//------------------------------//
// Act III ~ Chapter Twenty-One ~ Nostalgia 
// Story: Spectrum 
// by Sledge115 
//------------------------------//



Spectrum





The Team



TheIdiot



DoctorFluffy



VoxAdam



Sledge115 



RoyalPsycho



TB3



Kizuna Tallis



ProudToBe









Act Three


The Road Less Travelled




Chapter Twenty-One


Nostalgia





* * * * *





“We will freedom for freedom’s sake, in and through particular circumstances. And in thus willing freedom, we discover that it depends entirely upon the freedom of others and that the freedom of others depends upon our own.”
— Jean-Paul Sartre, from Existentialism is a Humanism







~ The Hall of Unity, Mount Metazoa ~ Fifteenth Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae ~

For one who is immortal, there is no greater mystery than death.

Wreathed in a circle of lilies, the white face, cold and blank as ivory now it had lost the spark of the living, filled Celestia’s gaze. There were no open eyes to stare back. Three days had passed since Celestia closed those eyelids. Just like she’d done for so many eyes, over so many centuries.

Where the fuzz of Redheart’s coat had been burnt and scarred, the undertakers had applied a light gauze, concealing the disfigurement so well, only a subtle grey patch hinted at the lie.

Her throat knotted up as she looked away. Celestia knew the body in the casket didn’t belong to one of her people, not truly. It was no less what they might have become. Led down this path, by none other than her, by who she might have been. If there was a soul, had it left Redheart? Or was it still here, in this world, having remained tied to the Redheart who lived?

Some may have thought it odd to mourn, when the one to be mourned had been complicit in what might be called the theft of souls. Yet Celestia had chosen to mourn, nonetheless. Mourn for Redheart, and all that was lost in that bedeviled Equestria.

Celestia turned, and marched to the stage’s edge. Facing her was the crowd who’d packed the Hall’s upper garden, where Luna had dutifully tended to the flowers since the beginning of this Convocation – even last night, upon the evening of her beaten-down return from Earth. Clustered in seats right before the fountain were her student Twilight and her friends, the human named Alexander, and Madame Heartstrings. By the little unicorn sat Miss Sugarbean, holding her hoof.

Sint Erklass and Ilsa Erklass, and Cadance, Shining and Blueblood were in attendance as well. But Luna waited under the shadow of a pillar, a silhouette framed in dawn’s rose light. Princess Celestia felt her cue as her Sun greeted the world, and parted her lips to speak.

“Dearly gathered,” Celestia began. “Today I stand before you, not as a Princess of Equestria, but a friend who grieves…”

Three months ago, Celestia had officiated a wedding. Now, she officiated a funeral.

“I grieve for a lost soul. One directed to act for a cause which runs counter to the values I was taught in my childhood, the values of the Allfather and his people– those same values I’ve sought to pass on to mine. But let us all remember one thing. In that casket lies the body of a soldier. Whatever her sins, Redheart sought to carry out her given duty faithfully, loyally…”

Amongst the crowd, Celestia’s eyes came to rest upon a minty-green face, pale and drawn.

“... And, so I am told, when it was impossible for her to do no harm, she sought to spread as little hurt as she could… In this, Redheart still carried within her some of the true Equestrian spirit…”

Celestia felt Luna approach. Her little sister’s expression had gone mask-like, as Luna’s face tended to in distress. But nowadays, Celestia knew her sister's pain and guilt, even when she hid it away. It had been her voice which carried out the sentence.

For once, Celestia broke formality at this funeral, wrapping a wing around her sister’s barrel, to press her neck against hers.

Eventually, there were no more words. As on the day of the delegates’ arrival, for secrecy’s sake, no band of musicians performed live at the event. From a gramophone, the track played out Octavia Melody’s rendition of Symphony of Moon and Sun as the casket was slowly lowered into the freshly-dug soil.

In the tradition of earthponies, so from the ground Redheart was made, to ground did she return.



* * * * *



“Equestria,” Moondancer said softly, a little wind blowing a strand of mane across her forehead.

The words were upon Lady Cadenza’s lips before she knew them. “‘Land I love,’” she hummed, “A land of harmony, our flag does wave from high above, for ponykind to see…”

Spotting how Moondancer cast her a questioning glance, from behind those large glasses which enhanced every blink of hers, Cadenza supplied a wry smile.

“Sorry, that came out of nowhere. I guess you do need to pay the piper at some point, after the crazy hours we’ve been keeping these past few days.”

Neither she nor Moondancer had found much time for sleep since the events in Boston and what had come after. Accompanying Princess Luna and Princess Cadenza on their flight coast-to-coast across America had been the sole provider of rest, and even the time aboard the aeroplane had involved hasty yet extensive preparations for how they would introduce themselves to this undiscovered country.

Undiscovered, that was what Lady Cadenza thought of this Equestria in the Mirror, when it ought to have felt like homecoming, more than it ever would for her to set hoof again in the benighted land she’d long turned her back on. Although in truth, it was the land which had turned its back on her, a land she no longer recognised from the bright and hopeful days of her youth, when Princess Celestia had come to take her from Florentina, flightless little pegasus though she was.

These memories of thirty years ago merely bore down harder on a chronic fatigue Cadenza permanently fought to keep at bay. She silently marvelled at the seemingly indefatigable Moondancer, who was known for staying up whole nights immersing herself in research and paperwork, looking no paler the next day than her usual countenance. Such assiduity was why the PHL had trusted their Head of Cultural Preservation could whip up a presentation overnight. As Moondancer had done indeed, going straight back to work once they’d been led to their respective quarters, never faltering throughout the dark hours. In her briefcase, stamped with the lyre-in-a-wreath emblem of the PHL, she held stored the vital information in digital form.

“It’s quite alright,” Moondancer said, calm and measured. Never one to smile much, a wistful twinkle of her bespectacled eyes was what assured Cadenza of the truth to her words. “We ought not forget it is the Equestrian spirit we fight for, Lady Cadance. Long have I hoped Equestria might see you return, its Princess once more.”

This was the first indication Moondancer had given that she took in their surroundings with any more gravity than a waking dream.

Cadenza held the silence, her senses cataloguing those surroundings.

They now stood in waiting at the foot of the Watchtower where they’d spent the night, from which they could contemplate the Hall of Unity, that would soon receive them.

Across the bridge linking this nameless peak to great Mount Metazoa, the lower gates awaited, white marble scintillating in the early morning Sun. The dawn that arose behind the pair cast their shadows upon this same bridge, two silhouettes stretching in the direction of the gates, as if urging them to follow on inside.

“The Hall of Unity,” Moondancer stated after a while. Unlike her previous whisper about Equestria, she clearly had more to say. “Built during the second century of the Era Solaris, upon the bones of a pre-existing structure of indeterminate age, believed by some to be the mythical House of Asterion… A joint project between Equestria, Adlaborn and the Tauren Isles, aimed at the creation of neutral ground in which all the creatures of Equus could peacefully congregate. As a venture, the Hall met with some success in its early days, with many historians citing the establishment of a hippogriff homeland in Mount Aris as a notable example… But only about three or four Convocations were ever called, over a period of several decades…”

Affection grew commingled with sadness, in the smile Cadenza still wore.

“You do sound so like Twilight, at times,” Cadenza noted. “That doesn’t mean you’ve got to do everything like her and give me the full lecture.”

“I’m just thinking,” Moondancer said musingly. “Remind me again, what year is it here?”

“As if you wouldn’t know,” Cadenza said, giving her shoulder a nudge. “They said this was the Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae.”

“Right,” Moondancer nodded, with a sideways glance. “Not a year I’d have thought you’d be particularly fond of.”

Cadenza felt her smile fade. “Yeah,” she replied, the tone going out of her voice. “This… was not a good year. For any of us.”

She looked to the sky. Cloudless on this sunny morning, the only traces of the dawn, rosey as her own distinctive coat, was the light which bounced off the rock of the mountain. And that too was fading from view, making way for the open blue.

There was someone she knew who’d have loved that colour, Cadenza realised with a shock, and not simply because it was in his name.

Prince Blueblood had lived for the seas and skies, when he had lived at all.

“But this is not that year.” Lowering her gaze from the skies, Cadenza could also feel a contraction within her chest, both painful and exhilarating. “There’s been no Crystal War here, Dancer,” she said, staring intently at her companion. “That’s what she said… Princess Cadance. What I said. And here, the Wedding Invasion was nowhere near as bad.”

“Remarkable,” said Moondancer.

The statement was as simple as it was neutral, but Cadenza knew the bookish unicorn must be concealing deeper emotions. At least she, Cadenza, had lost no-one that terrible year, a stroke of incredible fortune, all things considered.

Just like Lyra and others, Moondancer had lost family to the Crystal War. Unlike many others, she had gone on to become a frontline combatant, years ahead of the conflict with mankind.

“The last Convocation happened in the Year 253 of the Era Solaris,” Moondancer stated, desiring plainly to get back on topic. “Which, here, would be exactly seven-hundred-and-fifty years ago… A nice round number, or a good one for an anniversary, at any rate.”

“Did you say this in jest?” asked Cadenza.

“I thought you knew me,” said the other, warmly enough to put Cadenza at ease. “I’m not a complete pencil-pusher, you know. That’d be Raven Inkwell.”

Whom, Cadenza could remember, had indeed been a pencil-pusher, but a highly competent and efficient one. What a shame it was, then, that Celestia’s personal secretary had stayed loyal to her boss over the rise of the Solar Empire, eventually rising herself to become Speaker of the Joint Council. Her insider knowledge, or Mister Kibitz’s, would have been invaluable.

“And you’re thinking…” began Cadenza. “Something, about this Convocation.”

Moondancer sighed, her gloom resurfacing. “I’m wondering, that is all,” she said. “Wondering how equipped they are for the task. You’ve seen how it is on Earth even now, where the United Nations are concerned. With the Europeans reduced to scattered refugee camps and the Special Administrative Zones, there is only really a UNAC while there is America and China. And once the Barrier begins encroaching on those two…”

She did not need to finish her sentence. It weighed on everyone’s minds that, although the Barrier needed twenty more years to consume Earth, the fall of the human world’s two major remaining empires would signal a definite breakdown of global society.

“Strange people, humans,” Cadenza said. “They had a century to refine an international community on a level we’d never seen, yet they spent that whole century in deadlocks between rival power blocs.”

“Lyra did use to say it was sobering, being ambassador to Britain, not America,” said Moondancer. “One a former empire, pining for its glory days. The other, a former colony of theirs, become the new empire. And yet one was barely eighty years apart from the other. She knew Britain had its flaws– nasty business, that trial of separation from the European Union– but it galled her, this American conviction of their own exceptionalism. I doubt she ever came to terms with them being the PHL’s strongest ally.”

Cadenza rubbed her neck. “I’m not sure we’re in a position to criticise exceptionalism,” she said. “Equestrians did start this war, after all.”

“Come off it, that’s not how Lyra saw it, when she helped found the Co-Harmony Sphere,” retorted Moondancer. “She saw Pan-Equinism as a stepping-stone towards that international community we dreamed of. Seeing as at the time, its only significant opponent was the Storm King, and few would dispute he’s pure evil… Don’t you think she had a point?”

“Maybe,” Cadenza said cautiously. “But if there was a point, it’s long got subsumed by this crusade for Conversion. And,” she hesitated, briefly, “we all admire Lyra, Moondancer. Except I knew who she was better than most. To be honest, she may have had a rather… rosey-tinted view of monarchy and traditional gentry, hence her soft spot for Britain and its Royal Family. Even after Celestia let her down… maybe especially after, relocating her affections elsewhere…”

“And here I was, hoping you’d go back to being a full-time Princess,” Moondancer remarked. “Still, I knew Lyra too, and you might be right, there was a bit of a discrepancy there. Of course, it’s easier to sympathise with a former empire that’s already suffered for its hubris.”

They fell silent for a moment after that. A gentle wind blew beneath the archways of the bridge, not to mention another strand of Moondancer’s mane.

Sighing, the unicorn pulled it back, adjusting the neat bun she wore her hair as.

“Seven-and-a-half-centuries since the last Convocation,” Moondancer muttered, shuffling closer to Cadenza. “We come to a world less united than either ours or Earth’s, for all their problems. A common foe is a great unifier, but will these people consider the troubles of a wholly separate plane of existence worth their while? Is it even right to drag them into this?”

Cadenza’s eyes were on the lower gates. The words spoken by Moondancer, of course, echoed her own thoughts, but giving an adequate reply would need to wait, for at long last, there was movement at those gates.

Four figures were approaching on the bridge, all of varying shapes and sizes.

A slow, steady sound began to fill her ears. At first, she thought she was hearing the steps of those approaching. But it grew clear that this could not be the case. They were too far away, and her senses, even as the grandchild of Princess Luna, were not so acute. Cadenza then knew that the regular, growing ‘thump’ she heard was the beating of her own heart.

Cadenza’s throat tightened as the tallest of the figures came into focus. His coat a striking maroon, his chest covered by a billowing tuft which she couldn’t quite tell was a beard, and his great antlers that stretched wide, to just barely touch the tip of the heads on the two figures right beside him.

Sint Erklass, Guardian of Joy. Murdered, by Queen Celestia. Yet here, on this world… And to the Guardian’s left, from Cadenza’s perspective, one of the two figures by him, trotting forward with the grace of a resplendent white Princess… 

She felt herself falter, her gaze darting away, falling upon Moondancer. Her companion had come to stand at an angle where the Sun’s light, bouncing off the rock of the mountain, refracted through her glasses and rendered them opaque. Moondancer’s eyes could not be seen by Cadenza, but her upright posture and thin lips spoke of a solemnity within.

