//------------------------------//
// Some Dear Cause 
// Story: To the Gods 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

They traverse the facility unscathed. Physically, at least. The ghastly sight of out-in-the-open corpses urges the living to wrap them up in improvised body bags.

A floor up, back to the kitchen. Thanks to partly-broken electronics, old-fashioned propane cooking, and Spike-flamed canned food, they get their breakfast: flavored hay stew, fried potatoes, sunny-side up eggs, and hash.

They relax over breakfast, keeping leftovers ready in case Monk Wrench, the still-unconscious Verumarendi wannabe they’ve carried here, wakes up. The others patrol the hallways to watch out for surprise intruders, to look for anything to salvage, to search for any more evidence of crimes here.

In the middle of the meal, Spike cuts in: “I’ve been wondering… what about a compromise?” For during the trip upstairs and the cooking and even partway through breakfast, the Power Ponies have debated on what to do with the facility, the ponies there, and Monk Wrench herself. Those on Rager’s side supported leaving the facility as is, covertly escorting only Wrench out for S.M.I.L.E. to take care of the rest. Others like Mare-velous wish to publicize the ordeal: let the village and the world see what transpired so none may do it again. Fili-Second suggested the procurement of all evidence and informing only S.M.I.L.E. and the local authorities, leaving the case’s burden on them.

Now Spike takes the opportunity to put his two bits in. “I want to think about a compromise: what about we get some of the evidence and then let everyone in town know what happened. Maybe it’s the cause of the unexpected snowstorm. We still won’t know until we get outside, but if it is, ponies would start asking questions. We’ll tip off the police about the place and bring them down here. Give them our side of the story… without revealing who you really are, of course. That leaves Wrench to Bon Bon and her crew: we’ll say we’re bringing her over to the proper authorities. Does that sound good?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Matter-Horn replies, having a sisterly hoof on his scaly back. “Some ponies may question our power levels, but given that six ordinary ponies are some of Equestria’s greatest heroes, I don’t think they’d dwell on it too much. As for the authorities, it’s a reasonable arrangement. Doesn’t tax us with much to do, and they’ll investigate the matter independently.”

With a compromise agreed on, the ponies and the dragon continue their breakfast, sometimes checking up on the knocked-out Wrench to make sure she’s doing well.

Fili-Second works through a plate of eggs and salted hash. “So Mister Dragon, you’ve finally visited our fair city! How was it?”

Spike matches her bite with a bigger swallow of eggs and hash. “Awesome! Or, uh… as awesome as a chaotic city battlefield could get.”

“How many of our associates did you meet?” Zapp asks eagerly—“Nah, don’t tell me! I’m sure you’ve met enough to blow your mind, huh?”

“At least it’s all over,” Rager says, looking over her stressed hooves and worn-out legs. “Let’s be happy about that, right?”

Spike reclines on his chair, puts his feet on the table. “Yeah. I’m happy, you’re happy, we’re all happy. Didn’t meet too many heroes. Also didn’t stop to smell the roses and check out all the details of your world. I was busy following Hum Drum to your HQ—”

Matter-Horn leans over the table and floats her plate aside. “Hum Drum? You’ve met him, then?” A hoof on her back, scratches the back of her mane. “I-is he… is he safe? Is he doing alright?”

A second for Spike to gather his thoughts. “He’s… he’s a very cool colt. Especially now that I really got to know him. I actually helped him get out of a pickle with those Mane-iac survivalists… and, well…”

“Wait a minute.” Radiance furrows her brows, an impressive feat given her mask. “How did you get back to this world anyway? The portal machine, I presume?”

“Yeah. It’s also why my strategy with whisking the amulets away worked in the first place. A researcher there told me about the amulet. It was… proximas.”

Matter-Horn does a double take and almost plants her face in a bowl of stew. “Proximas! B-but I thought it was a myth!”

It makes Radiance snort. “Scientists have been reading the latest journal issues, and what did you insist on doing? Get stuck reading every single issue since the journals’ inceptions.”

“Hey, every concept has foundations! I can only understand the present if I leave out all uncertainty of the past!”

In the end, the argument fades to giggles, leaving Spike to chortle at the affair. “Yeah, he never said anything about myths at all. It’s like… sort of common knowledge?”

