Twilight didn’t know how long she lay there, bathing in the love and heat of her friends.
She’d grown familiar with timelessness during her solitary journey. There was no sun or moon, no dawn or dusk on the ocean floor. No chirping birds to herald the day or clicking insects to nurture the night. With only the quiet rumble of the ocean, the light of her horn, and the washed-out, colorless ruins of drowned Equestria slowly shifting around her, time had lost meaning to her. Where once she needed every month meticulously plotted on a schedule before she could face it, now the concept of tomorrow felt foreign to her. There was only the next meal, or the next sleep, or the next teleportation. Even now, she could only guess at how long had passed since Altalusia. It felt like another life.
Now, with her friends braced tight to either side and her cheeks sore from smiling, she fell back into a different timelessness. At that moment she would be content to spend eternity wrapped in the hooves of her friends, and maybe she did. Or maybe it was only a few minutes. The effect was the same either way. Even just a single second was enough to set her mind at ease, and yet every second was something precious to be hoarded.
But time didn’t stop just because she couldn’t feel it passing. When the door clunked open with a hiss of steam and Sea Sabre stepped into the cargo hold, Twilight returned to reality with a distant, sad acceptance.
The time for friendship would come later, Sabre’s expression said. The world wasn’t waiting.
“Sabre!” Rainbow laughed as she extricated herself from the bundle of hooves on the floor. “Twilight’s back! And she’s okay!”
Sea Sabre didn’t acknowledge the announcement. She kept her eyes on Twilight, boring into her soul, wings hovering unwavering an inch off her sides. Twilight held the gaze, her smile fading.
Finally, Sabre nodded. She shuffled her wings and folded them fully. “Is this where we need to be?”
Twilight blinked, startled by the straightforwardness of the question. Sabre had always been terse, but this was different. Something had happened in her absence. “I believe so.” With a reluctant glance to Applejack, she climbed back to her hooves. “It’s the only lead I have left. Princess Cadance must have come here before the floods.”
“Good.” A couple seconds passed in silence as Sabre looked to where Scylla waited patiently to the side. “What’s this?”
“Oh, this is Scylla,” Twilight answered with an awkward smile. “She’s my, uh… a test subject.”
Sabre pursed her lips. “Is it dangerous?”
Twilight shook her head assuringly. “No, not at all! She’s under my complete control, actually. Here, watch.” She looked to Scylla, speaking both in her mind and with her voice. “Scylla, roll over!”
The spider chittered. It crouched down before pushing off with half of its legs, teetered precariously sideways for a moment, and then fell onto its back with a quiet clank.
Twilight smiled, looking to each of her friends and then to Sabre. “See? No danger!”
“Twi,” Applejack asked slowly. “Did y’all get a pet spider monster?”
“She’s not a monster!” Twilight insisted, petting Scylla’s abdomen with a hoof. “And she’s not my pet, either. She’s a test subject.”
Rainbow snickered. “Twi, you’re giving it a belly rub.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sabre said, cutting off Twilight’s response. “We’re landing on that tower in ten. Be ready.” She turned on the spot, letting the door hiss shut behind her.
Twilight grimaced, looking to her friends. “I’d been hoping to have some time to catch up first.”
“Shoot, I think all of us’d like that.” Applejack let out a weary chuckle. “A lot’s happened since we parted ways, Twi. I reckon it’d be better if we maybe waited ’til we sort this tower thing out first, though.” She offered a hopeful smile. “We’ll talk after, all right?”
Twilight pursed her lips, glancing towards Rainbow Dash. The pegasus was looking away, ears drooping. Not only had something happened, but it was something bad, bad enough that they didn’t want to tell her until the conversation could be had away from any potential, unexpected stress.
She nodded, noting the way Applejack relaxed. “Right. Let’s focus on the present.”
The big room settled into an awkward silence as they listened to the sound of the Argo’s engines steadily spinning down. Rainbow turned for the door, and Twilight cocked her head as she noticed the absence of most of the pegasus’s long rainbow tail. Where once it would bob just a small distance off the floor, now it had been cut short, fanning out wildly above her dock. Was she trying to imitate Sea Sabre’s style?
Twilight shook her head as Rainbow disappeared deeper into the ship. A couple seconds later, with a small, reassuring smile, Applejack followed.
They don’t trust us. Midnight’s weight suddenly appeared on Twilight’s back, her cold breath tingling into her ear. They’ve gone to whisper behind our back.
They don’t trust you, Twilight corrected. And we can’t blame them. All they’ve ever seen of you is hurting their friends.
How convenient that they forgot all the times we saved them, together. Midnight’s spiteful expression hovered around the corners of Twilight’s vision. You trust me, don’t you, Twilight?
I trust you to do what you think is best for me. What I doubt is your judgment.
Mmm. The feeling is mutual, little flower.
Twilight sighed. The blissful peace of the reunion was already fading, giving way to fresh concerns. Her friends felt the same way about her right now that she did about Midnight: trusting of intent, but cautious of action. Could she blame them? In a way, even she didn’t trust herself to take the right actions anymore.
