The morning light began to shine through the crystal window in Twilight’s old castle. It illuminated the dark room as if somebody just turned on the light. And it irritated the dark mass trapped inside a giant jar that sat on the bed, next to the sleeping resident. It wanted to desperately escape, and it began to bash against the glass until it finally tipped over and slowly started to roll off, about to fall over the edge of the bed… and then got caught by a long clump of black and white horsehair.
Zecora finally woke up. This wasn’t the routine she was used to. The mornings were dark and gloomy in the Everfree Forest, as no sunlight broke through the dense trees, yet there was no risk of waking to a cold dawn, as the firepit kept her small house nicely warm over the night. Starlight Glimmer was kind enough to provide her with temporary living quarters in one of the castle’s many rooms, but this wide cold emptiness would take a while to get used to. She already missed the place and didn’t think she could return home anytime soon. She rose from the bed and put the jar on the ground so the little pile of black mass wouldn’t try to break out again. Yawning, her eyes still half-closed, she walked over to the window, opening it to soak in a breath of morning air. She inhaled and finally opened her eyes… only to be met with an unsettling sight.
The window opened to reveal the sight of Ponyville, the early residents going about their business, yet none of them were aware of the horror that lay on the horizon, except for her, and that’s precisely what she saw at that moment: darkness rising over the Everfree Forest, the same one she revealed yesterday and it hasn’t dissipated yet. She quickly closed the window. There was a familiar unsettling sense boiling at the back of her mind; she witnessed the same scenery once before, far away from here, one she would see day after day if she remained; it felt like… No. Out of sight, out of mind. She took a few deep breaths. Thinking about it would bring nothing but trouble and that’s the last thing anyone else needed. Then her sight drifted over to the jar, the dark substance inside constantly swirled, retaining a single speck of light deep within its body.
You are truly an unrelenting mess, dealing with you will give me no small amount of stress. Unless…
She remembered another thing, an object that she received yesterday after the disturbing events took place. She started to rummage through her saddlebag and brought out a dark prickly nut that Twilight acquired the other day. The tree that bore it must have some connection to the darkness, and if the manifestation that the Queen of Changeling summoned was somehow related to it, then perhaps the fruit will hold the key. She grabbed a knife with her teeth and cut into the shell, splitting it in half and revealing black seeds within. It was confirmed that this was an all-natural matter, which meant it could be used in preparing a potion. First, however, it needed to be processed. She picked up a mortar and pastel, dropped the seeds inside, and started to crush them, which proved difficult as they turned out to be harder than expected. So It didn’t take long before there was a knock on the door and a blue unicorn poked her head through it.
“Excuse me Zecora, but do you mind not making such ruckus this early in the morning? Some of us are still trying to have some decent shut-eye,” Trixie complained.
The zebra turned her head. “Illusionist, with all due respect, rest is not something I can expect.”
She huffed and closed the door. The shaman was left alone again and returned to her work. She reduced the nuts to a fine powder, the perfect material for concocting potions. Now all she needed to proceed was… And then she remembered there was a problem: she had no reagents. When she left her hut, all of it remained behind, as she only took the useful potions with her, so now she had nothing on her to work with, and going back into the forest to retrieve it all was simply too risky at this point. There was only one thing left to do. She stuck the jar of dark matter into her saddlebag, the oversized glass shrinking into her enchanted container; she put it on and her cloak, and left the room. Her hoof steps echoed through the hallway in this early morning, the only other sound was coming from another room further down. She peaked inside. It was a kitchen, and Trixie was rummaging through the pantries, making a lot of noise. There was no point in disrupting her, so she traipsed off. The School Counselor eventually stopped to open a book and check on the recipes, and only then she finally heard the sound of hooves in the hallway. She ran out and spotted the zebra.
“Zecora, where are you going?” she asked.
The shaman turned her head. “To town, I must go, for without ingredients I’ve little creations to show.”
