"... for mistakes are nothing to be ashamed of," Fitted Mask chanted. "All make mistakes; what's important is not allowing your mistakes to define you, and preventing yourself from repeating them. Suffer from a mistake only once, not for the rest of your life." He raised his eyes to the crowd. "The Bonaj of the Beaconess," he proclaimed.

Fitted kissed the Book of Kindness he'd just read from, then returned to his seat, Flash Warning taking his place at the podium. Reverently, she marked his page in the Book of Kindness, closed it, and returned it to its place on the shelf, before taking out the Book of Loyalty and placing it on the lectern. After a few moments of finding her page, she nodded and looked out at the audience. "A reading," she called. "from the Book of Loyalty.

"Some may accuse you of not trying your best if you don't call on me to do everything, or of being arrogant if you try to do something without asking me for help. But they're wrong; I'm not the only one who can right wrongs. If you can do something yourself, you don't need to wait for me. Did Shining Armor ask me to investigate the Dark Lady's rise, or did he do it himself? Did Rainbow Dash wait for my orders at the Battle of Cloudsdale, or did she lead the charge herself? Did Devon Apple ask me to bring him the Timberwolf, or did he go and find it himself? Heroism is not mine alone; the ability to do right lies in all of you. I will still answer your call at need, but that need isn't as great as some think." She looked up from the book. "The Bonaj of the Beaconess."

She kissed the Book of Loyalty, then returned to her seat, and the next reader stepped up. Seven readers for seven books, one each for the Seven Elements of Harmony. The readers for Generosity, Magic, and Laughter had already gone, and Patter, the reader for Honesty, was a fast talker, so they'd probably have somewhere around eighteen minutes for the congregation to try to figure out what friendship lessons they could draw from the readings. After that, a closing prayer to the Divine Beaconess, and then it would be time to bring the Harmony they'd found to the rest of the world.

Flash's elbow tapped his ribs, pulling him out of his thoughts; Patter was already done. "Amikeco estas magio," he hastily joined in, nodding in thanks to his friend for her warning.

Patter returned to her seat, and Celene, the reader for Empathy, took her place at the podium, ethereal hair floating around her head. Fitted couldn't help but watch, entranced, as she put the Book of Honesty away and took out the gilded Book of Empathy, the Beaconess' divine symbol emblazoned on its cover in ruby and citrine. Gracefully, the aether aspect turned to her page, and fixed the crowd with her enchanting gaze. "A reading," she said in her whispery voice. "from the Book of Empathy.

"Losing a friend is one of the worst experiences you can endure. It doesn't hurt your body, which only serves to worsen the pain, for while there are medicines for broken bones, there are none for even a wounded heart. Losing a friend is uniquely devastating, worse than any wound or affliction: a broken bone does not cause as much pain, nor any mental disorder as much anxiety, nor any torture as much suffering, as the loss of a friend causes. But there is hope; you may regain a friend you lost if circumstances change, or if you're willing to change whatever part of you drove them away. And, even if they are lost forever, the pain can be endured, even used as an aid to growth. The loss of a friend is not the end of the world. And whatever pains friendship may bring when it ends are far outweighed by the joys it brings while it lasts. If you never make any friends, you'll never feel the hole in your heart when they leave you, but neither will your heart have the area for that hole to appear. However short a time it lasts, friendship is a gift." She bowed her head. "The Bonaj of the Beaconess."

"Amikeco estas magio," Fitted choked as he wiped his eyes. The Book of Empathy, the sacred book of the Beaconess' Element, always pulled at his heartstrings. Not that the others were inferior, of course, but something about it was simply sublime, majestic in a way the others weren't. The shards of the divine were more visible in it, was perhaps one way to put it.

Celene sat gracefully back down, and the tutor took to the podium, reverently returning the Beaconess' word to its proper place. "Now that our readers have finished with their excellent services," he said after doing so. "let us try to render our own to the Beaconess. Let's try to figure out what the Beaconess' words mean to us, and how we can apply them to our lives."