The sight gave Cadenza her resolve back. She made herself look again at the approaching four. The tall figure on the Guardian’s right, or the right as she saw it, was bipedal. Here was not a person whom Cadenza recognised personally, but whom she’d heard Luna speak of fondly. With those eyeglasses, bulky grey frame and especially the distinct dark hooves, he could only be the Minotaur Proxenos of the Hall of Unity.

Wishing the beating in her chest and ears would stop, Cadenza concentrated on the last figure, rather shorter and squatter-looking than the others, whom she hadn’t identified yet. But there recognition hit her with full force.

Captain Alex Reiner, approaching her in the flesh. He was not marching as a soldier should. He was in a wheelchair. Yet he wore his uniform, he looked healthy enough, the runes dormant yet visibly etched where his skin was exposed below his sleeves, and he was alive.

A human, in Equestria.

The four figures pulled to a step in front of them, at the edge of the bridge to the Watchtower. Cadenza chanced a glance at Moondancer and saw her companion staring ahead impassively. None of the four figures seemed about to speak, and Cadenza thought she ought to bid them a greeting as a guest, until the Minotaur stepped forward.

“Lady Cadance of the Crystal Realm,” Darkhoof rumbled. “And Dame Moondancer. As Proxenos, I bid you welcome to the Hall of Unity.”

And Captain Reiner, as well, came forward to greet them. From his wheelchair, he saluted.

“Cadance. Moondancer,” said Alex, still holding the salute. “Sorry if I don’t get up.” He let his hand fall to his side, and gave a semblance of a smirk. “How’d you guys find me?”

“Alex,” Cadenza said softly. Her mouth latched to the first thing she could think of. “You’re alive.” Her eyes went to Sint Erklass. “And… and so are you, Guardian of Joy.”

“Yeah,” Alex said, shrugging, with an air of exaggerated nonchalance. “Didn’t Luna tell you? Although…” He laughed softly. “Guess it must’ve been hard to think of anything else, when the weirdest thing’s already happened to you, like meeting yourself. Right, Cadance?”

She momentarily looked back at him. “Wait, who told you that?”

“Who else?” Alex chuckled. “You did.”

Cadenza had expected, having adressed Sint Erklass, Guardian of Joy, that the Great Stag’s voice would intone in response to her. But it was another’s voice which spoke.

A voice that once was soothing to Cadenza, a source of wisdom and affection. Now, it hurt her that she could never hear it without a painful ache of betrayal.

“Cadance…” Celestia said quietly.

Her gaze could no longer be averted. Princess Celestia was among them, side-by-side with Sint Erklass, Proxenos Darkhoof, and the human Captain. Cadenza took a step back. For the full picture to sink in, she told herself, even as she knew it was a lie.

There was no hurt in Celestia’s eyes. Yet Cadenza knew her aunt had always been a master at concealing her emotions. What she saw, however, daring to glance, was what she’d hoped she could one day again believe was true of Celestia.

Kindness, and compassion, and love.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Celestia said, smiling sadly. “How faded you look... But the sight of you is as precious to me as on that long-ago Spring, in Florentina.”

Cadenza said nothing, a lump in her throat. Then the spell was interrupted by another nudge to her shoulder. She realised it was Moondancer, who wanted her to see something, which the unicorn was staring straight towards, with those great glasses of hers.

The lump turned into a gasp. There were not four people who had crossed the bridge, but five. Only, in the shadow of the Great Stag and the Proxenos, and the Princess of the Sun, her small frame hidden behind the human’s wheelchair, which she had been pushing, the fifth figure was easily missed.

Younger, scruffier, undeniably greener, that was the word…

Emotion overtook Cadenza, as before the surprised gazes of all, the last true Princess of her Equestria kneeled on the bridge, in a manner peculiar to ponies – not bowing on all four hooves, but allowing her forelegs to sink beneath her, her forehooves supporting her, pressing against the stone of the bridge, as she inclined her crowned head.

Behind her, she sensed, after slight hesitation, Moondancer followed suit, solemnly, ceremoniously.

“Captain Reiner,” she heard Celestia say, and Cadenza just knew the Princess had an eyebrow raised on her white face. “I wouldn’t have expected these ponies would greet me thus…”

Alex’s voice was quiet. “It isn’t for you.”

And that was when the little green unicorn pushing his chair reacted.

“Oh!” Lyra Heartstrings yelped. “Oh… gosh, I don’t know what to say… Hi?” She looked shaken. “P-please, you don’t gotta do that. Please, get up…”

It was like hearing a voice from far away.

Even so, slowly, Cadenza stood back up, as did Moondancer. Yet each of them, now, had eyes only for the green unicorn. In this moment, for Cadenza, no-one else was on that bridge – neither Sint Erklass or Proxenos Darkhoof, nor Alexander Reiner, nor even Princess Celestia.

Only Lyra Heartstrings, and two ponies who’d believed in her cause.

“Alex,” said Lyra, bringing his existence back into focus. There was a tremble to her forehooves. “Wh-why are they doing that?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” said Alex. “You’re their John Connor. Their Messiah.”

“Eh?” Lyra blinked. “Their who? Messy-what?”

Alex shared a rare smile. “Cadance, care to explain?”

Cadenza’s reply came in a whisper. “An in-joke,” she said. “We used to call you that all the time.”

“And the Messiah…” Moondancer began. She stopped. “Maybe your own story went much as theirs did, indeed.”

Lyra did not seem to enjoy being the centre of all this attention. Memory started to trickle into Cadenza’s mind as to why. The haze with which she’d seemed to view this Lyra framed by a golden backlight was disippating.

She’d been Lyra’s minder, once.

An old trend from the past came into play then as Princess Celestia, knowing exactly when was the right time to, stepped in, a wing raised.

“Lyra,” Celestia said gently. “And Alex. Go on ahead to the Watchtower. I shall meet you there, in his quarters, when my sister arrives.” She nodded at Sint and Darkhoof. “These gentlefolk shall be accompanying the Lady Cadance and Dame Moondancer to the Hall of Unity.”

Sint Erklass took his turn to speak. “But I, too, will be back, and Ilsa shall come.”

Meanwhile, Darkhoof gave a nod of his own. “If you will follow us, ladies?”

An unspoken understanding passed between all. Cadenza and Moondancer, silently, took their first steps onto the bridge, towards what awaited them on this world. As this was done, Lyra Heartstrings and Alexander Reiner passed them in his wheelchair, guided by Princess Celestia. Neither party shared another glance with the other.

But Proxenos Darkhoof waited, as Sint Erklass turned to Cadenza.

“Dearest Mi Amore,” spoke the Great Stag. “You are not whole… Nonetheless, I can feel that, within, you shine as much like a beacon as you ever did.”

Involuntarily, Cadenza shrank back, wishing he had not addressed her. Whereupon she felt a touch upon her shoulder, gentle as the morning breeze, and she noticed that Moondancer had come to stand beside her, remaining quiet and contemplative.

“Guardian,” Cadenza repeated, nearly struck mute. “I… It shouldn’t be you who calls me a beacon… I’ve… I have tried to do far more than I’ve managed…”

“But you are still there,” Sint said calmly. “Just as now, you are here. And though a hearth’s embers may glow well into the cold dark of night, it is the living which tend the hearth’s flame.”

Air tickled Cadenza’s ear as, even above the heartbeat, she could hear Moondancer whisper, from a place so close to her.

“‘And in the dream, I knew that he was goin’ on ahead,’” Moondancer said, softly, yet not so softly that if subdued, her voice escaped audibility, “‘and that he was fixin’ to make a fire somewhere in all that dark and all that cold, and I knew that whenever I got there, he would be there…’”

This was not like Moondancer, to enunciate thusly. A quote. It was a quote, from human literature, such as Moondancer was fond of reciting from time to time. Cadenza felt sure she recognised this one. An author, wasn’t it, who had written about pretty horses, and old men.

Moondancer turned, a sadness heralded in her eyes, magnified by her glasses.

“‘... And then I woke up.’”



* * * * *



“I… I feel so strange,” whispered Lyra. “I mean, she… tried to kill me. But she hesitated. She said… ‘not like this’. Sh-she didn’t w-want to m-make it hurt… but sh-she… couldn’t stop. She… it didn’t stop. And now she’s dead, but then I look up, and I s-see Redheart, and she’s not, and…”

Helpless, she buried her face in her forehooves.

The human stared at her, she could feel it. Staring at her, with old eyes on what should still be a reasonably young face. The flash of joviality he’d shown on the bridge had now receded.

Nevertheless, he was a slight comfort in Bonbon’s absence. She wished Bonbon was here, though. Following the funeral, Celestia had requested that only Lyra be present in Alex’s bedroom at the Watchtower, for reasons she did not divulge. Lyra had a nagging feeling it had everything to do with Princess Luna, Cadance, and the alien world they’d returned from.

Alex, who’d been standing, or rather leaning by the window, returned to his wheelchair. She saw him hold back a wince as he sat back down, still struggling to find his legs, even after Nurse Cross had commented on his swift progress in the last three days.

Whatever Nurse Cross knew of the Convocation, and wherever she was right now, so far as Lyra was aware, she had not attended the funeral for Redheart. The two had been friends. But here in this world, a Redheart still lived. 

“I’m sorry, kid,” Alex said quietly. His palm touched her head, ruffled her hair. “No… not for her. I won’t say that. I can’t. But I am sorry for you.” He sighed. “You should never have had to see this. You wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for me.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that. Her thoughts were scattered. The terrible sight of the broken dragon who’d emerged from the Crystal Mirror, escorted by two very familiar, and yet very strange figures. One of whom was Cadance, older and wearier. The other one, Moondancer. It was hard to determine which had been the greater shock. 

But most of all, her thoughts lingered on the funeral, on Redheart. Little else was on her mind, merely the dread that resurfaced, the same dread she had felt when that alien Redheart had so easily cast her judgement… A bitter fate that had befallen her, in that other world. And who could say if one day, the Empire’s judgement wouldn’t catch up to her, too.

Lyra Heartstrings felt nothing short of a sinking, twisting feeling in her stomach, and how small everything in her little world truly was.

“Did she have a family?” Alex asked softly, breaking the silence. “Never knew her that well. She kept to herself.”

“Just a couple of brothers… mother and father and...” Lyra answered. She took another deep breath, pushing the thought of death aside, “I know she once mentioned a boyfriend from medical school, or Whinnyapolis. I don’t know if... look, Celestia would know better. I… I probably know? But… it’s all just a blur and…” Her voice trailed off. She looked back at Alex. “Are they all like that? Bitter and… jaded and so cold?”

“I…”

“Bonbon,” Lyra added hurriedly. She felt her throat strain, so suddenly had she raised her voice. “Alex– in your world, how’s, how’s my Bonnie?”

Whatever answer he held in store for her, however, did not come then. Because at that moment, the door to his room opened, drawing both their eyes in an instant. There in the doorway stood Princess Celestia. She inclined her head as she stepped inside and stepped aside, allowing passage to her entourage.

All of them a sight familiar to Lyra's eyes. The warm, all-encompassing Sint Erklass was the first to come in, but his festive appearance was marred by his unusually shadowed eyes. Then the ever-tranquil Snow Maiden followed just by his side, walking so smoothly she might as well have glided in. Behind her was Galatea, in her disguise as a grey earthpony, who went to stand opposite Celestia, the two of them flanking the doorway.

Princess Luna was one of the last two to enter, still half-clad in cracked black armour.

Her wings were draped over Captain Shining Armor, supporting her. He too looked troubled, with his furrowed brows and tight jaw. Lyra’s eyes were drawn to Luna’s haggard own. Matted locks of mane around Luna’s forehead, turned a pale blue, clashed strikingly with the Princess’s habitually flowing, ethereal head of star-studded hair.

Luna’s gaze was focused on the human. “Alexander Reiner. Your sister says... ‘Hi’.”



* * * * *



There wasn’t much good news that Luna brought, in a soft, somber tone. They each stood or sat in a half-circle, all facing her. Lyra Heartstrings, Alexander Reiner, the Erklasses, Galatea and Shining Armor. Only Celestia stood right by her side, ready to support her weight were she to finally stagger and collapse.

“I saw a child I’d made friends with,” Luna half-whispered, her mind on that night she’d aided a certain little pegasus face her fears and become Rainbow’s sister, “now grown, a soldier for a bitter cause. Cadance saw Shieldwall, who’d committed unspeakable crimes, as a broken prisoner of the PHL. I saw you, Lyra Heartstrings, long gone, but raised upon a pedestal, a beacon of hope. I return here where nothing is out of place, yet everything feels… uncanny. I've procured a prisoner, an Imperial officer who’ll soon be delivered to us, and… and Spike. I've unlatched the lock on Spike’s mind. I reached deep into the Archmage's dreams and convinced her to break the lock on her own. But it will take time for a proper solution, and without finding what the Geas uses as its base, its anchor…”

She blew a wayward strand of her mane away. To her frustration, the locks around her horn remained drained of their thaumaturgic essence.

It was almost too much for her to retell. Everything, from the war-torn world, to the Empire, to how Twilight, now the Archmage, fought with such fervour in defense of her cause. She spoke of how she’d braved the nightmares that plagued the Archmage’s psyche, how she had fought valiantly and desperately, and yet failed so utterly to retrieve Discord. Even engaging contact with humanity’s leaders had felt like a formality, not the victory Cadance told her it should be.

Her legs felt weak, ready to collapse at a moment’s notice. The human, barely coming back into use of his legs, watched her sympathetically. Yet she droned on in a hoarse tone.

