Luster kept her head low and out of sight, listening to the Princess interviewing her younger self.
She didn’t want to move, lest she make a noise and draw the filly’s attention. But standing so close to them was dangerous. She couldn’t even breathe safely. Placing each hoof slowly and carefully, she turned to slip into another aisle – only to find herself face to face with a great white pony.
“Shhh,” whispered the white pony.
Luster gasped and took a step back, her backside colliding with a bookcase. She pressed her fetlock over her mouth to keep from making another sound.
“What was that noise?” they heard the filly say. Luster held her hoof over her mouth to avoid making even a peep. A few seconds later, the conversation seemed to move onto bookwyrms and libraries, and she allowed herself to breathe.
Luster turned back to the white pony, and her eyes widened. She was standing before the great Celestia herself. Rather than angry, the Princess seemed amused. She held a hoof gently over Luster’s mouth, while her horn lit up. A moment later, the sound of nearby conversation became muffled.
“A little sound-dampening spell, nothing more.” She nodded towards the pair of Twilights. “It seems we have something in common,” she said. “Watching Twilight Sparkle. Yours is bigger than mine, though, that’s not fair.”
Luster gulped. “Er…”
“Please relax. I’m not going to eat you, little one. I assume the two of you come from the future?”
“I, er, yes. Sorry, yes, Princess. We… weren’t supposed to meet anyone.”
“Yes, well, I have an alarm spell over this whole wing. It helps to know when intruders slip in – including a certain filly. It seems she’s not going to grow out of that habit any time soon.”
“She does still love to read.”
“It’s interesting to see she’s an alicorn. So there are three princesses in your future.”
“Four. Er… five, actually.”
“Impressive. After so long with just one princess, I wonder how Equestria will cope.”
“There’ve been some… changes. Mostly for the better. Not that I’m criticising your rule! I… should shut up now.”
“Don’t tell me anything else. I’ll just have to find out for myself in time.”
“How did you know we’re from the future? I thought time travel was… unknown.”
“Hardly. I’ve read almost every magical treatise in my time, and almost every story out there. Even if nopony’s achieved it yet, I can recognise the signs. An older Twilight Sparkle is hard to miss. And I don’t remember seeing you around Canterlot either. Are you her personal student?”
“Yes,” said Luster, still not quite believing it.
“It’s good to see her keeping up the tradition.”
“She does a lot of things in your hoofsteps.”
Celestia smiled. “The filly over there idolises me. I guess it’s comforting to know she’ll still respect me when she’s a princess.”
“Always. Nopony looks up to you more than her, I think.”
“You, on the other hoof, are surprisingly composed. You wouldn't believe how many ponies flatten themselves to the ground upon seeing me.”
“I met you once before, Princess.”
“You did?”
“When I was just a filly. That was a few months before your funer…al…”
Luster slammed her hoof over her mouth as she realised she’d said much, much too much.
Celestia for her part was taken aback. She turned away, taking time to collect her thoughts.
“I… Princess, I’m sorry, I…”
Celestia shushed the younger mare. “Shhh. You probably shouldn’t say any more than that, little one.”
She took a breath.
“You really are from the future, then?”
Luster didn’t trust herself to talk, so she simply nodded.
“Then you probably shouldn’t say anything else.
“I’ve faced any number of enemies who declared my imminent death. They each proved wrong, of course.” Celestia shook her head. “Never before has my end been prophesied in so kindly a manner. I find it carries a different weight.”
Luster gulped. She wished she could wipe the last few seconds away, go back to a time when history wasn’t in imminent danger.
“I’ve lived many years,” continued Celestia. “Enough for twenty lifetimes. Time enough to see countless ponies pass away: friends, enemies, lovers and rivals, students and teachers. I could spend weeks and moons simply remembering those gone.
“I knew that would be my lot. From the moment I took this mantle I carry, I knew that it would preserve my life until I was ready to pass it on. And I’ve tried, really I have. I haven’t kept it to myself purely out of greed, like a great wyrm curled around his hoard. I’ve trained students, raised statesmen and adventurers and magicians and bureaucrats, searching for a pony I could trust with this burden. So many times I thought I might finally have found them.