The audience eagerly took out their tablets and shifted into murmuring groups, talking amongst themselves about what the Beaconess' words could mean.

While they debated, Fitted and the other readers retired to the sanctuary, a modest room where the church's staff could rest, relax, and prepare for their duties. It was uninhabited except for them at the moment, the only other staff on site at the moment out in the church itself, though they weren't exactly alone: a statue of Friend Applejack kept watch by a water fountain, while a statue of Friend Rarity stood by the doors to the changing rooms.

"Pray to Friend Fluttershy for me, would y'all?" Patter groaned as she sat down. "Some Glimmerites have set up shop right outside my house. I've had to go to bed with sound-blockers for the last week."

"Uff," Flash winced in sympathy. "You sure even her patience is gonna be enough? I understand wanting to not involve the Beaconess in everything, I just read about it, but sometimes you have to go for the 9th-level casts, and Glimmerites would definitely count as 'sometimes' for me."

"Brutoloj and malsagoluj," the Generosity reader for the day, someone from Prance judging by her accent, grumbled. "What will it take to make them realize they've already lost? Magic's here, and getting rid of it isn't an option. Did they learn nothing from their founder's demise?"

Fitted shivered. Starlight Glimmer's magic-absorption device had been one of the greatest threats to the Six, back when the Beaconess had walked the world. Unthinkable as it was, it might have even posed a threat to the Beaconess herself. But in the end, darkness fed on darkness; the machine turned on its creator, sapping her life even as it might have sapped the Beaconess'. Afterwards, the Beaconess destroyed it, and the Glimmerites had been reduced to almost impotency, making lots of noise about the threat of magic but never again being allowed to act as militantly as they had under their founder.

"That's the problem with people," the Laughter reader shook his head. "We never quit, even when we really, really should."

"Should they?" Celene asked. "They will never succeed, yes, but isn't that valuable to have an example of? It is one thing to read that 'Trying to exterminate magic is a bad idea,' another to be able to see those attempting to do so fail before your eyes. Perhaps, perhaps the Beaconess wishes to keep them around so that we remember the failures of their founder."

"Speaking of quiet," Flash looked around carefully, lowering her voice as she did so. "I'm going to have to ask y'all not to say anything about it, but yesterday Mom went to the doctor, and, well..." Her eyes shone with joy. "I'm gonna be a big sister in a couple months."

"Gratulon from me, too," the Generosity reader nodded. "Bear your mother my well-wishes, too."

"Do you know what aspect they're gonna be?" Patter asked, anger forgotten. "Or what gender?"

Flash shook her head, and replied, "It's too early to tell. Whatever they turn out to be, though, I'm still gonna be the best big sister I can to them."

"They won't be able to ask for a better one," Fitted reassured her with a clap on the shoulder.

The tutor poked his head into the sanctuary, and nodded for them to come; the interpretation was over, they were needed for the closing prayer.

Flash nodded back to him, then turned back to the readers. "Remember," she whispered. "tell no one."

They all nodded, then followed her back out into the church. The catechumens were already standing, several of them linking hands, eagerly preparing to praise the Beaconess. Either that, or to call the day's school session done. Whatever their intentions, Fitted had no intention of disappointing them. Standing in front of his seat, the other readers at his side, he watched the tutor return to the lectern, and waited for him to lead the closing prayer. After a brief moment to catch his breath, he did so, the rest of the church swiftly joining in;

What do we mean by Harmony?
What in the world does friendship mean?
For far too long I could not see,
Until you shared its magic with me.

Standing firm in Loyalty,
Keeping faith with Honesty,
Forgiving faults with Kindness,
Shining Laughter's hopefulness.

Showering forth Generosity,
Accepting others with Empathy,
And when all six in one place meet
Then Magic makes them all complete.

Oh Beaconess, thy Harmony
Provides the light by which we see,
And lets us say to those we've met;
'Did you all know you're my best friends?'

