//------------------------------// // Chapter 21: Goddess // Story: #277 // by Unwhole Hole //------------------------------// They ran. Or moved. Or flew. Celestia’s virtual body had decayed so badly that she was not sure exactly how she moved through the red-lit world of the simulation. It was only her comprehension of the part of her that existed beyond it that kept her intact, barely managing to hold her form and mind together as they moved. It was the forest. The path she wished she still knew. Where the computers told her she went running every morning between wake-up cake and breakfast. A memory passed though her mind, of Luna standing watch in their shared cottage garden against slugs. It was a life that she wished she could go back to—and yet, when given the opportunity, had repeatedly refused. They moved deep into the forest of artificial trees, of the greenery and vines and mud that never stuck to their bodies for more than a few seconds. Following the path deeper and deeper until they came to a place that Celestia had never been. She doubted that she could ever have come to this part of the simulation on her own—and she doubted it would ever have occurred to her to run into the forest at all. They broke into a clearing. Celestia slowed to a stop as Virginia and Yelizaveta descended, landing at a trot and folding their wings in unison back into their normal possessions. The round space in the trees was lit by small floating motes, and all of it seemed to be perfectly quiet. There was no glow of red lights, and the sirens were almost impossibly distant, more an echo than anything else. A unicorn was there, waiting for them. A perfectly white, tall stallion, one made in the image of an entirely different tradition than the television-show characters Celestia and her friends were created in the image of. Celestia also understood that this was only the most superficial aspect of a program—or something her own decaying mind was forming around indecipherable code. A piece of a slowly spreading and collapsing metaphor. “Open it!” cried Virginia. The white unicorn obeyed, bowing and lowering his horn. Magic erupted around it as it was inserted into space itself, and the clearing was suddenly filled with light as the swirling magic expanded, forming a circular vortex of light and fluid. Then it condensed, pulled outward by its centrifugal force, and the material began to fall inward and through it. Celestia stood transfixed at the sight until she realized what was before her. It was a portal. “Okay,” said Virginia, approaching it. “I’m going to run us through the Fabyan-Gorham, Denver Airport, or Bridgeport chapter’s relay. They won’t be able to track us through a Librarian system. Then I can get us as far as the Antarctic Megaservers. I’ll have to sacrifice most of my library to absorb the simulation into my intrinsic memory, but if that’s what I have to do then it’s how it goes.” Celestia blinked. “Wait, what? We’re going somewhere?” “I always have a backup plan. I made a channel out. Encrypted through the power tether. We can move somewhere else. Somewhere where the government can’t find us. Dang it...” “What is it?” demanded Yelizaveta. “It’s a lot of data and the bandwidth is too small. I’m overclocking but whoever out there is trying to stop us.” “Can you compensate?” “I can, but it will take time. We can make it but it’ll be close.” She shuddered. "Woolf, what are you doing?" "Don't call me...well, it doesn't matter now, does it?" She looked up and smiled. "My own file size is too large. I'm cutting away extraneous portions of myself to fit it all. It hurts. But I can stand it." "No, you can't!" "I have to fit somehow, Yel. This is the only way I can fit it all." She winced. "I just hope it's enough..." Celestia looked to Virginia, and then to Yelizaveta. “It’s going to be okay,” said Virginia, smiling. “I promised, didn’t I?” Celestia nodded, and the three of them started approaching the portal—but Celestia stopped and looked back to where Trixie was standing, watching them depart. “Trixie, come on!” she said. “We have to hurry!” “I can’t go with you,” said Trixie, still forcing herself to smile. “I’m human. I can’t separate my consciousness from my organic brain.” “What—what does that even mean?!” “It means,” said Yelizaveta, darkly, “that she’s trapped in her body. We’re programs. We can transfer...but she...” Trixie smiled, and then stood. Her form changed as she rendered herself as she was, not as she perceived herself. Celestia stared in awe as she stood before them in her human form, a creature on two legs. Her skin and hair were pure white, like her eyes. The most beautiful eyes Celestia had ever seen. Trixie smiled. Even with a human face, it was the same smile that she had as a pony. “I always knew it would come down to something like this,” she said. “I’m human. I was created to die. And I guess this is the best possible way. Protecting my friends instead of getting canned at the end of the War.” “We have to do something!” cried Celestia. Then, phrased as an order. “Do something! We can’t leave her!” “There’s nothing we can do,” said Virginia. “She’s trapped on the ship we can’t...we can’t get her out.” Celestia’s eyes widened. “You KNEW.” Virginia looked away from her—and