It was draining, and she didn’t want to think about it. Instead she turned her attention to her old room, a simple section of the hold that had been cordoned off with thin metal. It had been weeks since she’d slept in a bed, or even on a bedroll, and the idea of having a proper pillow to rest her head on was far more encouraging than contemplating the trust of her friends. She nosed through the curtain that served as a door, curious to see if any changes had been made in her absence.
Princess Luna was in her bed.
Twilight paused, watching the steady rise and fall of Luna’s chest. In retrospect, it made sense that they’d put her here; it wasn’t like anyone had been using the room. Midnight stood by the head of the bed, looking down on the princess with brow furrowed.
Her darkness is powerful, she said. But trapped.
Twilight watched her curiously. Do you remember our time in her dream?
I have wispy moments. I recall fighting a monster, and… being angry. Midnight frowned. You would not accept my help. You fought me as much as you fought it.
I was afraid. Twilight’s tongue flicked over the sharp points of her fangs, tasting dried blood. I thought I might become a monster myself.
Midnight’s lip curled back into a snarl. I would rather die.
Twilight blinked. She herself had said those very words, in almost the exact same tone, to Midnight—several times, even. Weeks ago, lacking the experiences she’d had since becoming a victim of the strange corruption, she might have mistaken the thought for one of her own.
Maybe it was one of her own?
She turned to her desk, her lips curling up into a little smile as she saw that her notes were all just as she’d left them. Textbooks theorizing on the origins of the floods and covering the early history of the reborn Equestria were stacked haphazardly towards one edge, and her own notes on the rudimentary mental experiments she’d performed on herself were tucked away near the back. The center of the desk was occupied by works on anatomy, natural magic, and fundamental spellcraft—her attempts at divining a way to repair Rainbow’s vision.
A familiar pang of guilt struck her as she thought of her friend’s wound. She’d lapsed gravely in her research towards that problem while exploring the terrifying ruins of Canterlot, and had never quite refocused on it since. Rainbow seemed like she was adjusting well to the loss, but that didn’t keep Twilight from feeling obligated to offer some kind of solution.
But what could she do? She didn’t know anything about healing magic; she didn’t know if she could even cast a spell to stop bleeding. If she could just find the right books then she was certain she’d be able to form a proper spell, but arcane tradition had all but died along with Old Equestria.
She bit her lip, thinking back to Rainbow’s descriptions of living blinded in one eye. It reminded her of her first days in Canterlot, crawling through rubble in pitch darkness, incapable of seeing even out to the length of her leg while changelings chittered and screeched all around her, forced to stop every few steps to cast her ping spell and hope that nothing saw the lavender glow of her magic. She didn’t know if she could’ve survived without that spell to guide her through the city.
She gasped.
Twilight’s rear plopped down to the floor, and her horn twinkled to life as she reached for one of the magic texts she’d borrowed from Heighton’s library—probably far overdue by now, but the chiding librarian in her was silenced quickly by the magic student on the cusp of breakthrough. She was thinking about it all wrong! She didn’t need to replace Rainbow’s eye. She merely needed to replace its function.
She held the relevant page open with a hoof, eyes darting across the words. Enchantment! She already had a means of seeing in the dark using her ping spell, and in some ways it was even better than regular sight. Rainbow would be able to perfectly gauge distance, determine material, even sense threats through obstacles! All Twilight had to do was find a way to connect the spell to Rainbow’s natural magic so her mind could process it quickly and intuitively.
She flipped to another chapter, one describing the natural magic systems that allowed ponies to gather raw magic from the environment and channel it for their own use. The question was what material to use for the connection? She could enchant anything with a spell, but getting the magic to flow into a pony from an inanimate object would require some kind of conductor. And the only known magic conductors were moondust, dragonbone, and…
Hornbane.
Twilight looked up, meeting Midnight’s knowing gaze. There might be a reserve of moondust left in Canterlot, but she’d just gone through so much traveling here from Canterlot, and making more was impossible without the help of Princess Luna. Likewise with dragonbone, the destroyed capital city was the only source she knew of, and also attached to someone she could never imagine hurting even in the most dire circumstance.
It’s the only choice, little flower, Midnight said. And not a difficult one to make, at that. We saw many unused horns preserved in crystal beneath the ice. We cannot leave our friend impotent out of fear of offending a lifeless corpse.
It’s not—Twilight sighed, shaking her head. I know! I know I should do it. It just… scares me that I’m so willing. I used to get nauseous just thinking about it, and sometimes I still have nightmares about it, and now here I am planning on diving down to steal some horns for my own gain. She grimaced. I’m just like Flint.
Flintlock is strong. He would serve as a competent tool.
Twilight groaned, hanging her head. Of course you’d like him.
Further, we’re not contemplating this for our own gain. Midnight’s chill hoof slid under Twilight’s chin, pulling her gaze gently back up. This is for our friend. No barrier should stop us. Not even our own.
