There was no chance this would turn out well, no chance at all. From what Twilight had described, Peace was an unstable mess of a creature who had viewed Nightmare Moon like a god. Perhaps she’d only shown up here with the express purpose of slaying Canterlot’s faithful; rivals to her own devotion. Twilight’s appearance must have sent a jolt of terror down Peace’s spine, making her think she was about to be dealt with like her goddess was, forcing her into a corner in the midst of all those praying hooves.
Instead, Twilight had tried the impossible by choosing negotiation. It was a miracle Peace even understood their language. To think she would respond to peaceful diplomacy was far too much to hope for, but she would definitely accept Twilight’s apology if she gave her neck in offering.
That beam of light came to mind again. If Twilight was truly capable of that, then…
Moondancer pushed the thought away. She took a step forward, her chest left forgotten to one side. It hit her that her best friend was about to get herself killed over nothing, and once again all their meaningless arguing over the course of the day played through her mind, how pointless it had all been in the end. So what if Twilight trusted Celestia? She was the princess’ favourite, plain and simple. Even if Celestia decided to burn down half the city, Twilight would be kept perfectly safe and sound, still making excuses and trying to mediate between a mob and a murderer.
She hated that fact with all her being, but still, she couldn’t let this happen.
You still owe me a proper goodbye, she thought. Don’t leave me behind like this.
“Where’re you going?” came Spike’s voice.
“Where do you think? I’m going to stop your stupid sister from getting herself killed.”
Spike trotted up beside her. “Then I’m coming too,” he stated with determination.
He’s too weak to survive this, said the imaginary pegasus on her shoulder. But if he attacks, he’ll hurt you, too, the changeling added. Therefore, you are even weaker than him.
She stopped and blocked him with an outstretched hoof. “No,” she responded with a frown. He was too close for comfort, but for once it didn’t feel too terrible. There were much bigger hills to die on than her stupid fears. As much as she didn’t want to deal with it, Spike was her responsibility for now. He may have had fire breath on his side, but he was still just a doughy little kid who couldn’t run very fast. “You have to stay here where it’s safe. Twilight wants to keep you out of this.”
He looked at her with something almost akin to derision. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m not just going to let her go by herself considering what happened last time she told me to stay put.”
“I said no. If you get hurt because I didn’t tie you up somewhere, then who knows what Twilight will do to me?”
Spike folded his arms. “What’s the worst she’s gonna do? Besides, I can handle myself.”
“She’s willing to hold back helping me out of this place just so she can keep lying to you about Celestia.”
He paused for a moment. “True. But I’m still helping, and there’s nothing you ca- can do- h-hey!” His arms and legs wiggled as he rose into the air.
“Do I need to tie you to a post?”
He shook his head.
“Good. Stop pretending to be a hero and let the adults handle this.” Moondancer scanned the area for somewhere to put him, each pass inevitably lingering on the two ponies she wanted absolutely nothing to do with, let alone when it came to an impressionable little mind like Spike’s.
The bride and groom were recovering and comforting one another, the trio of black-clad stallions surrounding them having pushed the regular ponies away to give the couple some space. The six dancers from Sunflare’s inkwell stood nearby as well, apparently acting as extra security in spite of their flowery, ribbony dresses. With both the Pony Authority and the Royal Guard rendered untrustworthy, these religious types were unfortunately her only real option.
Moondancer trotted briskly, Spike swaying lower with each step until he regained his own bearings to jog beside her. He looked more worried than annoyed. Maybe he actually trusted her in spite of everything she’d thought of him for so long? This was an odd moment, she realised, something she couldn’t have imagined only yesterday; her and Spike walking together without Twilight present. The pressure on her mind still made itself known whenever the light caught his scales and when his slit pupils did that creepy, ever so slight twitch when they focused, but the weight was less than nothing now. It felt like little more than a bit of mental fog from waking up early, the visions of red nowhere to be seen.
She imagined galloping after her best friend, only to find one of those piles where she should have been. She grit her teeth. That wouldn’t happen. That was just the fear in her talking.
You’ll have to take care of Spike if Twilight’s dead, said that aggravating little voice on her shoulder, jabbing its imaginary eight-pronged spear into her skin.