“… right,” the unicorn said, unsure if she understood what the visitor was saying, and retreated into the kitchen.
Ponyville slowly began to awake, as more and more residents came out of their dwellings to go about their daily business. Zecora in meantime went about stalls and shops, trying to gather what reagent she lacked for her concoctions. The day may have started rough with the view she woke up to, but the rest was going swimmingly; so many places to visit, so many kind faces, eager to help her out. It was hard to believe that a few years ago when she was still relatively new to this place, she would be met with fright and panic whenever she visited. Were it not for a sweet little country filly, who was too curious and brave for her own good, it might have remained so. Yet, somewhere at the back of her mind, there was this feeling of lonesomeness, for despite being accepted by ponies, she was the only one in Equestria, for her kind lived far away and the sight from the dawn brought that thought back on the surface. She had descended deep into thought as she walked down the street, barely aware of her surroundings, so she couldn’t hear the sound of galloping hooves as she came around the corner, and she felt a sudden blunt force making an impact against her, managing to stabilize herself so she wouldn’t fall over. And speak of the devil, a familiar face was the source of groans of pain that followed. A younger yellow-furred, red-maned mare with a bow on her head rubbed her head from the impact. Years may have changed her, but she would always recognize the young filly that once trailed her back to her house.
“Well if it isn’t Applebloom, my dear,” she greeted her. “What's made you bump into me here?”
The young mare looked up to her the moment she heard her voice. “Zecora! I’m so glad to see you! I was about to go to your house and… Wait, you’re surprisingly early in Ponyville today. You don’t usually go to town until much later. Is something wrong?”
The zebra remembered to keep quiet about the events that transpired yesterday. “I’ve… a potion to mix, but alas, my home ran out of the right fix.”
“Well, I’m still glad you’re here. Bessie’s got a bad case of cracked hoof and I could really use your help.”
The shaman smiled. “Let us hurry over the bend, so the bovine I can mend.”
Applebloom led Zecora to the Sweet Apple Acres, vast orchards opening before her as they passed through the main entrance, and vegetable fields on the side. To this day the zebra was still surprised how they managed to keep the harvests going all year long, the only exception being a rare phenomenon that was out of their control, the zap apples. The young mare led her to the barn, where she could already hear her older sibling’s voice coming from inside, and there was a strange sound that went silent, just when she entered.
“Applejack, we got a solution to our problem! I brought-“ Applebloom stopped, as soon as she realized her older sibling was not present, looking about. “Huh… I could’ve sworn she was here… She said she would be stacking barrels of Grand Pear’s new cider, but she’s not, even though I heard her just now.”
“Perhaps it’s best to let your sister be for now, and should instead just see to the cow,” Zecora suggested.
The apprentice nodded. Applebloom led her across their plot of land, to where the livestock was kept; pigs lounging about in the mud, chickens running about, pecking at the dirt and looking after the chicks, and out onto the open pasture where the sheep were grazing. Out in the shade of a tree, a single cow sat, that was likely her patient.
“Don’ worry, Bessie,” the young mare said to her, “we got an expert on the case.”
The bovine let out a loud moo. The shaman approached her and dropped her saddlebag on the ground, then reaching for her frontal legs to examine them. It didn’t take long before realizing where the problem was, as she spotted a crack trailing down her left hoof.
“Oh my, the cause of pain sends chills across my mane...” Zecora said. “Injuries like this can put one out for a good week, but lucky for you, I got just the trick.”
She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a bottle of green liquid, uncorked it, and slowly poured it onto the crack in the hoof. A few moments passed for the substance to settle in and the crack slowly disappeared. Without delay, the cow rose on her feet, stepped about a bit, before finally giving out a loud moo, and trotted off.
“Oh my stars, Zecora I don’ think I’ll ever cease being impressed by what zebra potions can do!” Applebloom smiled. “I didn’t know your schools also taught you to make a hoof-a-cure potion.”