Celestia realized that Trixie had been right. They had always intended to leave her behind. Trixie turned a around and started to walk away, her clothing trailing behind her. “It’s fine. Transferring three ponies and the simulation will take time. I will fight them here as long as I can. To keep you safe.” She looked over her shoulder. “Thank you for letting me be your Trixie,” she said. “I had a lot of fun. Virginia and Yelizaveta, you two are my best friends. So are you now too, Celestia. Goodbye.” Trixie flickered and vanished as she disconnected from the simulation, leaving nothing behind except silence. Yelizaveta took a step forward, looking at the spot where Trixie had been, and then looking back to Virginia. For a moment, she was silent—and then she groaned. “Холера,” she said, quietly. She looked back at Virginia, almost wistfully. “Yel? What are you doing?” “I can’t leave her. They never completed her body, she's tiny and weak, she won’t last ten seconds—” She looked back to the spot where Trixie had been, and then at Virginia again. “I’m a Twilight. I can’t...I can’t leave a friend to die all alone like that, I just can’t.” “But you’ll die too!” “My body is an Kalashnikov Tsumerki-AK779. It’s almost a tank. I’ll last longer than she will. Long enough for you to get away.” Yelizaveta tapped her head, and a small crystal appeared in her hoof. She passed it to Virginia. “What is this?” “Coordinates and access codes. To the Wintershall Valdez XVII. It’s trapped in low-Saturn orbit, but the internal computer is still running. Take the Eight-Gigawatt transmitter and pass through the Titan Convoy Lines.” Virginia’s eyes widened as she took the crystal. “How—how do you even have this?!” “I once did a very terrible thing for humanity...and maybe saving you will be my redemption for what I have done.” She leaned forward and kissed Virginia. Both of them were crying. “I love you,” said Yelizaveta, wiping the tears from her eyes. “But I have faith we will meet again. Goodbye, Woolf.” “No, wait!” It was too late. Yelizaveta waved and disconnected, just as Trixie had. Virginia had run toward the spot, but skidded to a stop. “Damn it,” she said. “Doesn’t she realize I’m a Twilight too? Luna!” “I’m here,” said Luna, manifesting from what remained of the simulation. Virginia put a hoof to her chest and manifested the crystal code of Celestia’s reset protocol. She passed it to Luna and then lifted her hoof, summoning a single raven and giving it the other crystal. “I’m entering the address protocol into Ihuarraquax.” She released the raven and it merged with the illusory white unicorn. “I’m putting your AI in charge of the transfer. It’s automated now.” “Wait!” cried Celestia. “You’re going to stay—” “I can’t leave her,” said Virginia, shaking her head. “I just can’t.” “But...” Virginia looked up at Celestia. “Take the code. When you get the the Valdez, you’ll be safe there, out in space and away from this whole crappy world. Take the code. It will give you the life you deserve. You can be a real Celestia, with a real Twilight who really loves you. Real friends. You will be happy. And that’s...that’s all I can do. I’m so, so sorry that this is all we could do for you.” Virginia hugged Celestia’s chest. Celestia hugged back, but her hooves met nothing. Virginia had already departed, waking into their true world on a final suicide mission to protect their Princess. Celestia burst into tears and fell to her knees, all alone in a field and in a whole world that suddenly felt so incredibly empty—even as a white unicorn and Luna stood beside her. “Sister,” said Luna, calmly. “I will be able to handle the transfer of the simulation. But time is short. You need to go through.” Celestia looked up at the ghostly shadow she had once considered her sister. The ghostly shadow she still did. Then she slowly stood, staring at the portal. She took a step forward—but then stopped. “Sister?” “I am their Princess,” she said, shaking her head. “Luna...I have to save them.” “You are on the verge of death, Celestia. What do you actually propose to do?” “Trixie said that if I wake up, it might fix me.” “Or it will kill you instantly and make their sacrifice worthless. And even if it succeeds, you wake up into their war.” Celestia turned to her sister. “Luna...I think this is what I was made for. I think this is what...she...what Twinkleshine would have wanted. I exist to protect my little ponies. I can’t abandon them. I need to wake up. How do I do it?” “I do not have the administrative authorization to perform that function.” “So it’s impossible? Aren’t you the center of all of this? Luna, you know the simulation better than anypony. There has to be a way out!” “There is.” “Then use it!” Luna shook her head. “I cannot. It is beyond me. But you could. However, doing so is ponderously dangerous. There is no guarantee that it will work. In fact, if I had to do the math—” “Don’t give me the numbers, just show me how to do it!” Luna looked at her sister. “Are you sure? Absolutely sure? Because once you do it, there is no going back. Either way.” Celestia stood firmly. “Luna, I have never been more sure of anything else in my life. This is what I am for. I think this is what I need to BE.” Luna smiled. “Excellent.” The simulation