How ironic would that be? said its contrarian twin, doing the same with its twisting lance. You’ll be stuck in Canterlot taking care of him while Twilight’s remains get cast down the waterfalls.
Twilight’s home has a family grave, Moondancer thought, only to realize her mind was going in circles again.
The three stallions turned their helmeted heads as she approached, first eyeing Moondancer with suspicion, then the little dragon by her side with a silent, professional curiosity. “Excuse me,” Moondancer began, putting on her nice voice, “I realise this is a really, really bad time, but my friend just ran off after the mare who attacked you and I need to keep her from hurting herself. Would… you…”
The guards were glaring through their visors.
“Would… would that be ok, if I left him here…?”
“Step away, please,” said one of them, a unicorn.
Her words dried up and her fake smile wavered. This was no good. She took a step back. “Y-y’know… it’s just that his sis- adoptive sister is… maybe not.” She turned to leave. “Nevermind.”
“Wait.”
She had barely made it three steps. She looked back to see the groom pushing his way between his protectors, his praying hoof still raised, twitching at the ankle beneath its bandages. His wife stood by his side, holding him up as he staggered forward. Without his armour the stallion looked deflated. He was visibly muscular, but his booming voice and pitch-black hair did little to hide his thinning underside and well-worn facial muscles. He motioned to his wife.
The bride brushed her wedding veil out of the way to look upon the two of them. She gave a soft smile in greeting, the evening Sun exposing her laughter wrinkles and the crows feet that framed her fearful, faded eyes. “You came along to rescue your friend, didn’t you? What is your name, child?” she asked. Her voice lacked whatever enchantment had given it that piercing yet graceful quality, but it still flowed like silk.
“Moondancer,” Moondancer replied.
“The foal who took a detour over the Moon,” the groom mumbled. “Do you happen to know the mare who attacked us?” he asked, the brave, thundering tone missing from his voice.
Moondancer thought for a moment. “She’s a follower of Nightmare Moon, named Peace,” she answered. “My friend can tell you more, but she’s going to get herself killed first trying to stop her.” A small untruth could go a long way here.
They looked at one another. “I see,” said the bride. She squinted at Spike. “And who is this foal here?”
Spike grumbled before responding. “I’m Spike,” he said with a huff.
The groom murmured something to his bride and her eyes widened for a moment. “Do you need someone to take care of him?” she asked.
Golden opportunity, Moondancer thought to herself. That was convenient, almost suspiciously so. She nodded. “If you’d be so kind, then yes. I need to stop my friend before it’s too late, but I can’t bring him with me.”
“So it’s true Celestia’s protege has a salamander under her proverbial wing,” the groom commented.
They knew about her already?
The couple murmured again to one another. The bride smiled. “We would be honoured to take care of him,” she stated with a look of conviction in her eyes.
Moondancer motioned with a nudge, not quite touching Spike but making it clear what she wanted him to do. She still had her doubts, but these two seemed like nothing more than an elderly couple now that they weren’t espousing nonsense to the masses. Spike wandered over to them, grumbling all the way. That was a weight off her back.
“Do you intend on helping your friend, or rescuing her?” asked the groom as his wife greeted the little dragon beside him, the mare pawing half-blind to tickle under his chin.
“Rescuing,” Moondancer replied. She had no idea how that might work if it came to an actual fight, of course.
The groom scratched his tuft of a beard with his good hoof. “I would wager the mare who defeated Nightmare Moon wouldn’t need help with a mere subordinate, but that is neither here nor there. If she isn’t brought to justice today, then tomorrow will have to do. Soon we will have both Princesses on our side to fix Rion’s mistakes.”
Princess-es? “Both…?”
They nodded. “Luna is healing,” said the bride. “Once she is ready, she will stand by Her Majesty’s side to set the Moon in motion again, and balance will be restored.”
Moondancer frowned. She hadn’t even considered that possibility. Celestia revealing her true colours had convinced her that Luna was dead; it was the only scenario in which everything made sense. “You’re sure she isn’t already dead?” she asked, as bluntly as ever.
The couple looked surprised. “If our scryers are not blind, then yes,” the groom replied.