“Young apprentice, I must dispel the incorrect notion, it was my mada who taught me to brew the potion.”
The young mare regarded her teacher. “Your mom taught you to brew it?”
“That’s right, my little ‘Bloom, and funny enough,” she raised the green bottle and laughed, “this potion’s creation was the first I called tough.”
A little striped equine eyed up closely a leaf on an elevated ground that served as the table. She grabbed it with her teeth and dropped it into a nearby cauldron. The liquid inside turned from green to red and begun to bubble up, and suddenly it exploded into her face.
“You got it wrong again, Zecora,” a stern voice said. “If you add the final ingredient before the broth is finished conjugating under the heat, it will give you bumps upon application.”
And before she knew it, the little zebra’s face bloated up in several places and she began to panic. Luckily, a splash of blue liquid onto her face came within a moment’s notice and the affliction faded away. An elderly zebra with a face of a female lion on her flank stood before her, her mohawk long and split in a pair of braids at the bottom, hanging down her neck bound by golden rings, holding a wooden bowl in her mouth.
“Mada, I’m tired,” the child complained. “I’m never gonna get this right no matter how many times I try. Making potions is too hard.”
“There’s no such thing as never, Zecora,” the mare said. “The more times you try something, the faster you’ll learn it.”
“But I already tried it yesterday and I keep doing it wrong. I just wanna go play.”
“Your sister’s still over at the field and won’t be back for a while, and you know exactly when your father usually returns. You want to impress him with something new, don’t you?”
The filly made a pouty face. “Yes…”
“Then we’ll try again until you get it right.” The elder zebra walked over to the pantry to procure more ingredients.
“But mada, I just can’t. I’d rather practice with fada… because… then I would get farther…” she tried to rhyme, poorly.
“Then perhaps you need proper motivation, to light the fire that drives you to creation,” the mother smirked. “Your father taught me a word or two about rhymes, child. But you have to accept there will be moments in life when you have to do things you think you simply can’t do because there’s no one else to take your burden. Do you understand, Zecora?”
She waited for the daughter’s reply, but there wasn’t one. “Zecora?”
The filly was gone and only the clothed cover on the door signified that somebody just left. The mother groaned and walked outside the house. As she stuck her head out the doorway, she gazed upon the open savanna landscape, tall blades of grass and sparse trees as far as the eye could see, with the desert opening on the horizon, but not far from this place stood a small village. The mare saw nobody running that way, which meant that the child hasn’t left the vicinity of the circular house. She began to trail around the house, checking if the little rapscallion by any chance ran off somewhere in the distance, yet after she made the first round around the house, she knew she was still here… but where?
“Zecora, we’re not playing this game,” the mother said in annoyance as she made another round.
Big clay pots sat by the side of the house only a few feet from the entrance, and just as the mare went past them, one of the big ones shook and the lid was raised, as the little zebra took a peek outside. She snickered and tried to quietly climb out before her mother came around again. Unfortunately, the balance wasn’t in her favor as the pot tipped over and cracked upon a pointy rock that lay in front of it.
“Zecora!” the feminine voice suddenly turned to anger, followed by a loud galloping sound.
The filly grimaced. Her mother’s going to be mad once she finds out she’s broken one of the pots. She climbed out of the mess and just then the elder zebra appeared, with a fuming expression, and in a moment of fear the child ran off. The sound of the two rings clanging around her neck was the only thing she could hear in her ears, followed by a galloping sound behind her, then the sound of breaking pottery, and suddenly... a cracking sound, a yelp, and finally a thud. Zecora stopped in her tracks. That was her mother! She slowly walked back around the circular house, to find the elder zebra laying on the ground a few feet away from the broken pottery, writhing in pain.
“MADA!” The little zebra ran to her side. “Mada, what happened?!”