“For my due diligence in amassing a fully comprehensive and exhaustive knowledge on the sciences, this is what happens!” Matter-Horn smacks her head on the table, to much laughter. “Should’ve focused much more on practical magic if this is the thanks I get!”

Everyone calms down and Spike takes a swig of warm orange juice. “At least things are back to normal in your world. But you know… with these other worlds and all that… y-you’re... you still okay?”

The others nod at him. “We can say we’ve saved two worlds now!” cheers Fili-Second.

“But, uh… what about the whole fiction thing?”

“What about it?” asks Matter-Horn almost as a challenge.

“Because… well, I told Hum Drum about it—“ the unicorn’s ears fall flat “—and… I don’t think he agreed with how I explained reality.”

Ears went back up. “Oh? What did he say?”

He stretches his arms out. “That maybe I got it all wrong. Thinks the enchanters were wrong too. It’s not enlivening fiction, he said: they’re just making portals to other worlds lucky enough to have comics here.”

“Lucky enough… by coincidence?”

“Guess so.”

The suggestion sinks into everyone else’s minds. For Matter-Horn, it makes her smile. “I have to hoof it to him. He’s well-versed in science fiction. Hum Drum’s wiser than he looks, you know?” A wistful sensation crosses her muzzle. “Lots of hope bundled up in that colt, that’s for sure. It may be less likely than enlivening fiction, but it does make sense. The portal spells had coordinates and all… but I digress. What matters is that we’re here, we’re alive, and that we matter to each other regardless of how the Power Ponies fare in this world. So, I’d say we should—“

“Watch for intruders!”

The hiss from Mare-velous pulls everyone down a hallway, ears standing tall and eyes glancing through every possible path, ready to strike down one more wave of enemies.

It makes Spike jumpy, hopping out of his chair and away from breakfast. “Who in the world is after us now?!”

“Could be back-up!” says Rager. “Facility could’ve fired an emergency signal. Nothing’s certain. Prepare for the worst.”

And so Spike builds up the flames in his belly once more, resigned to burn anyone who’ll stand between them and freedom.

Knocks on the hatch door. The mechanism unravels slowly in rusty creaks. Muffled voices speak of detecting unknown entities on this floor. The Power Ponies ready their weapons and bodies, and Spike raises a pair of swipe-ready claws along with his fire breath ready to sear.

The hatch clicks open.

Spike drops his war face. “Wait… Bon Bon?”

The Earth pony secret agent looks nonplussed at the ponies before her. More agents pop up from behind, and the Power Ponies stand down in confusion.

Bon Bon holsters her amnesia pen. “Okie-dokie, then. ‘Least we found you safe and sound. Didn’t know you’d be done already. Gotta say, you’re surprisingly lethal. That’s a huge death toll we just got through up there.”

“They were already dead when we arrived,” says Zapp, floating close to Bon Bon’s face. “We also found the culprit—” to the cue of Matter-Horn teleporting a sleeping Monk Wrench to the floor.

Bon Bon looks at the blue body, gesturing at her co-agents to inspect the rest of the floor and identify the bodies there. Lyra proclaims she’s found a can of mushroom soup which Bon Bon responds with a look that shouts Not now! Calmly, back to the Power Ponies, “Alright. I trust you and the agency trusts you. That being said, we must know your side of the story.” She clicks a ballpen, notepad in hoof. “Leave no detail unturned.”

So they tell the story from the moment they parted ways through the visit in Numnahvut, the underground exploration, to the battles with other-worldly evils and “Verumarendi'' herself, including Spike’s foray into Maretropolis proper. Bon Bon scribbles everything on her notes with an intense focus. She assures them that the notes will be kept in a secret vault no one can find or reach.

“Hold on: How did you get here so fast?” asks Matter-Horn. “Were you following us the whole time?”

“Only by radio signals and sparse stations here and there. We lost track of you fifty miles from Numnahvut. And it’s not following you: it’s preparing for any untoward possibility, especially when another anomalous signal went out from this place a few hours ago. Do you expect us to waste precious time waiting for a signal from you when you could’ve been in grave danger?”

“Anomalous signal? That must’ve been when we finally defeated Monk Wrench.” Her eyes narrowed into daggers. “But why still come here?”

“Argh, I sympathize with you. If it were up to me, I would’ve waited a little longer if only out of respect and honor, but you know Furlong.” The cucumber-cool agent breaks a sweat. “But even then, your word has to step aside when royalty demands we get here by last week.”