"Amikeco estas magio," the church called one last time before wandering towards the doors, a steady stream of worshippers and catechumens occasionally parting around a knot of those who stayed behind to meet with friends.

Fitted would have gone with the stream of faithful, but a small sound stopped him. A faint voice, murmuring from the small side chapel. Frowning, he turned to see if he could find the speaker, but the gloom beyond the threshold shrouded them from his sight.

"I'll be along in a moment," he replied, pointing at the chapel. "I'm just gonna check something out really quick, I think I heard someone."

She nodded and followed the tide out the doors while he swam against it, making his way to the chapel. As he drew nearer, the sounds grew louder and more distinct, and more worrisome; it was clearly a person's voice, and they were crying. He picked up the pace, not wanting to let whoever it was suffer any longer than they needed to.

Once inside, he looked around, before shaking his head in confusion; the crying was clearly audible now, but he couldn't see anyone making the sound. Not in the pews, not in any of the closets, not under the table of candles, he even checked the air grates to see if it was simply an echo, to no avail; whoever was crying was in the room, yet not visible.

He flapped his pegasus aspect wings, seeing if the wind revealed anyone using magic to hide. It showed him nothing. He looked up at the ceiling, coated in a lovingly-applied mural; again, nothing. Biting his lip, he turned to the statues, the seven sculptures of the Beaconess and her Six. Murmuring an apology for any mistreatment they were about to suffer, he began to search their alcoves.

No one was hiding under Friend Rarity's generous mantle, nor behind sturdy Friend Applejack. No one clutched at Friend Fluttershy in search of comfort, nor at Friend Pinkie Pie in search of happiness. No one hid behind Friend Rainbow Dash for protection, nor consulted Friend Twilight Sparkle for advice. The Six stood alone, yet even as Fitted slipped out of the last alcove the crying continued. Sighing, he turned to the last statue, and girt himself to desecrate it with his touch.

The Beaconess herself it was, finest silk resting gently on flesh of gold, wings of bent light flowing out of her back. Rubies and emeralds adorned her, and gold thread accented; her pearl headgem glowed like a star. One hand draped modestly across her chest while the other was held up, three fingers raised. Her mouth was a stern line, though with a slight upturn at the edges, while her eyes were choicest emeralds, and even her tears were drops of sapphires.

He blinked at the last thought. The Beaconess was never depicted crying. But who would deface...

The crying was coming from the statue. Against his will, Fitted put two and two together. "B," he hesitantly called. "Beaconess?"

Well, warped was the better word: its face twisted to stare at him, eyes piercing green. The mouth turned from a stern line to a frown, a sight that sent chills down Fitted's spine. He hated disappointing authority, any authority; the thought that he'd disappointed, that he'd annoyed, the Beaconess almost turned his knees to jelly. It was all he could do not to prostrate himself, pleading for forgive-

"If you're going to talk to me," a voice like a desert wind rushed from the statue's lips. "at least don't freeze up after one word."

"No, I'm not going to send you to Tartarus," the voice sliced through him. "I'm not going to send you to Tartarus or the Pit or Hades or even the time-out corner. The worst thing I'm going to do is teleport you outside, something that's becoming more appealing the longer you act like I'm going to bite your head off."

"Pardon me," he apologized again. "I didn't mean to offend you, I was simply trying to give you the respect you deserve."

"Whatever," the voice rumbled from within the statue. "Anyway, yes, it's me, the Great Divine Beaconess. So what?"

"I," he fumbled. "I heard you crying, and I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to help."

"You can help," her voice turned to the rumbling of distant stormclouds. "by leaving me to grieve."

He bowed and prepared to leave, but paused on the threshold. "Some would advise those who grieve to pray to Friend Pinkie Pie," he hesitantly said. "Personally, though, I've always found that praying to Friend Fluttershy gives me greater comfort. Not that you need to pray, of course, but-"

"It wouldn't matter who I prayed to, anyway," the voice snapped like a whip. "They couldn't hear me, wherever they are."

