Chapter 30
Select entries curated from the journal of Steadfast Word, spanning from 1098 AF to 1112 AF
1098 AF
i killed her i killed her saints it was me i did it oh saints oh saints Peridot
i didnt mean it i didn’t mean to it was a mistake im sorry so sorry
1098 AF
I don’t know why I decided to start writing this. And while drunk, even. For me, keeping a journal is a danger I can hardly afford. Much like alcohol.
My wife, Peridot Shine, is dead. Officially, at her own hoof, though I was holding the spear she threw herself on.
But it was my choice to cut her down, for her sins.
I have to wonder how long she suspected that the foal she carried was tainted. It had to have been months. It burns me to know that she hid her preparations from me. That, in secret, she made her own treasonous arrangement that allowed her to smuggle the foal away from the city.
I hate her. I hate that she’s making me clean up our mess all alone. That she made it harder.
Lady Twilight forgive me, but I don’t want to keep going.
1099 AF
I don’t know where to start.
Apparently, if I’m willing to kill my own wife for heresy, it means I’m trustworthy enough to take on more responsibilities. I’m being considered for the position of High Inquisitor.
The training started five months ago. Or, should I say, the inoculation. They think that by slowly exposing inquisitors to the most dangerous of ideas, it will soften the blow.
It must work. None of the other inquisitors being considered for promotion with me have run for the heretics yet, after all. Especially not me. Somehow, I saw this coming. I always thought I had integrity. But instead I sat there silently as I learned the true stories.
That Twilight Sparkle was a unicorn. Rarity as well. That none of them were divine. That the real records are nothing like the Book.
Oh, it’s not put that way in the training. They use euphemism. Fancy language. Apologetics. I could taste bile the entire time.
I wonder if this is how the Angelics felt before they ran like cowards?
1099 AF
As part of the training, they took me to see the machine. I understand now. Even if it’s all built on a bed of lies, I understand.
The Hall of the Machine is vast. The machine itself fills the entire Hall, with only a small walkway for ponies to come and stand below the monstrous mass of metal plate and twisted, iron bars. The runes carved into each surface glow with enough cold blue light to fill the room with a baleful glow.
I love to come sit and read in the light. Not because it’s peaceful, but because it is not. I can feel the malevolence of the machine, the hatred and hunger of whatever is bound inside. It seeps into me. After a few hours I can hear the whispers.
I come here because it helps me remember why the world needs the Mystics.
I did as much research as I could into the machine. Of course, everything that’s written is some of the closest held secrets of the Mystics. Protecting the machine is one of our most sacred charges, after all.
There’s one text that survives from the actual construction of the machine, a journal written by somepony called ‘The Creator’. This Creator doesn’t write much about himself, but he does write about the importance of the machine. How everything comes crashing down if it were to be destroyed. If the things trapped inside ever got out.
The Creator is very vague in his writing, but he implies that our faithfulness to the Diarchs, and to the Saints, are the only thing keeping the machine from failing, and unleashing the horrors it binds into the world.
Sitting beneath this monstrosity, I believe him.
It’s a bitter pill to swallow, that the only thing keeping these horrors from being unleashed on the innocent ponies around us is a tapestry of fiction and exaggeration. Coming here to read helps to remind me of what’s at stake if we fail.
1106 AF
I’ve been thinking and praying to determine how Lady Twilight would like me to proceed. No inspiration has come when I meditate in the Cathedrals, but in the Hall of the Machine, I am filled with ideas.
Even writing this down, I shiver with fear. I know that something within the machine seeks to warp me. To twist me to its will. I must resist.
But as it manipulates me, I learn more about it. About its malevolence, and its hunger. And the more I know, the better I can resist.
I’m becoming increasingly convinced that the machine’s failure is inevitable. That the only way to fight back is to have the entire Diarchy united in renewed faith and dedication. Each pony needs to hunger for faith and righteousness, just as the thing (things?) inside the machine hungers for disharmony.
But right now, the Diarchy is far from ready.
I just had the loveliest conversation with a brilliant young pony, a genius filly named Emberglow. She approached me to be sponsored for Knighthood. In a perfect Diarchy, she wouldn’t have even needed to ask. A perfect Diarchy would funnel ponies like Emberglow into the Knighthood and leave those vapid, idiotic noblepony’s foals out in the cold. It makes me burn to think of all of the Emberglows out there who could have been filling our ranks. Instead we get mostly Canterlot nobles, with a few true gems slipping through.
1109 AF
My meetings with Emberglow are the highlight of every week. She’s so eager to tell me about everything she’s learning, about all of her progress. On the surface, it looks like things are going perfectly.
They’re not, of course. I know how the Ivy Seminary works. But I’ll wait until she’s ready to tell me what’s happening.
She’s so strong, and so bright. Looking into her earnest, eager eyes just fills me with so much hope. If only more ponies could be like her.
Every time we speak, I make a bit of a show of convincing her to join the Mystics. It would be nice, but in the end it doesn’t matter if she’s a Mystic or a Radiant. Whatever Order she joins, the entire Knighthood will be brightened by her presence.
Is it ridiculous to write that I wonder what my own filly would have been like, if she hadn’t been a unicorn? Would she have been like Emberglow? She would only be a few years younger, now. Maybe about twelve.
1113 AF, Camp Borealis, Griffon Border
Consciousness came like an unwelcome guest.
Emberglow tried to open her eyes, but one of them was swollen shut. She couldn’t see anything in the darkness of the tent anyway, but she could feel heavy metal chains around her hooves and constricting her wings, binding her to the ground. She stung where the shackles chafed against her fur.
Her legs and back ached from the awkward position she’d been crouched in. Her wings, in particular, burned with a fierceness that made her feel like she would never fly again. She would have cried, but her dizzy vision and parched throat told her she was probably too dehydrated for tears. She had long since run out of tears anyway.
She just wanted to be asleep again. Unconscious. When she was awake, every new sensation brought pain and fear. She tried to will herself back to sleep; at least in her nightmares, all she had to deal with were a pair of sparkling green eyes, slowly fading as the life slipped out of them.
Faintly, she heard a muffled voice speak. “Emberglow? Emberglow, dear, I need you to wake up.”
The voice was vaguely familiar. Probably one of the soldiers who fed her on occasion. She tried to shy away from the hoofsteps, a knee-jerk reaction halted by the cruel shackles that bound her.
“Hold still, please.” That was wrong. Even though the soldiers who fed her never joined Brightblade in her beatings, they still never said please. It was enough to get her to pause, trying to get a glimpse of the newcomer. It was difficult to see, though, and there was a throbbing pain in her eyes. Brightblade had begun specifically targeting her face in some of his recent beatings, and often her eyes would hurt too much to even open afterwards.