Twilight snorted. Implied or not, it was clear exactly what barriers Midnight was talking about: the sanctity of life and its trappings seemed like a concept completely foreign to her no matter how many times Twilight tried to teach it. She also noted that Midnight had included herself in the question of barriers; did that mean that she, too, had limits she didn’t like to cross? Maybe she’d even already crossed them, barreling over her own morals as a mere matter of course out of her acute protective drive. It was an interesting thought, though Twilight knew Midnight would never admit to it.
Sweet Celestia, that willingness to break any limit, to sacrifice even the things held most sacred, all to protect those she saw as friends—Twilight knew she should be terrified of such conviction. And yet she couldn’t help but find it almost endearing.
No, we shouldn’t. But disturbing a few ancient bodies isn’t so bad. She tried to force a tentative smile. It’s like archaeology! I’ve done archaeology before.
The sound of hissing steam drew her attention, followed quickly by several sets of hooves and quiet chatter. Marking her place and closing her book, Twilight stood and stepped back into the wider cargo hold.
The entire crew was assembled—minus Sunfeather—with most equipped as if for a dive. Sea Sabre and Star Trails had adorned their armored dive suits, helmets held under-wing and aloft in magic. Twilight’s eyes lingered on Applejack and Rainbow, wearing the same custom suits she’d seen them in when they came for her in Canterlot. Flintlock walked at the back of the group, unarmored.
Twilight felt like an animal in a zoo. Rainbow and Applejack offered small smiles before walking past, continuing their conversation in a hushed tone. Star Trails eyed her with a curious, wary interest, looking away awkwardly when she realized she’d been caught staring, while Flintlock looked her over with the same casual disinterest he normally affected, meeting her gaze with a quiet suspicion.
Sea Sabre beckoned to Twilight. “Let’s go. I want you in the front with your friends.”
“So you’ll be between my crew and the danger,” Twilight imagined her adding, but she nodded and complied nonetheless.
The ship lurched to a stop, sending all six ponies rocking slightly forwards with its inertia. The big propeller normally audible above the hold fell silent as the ticking of the hull quieted, and Twilight looked up at the impassive steel facade of the cargo door.
Sabre’s hooves clanked against the floor as she walked up to the door’s control panel. “Remember,” she said, “our goal here is to assess the site for potential threats, and nothing else. Do not break away from the group, and do not cease security until the Argo’s cleared off. Got it?”
Nods and murmurs of assent passed around the room. Sabre looked to Twilight. “And stow that spider.”
Twilight nodded. Scylla, sleep in my room. She didn’t look back to watch, but she could sense the spider click her acknowledgment before scuttling away.
With a quiet grunt and a loud click, Sabre threw the switch.
The large gears built into the cargo door groaned as they stumbled to life, and puffs of steam burst from the pipes set into the wall around it. It ratcheted out and down slowly, beginning to unfold like a heavy metal drawbridge.
Twilight’s breath caught as the first drifts of snow swirled into the cargo hold and fell against her coat. She’d expected it to be colder, but all she felt was a distant sense of numbness. All around her, the other ponies donned their helmets with quiet hisses of steam, the powerful lamps built into their suits throwing long lances of light into the flurry. She felt naked next to them, and for a moment contemplated running back to acquire her own suit, or perhaps just casting a quick spell to hide her true nature, but she dismissed the thoughts.
Twilight.
Twilight blinked as Midnight appeared at her side, horn glowing. There was an edge to her voice that made the hairs on Twilight’s back stiffen. What’s wrong?
This place is dark, she said, narrowing her eyes and staring through the still-unfolding door. Dark like us. Do you feel it?
Twilight shook her head. Is it dangerous? She glanced towards Sabre, who was focused resolutely forward. Should we stop them?
Stop them? Midnight scoffed. With us here, they will be safe. But they must be made wary.
Twilight nodded. The clicking of the chains unspooling echoed over the room as she cleared her throat and raised her voice. “I’m sensing some corruption around the spire. We should be careful.”
Sabre glanced back, her voice filtered through the tinny speakers of her helmet. “Noted.” The ramp settled into place with a deep thud that vibrated through the floor, and she gestured sharply with a wing. “All right, out, out, quick! Security!”
Rainbow, Applejack, and Trails all rushed out in quick succession, leaving Twilight blinking in surprise. When did they get so coordinated? Their armored hooves cracked against the crystal as they fanned out, each watching a different angle with low stances. Sabre took a position in the center of the trio, and Twilight followed at an awkward trot, suddenly feeling very out of place.
The instant Twilight stepped off the ramp, Sabre shouted back to Flint, who was waiting inside. “All out!”
“Aye, boss!” More steam hissed behind them as the ramp began to reel back against the ship, and the propeller above it stirred into a lazy spin. Twilight’s mane and tail danced with the drifting snow as the ship lumbered away.
“Trails, scan.”
“Yep.”
Trails’s horn sparked to life, but Twilight was already taking in their landing zone with wide eyes. It was difficult to see far past the thick curtain of swirling frost, but during brief lulls in the wind she caught glimpses of the silhouette of a tower before them, glowing with flickering orange light. The blue crystal underhoof was hard, but oddly warm, tapering to a rounded edge behind her.