“This spell upon their minds, this Geas,” Luna stated, “it is far stronger than any I have seen. Ancient spellwork that binds its victim to it, clouds their memories as an opiate, itself bound to… I don't know, an artefact or a singular spell. Even after turning people into wretched little half-things, something tells them to continue with their lives, to ignore their consciences and go on with their dinner. This Empire's past trauma helps conceal it. A true believer or a brainwashed soul… Where is the difference with the Geas? Where it begins, and where their trauma ends, I cannot say for sure.”

“Clouded their memories… does this explain why…?” Sint said aloud. “How did it compel them to go to such lengths…”

“I’m sorry, Grandfather,” Luna said somberly. “But I could not discern why they did it. Why they continue in this… in this atrocity. Why the Reindeer were slaughtered to the last. The Lady Archmage claims she is not aware of the slaughter… that the Reindeer simply went into hiding.”

“Beyond our borders, there remain many evils in this world,” Ilsa spoke up. “Such as the Storm King. Queen Novo spoke of him as the scourge of the hippogriffs…”

“Quite right,” said Celestia. “You mentioned him as a figure of the Empire's nascency, Captain?”

Reiner, from his wheelchair, nodded. “Yeah… yeah, he was. You’re saying–” 

“No.” Luna interjected, coughing. “Not the Storm King. I know it seems that way, but I'm afraid it is not so simple.”

Her knees felt like they were giving away, yet she managed to slump against the human’s bed. Celestia knelt down before her. Just behind her, Luna saw all the others look at her worriedly.

“What did you see?” Celestia said gently, caressing Luna’s cheek.

“What I didn't see, Tia,” Luna spoke gravely, her voice just loud enough, she hoped, for all in the room to hear.  “The Storm King is not a foe known for his subterfuge. Even when he tries, you knew, Tia, you and Novo. He left his mark all across the Southern Seas. No. Something else ties it all together. Something that lurks in the darkness where I cannot see. It knows I seek it.” 

Memories of the shadow within Twilight’s mind lingered on Luna’s thoughts. The shadow that had eluded the faithful student, tormented her for the years that went by. Luna clenched her teeth, cursing under her breath.

“And for years,” Luna continued, her eyes looking down to the floor. Her breath was shaky and her body trembled, yet few would question the steely edge within her voice, “it has been the true power behind the Imperial throne.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” Ilsa said carefully.

Luna nodded vigorously, eyes looking up at Ilsa. “Not entirely, Ilsa. But there has to be a reason why the Reindeer were put to the sword above even humanity…” she said, grimacing. “And that reason, I firmly believe, is the will of this hidden, accursed evil.” She looked up to where Lyra stood, always next to Reiner. “The Ambassador, Lyra, Reiner spoke of her as if she knew something,” Luna said, pausing to cough. “Perhaps… perhaps she too found that shadow.”

Weakly, she summoned the two journals from her null-space, gently placing them on the floor in front of her.

“These here are your mother’s diaries, written in Old Ponish,” Luna said, facing Reiner. “If Ambassador Heartstrings knew something, then perhaps we can find it by retracing their steps.”

“I’ll… I’ll get to it,” Lyra said, levitating the journals to pocket them in her own null-space. “But, Twilight could help– maybe if we, uh, split the homework?”

“I’ll see if they can copy it,” Reiner said simply. “Shouldn’t take an hour.”

“Aye… do so. We’ve so much to figure out,” Luna bemoaned, rubbing her temples. “And time… when Discord and I arrived on Earth, we were told only two days had passed since Captain Reiner’s mysterious disappearance, that’s two weeks here. Yet when I returned with Cadance, only three days had passed, same as Earth.”

It was Reiner who answered her unsaid question.

“You said you had… church service with Maxine?” he asked, scratching his chin.

Luna noted his use of her name. Not ‘Max’, as her father had called her, but ‘Maxine’. The man who went by ‘Alex’ didn’t see fit to abbreviate his sister’s name. Those two, Luna reflected, hadn’t had a very good relationship. She nodded.

“Yes, on a Sunday.”

“Then that means… time’s…” Reiner began, then shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense, the time between us and the Empire’s always been the same for years…”

“Maxine mentioned that, too. I suppose, I suppose that’s another answer to find,” Luna said. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself onto her hooves. As she did so, she saw Sint and Ilsa, and even Galatea, take a step forward in alarm. “Now, the delegates await us still.”

“You need your rest–”

“No,” Luna retorted, “no… I must see to it that…”

Celestia lay a forehoof on her shoulder. “You can accompany Lady Cadenza and me as we present the case, Luna,” she said soothingly. “But I cannot allow you to exert yourself further. Lady Cadenza’s words will be enough for the Public Assembly.”

Privately, Luna regretted that she hadn’t stuck around to watch how Princess Cadance had presented their case to UNAC. But if Cadance had convinced mankind’s leaders, then of course, so could Lady Cadenza convince mirrors of those she knew.

Reluctantly, she nodded. Something else crossed her mind.

“Tia, about Lady Cadenza– there’s something you ought to know, as well. All of you,” Luna urgently looked back and forth between her companions. “It is imperative we seek out this, this Architect. And the heart-shaped locket. Has anything turned up in searching the Everfree River?”

“None, Your Highness,” Shining was prompt to say. “None so far.”

Luna groaned. “The Architect, confound it! Confound her and… and Prismia. Both of them, if they truly are one and the same!”

There was so much to tell, so little time to move. Now her headache had returned, stinging deep. Something she hadn’t mentioned to anyone yet, not even Celestia. She shouldn’t give her sister further cause for worry.

“Luna, what’s wrong?” asked Celestia, prescient as always.

“It’s her, Tia. Lady Cadenza,” Luna answered. “Cadance… so close, yet, so different. The reason our worlds have turned out so differently. Lady Cadenza didn’t know about Prismia… Twilight, Twilight’s research, you must urge her…”

Her voice devolved into a hoarse, racking cough.

“Yes, I know what needs to be done, Sister,” Celestia said, glancing at Shining Armor, who stood to attention. “Captain Armor, inform your Guards to continue the search for the locket. Remind Twilight of her task. With Discord gone… we must act quickly.”

“Time is of the essence,” Galatea added sternly, eyes darting from Luna to Celestia. “If the Solar Empire has captured Discord, sisters, we mustn’t discount the notion that they’ll extract knowledge of mine involvement from his mind. They already know of mine counterpart.”

“And every advantage we have counts,” Celestia agreed, nodding. “That window is closing fast.”

“Understood,” answered Shining.

“No, Captain.” Luna coughed again, “I shall inform… I shall inform Twilight myself. There is so much she needs to know. She must be eased in...”

Fleetingly, she contemplated what her niece had seen, and what Lady Cadenza’s loss had been. She hadn’t seen the High Captain or his peculiar new wife for herself. But Cadance’s haunted look had told her enough.

‘So many… broken families…’

How Shining hadn’t hesitated in fighting his wife’s spitting image. How Alexander and Maxine had lost their mother to parts unknown, while Dan withered away in his longing. As her gaze fell upon Galatea, who stood quiet and tranquil, Luna remembered something.

“Galatea…” she said raspily, the grey earthpony’s eyes meeting hers. “Come… come over.”

The eldest of three approached her, still serene. Luna steeled her gaze.

“Celestia told me of your invaluable help, when Discord and I needed a lifeline.” she spoke tenderly, “It… it was you who sent Cadance, after all. I... may have spoken and thought ill of you in the past. But I hope we– I, can move past that, from hereon.”

She reached for and took Galatea’s forehoof in her own.

“Thank you... dear sister.”

The grey earthpony’s face stayed impassive. Yet behind those icy-blue eyes, something stirred. A warmth Luna hadn’t sensed before, now uncovered. There, if Luna’s eyes weren’t deceiving her, the ghost of a smile tugging at the grey one’s lips.

Some time passed in silence, with Luna’s companions deep in thought, mulling over it all. It was only then that Luna noticed the single missing constant of Celestia’s vicinity.

“Where is Twilight?”



* * * * *



In the Hall of Unity, where each of the quarters were custom-made to receive visitors from all four corners of the world, Lady Amira could have almost believed she was back home. Although the walls were granite, rather than sandstone, and the air lacked the pure quality of the desert, the architecture here was of remarkable fidelity to the high style of Farsina or Intisar. Perhaps unsurprisingly so, given Saddle Mareabia’s cultural ties with the Tauren Isles. Diligent work had been done to keep the Hall a reflection of contemporary styles by its Minotaur custodian, Proxenos Darkhoof. It did help that the Hall was carved out of mountain rock, like Farsina. 

This was how Amira was trying to distract herself, stealing a glance every so often at the gold-leafed frescoes of the ceiling, whose depiction of chubby foals with pony-esque rounded eyes she found so much dearer than her interlocutor’s twaddle.

“... And I repeat, Your Ladyship,” said Grizelda, the Young Pretender, “that Grover’s Crown rightly belongs with my people. To see it restored to Griffonstone would be a gracious gesture.”

Pretending to think about it, Amira swirled the last drops in her cup of rosewine.

“A gracious gesture, no doubt,” agreed Amira, taking her final sip. “But one, to my lasting regret, which doesn’t belong with me. The contents of my husband’s collection are his to determine. I fear we shall have to await his availability.”

Grizelda’s eyes narrowed, as she visibly contained her impatience. “And I’ll be glad to help… free up his time,” she said sardonically. “I can wait until then for Grover’s Crown. All I ask is for the Crown, no strings attached, once the time comes. If you can promise me that, I’ll put in a good word with Princess Celestia.” 

“A good word is always appreciated,” Amira said, with a diplomat’s smile. “Indeed, we’ve shared many words in these past days, Your Grace. I assure you, I find the matters of our small, personal concerns a glad diversion from the troubling news brought to us by a far-off world.” Before Grizelda had a reply to give, Amira had stood up, dipping her head subtly. “Yet other guests await my presence, and for them, those troubles have taken on a pressing reality. You’ll understand what duties I owe them as a host.”

She tugged the bell-pull by their table. The chime had barely receded before a servant – picked from her household’s horses rather than zebras, like all of her staff on this trip, out of tact to certain fellow delegates – had entered the parlor to stand at attention.

“Duha,” said Amira. “If you may escort Her Grace to the door? I am expected elsewhere.”

Leaving the Young Pretender to place her claims at the door, as it were, Amira proceeded away, to a separate wing of the Saddle Mareabians’ quarters.

It wasn’t until she’d reached the entrance to the thermal baths that she let her head hang. She’d found the spy’s funeral enough of a new weight on her heart. But the persistence of that griffon! And yet she’d been entirely honest to Dame Grizelda about one thing. Her presence at the thermal baths wasn’t for her own pleasure. She did have other guests waiting.

Nearby at an adjacent balcony framed between two vine-covered pillars, a blond-maned stallion, his coat a tangelo brown, was sat reading a scroll under the rays of a late-morning Sun. Spotting her standing still before the entrance, he rolled up the scroll and got up.

“Greetings, Lady Amira,” said Prince Haakim. “You seem out of sorts, if you’ll pardon my forwardness. Has the Young Pretender kept pestering you?”

Amira nodded wearily, sharing an experienced look with her young colleague. “I fear it is unlikely Grizelda will relent, Esteemed Highness,” said she. “The opportunity is simply too great. How often, truly, do the peoples of Equus all gather under one roof.”

Haakim smiled ruefully. “Aye, and here I’d thought it was such a special occasion, attending that fireworks display with the Sun Princess, last year.”

“Give them this, the Equestrians know how to up the stakes from year to year,” agreed Amira. “After the return of Princess Luna and the breakout of Lord Discord, such happenings as the Royal Wedding and the Crystal Realm’s reappearance, momentous as they were, may have felt lesser by comparison. Blissfully ignorant were we…”

“When this year, the threat we behold is Equestria’s own dark mirror, you mean?” said Haakim. “There’s more to Equestrians than meets the eye, isn’t there… How was it you learned those fireworks almost didn’t go as planned, again?”

Amira’s brow darkened. “I’d sooner not talk about this, Haakim.”

While he was a Prince, Haakim was humble, and looked ashamed at his mistake. “Oh… I beg your forgiveness,” he said, dipping his head. “It should never have slipped my mind.”

“You are not the one at fault, Highness,” said Amira. “I remain grateful to your mother that she permitted me to take on this assignment, showing her faith in me to stay on cordial terms with the Sun Princess.”

To say nothing of her standing in Court, tarnished as it was. Dear Qabil’s arrest had been less than two years ago at the time.

This proposal for an Expedition by the little green unicorn, Madame Heartstrings, which on any other occasion would have been so suitable for the al-Husans to pledge their backing, was the one thing now where stepping forward would cast further suspicion upon, not restore the family’s reputation. 

Such a respectable enterprise wouldn’t fancy the infamy of a name currently attached to ethically-flexible archaeology, not helped by conflicts of interest with the likes of Dame Grizelda… 

“Mistress?”

Duha had reappeared, coming all this way to find her. Surprised, Haakim stepped aside to give way for the servant. For her part, Amira inwardly frowned at his arrival.

“You wished to speak, Duha?” 

“As I escorted Dame Grizelda, I found a new visitor waiting at the door,” explained Duha. “I must apologise, Lady Amira, that I did not know to expect them.”

“No new visits were scheduled for today,” said Amira. “Who is the visitor?”

“With all my apologies for any ill-preparedness, Mistress, the visitor is Her Royal Highness of Equestria, Princess Luna.”



* * * * *



Time spent in the Saddle Mareabian baths was quite different from the Ponyville Spa, and yet, remarkably alike. However she did it, Rarity’s sweet-talking of the Saddle Mareabian delegation over the past week had earned their little group many an invitation to bask in the pleasures of the exotic land from beyond the desert. Invitations they’d kept in reserve, until now.