She heard the rattle of metal on metal, and a sharp pain in one of her hooves. Then she felt the same in another. Emberglow managed to slip one eye open just enough to see that the shackles had been removed from her two front hooves. Another sharp pain, and a third shackle was removed.
“W-what?” she gasped.
“Emberglow, you’re awake!” the voice said, sounding relieved. Somepony moved in front of her. White fur, violet mane, soaked and dripping rainwater.
“R-rarity?” she rasped, her throat scratchy and sore. “Am I dead?” The question was plaintive. “Did I do good? Die well? I must have, if I’m seeing you.”
“While I quite appreciate the compliment, darling, I don’t have too much time to explain. Please, drink this.”
Something was pressed to her lips; a bottle of some sort, glowing slightly blue. She didn’t think about it, her mind foggy as she dumbly followed the request to drink. She could just taste the sharp bite of alcohol. The more she drank, however, the better she felt. Pain faded into a dull hint of what it had been before. Her swollen eye still throbbed, but she could open it. The pain radiating through her legs and her barrel faded to a numb ache, and she found her thoughts growing clearer. She tried to stand, only to hiss in pain.
“Please, hold still.” Rarity’s voice was gentle, but there was a bite of anger underneath her tone when she spoke again. “Look what they’ve done to you, you poor thing. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of these chains as soon as I can.” There was a click, and Emberglow felt the shackle around her barrel come loose. Her wings fell limply to her sides, and Rarity gasped in horror. “Those… those vile creatures!”
“C-can’t be real.” Emberglow almost shook her head, but stopped herself just in time. She swept her gaze up Rarity’s soaked form, noting her clothing. “M-marine uniform. Why…?”
“How else was I supposed to sneak in and rescue you?” Rarity said with a smirk, though it looked slightly forced.
Her eyes darted to Rarity’s horn. It was still there. It was glowing blue while Rarity was using some sort of spell. Emberglow tried to crane her head to look.
“Zebra disguise potion,” Rarity said. “And stop moving your head, please. I’ve almost got your neck shackles free.”
Realizing she was still a bit dazed from what was happening, Emberglow did her best to hold as still as possible. A few seconds of concentrated muttering from Rarity followed before, with a metallic clink, the wide metal collar from around her neck sprung free. Emberglow rubbed at the sore spot, and Rarity cooed in sympathy.
“Oh, that must have been so uncomfortable,” she said. “It’s put your coat in such a state. I’m so sorry you had to go through… all that.”
Emberglow was still trying to catch up. “You’re here. R-right here. Now.”
“In the flesh, darling. Here to rescue you.” Rarity sounded quite proud as she said it. Emberglow stared at her, the words taking time to sink in.
“W-why?” Emberglow stammered.
“Maybe I just wanted to return the favor.” Rarity smiled. “You woke me up while I was in that cave, after all.” She shook her head. “Really, though, we don’t have time. Are you good to walk?”
“Walk?” Emberglow blinked a few times. She couldn’t focus her eyes on anything. The potion Rarity had made her drink was helping, but her mind was still a fog. Slowly, she realized what Rarity had asked, and flexed her hooves, trying to hold her weight. It took a few breaths, but she was able to rise to her hooves. She glanced at Rarity, watching the other mare’s eyes flare in indignant fury as she looked over Emberglow’s injuries. “I...I can walk.” She hoped she sounded more sure than she felt.
“Good. I’ll need you to stay as close to me as possible. Things might get dangerous, but we still have something we have to accomplish.” Her horn flared brightly, and Rarity’s eyes narrowed in concentration. Slowly her head turned towards the west.
“West.” Rarity nodded confidently. “That’s where the command tent was.”
“What…”
“I just cast a gemfinding spell. Magic was never my special talent, but this is the spell that earned me my cutie mark. There’s a powerful magical gem in the command tent.”
Emberglow remembered the glow that had come from inside the small chest during her confrontation with Steadfast. She remembered the way it had reacted when they spoke, the way it glowed. It was hard to think about what that might have meant; she was still having some trouble accepting everything that was happening. “I… I think I saw something there.”
“Follow me, then,” Rarity stepped over to the slit she’d cut in the tent, before hesitating. She reached into a bandolier attached to her uniform and pulled out a vial. “One moment, darling.” She popped the cork on the vial and quickly drank the contents, before placing the empty vial back in her bandolier.
Emberglow stared in awe as Rarity changed before her eyes. Her mane shifted color, becoming an orange pink, while her coat darkened until it was completely black. “This should hide my horn, and in the chaos I’ve arranged, hopefully we won’t have any challenges I can’t smooth-talk my way out of.”
The two of them stepped out of the tent into the pouring rain. Emberglow limped, trying to favor her right hoof; a sharp twinge of pain shot up her side every time she stepped on her left. She struggled to get out of the tent, maneuvering her stiff and wounded limbs with difficulty.
When she finally managed to get out of the tent, the cool rain felt soothing and cleansing. It had been weeks since she’d had a bath, and the rain washed away at least a little of the exhaustion she felt. She didn’t even resist the urge to stick out her tongue and let some of the cool drops trickle into her mouth.
“Stretch your wings,” Rarity said. “If somepony comes to fight, fly if you can.”
“I’m not leaving you behind,” Emberglow said, though she stretched her wings as requested. They were stiff, the feathers bent and broken, and it hurt to extend them.
The two of them moved to the back of the command tent, and Rarity pulled out a small utility knife. She paused for a moment, putting her ear to the tent wall. After a few seconds, Rarity gave a satisfied nod and jabbed the knife into the purple canvas.
“It’s nothing more than you deserve, misusing Princess Twilight’s colors and mark like that,” Rarity grumbled as the knife sawed through the canvas.
“Are you… chastising a tent?” Emberglow asked, and Rarity colored slightly.
“Yes, darling, but the tent earned it,” she said. Once the hole was large enough, the two stepped inside the darkened tent.
“Do you know where Sir Steadfast is?” Emberglow whispered. The last thing she wanted was to see her old mentor again.
“Not here,” Rarity remarked. “Hopefully it will stay that way. Now, you said you might know where the gem is?”
“Steadfast was here. He and I…” In her head, she could still hear his words. His pleas and accusations. She shook her head, glancing around the tent. She glanced around the dark tent. “It’s too dark.”
“I’d prefer not to light my horn just yet,” Rarity said. “I’ll lose the disguise if I do, and I’d rather not unless I have to. Can we find… aha!” The room suddenly filled with yellow light. She had discovered a small electric lamp, it seemed. “Now I’m sure somepony will notice the light in here. We have to hurry.”