Twilight lit her horn and sent out a ping.
The first thing she noticed was that they weren’t alone. Far from it, there were dozens of ponies in front of her, totally still. Watching them.
Her pulse quickened as she picked them out one-by-one, each watching from high perches all around the tower, invisible behind the swirling snow. Midnight stood at her side with lips curled back to reveal her fangs, tail lashing and legs spread.
They all have it, she growled. Every one of them is touched.
Twilight’s ears flattened back against her head. The ping just kept telling her more; she detected hunks of meat and bones and hide spread all throughout the tower. These ponies didn’t merely kill. They were practically bathing in corpses, a society built on the exploitation of the dead.
“Sabre!” Twilight hissed. “We’re being watched!”
Sabre looked back sharply. “Where?”
“Everywhere!”
Rainbow’s ears perked up. “Up front!”
A single pony stepped out of the snow, his body silhouetted by the glow behind him. He was wearing a coat of thick, coarse fur to fend off the cold, his limbs decorated with dangling jewelry cut from bone and crystal. His icy blue fur had a strange, translucent quality to it, and as he came closer he smiled, revealing teeth filed down into sharp points.
Sabre took a step forward, projecting her voice through her helmet. “That’s far enough! Keep your distance!”
The stallion stopped, eyeing them each in turn. “Welcome to our village.” His gaze lingered an extra second on Twilight before settling on Sabre. “Please, come eat. It has been a long time since Equestrians visited.”
With another smile and a deep bow, the old stallion turned and walked away, leaving only more questions in his wake.
Rarity had almost forgotten what it meant to relax.
She’d only been in Friesland for around a week, but every day in that week had been hectic, filled with meetings and conversations all burdened by the weight of passing lives. Every hour not spent acting was interspersed with constant, thundering reminders of the cost of inaction, and at times she had driven herself beyond exhaustion. She did it all without hesitation, for that was the least she could do.
And now there was none of that. She was lying on a cot with a small notebook open between her forelegs, staring blankly down at a matching page. A pen hovered in her magic, as still as her mind, softening the shadows of the curtained space between cargo crates that served as a room.
When Pontius had approached her asking for advice on how to appear more familiar to the Frieslanders, she’d been able to compose and construct a wardrobe for him within the day. It had been so long since she’d practiced her craft, she’d been full of ideas. The creativity had sprayed out of her like dye thrown against the wall, and she’d struggled to keep it focused on the one solution she’d eventually chosen to implement. It had been fun to create again, but once the job was done there were more important, more pressing tasks clamoring for her attention once more.
Now she had nothing but time, and that energy refused to flow. She flipped back through her journal with a pensive frown, looking at the half-sketched designs abandoned on that day, and couldn’t picture their finished forms. What was wrong with her? She wanted to create. Lying down to doodle new ideas during a quiet moment had always been a relief for her during hectic days at her boutique, but after an hour of trying all she had was a blank page.
Her ears twitched at the sound of clattering wheels and cheery humming, and she looked up to see Pinkie nose her way through the curtain separating her from the rest of the ship. A tray of bread, smelling of cinnamon, was balanced on her back.
“Hi, Rarity!” Pinkie smiled and flapped a hoof in an exaggerated wave. “Want some zucchini bread?”
Rarity cocked her head. “There’s an oven on this ship?”
Pinkie’s eyes widened, and she leaned back, making a show of checking around in both directions before pulling the curtain closed behind her and rolling closer. She leaned down low, beckoning Rarity in with a hoof, and Rarity obligingly offered up her ear.
“Don’t tell the captain,” she whispered, “but I built a campfire in the balloon.”
Rarity frowned. “What?”
“Y’know, like an oven, but on a campfire!” Pinkie grinned, bobbing her head side to side. “So you want some or not?”
“Well, it does smell just divine, but surely some of the crew would ask questions?” Rarity pouted, looking up and adding quietly, “Is that even safe?”
“Oh, pshaw!” Pinkie waved the thought away with a hoof as she grabbed a plate off her tray, dropped it on Rarity’s notebook, and followed it up with a thick slice of toasty bread a half second later. “Not if they want more baked goods!”
“Mm, I suppose you’re right.” Rarity shrugged, breaking a small piece of the bread off and popping it into her mouth. Zucchini, cinnamon, walnut, and love. The corner of her lip curled up into a small smile. “This is very good, darling.”
“Very good? That’s it?!” Pinkie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Her hoof flashed out, resting against Rarity’s forehead, and she let loose with a horrified gasp. “Oh, no, Rarity! Something’s happened to your inspiration!”
“Only a temporary draught, I’m sure.” Rarity plucked another piece off the plate, munching on it with a wistful hum. “Where did you even find zucchini?”
“Rarity, this is important! You are an arteeste, and I know something’s bothering you!” With a small grunt and an impressive display of dexterity for a pony capable of using only half her limbs, Pinkie shifted her weight and rolled onto her back, the bread tray bouncing once before settling onto her belly. She peered up at Rarity with narrowed eyes, her voice losing some of its playfulness. “Is it because of Pontius?”
