower auditorium, there stood the regular folks who comprised their entourages, mingled together. The off-duty guards, the serving-staff, the hangers-on who worked. Amongst them all, a tall grey earthpony with blue eyes.

Galatea smiled secretively at Lyra, only a subtle glamour keeping her invisible to the attention Lyra was attracting right now. And without quite knowing why, Lyra found her confidence.

“Distinguished leaders… Honoured representatives… People of Equus. I stand here before you…”

Her voice lowered, her gaze panning over the Public Assembly. All eyes had locked onto her, most murmurs having faded away. Good. That meant they would hear her.

Now to make them listen.

“I… stand here before you,” she repeated, pausing to gulp, “with a plea, given to each and every one of you.”

Another pause, longer than the last. No applause, no cheers or whispers as she had expected. Nothing but the breeze. Lyra sighed.

“Everyone here has seen what awaits us on Earth. What sort of evil reigns beyond the Barrier. An Empire whose reach spans across Equus, waging war on a scale far beyond any of our imaginations. And… I know many of you are afraid, to confront this terror and come out of it with our heads held up high.”

She didn’t look at Bonbon, nor Twilight, nor the Princesses. But they were watching, she knew.

“It won’t be easy, that much I know...”

All Lyra could imagine were the visions and memories Princess Luna had shown them, only a few days ago. Now, they all may very well have asked them all to march to an uncertain fate.

“But someone has to do it,” Lyra said. “The Solar Empire is… a sickness, corrupting all it touches. Humanity… my kind… each and every one of our people. They claim to value Harmony, to be the guardians of Equestria’s values– but their Harmony is a twisted, sickened thing, a lie they tell each other as they warp lives and erase history. It is insatiable. If it ends humanity, it will turn its eyes to others.”

Her voice grew higher still, firmer and bolder.

“And that is why we must help!,” Lyra shouted. “They don’t just need defenders. They need books, bandages, shelter, a safe place to store their greatest treasures, the mere reassurance that things can be better. We can do this. These  would be all that’s needed, and every little effort counts, so long as we do it together, hand in hoof, claw in hand...”

Hushed murmurs grew all around her. Lyra did not know what they spoke of, whether it was in condemnation, or praise. 

She let go of her breath.

“I say this because… I know that we can be more. If only for this tiny moment, we can be more! Why shouldn’t we? We can make something better. Something whose very existence denies them the victory and high ground they crave.”

Her words flowed more easily now. She’d imagined Bonbon there, on the stage, right by her, whispering encouragement.

“History remembers those who take a stand, in victory and in defeat,” said Lyra. “And I stand here now, asking you all to seize this moment. And I–” She shook her head. “I want to believe. I want to see a better world than the one scoured by the Empire. I want to see the Earth safe, and I want to make something new. We can make that world, here and on Earth. And somewhere out there… I know we did, a long time ago. I know we can find what Waggoner saw. We can prove the Empire wrong, that Earth and Equus were not meant to be foes.”

A short chuckle escaped her, before she could help herself.

“Humanity gave us aid, before most of our ancestors even built permanent dwellings. A little girl’s kindness that ensured that we all have a future to seek, a future to build. A future we can make for our own. Not just ponykind’s, or humanity’s… but all of us.”

She looked down at her hooves, sighing.

“I’m not the Ambassador. I don’t know how she made that journey. Nor do I know how the Empire made their journey. But… it doesn’t have to be our path. And we can walk it together.”

Lyra let her voice echo around, and dissipate, before taking a deep bow. Polite applause met her, from all around. Claws and hooves and paws. And hands, too, from the Minotaurs, along with Alex, somewhere in the wings.

So Lyra turned around, and saw Bonbon smile, so very happily, clapping more enthusiastically than anyone else, even the Princesses. But even her enthusiasm did not stopper the growing pit in Lyra’s stomach, that perhaps her words would sway no-one other than the Reindeer…

The applause died down soon enough. Bonbon, Twilight, and Celestia were the last to finish. That left a deafening silence, tearing at Lyra. Anxious and sweating she was, yet, her hooves remained rooted to the spot.

To her relief, the Princess of the Sun emerged from somewhere behind her, with a determined glare, her golden aura carrying an unfurled scroll.

“People of Equus,” she spoke, and even without the Royal Canterlot Voice in full force, she held the room in awe, “now comes the hour of need. For those who wish to do so, they may add their names, and that of their people, onto this Concordat. Together, as Madam Heartstrings has said, we shall march, and lend our aid… The Twelve Families of Equus, now Thirteen.”

None answered her call then, amidst hushed whispers. Lyra’s eyes darted, back and forth, between creatures all around, hoping for something, anything which might bore any resemblance to sympathy, from the griffons to Buffaloes, even the Changelings...

After an eternity, one emerged from the crowd, drawing murmurs and eyes, including Lyra’s.

It was a dragon, blue in scales, a head taller than Lyra was. Her wings were folded tightly against her body, her steps confident and sure. She stopped, only a few steps away from the stage. Before the Assembly’s eyes, standing right there at the centre, Princess Ember held up a quill, her eyes fixed upon Lyra.

“I’ve changed my mind.”



* * * * *



“Congratulations, Lyra,” Twilight was saying backstage a few hours later. “Well done.”

She and all her friends from Ponyville had come to say this, making Lyra blush heavily at the praise she was getting. Twilight had never been one to seek the spotlight herself, back when they were in school together, but recent years had thrust her into it more than not, and she’d got used to it as she could. Which meant, more often than not, with great difficulty.

So she knew just how it must have felt for Lyra, to stand and speak and sound more confident than she really was.

“Thanks, Twi’,” Lyra smiled crookedly. “Not sure I could’ve done it without a little boost from Cadance… from Lady Cadenza, honestly. But I’m glad you guys were there for it.”

“Aw, shucks, sugarcube,” said Applejack. “You didn’t think we’d miss out on this, did you?”

“Yeah,” grinned Rainbow Dash. “We weren’t gonna leave you hanging! I saved your flank at Zecora’s hut, I wasn’t gonna back out now. Especially not for one rockin’ cool speech!”

Pinkie chuckled a little. “Heh, now that sounds like something my older sister would say. Did I ever tell you guys? I can’t quite put my hoof on it, but Galatea reminds me a bit of her…”

But Lyra wasn’t listening. As often with Dash, her words weren’t quite the best-chosen, and Lyra’s smile faded to recall the circumstances of that rescue, her memories turning once again to the late Redheart.

Apparently sensing this, Applejack spoke quickly. “But that was our last yee-haw at this joint, least, it is for some of us. So we wanted to end it with a bang.”

“Huh?” Lyra blinked. “Why, where’re you going?”