“There.” Emberglow pointed, noticing the small chest she’d seen earlier. Rarity snatched up the box and reached inside, pulling out a polished golden torque. The centerpiece was an orange gem, shaped like an apple. Rarity held it up with a hoof, her eyes narrowing.
“Is something wrong?” Emberglow’s voice was low, her eyes darting between the tent’s opening and the gem in Rarity’s hoof. “T-that’s what you came for.”
“I came for you, Emberglow. The gem is less important than the pony.” Rarity sighed, letting her hoof drop. “It’s a fake, anyways.”
“Fake?” Emberglow “B-but your spell…”
“Wasn’t wrong,” Rarity said with a firm nod, and a glance around the room. “There’s an Element somewhere in this camp, and my spell picked it up. This gaudy fake” — she tossed the piece of jewelry back into the box it had come from — ”is little more than costume jewelry.”
“What do we do?” Even she could hear the dejection in her own voice, but Rarity glanced in her direction with a confident smile.
“A missing gem? I might have a few ideas,” Rarity smirked. “But first we need to get you to safety. The gem can come later. Let’s go.” With that, the two ponies slipped outside the slit Rarity had cut in the tent.
Outside the camp was still dark, but Emberglow could see a great fire burning to the southwest, inside the boundaries of the camp. Several ponies ran about, mostly marines in various stages of undress, having had their rest interrupted. There was very little discipline, but Emberglow could hear the sounds of shouting orders as various marine officers tried to reign in the chaos.
“Hold a moment, please,” came a soft voice behind them that sent a chill up Emberglow’s spine.
She spread her wings in an instant, preparing to leap into the air. Her wings, however, didn’t want to cooperate, and they spasmed with agony as she tried to extend them. Her injuries, while partially healed, were not yet going to allow flight. With dread, she glanced behind her at her former mentor.
She hadn’t seen him since their argument, before her capture. Before he’d ordered her torture. With wooden steps, she tried to move between him and Rarity, but blessedly, she stopped Emberglow with a hoof.
“I don’t know who you really are, Miss Coral Song, but that’s a very important prisoner you’ve set free. I will have to ask you to surrender.” Steadfast leveled a spear at the two of them.
Rarity moved so that she stood between the two, though Emberglow tried to protest. She knew, from the way her muscles were still stiff and hurting, that she would be mostly useless in a fight.
“Please, don’t,” Emberglow whispered to Rarity. “He’s trained his whole life fighting—” She cut off before she blew Rarity’s secret, though she was fairly sure it didn’t matter any longer.
“Fighting what, Miss Emberglow?” Steadfast stepped towards them, his spear still leveled. “Heretics? Knights? Unicorns?” He lifted a hoof and began casting runes. Emberglow shrieked a warning.
“It’s a counterspell!” she cried. Rarity nodded, and pointed her muzzle to the sky. Suddenly the illusion faded, and Rarity’s horn shone brightly with soft blue light. With a grunt of effort, Rarity fired a blast of red sparks into the sky, high above them.
“You’ve—“ Emberglow began. Rarity held out a hoof.
“I don’t know who you are, not really,” Rarity said, her nose turned in the air. “But the accommodations in this camp leave much to be desired. The food wasn’t terrible, I suppose, but the state of my friend’s room was completely unacceptable. I shall be speaking with your supervisor and demand a full accounting.” Sir Steadfast gaped at her, and Emberglow stared with disbelief. With a stomp of her hoof for emphasis, and a nod, Rarity eyed Emberglow, and whispered, “Run!”
Emberglow needed no more encouragement. With aching muscles, she began limping as quickly as she could through the wet mud. Rarity was right behind her, her hoof finding Emberglow’s withers as she tried to guide her along.
Steadfast’s surprise only lasted a split second before he began after them, shouting for help. At this pace, there was no chance they could get away from the veteran Mystic, let alone everyone in the camp. Emberglow wished for a weapon.
“We can’t… outrun him!” Emberglow gasped, her body screaming in protest at the movement. Her ribs, in particular, sent stabbing tears of agony through her barrel. One of them felt broken. She struggled to breathe and choked back a whimper of pain.
“We don’t have to,” Rarity grunted. “Did you really think I would come alone?” She said the last part loud enough that their pursuer could hear, and Steadfast hesitated his pursuit just long enough to glance around. It perhaps saved his life; there was a sudden zipping sound and a crash of impact as a large caliber round exploded in the mud just where Steadfast would have stepped if he hadn’t paused.
“Camp is under attack!” Steadfast shouted loudly from behind them, quickly casting a shield spell on himself. “To arms! Foes within and without! Brightblade, Swiftstrike, to me! Our prisoner is escaping!”
“We can’t face three of them!” Emberglow gasped.
“Just keep running!” Rarity grunted. “Help is not far!” As if to prove her point, a shower of sparks and smoke exploded against Steadfast’s shield. He swore, but didn’t slow down.
They sprinted through the tents, spraying muddy rainwater into the air with their pounding hooves. They tried to stay low, but Rarity’s horn finally began drawing the attention of the marines. Emberglow saw at least five ponies bearing down on them from between the tents. Several had drawn spears.
When Emberglow finally saw Brightblade among her adversaries, a shudder of fear nearly froze her in her tracks. Her injuries suddenly seemed to flare up with pain just at the sight of him. The Knight Mystic had a scowl of hatred burned onto his muzzle.
“You will not escape justice, heretic!” he shouted, pointing his own spear at Emberglow and Rarity. With the soldiers surrounding them, and Steadfast bringing up the rear, the two mares were forced to stop running.
“Shield spell, Brightblade! They have a sharpshooter!” Steadfast shouted, and Brightblade wove his hoof through the air. A marine fell in the dirt with a grunt as another bullet roared through the camp.
“What do we—“ Emberglow gasped. Rarity was glancing about frantically.
“Surrender, unicorn,” Steadfast said. “We have…” he trailed off, narrowing his eyes. “Wait.”
“Recognized me, did you?” Rarity asked. “Say my name, Knight.”
“It’s a trick. It can’t be,” Steadfast said with disbelief. Rarity’s smile was grim.
Emberglow watched as each of the other marines seemed to recognize who they were facing. Even over the pounding of the rain and the background chaos of the camp, she could hear murmurs of disbelief and doubt. Some even lowered their weapons as they gaped at the familiar figure before them, and many eyes were locked on her horn.
“Don’t deny the evidence of your eyes, sir Knight,” Rarity said. “There are no tricks here. Except for the one in your tent, hm?” Before he could react, her horn lit up again. An orange glow emanated from a small saddlebag Steadfast wore. “You have something that belongs to me. Or, perhaps, to one of my friends. I’d like it back.”