It hits Spike like a train to the head. “Princess Celestia!”

“Bingo.” She puts the notepad and ballpen away. “Cutting the long story short: the Solar Princess received three magic artifacts out of thin air through fire, and she knows the only creature in Equestria that could possibly send them in fire. We were already on the way by then, but she contacted the agency and gave us orders to retrieve to Spike pronto—see, she keeps tabs on us, and she knows you, Spike, are on some important adventure under our jurisdiction. Told us it was real bad stuff: did you know proximas was used by some power-hungry count not content with his small island, so he tried to rule the whole world with them? Great bedtime story to scare your foals to sleep with. Anyway, we had to reach you immediately, even had our mages do mass teleports to sate the princess’s order—boy did it hurt. But knowing what you were getting yourself into… let’s just say I’m very disappointed that you’ve left us with almost nothing to fix.”

A smile pops up on her face. “But you saved the world, so kudos to you.”

While the others congratulate themselves with warm smiles, Bon Bon hides a grimace as she turns off the tape recorder. “Should’ve been faster, but you held your own. What’s done is done.”

A slumbering Monk Wrench is released into S.M.I.L.E.’s custody: testify everything before court then go behind bars—with an option for rehab in hope for a better life and a better mare.

Meanwhile, real and official body bags cover the corpses as agents gather the gluttony of evidence in the facility: enchantment spells secured in anti-magic containers, heavy machinery and portals riding on carts and wagons, papers stuffed inside air-tight briefcases.

“We won’t cover this up completely, but we can control the narrative,” continues Bon Bon while she supervises the moving of a huge portal machine. “We could source the place to a team of ethical scientists and wizards. Shame to see this rot if we can’t convince anyone.”

She hears some tapping from the Power Ponies waiting on her. “Oh! Do you want to go already?”

The leader of the Power Ponies raises her head. “Yes. To Manehattan if you weren’t going there already. We’d like to visit Excelsus one more time, at least, then we’ll be on our way home.”

“Alrighty. I’ll arrange a train to get you there fast. You don’t need to meet with us again: we’ve got our case, you’ve got yours, and they’re both settled. The rest… hm, that’s up to you.”





The trip through a sunny Numnahvut wows the impressionable Spike. A few broken walls was the worst of the snowstorm’s damage: a relatively benign blizzard. For all the tour guide knows, the snowstorm’s gone thanks to the investigators solving a serial murder and getting rid of a malevolent weather antenna: the official story S.M.I.L.E. is running with.

“…so the whole underground murder ring explains the fancy suits stopping by?”

“It’s a bit much,” says Matter-Horn as totally-an-ordinary-pony-and-not-a-superhero-at-all Over Hill, “but better safe than sorry. You know how the Royal Guard are with digging their hooves into big cases like this. Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose.” As far as the guide will know, nothing will be out of the ordinary. Just an overblown crime scene. She’ll get the courage to ask one of those fancy suits, but all she’ll get is, “Crown business, ma’am.”

Quiet is the Power Ponies’ train ride home. Conversation springs up, shoring up memories and hopes of home: What shall we do now?

Spike listens in, partaking in their homeward joy.

Joy and anticipation give way to sleep. Though mature enough to handle college-grade books and a sometimes-neurotic librarian, the growing baby dragon still needs lots of z’s. Thus, dream world calls, bringing forth spasmodic visions of Power Ponies fights and coffee breaks like they’ve been old pals for so long.

He’s poked awake as the train slows down. The infinite snow fields have been replaced by Manehattan’s steel-glass towers. The doors open at the station and the ponies trot free in the open city. The residents don’t mind, not even with Spike the Dragon in tow, since everyone’s too busy going somewhere in the city. A Crystal pony gives Spike the time of day with a jolly wave and Spike waves back, but he has the decency to not shout Spike the Brave and Glorious! in a crowd of stuffy corporates and passion-driven entrepreneurs.

They get to Clockwisely whose lobby brims with ambitious artists and easy-going investors. It’s official business hours.

Guards stop the six ponies and their dragon tagalong from going past the reception desks. In a deep baritone whisper, “You seven. President Excelsus wanted to meet you if you were to return. Follow us.”