The more she considered it the scarier the thought became. The simple act of going from a monarchy to a diarchy alone would have a wide variety of diplomatic ramifications. Then again… that was assuming one of them didn’t become queen. Without a husband, Celestia had remained a princess since before records began, so all Luna would need to do would be to marry the first suitor she found and, just like that, she would outrank her sister and Equestria would be hers. Nightmare Moon had never needed to wage war. That was probably why she only brought a tiny hoofful of loyalists instead of an army. Perhaps getting killed was nothing more than a setback to that sort of mare.
“Sorry,” she offered, “and thanks.” With Spike safely in their care, she just needed to run as fast as she could and locate that stupid, purple idiot of a mare in whatever corner of the city she’d vanished to. She made it a few steps before pointing an accusing hoof at the couple. “Just so you know, please don’t… y’know… tell him any weird religious stories or anything.”
The groom couldn’t help but chuckle past the pain. He murmured something to one of his remaining warriors and they broke rank, taking position beside Moondancer instead.
“Huh? Wait, what’re you doing?”
“Take Skycroft with you,” the groom said. “If it comes to it, then this ‘Peace’ needs to be taught a lesson for her arrogance.” His silver eyes glinted for a moment. “You as well, it seems. You will see Sleipnir’s Hammers are more than worthy of their own collection of tales.”
Moondancer felt a bead of sweat forming, noting the damaged suit of armour being bundled together by a pair of aides behind the couple. “How will they help if she can slice through octite?” she asked.
Another small chuckle. “My armour is only ceremonial. Octite on the surface, greatwood underneath. I’m not strong enough to carry a full suit of it anymore.”
Why was she even complaining at this point? This level of protection was exactly what she needed. Even if the armour proved useless, if this guy was skilled in combat then maybe it would be enough. Maybe she was giving these two a hard time. People are hard to deal with when they don’t believe in logic, the imaginary pegasus on her shoulder commented.
“I’m sorry,” Moondancer offered again. “Thank you for your help.”
“One more thing before you leave,” said the bride. She reached up and removed her red circlet, offering it over with great care. “This is a very special item, forged from a Tear of the Sun and blessed by the Mother Herself. It will help you think creatively for the conflict ahead.”
This felt like a bit much, but she accepted it regardless. She didn’t need trinkets, she needed to get going.
It was only when the circlet touched her hooves that Moondancer felt the immense force emanating from the object. Something within her forehooves shifted, filling with energy and heat as her rarely-used tertiary path responded to the influx of… whatever this feeling was. She watched with fascination as the coat of her ankles began to glow with magical power, the faintest of signs of a rose-coloured stripe or two appearing further up her legs as her aether veins literally shone with power.
Is my head going to light up like this?
“You have such stress in your voice for one so young,” the bride continued. “Perhaps you will have more use for it than I.”
“Th-thanks. I will.”
“Sunspeed,” said the groom.
Moondancer undid her bobble, allowing her mane to fall messy and free, and, with some care, she placed the circlet upon her head. Her mind went blank as the world exploded into colour.
---
In another life, in some alternate world where dragons were all like Spike, this could have been it.
She saw herself at her family’s farm, surrounded by fields of wheat that bristled softly in the wind. The undersides of her hooves glimmered ever so gently as the thoughts of the world flowed through her veins, her will sharing itself with the land. A few years of practice and she would have been an accomplished user of Nature Magic, happily assisting in the growth of the crops alongside her sister. That could have been it. That could have been her.
The feral beast overhead became wreathed in blackness, vanishing from sight.
But she would have never met Twilight if that had happened, never become one of the smartest magicians in Canterlot, never won any spelling bees, never been able to stand head and shoulders above the rest right by her best friend’s side. The other students couldn’t hold a candle to either of them; power and knowledge, the perfect team. Their track record was unassailable and there was no changing that fact.
The mare beside her faded to a blank, white mess, leaving her all on her own.
Moondancer placed her glasses upon the hard wood of her chest, raised a glowing hoof, and smashed them. The visions of fear and anxiety were gone, the thoughts flowing out of one ear and away. Celestia couldn’t scare her anymore. Without hesitation or doubt she placed herself before her protector and started down the road at speed, her singular goal unfettered by any thoughts of whatever grim eventualities were waiting for them.