Rarity gave her the answer, a forehoof around Fluttershy’s withers. “We had a talk,” she said. “Seeing how upset dear Fluttershy’s been since… since Princess Luna got back, a few of the girls got together and decided, maybe it’s best to take her back to Ponyville.”

Lyra stared at the silent, downcast Fluttershy, feeling comprehension and compassion, before turning to Rarity.

“And you, Rares? Aren’t you going too?”

It seemed unusual that Rarity, who was Fluttershy’s best friend, would hang back while Fluttershy left to seek emotional comfort. The same thought must have been on Rarity’s mind, for she looked uncomfortable. 

But Fluttershy then spoke for herself. “It’s okay, Lyra,” she said. “I told Rarity it was okay. I’ll have Rainbow and Pinkie and AJ with me. I told Rarity she’s got to stay here, where she can help. We need her networking skills, more than I need…”

The phrase didn’t finish. Rarity hugged her harder.

“Glad she’s got you guys,” Lyra quietly told the three Fluttershy had named. “So,” she addressed Twilight, “you’re staying, huh? Well, it’ll be nice to still see an old face around here.” She paused for thought. “You know, Twi’… Maybe we should give it another try. I mean, talking to Moondancer. Maybe it’ll be different with the one from the PHL.”

“That’s nice of you,” Twilight said. “But, um… I’m, I’ll be staying because this is where the Princess is. Princess Celestia,” she swiftly clarified. “I’m still her faithful student, and there’s a lot I could learn from the… the new Concordat.”

“Wish I could’ve stayed,” Pinkie sighed. “So many friends to make, so many parties… But Princess Celestia said she’ll soon be telling Equestria what’s going on here. And… I think the ponies are gonna need a lot of laughs to keep going after that.”

“Yeah,” said Dash. “And I’m thinking of joining the Royal Guard.”

The expressions on her friends’ faces said this wasn’t news to them. However, it was to Lyra. “Wait, you serious?” she said. “What about the Wonderbolts?”

“The Wonderbolts are the best,” Dash said earnestly. “But they ain’t for fighting. Not yet, anyway. ‘Sides, it’s still gonna take me a while to make the team. I wanna be ready, Lyra. I don’t wanna caught flat-hoofed again, like Redheart nearly did for me. If they come back…” She took a very, very deep breath. “I wanna fight.”

Not much could be said to this. A quiet reigned that Lyra took upon herself to break.

“Then I wish you good luck, Dash…” Lyra said, embracing her. “Fluttershy…” she added, moving to her next. “All of you,” she concluded, take them all into her embrace. “Alex told me about moments like these, called them the ‘calm before the storm’. Don’t know how much longer... It may actually still last a while. But it won’t last forever.”



* * * * *



“Well, it seems that sooner or later, Your Grace,” General Ironclaw spoke, tapping his flintlock, “we all face a crossroads.”

Reclining on the futon provided by the Hall, Grizelda stroked her chin as she considered her elderly advisor’s words. The General was seated on a comfortable chair opposite the futon. This bedroom was more luxurious than she was used to, in all her time with Ironclaw’s Redcloaks. The large, quilted double-bed and the vanity had caught her off-guard that first night, but one thing still stood out even now – the gilded en-suite bathroom at the far end.

A real bathroom. No more communal bathing in a shallow tub with the old General’s troopers, rough-and-ready bunch that they were. And the soap! Up until this week, Grizelda had always regarded soap as hard, gritty stuff. When she’d seen bubbles foam in the water that night, she’d thought it had started to snow.

She did wonder if, after six days of this, she wasn’t going to go soft. The General had politely kept from sharing his opinion, one way or another. But between these comforts and the rich food, Grizelda had to question whether a single week might undo a lifetime’s work, carried out by Ironclaw to mold her into a claimant worthy of the name.

“Mhm-hm…” the Young Pretender hummed. “Pretty sure that’s what the Carbuncle Gem Caravan musta been thinkin’, when they came to that pass at the Dragon’s Spine– you remember that little altercation, General? That was a mean fight… Still can’t believe we made it back safe with those Abyssinians’ wares intact, not to mention the Abyssinians themselves…”

“Quite,” Ironclaw said gruffly, “but if I understand what we’re dealing with now, we’ve got more than just a fight to commit for. Either we sign off on a new contract to provide forces… Or we commit to something different, a more scholarly-minded venture.”

Grizelda sighed. “A pity so few young griffons get a chance at book-learning these days.” She clicked her talons pensively. As she was reflecting, she turned to the stout griffon sitting by her. “Wolf? Another cherry, please.”

Her own glass of milkshake lay on the coffee-table, nearly drained of its contents. Yet Wolfram was further ahead of her, with two glasses empty and halfway through his third.

Smiling devotedly, Wolfram picked the cherry floating in his cup by the stem, raising the fruit just shy of Grizelda’s beak. She nonchalantly nipped at it, one bite swallowing it whole. Satisfied, Grizelda returned Wolfram’s smile, fondly patting her consort’s feathery and sizeable stomach. 

“Hm,” she said, looking back at Ironclaw. “A scholarly venture, or a military one– why not both? We’ve plenty to gain in return. A long road lies ahead, and the collective experience we gain...”

Wolfram piped up. “Glenda’s certainly had fun in the Archives, hasn’t she?”

“Good point,” Grizelda said. “Though, I almost pity that her sense of honesty cut off several legalese hoops we could’ve jumped through to claim some new land… As it stands for now, I remain a Pretender with the troops to back me up, but no real territory.”

“Territory which the people shall give, once they hear of what we’ve achieved for their sake,” Ironclaw supplied helpfully. 

“Heh. The people?” Grizelda said, holding up her milkshake. “We’ve got the people right here, General,” she continued, gesturing to Wolfram. “Why don’t we ask the people what they think.”

Wolfram set down his milkshake and coughed, a talon to his chest, looking bashful.

“You know,” he said, “you could ask Glenda, or Gabriella. I think they’ll rally, Pumpkin. Okay, this is no Idol of Boreas, yet it’s something they’ll look up to, I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, about that,” Grizelda said darkly, “I’ve been pressing Lady Amira ‘bout that husband of hers and his collection… Saddle Mareabia has kept King Grover’s Crown far too long.” She paused and swallowed. “Still, if this is what you think, Wolf, we got a good place to start.”

Ironclaw cleared his throat. “What say you, Your Grace?”

“Like I’ve said, a long road lies ahead. But… establishing relations through this Concordat…” Grizelda mused. “I say the Dragon Princess’s shown us the way. We can start off small, pledging our support to that Expedition. With luck, its prestige will shine back onto me. Afterwards, we can send word the Redcloaks call upon their griffon brothers and sisters.” She gave a sly wink. “No doubt the promise of rich return on investment from the Expedition ought to sway them.”