Without a word, they follow the guards. Instead of going up, they navigate a maze of halls into the basement levels. No polished office doors here: only bare concrete under presentable paint.

They pass by storage rooms. Canceled comic books, construction materials for the future, electricity panels and water pipes, and ventilation systems.

A dead end. The guards move a couple shelves and some defunct vending machines out of the way to reveal a secret passageway. They lead the way with flashlights through dark halls. A minute of Spike’s whistling later, they reach the end of the tunnel: one more door to open.

A grand table and a blast of cool conditioned air. The room’s sole light hangs right above the table. It shines harshly on the president’s ragged face thanks to several hours’ worth of stressful anticipation.

The sight of guards doesn’t stir Excelsus, but surprised delight takes him once the Power Ponies come into view. “Y-you… you made it.”

And Matter-horn nods, taking a seat with the rest of her crew. “Yes, and all in one piece. The good news is that we found your rogue enchanters…”

Excelsus raises a worried brow. “And the bad news?”

“...bad news is that only one survived. She will be put in a private trial of sorts. After that, they’ll most likely give her a life sentence. Hopefully with a chance to reintegrate, but it’s looking grim.”

“She?”

“Monokeras Wrench. Ring any bells?”

The president clutches his chest. “Monk Wrench? She’s that clerk we hired last Wednesday! Going AWOL after a week should’ve been extra suspicious, but everyone left at the same time so we had no idea…”

His forelegs rest on the table, thinning through his olden years. “Well, I should tell you… I am… I am sorry for putting you through this—all of you. It’s… I know you told me to stop apologizing, but to see you six mares like this… we’ve always treated you as more than just pictures and speech bubbles and sketches, but if only we knew what we were really doing…”

Matter-Horn tilts her head, reaching a hoof out to him. “You know better than that, Mister Excelsus. You didn’t know. You know that. None of this was intentional. The blame is on the rogue enchanters alone.”

But he shakes the hoof off. “Yes, yes, but you know it’s one thing to know it and another to feel it. You’ve seen the effects of your comics on this world: a beautiful inspiration! The profits are there too, but they’ve become mere signs that we’ve struck a chord with ponies everywhere. Still, we’ve done things in storytelling every sane pony would abhor doing in real life: changing destinies, setting up conflicts, and so on. Heh… not bad for somepony pushing seventy.”

“Hm, you look fifty.” A bout of shared laughter to lighten the mood. “But seriously, I’ll say it upfront: you don’t need our permission. Just keep going with the Power Ponies franchise for as long as you want.”

Excelsus rears his head. “What?! But I can’t do that! Dictating every single aspect of your life? No, I don’t want that!”

“Not like that,” she says. Her ears stand in full attention, and she half-stands on the table, her forehooves on the surface. “Our discoveries there pushed us to a brighter idea: that you didn’t write us. You discovered us! On accident and with extreme luck, sure, and the comics can end up as material to extra-dimensional portals if you’re smart and crazy enough, but that’s that. There’s no inter-universal hierarchy here: we are parallel universes. We can’t rewrite your world and you can’t rewrite ours.”

The revelation leaves him with an open speechless mouth.

“Or maybe you still think we’re fictions turned real. I’ll have you know, Mister Excelsus, that we never felt forced to say other ponies’ words when you add in speech bubbles nor felt that our childhoods were fake. We just lived. Maybe somepony put words in my mouth, but I also made them up on my own: neither of these are mutually exclusive. But now that we’ve made contact with this universe, it’s a Schromarenger’s Cat scenario: we observe each other, and now we’re bumped off your comics’ canon, and we’ll go forever on our own path. Either idea you accept, it doesn’t really matter: I’m not going to grovel because of this whole comic thing. Nothing will stop us from protecting and serving Maretropolis and the world, not even the existence of other universes and realities.”

And quiet sinks in. Everyone stares, silent-lipped.

A few minutes pass. The hum of air conditioning fills the air. No guards in the room anymore; must’ve left, now guarding from the outside. The face of Excelsus, staring a thousand yards.