Fitted blinked in confusion. "But," he stammered. "but they can hear us, they've done so too many times to count. They hear us and intercede for us before-"

"No," the voice fell like the gloom of night. "That's not-not what happens. Yes, people pray to them, to my-my friends, and I answer those prayers, but not because my-my-the intended recipients of those prayers tell me about them or intercede or whatever. There is no middleman; every prayer one of you makes goes straight to me. There's no great 'Celestial Court,' no army of Friends interceding before me day and night, not even a secretary. Every prayer goes straight to me, the universe's over-glorified tech support."

"The Friends aren't real?" Fitted whispered in shock. "Applejack, Rarity, Twilight, all the others, they're fake?"

"No, they're real," the voice snapped again. "They're as real as you and me. What isn't real is the idea that, after they died, they came up to Horsey Heaven with me and we spend all day talking and partying and playing harps."

"I don't know!" the voice boomed like thunder. "I've scoured every Pranck of the universe, of the multiverse, and I still don't know where they went! Contrary to your little cult, I'm not omnipotent, I'm not omniscient, and I am not a god! If I was, I'd have been able to save Rainbow from that stupid dagger, stop Fluttershy's hair from turning gray, stop Pinkie Pie from taking her final bow! But as it turns out, I'm not a god, and I couldn't save any of them! I couldn't stop them from leaving and I couldn't find where they went! Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?! I have enough power to atomize a planet or make a new one out of solid gold, but I can't do anything to stay connected with my friends! I can keep magic in balance, I can hold a universe together, but I can't keep track of the people I love! How can I be a god if I don't even know where my friends are?!"

"I'm magic's plumber," the voice sharply replied. "I make sure there are no clogs and that none of the pipes burst. I try to help people on the side, maybe stop a monster or two, but in a nutshell I'm just there to make sure magic doesn't explode all over the place."

"But then why all this?" Fitted gestured around at the chapel, at the church. "If you're not a god, why don't you stop people from treating you like one?"

"I tried," the voice scoffed. "Multiple times. Each and every time, they only called me a god louder, worshipped me more and more. In the end, I just... gave up trying. And, well..." The voice sighed like a rain-laden wind. "... I get lonely on the Astral Plane, okay? There's no 'Celestial Court' there, no Friends. It's just me, maybe my Disharmonious counterpart or other visiting spirits if I'm lucky. But I can hear prayers, somehow, and while having to hear people whine, grovel, and plead all day does get a bit old, being all alone gets old much faster."

"Then make some friends," Fitted offered. "Come back and walk among humanity once more, as you did in the time of the Six."

"First off," the voice flared like a flame. "do not call my friends that ever again. They weren't the Six or the First Friends or whatever, they were my friends, the Rainbooms; Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Fluttershy, Applejack, Pinkie Pie..." A heavy silence fell for a moment, before the voice sorrowfully whispered, "... Twilight Sparkle..."

"I'm sorry," Fitted apologized once more. "I was simply trying to give them the respect they deserve."

"Then don't call them that again," the voice snapped. "And if you're going to worship-"

"-whatever them, at least make your statues or idols or models or whatever accurate. Seriously, armor like that was archaic centuries before Dash was born, and who thought that Fluttershy wore blue? She was a green girl, aquamarine at the bluest. And that stupid cloak you all give Rarity, please, tear if off before she rises from her grave and kills whoever designed it. I mean, green and gold on white and purple? Who thought that looked good? My fashion sense is centuries out of date and I know it's bad."

"I'll see what I can do," Fitted nodded. "But there's a lot more that you can do, Beaconess; if you walked among us again, you wouldn't need to act through us. You would be able to make whatever corrections you need yourself, as you did in the time of your friends."

"That was my second point," the voice sighed. "Thanks for the offer, but I can't come back to Gaia. I don't know anyone here anymore; I'd be a total stranger, separated by time as well as space."