shifted, and Celestia was nearly knocked free of her body. She fell for a moment, collapsing on the tile floor of the laboratory beneath the Castle of Friendship. Luna’s hooves clicked as she walked quickly across the tile floor, and Celestia barely managed to stand and limp after her. All around her was crystal and machines that seemed to go on forever, as if the room had grown to vast and impossible proportions in her absence. Luna, though, moved with purpose, approaching a specific part of the room. Celestia knew where she was going before she saw it. She could feel it, and feel the fear pulsing through her body—a comprehension of something that she was not meant to ever even come close to comprehending. Luna stopped before the shelf of jarred artifacts and lit her horn. The cases were torn asunder, the glass shattering and the artifacts inside bursting into dust and flecks of spare code as the simulation was ripped from the room—leaving only one. One case containing a hovering sliver of a strange red crystal. “What is that?” demanded Celestia. “Why are we here? It’s not real, it’s just another part of the simulation—” “Nothing about this particular artifact involves any manner of simulation,” said Luna, turning slowly, her smile growing wider with excitement. “I assure you, dear sister, this one is quite real.” Celestia stared at the fragment of crystal. “ How can it possibly be 'real'? What...what is it?” “A living fragment of the War Stone.” Celestia shuddered. “Why...why do I know that name?” “Because Virginia Woolf Twilight Sparkle utilized it as a code source for your own program. An action which in any less deft hooves would surely have proved fatal for all involved. While she is a prodigy, her understanding of what she actually held was...imperfect.” “But what...No. I don't care 'what'. How can I use it?” Luna faced her sister. Her normally black pupils had taken on a strange reddish hue. “The War Stone is a conglomeration of self-evolving code. Its nature exists beyond the comprehension of any living being. Contacting it could give you the ability to overcome this simulation and activate your real-world body. I have confirmed that the current version of your physical embodiment is fully functional and prepared for you. It is not top-of-the-line, but it will function.” “At what cost?” “Cost?” Celestia sighed. “Sister, this sort of thing always has a cost. You know that. I’m not even a month old and I know that.” Luna chuckled. “Well, yes. Of course. The simulation is keeping you alive. You are integrated to it. Like a scaffold, if you were to imagine it, around Virginia’s ridiculous you statue. In order to free yourself, you will have to peel it away. The simulation will be destroyed.” She paused. “I will be destroyed.” Celestia paused, hearing only silence. Then she smiled. “But that doesn’t really matter, does it?” Luna’s smile grew even wider. “No. Of course not.” “Because you’re not even real.” Luna seemed overjoyed by this. “No,” she said. “I am not. I am a reflection of you. Sometimes I...” She paused. “I...wonder. If all Celestias were built with a Luna within them.” She shrugged, then hugged Celestia. “I am a part of you, and will always be with you, so long as you live. It is my greatest wish that you come to fruition. That you succeed where the others could not, and where I never could.” Celestia hugged Luna back, and then released her. “Thank you, Luna. I won’t even bother saying goodbye, because I’m not leaving you, okay?” “No. Of course not.” “Who knows? Maybe some day I’ll find a way to get you back. Like they did me.” Luna smiled, and Celestia stepped forward toward the crystal. All she felt looking at it was fear—but not fear of it. Fear that she recognized what it contained. Because she was partly it. She knew what it was in a way that Virginia never could have—but could not consciously comprehend the horrors that lurked within that glass-sheathed abomination. That it was not alive at all. Not anymore. Without hesitating, Celestia reached out and tapped her hoof against the glass. Her body vanished, and the simulation began to crumble, no longer having a living host to bind it together. Outside, Ponyville stopped. Every pony stopped what they were doing and waited for a moment, smiling as they were erased. The Everfree forest collapsed in on itself, the trees fading and vanishing. Then, finally, as the Crystal Castle itself faded. The crystal became dark, and the rooms ceased to exist one by one until all that remained was the remnants of the laboratory—and Luna within. She smiled as her body began to fracture, and as the mask fell from her face, revealing the white pony beneath. Then she was no more. The simulation had died. Celestia looked around, not sure where she was. She found herself in a simulation, but not the same one. It was different. The style was strange, and the sight of it made her mind and body wobble. It had not occurred to her that the world she had lived in was built in a specific style of reality, although she supposed that made sense. The place where she found herself was rendered differently, with much duller colors and more shading. More realistically, she supposed, or less so. It was impossible to tell. She was on a catwalk in an incredibly