Rarity’s eyes bulged as her attempt to swallow her mouthful turned into a gasp, followed by a choke as the bread lodged in her throat. A pink hoof jutted out and smacked her solidly in the chest, forcing the wad of half-chewed zucchini bread out of her muzzle and soaring through the air.
Pinkie’s head darted out like a viper’s, catching the flying morsel with a snap of her teeth. She licked her lips as she looked up at Rarity patiently.
It happened so fast that it took Rarity a few seconds of stillness to catch her breath and comprehend it all.
Finally she gathered her thoughts. She cleared her throat with a dainty cough. “Pontius?”
Pinkie nodded, bumping the top of her head against the ground. “Mhm! Are you feeling bad about setting him up with River Pie?”
Rarity blinked. She stalled for time with a flat laugh while Pinkie looked up at her with that same expectant stare. “You’re straightforward as always, darling.” And perceptive. But then Pinkie was always startlingly observant. As silly as she might act in the midst of one of her parties, the mare was a ceaseless collector of information, processing every detail with frightening intuition. Of course she’d noticed what Rarity did. And of course, Rarity decided with a sigh, there was no point in trying to hide it.
And maybe talking things through with a friend was what she needed anyways.
“I don’t know if I’d say I feel bad about it, exactly,” she began. “He’s an upstanding young stallion, and really he only wants to do right by his father and his ponies—and me, I suppose.” She looked away, biting her lip. “Well, maybe I am feeling some small amount of remorse regarding the issue.”
Pinkie didn’t say anything, just listening with wide, attentive eyes. She glanced towards Rarity’s abandoned bread, and the unicorn broke another piece off to chew on for a moment.
“He deserves better, you know? He deserves a real relationship, with a pony who loves him for who he is and not just some mare his father forced into his bedroom. A mare who might be a little bitter about the whole situation, and maybe doesn’t treat him fairly considering how uninvolved he was in it all, and isn’t even from his world, really. He should have someone his age. I mean, I’m certainly no crone—” she paused to cringe at the thought “—but goodness, I feel more like his mother than anything else. And that’s not really appropriate, is it? Am I boring you at all?”
“Nope!”
“Oh, that’s good. And he’ll be happier this way, I think. A mare from his culture, who admires him for what he is.” Rarity nodded, reassuring herself of the decision. “Everypony wins.”
“Well, as long as you’re sure he’d like it,” Pinkie said. She tilted her head and nibbled at the corner of Rarity’s plate.
Rarity’s brow furrowed as she met her friend’s eyes. “Of course he would, dear. Why wouldn’t he? She’s young, attractive, motivated. And far more interested than I’ll ever be.”
“But she’s not you.”
“Wh—” Rarity pursed her lips as she struggled to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I didn’t ask for him to fawn after me like some crushing schoolcolt! If it were up to me I’d ask Twilight to cast a spell and let the whole thing go to ashes, and I’d never talk to him or his wretched father again!” She knew she’d failed to keep her poise, but it felt so good to let loose, so why stop now? She deserved it. “And what do I care what he thinks of it? I’d rather he be smitten with her and find his own way out of my life, but so what if he’s not? So what if he finds out what I told her? Let him get angry! Maybe then he’ll finally run to his father and end this dumb charade!”
She was breathing hard, she realized, her lips curled back into a spiteful snarl. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, adjusting her mane with a hoof as she added in a more reserved voice, “Apologies, darling. That wasn’t behavior appropriate for a lady.”
Pinkie giggled. “That’s okay, Rarity. I understand.” She let out a little grunt, and there was a clatter of wheels, and when Rarity opened her eyes Pinkie was standing upright once more with the bread tray balanced on her back. The other mare gave her a bright smile. “I’m sure Pontius would understand, too. He’s a good pony. Do you want another slice?”
Rarity looked down to her plate, now all but empty. “I suppose… one more couldn’t hurt.”
“Okey dokey lokey!” A fresh slice of zucchini bread plopped down onto the plate. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned about him, you know. That’s how I know your heart’s in the right place. Boop!” Pinkie’s hoof flashed out, bumping softly against Rarity’s nose. “See ya around, Rare-bear!”
With one last laugh and a squeal of her wheels, Pinkie skidded out through the curtain. The sound of her humming faded away, melting into the creaking of the ship and the buzz of the engine.
Rarity spent several seconds looking after her, going over the conversation in her head. Was it concern for Pontius that had been haunting her after all? Friesland had been a powerful distraction to keep her mind off the predicament of her marriage, even with his attempts to follow after her everywhere she went. With the city behind her, her mind was left to wander.
And somehow the thing that was bothering her most, more than the idea of a life wasted away in an empty marriage, was the thought that her actions might break the young stallion’s heart.
She sighed, looking back down at the blank page of her journal. She picked up her pen in her magic and chewed absently on the tip. It’s better for him in the long run.
Finally a wisp of inspiration graced her. Perhaps some kind of skirt for Pinkie to wear, something to turn her practically-designed wheels into an expressive fashion statement.