"A stranger can easily be turned to a friend," Fitted frowned. "And what about the Element Bearers, the Champions of Harmony? Don't you know them?"

"I lost track of them around the fourth set," the voice sadly replied. "My-my friends chose who would take their places, but I was never as close to them. It... it felt like they were copies, bad ones, of my friends, and the ones who followed them were bad copies of those copies. I had more trouble connecting with Devon than I did with Applejack, more trouble connecting with Goldenrill than him, and I barely knew what to talk about with whoever followed her. They went from being my friends to just... closer strangers, if that makes any sense. I help them when they need it, but it's just a work relationship, not a friendly one. To be honest," weeping chuckles came from the statue. "I can't even remember who the current ones are."

"Even if you know no one," Fitted repeated. "strangers can easily become friends if you just make the effort. You made friends with them," he gestured at the other statues. "and countless others; what's stopping you from doing so again?"

"I am a Spirit of Harmony, holding this world in the palm of my metaphorical hand," the voice rumbled like thunder. "I am light-years beyond humanity, in lifespan, knowledge, and capabilities. I am Death, the shatterer of worlds. How could I become friends with mortals again? How can Death be friends with people she knows will eventually become her prey?"

"Like the Book of Laughter says," Fitted reassured her. "'It's not how long you stay friends with someone that matters, but how long you remember that friendship.' So long as you remember them-"

"I," the voice seethed. "am sick and tired of remembering. I have spent centuries remembering, wallowing in nostalgia, regretting. Memories alone are cold comfort, and if I try to make friends again that's all I'll be left with. Oh, I'll enjoy friendship for a while, but once they die, and they will, I'll just be let with memories, again. I've suffered through that already; never again."

"Then keep making friends," Fitted said. "Never stop making them and you'll never be left alone. Some of them might die, yes, but your other friends will help you carry on. The only way for friendship to truly die is if you let it, if you give up on it completely. So long as you have one friend, friendship still lives, and where there's life, there's hope."

"And what if I don't want that kind of friendship?" the voice snapped. "What if I want deep friendship, real friendship, like what I had with the girls? What if I don't want my "friends" to be a series of interchangeable parts like Dimiourgos?"

"There's a difference between treating people like that," Fitted protested. "and recognizing that their lifespans aren't as great as your's. Like the Book of Kindness says, 'Just because a creature won't live as long as you doesn't mean its life is worthless; every creature's life has value, no matter how short it might be. We prove our own dignity by recognizing the dignity in others.' The friends I'm advising you make are more dignified than building-blocks, and should be likewise valued."

"Is my pain not as valuable?" the voice boomed. "Am I not as dignified as them? You tell me to respect others, respect their limits, but you don't seem too keen on respecting mine!"

Fitted's gaze softened in realization. "You're afraid," he murmured. "You-you don't want to feel the pain of losing friends again, that's-that's why you don't want to come back to Gaia."

"Losing the girls killed me," the voice replied, shaking. "How can I go through that again? How can I make friends if I know it's only going to end up hurting me?"

Fitted fell silent for a moment, then took a deep breath in. "Losing a friend," he said. "is one of the worst experiences you can endure. It doesn't hurt your body, which only serves to worsen the pain; there are medicines for broken bones, but none for even a wounded heart. Losing a friend is uniquely devastating, worse than any wound or affliction. A broken bone does not cause as much pain, nor any mental disorder as much anxiety, nor any torture as much suffering as the loss of a friend causes. But there is hope; you may regain a friend you lost if circumstances change, or if you're willing to change whatever part of you drove them away. And, even if they are lost forever, the pain can be endured, even used as an aid to growth. The loss of a friend is not the end of the world. And whatever pains friendship may bring when it ends are far outweighed by the joys it brings while it lasts. If you never make any friends, you'll never feel the hole in your heart when they leave you, but neither will your heart have the area for that hole to appear. However short a time it lasts, friendship is a gift.