She could do it now. She was strong enough to make use of her knowledge and rescue Twilight from her rash decision. She was finally strong enough to stand by her side. The circlet made her more powerful than ever, but the presumptive thoughts of being able to go hoof-to-hoof with Peace in the Hammers’ place quickly flowed out of the other ear, setting her mind back on track once more.
Her head - the upper half of which had in fact gained a few glowing stripes - was empty for a change, and it felt surreal. She’d gotten so comfortable having her mind whizz to and fro as a flood of calculations and considerations drowned out everything else. With her doubt and fear draining away, the spells and ideas arrived fully-formed without having to be checked over for accuracy or viability; she simply knew she was right, because she almost always was.
The sound of heavy hooffalls came up beside her as Skycroft matched her pace. According to what she’d read, the Hammers served as Sleipnir’s highest order of acolytes and preachers, rather than his protectors. At least, that was how it had been back whenever that information had been written. These present-day Hammers suited their title far more than a bunch of loudmouthed doomsayers would. Like the others, Skycroft was tall and broad with most of his body hidden beneath armour that was almost a “pearlescent black”, if there was such a thing. Octite held a slight green tint to its blackness, and judging how the light revealed that odd colour at the edges, it was clear the metal had been polished to perfection. These were scarily dedicated ponies.
“So, what are we in for?” Skycroft asked, eyeing her new markings. His coat possessed that bleached white look of a cosmetic enchantment, but a few curls of turquoise-green mane escaped from under his helmet. A black cloak clung to his sides, from beneath which a few feathers protruded along with the end of a belt that wrapped around his torso, carrying a collection of water bottles that clinked as they galloped. Poking out of the back of his neck brace were a pair of hammers, fused to the metal like the handles of a yoke.
The things Twilight had told her about Peace flowed through Moondancer’s mind. She recalled her best friend’s saucer-like eyes on the day she returned to Canterlot and the descriptions of the horrors she’d put herself through in becoming a hero. The struggle against Peace stood out more than the brief encounter with the queen herself, seeing as the former had actually required effort, from what she’d explained.
“Bipedal,” Moondancer responded, her normally abrupt voice gaining a similar calm, silken flow as the bride. “Long, golden mane strong enough to cut through octite. Monstrous arms, I don’t know how strong.”
“Bipedal?”
“That’s what Twilight said. Apparently Nightmare Moon was the same.” Moondancer’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how she’s turned into one of us, but she must have the same abilities as before.”
“There are plenty of ways to transform into other creatures, but the method varies based on species…”
A being like Nightmare Moon probably had a way around that, but she was long gone, Moondancer hoped. If Luna was truly alive, she couldn’t have been in the state to cast such an enchantment. If she was, Celestia would have surely shown herself by now. “She can control her mane from afar, even if it’s cut,” Moondancer continued. “And she could piece it together into shields and simple weapons.”
Skycroft gave a grunt. “Sounds like foreign magic to me, at least, unless it’s purely physical.”
She glanced at him. The stallion sounded younger than she’d expected of a master warrior, but he took in everything she was saying and his words were objective and concise; exactly the kind of pony for the task.
They rounded the corner, heading right in search of the other Hammers, the clean, white slabs of the Terrace Gallery giving way to the usual grey cobbles of Canterlot’s thoroughfares. They passed a number of shops and services related to the various faiths before the bright colours abruptly stopped. In their place rose smooth walls made up of large, black stones dating all the way back to the raising of the city’s great platforms. The buildings looked more like a cliff face, each wall fusing seamlessly with the next, with not a single door in sight.
Skycroft idly watched the empty, rectangular windows pass by as they went. He looked to her. “Is Peace an alien?” he asked suddenly.
I’m sorry, what? The look on Skycroft’s face had turned to one of blunt curiosity, like a child asking why clouds can fly. “Y-… an alien…? What do you mean?” Moondancer asked in return. A stinging sensation of rage bubbled up in her throat, her newfound confidence feeling undercut by the stupid question.