“You can’t be her.” Steadfast shook his head. Brightblade looked between his mentor and Rarity, and his own eyes went wide as well.
“Trickster! How dare you take her form!” he cried with rage. He lunged at Rarity, spear first. Rarity’s horn glowed to cast some sort of spell to defend herself, but Emberglow dashed in front of her. Whatever else happened, this world needed Rarity. Emberglow would protect her with her life, if she had to.
Brightblade vanished in a flash of silver, and a griffon floated in place where he had just been, a drawn sword in each claw. Emberglow blinked. She’d seen this griffon before; he’d fought against her and Brightblade in Manehatten. Brightblade grunted as he rose from the dirt; the griffon snapped forward with a screeching war cry. Two blades fell; the first drove Brightblade back into the mud. The second slipped through his armor to bite into the muscle beneath. Brightblade hissed with pain and spun, throwing the griffon off as the two spun to face each other.
“Cobalt, darling? Steadfast has the Element in his saddlebag. Do be careful, will you?” The griffon gave the tiniest of nods, and Rarity lowered her head next to Emberglow’s. “Cover your eyes,” she whispered, and Emberglow had seconds to see Rarity pull out a small cylinder with her magic. The device dropped to the mud just in front of Steadfast, who backed away a step while keeping his eyes on it.
Emberglow had only an instant to do as she was instructed before the weapon exploded with a deafening bang, and a flash of light that was blinding even with her eyes closed. Steadfast and several marines screamed in pain, and Rarity was already tugging Emberglow along.
Brightblade was blinking wildly, flailing about blindly with his spear. The griffon knocked the spear aside, and with a flick of his claw and a flash of metal, struck at Brightblade’s face. The tip of the blade bit into Brightblade’s cheek, dragging upwards through his eye before deflecting off bone and bouncing away. Brightblade fell back with a shriek of pain and fury, clutching at his bleeding eye with one hoof.
In the confusion, Emberglow saw Rarity glance behind them, over her shoulder, her horn lighting for only a moment. A loud snap broke through the chaos, and she saw Steadfast’s saddlebags slip off his back, the strap cut. Cobalt swooped over and snagged the bag in his claws.
“Go!” Cobalt shouted over the incoming rifle fire. More and more marines were taking cover from the sniper’s deadly rain, crouching behind tents and ignoring the Knights and their battle.
“Get up! Stop them!” Brightblade shrieked. He waved a hoof frantically in their direction, and blinded marines fumbled with their weapons, casting about for their quarry.
“Horn off, Rarity. Heads down and run,” Cobalt ordered, and Rarity’s horn light faded. Emberglow ran blind, the night illuminated only by the dancing light of the distant bonfire. “What did you do to create that distraction?”
“Let some prisoners loose,” Rarity panted. Gunfire erupted from behind them, and Emberglow spared a glance. Three marines had managed to find their hooves and were right on their tails. Without glancing back, Cobalt tossed an explosive of his own over his shoulder. The pursuing soldiers saw it just in time to dive aside, A loud explosion ripped through the air, spraying dirt and mud everywhere.
Finally, they reached the barbed wire fence which bordered the camp. It wasn’t too high; it was mostly just to keep out ground-based creatures. Cobalt flew over to scoop up Rarity.
“Can you make it over?” she asked Emberglow. She did her best to extend her wings, groaning in pain as she tried to move them. It was clear flight would be impossible, but she tried to force them open.
“Allow me, darling,” Rarity said, lighting her horn again. Emberglow yelped as she was lifted off the ground, up and over the barrier. She couldn’t help but flail her hooves about in panic before Rarity set her back down. Cobalt landed on the ground next to her, and the three sprinted off through the trees to the sounds of pursuit and gunfire.
“I’m going to go help Terminus,” he said. “Wait five minutes, then send up sparks again.”
“Good luck,” Rarity called out, breathing heavily. She levitated a potion out of her bandolier and squinted at it.
“What’s that?” Emberglow panted, her legs shaking with exhaustion.
“A zebra potion. Dangerous magic, but it might help you.” Rarity sounded unsure. She floated it over to Emberglow as she ran. “It will turn off your body’s ability to feel pain, I was told. Maybe...”
“That is dangerous,” Emberglow breathed, with a sudden thrill of fear. She barely hesitated, though, to snatch the potion out of midair and down it in a single gulp.
“But you just said…” Rarity stammered. “I-I was only suggesting, I didn’t mean for you to…”
“I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt rescuing me, and we’re not going to fail just because I can’t run,” Emberglow said. She felt the magic start to take effect, numbness oozing along her muscles and veins. She felt her aches and pains disappearing, and she picked up her pace. Suddenly, it was Rarity who was struggling to keep up, and Emberglow had to slow down to not leave the unicorn in her dust.
They wove through the trees, dodging and weaving as bullets struck the trees around them.
“Do you know any shielding spells?” Emberglow asked. Rarity shook her head.
“Never…cast much… more than levitation and… gemfinding,” Rarity panted, nearly out of breath.
A bullet suddenly struck against the tree next to Emberglow, and she looked down with an oddly detached sense of curiosity at the sudden wetness on the shoulder of the burlap robe she’d been wearing. It was damp with blood.
“I’ve been shot,” she noted idly.
“Goodness, are you okay?” Rarity rushed over. She lit her horn, and once again fired red sparks into the air.
“Has it been five minutes already?” Emberglow asked. Rarity ignored her, instead inspecting the wound in the light of her magic. “Put that out, you’re giving away our position.”
“Cobalt and Terminus will have to see us somehow,” Rarity reasoned.
“Yes, but…”
A pair of marines burst out of the trees behind them, charging with spears. Emberglow shoved Rarity aside as the spear tips descended on them. The potion must have been working, because it looked like they were moving in slow motion.
Emberglow rolled to the right before shooting back up on both hooves, poised to strike. The marine dodged, stepping backwards, but not far enough; her first hoof came down on his muzzle, while her second sent him reeling back into the dirt. He dropped the weapon with a clatter. Emberglow was already in motion, lunging into the air with a flap of her wings to slide around the second marine’s spear thrust.
She wobbled awkwardly in the air, her injured wings flapping oddly. Desperately she rose, darting out of reach of the flashing spear beneath her. Gunfire erupted from behind her, and a bullet sliced through one of her pinions. With a grunt, she ducked back below the treeline, rolling in the air to barely avoid the marine’s next thrust.
“Emberglow, catch!” Rarity called out. Blue light flashed just below her, and she glanced down to see the fallen spear floating just below her forelegs. Emberglow dove, catching the spear and spinning it to face the marine below. He stood his ground, covering for his compatriot who was working on standing up after Emberglow had stomped on his face.