"Words of wisdom that you spoke in the past, Beaconess, but which still hold meaning now. I understand your fears, and your reluctance, and they're right in a way; making friends will bring pain eventually, either when you fight or when you lose them. On the time-scale you work with, friendship, in the end, does nothing. Just like, for us, eating or drinking does nothing in the end; we'll only get hungry or thirsty again, so why bother? Because it's not only the end that matters, for the same reason that the Book of Honesty says that the ends never justify the means; the means, the journey, is an end in and of itself. It's not just the ending of a book that matters, but the pages before it. You could have turned Starlight Glimmer to ash instead of her abominable weapon doing so, but you didn't, and the fact that you didn't matters, even if her end turned out the same. Even if friendship does do nothing for you in the end, it will still matter; what you choose to do before your story ends is just as important as what that ending is. Friendship won't last, and it will hurt when it ends, but that doesn't mean it's useless, just like having a shorter lifespan than us doesn't make other creatures useless. It's not just their ends that define things, but what they do leading up to those ends.

"And even if that's all wrong," he shrugged. "even if it's only what happens on the last page that matters, there's still a reason to make friends, a very simple one. You don't want to make friends to avoid getting your heart hurt again, yes? Tell me," he clasped his hands, locking eyes with the statue. "how well is avoiding friendship helping with that?"

Rivulets of sapphire poured from the statue's eyes while piercing wails radiated from its mouth. Waves of psychic agony ripped through Fitted, almost forcing him to the ground. But he stood firm, and fought his way over to the statue, wrapping his arms around it and trying to pat it reassuringly. "There, there," he murmured through gritted teeth. "It's okay. Everything's going to be fine."

Suddenly the blue gems stopped pouring, and then, to Fitted's surprise, the statue fell still. He looked confusedly at its suddenly-dead eyes, then covered his own as a burst of light exploded behind him, causing white sparks to dance through the statue's orbs. Blinking away the spots in his vision, Fitted turn around and gaped in wonder; the Beaconess stood embodied before him, standing in the middle of a swiftly-fading starburst on the ground. The statue had come to life, with two main differences; the eyes of the Beaconess were living, and pulsing with tears waiting to be shed, and...

The Beaconess snorted a laugh at that, then said, "It's not a headgem, it's a horn. But," her face fell. "can explanations wait? 'Cause right now, I'd really, really like a hug."

Fitted obliged, dropping the statue and embracing the real thing as she began to cry again.

Eventually, she exhausted her tears, and Fitted helped her to her feet. He held her as she walked shakily over to the statues of her friends, murmuring their names and gently brushing her hands against their bases. He stayed silent as she spoke to them, telling them what had happened to her since she'd last come, and bidding them farewell as she prepared to make new friends. He didn't rush her, didn't try to butt in, only waited on her as she made her farewells.

Soon, those were finished, and he helped her out of the chapel, neither of them paying her statue any mind. They passed the pews and seats inside the church proper, the glass-stained sunlight washing the Beaconess in countless colors, until they reached the doors to the outside. They opened at a command from Fitted, and together he and the Beaconess stepped out into the light.

And there she paused, looking out over the city. Tree-towers, crystal constructs, and cloud buildings greeted her, distant people swarming over them like ants. In the heart of New Canterlot, the Embassy loomed white-and-gold. Over all, the Sun shone, while a wind from the west gently blew.

He clasped her hand. "You'll make new memories," he reassured her. "and you won't make them alone." Gesturing at the bulge-eyed Flash and Patter at the base of the church steps, he said, "I bet they can help you."

A sobbing laugh ripped from the Beaconess' throat. "Not that different, it seems," she chuckled. Smiling down at Flash and Patter, she said, "Hi, I'm Sunset Shimmer, though you probably already knew that. I'm trying to make some friends; think you two can help me?"