“So, it’s settled, then. The ink will be dry on the morrow,” Ironclaw surmised. He gave a firm nod. “By your word, my Queen. All our banners will be summoned. All the swords gathered.” He gave her a rare smirk. “Quite the start to your reign.”

“Patience,” said Grizelda. “We’ve yet to sign the scroll, or even summon our banners. But our time will come.”

“This does leave one question open,” Ironclaw told her. “Who shall represent you on the Expedition? Whom can we spare, from amongst our numbers.”

Grizelda rested her head in her talon.

“It’s a difficult decision,” she said. “Preferably, one of my partisans in Griffonstone. Someone of the younger generation, not some stuffy old bird– meaning no offense, General. Young but not flighty, whose loyalty to my claim is assured. But who? I can’t spare even a single trooper. I don’t think the Equestrians would like it, anyway.”

Wolfram spoke up. “Ahem. We could send Gabriella? So friendly and outgoing, yet she can take care of herself. And so talented, Madame Heartstrings would be blessed to have her on board.”

“That girl knows no bounds,” Grizelda sighed, shaking her head. “Hard to say what picking her might do to my image, Wolfram.”

“Still,” said Ironclaw, “for this matter, I concur with Wolfram. Appearances must be kept, and what better way to appease the Equestrians, if not a griffon who might as well be one of them.”

“Hm. I’ll consider it,” Grizelda said. Her words felt heavy on her tongue. “An opportunity like this only arises once in a lifetime, gentlegriffs. We won’t see its like again. This could my strongest bid for the throne… One slip, and it’ll be wasted.”

Such self-doubt was unbecoming of a future Queen, Grizelda was well aware. She’d never have talked like this in front of anyone but these two, the griffons she trusted most in the world. And even with them, it didn’t come easy. With the throne of Griffonstone vacant, Grizelda wondered if the Call truly had chosen her, or if it had hedged its bets.

But what her advisors next said proved how well they knew her mind.

“If I may, Your Grace,” Ironclaw said, his voice softer, gentler. “It was you, of all the pretenders, who chose to answer this Call.”

“It’s true,” smiled Wolfram. “Have faith in yourself. We’ll see this through. You know why? Because you’re a griffon who measures her pride and worth in better things than how much coin you carry.”

Something about that last word got Ironclaw’s eye to lock onto her meaningfully. Grizelda knew what he wanted her to say. Yet she’d been putting it off all week, and felt like putting it off a little bit longer.

“Oh, sure I do,” Grizelda said. “Snaffling up some artefacts from the Expedition would do wonders for my pride.”

“You know that ain’t what I meant,” Wolfram teased her.

“Isn’t it?” Grizelda said innocently. “Cos’ I’ve kinda… got cravings right now.”

Behind a final sip of her milkshake, Grizelda concealed a smile. That dear tinmaker, so unlike the typical griffon. Not until she’d reminded him had Wolfram recalled that by through his craft, he’d make money off shares in the Expedition’s canned goods. However he’d got fat, it sure wasn’t by gorging on wealth. Yet if attending the Convocation had reminded Grizelda of anything, it was one good thing about being a griffon. Rich or poor, daughter of kings or father of the troops, so long as you used a little discretion, rank made no difference to your love life.

This wasn’t without its ill effects – after all, for what other reason did she face so many rival claimants to the throne. And she still sometimes had to think of the blue-feathered stray she’d once seen wandering Griffonstone’s streets, like so many guttersnipes, left by his mother and unclaimed by his father.

But Grizelda banished that thought. Her reality, she told herself, would be entirely different. For her and her secret consort, for her followers, and more.

Wolfram blinked curiously. “What is it, Grizelda?”

She put down her now-empty glass. “You got it right,” Grizelda told him slowly. “I’m not a griffon who measures her pride in coin. Not when I’m carrying something else…”

At which Grizelda patted her own belly.

The news took a moment to dawn on Wolfram. When it did, his beak fell open so wide, it put her in mind of nothing so much as a big robin whose voice had caught on the high note. She tried hard not to grin.

“You’re… you really are?”

“She is, young Wolfram.” Ironclaw had stood back, his beak graced by a discrete smile, yet now he stepped forward and looked serious. “Her Grace came to me three weeks ago, wondering how to break it to you. My gut told me there’d soon be a special moment for it.”

“He was correct,” smiled Grizelda, taking both of Wolfram’s talons in her own.

“It is glad news, great news. To the pair of you, and for Her Grace’s dynasty.” The General’s eyes, however, remained serious. “Yet as with all such things, it also heightens the risks to Her Grace. Once she starts to show, you’ll need to be twice as careful about seeing each other. After the baby is born, there are those who’ll seek to get at Grizelda through her child… or the child’s father.”

Grizelda nodded solemnly. “This is how it goes, Wolf,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t have to. When I am Queen of Griffonstone, we won’t have to hide anymore. We’ll live together, like a proper family. You, and me… and the new arrival.”

Her consort would not be King. In the way of griffons, a Queen’s consort was never King, any more than a King’s consort was Queen. Even if their status as consort was made public. But Grizelda knew she couldn’t have seen Wolfram’s honest, chubby face more aglow if she had handed him ten Griffon’s Crowns.

"And I… I was starting to think I'd been fattening you up, Pumpkin…"

Laughing, Grizelda leaned forward and gave him a loving peck. "You did better than that."



* * * * *



“So, what are we looking at, Tia?”

Taking a break from leafing through the papers, Celestia returned her sister’s gaze.

“Early signs are promising,” said Celestia, holding up the founding document of the Concordat. “We got the dragons’ signature. I did not expect that. Of course, the Reindeer threw their lot in with us unconditionally. Thanks to Darkhoof, the Minotaurs ought to soon follow. So should the Buffalo. And word is that Dame Grizelda’s seriously considering it.”

“That still leaves so many,” Luna pointed out, tapping the wood of Celestia’s desk. “The Kirin may be open to funding Madame Heartstrings’ expedition, but Mikado Kane’s said nothing yet about providing support for Earth. The Saddle Mareabians, the zebras, the Abyssinians… I’d even take the Diamond Dogs. Hey, if we’ve got the dragons… What surprises me is how on-the-fence the hippogriffs still are about this.”

“I believe Queen Novo will come around,” Celestia said. “It stands to reason she’d take her time, like Queen Saba. Both Mount Aris and Abyssinia have similar concerns at the moment.”