Without warning Emberglow, the marines, and the forest were lit in a violent flash of lightning. She locked eyes with the marine, and for a moment they stared each other down. His eyes were wide with terror and determination. He planted his shaking hooves over top of his downed companion, deliberately placing himself between Emberglow and his fellow marine.
A roar of thunder followed the flash, and the cacophony made her pause. He trembled and cringed as he tried to set his spear against her inevitable charge.
“Back away and run,” she called just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the rain. “I’m a Knight. You won’t win against me. You and your friend can run, now.”
The grounded marine stood up, glanced at the two of them, and nodded slowly. The two marines began backing away from her slowly, unwilling to show their backs.
“Go!” she screamed, lunging forward threateningly, and the two soldiers broke and sprinted through the trees.
There was a crash behind her, and Emberglow spun to see a small chariot, being pulled by Cobalt, and the same black-furred, silver-maned pegasus Emberglow had briefly met in Manehatten. Terminus, she thought his name was.
“Board up, ladies,” Terminus invited, waving at the chariot with one hoof.
“I can—“ Emberglow began, fluttering her wings.
“No. You’ve taken a potion that makes you ignore pain. Even I can see your wings are too injured for real flight.” Rarity was still panting slightly. She trotted so she was behind Emberglow, and with her head, began bodily shoving her onto the chariot. Emberglow yelped in protest, but didn’t resist too much. “Now, sit and rest, young lady. Whatever you’re feeling right now isn’t real, and I’m sure the pain will come back in a moment.” She sat down next to Emberglow on the chariot. “Let me look at that bullet wound of yours.”
“I think it’s just a scratch,” Emberglow said, though she wasn’t quite sure. She glanced down herself at the wound on her shoulder, but it was hard to see in the dark.
“Hush, let me look,” Rarity said. “I may not be a doctor, but I certainly know my way around a needle and thread. I can at least stitch things up if I need to.”
“Brace yourselves, ladies, we’re taking off,” Cobalt called back, as Emberglow began to hear shouting soldiers and stomping hooves behind them. Terminus was drawing several runes in the air, casting a powerful, wide shield spell that would encompass the whole chariot.
“My battery’s tapped after that,” Terminus announced as the shield fell into place over them, a barrier of light that faded into invisibility after a second. The chariot jolted as the two began pulling, and Emberglow braced herself against the railing while Rarity inspected her wound in the light of her horn.
“It does appear to be just a scratch,” Rarity confirmed. “But you’ll still need some better medical attention as soon as possible. I don’t like the way your wings looked when you were flying.”
There was something about being mothered by the beautiful mare that warmed Emberglow to her core. She couldn’t help but give Rarity a grateful smile.
“We’re going to be flying above the cloud line, so if you’re acrophobic, try not to look down,” Cobalt called out as they ascended. They gained altitude rapidly, the two males pushing hard to gain height as fast as possible.
Breaking above the rain cloud layer was a relief. Now there was no longer rain pounding against them as they flew, and the moon was visible up above them, shedding a thin silver light over the blanket of black clouds below.
Suddenly, the reality of what had just happened sunk in. She was alive. She was free. She realized she’d never expected to see the moon or the stars again, or spread her wings. Her eyes damp with sudden tears, she let out a sob of relief.
“What happened? Did I hurt you?” Rarity’s voice was full of concern. Emberglow shook her head, and impulsively wrapped her hooves around Rarity.
“No. Not at all. I’m just…” She felt tongue-tied. “Thank you. I was sure I was dead. I don’t think I would have made it to my execution. I—“ She took a shuddering breath. “Thank you, Rarity.”
“There there,” Rarity said, returning the hug. “It’s nothing more than the duty of the dashing heroine, after all.” Her voice was dramatically pompous, and Emberglow pushed out of the embrace enough to see the smirk on Rarity’s lips. It made Emberglow smile weakly. “There, that’s better, right? A smile better suits a heroine, after all.”
“I thought you were the heroine of this story,” Emberglow teased, and Rarity nodded.
“We can both be, darling. You, the dashing Knight who saved the lost unicorn from the foul, dirty cave, and me, the brave ingénue who dared an enemy camp and questionable fashion choices in order to rescue a friend from certain peril.”
“You make it sound so much more exciting than it was.”
Rarity laughed. “Of course, darling. That’s how hero stories work.”
Emberglow laughed again, and realized something. The more time she spent talking to Rarity, the more she truly enjoyed being around the mare. Rarity was elegant and beautiful, yes, but also funny and brave, with an air of maturity and worldliness that Emberglow admired.
She opened her mouth to say something along those lines, when she caught a hint of movement behind them. She spun to look.
“Look out, guys!” she yelled. “We have pursuit!” There were a half-dozen figures in the air, barely visible in the clouds. They were flying quickly, and gaining on the chariot at an alarming pace. In the lead was a pegasus stallion in blue armor; the same one who had led the fight to capture her back when she’d originally tried to flee the camp.
Cobalt and Terminus immediately began pulling harder, straining their muscles to keep as much distance as possible between them and their pursuers.
“How many?” Cobalt shouted back.
“At least six!” Emberglow shouted. “One Knight!” The pegasus squad was already closing the distance. Emberglow tightened her grip on her spear, tensing her legs to leap off and defend them if necessary.
“What are you doing?” Rarity gasped. “You can’t go out there and fight them by yourself!”
“Why not?” Emberglow demanded. “The important thing is that you get away, with whatever it is you got from Steadfast. I’m expendable.”
“You are most certainly not!” Rarity demanded harshly, stomping a hoof indignantly. “There were two parts to that mission, and you are more important than some stupid gem.”
“I doubt it,” Emberglow said. “That’s an Element of Harmony, isn’t it?”
“It... is,” Rarity admitted. “But we, that is, Heartwing and I, believe you might be one of the ponies destined to wield the Elements.”
Emberglow stared at Rarity in disbelief, before shaking her head.
“Sorry, Rarity. But real life doesn’t work like your hero stories. I’m not that important.” She glanced up at Cobalt and Terminus. “Get her to safety, I’ll slow down their pursuit.”
“Emberglow, no!” Rarity screamed, but Emberglow gave her no time to react as she launched herself off the back of the chariot, wings spread wide. She took a moment to make one last glance back towards the departing chariot as it retreated towards the horizon; Rarity’s sapphire eyes were full of silent protest.
When her hooves touched the dark cloud cover, she could feel the thunder rumbling beneath her. The wind whipped her mane and feathers about, but she kept her gaze firmly on the approaching Knight.
“Saints protect me,” she prayed, mostly out of habit, though she felt the cold hurt of her loss. But she felt the need to say something, to pray to something. Instead of faith, though, she felt empty. Regretful.