A knock on the door gets him up. The president excuses himself and goes to the door. A peek and he turns around. “A couple writers and illustrators from the Power Ponies team. Yes, I… I can see the look on your faces. For all that I might’ve put you through even indirectly, consider this my gift. I wanted to give them the chance of meeting you, and so… here they are in the flesh. To be safe, I didn’t tell them about you outright—just told them to come down to my underground office. But yes, sirs and ma’ams, you may come in…”

Before he can fully see the arriving writers, something jams into Spike’s mind. A little prick in his heart. Invading somepony’s privacy—

With an excuse—and everyone there’s okay if confused with his absence—Spike leaves to wait at the lobby. It’s all too much for one night.





No adventures or world-shattering truths are had in the lobby. It’s business as usual: timely meetings to schedule, late employees to berate, and food-carrying gophers here to deliver. Already time for an early lunch.

Around Spike sit ponies in waiting: a stallion reads a newspaper; a family’s colt reads his comics in the lounge; a bunch of mares gossip about Spike for a few seconds before they discard any idea of taking a picture with him. The magazines bore him whether they be of horse races or nouveau-riche celebrities. A big bottle of soda and some popcorn take his mind off everything: time to chow down first.

A couple hoofsteps come up: six ponies, and not just any group of six ponies.

“So how was it?” Spike asks as he finishes his popcorn.

“It was… enlightening,” Matter-Horn says in a hush. He could see a pair or two of tear-stained eyes among them. “They amazed us, we amazed them. It was very… very nice to see all the love and appreciation in their words. I… I couldn’t believe it at first! Did our stories save lives in this world?”

“Pretty much what I’ve been telling you, yeah! As for those guys: I’ve written them a couple letters myself, actually.” But as he says this, he denies the tearful choke in his voice while they leave the building.





The next train ride is Ponyville-bound. No secret agent interference, no evil-force intervention: only pristine landscapes and the rattle of wheels against the track. Postcards, hats, and one t-shirt is their souvenir haul from Manehattan, and they disguise themselves further with it: Don’t mind me! I’m just a tourist going home! There was talk about going to the convention once again, but homesickness overrides everything.

No need for private carriages. They sit in public, and ponies pay them no mind usually. The presence of Spike and the mere six-ness of the ponies lead one or two to ask if they’re the Elements of Harmony in disguise. They say no. A silly question to ask: no one says yes to that if they’re really on a covert mission.

Small talk, looking out there: the landscape rolls by. Others read newspapers, talk to their friends, or sleep the ride away.

Matter-Horn watches a sleeping Spike. She laughs: despite the soda and the popcorn, he still sleeps. Still a baby dragon after all. So much like Hum Drum. So much like the colt who believes in an optimistic universe: parallel universes where everyone forges their own path. Perhaps she should do more research on that just to be sure.

“I think… therefore, I am,” she mutters. Satisfaction rolls out of her words. “I already am. Always have been, always will be.”





Something shines through the window. A few blinks, some rubs of the eyes, and a couple of long outstretched yawns later, they see, in the distance, the sharp light of the shiny crystal Castle of Friendship.

A few minutes later, they’re off the train station. Ponyville: home sweet home, as idyllic as it’s been since earlier in the late-night morning. Flowers and foods exchange hooves in the market, pegasi fix up clouds to prepare for an overcast afternoon, and mail gets delivered—he swears that’s Rarity’s working silhouette by the boutique window.

A quick scan: none of the Elements out in the open. Rarity’s inside her boutique, Pinkie’s a wild card, and the rest aren’t in sight.

They make their way through town, drawing little attention from everyone else. For these city-dwellers, the sunlit sight of a slow-paced rural country village in the middle of the kingdom serves as good rest. A calm before the storm: the heroes’ welcome back home will be lively.

Along the way, Spike sees Bon Bon selling candies in the marketplace while Lyra helps out, accidentally sprinkling too much sugar on the sweet drops. The duo give them a wave and Spike waves back.

“Alright,” the dragon begins as they approach the castle, “either Starlight or Twilight’s here by now. Or both. If we meet any of them, we’ll have to tell the truth. Just remember that they’re our friends, alright? They know how to keep a secret.”

“Uh, what’s that?” Mare-velous asks, pointing at the front door.

Flapping in the wind and pinned on the great heart-decorated doors hangs a note. They walk up to it and Spike takes the little piece of paper off to read.

Spike, I’ll be off for headmare duties at the school. Twilight’s still not here. Sent me a letter saying she’s got last-minute work. She should be home around dinner time. I put some security spells so it’s just you and your friends (in case you bring Big Mac and Discord along for a surprise O&O session, but don’t tell Twilight that!) Hope you’re home safe and sound.