“The Storm King…” Luna growled. “An inconvenient time he’s picked to be a distraction. I wonder, though, Tia. If this lantern in our Vault, this Concordia Maxima, could get even Chrysalis to hear its Call… Do you think the Storm King heard it, too?”

Celestia’s face darkened.

“That is a worry,” she admitted. “After all this time, I know too little about the Storm King. He’s proven an enigma. His true name, where he came from… Even which of the Twelve Families he belongs to is hard to say.”

“Mmh,” said Luna. “File that away. What about Chrysalis? Is she going to play nice? I doubt it, given that farce of an ‘honour duel’ she forced upon us.”

“Queen Chrysalis will do what’s best for Queen Chrysalis, we know that,” said Celestia. “However, for the time being, she’s said it’s in her best interests to sit this one out, and agree to a truce.”

“Hah!” Luna snorted. “Believe that if you like.”

“I know, Luna,” sighed Celestia. “But what else can we do? Under the terms of the Concordia Maxima, she enjoys diplomatic immunity. An immunity that Lady Cadenza nearly violated… Not that I blame her.”

“And I certainly do not,” Luna said. “Well. How, then, shall we relay the contents of this document to the other side? How shall we transfer it to Earth, and the PHL.”

At this, Celestia saw her glance forlornly at a glass bell-jar, further along the desk. Within it lay the charred, useless remains of the device by which the Solar Tyrant had spoken, and Luna had inadvertently triggered the kill-switch in Redheart. The ansible.

“I do wish we could’ve held onto this device,” Celestia agreed sadly. “No doubt that’s why the Tyrant had it destroyed, to prevent us from reverse-engineering it. I already had Blueblood’s engineer friends look into it, Misters Awesome Fire and Shieldwall. Sadly, they’ve confirmed what I suspected. With what we’ve got left, even if we knew how to rebuild this ansible, we lack the resources and infrastructure which allowed the Solar Empire to produce it.” She sighed. “At least we’ve still got Redheart’s gem-tracker to study.”

“This is going to be a concern, moving on…” said Luna. “We’re facing an enemy with a fifteen-year head start, and we’re still in the dark about so much.”

“Indeed,” said Celestia. “For now, I fear, we shall have to communicate the slow way, sending written messages through the Crystal Mirror and back.”

But this seemed to draw Luna’s focus away.

“Luna?” said Celestia. “Something on your mind?”

“Yes-s…” Luna said slowly. “When I delved into Twilight’s mind. The… the Archmage Twilight’s. There’s this name I caught.”

“The Architect, you mean?”

“No, not her,” Luna shook her head. “Though I do believe, more and more, that she may be the Prismia of Cadance’s tale… Ahem. No, no, I got a name and a face. Twilight… the Archmage… She had a partner, in producing the conversion serum. A mage, a stallion named Sunburst.”

Celestia steepled her forehooves. “I see…” she said. “Hmm. We know of several Equestrians to keep an eye out on, some of them working for us, as their counterparts also work for the Empire. Fire and Shieldwall, for instance.”

“Yet do you recognise that name, Tia?” said Luna. “He was young, about Twilight’s age.”

"No, I’m sorry,” said Celestia. “But I'll ask the Archm–” She caught Luna’s look. “I mean, Headmaster Nexus, if there was a Sunburst who attended my School–"

There came a knock on the office’s door.

As the two sisters turned, entering was Raven Inkwell, her perennial quill and notepad aloft in her aura. She gave a deferential bow.

“Your Highnesses,” said Raven. “I have Headmaster Nexus outside. He wishes to see you. With him is Her Ladyship, the Ambassador of Saddle Mareabia, Amira bint-Ramaha.”

Celestia and Luna exchanged glances. “Well, speak of the jack-in-the-box…” Celestia said. “Very well, Miss Inkwell, admit them in.”

Soon, into the office strode these two well-dressed figures, Headmaster Nexus still in the ceremonial wizard robe and hat of the Archmage, and Lady Amira clad in the colourful caparison, head-dress and noseband of Saddle Mareabian aristocracy.

After each had given their bows, Nexus spoke first.

“Greetings, Your Highness,” Nexus said, talking directly to Celestia. “I don’t know if you’ll recall, but shortly before the Convocation was called, Twilight came to with a sketch of the runes found etched on Captain Reiner’s body, asking me for reference.”

“That I do recall, Sir Archmage,” Celestia said, noting Luna’s snubbed look. “Twilight told me you were seeking a trail.”

“And so I was, until sadly, my duties at the Convocation slowed me down,” Nexus said. “However, in the past couple days, I set back into my searches. I’ve found these runes, although not identical, would appear to share a common root with an old alphabet of Zebrica.”

“Which is interesting, truly,” Luna interrupted. “But may I ask what brings Lady Amira to grace us with her presence, by your side?”

Like always, Luna had bluntly stated what Celestia was thinking.

She let her eyes meet Amira’s. The Saddle Mareabian noble stared back. Calm, polite, untroubled. Which Celestia knew to be as much a facade as her own mask as Princess of the Sun. She had met with Amira on several occasions in past years, for diplomatic pleasantries such as the previous year’s fireworks show in Ponyville, and the facts never changed. Between them hung the unspoken gap, the recollection of an uncomfortable past dealing.

Amira took her turn.

“Professor Nexus approached me early on, Your Highness,” she explained. “Knowing my family’s wealth of knowledge. Initially, when I saw the sketched runes, I dismissed them from my mind. The coincidence seemed too… fortuitous, I suppose. But then I assisted this morning’s duel, and when I saw the human action, I could no longer deny my eyes.”

“What did you see, Lady Amira?” Celestia asked, sensing where this was going.

To which Amira cleared her throat. “Princess Celestia,” she said, “I believe I know someone who can tell you more about those runes, who made them and what for. But for that, I’d have to request a visit to my husband.”

Her husband. Once again, Celestia looked to Luna, who looked back, understanding full well. For paying a visit to Master Qabil meant a visit to an old domain of Luna’s.

To Erebus.





~ Canterlot, Equestria ~ Day 10 of the Convocation ~ Nineteenth Day of the Month of Rophon ~

Chamomile Brew’s teashop, like the quaint little place that it was, rarely contained more than a few patrons at a time. At its peak hours, there were usually a few couples hanging around, and that was in the evenings. The decoration, too, seemed to enforce this notion, since the mare who tended to the tea shop never cared much for the gaudy, elaborate decorations that adorned the other Canterlot establishments – even its name was simple, though no doubt proud by itself.

The Canterlot Tea House. 

On mornings and evenings, the odd pair of Royal Guards or elderly nobles would sit down for a nice cup. Which, Winter Truce thought, only served to make this particular evening stand out that much more.