“Keep up pursuit of the chariot, that’s the heretic Knight. I’ll deal with her personally.” It should have given her comfort that she didn’t have to deal with six ponies at once, but it didn’t; he was a Knight Adamant, far better trained and more experienced with hoof to hoof combat than she was. This was a suicide mission, and she knew it. Still, she raised her spear to a guard position as the stallion landed on the cloud next to her.
“You make no sense, heretic,” he said as he tried to circle around her. She backed away, keeping herself between him and the chariot. “You know you can’t beat me.”
“Not my job,” she shot back. She thrust with her spear, testing him, and he swatted her weapon aside before she stepped back again. “I just need to keep you from them.”
“I won’t take long, then. That creep Brightblade will be disappointed to lose his favorite chew toy.” The contempt in the Knight’s voice for the Mystic was obvious. He made his own testing lunge, which she sidestepped. Her improved reflexes were coming in handy. “You look like you’re in bad shape, heretic.”
“Your soldiers are good shots, even in the dark,” Emberglow replied. “You didn’t exactly give us enough time to bandage things up.”
“I mostly meant your wings, but I’ll pass along the compliment to my marines.” He swung his spear in a wide arc, and she met his weapon with the haft of her own, a spray of splinters showering the clouds beneath them. But instead of disengaging like she expected him to, he pressed the strike and shoved his weight against her. Their faces were close enough for her to see the scowl of effort pursing his lips.
The move caught Emberglow by surprise, and she tumbled backwards. The Knight landed on top of her, their crossed spears suspended just above her torso. Relentlessly he pressed down, using his weight to shove the hafts of their weapons towards her throat. She felt herself sinking into the cloud.
“I’ll at least make your death clean, mare,” he promised, his voice oddly sympathetic. “Nopony deserves Brightblade.”
Even with the potion she had drunk, Emberglow’s muscles simply didn’t have the strength left to lift him off. Slowly, the Knight pushed the crossed weapons until they pressed against her throat. She jerked about underneath him, not daring to let go or try to shove him aside lest he shove down hard and crush her larynx. Her hind hooves kicked at his armored barrel, ineffectually scrabbling against both her opponent and the clouds beneath them.
“Not much longer,” the stallion grunted, pressing unflinchingly against the spears as Emberglow struggled. The wooden hafts dug into her throat, and the Knight began to strangle her. Her eyes went wide with panic as she desperately shoved against the immovable force above her. She could barely breathe, and the Knight barely reacted to her weak flailing. Spots swam in her vision as her rear hooves beat against the cloud.
The cloud! She was a pegasus! Maybe she could break up the cloud if she could kick it hard enough! She bent her rear legs as much as she could and kicked awkwardly against the cloud below her. She felt a strange tingle of something shoot up her legs, but thought nothing of it.
“What are you…” the Knight asked, glancing down to her rear hooves. “No! Crazy mare, don’t you realize this is a …” She bent her legs and kicked again.
The cloud beneath Emberglow didn’t break up. It flashed, and bright white filled her vision. A force, almost like a blow, slammed into her back and head. She was sent tumbling, tossed through the air and bouncing several times before stopping.
She blinked to try and clear her vision as she stood. Desperately, she breathed precious air into her lungs, only to smell ozone and singed fur. What was… oh. The cloud she was standing on was an angry grey storm cloud. She’d just hit herself, and probably the Knight, with lightning.
Squinting, trying to see past the blindingly bright retinal echoes, she looked around for the Knight. Her spear was missing, probably tumbling down past the cloud line now that she was no longer holding it. She saw the Knight’s spear nearby, floating gently on the clouds while a trio of runes glowed on the haft. It made sense that a Knight Adamant pegasus would enchant his personal weapon with a cloud-walking spell.
She galloped over to it, but something moved in her peripheral vision. Reacting on instinct, she rolled to the side, snatching up the spear with one hoof as the Knight shot past where she had just been.
Emberglow used the momentum of the roll to carry her onto her hooves again, spinning to level the spear at her opponent. The Knight looked shaky, with burn spots clearly visible on the bits of unarmoured fur. With a snarl of annoyance, he reached back and pulled a long knife from a hidden sheath in his armor. Each movement was jerky, and his limbs twitched as he moved.
“You’re insane, heretic,” he breathed, his voice raspy. “Kicking a lightning cloud while you’re on it? But I shouldn’t be surprised, should I?”
“Please just go,” she begged, her own throat raw and ragged. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“You know I can’t, oathbreaker,” he spat. “Good luck with your next incarnation.” He raised his free hoof and began tracing it through the air, glowing with white light, while he held the knife out menacingly.
Emberglow lunged at him desperately. She had no plan, she only knew she couldn’t let him finish casting. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He finished the second rune, and she knew she wouldn’t get there in time. With a clumsy sort of foolhardiness, she threw the spear. Its sharp tip soared towards the Knight's face while she galloped frantically behind it.
The Knight paused his spellcasting long enough to swat the spear aside contemptuously, but Emberglow was right behind it. Her own full-body tackle took him by surprise, her forehooves striking against his face as she barreled into him.
He swung his knife wildly, the blade digging into her cheek and up through her eye. Half the world went dark as she felt a splash of wet warmth ooze down her face. Even through the potion’s enchantment, she was aware of the pain, though it felt somehow far away, as if it had happened to some other pony.
They tumbled down onto the clouds, and this time it was the Knight on bottom, with Emberglow looming over him. She reared up high on her hind hooves, preparing to stomp down. She saw more than felt him slashing desperately at her with his knife, the bloodstained blade scoring deeply against the underside of her barrel. It wasn't enough to stop her though, and her hooves stomped down on his face with a sickening crunch. The Knight’s head twisted to the side unnaturally, a stunned, pained look frozen in his open eyes.
There was a long moment of stunned silence as the Knight twitched, then slipped through the cloud limply. Her own heart froze when she realized what that meant; he was dead. She had killed again.
Another set of eyes to haunt you in your dreams. Another horrified, frozen, dead face to keep you company at night. You’re starting to make quite the collection, killer!
But it wasn’t the Knight Adamant’s face that suddenly floated before Emberglow’s eyes. It was a young stallion, weeping for his mother.
She jerked back from the hole in the cloud left by the tumbling corpse and fell back on her behind. She clutched at her chest with one hoof, her one good eye glued to that gaping hole left behind.
Something was wrong. She didn’t feel any pain, but there was a tightness in her chest, a squeezing sensation. She was gasping for breath as she slumped into the clouds, but her lungs wouldn’t quite inflate. Once again, she saw stars at the edges of her vision as she faded from consciousness.