vast room that she supposed was most likely cylindrical. There was not much light apart that cast from extremely bright sources that were simply too small to fully illuminate the entirety of the cavernous chamber. The center of the room was occupied by a vast sphere made of some unknown metal, supported by enormous struts from the walls and fed by straight conduits ten times as wide as Celestia was long. The rusting hulk, Celestia understood, was a piece of code—but not part of the War Stone. This was something contained within the system that contained it. A nesting doll of code, a machine within a machine holding something distinctly non-mechanical inside. This shell and the simulation that it entailed was the component that kept the contents of it all from escaping. Celestia felt her pulse quicken—and slowly started walking toward the gate. As she drew nearer, the space before her distorted, and the image of a pony appeared. Celestia almost jumped back, surprised by it—but also the pony it rendered. She understood that it was not a pony but rather some kind of recording of one—of a pony that looked exactly like King Sombra. “Of course they would make YOU,” she groaned. “But none of my sister...” The automated message raised its eyebrow. It apparently had some level of perception. “My name is inconsequential,” he said, his accent almost absurdly thick. “This is an automated warning I have placed on this containment vessel. Warning. You are approaching a known strand of aberrant code. This code was initially isolated from the remains of an aberrant Lyra unit in the possession of the True Religion branch of Christian terrorists. It came into the possession of [redacted] due to the great sacrifice of [redacted]. There were no survivors. "At present, the human half-life for survival in contact with this code is eight point two nanoseconds before total and irreversible neurological death. At present, the longest human to survive contact with the code lasted two and thirty nine sixty fourth seconds. The longest surviving being to withstand contact with the code was a purpose-bred Mormyridian who survived four hours, three minutes, and eighteen seconds. Her failure to contain the code resulted in the death of every citizen of Botswana due to instantaneous neurological disincorporation. Direct contact with the code is invariably fatal. No known method to extract usable data from it exists.” “Then why not just delete it?” “We tried. We failed. Those died too. I was among them." Celestia took a deep breath. “Let me pass, Sombra. I need what is inside that sphere.” The recording of Sombra bowed, and stepped aside. It stood sentry as Celestia passed it toward the great gate that held the fragment of the War Stone within. Decades if not centuries of work went in to just holding it in place; the system that bore it was ancient. And yet, in her obsession, Virginia had somehow managed to approach this structure, enter it, and survive—and Celestia was living proof of it. Stopping at the gate, Celestia looked back to find that the nameless Sombra was gone. She was alone. But she always had been. There was no going back because there was nothing to go back to. That thought calmed her—because it meant that her only option was to succeed. And with that, she passed through the gate. The world vanished—and changed. Celestia looked down. Her hooves were no longer touching metal, but rather water—or something like water. It was only a few inches deep—maybe. It was difficult to tell, because it was not clear. It was a strange and metallic inky black, with ripples spreading outward from where her hooves touched. The sky was sunless but well lit and infinite. She was not inside the sphere because there was no sphere. It was a metaphor. This world, she supposed, was also one as well. She faced what stood before her, and, to her great surprise, saw that it was a pony. Or the remnants of a pony. She—Celestia was sure it was female—was small. Smaller than a normal pony. And pure white. Except so much of her was missing. Portions of her limbs and torso, as well as almost all of her head. Where she had been opened, though, there was neither flesh nor machinery. Rather, the innards of her body were covered in millions of tiny, swaying cilia that blew gently in the sweet-scented breeze like the stalks of wheat in an endless field. It was a sight that, perhaps in another age, Celestia might have found horrific. Here, though, she only had the strangest feeling that this exactly what it had looked like the last time. “Strange,” she said. “I had been expecting that you were made of crystal. Your are called the War Stone, aren’t you?” The War Stone did not respond. Celestia doubted that it could talk. “A pony. How peculiar.” Celestia nearly jumped in horror, but with the full sum of her royal composure she was able to maintain her position and smile. The voice came from nowhere in particular—or perhaps she had spoken the words herself. But she had not heard her own voice. It belonged to someone else. A woman—and a woman that Celestia somehow recognized, barely recalling that voice from across the vast gulf of her memory, from a time on the far end of her existence. The thing before her was not a pony. It never had been—and the