She said nothing, making only a sour face, then pointed down herself. Zecora noticed a giant crack running from the beginning to the tip of her back hoof. How? How did that happen all of a sudden… and then she noticed the rock sticking out of the pile of broken pottery; the same rock upon which she just a moment ago broke the pot when she accidentally tipped it over, she probably didn’t see it under the pile of broken clay when she went into a gallop and struck her hoof against it. And a horrible realization just came over her: her mother just got hurt because of her. There was something else that wasn’t right. She wasn’t making as much noise from such a sudden injury as she should.
“Mada, aren’t you in pain? Why aren’t you saying anything?” she questioned her. “Did… you bite your tongue?”
She nodded with a sour expression.
The filly helped her mother back on her feet and then walked her back into the house as she leaned on. The elder zebra lay on the bed and groaned.
“Mada, what do I do? How can I make the pain stop?” Zecora pleaded for an answer.
Her mother only pointed to the pot over the firepit in the middle of the room.
“You... want me to brew the potion?” she asked, to which she received a nod from her as a clear sign. “No, I… I can’t! I’m just going to mess it up again! Maybe we should wait until fada gets back-“
The elder zebra groaned in pain again. This couldn’t wait, it had to be dealt with immediately. Fear crept up on Zecora; the elder zebra was in no position to assist in any way and if she botched this up, they were both going to be out until somebody else comes home. Yet she couldn’t leave her mother in pain either; she would have to risk it. The filly collected all the ingredients needed and placed them on the elevation next to the cauldron, then looked to the bedside to see the mare, in search of approval. She received none, as she just lay there, it was all up to her now.
And she began; one after another, putting ingredients together into the pot in the correct order, processing and waiting as she was told time and again. For several minutes there was a foreboding silence in the house as if somebody was just waiting for something to go wrong. Finally, there was a light fizzing sound. Zecora dropped the last ingredient into the pot, and this time, instead of the brew suddenly changing color, followed by a volatile reaction, it remained green. She looked for a moment, waiting for that same reaction, yet it didn’t come to pass. Did she actually succeed this time? She grabbed a bowl and filled it up with the concoction, carrying it to her mother, the hoof sounds waking her up. The filly approached the broken hoof and slowly poured the potion on it. She patiently stood by, waiting for any reaction to happen, and it finally did; the crack in the middle of the hoof slowly fused back together, leaving no trace of trauma. The elder zebra wiggled her leg and then instantly jumped back on all four, then looked at her child; she just stood there, agape at the mouth, unable to believe she actually succeeded.
“You did it, Zecora,” she spoke in a happy tone. “I told you, you could do it!”
The little zebra finally snapped out of it, realizing what’s happening. “Wait… you can talk? I thought you said you bit your tongue?”
“I didn’t say anything,” the mare corrected her, “you just assumed I did. I just simply… played along.”
“Wait, you… you mean you were pretending?” sudden rush of anger lit up inside her. “This whole time you pretended that you were hurt?!”
“The tongue part? Yes. But not about my injury. It really did hurt, Zecora.”
“But… but why did you pretend?!”
Her mother sighed. “I wanted you to understand the gravity of the situation. It may seem like an unimportant thing, but this potion is one of the most important things you could learn in our people’s craft, in order to survive out here. You couldn’t do it if you were under the constant impression you only had to learn it because I wanted. That is why I purposely didn’t want to interfere in your experience; so you could do it on your own, to realize you CAN do it if you really wanted to.”
Zecora didn’t know how to react. Part of her was bubbling with joy knowing that she actually could brew a potion on her own without a fault, yet the other part of her was angry that she got put through experiencing worry for her own mother’s health and that she brought it to this point in the first place, so much so that she started to tear up. Without delay, the elderly zebra sat down and pulled her daughter into an embrace.
“Mada…” she wept, “I’m sorry I broke the pot…”
“It’s okay, Zecora. It’s just clay, we can always get a new one,” her mother coddled her.
“And thus, the little filly came to a realization, that sometimes we need a little push, to grasp the conception of medication,” the zebra finished her story, as she walked down the street of Ponyville with her apprentice.