"Sunset Shimmer?" Fitted frowned. "I've almost always heard you referred to as the Beaconess."

A frown came over her face, and she sighed. "Okay, joke's gone on long enough. My name is Sunset Shimmer, and my title is "Spirit of Harmony." The people who founded this, though," she gestured at the church. "gave me another title, one that I'm glad to leave behind. You see, they saw me in my pony form back in Equestria, and decided to name their cult after me--or, rather, what I reminded them of. Tell me," she curled a tress of hair around a finger. "does my hair's patten remind you of anything?"

Fitted put a finger to his lips in thought. Flame red streaked with pale yellow... "The light of a candle?" he guessed.

"Ruby Rose and the other founders didn't call me the Beaconess," she explained. "They called me the Bacon Horse. It got corrupted into Beaconess over time, but their original name for me came from the fact that I was a pony with a mane that looked like fried pork."

Patter furrowed her brow. "Would," she asked, slowly for once. "would that make Beaconess a... a horse pun?"

Sunset blinked, then rubbed her chin in thought. "I," she hesitantly replied. "I guess so. Huh," she chuckled. "Guess some things never change. But," she bit her lip. "a lot of things have, since I was last here. I-I need help learning what's changed, and how. Can-Can you help teach me?"

Flash bent one knee. "If I can serve you by work, life, or death," she declared. "then I will."

"Then I'll serve you as a friend," Flash replied. "Serving someone doesn't make you their servant, after all. "Friends serve their friends," as the Book of Loyalty says."

"Flash?" Sunset furrowed her brow. "I thought Sentry said the rule was Flare for girls. Er, or are you not a descendant of Flash Sentry?"

"I am, jorino," Flash replied. "The Flare rule was written out almost a century ago, though, under my grandmother Flash Derpy."

"Do people still call her that?" Sunset angrily muttered. "Yeah, Ditzy may have been a bit clumsy, but... okay, it might have fit, but that doesn't mean it's nice to call someone that."

"I," Flash hesitantly said. "don't understand, jorino. Derpy's a perfectly fine name, and a pretty popular one. It's up there with Rainbow Dash, Glitterhoof, and Dusk."

"If it wasn't before," Fitted shivered. "it was after Flash's grandmother. Her career was... awe-inspiring."

"I know somebody who lives over in the Confederated Canters," Patter whispered. "It's been decades, and the Silverhorn's still too hot for snow, at least according to him."

"Huh," Sunset breathed. "Who'd've thought, 'Derpy' doing a 180 like that? I remember when Fluttershy scolded Rainbow for calling Ditzy that, back when things were just starting out, and now it's..." She shook her head in amazement. "Some things stay the same, others change almost completely."

"Friendship stays the same," Fitted assured her. "Yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Even something as serious as the loss of a friend only hinders friendship, not destroys it. The only thing that can do that is losing faith in friendship itself, in the belief that connecting with others is a good thing. And even then, that faith can be regained, and the institution it held up be restored. Friendship never ends, Sunset Shimmer, it only sleeps." He stretched his hand out to her. "Let us help you awaken it again."

"Some things stay the same," she laughed as she took his hand. "some things change almost completely, and some things change into things that came before."

"Ah," Fitted smiled. "This reminds you of when you spoke with Magic during the Saturation."

"No," Sunset chuckled, shaking her head. "When Princess Twilight beat me, at the Fall Formal."

"Really?" she curled her lip. "What do they teach you about history these days? Okay, everyone, sit down; it's story time."

And so it was as it is: children grew into adults, adults grew into mentors, mentors passed into legend. And two more constants were there; Sunset Shimmer, the Spirit of Harmony, the living legend and undying mentor, and friendship, the rock upon which legends are built. Sunset Shimmer's friends may have passed, into what none know, but the friendship they kindled in her heart lives on, as it does in each of us. Friends may come and go, but friendship itself lasts until the end of the ages.

Tradition

by RangerOfRhudaur

Sine Magisterio Laudatae