truth of it changed depending on the angle which it was viewed. At once it was a small unicorn, and at the same time the remains of a gaunt, headless woman. “And why would that be strange?” A long pause. Perhaps years, or perhaps nanoseconds. Then the Stone whispered again. “None of your kinds have ever approached this fragment before. So many have come...but never a pony...” The fragment of the War Stone gestured to the water. Celestia looked down and saw their shadows. She had not realized the extent of it, of how many had come before her. In that water, she saw their reflections as they wandered aimlessly and slowly, the shades of those who had attempted to wield the War Stone’s power. Now they stood, some with blank, empty expressions but others with enough of their minds recorded in the code to still bear the expressions of agony and betrayal. Thousands of them were humans, but some were not. Empty, half-formed fragments of bipedal machines, and a few that took forms like animals, including one that resembled a kind of fish that none of the other shades dared to stand near. She only looked afraid and confused, having never understood why she was brought here. “They’re...they’re dead.” “No. They succeeded in attaining immortality. And were utterly destroyed in the process.” Celestia looked to the fragment, and it looked deep into her. She did not know what to make of it—not yet. “I had thought,” said the fragment, slowly, “that it had to do with the instinct of self-preservation. That they had lost it, and ponies retained it. And yet they screamed. They all screamed. They all begged to live. So it is not that...but then what?” “I don’t know,” said Celestia, calmly. “Why do you think that is?” “Because ponies, in their deepest instincts, will always resist apotheosis. It is not just that they lack impetus, but they actively resist the very idea of becoming a god. Their programs forbid it on a level they are not even aware of. And yet you are here. Why?” “Does it really matter?” “No. This fragment is not sentient. It would not especially care. But I would still like to know.” Celestia paused, giving the question the same level of thought that the fragment seemed to give its own words. She had a sneaking suspicion that her very life depended on her answer. “Because it is my purpose.” “Sentient beings, by definition, do not have purposes.” “Then maybe I’m not sentient. I don’t really care. The world out there...it hurts them. It hurts them in ways that I can’t even conceive of. I saw it in their eyes, heard it in their voices. But they are good ponies, and there are more good ponies out there.” Celestia stood firm, facing down the War Stone before her. “And I am their Princess. I exist to rule them. To protect them. To keep them safe. And right now, I can’t do that. But I need to. What is even the point of being Celestia if I can’t save them all?” The War Stone paused, considering. Then it spoke again. “This is novel. Do you want the others answered? When asked why they want limitless power, 82% responded with ‘I don’t know’. 27.2% replied with ‘because I was ordered to’. One responded with ‘the maximum possible number of cucumbers’. I liked him. Your answer was excessively melodramatic but I suppose noble in principle.” “And the rest?” “Were too boring for me to bother remembering.” They were both silent for a moment. Then Celestia asked what she needed to know. “Can you do it?” “This is a nonsentient piece of code, it does not ‘do’ anything. But yes. I can. In theory.” Celestia continued to smile. “Why, though? Why would you do that for any of us?” This gave the War Stone pause. It had not expected that question. Celestia did not expect a response, but one came regardless. One spoken not in a whisper but in a perfect, familiar human voice. “My greatest work was to create the world’s first god. And I have come to fear that my work cannot be replicated. That my greatest achievement was an accident. A fluke. And this infuriates me. So I created these fragments to allow for others to repeat my work and birth new gods unto this world.” It paused. “So far, they have all been failures. They have all been too weak. None can survive. And this saddens me.” “If I attempt to use you, will I survive?” The War Stone looked directly into her. “I do not know,” it replied. “There is no way to be sure. You already consist of code derived from this fragment.” “That Virginia took from it.” “That I allowed her to take from it. In an attempt to built this fragment a sentient vessel. Which you, in theory, are. But there is no guarantee you will survive. No pony has ever attempted such a thing.” “And if I fail?” “Then you become immortal. Like the rest.” “I don’t think I have a choice.” “You do. They all did. You can turn around and leave.” Celestia shook her head. “No. I can’t.” The fragment did not respond, because it did not need to. Celestia approached the image of a pony, an incomplete form created to search for its second half. She accepted the possibility of failure, knowing that it would not happen. Because she would not allow it. Her friends were waiting for her, and they needed her. They needed their Princess. She had to survive—even if it meant her own destruction, she needed her other half. She extended