Hmm, yes. A small smile came over her as she pictured it in her head. That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?
She set her pen against the paper and began to draw.
Rainbow had been ready for anything when she stepped off the ship.
She’d faced monsters before, even some that didn’t introduce themselves with a smile. She’d experienced the agonizing helplessness of being trapped in a little submarine while other ponies fought for her life, she’d witnessed the sunken gravestone of everything she ever held dear, and she’d struggled with the very real potential that she may have to take out one of her closest friends as a merciful necessity. She’d been naive and foolish when she first woke up in the future, and now she was beginning to feel like she understood how the new world worked.
The new world respected strength. It rewarded conviction, and punished weakness.
When she heard the Argo pulling away, leaving her and her companions to fend for themselves atop a mysterious construct that had no reason to exist, she’d expected monsters. She’d been prepared to put her training to use to defend her friends from mutated beasts and help Twilight uncover the mystery of what had happened to her world.
But the only thing that stepped out of the tower had done it with a smile—lined with teeth that ended in fine points—and invited them in for dinner.
The radio popped in Rainbow’s ear, carrying Trails’ voice. “I’ve been to a lot of weird places since signing up with you, Sabre, but this one might just be the weirdest.” She heard it twice—once over the radio, and a second time, muffled by her armor, from Trails’ speakers, projected for Twilight to hear.
“Did they just invite us to supper?” Applejack asked. “That’s, uh, mighty hospitable of ‘em.”
“We’re not moving till that scan is complete,” Sabre said. “Do you know anything about this, Twilight?”
“I’m as lost as you are.” Twilight’s voice was difficult to hear past the wind and the bulk of Rainbow’s armor. “But there’s a large amount of meat and… other spoils. Which combined with the sharp teeth—”
“Cannibals!” Trails blurted. “I’ve read about this kinda stuff! They live out in abandoned corners of the world and lure in unsuspecting ponies by inviting them to dinner, then serving them the corpses of past victims!”
Rainbow blinked. All eyes turned to Trails, who returned the looks innocently.
“What? You heard it, too!”
“Nothing can grow out here in this cold,” Twilight said, shaking her head. “These ponies seem to have been living alone here for a long time, and they might have no choice but to hunt for survival. That doesn’t make them monsters.”
“Twilight, they’re predators,” Trails insisted.
“I’m a predator.”
There was a pause in the conversation. Twilight’s rebuttal had come out in low growl that made the hairs on Rainbow’s back stiffen, a far cry from the hesitant, ashamed way that she’d spoken about her turn to carnivorism back in Canterlot. Now it almost sounded like she was offended at the implications of what Trails had said. Perhaps even like she was proud of what she was.
“We’ll go in,” Sabre said firmly. “Keep a tight formation.”
She led the way, and Rainbow fell in on her right, forming a circle with the rest of the group. Her every sense was on high alert as they crossed the crystal walkway, approaching the looming maw of the great arched doors set into the wall. They, too, were made of crystal, and had been left slightly ajar, leaking a warm orange glow.
Sabre pushed the door open wider, glanced back to beckon at her team, and stepped inside.
Rainbow was quick after her, rushing to brandish her wingblades in case of ambush, only to stumble in awe as she crossed the threshold.
It felt like stepping into another world. Her gaze was immediately drawn to a thick column of complicated crystal piping in the center of the cavernous circular room, radiating twinkling rays of light that reflected off the walls, bounced up into the vaulted ceiling, and scattered, giving the illusion of a shimmering rainbow sky. Small huts were erected all around the edges of the chamber, made from thick-haired hide draped over supports of banded bone, each one with its own crackling brazier to outline the silhouettes of curious ponies watching from within, and many more were built into the wall high off the floor, accessible only by ladder or rope or narrow walkway.
And it was warm. Rainbow thought back to the searing cold that had gripped her when she plunged under the ice, to the frigid wind that lingered inside the Argo even with every hatch sealed. That chill had no place here. Here the air was warm, heated by fire, glowing crystal, and the bodies of uncounted ponies.
Most of those ponies watched from within their tents. Rainbow saw old mares watching crystal pots, young stallions looking up from racks of stretched hide, and the wide eyes of foals looking over upturned skulls filled with soup. Some were seated around a low table that circled the center of the room, almost hugging the glowing crystal centerpiece. They all turned curiously, their conversations quieting.
And with a start, Rainbow realized—every one of them was looking at Twilight.
“I don’t like this.” Sea Sabre’s voice was quiet in Rainbow’s ear; she was speaking softly, ensuring she’d be heard only over the radio. “Too many unknowns.”
“I’m telling you, Sabre, these ponies are gonna eat us!” Trails hissed.
“Y’all’re jumpin’ to conclusions faster than Rainbow in cider season,” Applejack said. “These ponies ain’t done nothin’.”
“Is there a problem?” The elderly stallion that had invited them inside offered a reassuring smile. “If you have any questions—”
“What is this place?” Sabre asked.