But for Fluttershy, even after the scarier stories Twilight had told of Saddle Mareabia’s history, the comfort of a nice hot perfumed bath, surrounded by her friends, could not have been more needed than now. As finely-clad attendants diligently poured scented lotion into the great enamel bathtub, Fluttershy tried so hard to let it soothe the pain. 

Her friends, bless them, did not truly understand. Only Rarity and Pinkie had suspected what Discord truly meant to her, and even they’d found it baffling. Even Pinkie. Who, at this moment, was at the bath’s edge, holding up a pink balloon and a pin.

“Now, Pinkie, darling,” Rarity said from within the bath, with a hint of fear, “mind the–”

Right then, Pinkie popped the balloon. It exploded in a shower, filled with what turned out to be chocolate milk, which splattered over the tiles. The Saddle Mareabian attendants gasped and muttered disapprovingly, but it wasn’t their approval Pinkie was looking for.

“I’ll clean up myself. Promise,” Pinkie mouthed quickly, her eyes on Fluttershy. “How was that, Flutters? Nothing…?”

“I’m sorry, Pinkie,” whispered Fluttershy. “It’s just not the same.”

“Aw…”

Fluttershy saw Pinkie exchange a helpless glance with Applejack, who gazed down. “Flutters, Ah… Ah can’t say I know why you’re feelin’ it, but Ah know what you’re feeling. No-one’s ever ready to lose someone…”

Of all her friends, Fluttershy knew Applejack was feeling the most ill-at-ease, having never suspected her feelings for Discord, topped off by the farmer’s lingering distrust of the Saddle Mareabians. Applejack was the only one who’d refused any service, standing stolidly by the bathtub, her one concession having been to remove her hat.

Close by, Dash was having her wings groomed, but she appeared to take little pleasure from it, frequently shooting Fluttershy a worried glance. 

“Heck,” whispered Dash. “It ain’t easy even if you weren’t friends… Redheart… the bad Redheart… I fought her in the Everfree to save Lyra and the others, but she’s gone now, and…”

Never one who knew how to formulate her feelings, Dash let her voice trail off.

But Twilight, whom Fluttershy felt listening in from her spot at the opposite end of the bathtub, couldn’t have found the right words either. Not even with the aid of Princess Cadance, who was presently draping a pair of majestic wings around her shoulders in wordless comfort – the best which she could be offered at this moment.

Of them all, Cadance came closest to understanding. She hadn’t even had to say anything. Fluttershy silently reflected as she sank a little lower into the water. The Wedding was still a fresh memory in her mind. And Cadance had found herself pulled into the fight on Earth, the fight which had claimed Discord. In a war which pitted the Guards of Equestria on the field, it was not hard to guess whom Cadance had seen fighting on the opposite side.

Fluttershy had already seen it, in that terrible vision within the human’s mind, that Discord himself might have conjured up on one of his bad days. Shining Armor, committing evil.

Twilight had witnessed this as well. In a way, this was just more painful to think about. Fluttershy scrunched up her eyes. She was being selfish, she was getting her friends down, Shining was Twilight’s big brother from birth, and what was Discord next to that, nothing but a creature who’d willingly caused them all hurt… 

A creak of the door announced a presence to divert all attention, including hers.

“Princess Luna?” gasped Twilight, rippling the water.

Still clad in her armour, the Princess entered the thermal baths, her companion the distinguished personage who’d granted them use of the baths for the day, upon hearing Rarity’s request; Lady Amira, one of the Saddle Mareabian delegates they’d met a year prior, shortly after the trouble which had led to Trixie’s arrest and eventual incarceration.

Fluttershy tried shaking off recollections of offering Alexander Reiner a jam jar meant for Trixie – even though the slowly-hardening stain of chocolate Pinkie’s prank had left, bless her soul, was far too reminiscent of the jam spilled on the hospital floor after Reiner tried to strangle her.

Shivering despite the warm water, Fluttershy made herself focus on the newcomers. Lady Amira wore her customary expression, one of remote, aristocratic benevolence. But Princess Luna looked forlorn as her eyes met a certain unicorn’s.

“Greetings, everyone. And… hello, Twilight. I… well… I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind?”

“Princess…” said Twilight, biting her lip. “The PHL’s presentation is starting soon.”

“I know,” Princess Luna replied, “but I’m not attending this particular presentation, I am certain I've heard all I need of their world… I was hoping we could talk on your way there.”

“Oh, that sounds good to me, Princess,” replied Twilight, offering her a friendly smile, which faltered when her gaze fell upon Luna’s bleached tuft of mane, and the new patch of freckles that had appeared upon her snout. She frowned. “But I hope I’m not taking away your–”

Princess Luna cut her off with a weak wave of her wing. “No, no, it’s quite alright, Twilight, I did volunteer for this,” she said. “I shall be heading off to sleep right after I see you off.”

“Jus’ go, Twi’,” Applejack added, “we’ll be fine.”

As Fluttershy saw Twilight glance her way, still not looking so sure, she gave her a small nod. “It’s okay, don’t worry,” she whispered, trying for a brave face. “We’ll see you at the presentation.”

Lady Amira coughed formally, gaining their attention. “Actually,” the Lady said softly. “I would like to request a moment myself, with Mistress Fluttershy.”

The only ones who seemed unsurprised were Princess Luna, and the attendants. Fluttershy registered vibes off her friends that ranged from unease in Rarity and Cadance, who’d both been helping Twilight out of the bathtub, to suspicion in Applejack, who shared a look with Pinkie and Dash. And she felt very nervous, wondering if she’d done something wrong.

Whereupon Princess Luna, pulling a towel off the rack, spoke again. “Lady Amira merely wishes for a word with you, Fluttershy,” she said, not unkindly, while she handed the towel to Twilight. “You might wish to hear what she has to say.”

Whatever this was about, Cadance understood it, unspoken, and nodded at Fluttershy’s friends.

Between people of rank like the Princesses and the Saddle Mareabian noble, there always was this sense of a hidden communication, mysterious to outsiders, where the unsaid mattered as much as the said. Fluttershy would have loved Rarity or Twilight to be with her for this. But Twilight was drying herself off, and so was Rarity, courtesy of an attendant.

Escorted by the two Princesses, the five soon went, leaving Fluttershy in the bathtub, alone with the noblemare as the attendants shut the doors.

Lady Amira glanced queryingly at the chocolate-stained floor, yet refrained from comment.

“Your Ladyship, um...” began Fluttershy. “P-please excuse me if I don’t get up…”

“It is no offence, Mistress Fluttershy,” Lady Amira smiled faintly. “I was in fact hoping to sit and confer with you.”

And Fluttershy, worry in her stomach, wondered what the foreign noble could possibly want from her, as Lady Amira settled herself by the bathtub.

“Maybe you’ll find this hard to believe,” Lady Amira spoke, pondering an ornate pattern on the enamel surface, “but I may understand what you’re feeling. Better than your friends, even.”

These were the last words Fluttershy had expected. “Y-you do? How could you understand?” Then she feared she’d sounded insolent. “I-I’m… Sorry, Your Ladyship.”

Lady Amira gave a quiet little laugh. “Fear not. I found it a challenge too, to keep my composure, when it happened.”

“... When what happened?” Fluttershy asked softly. Behind her cool grace, the Saddle Mareabian’s eyes looked sympathetic, commiserating.

“I know what it’s like to have someone you love taken from you,” said Lady Amira. “Not die, no. But taken away. Are you familiar with my House’s name? Our ways may not be your ways, yet I imagine your friend, Mistress Twilight, must have explained them to you, before I came to visit with His Esteemed Highness last year.”

Fluttershy tried to remember. “You’re, you are from an old House called… uh, Husan, wasn’t it? Um, sorry. I don’t know much about Saddle Mareabia.”

“Al-Husan,” Lady Amira corrected. “My husband’s House. A generations-old provider of sorcerers to Her Esteemed Majesty’s Court.” She smiled, wryly. “Actually I find it elating, to speak with one for whom that name is unfamiliar. It has been source of ignominy, lately.”

“Why?” Fluttershy whispered. “What happened?”

Lady Amira sighed. “We were shamed,” she said. “I find my husband a remarkable stallion, a great scholar and adventurer– but feckless in his desire to possess, to catalogue the unknowable. He acquired something he ought not have... and was duly punished for it. Sentenced... to Erebus.”

At last, Fluttershy understood. “Erebus… I, I know someone who got sent there,” she said, thinking of Trixie. “I’m… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to. It was a just sentence…”

“Even so,” began Fluttershy. “It’s gotta be hard. Seeing… seeing Princess Celestia, I mean. I…” For one split second, she hesitated. “I… I know it isn’t her, but… It’s weird, but I feel like it’d still hurt, if it’d been her who… turned Discord back into stone.”

“Tis’ an odd thing, matters of the heart,” agreed Lady Amira. “Even when we see those we love for all that they are, knowing the wrongs they’ve committed and woes they’ve caused, we cannot help that we love them.”



* * * * *



Once they’d broken away from the company of friends, leaving the remaining Bearers in Cadance’s care, not many words were shared between Twilight and Princess Luna on their walk. What little Luna had to say was delivered early on and with a matter-of-fact precision. Exhausted as she was, fatigue having by all accounts caught up to her since Redheart’s funeral, Luna nonetheless didn’t beat around the bush.

“Tia wishes you to continue your research into the Amulet, Twilight,” Luna had said. “Following certain revelations regarding the point of divergence, all involving Princess Cadance, it may prove crucial in uncovering this war’s mysteries.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Twilight had replied, keeping up a confident smile, “I’ll be right on it in no time.”

Luna had nodded, and that was the end of that. Now they walked in silence, down the hallways, passing by delegates from all walks of life. Some remained where they were, whispering and gesturing at the Princess. The obsidian armour she still wore must have covered hidden wounds. Most people were walking in the same direction, to where the Public Assembly now convened.

However, as they marched up the stairs, towards the balconies, Twilight thought she’d caught Luna stealing little glances her way. Or perhaps it was to a tapestry on their right, or the carpet beneath their hooves, or the flower pots along the walls. Or perhaps even, which prompted a flustered blush from Luna, a strand of stray mane or sullied fur on her flank.

‘I’d like if you just told me I missed a spot, Princess,’ Twilight thought bemusedly.

Never mind that it couldn’t have possibly been why Luna was staring. The Princess had larger concerns in mind, no doubt.  Although admittedly she had showered rather hastily in the immediate aftermath of the Princesses’ return, seeing her with the dragon. With Spike.

Twilight shook her head. It wasn’t the time to dwell on this yet. She filed away the matter of Luna’s glances as another question, to be asked in better times.

But entering the Princess’s royal-box, as Twilight brushed against the railings, someone caught her eyes down in the Assembly, prompting her to freeze on the spot. There was no mistaking those glasses, or that primly-tied mane.

A face she’d unexpectedly seen again in the Canterlot Library, mere weeks ago. A face that had grown unfriendly to her, seemingly for good.

Twilight tore her gaze away from the other-Moondancer, and looked to her right. She paused to find Luna staring back at her, eyes wide. The Princess blinked, then cleared her throat and looked away, as expected.

“Apologies, ahem,” Luna spoke up, before Twilight could say anything. “I… um… right.”

“Princess?” Twilight asked. Luna returned her gaze, the freckles on her nose a little darker now. She had beautiful, gentle eyes.

“I was… just wondering. Is something wrong?” Luna asked, her eyebrow raised. “You seemed terribly quiet there. Does my presence… discomfort you?”

“Oh, no, it’s not you Princess. It’s just... nothing, nothing…” Twilight assured, then reconsidered. “I… saw Moondancer down there.”

Luna’s gaze drifted to follow where Twilight’s went. By the looks of her, Moondancer was gauging the stage and the whole chamber. Her eyes looked sharp and calculating when amplified by her glasses.

“An old friend,” Luna surmised. Twilight winced at that. “Worry not, Twilight, I am certain you will have the time to catch up with her.”

Twilight let out a short, bitter laugh. Coincidently, Moondancer was turning to disappear back into the wings.

“Friend… I wish. Thing is, I don’t think she wants to see me,” she said, tapping the railing. “I blew it here, and I’m… I don’t know why it’d be any different, with this Dancer.”

“Ah…” Luna said softly. “I cannot claim much knowledge of… Dancer, outside of a few times that I have walked her dreams. But this other world holds many surprises, in the way of past faces.”

The gentle, mournful tone spurred Twilight’s curiosity.

“Thanks, Princess, I’ll try working something out,” said Twilight, “I guess you know all about reconnecting, huh?”

“Indeed. These days… most of all,” Luna said cryptically, eyes focused on where Moondancer had vanished off to.
 
Clad in her chestplate as well as her usual regalia, head held high when they’d walked past the many faces of Equus, Princess Luna was the picture of royal dignity. But she must have aged by a good few years in the time she’d spent on Earth. Her eyes grew haggard as the seconds ticked by. And her gait, now Twilight recalled it, was a soldier’s gait, limping ever so slightly on their walk.

“Princess Luna,” Twilight said carefully. Luna’s ears perked up. “I’m glad you were with me, by the way, but I think… you need to rest. I can take it from here.”

Luna cleared her throat. “Agreed. I’d best be on my way. But will you be alright?”

“Yeah… yeah, I will,” answered Twilight, gently shaking her head even as she gave a half-smile. “Don’t worry about me. We’ve got plenty we can talk about later. Just take care, Princess.”

Princess Luna bobbed her head. A ghost of a smile was on her lips. “And you too, Twilight.”

She departed back the way they came. While Twilight beheld the growing crowd, pondering friendship and the wider world, it was the most curious feeling, however. Left staring at the backs of many heads, Twilight could have sworn an image had imprinted on her sight, the faintest glimpse of Luna’s enchanting, dreamlike eyes gazing at her in shadow, like the Moon and stars above accompanying her lonely studies.