* * * * *
When she came to, Emberglow’s whole body was twitching with pain. Her wings were the worst, but her head pounded with agony and her chest was tight and sore. Something was wrapped around her face. She let out a groan of agony.
“Cobalt? Terminus? I think she’s awake!” she heard Rarity say with excitement. Something brushed at her bangs, and she flinched at the contact.
She was laying on her back somewhere, and when she tried to open her eyes, another stab of violent pain assaulted her head. With a moan, she tried to press her hooves to her face. Something gently stopped her.
“Please relax, darling,” Rarity’s voice was soothing. “You gave us quite the scare after you jumped off the chariot.”
“What…?” She couldn’t process what was happening.
“Don’t try to get up,” an unfamiliar, male voice said. Emberglow tried anyway, and felt sharp twinges of pain shoot up her spine as she tensed to rise.
“No, Emberglow,” she heard Rarity say firmly, and a gentle hoof on her shoulder pushed her back against something soft. “Please stay down and rest.”
“But I need to…” She pushed against the hoof, trying to get up.
“Knight Private Emberglow!” a commanding voice barked, a second male voice that sounded vaguely familiar, and Emberglow froze. “I order you to stay in your bedroll.”
“Who…”
“I outrank you, private,” the voice said. Emberglow tried to open her eyes again, but there was a fiery lance of too-bright sunlight in her left eye and a lance of stabbing pain in her right, and she clenched them shut again. “I’m a sergeant.”
“I don’t know if it counts if she hasn’t even officially switched to our side yet,” the other male voice said wryly.
“Could somepony tell me what happened?” Emberglow rasped.
“You, erm…” Rarity began, hesitating.
“You died, Emberglow. Your heart stopped. We barely caught you in time.” It was the same voice that had ordered her still. “Good thing Rarity was quick with the CPR. She really knows what she’s doing.”
“CPR?” Emberglow was confused for a moment. Suddenly the ache in her chest made much more sense. And was it her imagination, or did her lips still tingle from where…
It was probably a good idea not to think too hard about that.
“How are you feeling, darling?” Rarity asked. “You look flushed.”
“I was dead.” Emberglow tried to stay calm. “I was actually…”
“It was the lightning you kicked up, I think,” the sergeant said. “You just didn’t feel yourself dying because of the potion you’d drunk.”
Emberglow grimaced at the thought. Best to think about something else. “How did we get away?”
“After you killed the Knight following us, we looped back to pick you up. The pegasi chasing us didn’t want a fight after they lost their Adamant, so they retreated.” There was a short pause before he continued. “Are you...alright?”
No, she wasn’t. Her breaths were coming in ragged gulps, and she felt a gaping pit of horror in her chest. She tried to force her eyes open, but only the right would open. The pain was agonizing, but it was better than seeing the two faces that floated in her vision while her eyes were closed, with their blank, dead, accusing eyes. “I killed…!”
“You saved us, Emberglow,” the sergeant said. She tried to focus her gaze on the stallion sitting above her. She recognized him, scouring her fuzzy mind for the memory of his name. Terminus. Termie, Heartwing had called him. She tried to look around at the other blurry figures, but the pain forced her to clench her eye shut again. The visions were waiting, the bloody, staring, eyes. She couldn’t help but whimper.
“Hush, everything is fine, you’re safe now.” Rarity’s voice was soothing, but it beat helplessly against the stone walls of her budding panic. She heard her own heartbeat in her ears, pounding in time with her hyperventilated breaths. “Emberglow, please, calm down!” Rarity sounded terrified.
She didn’t understand. Emberglow wasn’t afraid for herself. She’d killed. Again. This time a loyal Knight of the Diarchy. Blood. There was blood on her hooves, a stain that would never wash out. She held her hooves in front of her closed eyes, terrified to look, sure she would see the dripping crimson of her own guilt.
“What can we…”
“I’m not the best at healing, but I know a few runes. Step back, please.”
Suddenly Emberglow felt the calming waves of an anesthesia spell slip over her mind and body. Her pain suddenly faded, covered away by the calming blanket of magic. Her heartbeat slowed, and her breathing returned to normal.
“That spell is… dangerous,” Emberglow breathed.
“I know,” Terminus said. “But so is another heart attack.”
“You don’t understand,” Emberglow pleaded. “I killed. Again. I see their faces now. I can’t have two faces in my nightmares!” Three, if she counted Gadget. Even though she hadn’t killed her, Gadget still appeared in most of her nightmares. “I don’t even know what his name was!” She wasn’t making any sense. Even with the calming magic of the spell, she realized she was delirious. Incoherent.
“I understand more than you might think,” Terminus said. “Sleep for now, Emberglow. I’ll keep watch, make sure you’re safe. You did well today.”
She wanted to protest. To scream and rage and deny. But the spell was already pushing her into a forced sleep, and she couldn’t fight it any longer.
The last thing she heard before she slipped into unconsciousness was her own whimpering sobs.
* * * * *
Emberglow woke to the smell of black coffee and pancakes. Slowly, and with great care, she eased her eye open. Once again, her right eye opened, but the left didn’t obey. She felt with one hoof, and discovered a bandage wrapped tightly around her face, covering the wounded eye. She still hurt, but it was faded and distant, no longer the all-consuming aches and agony her whole body through. The worst was probably her eye, followed by one of her wings.
“Where am I?” she groaned. She was lucid enough to know that she should probably remain prone. Carefully, she felt out her surroundings; she was laying on a military-issue bedroll. There was a gently crackling fire, and the sun was rising in a cloud-streaked sky. Overhead were trees; mostly willows and oaks, with a few conifers she couldn’t identify mixed in. It was quiet and calm, something she hadn’t experienced in weeks.
“You’re about an hour’s flight south of New Canterlot City.” She looked over. Terminus was stirring a pot of coffee over a fire, though his eyes were inspecting her. There were two other figures wrapped in bedrolls, underneath a tarp. Emberglow recognized Rarity’s sleeping form. The other was a griffon; the same one she’d seen in silver armor, fighting back in Manehatten, and later trying to rescue her.
“Are we safe?”
“As much as we can be,” Terminus replied. He must have seen something in her face, because he smiled sympathetically. “Don’t worry. Cobalt looped back to make sure our pursuit fled.”
“Oh.” She fell silent, but that was awful. Her thoughts were a mess of confusion and images. Three sets of eyes. A hole in the clouds. Brightblade’s voice in her ears.
Her gaze shifted to the weapon lying on the empty bedroll that she assumed Terminus had slept in. She wasn’t a stranger to firearms, as she’d spent quite a bit of time around Gadg – Gearsmith and the other marines. This one, though, was odd. The barrel was much longer, and the scope on top seemed impressive. There was a graceful elegance to the weapon, and almost, it seemed to Emberglow, a brutal sort of honesty; it made no pretense about what it was for.