“Awww, that was so sweet.” Applebloom wiped a single tear away.
“I do not want to pry if it’s a bother, but I do wonder, what did you learn from your-“ she could not end her rhyme as something interrupted her in the distance.
There was suddenly a booming sound, catching both of them completely off guard, as were everybody else on the streets of Ponyville. They looked about for a moment and then simply went back to their busy lives… but not the zebra and the country pony. They looked about in the sky where the sound came from, and they spotted only one place. There was a giant dust cloud rising from Canterlot as if an explosion just went off.
“Zecora, what do you think happened?” Applebloom asked.
“Nothing good, I believe,” the zebra responded, “which is why I should leave.”
She galloped off, but the young mare stopped her. “Wait! Zecora if somepony needs help, I wanna lend you a hoof!”
The shaman found herself in a conundrum now. If she allowed Applebloom to follow her, then she was putting her in a likely danger, especially if she got wind of what happened the other day and potentially revealing it to everybody else and setting off a panic, but if she told her to stay away and not follow, her rebellious nature would certainly get the better of her and come along anyway. As much as she felt she’ll regret it, there was only one possible outcome for this.
“Very well, young mare,” she stated, “if your mettle is up to the test, let me see what is your best.”
She puffed out her chest in pride and they both galloped off.
They left Ponyville, and ran across the countryside, not stopping for a moment. And even though Applebloom was no longer a little filly at this point, her leg length still wasn’t on par with a full-grown mare and was as result lagging behind a bit as they started to climb the mountainside.
“Curse these still-short legs!” she complained.
Zecora was kind of hoping she would lag behind and not have her get involved, but that wouldn’t be very kind. Yet she dreaded what was to follow; who knew what dangerous events could be taking place over at Canterlot right now. If it was anything like yesterday…
They finally arrived at the city’s main gate, yet for some reason, there were no guards about. They entered and saw a crater not far away on the main street, with several ponies gathered about, but whatever happened here had long since passed and they couldn’t hear anything from the mass of murmuring crowd. But then they heard something. Thunder. Not just thunder; it sounded like… a melody, resonating across the sky like a grand orchestra. It lasted for a few moments and then it all went completely silent. They were not prepared for what followed, however. It began with a slight tapping sound as tiny rocks began to land on the streets of Canterlot, followed by bigger chunks that soon broke as they hit the pavement, and lastly, boulders and trees, even wild animals began to rain from the sky. Panic erupted on the street and everybody ran for cover, as did the shaman and her apprentice, hiding into the narrow alley.
“Zecora, what’s happening?!” Applebloom asked in a distressed tone.
“There’s only one capable of such a commotion,” she held her close to protect her from potential danger. “He sweeps up everyone in chaos, much like the ocean.”
A solid minute passed before the rain of destruction subsided. The two mares finally came out of the alley and observed the damage caused by the sudden event. The streets were littered with rock, dirt, and branches, and in the worst case, a whole tree landed on top of one of the houses. Some were not so lucky to escape the rain, however, as several guards lay on the street, injured.
“This is where we come in, Applebloom. Are you ready to grant them your boon?” Zecora asked her.
The young mare nodded. The shaman opened her saddlebag and handed her a few vials of various potions. They spread across the street, each dealing with their own patients, trying to soothe their pain, some having bruised legs or a concussion. As they did, Zecora’s sight wandered about and noticed a pattern; among the mess of various flora, there were scattered rocks of two specific varieties: shiny black ones, and ones with protrusions on them. She had been in Everfree Forest for a while and didn’t recall ever seeing these types of rocks before. She scooped up a pair into her pouch. Perhaps others can make more out of it than her.
There was a sudden flashing sound. Zecora looked in its direction and spotted four figures, dressed in hats and coats standing in the middle of the street. She recognized them… or at least one of them, but his presence pretty much made them a dead giveaway. The three princesses made a return, making a visible expression of shock before the smaller one looked up and they then teleported away. The shaman did not envy her situation one bit.