In choosing his daughter’s establishment as the venue for his birthday party, Captain Green Fields had ensured the largest attendance it ever received, even more than when Sir Fancypants – who was also present – had announced that he’d been engaged to Fleur de Lis.

No fewer than twenty-five ponies, if his count was right, had arrived for the occasion. From Vanhoover to Fillydelphia, from the Night Guard to the Wonderbolts. He wished Chamomile could have asked him for help, for surely there was a lot to organise here, yet his fiancée had chosen to keep it a surprise for him.

The guest list was no slouch, either. Captain Green Fields put stock in his fellows as much as he the next batch of officers. That included Winter himself, and not for the first time, he wondered if he’d have been invited if he was still a Sergeant, or if he belonged here amongst those like Oaken Plow, Sparks Timber, even the Captain of Celestia’s Own himself.

‘That is ridiculous,’ he thought. ‘I shouldn’t worry. He’d have invited us both the same.’

He shook his head away, clearing his thoughts of the empty pair of chairs on his table. One had been reserved for his fiancée. The other for his friend.

Neither of whom, as it were, had been present here. Icewind had excused himself to the bathroom some time ago, and Chamomile...

Winter brushed away a lock of his blue-and-teal mane, sighing. Chamomile, diligent mare that she was, had succeeded in organising the tables to the point it felt just right – and if he looked, he was sure he would spot a cream-coloured blur dashing back and forth between tables. True, the round tables weren’t up to Zesty Gourmand’s standards, but Chamomile wasn’t looking for her approval, either. Winter found the arrangements to be pleasing in their simplicity - all in staggered rows, all arranged to seat four ponies.

The cheers of the Fillydelphia and Baltimare-Night Guard table interrupted his thoughts. They were close enough to share in their discussions. He sighed. It wasn’t that he had jumped onto this bandwagon, but he, like Snow Mist, didn’t have a high regard for Fillydelphia’s notions of professional behaviour. Division and regimental traditions died hard. Vanhoover and Fillydelphia simply didn’t mingle. It wasn’t his business to question it, though he personally found it amusing. 

The way the lone Baltimare attendant, a blue-grey, brown-maned pegasus Lieutenant smoothly told his joke to the Fillydelphian Captain, Sparks Timber, was enough to inform him that Baltimare didn’t have such problems.

Now, as he’d insisted, he wasn’t avoiding the others. No, as much as he’d love to hear Green Fields recalling the times he went exploring the Griffon Lands, Winter also valued his corner table very much. And part of him wished Snow Mist had stuck around to talk instead of joining the Night Guards’ table. She was a fan of theirs. She’d always liked the thrills.

‘Not the time to dwell,’ he thought. ‘What’re the Trailblazers up to…’

Oaken Plow, that long-serving Trailblazer scout, was now deep in discussion with Green Fields, their table closest to the counter. His was a story of how he’d escorted young Princess Cadance home from faraway Oleander. Judging from the twinkle in his eyes, it was a fond memory. But his wasn’t the only table full of nostalgia – Shining Armor’s deputy Clever Ace was there, too, speaking of the Canterlot Wedding with Sir Fancypants, Fleur, and two nobles that Winter was certain wouldn’t bother listening if Fancy wasn’t. One of the benefits of being the Prime Minister, that was for sure.

Next to his table were the Night Guards – Selene, Serene, and Gibbous, if Winter remembered. Serene was the one with the intelligence division. Selene was with Gibbous. Names could be confusing sometimes.

He took a sip from his cup. It was getting colder, still. He let the taste settle – he’d always liked tea from the zebra tribes. They had a rugged, yet elegant quality to them.

“Hey, mind if I sit here?”

Winter looked up. It was the Baltimarean Lieutenant. His eyes were hazel, and he couldn’t see what sort of mark the pegasus bore. Still, he wore a friendly expression, and Winter found it welcoming enough.

He nodded. “Sure, go ahead,” Winter said politely. The stallion sat where Icewind should be.

“Sorry to bother ya, but, you seemed kind of, y’know. Alone out here,” said the pegasus. “You sure you don’t want to join us?”

He pointed behind his shoulder, and Winter followed. He saw Snow Mist, his icy-blue-coated ex-weathermare colleague, sitting with the Night Guards at their table. Mist caught his eye, and waved a friendly hoof, brushing away her snow-coloured, blue-streaked bangs.

“I’m good, Lieutenant,” said Winter. “They know this is my usual spot.” He gestured towards the empty seat besides the Lieutenant. “That one’s for Chamomile.” He pointed to where the pegasus had taken a seat. “That one’s for Icewind.”

The Lieutenant stood up. “Oh, pardon me, then…”

“No, no, it’s quite alright, he’s off in the back. You’re welcome to stay.”

And so he did. The Lieutenant cleared his throat. “Gale, Baltimare.” Winter accepted his hoof-shake and nodded.

“Winter Truce, Vanhoover,” he said primly. He glanced to where Gale had gestured before, the Fillydelphia table. “Sounds like you’re having fun over there, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah? Heh, one way to put it,” said Gale, chuckling. “Everyone loves a good story. Bet Vanhoover has a lot of good ones, too.”

“No doubt,” Winter said, with a touch of pride. “The creatures of the North are not to be trifled with. You’re not so bad either with, well, pirates.”

Gale smiled. “Never had a raid for as long as I’ve served,” he said, equally proud. He shrugged. “But hey, quiet days never really last long, do they? Which batch did you serve in, Winter?”

Winter winced a little. The memories of the Canterlot Wedding still lay fresh on both his and Icewind’s minds. He wasn’t quite sure of the Changeling invitation to the Hall of Unity – but the Princesses knew best. Icewind, on the other hoof…

“The Wedding batch,” he said simply. “Higher-ups fast tracked me for a promotion after that fiasco, served a tour in Ponyville recently.”

He tapped his newly-sewn-in lieutenant patch on his formal dress lapel. Gale shook his head.

“I don’t know how I would have dealt with the Canterlot Wedding as my first rodeo,” Winter said plainly. He shook his head. “But Ponyville, though. The Night Guards, Serene told me there was something that went down there.”

“You mean Selene?” Gale paused, then facehoofed. “Right, Selene. Serene’s my upcoming partner,” he said sheepishly. “Anyway– heard something went down and… well, here we are.”

“One and the same. Got promoted soon after, I think they… needed more to fill in the gaps.”

“Bet they did,” Gale agreed. “They don’t usually ask for Guards to mame a transfer to the intelligence division, so now I’m stuck here. But hey, at least I got to see my daughter’s birth.”

Winter blinked. “You’ve got a family?” he asked blankly. “Sorry– I mean, you’re married?”