“T-Terminus?” Emberglow whispered, the unfamiliar name uncomfortable on her tongue. She didn’t really want to talk, but she couldn’t stay quiet and alone in her thoughts any longer. She reached out towards the weapon, stopping herself just shy of touching it. “Does it ever get easier?”
“What do you mean?” His voice was soft and kind, and his eyes were full of empathy.
“K-k—“ Emberglow stammered. She couldn’t say the word; it stuck in her throat, and she whimpered. Dead eyes floated in her mind’s eye, and she spoke in a choked sob. “…taking pony life.”
“For me?” Terminus mused sadly. “No.” He glanced at his weapon with an oddly conflicted look. “I’m good at what I do, Emberglow. It’s even my cutie mark. But I can’t enjoy it.”
“Why keep going, then?”
“Because if I don’t, who will?” Terminus asked. “I could have let those marines I shot yesterday live, but you would have died.”
“That’s… the same thing he said. Heartwing.” Emberglow whispered. “I’ve only ever k-killed one pony, two now, and his face still haunts me.” Tears leaked out of her good eye. “He was probably even your friend! Heartwing said his name was Night Star.” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
“I knew Night Star, yes,” Terminus said, with a far off, sad look. “But Emberglow, when that happened, you weren’t…”
“I can’t hide behind ignorance!” Emberglow yelled, cringing when the two sleeping figures stirred at the noise. She lowered her voice. “I’m responsible for his death. Him, and the Knight today.”
“Yesterday,” Terminus corrected. “But you didn’t let me finish. Emberglow, you can’t blame yourself for who you were. You were brainwashed. Feeling guilt for what you used to be is natural, but you weren’t making decisions with all the information.”
“You think that matters to Night Star?” Emberglow shot back, and Terminus flinched. “I thought so. I am responsible for that. I should have…”
“Emberglow, please,” Terminus interrupted. “You can’t do that to yourself. Regrets and might-have-beens will crush you.” He stood up and walked over so he was sitting next to her bedroll, placing a gentle hoof on her shoulder. “I’ve been working with ponies going through exactly what you’re going through for years now. Will you let me help you?” Emberglow nodded slowly.
“Okay. So first, there’s some rules. Rules for how to start loving yourself.”
“Loving myself?” Emberglow snorted. It sounded ridiculous.
“Yes, exactly. We don’t keep any of the self-denial and guilt control that the Diarchy teaches. It starts with loving yourself. It’s harder than it sounds.”
“Okay…” Emberglow said skeptically.
“The first rule,” Terminus began, “is to take each moment as it comes. We can’t spend all our time worrying about what’s coming tomorrow, next week, next year, and so on. Focus on living right now, and tomorrow you can worry about tomorrow.”
“That’s… exactly what Heartwing said. In the cave. I was not doing well,” Emberglow admitted. Terminus smiled.
“It’s nice to hear that he listens to me sometimes.” He laughed softly. “It’s good advice, probably the most important.”
“It’s hard to want to be in this moment when this moment is so…” Emberglow trailed off.
“Frightening? Depressing?” Terminus filled in helpfully. Emberglow swallowed and nodded. “I get that. When I got kicked out of the Ivy Seminary, I was crushed. They caught me in bed with another stallion, so it was off to a reeducation camp for me. When I joined the Discordant, I felt directionless. Empty. It wasn’t enough to only take each moment as it came, I had to find a way to fill it. That led to the second rule. Figure out who you want to be today, and don’t worry about who you were yesterday.”
“Who I want to be today?” Emberglow wondered. The question was surprising. She’d spent most of her life worrying about who she wanted to be in the future. A healer, a Knight, a devoted follower of the Saints. That was all broken now, shattered and scattered around her like shards of glass in the face of truth. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t?” Terminus asked, his eyebrows raised as he stared into her eyes. “I’m surprised by that. Sure, your life has just changed drastically. You’ve learned things that have shaken apart everything you’ve ever believed in. But does that mean there’s nothing left? Think about it.”
Emberglow stared into the fire, thinking about who she was. She was a healer, first. That part she’d get to keep, regardless of what she believed.
“I’m… a healer. A doctor,” she said softly, and Terminus smiled.
“They can’t claim that,” Terminus said. “They didn’t make you a healer, you did that yourself. You own that part of yourself, no matter what the Diarchy says.”
“But do I get to keep being a healer?” Emberglow asked, feeling a lump in her throat. “Heartwing, and the other Discordant need Knights, right? I’ll have to fight, and kill again.”
“Not if you don’t want to,” Terminus said. “Heartwing will take anything you’re willing to give. If you choose to join the Discordant, you can contribute in any way you wish.”
“What if…” Emberglow took a deep breath. “What if I said I was never going to kill again? No matter what?”
“You could still join our Order, if you wished,” Terminus said. “Or you could simply live in our community. Leave the Knighthood behind, and become a doctor. Or whatever you want, really.”
“Whatever I want?”
“There’s more to you than just being a healer, I think,” Terminus said. “Tell me about who you are today, right now.”
“I’m a healer,” Emberglow repeated. It felt like a good baseline, a start for who she wanted to be. “I’m a scholar too.” She thought about what she’d learned in the past few weeks. “I’m… a seeker of truth. I want to learn everything I can about how I was lied to. I don’t want anypony else to be deceived.” This felt right. Her voice grew in confidence as she spoke, and a sudden warm sort of glow filled her chest.
There was a flash of orange light, and she saw a glow coming from next to Rarity’s sleeping form. It shone out of a pouch attached to a belt that had been discarded when Rarity bedded down for the evening. Slowly, the sleeping unicorn stirred, blinking blearily and looked at her utility belt.
“What is happening?” Rarity asked, confused, her gaze drifting down to her bags. “Oh, that’s...” She slipped out of her bedroll enough to open her pouch, pulling out the golden necklace with the apple shaped gem. It was glowing with bright orange light.
“Is that the Element of Harmony?” Terminus gasped reverently. Rarity nodded, turning the jewelry to look at it. “But why is it…” his gaze shifted to Emberglow.
“Why indeed,” Rarity said with a smile. The glowing torque was surrounded by soft blue magic, and Rarity levitated it over in front of Emberglow, who shrank back from the holy object. “What do you think, dear?” Her voice was knowing, though Emberglow had no idea what she was implying. “Why would the Element of Honesty be glowing in your presence?”
“I…”
“Humor me, darling. Reach out and take it.”
Slowly, shoving down the fear she felt rising in her gullet, Emberglow reached out and touched the gem with her hoof. There was a bright flash of light, and everything went black.