But Twilight couldn’t dwell on that, as the Assembly darkened and the stage was set.



* * * * *



To Celestia, Dame Moondancer didn’t look much different from her counterpart, that shy and quiet mare from her School. Indeed, out of her friends, and from what Luna told her of the Archmage, Moondancer may have been the least removed in appearance of all, with her old glasses still perched upon her snout. Only her mane marked her as different, with its strands of grey hair neatly wrapped in a bun, together with her vest in the dark greens of the PHL.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” asked Moondancer, looking up from her equipment on the table. A computing device, fashioned by human craft, she’d said.  “If… it’s not too much to ask, that is.”

“Just another family talk, Dame Moondancer,” answered Celestia. “I am alright, thank you.”

Dame Moondancer smiled. “Lady Cadance is… well, she’s getting ready for you. She ought to be back from the restroom anytime soon, Highness.”

Celestia nodded in turn, her eyes darting around the antechamber. It was small, its ceiling low, with a pillar in each corner and wooden benches lining each side of the wall flanking her, long tables partnered with each bench. Dame Moondancer was seated on one of them now, looking up from her papers.

The doors swung open from behind Celestia. She turned in time to see Lady Cadenza enter and freeze where she stood. Aunt and niece looked at one another, with neither saying a single word. Lady Cadenza did not move, remaining rooted to her spot. Celestia offered her a tiny smile.

“Lady Cadance,” Celestia began, pausing to contemplate. “It’s good to see you. I was just enquiring for your whereabouts. I only wish we’d had more time to prepare for your arrival.”

Cadenza’s eyes remained impassive, calculating, not unlike Luna’s. Celestia spotted the telltale ruffle of wings beneath the vest, stunted as hers were. Carefully, one hoof at a time, she moved towards Celestia. It wasn’t too confident, Celestia observed, but she had to commend the effort.

Once Cadenza was right in front of her, the pegacorn let out a sigh.

“I only wish I could say the same,” she said, with a tilt of her head. “But war is war… I’m sorry. We really don’t have much time, do we?”

She wasn’t afraid. Not openly, at least. Not a bad start.

“That we don’t,” agreed Celestia.

“Yeah. When was the last time…?”

“Officially, a thousand years ago,” Celestia answered. “If you’d call counter-piracy support a ‘war’, then I suppose the 1st Household’s interference at Mount Aris, ten years ago, would count. Twenty-six, by your time, yes?”

“Yes. Celestia’s Own, they called them,” Cadenza replied. “Shining read all about it.”

“So he told me, and Astron, too,” Celestia added, letting a touch of fondness slip into her tone. The twinkle in Cadance’s eyes when she mentioned him did not escape her. “Colts, you know, can be so impressionable...”

“Oh, they are, they are…” said Cadenza, wistfully. But a shadow fell over her expression. “The last time Celestia’s Own were deployed was… Moscow, I think. No one’s seen them since… but if the Great Equestrian was in Boston… ” She blinked, shook her head. “Sorry. It’s just... I’m all over the place. You remind me of… her. But you’re not.”

“Don’t feel bad, Cadance,” Celestia answered at once. She felt the urge to pat the other’s shoulder, but intuition told her that Lady Cadenza wouldn’t appreciate it much. “I’d best be prepared for plenty more like that.”

No answer came, at first. Cadenza pawed at the tiles, biting her lip.

“For what it’s worth,” Celestia added, and Cadenza looked up, “you’re handling this much better than I thought you would.”

Cadenza’s laugh was short and bitter. “I don’t know what’s ‘better’ at this point, Auntie,” she said, before wincing. “Sorry. Force of habit. But… Yeah. I thought I should just… shunt it aside, you know. You’re you, but… also not. And… might as well start this off right.”

“I trust Princess Cadance helped with that, didn’t she?”

“I yelled at her at first,” Cadenza replied, matter-of-factly. “Long story, but we dealt with it. And with you… it’s a clean slate. I guess.”

Moondancer stood up from her table.

“If I may, Your Highness,” the bespectacled mare told Celestia, moving to Cadance’s side. “I knew Twilight Sparkle when I was growing up. Her and Lyra Heartstrings. We all went to your School for Gifted Unicorns together. I always knew they were destined for great things, whereas I felt content to live life with my books and dreams.”

She drank in the sight of Celestia.

“When Lyra was appointed as our foremost ambassador to Earth, I’d never imagined that so much more would be thrust upon her. But even less could I’ve imagined that I’d one day stand where she stood, an emissary to a very different world. To humans, that difference was a shock… I… I hope we won’t be too shocking to you.”

“You are not, my friends, you are not,” Celestia answered, but her voice grew wistful, eyes tracing the strands of grey hair in Dame Moondancer’s mane. “I remember you, Moondancer. I regret that I never could satisfy your questions about oneirology. Now I see you here, carrying your world and another’s dreams. Believe me when I say that I’m just as equally glad to see you here.”

Dame Moondancer’s eyes might have grown misty behind her glasses.

“I only wish that Twilight were here by your side,” said Celestia, “and that Lyra could have seen you both stand in a peaceful Equestria…”

“Not everyone makes it, Your Highness,” said Lady Cadenza softly. “Time takes us all.”

Luna had, in brief, privately described the Lady Archmage following the funeral. How she had been so close, and yet so far, from the faithful student. How convinced and how torn she was over her Imperial duties. Luna’s voice had wavered and trembled, when she so vividly described the dragon that had once been Spike, and Twilight’s last request, before her nightmare pulled her in once more…

Centuries of practice had kept Celestia’s serene smile from contorting into a bitter grimace.

Meanwhile, Lady Cadenza’s gaze hardened. “I’m afraid I need to cut to the chase, my apologies. When we were monitoring the situation in Boston, Your Highness, we… had an encounter. Someone who used Miss Sugarbean– our Bonbon, as her vessel.”

“Yes?” Celestia replied. “And who did she claim to be?”

“Someone named Galatea,” Lady Cadenza answered. “I had prior dealings with her counterpart, but never in person. Perhaps she’s made contact with you, or Aunt Luna?”

‘For someone so private, Galatea,’ Celestia thought, recalling the fate of the other-Galatea, ‘you can be so… careless.’

Pushing the thought aside, Celestia shook her head. “No. I’m afraid she has not. Not here, at least.”

“But– Alex, I mean, Captain Reiner, he was there too, he must have told you,” protested Cadenza. “She’s your sister, or so she claims to be.”

“Ah… I see,” answered Celestia, “Alex did tell us of her. But the only sister I’ve had return to me has been your Aunt Luna. In any case, we’ll keep our eyes and ears open. I suspect she’ll only make herself known if she wants to be.”

Dame Moondancer and Lady Cadenza traded looks of bewilderment.

“Well, then I shall take my leave, Your Highness,” said Moondancer, returning her gaze to Celestia, pushing her glasses up. “We’ve got a presentation to do.”

She bowed, Celestia answering with a bow of her own. With that, the unicorn turned to leave, folding up her computing device and taking it with her.

“Your Highness,” said Lady Cadenza, with a frown, “please, are you sure you have nothing on this Galatea…?”

“I’ve no answer I can give for that, Cadance,” Celestia answered, shaking her head. “But should the truth come to light, I will ensure that you're amongst the first to know.”

“I see,” Cadenza answered, sighing. “Right. I’ll be with Dancer.”

With a nod exchanged between the two of them, they departed the room.





~ Day 6 of the Convocation ~ Fifteenth Day of the Month of Rophon ~

The Hall of Unity’s attendees sat in silence, watching the two PHL representatives on the stage. On the very evening of their arrival, Lady Cadenza and Dame Moondancer had worked all night preparing their presentation, relaying each other to catch enough sleep. Princess Celestia stood by their side, watching as the images projected passed by on the screen, telling Earth’s story once more, to an audience who’d heard it through dreams and nightmares. 

‘If only Luna were here,’ she thought. She glanced at her not-niece, smiling wryly. ‘What a fine diplomat you’ve grown into, Lady Cadance.’

Dreams and nightmares had once sufficed, only three days ago. Now reality was there for the Public Assembly to see in full. Behind the representatives of the PHL, beside the screen where the images flashed, left and right, was a large map they had set up. A projection, which obviously had seen frequent use. Nevertheless, this was their most accurate depiction to show how far the Barrier had reached.

Although Lady Cadenza and Dame Moondancer did not partake in Luna’s means of presentation, there was something just as captivating to Celestia about the facts and statistics pouring in from this strange new world.

Where Princess Cadance had revealed an Equestria of the past, without fifteen years of war, expansion, and xenocide, here it was Lady Cadenza’s turn to speak before leaders, her words weaving in and around the imagery. Cadenza had begun with a story, one that must have been familiar to her, yet strange to retell. An Equestria that was made to suffer from Chrysalis’ assault, then beset by Sombra’s war. Others had joined Equestria in its conflict. And not for the last time.

Never again would they be hurt, for they had united the equine nations under the Pan-Equine Co-Harmony Sphere when a new threat emerged. And with the Storm King’s retreat, they had found another triumph. A golden age of discovery and prosperity, under the guidance of Princess Celestia.

Then, a full ten years after Luna’s return, the miracle discovery of Earth, through means only Celestia and the Bearers of Harmony could know, when the year was 2016 on Earth.

An endeavour that once brought hope of two worlds becoming one. That Earth’s wounds would be healed, and its technological marvels shared with Equus in turn. That two worlds could learn from one another, and reach for the stars hand in hoof.

It was not meant to be, for then came Conversion, and with it, the Conversion War. How at first, the serum was a miracle cure for all of humanity’s ailments. But those who took this cure turned to another form, which was all but another person, stripping away their humanity until only a hollow pony remained.

Talks had broken down. The world plunged into the Purple Winter. From the centerpoint of the crossing between Earth and Equestria, the Barrier had emerged. Once the Princess became Queen, with her followed a new Empire. But so too had Ambassador Heartstrings arisen, again calling upon the two worlds to come together, now against the Tyrant Sun.

Yet while Lady Cadenza spoke at length of humanity’s plight, it was the fate of their brethren, which truly drew the eyes and ears of the attendees. How the crystalponies and hippogriffs, Saddle Mareabians, Oleandrites, zebras and even griffons had followed the Tyrant’s lead. None on this other-world knew the fate of the Reindeer. Few cared for the Changeling Hives, purged, burned, or wasted away by the tainted love of the Newfoals. The Minotaur and the Kirin remained steadfast in their isolation, but their time grew nearer. And most dragons were condemned to their obsidian prisons, forever frozen as statues. 

There were those who still resisted the Imperial hegemony, whether by letter or by the sword. Those aligned with the Equestrian Resistance, hidden beneath the Empire’s watchful gaze. Grizelda’s Redcloaks and other, independent griffon clans, stubborn in their refusal to join those clans under the Sphere’s banners. But with news slowly drying up with the Barrier’s expansion, this was all the PHL knew from what little information was relayed to them by the Resistance.

From here, Lady Cadenza presented to all the battlefield that was Earth.

“... The Pacific Stampede Fleet cooperates with the Chinese and Japanese navies in combating Imperial presence in the Pacific and polar regions,” Cadenza spoke, indicating several positions on the map with a ruler, in the vast ocean that dominated most of it. “Now, if you look here, the Royal Navy protects the South Atlantic, in conjunction with the French Navy headquartered at Cayenne, down South…”

The projected map displayed a world dominated by the Barrier and Imperial territory, growing out from the region that was once Europe, as Reiner had previously described. Lady Cadenza pointed to the continent across the ocean, barely grazed by the Barrier.

“North America, where Captain Reiner hails from, has roaming gangs of insurgents and others between settlements. Everything North-East of Boston is Imperial territory. The media calls it the Second Civil War. No one can agree what to call it, actually–”
 
“These red patches,” Grizelda interrupted from her balcony. She pointed at a corner of the map, near the location marked ‘Boston.’ “What are they?”

“Bandits,” Cadenza said grimly. “Not all who fight are in it together with UNAC. You’ll find no heroes among them. Just opportunists and scoundrels looking for the scraps.”

Curious murmurs rose, just for a moment, murmurs that died with Cadenza’s further exposition.

“... The Brazilian Army fighting Imperial frontline units in the Amazon…”

“... China, India’s Himalayan defense network, a huge, risky enterprise that nevertheless may prove to be…”

“... With the International Space Station as our eyes and ears above. With the loss of the Baikonur Cosmodrome– over there, in what used to be Kazahkstan, we’ve resorted to the Guiana Space Centre, that’s over here, in French Guiana, and Cape Canaveral to keep them supplied…”

Humanity’s situation, Celestia surmised, was not beyond recovery – were it not for the Barrier. Lady Cadenza was clinical and precise in her description, and it was consistent with what Reiner had told them. UNAC’s territories circled the Barrier, with armies posted at every chokepoint, anticipating the next Imperial push. They fought tooth and nail, by land and sea and air.

But they simply could not hold their ground. Any progress they made, the Barrier would erase.

Celestia had braced herself for the news, long ago. Yet the confirmation of a losing war brought on a scowl to her carefully maintained mask. The audience remained silent, watching the numbers fly by. They were kept simple, a matter of population counts and military statistics. Numbers that spoke to their sensibilities. Where Equus spoke in terms of millions, tens of millions at the highest estimates, Earth spoke of the hundreds of millions.

At last, Lady Cadenza’s presentation concluded, to an uneasy applause and curious murmurs beneath the ambience of the Public Assembly. She took a step back so that Dame Moondancer could step forward. Her horn glowed, the presentation shifting with it.

“Honoured representatives,” Moondancer spoke, quieting the chamber. “Though humanity fights on nobly, the situation is not so hopeful elsewhere. Where they excel in bullets, bandages and books are just as needed.”