He wasn’t so good with how he handled curiosity, but Gale didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Mm, they’re back home in Baltimare,” said Gale, shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m… I get a bit long-winded when I talk about them.”

“No need to apologise, Lieutenant.”

“Right, heh, do you mind if I…?”

“Go ahead.”

He reached into his uniform, and brought out a photograph. Winter leaned forward to look at it.

“This is my wife, Aquamarine Glimmer,” Gale said, pointing at the turquoise young unicorn mare in the picture. She looked exhausted, but somewhat happy with her tranquil smile. “You can call her Aqua or, Aquamarine.”

Winter thought he couldn’t hold back his sheer giddiness.

“And this… is Comet Tail.” Gale was now pointing to the little pink pegasus foal who had a little tuft of a brown mane on the top of her head. “We were… both pretty anxious, you know? I was so excited but dreading it all… but then… well, I guess it’s kinda cliched, but as soon as I held her, there was just no other feeling like it.”

He looked back at Winter, still smiling bright.

“How ‘bout you?” he asked. “Got anyone back home?”

Winter contemplated it briefly. The news still left him reeling as it had nine months ago, and it had reopened old wounds in some ways.

“Just my mother, cousin, uncle and…” He trailed off. “My brother. Due in a few weeks, I suppose.”

“I see,” Gale replied. He frowned. “What about your–”

“Long gone. Left months ago,” said Winter, a little coldly. “Didn’t like another one coming.” 

He shook his head. Gale recoiled a little.

“I’m… sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “But– when was the last time you met ‘em?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Winter. He forced a polite smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve adjusted.”

Before Gale could reply, however, someone else from the other table called out his name.

“Ah, horseapples,” Gale grumbled. He stood up from his seat. “Looks like Serene wants me back at her table. Business as usual. Speaking of which…”

His eyes fell on Winter.

"Look, uh, I can tell you're all about the guard life and whatnot, Winter,” said Gale. The use of his name caused Winter to look up. The Lieutenant looked concerned. “I can call you Winter, right? But... well, I’d suggest taking some time off. We still got a long flight ahead."

Winter sighed. "A Guard’s duty is never done. But…” he said, and paused as his eyes fell upon his fiancée, who was speaking with her father now. Perhaps Gale did have a point. “I'll think about it. And congratulations on your daughter, Lieutenant. Comet’s lucky to have you."

"Thanks,” Gale said, and he smiled. Once more, he offered a hoof. “Just call me Gale, eh? We're all friends here. And good luck with your brother."

Tentatively, Winter accepted the hoofshake.

"Fair enough... Gale."

With another smile and quick salute, Gale was off, and soon was chatting away happily once more with his prospective partner. That left Winter alone, and he quietly sipped his tea.

‘I should write to Mother… and Stellar… and Uncle.’ 

Not long after Gale had returned to his seat, the murmurs quieted down when Chamomile stepped onto the small podium they had set up, with a soft cheer from her friend and neighbour, the earthpony florist Wallflower Blush just off to the side of the podium – green in mane and fur, her face was partially covered in the shade of her ever-present gardening hat. Quite shy, from what Winter had been told, but she was there when it mattered, providing flowers to all.

It was then that Icewind emerged from the tea shop, looking a little weary and perturbed. His eyes met Winter’s, as he approached, and he outstretched a wing to pat him as he went by.

“Sorry, Winter,” said Icewind, softly. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

Winter blinked. “Ice?”

Yet his friend had nothing else to say, as he went on his way out the shop.

“Fillies, and gentlecolts,” Chamomile spoke up, and Winter snapped to attention, pushing aside the thought of Icewind’s departure. “If I may have your attention– please welcome Captain Green Fields, of the 33rd Royal Guards.”

She paused, and her warm, hazel eyes met Winter’s icy blue. She smiled serenely.

“You may have the floor,” she said gracefully, and went off the podium. Her father took her place, to a polite, enthusiastic applause. Winter followed suit.

The middle-aged pegasus stallion took her place. His lush green fur and feathers, topped by his warm, brown mane hid his age well enough. And his green eyes remained as sharp as ever.

Yet his words, spoken in that gravelly, seasoned voice of his, faded to the back of Winter’s head.

The Icewind of the past few weeks hadn’t been the Icewind he knew. Boisterous and lively, he was not. He’d seemed troubled, almost as troubled as he did in the days following the Wedding Invasion. And it had been so unlike Icewind, of course, not to share his worries with all his closest friends...

“Hey, Winter.”

Winter looked up. Before him stood Snow Mist, smiling.

“Yes, Mist?”

“Mind if I take a seat here?” she said. “Sorry, uh, if you’re saving it–”

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” Winter said, perhaps a little blandly. “Have a seat.”

“Cheers, heh,” said Mist, settling down on Icewind’s seat. “Thought you could use the company.”

Winter could only nod to that, as the speech went on. He couldn’t recall much of it, only the way Chamomile stole glances at him, or Snow Mist cheering on the good Captain.

He’d only spoken up when the time came to sing ‘Happy Birthday’, and when the candles were blown, offering a token word or two for his mentor.

When all was said and done, one by one, the guests streamed out of the tea shop. Winter was closest to the exit, and he greeted them all on the way out. Gale shared an encouraging smile, Snow Mist gave him a hoof bump… and Green Fields patted his shoulder.

And so it was, he sat alone on his table, the lone guest in the tea shop, once Wallflower had said her goodbyes to both him and Chamomile with a tip of her hat. The seat opposite his remained as empty as always, and he bit back a groan. 

He wasn’t alone, though, and when she finished blowing out the last candle outside his own table, Chamomile Brew took her empty seat. Her smile was tranquil, but her eyes betrayed her concerns.

“Winter, dear,” said Chamomile. "Are you still worried about Icewind?”

Winter sighed.

“... Yes,” he said simply. “Afraid so.”

That was as far as he could go, without going into all the confidential details. Guards rarely ever took their leave for this long. And that discomforted him greatly. Chamomile shook her head.

“Well. You've known him longer than I have. And I know that whatever he's worried about, he can handle it."

"I... suppose so. It's just, well... Alright. He can handle himself."

Around a month ago, he remembered. He'd finally caught up with her, on the date he had promised her. And, perhaps the events in Ponyville did rattle him somewhat, for by the end of the date, he asked her the simple four word question, in this very tea shop.

And she said yes.

He held Chamomile’s hooves with his own, and smiled. She pressed her lips against his. They broke away, and her smile returned. She brushed a wing against his cheek.

“Come, dear, the night is still young…”

His worries of Icewind faded right then and there. And, without further hesitation, he followed his fiancée upstairs.