This was too close for comfort. Just a moment ago Chrysalis was sure she was going to meet her end when the gravity under her disappeared and the world around her shifted. Had she been just a moment slower, the Lord of Chaos would’ve done her in. But luck was on her side, as it turned out, both Doubt and Hatred were true to their word, and the magical protection they had installed functioned as intended; not even the creature who can bend reality to his will can threaten her now. Perhaps expanding its influence wasn’t such a farfetched idea.
She finally came out of the dark labyrinth and seeing a familiar sight that reminded her so much of her old home. Her newborn changelings have done their job well. And with guaranteed protection from external forces… it was now perfect.
“Well done, Chrysalis.” Doubt slithered past her. “Your play of switch and deceit is truly a marvelous work.”
She giggled. “Oh please, you flatter me. My only displeasure from this whole event is that I couldn’t see the expression on their faces for how they miserably failed on every level.”
The bubbling sound followed, as Hatred rose from the pool beneath the tree, towering over the Queen of Changelings, its harrow voice echoing. “The artifacts, broodmother…”
She smiled, bringing the Bewitching Bell and the Staff of Sacanas she had just stolen from Canterlot’s artifact vault before her. Hatred reached out, the pointy tips of its gaunt claws gripping the hanger of the bell very delicately.
“This will help greatly. Put the staff into a safe place, for now, the Bell on the other hand will serve its purpose in the meantime, to call the Shaper,” the weaselly vapor whispered.
“How exactly do we put Grogar’s bell to use?” Chrysalis wondered. “Whatever magic of his it once contained was dispelled, and the one taken was already returned to their owners. I’m not sure of what use will this artifact be when it was designed to absorb and contain magic.”
“True,” Doubt replied. “The bell contains no power. But we didn’t want you to seek it out for that, now did we?”
She looked at it curiously. “Then what for?”
The harrow voice spoke. “Grogar was an all-powerful mortal being. He created creatures of horror and unspeakable terror, ones that still roam the world today, including their descendants. He may not have been around for countless eons now, but his essence is intertwined into the very indestructible tool that he used to forge his empire. And that is all that is needed to have the Shaper return back into the world.”
Chrysalis pondered for a moment and it finally clicked to her. “Grogar? Shaper? WAIT, GROGAR IS THE SHAPER?! You want to bring Grogar back?! How?! Nobody but Discord himself has that kind of power!”
“Bringing a creature out of the ether from nothing and making existing essence manifest itself are different things, Chrysalis,” Doubt answered. “And for the latter, the three of us will be more than enough.”
The changeling queen got a satisfying answer, but then she stopped herself. “Wait… the THREE of us?”
“You will serve as the focal point through which we will channel our energy,” Hatred spoke. “It will be more than enough to draw out the Father of Monsters.”
“B-but you said that holding more than one of turmoil’s aspects could be… fatal.”
The weaselly shadow coiled around her horn. “Well then, let’s hope he’s summoned BEFORE that happens.”
Queen Chrysalis gulped; she’s going to be used as a tool and declining was not an option. Hatred’s skinny claw brought the Bewitching Bell before her, waiting for her response.
“Do it!” she declared, gritting her teeth and bracing for the worst.
Hatred’s other hand was raised, its sharp finger pointing at the changeling queen; a tendril began to twist and turn out of it, slowly making its way toward her. Doubts slithered close, its tail extending and fueling into the tendril as well, as it finally reached its destination. A shriek and a shock followed the sudden burst of power, so vast that her magic instantly started channeling into the Bell. The artifact shook as powerful magic was being imbued into it; the markings on it lighting up as it began to ring incessantly. Below the Bewitching Bell, a silhouette began to manifest itself, the vague form slowly beginning to fill up as the essence in the bell trickled down. The process was slow and Chrysalis wasn’t handling it well. She survived Celestia’s power of the sun scorching her, but this was different; it felt like standing in dark winter night and being pelted with snowdrops that moved at the speed of sound for decades, tearing at her mind little by little. She couldn’t handle it anymore, her grasp on the world around slowly fading away…
“Enough,” the harrowed voice spoke and the tendril connected to the changeling was severed.