The picture changed, from the gritty battlefields to the huddled poor and starving. Her watchers were fascinated, enraptured and mortified all at once, when her words flowed like water.

“... Starvation risks in China, India, Indonesia, and the United States as well. Now, these places support the majority of Earth’s population, breadbasket regions where most of their remaining crops are grown.”

A picture showed humans and earthponies toiling in green, terraced farmland that stretched to the horizon.

“The influx of refugees from Europe and the Middle East, here, here and here, have resulted in an unprecedented increase of population…”

“... Shortages of medicine in the United States…”

“... Aid redirected from South Africa to Australia, deemed a lower risk for refugees…”

“... Loss of Nauru and Kiribati deemed acceptable…”

“... Funding reduction in non-combat research and development, including the serum research…”

Celestia’s frown grew deeper still. There was a telltale downcast look to the two PHL representatives before her. In the crowd, she spied Galatea, still under the guise of the earthpony Shale. Stoic as ever, yet somehow grown more somber as the lecture went on.

Up on the balconies, Grizelda, off by Ironclaw’s side, did not hide her scowl, anymore than did Queen Novo and Skybeak. The Mikado and his Prime Minister held a hushed conversation with one another, brows furrowed. All around them, the Hall of Unity listened, and contemplated.

“... Antarctic outposts with backups of all we’ve got…”

“... The Cultural Preservation Project, led primarily by what’s left of Europe’s intellectuals, continues our efforts to ensure their legacy is kept intact.”

Moondancer paused, longer than she had before. 

“I understand, honoured representatives, if you are afraid,” she said, quieting the murmurs. “Frankly, so are we. The Empire’s reach is far and wide. But every effort counts.”

She glanced at Celestia, and the Sun Princess took this as her cue. The pale unicorn took a step back for Celestia to take her place.

“The war has come, my fellow leaders,” the Princess of the Sun spoke. “And as Dame Moondancer has said, we understand your fears. That this is a war none of you have any stake in. Yet the Empire knows we are here. And sooner or later, they will come.” She held her head up. “But we’ll not face it alone. When the time comes, we will be ready. I do not expect each and every one of you to fight. I understand that the war does not override any and all pre-existing concerns, troubles you wish had been addressed in this grand occasion. And that, I say, is why we are here. The Call was sent out because a world needs help. When that help has been given, the doors will not remain shut. On the contrary, leaders of Equus, they shall remain open.”

She glanced from Grizelda, to Toshiro, to even Chrysalis…

“The Call of a Concordia Maxima may be sent because of war, but why should that mean it must remain only for war? We shall provide, not just for humanity, but to every one of us.” 

“But this Empire, they know we're all gathered here...” spoke the Abyssinian Queen, paws curled into a fist. “We know that war’s coming.”

“They attacked your sister, Princess Celestia,” added Prince Abraxas.

“Aye.”

“Aye!”

“What can we do?”

The chorus rose, but quieted down when Celestia cleared her throat.

“Yes. This is why now is the best time for us all to stand firm. When the Empire comes, they will not be facing a squabbling rabble, but a united front. It will only happen, however, if we put our heads together–”

Queen Novo stood up. “And... what if the Storm King comes for us?” she exclaimed. “In humanity’s hour of need, what if the window opens for him to strike?”

“Then Equestria shall come to your defense,” Celestia spoke firmly, “just as we spread our shield to humanity. I understand if you have your reservations. We are not an Empire.” She indicated the screen. “Humanity’s cultural wealth and knowledge will be here, preserved for all. As we provide, they too shall share. That is why, in the days and months, and years to come, Equestria will host a program, a cultural exchange, between Equus and Earth. Though we may gather here in a time of war, my hope is the ties that bind shall remain past the darkest of days…”

In the days which had passed, Celestia had reflected a great deal upon this project. A massive undertaking to transition the most significant of cultural artifacts from one world to another. Prose and poetry, painting and sculpture, music and film, even games – and the technology to make this all feasible. She expected such a shift would have far-reaching repercussions in Equestrian society and beyond, far too many to plan for. It would have to do.

If humanity failed, if they were too late, then there’d be someone to honour their memory. But Celestia hadn’t asked that question, and knew Reiner wouldn’t have been willing to answer.



* * * * *



After the presentation concluded, Princess Ember saw to a matter which concerned her greatly.

That morning’s funeral had felt odd for her to attend, but the Chaoskämpfer had insisted upon it. Nonetheless, she wondered what Garble would’ve thought. Traditionally, dragons rarely spent time mourning their dead. Funerals were a festive occasion, full of breaking open barrels of mead and raucous laughter, a celebration of a life well spent brawling and amassing treasure. Indeed, the fun at a funeral lay in the traditional brawl of divvying up the late dragon’s hoard.

She was old enough to remember one such funeral. Where her father had been every inch the Dragon Lord, boisterously calling for a great display of sadness one moment, partying the next. Yet in private, on that night, little her had seen a different, rarely-glimpsed quieter side of him...

‘No,’ she told herself sharply. ‘You don’t think that way. You’re a dragon.’

Her experience at the Court of Kyorito, Ember mused, should have prepared her for dealing with the other peoples of the world, no matter how indifferent she felt towards them.

Now she stood before the doors to the Hall’s medical ward, thinking on how her experience did not even suffice for her own people. It didn’t feel right to freely saunter into another dragon’s den. Gathering her resolve, Ember pushed the doors open, the Chaoskämpfer’s canister held in the crook of her arm. And she stopped in place at the sight of the enormous dragon.

The space of a whole three beds had been cleared for his bulk, placed upon an oversized Ryupponese mattress. When he had arrived, he’d been covered in armour plates, cracked and dented from battle. Here she saw him as he was. An adult thing that was probably a dragon, whose sleeping head alone must have been as big as her whole figure. 

Except it wasn’t an adult. She wasn’t even sure it was a dragon. Ember could only guess at what the ponies that brought him in had thought of his size, but she couldn’t imagine that they considered this a “healthy” dragon. 

Something felt off about his size – the scales did not flow gracefully into one another, they looked as if they were pushing against each other, like clumsily-arranged tiles or paving stones in Kyorito. She could see great stitches lining his body in places, and she wondered or feared just what would cut up a dragon and put them back together. 

She noted a curious smoothness and roundness to his face. It looked… childlike. There was no other way to describe it. This looked like a child. With the proportions of an adult.

‘That can’t be right.’

But, here this thing was. The slash on his neck had been sown up, yet she sensed this dragon was wounded beyond the surface of his scales.

And he was tied down, as much for his health as their protection.  Not in chains – his wings, his claws and his feet were bound in reeds. Reeds that Ember knew as the rare plant to actually grow in her homeland, a commodity prized by the Kirin, with which her father had paid for her education – though he’d have claimed them agreeing to take her in was his price for their safe passage through the Dragonlands.

“Your Highness,” spoke a voice. “How nice. I wasn’t sure when we Kirin would see you again. You left in a hurry.”

For the first time since leaving Ryuppon, Ember had been addressed in the Language of the Cherry Blossom. The voice belonged to a short, willowy stag. He stood by the dragon’s voluminous mattress, a flask aloft in his aura, applying hyle-salve to the slash. 

“Master Kenzo,” Ember greeted the Mikado’s personal physician, replying in his language. “You’re here, too?”

The physician nodded disinterestedly. “Never thought I’d be treating a dragon again so soon,” he commented. “Or such a big fella. I swear, Princess, the number of scrapes you got tackling them sky-whales… Hunting’s the only thing where you looked… alive.”

Kenzo’s informal mode of speech made him stick out at the Court, but Ember found it all the more reason he was one of few Kirin she’d liked. It took finesse to apply a stitch to a dragon’s thick scales. Moreso when they were distorted like this. 

“I hope you washed your claws,” said Kenzo. “Gatherings like these, you don’t know what sticks to hooves and claws and whatnot.”

Ember just nodded, feeling the canister in her claws. An object worthy of respect, she had carefully kept it clean and polished as she could, from her trip here to her stay at the Hall.

“May I have a moment with your patient?” she said. “As a dragon, he is a subject of my father’s. And I am my father’s emissary.”

Kenzo gave her a shrewd, piercing look.

“As you wish,” he acquiesced, bowing. “But I must ask you keep your distance, dragon or no. He’s been through a lot. And don’t try speaking to him. Even if he weren’t on sedatives, he isn’t one to talk back much. I’ll give you ten minutes, no more.”

Bottling the hyle-salve, he left through the door. Now alone with the big, tied-down dragon, Ember took in his sight one more time, before she lowered the canister.

“Great Chaoskämpfer,” Ember said, switching to High Draconic. “Speak.”

Following standard procedure, the familiar emerald-green fire arose from the canister to form the Kampfer’s distinct visage as it had done before. However, almost immediately after he was summoned, there was heavy silence. For the Elder, rather than speak, had all his attention on what was before him. Even though this was a projection of dragon’s fire, Ember could tell the Chaoskämpfer was in deep contemplation over this. If this was a drake forced into an adult size, this might give him foul reminders of–

“This is what they did to him, didn’t they?” The Chaoskämpfer said in a grim tone. “In the other world, this is what they sculpted out of him. Out of… out of a mere drake.” A heavy sigh came from the fire, with a clear regret apparent on the elder’s visage. “So it is true, then. How terrible to see further proof.”

There was no anger Ember could sense in him. But there was so much sorrow. This was unexpected to her, almost alien. A dragon was a creature of fire, of fury. Her own knuckles were clenched tightly around the canister. He should have been raging at this crime, swearing righteous retribution on those responsible. Dragons helped themselves, but an affront against one dragon was an affront against all dragons.

“Why are you so calm?” she whispered to the Chaoskämpfer, so only he could hear. “Yes… yes, they did this. I never thought ponies would be capable of such a thing… but this is what happened to a dragon. It’s worse than any of those old stories about dragons getting enthralled by sorcerers to serve as their creatures.”

The Chaoskämpfer kept his gaze upon the drake, only slightly turning his head towards Ember’s. 

“Unbind yourself from wrath, and use your mind to look beyond what’s immediately apparent,” he whispered back, though his tone sounded like wood cracking within a fire.

And so Ember did just that. She thought about what this could possibly mean. If the dragons of this other-Equestria had known about this, there would have been restitution at the very least. Her father wouldn’t stand for this, nor would she–

If either she or her father were still around, that is. Ember again stared at the crippled, mutilated mass of scales, and she went cold.

Could this be the image of all dragons on that other-world?

“Now do you see, Princess Ember?” the Chaoskämpfer whispered, a thin line of aggression present, if subtle. One that brought to mind the spark before a great fire. “This is what they did to him, and done doubtlessly after whatever they’ve done to us. The form they’ve turned this drake into brings to mind something from my past… doubly so something from my nightmares. I have no doubt as to what my fate might be in that world, for I would choose death before anything like this.”

His words sank into Ember. Unwillingly, she bowed her head, feeling the weight. Even after meeting the human and seeing the vision cast by Princess Luna, speaking of nightmares, a part of her had still regarded the Convocation as some big shadow-show – no more real than the figures playful drakes cast on cave walls, in one of their tamer games.

The living and cowed creature, whose faltering breath filled this room, was too real. And yet, Ember felt herself clinging to old principles.

“I don’t care about their fight,” she insistently whispered. “It’s not dragons’ business. I only want the ones who did this to pay.”

“Then ask yourself, what path is best? One of wrath, or another? For what happens next hinges on your choices,” the Chaoskämpfer whispered to her, simply. He then turned his attention to the drake, seemingly mesmerised by his laborious breathing. Why be so invested–

Ember blinked, staring at the projection of the elder dragon whose head was low and seemingly in mourning. This lasted for a moment, before the emerald fire returned back into its canister, as it usually did. However, what stuck with Ember the most was one simple thing above all else – the soft and rather quiet words that she heard him whisper.

“I’m so sorry, Everett.”

Whatever questions Ember had for the old dragon, however, were interrupted by the door’s opening. She turned, canister in hand, to meet their new guest.

Princess Celestia stood there, with a solemn gaze fixed upon Ember, and the canister she held. When she spoke, with that regal, serene voice of hers, Ember thought it conveyed a deep sorrow.

“Your Highness,” said Celestia, addressing Ember alone, “may I come in?”



* * * * *



Ember didn’t know how much longer she stayed in that room. It had all turned into a series of images that went by in a flash, punctuated by muffled noises. But she knew there were few words she’d needed to exchange with the Sun Princess before the drake. Soon after, Kenzo had come back, wishing to see his patient. Celestia had beckoned then for Ember to follow her out, leaving the drake to his slumber.

So they walked, down long, winding hallways, taking in the ambience of all around them – from the echoes and whispers of delegates and visitors that passed them by, to the mountain breeze which streamed in through the windows, and the now ever-present smell of lavender from pots new and old.

“So,” Ember began, once they passed by the Public Assembly. It was empty at this time, awaiting the next session, “why didn’t you… I don’t know, just enter?”

“Oh, I was waiting for you to be available,” said Celestia. “I didn’t think either Spykoran nor Spike would be too thrilled to see me.”

“I doubt they really minded that much,” Ember said. “Why should you care? You’re… you’re the Princess of the Sun.”

“And Spykoran is the Chaoskämpfer,” Celestia answered, serenely, “We all have our corners. Oh, turn here and…”  

They’d reached the dining room, home of those fantastic breakfasts and suppers Ember had found the Hall provided abundantly. Celestia pushed the double wooden doors open, allowing entry to the both of them. They entered the room, mostly empty, save for a few critters munching on leftover snacks.

“The dining room?” asked Ember, bewildered. “Why’d you take me– Hey!” 

A small, squat hedgehog had bumped into her, carrying a plate on its head. And upon the plate were a few slices of pink, strawberry cake.