He looked like he’d spotted her expression, but he went ahead and responded anyway like the brick-head he apparently was. “I was wondering about the powers you mentioned. She doesn’t sound like anything on Epona. She’s more like the Mane-iac from those comic books.”
“You’re seriously comparing her to a fictional character?”
His only offering was an awkward smirk. The type one might give a rude child before kicking their hoofball over a fence. “Hear me out. I’m not saying she’s fake or anything, just that we might need another miracle to defeat her, seeing as she’s working under different rules compared to us.”
Another jagged piece of anger entered her lungs. “Defeating Peace is not the priority. Rescuing Twilight is the priority,” Moondancer replied, sternly.
That caught him. “Oh, yes, of course.” He looked unsure of himself for a moment before focusing back on the road ahead.
“I still need to know what your idea was,” Moondancer offered. “I need as many options as possible if we’re going to get through this alive.”
He nodded. “It’s less an idea, more a hypothesis: Lady Sparkle and whoever the other bearers were can’t have beaten Nightmare Moon on their own. That’s why I think Harmony interfered directly.”
More words for names. “Harmony? As in a person?”
“As in the goddess. Harmony is the daughter of the Starlit Union. If her parents are the stars in the sky, then Harmony is the light they cast upon the world, keeping everything in balance.”
Moondancer couldn’t help but cringe. All these years and she had never realised that the Harmony featured in children’s books was meant to be a religious figure. Something about that felt deeply unsettling.
Skycroft flicked his mane in the general direction of the Moon. “Peace must be incredibly powerful to cut through octite, so, just looking at how strong Nightmare Moon was, it’s the only way things make sense: Divine Intervention. No one will like me saying this, but not even Celestia could have done anything against her.”
Twilight hadn’t mentioned anything like that, other than the sensation of limitless power flooding her mind. Was a goddess of balance really the type to turn ponies into magical bombs? She wanted to drill him on whether he thought Sleipnir and Sunflare ever set hoof on the world they’d supposedly made, but the familiar sense of superiority she got when attacking fiction with fact quickly drained away along with the rest of her arrogance.
The circlet suddenly felt heavy upon her brow. She was clear-headed and therefore much more “balanced” than before. She couldn’t help but admit to and even relish in the benefits the item brought, but hearing all of that, she suddenly wasn’t sure about this anymore.
Once again she felt an eight-pronged spear jabbing at the side of her neck, draining her excess fears like a swarm of tiny, religious mosquitos. She grit her teeth. There was no use thinking about this. She needed the circlet if she was to have any chance of saving her friend. Anything less than complete committal would be useless, even if the effects stuck around after taking the accursed thing off.
Turn left, or you’ll be responsible for what happens.
She could’ve sworn she was hearing voices, too. Maybe the circlet left a hole open for Sleipnir’s Bray to leak in and brainwash her from the inside out.
The worry was cast away as they came to a stop, replaced with thoughts of what lay ahead. Moondancer’s mind filled with various spells and escape tactics, each arriving fully formed without any anxiety to slow them down. Before them rose the entrance to Canterlot’s oldest district; Blackwood Close. The black walls came to a very sharp-cornered end before making a mathematically perfect right-angle turn into the gloomy streets. The buildings leaned inward as they rose, reducing the dull, blue sky to a thin strip over their heads as they went in.
“Of course she’d be here,” Skycroft grumbled with a frown. “I wonder what kinds of stories Nightmare Moon told about the War of the Night while she was up there.”
This was a place everyone avoided. As soon as they passed beneath the entrance arch the sounds of Canterlot died off, replaced by an overwhelming silence, as if the fallen were holding their breath. Moondancer had long since learned to leave her logic at the entrance whenever she had to traverse these dark streets. Her grandmother had shared countless nasty little stories and superstitions about Blackwood Close; tales of ponies venturing in and never finding their way out, how the darkness had a herdmind of its own, how the inhabitants still listened and waited for their leader to return and fight by her side once more. Blackwood Close served as a giant graveyard for those who fell while fighting for the wrong side. There were no doors on these houses because no one lived here, the windows left open to the wind, the beds replaced by coffins.