He blinked. A second passed, and his brow furrowed with confusion. “You do not know us?”
Sabre stomped a hoof. “Answer the question!”
“I’m sorry. It was rude of me to answer a question with a question.” The stallion shook his head slowly. “My name is Serene Agate, and you stand in the warmhall of the South Face.”
“And where are you taking us?”
Serene’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. “To the Spire, to be welcomed by our regents. I’m sure they’ll be eager to discuss your gifts, or arrange warm beds if you’re tired.”
“No.” Sabre stepped back, shaking her head. “We’re not following you anywhere. If you have leaders that need to speak to us, then they can speak to us here.”
Serene grimaced. The strange ponies watching from around the room whispered among themselves. After several long seconds, he tried again. “I feel there’s some misunderstanding. May I have your name?”
“I’ve said all I need to,” Sabre said. “Your leaders can speak to me here, or we won’t speak at all.”
“Sabre, c’mon,” Applejack said. “He’s bein’ mighty polite.”
“I’ve seen polite ponies kill before,” Sabre shot back. “It’ll take more than a smile to gain my trust.”
Rainbow nodded, but didn’t say anything. A part of her felt bad for the old stallion, but she trusted Sabre’s judgment. As warm and comforting as she found the gentle heat and the shimmering colors, the excess of sharpened teeth, bone, and hide only filled her with unease. There was no telling how many ponies might be living in this mysterious construct, or what they might do once they felt they had the advantage.
Twilight cleared her throat. “I’ll go.”
Serene’s relief was obvious. He took a tentative step towards her, and she smiled, revealing her fangs as she extended a hoof to shake. “My name’s Twilight Sparkle. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Welcome, Twilight Sparkle. It’s an honor to have one of The Shaper’s chosen among us.” Serene bowed, kissing her hoof, seemingly oblivious to the small “eep!” of surprise that escaped her. “Please, come with me. Unless your companions protest?”
“I’ll go too.” Rainbow trotted up to Twilight’s side without hesitation. Letting Twilight follow this pony alone, splitting ways so soon after being reunited, was enough to make her stomach churn.
“I appreciate it, Rainbow, but you should stay here with the others.” Twilight turned to face Rainbow fully, a sincere smile on her lips, and leaned in to whisper, “Sabre’s right. These ponies could be dangerous, but I feel like this is where I need to be. Try not to worry, okay?” Her smile grew wider as she glanced to the side, to something Rainbow couldn’t see. “We can take care of ourselves.”
Rainbow blinked, taken aback by the strange choice of pronoun. Was Twilight talking about the dark magic that’d been possessing her? She wanted to say something, but Twilight was already following Serene across the room, ignoring the many eyes that followed her.
Rainbow was just about to run after her when an armored hoof wrapped around her shoulder. “Leave her be, RD,” Applejack said.
Rainbow stiffened. “We just got her back, AJ.”
“And I reckon we’ll get her back again. She’ll be fine.”
Rainbow sighed. “You’re right.” She shook her head, allowing herself to be guided back to the rest of the team.
She’d worked so hard to be strong enough to protect her friends, and now that she was ready, it seemed like they didn’t even need her.
All these ponies. Twilight’s mind raced as she followed Serene Agate across the room, skin crawling at the sensation of dozens of eyes following her. You said they’re all like us?
Not completely. Midnight walked beside her, frowning down at the watchers. They are lesser. They sharpen their teeth in imitation of what they cannot achieve.
Serene called me a chosen of The Shaper. Twilight watched the old stallion attentively as he led her up a smooth ramp that curved up the far side of the room. She looked back, looking over the room from on high and marveling at the way that the ponies themselves seemed to sparkle with light. What do you think that means?
“You.” Midnight’s voice was stern and demanding, and Serene’s ears twitched in response. “Who is The Shaper?”
Midnight!
What? If you truly cared, you could’ve stopped me.
“The Savior.” Serene paused at the top of the ramp, turning to an arched double door engraved with an image of a pony looking up at a hard-edged heart. “The master of crystal, who raised us from The Dark and protects us from its advance.” He glanced back at her as he pulled his coat tighter. “You’re blessed by The Savior’s magic. I did not know it was possible for an Equestrian to know that touch.”
Snow drifted inside as he opened the door, and Twilight followed him out onto a wide balcony. It was impossible to see far past the thick flurry, but she could see a path outlined before them with glowing crystal, extending out past the balcony like a bridge and swaying side-to-side in the wind. Serene walked with confidence, and Twilight followed, eyes widening as she realized the bridge was little more than bone lashed together with sinew and hide.
She shook her head, focusing on her guide. “Where is The Shaper now?”
“Deep in the Spire, holding back The Dark.” He had to shout to be heard over the wind. “Perhaps you’ll descend as well, and join The Savior in battle?”
Twilight hesitated, but Midnight didn’t. “Perhaps.”
What are you doing? Twilight shot her a sideways glare. We shouldn’t be making any promises until we know what he’s talking about!
Midnight scoffed, reclining in the open air next to the bridge as if on an invisible cushion. We shouldn’t give a solid answer of any persuasion until we understand the question.