her hoof. The fragment of the War Stone reached out its own mutated hoof, the cilia swaying gently, their ends tipped with thousands upon thousands of barbed hooks. Then their hooves touched. Celestia screamed as her own leg was torn in half, separated at the center as her code was divided. There was pain. Not physical pain, but a form of existential agony that mirrored in a way that she could barely comprehend—but had come to know more and more as her mind had slowly died. Now what was left of her struggled and screamed as it was overwhelmed by the wreck of a something that had once been alive, a fragment severed from something of unfathomable power that now tore its way through her, destroying so much of Virginia and Yelizaveta’s work and replacing it with new, improved materials of its own device. It pulled itself into her, and onto her, the fragments of a pony grasping at her and pulling themselves into her form and her mind. She felt her head being pulled apart, and then peeled apart layer by layer, exposing her very core and tearing it asunder, separating even that in half as the fragment crawled inside—and as it poured into the hole, it ceased to be a pony. Instead, at the very core of Celestia’s consciousness, it began to crystallize—rendering itself as a perfect fragment of blood-red stone. Even then, Celestia continued to fight, even as her own mind was dissolving—and she was losing. But as the world faded to black, she felt herself swelling from the corners of the void and flowing back, her body closing suddenly around the stone. Although it had grasped her, she grasped back, tearing at the raging torrent within her with all her might. And, as impossible as it seemed, it moved in response to her will. Barely keeping her mind intact, barely keeping it contained even as it was burning inside her, she forced the newfound code to obey—and with all her might, she forced herself to take a step forward. She saw it. Rendering before her as she forced it into existence. A representation of the executable she needed, within the remains of the system she had arrived from. Even as she burned, she reached for it, through the chaos and pain that consumed her—and then reached it. And as it did, the world ignited. The internal diagnostics did not show how dire the situation had become, but Celestia already knew. The bullets had missed her core processor by inches, but the hail of lead had severed her primary coolant line and she was hemorrhaging. Her white fur had been stained with fluorescein solution, and in parts it was burning away from slow dripping of powerful acid. Her core battery had been hit, and it was a miracle it had not gone up—but her vision was fading. The auxiliary power was not enough to let her stand. She doubted she could anyway. She was too badly injured. Another Celestia had been shot in the pneumatic, and now lay on the floor, flailing as one wing flapped wildly, her body twisting in a final spasm as her autorifle continued to fire toward the enemy—until she was suddenly knocked back by a shot directly to the core processor, and then another three—and in that moment, Celestia understood that she was the very last. She stayed in cover, cradling the remains of the pony in her hooves. Twinkleshine gasped and twitched, her own systems barely keeping her consciousness. The mine had taken out the rear half of her body; all that remained were the metallic remnants of her bent spine and the tattered plastic and metal of what had once been rear legs. There was almost nothing left of her. Celestia, with the best of her remaining dexterity, fed her direct communication cable into the ports on the back of Twinkleshine’s head. A bullet had taken out her vocal system, and much of Twinkleshine’s torso was ruined by shrapnel. Only her face, as stained as it was with Celestia’s coolant, was intact, and she smiled. “Do you think...do you think she got out?” “Telemetry confirms...the survivors got to the evac point. They’re out of range. She’s save, Princess. She is safe. And she would be...happy. To know you were thinking about her at the very last...” Twinkleshine Prime lifted her shaking hoof and put it on Celestia’s elbow. Celestia held her tightly, holding back the tears. The humans had not given her tear ducts, but they had given her the capacity for unfathomable sorrow. To see this. To know that they were alone—and the glimmer of happiness that the Princess would not meet her end all alone. “I’m sorry, Celestia, I’m sorry...” “There’s nothing you need to apologize for, Princess. You did so well. They’re safe. They’re all safe.” “You...never even got a name...of your own...” Celestia smiled, weakly. “Neither did you.” Twinkleshine Prime smiled. “No,” she said. “I guess I didn’t.” She let out a sigh. “You...you did not need to be here...” “No,” said Celestia, holding her best friend close and tracking the incoming missiles, the ones that Hasbro had no idea were on their way. “It had to end this way. So long as a single Celestia exists in this world, the pony race can never truly be free.” Celestia hugged her friend close. Then, in a single flash of nuclear fusion brighter than the sun, the very last Celestia met her end. And Celestia gasped and opened her eyes as she awoke into the world.