“Watch it,” Ember grumbled. The hedgehog muttered an apology right after, though his evident lisp made it a little difficult to tell.

Celestia, though, had other ideas.

“Oh, thank you,” she said sweetly.

Her horn lit up, and the pieces of cake on the hedgehog’s tray levitated right into her mouth, causing her cheeks to bulge. The hedgehog looked dismayed to see his tray now empty. He hastened his pace and disappeared out the door.

“Mmm, I simply must give my thanks to the chef,” Celestia said, gulping down her last bite. She looked at Ember, with an arched eyebrow. “What? It’s good. Would you like some?”

“I’d prefer a gem myself, honestly…”

“Suit yourself,” said Celestia. With a wing, she indicated an empty table, that still had cake on it. “Let’s take a seat.”

They seated themselves across from one another. It was as large as the table Ember had shared with Chrysalis, days earlier. But Ember now felt quite small, sitting with the Princess of the Sun. Whom she observed was busy nibbling a new slice of cake, with all the appropriate decorum. Which was to say, less than Ember had expected, judging from the crumbs stuck on her lips. Once Celestia had finished, she dabbed off the remaining crumbs with a napkin. She fixed her eyes upon Ember, golden aura moving a spare plate towards her.

“Go on,” said Celestia, her serene smile returning, “have some.”

Ember huffed, pushing the cake back towards the centre. “Like I said, I’d take a gem,” she said, with crossed arms. “I’m gonna guess we’re not here for cake.”

"Actually, we kind of are," answered Celestia. She yawned. "Oh, excuse me. Feeling a little tired."

“Can’t imagine why,” replied Ember, cocking an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a heavy sleeper?”

Celestia chuckled. “You should see Luna, then. I do so wonder what she gets up to,” she said, folding her napkin. “Besides, I’m no dragon.”

She paused for a moment, then giggled. 

“What?” Ember said. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, I was only reminded of that sleeping dragon,” answered Celestia. “He was going to cover Equestria in smoke for a hundred years as he slumbered, I told Twilight and her friends. I didn’t want him to get too rude of an awakening. The Royal Guard can be so overzealous…”

She put down the napkin, neatly folded into a little boat. Ember furrowed her brows, rattling her thoughts for names. And one emerged, after a moment’s thinking.

“Razer,” she stated. “You’re talking about Razer.”

Seeing Celestia’s blank stare, Ember rolled her eyes.

“Big red dragon, really can’t miss him. Told Dad about some yellow pegasus asking him to leave when he went back to the Dragonlands. Guess he’s the one you’re talking about.”

“Sounds about right. Dad… hmm,” Celestia pondered, for a moment. “Well, thank you for telling me Razer’s name, Princess Ember. I only recently learned yours. The Mikado was not especially forthcoming about your presence at his Court.”

Ember stared at her, biting her lip, tapping a claw upon the wooden table. The Princess’s gaze, damn her, remained as distinctly welcoming as only hers could. It wasn’t like the aloof smiles which the Mikado or his Court often wore. No, Celestia’s face was enigmatic, warm and teasing all at once. It annoyed Ember, moreso because she couldn’t precisely define it in her own words.

“I have to say, Ember,” Celestia continued, “I didn’t expect the Dragon Lord to send an emissary. Much less his own daughter. Hmm, perhaps a letter or two, but Lord Torch has never been one for writing.”

“Yeah, my Dad really isn’t,” replied Ember, shrugging. “He doesn’t need to. Finds it easy to get people to hear him. If he needs writing done, he’s got Blacktip for that– his secretary. Still, had me shipped off to Ryuppon, cos’ he didn’t want his little girl to grow up bone-headed, he said.”

She tilted back her chair, lifting her feet to the table, where she crossed them with a loud thump, crossing her arms in synchronicity. Celestia said nothing at first, though she did move her plate out of the way.

“Although,” Celestia said, “I must commend your father in his foresight and trust in sending you.”

“Foresight, you call it,” snarked Ember. “I didn’t get a choice coming here, and neither did you, I’m pretty sure. Can’t object much when you get all glowy with the Dragon Lord’s Call.”

Celestia smirked. “Much as I wish I could say I did have a choice in the matter,” she mused, “and no matter how many times I’ve told my students otherwise, our lives are so very often defined by others’ choices, too.”

“Yeah?” Ember replied, scoffing, “I’d rather be the one to make that choice.”

She looked Celestia up and down, resolutely keeping her arms folded and feet on the table.

“I don’t see why you should be worried ‘bout what others think,” Ember continued. “You’re the one who moves the Sun. Ponies worship the ground you walk on.”

Silence followed, unbroken by either of them, but filled by the gentle chimes of the chandeliers. Celestia let loose a long, resigned sigh.

“You’d be surprised…” Celestia said, barely above a whisper. Her eyes looked down, at her near-empty plate. Now, there, Ember saw a different gaze – a haunted look, briefly glimpsed in the hospital ward they’d left.

Silently, Celestia tidied her plate, neatly arranging the utensils around her napkin. Her aura glowed bright, lifting her tiara from her brow to set it aside.

“My little ponies think of me as someone who’s got little time for family...” Celestia said softly. “I'm afraid they are correct. But I would be lying if I claimed that, in many years of my life, I did not view those I’ve taught as children of my own.”

Celestia chuckled, a low and mirthless sound.

“And what sort of mother would I be, if I didn't wish to see my godson safe under my wing, when I could not take care of him in another world…”

Ember pulled back her feet, eyes wide. Garble had mentioned a dragon among ponies before. Now...

“That dragon– ”

“–Spike, yes,” Celestia interrupted, wistfully, “His egg came into my possession many years ago, you see. I knew not from where, or whom his parents were, and they certainly weren’t in a hurry to retrieve him.”

“Well, few dragons do...”

“And you should count yourself lucky,” added Celestia. “Little Spike’s egg was a difficult one to hatch. But not impossible, as my Twilight showed.”

She let out another, sweet laugh, her mirth all but whole once more.

“I entrusted his care with Twilight’s parents. In time, they called him family. Twilight may call him brother and assistant, Ember, but though I only watched from a distance, as I taught Twilight and many others, I saw another child of mine flourish, carrying books and scrolls, and learning life lessons as well…”

Ember rubbed her chin. Strange as it may be, she thought, it was not a wholly unfamiliar story. Not when her own father had sent her, alone, into the intricacies of the Kirin Court, for abstract concepts such as reading, or something so simple as gardening.

All for her, her father had stated, telling her not to question it. And now, before Ember sat one who may well have been like him. She wasn’t sure she felt comfortable with the idea.

“But… that isn’t your son in there,” Ember said quietly, diverting her thoughts elsewhere. “He…”

Her words trailed off when she recalled the Chaoskämpfer’s silence, shared with Celestia.

“No, he is not my Spike,” Celestia replied. “Spike is safe with Twilight’s parents, far away from our dealings. But here lies another, broken and drained, Ember. And if I do not make it right, where my counterpart has failed… who would?”

She looked at Ember, with a forlorn smile.

“I don’t much care about what others would think of me, that is true. I have my duties, my burden, and my hopes for my people. That is what I tell myself. But when I stood there, Ember, a little part of me only wished to hear his forgiveness.”

Her horn shone. From the confines of her aura emerged a scroll. Tightly bound with red ribbon, it looked to be long and winding, should it ever be unfurled. 

“Tomorrow comes the day I present this to the Public Assembly,” said Celestia. “To know who would sign it, who would stand with us, and stand for humanity’s sake. And… if Equestria should stand alone, so be it.”

Her gaze fell upon Ember.

“Know it is your choice to make. You won’t be the first, nor the last to make it.”

The answer came easily to Ember, even as her thoughts lingered on her father, and the dragon called Spike.

“Let me tell you, Princess,” Ember said, fixing one last determined glare at the Princess of the Sun. “I’ll do what I think is best for dragons everywhere.”



* * * * *



Garble sat in the same place he had for ages. And of all possible things… It was in a cage.

Not a metaphor, no. He was trapped in a literal cage, and had been for what felt like a month. But then again, ever since the Kämpfer charged him with escorting Princess Ember out of the Dragonlands and to Equestria, it had certainly been the longest weeks of his life. Then again, it had also been the most eventful part of his life so far.

Not only had he got his jaw punched by two kinds of Changelings, but he’d been belittled by just about everyone he’d encountered. First it was Ember – since she was the Dragon Lord’s whelp and all – and then it was those Changelings who, besides being a pain to deal with, had put him in this stupid cage. Because their Queen was afraid of getting sick or something.

‘Does everyone have to be prissy?’ Garble thought bitterly amidst his reflections, which were something he could do a lot of recently. ‘When I get out of this, I’ll make that roach queen wish she was sick.’

Today it had been hours since Garble had seen anyone. There was some gathering everyone had to be at in the morning, and none of the roaches had come back to check on him. He didn’t even know if they’d left a guard at the door. Sometimes, a Changeling would be standing guard right by him, here in their Queen’s personal quarters. Most of the time, however, they’d be placed outside, and so he’d be left alone to stew.

Quite literally. Being a dragon, heat was no issue for him, but the humidity spread by the green wax all over Chrysalis’ rooms was stifling. The only good thing was that his jailors were willing to let him be in different cages. Unfortunately, they were all the same kind of cage and, of course, he was still in a cage. He could barely stand, they were so small.

At the very least, one of the Changelings was willing to do him a favour. And by luck, it was the Changeling who usually was his guard. Weird, since Changelings tended not to do that, but Garble wouldn’t complain in this case. Especially since, if everything had worked out as he liked, he’d be receiving something from Smolder that’d make this far, far more bearable.

‘She better not ask questions,’ the red drake mused with a silent sneer. ‘Cos’ I need my gear sooner, not later.’

He waited, and waited, and waited. His brain was going numb. Growling to himself, Garble tried to do his thing for when he got bored and didn’t have his pals around. Pictures. Scents. Sounds. He had them in his brain and he’d put them together in new ways. But after staring at the same wall for days now, he was trying this for the thousandth time, and his brain felt dry.

If Ember had come through the door with a cart full of gems right then, he could have eaten the lot and he’d still feel starved.

‘Hm… Okay, at least that’s a creative image… Kinda...’

And then, would you know it, the door opened. Blinking, Garble snapped his head its way, peering through the wire-mesh. It wasn’t Ember. It was a Changeling, what else. A purple-eyed Changeling with a red fin. The same guy who’d punched his jaw in, who was head of Chrysalis’ patrols or something. He’d caught the bug’s name at the time, yet forgotten it by now. Their names all sounded so alike.

Garble narrowed his eyes, but saw the red-finned Changeling wasn’t empty-hoofed. No, instead it carried something much better than gems. The brown parcel he’d ordered from the Dragonlands, his care-package.

The Changeling stopped in front of the cage. It did not say anything, all it did was stare at him with its bug eyes. Garble soon saw what the roach’s game was. A staring contest. How cute.

“You can quit playin’, roach,” he said smugly, folding his arms. “I ain’t gonna blink first. Ain’t as if I’m a champion at that or nuthin’.”

The delivery-bug tilted its head. It checked the parcel, then looked back up, trilling.

“Oh, I wasn’t playing with you,” the Changeling said calmly. “Just waiting for you to speak. I hear that’s the polite thing to do.” Saying this, it held up the parcel and gave it two thumps. “This just came in. Aphid’s outside right now, said it’s for you. Wanted to deliver it herself, but… I told her to let me handle it.”

“Roach, you better give me that now!” Garble growled with a glower aimed at the Changeling. “Bad enough your prissy queen’ got me stuck in this lousy cage, but I ain’t gonna let you keep me from my mail! Gimme!”

The red-finned Changeling smirked.

“If you hadn’t noticed, whether you get any mail depends on if I say you do,” remarked the bug. “The Queen still has you listed as a health hazard, so anything that’s come into contact with you’s gotta be processed. So, there are only two ways this can go. Either you tell me what this is, or I’m removing it.”

“It’s mine!” Garble yelled, trying futilely to reach for it. “Either you gimme my package, or I’ll burn this room down!”

“Oh, like you burnt it down ages ago?” the Changeling asked, rhetorically. “If I were you, I wouldn’t think of making trouble after the Queen releases you… If she releases you. I heard how you were all ‘I wanna be Dragon Lord’. Maybe it makes you feel tough to say stupid things like that, but I doubt the Sun Princess would like it… And the Queen beat her once.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a sissy pony like the rest of them!” Garble snapped. “Just cos’ she moves somethin’ doesn’t make her everything!” The urge to let loose some fire was very strong, but it’d probably roast his tools as well. “Just… gimme my package and there won’t be any trouble.”

The Changeling tapped its chin. “Hmm…” The hum dragged out longer than needed. “When you put it that way… You know what, maybe I will.”

“... Really?”

“I said ‘maybe’,” the Changeling chittered. “But, probably. Except I do need to know this is safe, not some ploy to sneak a dangerous item into the Queen’s private chambers… So, since you won’t tell me…”

“You– it’s just something to help me pass the time while I’m stuck in this stupid cage.”

But to his dismay, chitinous hooves were already unwrapping the parcel. “For what it’s worth,” the Changeling remarked. “I believe you. I’m not completely paranoid. Still, it’s the job. Now, what have we here…”

“It– it’s from my sister!” Garble said quickly and uneasily. The Changeling suddenly stopped. “I wanted– needed something from home to make being in a cage bearable, if that’s what I’m gonna spend the next month in.”

And now the Changeling was looking curious. As in, there was a curious look on its face. Wordlessly, it ruffled the parcel’s envelope, turning the package over and over. Once or twice, it gave an experimental tap, until finally, Garble saw his guard staring at him again.

Words were spoken, slowly.