—Starlight

A loud sigh of relief. “That makes our job a lot easier. Too bad you might not meet them at all. But your home’s calling.”

So they enter. Still as shiny and as crystally as they left.

A trot through the hallways and more silence comes their way. Remembrances of dark confusions in the night, lifted away by the lingering scent of breakfast pancakes: a treat for coming home and not dying on the way, with the Power Ponies sticking with him to the end.

He stops. They could’ve asked to just portal their way home from the moment Verumarendi faltered. Matter-Horn already whipped up a portal to their world home just fine: could’ve come back and be done with it. Could’ve done it after debriefing with Bon Bon or after meeting with Excelsus or after seeing Ponyville one more time. Dropping off at some random town on the way to Ponyville and jumping through the portal that way would’ve afforded them the secrecy of disappearing somewhere else.

But they haven’t asked Spike at all. They still follow him.

They enter his room: tidied up too. The comic books are there, all in order just like before. He locks the door behind him. No intruders or emergencies to trespass a sacred farewell.

As the Power Ponies stand in silence, Spike takes something out of his bag: the enchanted comic book, handled more as a relic from a Daring Do novel than simply a rare edition of an upcoming issue.

Spike draws out a long sigh. Flips through the pages slowly, thumbing through each one. The pages show characters who stand before him in reality. His reality, his world. They did away with the disguises, so they stand in their full costumed superhero glory.

The last page, that same blank page with its tiny text there bragging about immersive adventures. Their ticket home.

“So this is it. It’s been a wild ride while you’ve been here. I’m glad I’ve been with you, helped you around.” Puts his claws behind his back. Eyes dart around before they settle on the ponies one last time. “It’s been great knowing you. As in really knowing you, not just reading about you.”

And Mare-velous raises a hoof in good cheer. “Don’t mention it!”

“You were pretty good there too, Spike!”

“We’ll always remember you!”

“Oh yes, we will! We don’t see baby dragons every day!”

“Let’s not mention how you’re quite the interesting character yourself, eh? Would be great to meet you again!”

The buzz of acceptance and joy, but a long sigh and a droop of the shoulders for Spike. Already, something missing in his heart. “That… that would be great you know.”

“What would?” Matter-Horn inquires. By the way she trots closer to him, she knows the answer.

Spike gestures a claw upon them all. “Meeting you all again. Not for some epic adventure or to praise you. Just to chill with you, hang out with you. Catch up with you.”

He shakes his head, a thoughtful claw on his cheek. Bares his teeth in one more smile. “Well, what’s done is done. Don’t let me keep you waiting any longer. I’m more than happy just being with you right here, right now, and through the past few hours… actually, the better part of two days!”

Matter-Horn looks upon the book. She hums, scratches her chin. One last thing to do. The way home.

Her horn glows and she zaps the comic with her rich magic. Too powerful, too hot for even the dragon to hold: drops it like a hot potato, clunks to the ground with a sizzle.

When the magic clears, they look upon it, smoke coming out of the comic book—and Spike yelping before seeing that none of it isn’t singed. Flips through the pages and the cover, both front and back. Nothing scorched, nothing damaged.

Something on the last page. Something different. The text has changed. A careful look into it. Careful! Don’t say it out loud! Holds up a magnifying glass to read without saying anything out loud:

Wouldn’t it be nice to come over once in a while?

He almost drops his magnifying glass. “Are you… Matter-Horn? What did you do?”

Despite her pink hair, a blush manifests on her smile. “Actually, under the right circumstances, it would be good to call in reinforcements from this world if things get really dire on our end. Or if you need help, you could give us a call. Of course, news of us being a real thing would spread like crazy in this world, but risk analysis says it will serve the both of us well if the worse comes to worst.

“However, it’s primarily for one thing: to meet up again. You can hang out with us in our world. We can explain your presence to the others there. Maybe you can bring your friends too if we can get that far and obtain their trust. But for now, it’d be just you going to us… and with advance notice, we can go to your world too.”

Something happy and yellow bubbles within. The page graces his vision. The words it reads again, then back at the Power Ponies with a stupid but genuine grin on stretching his cheeks. “Really?!”