* * * * *



Far and away from his friends and colleagues, Icewind had reached his apartment, slumping down on his couch. Perhaps he ought to have brought tea with him. Perhaps he ought to have said goodbye to Chamomile, or a better one to Winter and Mist.

His eyes remained fixed on the letter lying on his study.



My dear Icewind,

It is with regret that I write to deliver sad news. Nurse Redheart, formerly of the Eighth Home Regiment, lives on in our world; but the Nurse Redheart of another world, seven days ago now, passed on, into the world unknowable to us all.

To the end, she was dedicated and loyal. Alas that her services were to a wrongful cause. Duty is no easy mistress; I write to you knowing, by word of your friend, Winter Truce, that before you brought in Redheart, you and she had an evening planned.

What she may have told you, my sister and I can only surmise from your report. But very soon, the news must break to our world of the events beyond its boundaries. Until such time, I continue to trust in your discretion as a Royal Guard.

Should you feel need for guidance, know that I’m here to listen, and when not I, my royal niece Princess Cadance welcomes you to share your feelings.

Yours,
~H.R.H. Princess Celestia



So, he was alone. How the stranger Redheart had passed on, the letter did not say. He knew the Princesses were not complicit to her death. He never would have believed that of them, not even Princess Luna. But how likely was it that Redheart had sooner ended her own existence than risk betraying herself to the converging alien forces.

The heart-shaped locket was still in his possession. For nearly three weeks, he’d been agonising over what to do with it, unsure of what was right. Fate, it seemed, had now chosen to push him.

Sighing, Icewind bit the pen firmer still, and began to write a letter of his own.

“Dear Dr. Catseye…”





~ The Hall of Unity ~

The den of the enemy resembled his own, Oaken Plow thought fleetingly. Yet his vigilance had been kept, for the most part. He hadn’t had much to say throughout the trip, from wherever this ‘Hall of Unity’ was situated, to the Crystal Realm. Not even under the incessant poking and teasing from his two guards. They had passed rolling green hills on the way here, all the way from the train station. Much like the Realm he was aware of, the scenery was decorated by crystalline growths, a hallmark of the Equestrian domain nestled at the Frozen North. And, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, a great barrier also stood here, protecting its denizens from the encroaching cold.

Plow had visited the Crystal Realm before. Once, on leave with his family. It remained his good fortune that of Equestria’s fighting force, he was not one of those whose first sight of the Crystal Realm had been at the end of war. All the way from their home in Whinnyapolis, his son had been eager to fill him in on what he’d learnt about the mystical nation. A lost people, come again. And with them, once liberated, they’d brought the wonder of crystals. The great renaissance which lay at the heart of Equestria’s brief golden age. 

But where he had walked with his wife and children past towering crystalline skyscrapers and elevated train tracks, here there were only rows and rows of houses, looking the same as they must have a thousand years ago. The streets, filled by barely half as many crystalponies as they had been by the three tribes in his world’s Realm, were illuminated by primitive lanterns, and no trace of totem-proles, not even hidden around the corner.

What did remain the same, was the towering Citadel at the centre of the Realm, the pinnacle of the Realm’s rulers, Princess Amore’s greatest achievement powering the very ground beneath it. The Citadel inside which Plow now found himself, his forehooves manacled, sitting next to the two most incessant guards he could have gotten.

At the very least, the stairs weren’t as bad as he’d expected them to be.

In the meantime, his two guards had been reduced to one. The male of the two, a dark cerulean pegasus with a light-green mane and a lightning mark, had gotten off his seat, to investigate the crystalline chamber their host had left them to wait in. But Plow, begrudgingly, could not fault him for that. He’d have done the same. He was a scout.

“Psst, hey, Sky!” called the other, her voice tinged by slight rasp. She was a pegasus too, a pale white creature, her even lighter-green mane shaped like clouds, her mark that of a shooting star. She was seated next to Plow, giving her vest a nervous tug. “Be careful, we wouldn’t want to break anything.”

“Relax, Vapor,” answered her companion, Sky Stinger. Fitting name for an annoying stallion, based on how much he’d gabbed on the way here. “I’m just taking a quick look-around, ya know. C’mon, we’re in Cadance’s Realm! There ain’t no Imperials waiting for us in this one.”

Vapor Trail shot Plow a worried look, shrugged, then returned her gaze to Stinger. “There’s one right here, to be fair…”

“Aw, loosen up, will ya?” said Stinger, wearing a smirk. “He ain’t going anywhere. Say, think they can spare us some crystals?”

For emphasis, he flapped his wings, carefully. It was supported by a harness that blended with his PHL vest, much like Cadet Starstruck’s. But unlike Starstruck’s sleek, intricately-made harness, his looked far cheaper, with more metal than crystal, its joints a little rusted and the crystalline core powering it considerably dimmed.

“Darn it. Do you think it’s running out?” Trail said worriedly. “I thought we had it checked last time around. I knew we should’ve double- or triple-checked.”

“Yeah, yeah, still, wouldn’t hurt to ask ’round here,” Stinger assured. “’Sides, could ask another thing or two from the Princess of Love herself, if that’s what they really call her.”

He punctuated this with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Trail burst out into a giggle. How strange, Plow thought, that two pegasi enlisted in Lyra Heartstrings’ merry band of misfits could find companionship with one another after so long, amidst this accursed war.

Right then, an eerie thought intruded his mind. He would have been in the Royal Guard around this time, the fateful year when the Crystal Realm had re-emerged after a thousand years. And his wife, sweet, gentle Promenade, would be– 

Plow shook the thought away. His Promenade was safe back home. His Empire provided.

… And he couldn’t go home.

“If you two hadn’t turned your backs on the Empire,” Plow spoke up at last, venom dripping from each syllable, “your blasted harness wouldn’t be falling apart.”

Those were the first words he’d uttered in some time. Trail and Stinger looked at one another. The PHL stallion’s glare was harsh when he realigned Plow in his sights, but Plow did not flinch, not even when Stinger marched up to him.

“Hey, quiet, pal!” said Stinger. He flared his wings. “The Empire turned their backs on Earth and everyone on it, we don’t owe them anything.”

“What, your girlfriend bribed you with that thing, is that what I’m hearing?”

“Leave her outta this,” Stinger snarled. Trail hopped off her seat, moving between him and Plow, her own wings flared open.

“Sky, hey, hey, take it easy. He’s not worth your time,” Trail interjected. She tugged at his hoof. “C’mon, just, just ignore him, would ya?”

From the way his teeth were gritted, Plow doubted that Stinger would.

But the sound of the chamber’s doors swinging open sent both Stinger and Trail scrambling to their positions next to Plow, giving him full view of who had arrived.