She collapsed, her body still trembling from the lingering power as it slowly exited, her sight returning, only to behold the creature that had spawned through her. The bell still rang as the last piece of the manifestation finally became solid and color began to flourish on the shape of an old ram: bristle blue fur covered the hunched over, stocky body, a tufted beard hanging off the end of the chin, grey mane running down the neck, with big bushy eyebrows and the tail of equal tone, and a pair of giant darkened antlers sitting on the top of the head. His crimson eyes finally opened, pupils zooming about, scanning the surroundings.
“Grogar?” Queen Chrysalis addressed him.
The old ram’s ear twitched at the sound, his head slowly turned to face her and the towering monstrosity. “What are you creatures? You’re not one of my creations, otherwise, I’d have recognized you. And this clearly isn’t Cloudsdale. Where’s Gusty and that sniveling little treacherous weasel?”
Chrysalis looked to Doubt in confusion. She really had no idea how to respond to someone who had been gone for who knows how many years, talking about names that didn’t make sense.
She cleared her throat. “Let us make proper introductions: I am Chrysalis, the Queen of Changelings. And you, Mighty Grogar, The First Emperor of Equestria- “
“Such fancy titles mean little to me… changeling, if that’s what you are,” he interrupted her, as his eyes were looking about. “I answer to only one of them and you clearly don’t fit the criteria to use it. Grogar will do just fine. Now tell me where am I. For some reason, I feel… off.”
The manifestation of Hatred slinked back into the depths of the pool, releasing its grip upon the Bewitching Bell, and just before it could land on the head of its owner, the Changeling Queen caught it midair.
“I believe this belongs to you?” She levitated the talisman before the grizzled old ram.
Grogar tried to grab hold of it with his own magic only to realize something was amiss when he couldn’t make it to respond to the force of his will, as the bell fell to the ground.
“What is this?!” he fumed. “Why am I unable to use magic?!”
“Oh right, I suppose I should’ve mentioned beforehand. You’re in my domain.” Chrysalis couldn’t help but feel smug for a moment, as the most powerful creature in Equestrian history stood before her, powerless. “My hive has been isolated with an enchanted stone that nullifies any magic but that of changelings.”
“No,” her ears perked up when she heard the dismissal. “There’s something else…”
The sorcerer felt something was off; he felt… naked. “Wait a minute… WHERE’S MY COLLAR!?”
“Your… collar?” she asked.
“Yes, my enchanted collar! The Bewitching Bell is a powerful tool, but without my collar, I cannot tap into the talisman to use the full potential of the power that’s locked within.”
“I’d guess you lost it where you suffered your defeat,” she gave him the only logical answer.
“MY DEFEAT?!” the ram roared. “What are you talking about?!”
Silence fell over the cavern; Doubt simply lay by, leaving the Queen of Changelings to deal with an awkward situation. “You better help him catch up to current events, broodmother.”
“What… is the last thing you remember?” she asked Grogar.
“I remember attacking the unicorns. They fled from their dwellings to request aid from the pegasi city of Cloudsdale. I remember my army of winged monstrosities darkened the sky. The unicorns, led by a little filly called Gusty desperately tried to fight them off, but she was powerless against me. Yet during our struggle, the pegasi finally intervened, and even then they couldn’t overcome my might. But then…” he stopped, trying to recall the events in detail. “Somehow a sniveling little weasel managed to unhook my bell from the collar in the battle and… That’s where it ends.”
Chrysalis slowly traipsed closer to him. “The events you’re describing, Grogar, took place thousands of moons ago. And in the time of your absence, much of the world you’ve known has changed.”
The ram squinted. “Changed how…?”