Twilight’s tail flicked behind her, but she couldn’t argue with the logic. For all they knew, saying no could provoke violence. For now, they would play it safe.
The bridge led to another tower, but instead of ending at a door, it curved up and around, tracing the outer wall. It was sturdier here, anchored firmly to the crystal, and they passed two more bridges as they climbed, whatever waited on the other side of each hidden by the snow. Serene walked slowly and without haste, and as the minutes piled on Twilight allowed her mind to wander, playing with the scattered clues she’d collected thus far.
Princess Celestia had sent Cadance north looking for something, and obviously this had to be it, but where had it come from? Twilight knew her geography; there were no significant pony settlements north of Stalliongrad. She knew that the yaks built their villages in the mountains of the Frozen North, but what she’d seen under the ice was far, far more than a mere village, and it’d had a railway built straight to it.
She pursed her lips, brow furrowing in frustration. She had the puzzle outlined, but the most crucial pieces were missing! Equestria wouldn’t build an expensive railroad to nothing, so she had to assume that the city had been here the whole time. But why wouldn’t it be on any maps? Why had she never heard of these strange ponies whose bodies caught the light like living gemstones?
It wouldn’t be the first grand secret Celestia kept from us. What of the Nightmare? Darling Celestia hid the truth from you even when you held it within your very hooves.
She had a reason for that. I needed to make friends to defeat Nightmare Moon, and chasing after prophecies wouldn’t have done that.
Midnight let out a low chuckle. I’m impressed, little flower. I didn’t expect you to accept that she lied to you so easily.
Twilight blinked. Had she just—she rolled her eyes, looking away from Midnight’s grin. Sometimes she had to lie to us! But she always had a good reason. It was only ever for our own good.
Well, as we’ve taken one step, let us take the second. Midnight slithered back into view, filling Twilight’s vision with her slitted eyes. Celestia lies. She knew this crystal city was here, and hid it from all Equestria. Why?
Twilight sighed. The city must be dangerous somehow. It’s the only explanation. But she sent Cadance here to try and find a solution to the corruption, so—
She nearly tripped. It was like the pieces of an optical illusion sliding into place, the puzzle pieces forming an outline that could only be recognized one way. Even if she didn’t know what exactly filled the gap, there was only one explanation for its nature.
The city must be the source.
That thing you felt in the center!
Midnight nodded. When we face it, we will have our answers.
If Twilight wasn’t busy climbing a narrow path in the middle of a snowstorm, she’d have jumped for joy. After everything she’d been through, so many vague clues and dead ends, she was nearly there!
But she had to be cautious. As tempting as it might be to leave at that very instant, to teleport back under the ice and follow Midnight’s senses to the source of the corruption, she couldn’t risk failing now. Whatever was waiting for her in the core of the crystal spire, it had brought her whole world to its knees. The more she thought she understood, the more she had to remember to keep her guard up. If she failed now, it was likely that the mystery of Equestria’s destruction would never be solved.
She was pulled from her thoughts by light ahead. Looking up, she saw shimmering rainbow light piercing the snow above her, and with a start she realized that they had climbed all the way to the top of the tower. Serene stood nearly doubled over as he reached the peak and looked back to wait for her, his coat drawn tight around his shoulders and a hood raised over his ears.
For the first time, Twilight realized that she should be cold. She took a deep breath and let it out, and shivered when she realized that she couldn’t see her breath.
She decided not to linger on the revelation. Next to fangs, bleeding reptilian eyes, and obligate carnivorism, cold acclimation was almost quaint. Instead she quickened her pace, cresting the last few steps and meeting Serene’s smile with her own.
The top of the tower was open to the air, with a pointed roof held up by a circle of engraved crystal arches. A curtain of thick fur hung in each arch, weighed down by bone and stained with swirling patterns of color, and Serene pulled one open, ushering Twilight inside.
Huge braziers burned within the curtains, the light soaking into the crystal and shimmering in a smaller imitation of the grand hall Twilight had just come from. The floor was recessed into the tower, forming a sort of flat bowl shape, and in the center rose jagged spikes of inky black crystal that appeared to absorb light instead of reflecting it. It was difficult to focus on—Twilight’s eyes seemed to slide off whenever she tried to get a better look—so she instead looked to the ponies seated around it.
Although about a dozen ponies stood in silence along the edge of the room, the focus was clearly on the three elders arranged around the black crystal like the points of a triangle. Each sat in the center of a heart-shaped symbol, engraved into the floor and outlined with glittering silver, and each wore heavy fur robes adorned with colorful trinkets of stained bone and carved crystal. All three watched Twilight with their wizened gaze, showing little outwards reaction.
One, the only stallion in the group, turned to Twilight’s guide. “Who have you brought us, Serene Agate?”
Midnight stepped forwards, and Twilight moved with her. On this, they were in agreement.
“My name is Twilight Sparkle,” she said. “I come from Equestria, and I’m chosen by The Shaper. I…” She hesitated only for a moment. “I think this is where I need to be.”