“The Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, of the Crystal Realm!” announced the orange pegasus Guard leading the way. Behind him followed a figure that, until then, Plow had only glimpsed in newspaper reports.

The alicorn stood as tall as himself, pink all over, but with a vigor he hadn’t seen before. On her back rested a pair of wings, healthy as any pegasus’ own. Upon her forehead lay a crown and a mighty horn. With the air tinted with the scent of roses, the alicorn strode with a confidence befitting any rightful princess.

It frightened Plow.

"Lady Cadance, ma'am!" chirped Stinger, saluting with a wing.

"Stinger, that's not our Cadance,” chided Trail. She gave a deep bow. “Your Highness! It's really an honour to meet you."

"I knew that..." muttered Stinger, but he followed Trail nonetheless. “Your Highness.”

“Likewise. At ease, you two,” the false-Princess said, in that sickly-sweet voice, her smile laden with unbearable cheer. “Welcome to the Crystal Realm.”

Her gaze turned to Plow, filling him with greater fear than ever. ‘Impostor, false alicorn…’ A gilded cage was a cage like any other. Whatever they had planned for him, he could feel it'd test the limits of his loyalty to the Solar Empire.

“We’ll be seeing more of each other,” smiled the alicorn. “But for now, I must leave you.”



* * * * *



Ana was nervous. Why should she be? Why wouldn’t she be?

She bit her lip. This was surreal. By all rights, this was the den of the enemy, and yet it wasn’t at the same time. They were here, here, of all places, where the war had yet to reach. And the doors leading deeper into the Watchtower remained closed. Not for long, though. Soon, they would stand there, before the eyes of this world, each and every single one of the dozen or so personnel sent through.

Personally, Ana was relieved they waited here, in a room that overlooked the vast mountains, with the gentle sounds of water flowing down from unseen fountains.

Frieda cleared her throat besides her. It was all too obvious she wasn’t the only one filled with unease and doubt at this so-called Sunny Equestria. That was what the higher-ups had codenamed it, Sunny Equestria. She could just about hear Lyra Heartstrings, peace be upon her, laughing uproariously and yet fondly at such an uplifting name.

Apart from what Harwood and others had said, back in San Francisco, that it simply didn’t sound cool enough (‘Men...’), Ana had no other thoughts on the naming convention other than it was touching, optimistic, and someone in PHL High Command must have named it out of some measure of fondness for the old Equestria.

And here she was. Nervous.

What did Equestria feel like? The enemy had never showed them directly. Only a few ‘Ambassadors’ had gone through and come back, thirty-six in all, temporary converts who were probably not the most reliable witnesses. Only a promise, of something touted as better than the Promised Land, nothing more.

“Hey, Ana.” Frieda’s voice cut in, and Ana felt a talon on her back. “You okay?”

Ana glanced down to her right, meeting Frieda’s eyes. The griffon, clad in her usual green vest, looked as uncertain as Ana felt.

“Yeah, I am,” replied Ana. “Just wish Harwood was here, too, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Frieda replied. “If you’re worried about ol’ Captain Plow, Trail and Stinger got him covered. I’m sure this place’s secure enough to keep an Imperial around. Won’t need Harwood to keep an eye over him, yeah?”

Ana smiled, so did Frieda. There were around a dozen of them here, human and equine operatives, across worlds. Some she knew by name. Few as they may be, Ana felt as close to them as she did to any one friend.

Then another joined them, nudging Ana like only an old friend would.

“Cut the chatter, you two,” said Amethyst Star. Ana could just hear the smile in her, barely restrained. “It’s showtime.”

Ana and Frieda nodded as one. Quietly, Ana reached up to tug at her vest, which felt tighter than ever, strangely enough. Combat gear was ubiquitous, at this point. But part of her wished she could loosen it right here, to be an agent of peace as she had long wished she was.

‘Cheer up, Ana,’ whispered the voice within, ‘You’ll have time…’

How she wished it were true, Ana mused, even in this strange land. Amethyst, standing right behind her, might have a special assignment in mind.

Then, waiting for the doors to swing open, Ana’s eyes drifted outside, to where the Sun shone. She hadn’t paid much attention to it, so hurried were they when they emerged from the portal, in the quiet hours before they were set to present. Hadn’t had time to take in the view.

Which now she did. And her mouth hung open.

The Sun was different. It was brighter, and yet far, far more welcoming, as if it had an innate connection with the land beneath them. 

It was beautiful.

Gingerly, she left her seat, ignoring Frieda’s confused look, moving towards the nearest window. Her lithe fingers pushed them open. Ana’s eyes widened at the marvellous sight, all around her.

It was a vast mountain range, stretching far as her eyes could see. Valleys that looked much like the fjords of her lost home, blessed by the sunlight that shone down from the heavens. And everywhere she looked, there was colour, from the flowers that hung in pots from the windows, to the pure, white clouds, shining vibrantly like a painter’s masterpiece.

But it was the smells that struck her. All smells that tickled her nose. They must have been waiting near the kitchens, for Ana smelled nothing short of the most wonderful food, exotic food from across Equus. Perhaps sweet chocolate, too. And the flowers, so pleasant, the scent of lavender enticing a nice, long rest...

Gone was the feeling of death, the smell of ash and tainted snow. They were all but a memory. Ana was here, safe and sound, as all beings were. Ponies of the three tribes, Reindeer, dragons, maybe even Changelings, too. Living, thriving in this world, without fear of war.

She heard Frieda call out to her. But she did not answer, as her mind had drifted away, still. Beyond the mountains, she knew, lay Equestria. The world that had eluded them so. One that humanity only glimpsed through a lucky few pairs of eyes, a world of rolling hills and grassy plains and so much more.

There was much she wanted to do. How she wished to kneel down, remove her boots, and run, run freely towards the open fields.

The last time she’d done this, or at least tried to, was in the dead of night, in Indonesia, as the war raged on. The last time she’d done this without fear, without worry, was in Norway, many, many years ago, before the world fell apart. How Ana wished for her bare feet upon the grass. She smiled widely. She missed it. She wanted. The days which she had spent running, laughing with her bare feet touching the fields, were long gone, but here she was. And it would be hers again, so very soon.

It would start with a walk. Then a jog. Then, she would run freely, laughing along the way. She imagined the grass bristling beneath her feet. The wind embracing her cheek. Here, there would be no worry, no poisoned chalice, nothing hiding in the dark. Only her.

With tears in her eyes, she laughed. She laughed brightly, cheerfully, genuinely, as a little girl once did. She needed this. This was where she’d stay. Where she would belong, for many days and weeks and months and however long it may be. But those long days would be filled with joy, because here she was free.

She was home.