Moondancer’s gaze flitted to and fro. The light looked odd here. Bouncing off of those black bricks tended to give it a strange quality she’d never been able to define, but with moonlight added to the mixture, the grey cobbles gained the paleness of winter and the alleys between the buildings looked darker still. There were places here that went beneath the ground, some serving as ancient maintenance holes for the underside of the city, others leading to tiny, bricked-up rooms containing the remains of Nightmare’s most infamous followers.
She wanted to leave as soon as possible. “I haven’t asked yet; what are you capable of?”
“Hm? Oh, I’m a superiority flyer,” Skycroft replied. His cloak ruffled and rose, the series of feathers visible past the fabric exploding into a pair of the largest wings Moondancer had ever seen. They rose and stretched for a few moments, almost reaching the first floor windows, their bright white plumage breaking cleanly through the gloom of the close, before slowly falling to either side. One hovered over her, large enough to hide most of her body beneath, while the other brushed awkwardly against the opposite wall.
“That’s… one way to put it,” Moondancer commented. His wingspan was comparable to Celestia herself.
“You like ‘em? I do. I once defeated the old captain of the Wonderbolts with these things, though granted she’s a lot older than me,” he explained with pride ripe in his tone.
Normally, Moondancer ate these kinds of arrogant ponies for breakfast, but just this once she made an exception. Skycroft would make for the perfect getaway, and his bragging seemed genuine. With wings like those she had no real reason to doubt him. “And… the bottles?”
He drew the wings back in, then poked at one of his collection. They were all repurposed wine bottles of various brands, their labels removed and occasionally reused to plug them closed. “The key to defeating - or defending ourselves from - Peace.” His wings fluttered and a cool breeze wafted from them. “I can freeze her and her mane in place to give my Brothers an opening.”
“You can use magic?”
He nodded. “Rain would be ideal, but I can make do with what I’ve got.”
It suddenly made sense why he was part of the Hammers. Vapour manipulation came naturally to pegasi. Liquid manipulation was a world of difference. Those who mastered it could literally walk on water or create clouds from nothing but the moisture in the air around them. Combined with his wingspan and supposed speed, Skycroft could probably serve as a miniature weather factory all by himself.
“Any lightning?”
“Nah. Just water and ice.”
“Good enough.”
They continued on. The streets grew dimmer the further they went. The evening Sun was slowly giving up its golden glow to the pale blue of the Moon. Moondancer couldn’t see much from the line of sky above her, but the darkness would be creeping in across the eastern horizon, the colours of sunset looking washed out with the rest of this place. Nighttime was coming; the shades would be out soon.
If ever there was a place to avoid at night, it was Blackwood Close. The constant dead-ends and the occasional pitch black tunnels were perfect for those hiding from the waking world. Despite that fact, the district’s excessive gloom, the constant paranoid feeling of being watched, and her grandmother’s stories, Moondancer had still used it as a shortcut from time to time. The Unscheduled Night had finally changed her mind, to some extent. Moments after the lights went out, the shadows came to life.
“Are you afraid, Moondancer?” asked Skycroft.
She frowned. “What gave you that idea?”
The pegasus motioned to her hooves. Moondancer glanced down and was greeted by the odd, ever so faint sight of her own tail and back legs galloping in the opposite direction. The silhouette’s hooves moved like a thin taffy, appearing to “flow” off her own hooves for a moment before fully disconnecting, then going back again for the next gallop. It never made it an inch, but its message was clear; some large part of her wanted to escape this place.
The “Lunar Shades”, as they had come to be known, were nothing more than what they appeared to be: moving shadows. Speaking their owner’s unspoken thoughts and acting out their unintended movements, they held no real will of their own. They were simply “shadows under a different light” as one of her teachers had put it. The extra projection was ever so slightly lighter in colour, visible as if layered on top of her normal shadow. Perhaps without the circlet she would have listened to the terror rumbling around her head and escaped for real, leaving Twilight to her doom.
She looked back to the road ahead, then frowned. She looked again at her fleeing shadow and realised why it was doing so. There, on the cobbles, was a thread of gold. As thin as a single strand of hair, glinting in what little light managed to reach down here. She quickly held a hoof in front of Skycroft and the pegasus wobbled to a stop.
“She’s here.”