“But every time I thought I’d found a pony I could trust to take it from me, something prevented it. Either they turned away from harmony, or they found something else to live for. I was starting to think it was my instruction at fault. Or that I was just too picky.
“I rejoiced when news reached me of young Cadance’s ascension. A new alicorn! I was sure that she would finally be the one.”
She turned to look through a gap in the bookshelves, to where Twilight was interviewing herself. Luster followed her eyes.
“But it seems that I will soon find such a pony – that I have already found her.” She looked back down at Luster. “And perhaps she’s already found the same thing.”
“What?” blurted out Luster. “Me? No no no, I could never–”
“You could never follow in her hoofsteps? Never be as great and noble and wise as she?”
Luster nodded.
“Believe it or not, I said the same thing once, long ago. And I was right, I had no idea how to run a country, and I made a lot of mistakes. But I figured it out eventually.
“You see that filly over there?” Celestia nodded through the rows where slivers of the two Twilights could be seen through gaps in the shelves. “She’s impulsive, excitable, secretive, obsessive, self-centred… the idea of leaving my kingdom in her hooves is terrifying. But seeing the princess she’ll become gives me hope. The ones we raise can never have the same understanding as us, but we have to trust them anyway. In time, they’ll find wisdom of their own.
“Perhaps I simply needed to see her to know that.”
“But Princess, aren’t you… afraid? Of dying, I mean.”
Celestia hesitated. “I would be lying if I said death had no sting. Even after a thousand years, I have no more idea what lies beyond the veil than any other pony, whatever some of them might think.”
She took a deep breath. “But I’ve had time enough to do nearly everything I might want to do with my life – save for passing my legacy on to somepony. There’s nothing else holding me here.”
“No!” interjected Luster.
“I beg your pardon?”
Luster carefully lowered her voice. “I’m sorry, Princess, but that’s not true. There is something for you to do. In the future. Something to live for. I… probably shouldn’t tell you what it is, but it’s the most important thing.”
“Some great villain for me to defeat? Some terrible danger to my ponies?”
“No. Well, yes, several,” corrected Luster, recalling the many stories she’d heard of the Princess’s adventures, and a few of her own. “But they’re not important. I meant something important to you. Something… I really can’t say any more. Just… don’t give up? Please, Princess?”
Celestia found she had been slouching, and stood a little straighter. “Don’t tell me. I can guess what you might be talking about. And even if I’m misinterpreting your words, the hope is… I had almost given up, but this will buoy me. Thank you.
“It looks like your Twilight might be nearly done. I assume you have something to achieve here, beyond cheering up an old lady?”
“Oh! Yes.” Luster carefully levitated the scroll out of her saddlebag. It had been artificially aged, which among other things made it artificially fragile. “I need to hide this where she can find it. Um… can you do me a favour, Princess?”
“Probably.”
“If Twilight Sparkle asks you about this scroll, it’s been here all along. Okay?”
“That sounds fair. What is it?”
“It’s the time travel spell that Star Swirl never wrote. And I think it goes…” She counted shelves, settling on a spot among the jumble. “Here.”
“Careful,” cautioned Celestia, pulling the scroll back in her own aura.
“What is it?”
“You nearly disturbed a bookwyrm.” She levitated the miniature dragon out of his nest among the books, and placed him gently in the golden cup of her hoof. His warm, parchment-coloured scales shone in the candlelight as he slowly woke up, yawning deeply.
“Aww. I’m sorry, little guy.”
“Let me go put him somewhere safe.” She carried the little wyrm carefully toward the door.
“Psst!” Princess Twilight whispered from the corner behind Luster. “Are you ready?”
Luster pushed the scroll into place, then nodded. “Yep. Are you?”
Twilight’s eyes strayed to the retreating sight of Celestia pushing the door open and disappearing. She closed her eyes and nodded. “Let’s go.”
Twilight’s horn lit up, and a moment later they were swallowed by a whirlpool of twisting space.
“Hey! What did you mean by…” Filly Twilight trotted around the corner then stopped when she saw the empty aisle. “Where did she go?”
She moved on to check the next aisle, then turned back with a frown. A scroll was poking awkwardly out of the shelf. She pushed it back into place, nodded to herself with a satisfied “Hmmf,” and trotted on.