“Really! You could’ve said we did the heavy work, but we couldn’t have done it without your help, Hum Dr—Spike! Spike, I mean.” Another embarrassing blush, but Spike smiles at the name: the Hum Drum of this world. And on the side, Twilight Sparkle, the Masked Matter-Horn of this world.

“Sometime two Saturdays from now?” Spike says, chomping at the bit for next time. “I think I can clear my schedule by then. That’s probably enough time for you to rebuild everything as well.”

“Yeah! We’ll send letters. It can be like that fire delivery thing you did with the amulets.”

“Sure! Want me to test it out?”

With their approval, Spike grabs a scroll with ink and quill on the side, writes a couple words, and gives it to Matter-Horn to send to their world. A spell later, and by the power of the dragon’s comic, a portal opens up. They see scientists in the lab—stumped by the portal’s appearance, saying something but the words are muffled. 

Spike hurls the letter into the portal. After a few seconds, it pops up on the other side and bonks a stallion in the head. They decipher the extra-dimensional words, write something in reply, and the scroll’s thrown back to his world. Unfurled, the new scroll reads: Message received, Power Ponies! Thank you for saving the world once again!

A couple of cheers are had. A couple of farewells, some final hugs here and there. One more hug: a group hug. Tears wet their faces. Tears wet his face: a waterfall of letting go. Doesn’t want to let go. Doesn’t want it to end.

“This isn’t a farewell,” he hears. It’s Matter-Horn, voice hushed and tender. “More like a see you next time. See you soon. Until we meet again, Spike…”

And, in a blur, trying to hold on, forces himself to let go—

The Power Ponies jump back into the portal together.

A delay. The portal lingers for a little while longer. He sees the Power Ponies return home. The return floors them all—these returning saviors! Cheers, applause, praise, more hugs, more tears.

In the excitement, she looks back. Unnoticed by everyone else, Matter-Horn faces the portal with a smile. A smile meant for Spike.

One parting gift sent, the portal closes and the comic snaps shut.





The pancakes taste great.

Spike helps himself to a breakfast of reheated pancakes: a new recipe from Starlight in which she used lemons and pineapple for flavor on top of whipped cream and chocolate syrup drizzles. The result is a tangy but sweet delight.

By his side stands a stack of Power Ponies comics along with Ogres & Oubliettes material. Big Mac said he’d be free for the afternoon since a couple Apple relatives have come over to help with the farm. As for Discord, he’s always been an unknown, but he has a better track record with impromptu sessions than with scheduled meetings.

The fork slips from his claw, and his slice falls back to the plate. Time slows down: something rises from his stomach. Turns away from the pancake, opens his mouth wide.

He burps out fire turning into a letter. The scroll neatly falls to his claws. Has the royal seal, the royal hoofprint of Princess Celestia herself. Trepidation: his claws tremble as he carefully opens the letter.

As expected, it begins with thanks for transporting the dangerous amulets to a safer place (her study room, it turns out). The agents explained their side of the story, but she now wants to hear about the incident from the dragon’s perspective.

He writes back, detailing the story as succinctly as possible before sending it over with a puff of fire.

That done, he returns to his Starlight-made pancakes. Sooner or later, she’ll come back: tell Starlight or not to tell Starlight. At least he has his alibi—visiting his pony friend in Manehattan—but with a curious and inquisitive mare like the student counselor herself, she may see through the facade. Not to mention that the Manehattan press will report on the death of Space Beat eventually.

He bites his lip. Ponyville may be a nice clean town, but thieves can still break in. If they get their grubby hooves on that comic…

He scribbles on another note and tacks it on the kitchen door before heading outside with a pouch teeming with expensive gems. First stop is Sweet Apple Acres to tell Big Mac that he’ll play another time.

Next stop: heavy-duty shopping in Canterlot.





When Starlight returns at sunset, she encounters the kitchen door note. She doesn’t have time to groan since Spike returns moments later with his haul in tow.

A few minutes later Twilight comes home with bags in her eyes and gladness in her heart upon seeing Spike. The princess’s dragon and student then decide to cook dinner together: dinnertime pancakes and waffles, a once-in-a-blue-moon pleasure.

Over dinner, while Spike is away, one of the things they talk about is Spike’s note and his new purchase:

Out to buy a safe. Can’t have anyone steal my rare editions! Yes, I know how to use my money! I’m old enough to know that.

— Spike