“Rock,” said the Changeling. “This feels like… rock, to me. And unless I’m mistaken… Is that cloth in there?” It didn’t really seem to be addressing Garble, as its eyes glanced up to the ceiling, deep in thought. “No idea what those could be for, unless you were planning to stone or choke the Queen… But I doubt even you’d be that dumb.”

The Changeling struggled with itself, then sighed.

“Fine,” it said, laying down the parcel. “You may have it. Once my brother gets back, I’ll tell him to pass it over to you.”

“Can’t you gimme it now?”

“No,” the Changeling said, harshly. “I’d be doing a bad job if I was. If this was Thorax’s idea, let him finish.” It gave Garble a look. “You oughta count yourself lucky. You only get a brother or sister like that once in your life.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Garble muttered to himself, his eyes focused on Smolder’s parcel.

And so the Changeling left the parcel on the floor and walked away. Still, Garble had to just wait a little bit longer. Soon, he would be able to make this experience bearable. Soon, he would be able to have the second-greatest thing besides freedom. Soon, he would be able to express himself.

All he had to do was wait just a little bit longer for his beat.



* * * * *



Mistletoe was an odd plant.

Contrary to the love-lies-bleeding flower, it possessed no intrinsic property Thorax knew of that’d make Changelings crazy for it, let alone other creatures. Yet the plant seemed to attract an unusual concentration of impassioned feelings, lingering after the people had departed.

It was torture to the senses, when his belly felt this empty.

And not just his belly. Day by day, he’d found himself feeding a little less on ambient love, even though there was so much of it here, but now something else had opened up in him. Something he felt helpless to fill.

Silently, he cursed Princess Luna. She was, after all, the one who’d insisted on putting up the mistletoe branches. He let his tongue dart out, lapping out what sprinkles of love it could get. Surely it wouldn’t be missed, whoever had left it being long gone.

There wasn’t much. Most of it was clustered up there. He tried stretching up as far as he could, his wings giving a soft buzz. Instantly, there was a painful ‘crick’ in his back. Yowling, Thorax dropped back down, hooves clattering to the floor. He sucked in a breath, eyes scrunching up. His back hurt so bad. It all came from serving as living furniture – he may have been letting himself go hungry, but Queen Chrysalis wasn’t getting any lighter.

Of course, he hardly had any time to contemplate his Queen gaining weight, when who but a certain someone should walk up the hallway.

“There you are!” he heard her say. “Thought you were long gone already.”

She wasn’t the last person he wanted to see. But she was the last person he could afford to be seen with.

“P-princess Ember?” Thorax stammered, his back pain forgotten. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you that,” Ember just said curtly. “You weren’t at your post. Queen’s orders, isn’t that what you said? So what did that Aphid have to say to get you to leave her with Garble?”

“S-say?” Thorax repeated, speaking blindly. “But Aphid doesn’t–”

Ember hissed. “I was being sarcastic, you–” She checked herself, seemed to think better of it. “Okay,” she began again, her arms crossed. “What’s this all about?”

“What’s what about?” said Thorax. “And… how did you know it was me?”

Ember rolled her eyes. “The whole sad-puppy thing, genius,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Anyone ever tell you, you got those eyes? That’s how I can always tell you apart from other Changelings. But what did I do to make you look at me like that?”

“Um… is, was I–” Thorax stammered out. “You… tried wringing my neck, at that campfire?”

“What?” she glared. “I let you go. And now you listen to me play guitar... only time I ever saw you not looking like a kicked stray.”

“I… I’ve always looked that way?”

Ember blinked. Then she blew her cheeks.

“You’re pulling my leg– you know what?” She sighed gruffly. “I give up. We’d be here all day. Don’t think this lets you off the hook, though. I’ll just ask that... Aphid about it.”

Never mind that Thorax had never heard Aphid talk to someone outside the Hive. It was now that Ember stared around, eyes darting from corner to corner like the cunning predator she was. At last, her gaze fell upon the mistletoe dangling above his head.

He almost took a step back.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Thorax gulped. “Uh… it’s a… plant,” he said. “You… you didn’t notice? The Night Princess’s been hanging them up all over the place, like the lavender… Pharynx hates those...”

Her gaze remained fixed on them.

“Uh-huh…” she said, not quite decided, but not quite doubtful, either. “Yeah, that’d explain all the messed-up flowers lying around. Hm… I’m not sure about the palette. Too… pale and bland. Why mistletoe?”

This actually surprised him. “Well-um… it stands for peace… at least, that’s one thing it’s for. Don’t they have mistletoe at the Kirin Court? Your Highness.”

The dragonet tapped her chin. “Hm, no. No, they didn’t. Huh… As if that sad place could get any more dour.”

She took a step forward. Thorax wished he’d taken a step back. He was feeling increasingly hot below the nape in her presence. And as he was supposed to be cold-blooded, he didn’t know how that was possible.

The uncomfortable heat had to be radiating from the dragonet, somehow.

“Dour?” he repeated dumbly, unable to say anything else. “I… shouldn’t it be like Equestria? They… I’ve seen they got so many colourful things, here…”

“Eh,” Ember vocalised. Her gaze turned to him. “I guess you’re kinda right. Maybe it’s just a pony thing. I don’t really get ponies.”

Thorax tried desperately not to look her in the eye. “What’s your favourite colour?” he blurted. “Mine’s blue– not like the Hive walls, more like the sky–”

He felt his voice die down, when Ember placed a claw against his lips.

“Thorax,” she said, sternly. Her shoulders relaxed. “You need to work on that.”

“W-work on what?” he whimpered, muffled.

“Expressing, I guess? The Court taught me to be subdued, but… Ah, what am I saying. Well, blue’s not a bad colour. Good to know.”

Thorax, meanwhile, lips still pressed behind her claw, held back his tongue before he could point out she was blue.

“Anyways– mine’s purple. I guess. Kind of. Because it’s my flame? I don’t know. I don’t really think much about colours.”

She lifted her claw at last. And there, at the back of Thorax’s head, the urge came. Speak now, or not at all.

“Ember, I– what I meant to say was that, I like y–”

A piercing, bestial screech tore through the hallway.

The heat inside Thorax rapidly dissipated into an icy cold, no less unpleasant – worse, even. He’d only rarely heard that cry, usually aimed at enemies in combat. But on those occasions it had been aimed at him, he’d known he was staring into the face of fear.

Too late, he backed away from Ember, who’d turned, confused yet not frightened, to see where the screech had come from.

“... You!” Pharynx yelled, eyes blazing. “What do you think you’re doing!”

Ember blinked, but she must have noticed it wasn’t her whom Pharynx was glaring at murderously, since she turned to shoot Thorax a bewildered look.

He’d never seen his brother so angry, not even after the defeat at Canterlot.

“Pharynx, wait!” he cried, raising both forehooves as Pharynx stomped forward. “You-you’ve got it all wrong! I wasn’t–”

“Like Tartarus you weren’t,” Pharynx snarled. “Get over here.”

Thorax knew what was coming, yet he was frozen in place as his brother opened his jaws. Which then snapped shut, hard upon his ear. A sharp, stinging pain shot through Thorax’s ear.

“I ‘arned ‘ou once,” Pharynx growled through clenched jaws. “Dat ‘as ‘our only ‘ance. Bu’ did ‘ou listen to me?”

Thorax barely heard him, or even saw anything, through the tears welling up in his eyes. The only perceptible thing was Pharynx dragging him away from Ember, the feeling of polished floor grating against his chitin, and his own nervous, thumping heartbeats.

He heard a vicious snarl.

“Hey!” Ember yelled. “Back off!”

There was a rush of air in the hallway. Thorax felt a violent yank, for one fleeting moment, before the pain faded. He tumbled, settling in a shivering heap.

Snarls and hisses and the sound of chitin against scale filled the hallway, bombarding his ears. A burst of fire seared past him, as did a few drops of Changeling wax. He opened his eyes, just for a moment, to see Pharynx rear up and throw a kick at Ember’s chest – one caught by a claw, and his grimace was answered by Ember’s vicious grin.

Thorax shut his eye again, just as Ember flew forwards and tackled Pharynx, punctuated by a terrible crash against the wall.

‘Please… please stop,’ he thought, whimpering and shivering, hooves pressed against his ears, ‘Just stop it…’

A metallic thump, next to him, made Thorax’s heart skip a beat. Even through his closed eyes, the warmth and sunflower scent of the mare that now stood next to him beckoned him to relax.

He opened his eyes, looking up to see gentle, magenta eyes look back at him. Strange, he thought. There was neither pity nor sneer in her soft, tender expression. Kindness was the closest word he could find.

Then, her eyes turned towards the quarrelling pair before her – where Ember held Pharynx in a chokehold, pinning him on the ground, and her expression darkened.

“Ahem, Ember,” said Celestia, in a low voice, “would you please let go of the Changeling?”



* * * * *



“Thank you for agreeing to this, Lady Cadance,” Celestia was saying minutes later, striding down the hallway accompanied by her niece’s mirror-image. “Based on my niece’s personal history, I’d have understood if you refused.”

“I know, Princess,” Cadenza murmured. “But here I am, talking to you, aren’t I? Where I’m from, those of us who disagreed with the Changeling Purges have found it in our hearts to leave the hurt of the Wedding behind us. If I can handle you... I’m sure I can handle some Changelings.”

“Still, it is courageous,” Celestia said as she tried, once again, not to let a hidden sorrow show. “With all you’ve already got on your plate, I’d hesitated to ask for your assistance so soon.” 

“I am the PHL’s Head of Psychological and Spiritual Well-Being, Princess,” smiled Cadenza. “And I feel like I do have a responsibility to prove the PHL can still resolve matters in other ways than violence.”

Nodding in gratitude, Celestia led her to an ornamented door, which opened onto one of the many smaller conference chambers that graced the Hall’s penultimate storey.

Beyond the door, a red-finned Changeling and a smaller drone had been seated at the opposite ends of an extremely lengthy wooden table. Even silhouetted by the backlight of the afternoon Sun streaming through the windows, their expressions were obvious. One looked disdainful, the other as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Sirs, this is Lady Cadance,” said Celestia. “She will help on this issue.”

The red-finned Changeling stared at them contemptuously. “What is this?” he muttered. “A feelings circle? Stuff it, ponies. I ain’t having it.”

“Pharynx, please,” whispered the smaller drone.

“You stay out of this,” Pharynx hissed at him. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. Did you know, I thought I was going to give you the day off. But then I had to catch you schmoozing.”

“I wasn’t…” the smaller drone began helplessly.

Celestia and Cadenza were prepared to intervene, when the door re-opened behind them.

“Heard there was a bit of a kerfuffle, involving my drones,” drawled the lazy voice of Queen Chrysalis. As she spotted the Equestrian Royals, she smirked. “Ah, hello again, Tia. And what a pleasant surprise, Candy! Thought we’d never get to talk.”

“Ahem,” Celestia coughed. “You are addressing the Lady Cadance. You saw her present with Dame Moondancer earlier today.”

“Ah, you’re the other one?” said Chrysalis, marching to greet Cadenza. She wore a devious grin. “What, couldn’t get your own, Tia?”

Celestia felt her jaw tighten. She threw a glance at Lady Cadenza, and Celestia saw that her eyes had narrowed. 

“The Crystal Princess is busy tending to Spike, together with my sister...”

But the moment Chrysalis’ gaze had swept over Cadenza’s stunted wings, she burst out giggling. “Oh, now this is just rich,” she said snidely. “Didn’t see those twigs before. What makes you think she can fill in?”

It was all Chrysalis got to say before Lady Cadenza's right hook pounded her face.



* * * * *



“So, lemme get this straight,” Alex said slowly, his forefinger raised. “This afternoon, a Changeling and a dragon got into a scrap over petty shit. Then Celestia– the spitting image of the Tyrant tearing apart my world, mind you– steps in to stop this. And then she brings in Lady Cadance for a therapy session. And then, Cadance lets herself get baited by Chrysalis. And now, because Chrysalis’ pride feels stung, I’m being asked to… to…”

He couldn’t make himself finish. His voice died down even as his eyes surveyed each and every face in his bedroom.

Lady Cadance and Queen Chrysalis were sat as far apart from one another as possible. While Cadance at least showed some embarrassment, or maybe shame, there was still a sullenness to her bearing. But it was nothing compared to Chrysalis, who was pure sullenness, pressing a cotton patch to her eye.

Between them sat Princess Celestia and Proxenos Darkhoof, respectively, both sporting expressions of dignified resignation.

“To act as Her Ladyship’s champion, yes,” Celestia finished, throwing Chrysalis a dirty look. “As Her Majesty just stated, she’ll consider honour served by a proxy duel.”

“And be sure that while I question one who speaks of honour,” Darkhoof put in, “so shortly after her failed invasion of Canterlot, Sir Alexander, under the rules of the Hall of Unity, it is Her Majesty’s right to make such a demand.”

For one moment, Alex had to close his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ve so fucking gotta be kidding me,” he said, now glowering. “The hell is the matter with you guys? I was hoping I came here to take a break from… shit like this. Aren’t you meant to be like the goddamn UN? I can’t believe I’m being dragged into an… honour duel. I’d hoped better from you, Cadance. You’re the one who gave me that safeguard to stop me going apeshit.”

Cadance sighed regretfully. “I’m so sorry, Alex,” she murmured. “But even I can underestimate how much I’ve still got to get out of my system.”

Away from her, Chrysalis gave a snort.

“Well, at least I can say you’ve done good for my mental health,” Alex said, his tone softening. “But what about my physical health?” He gestured at himself. “I’m still in a wheelchair here. How’m I supposed to fight any duels?”

“Nurse Cross has informed us you are on the mend, aided by your runes,” Celestia said. “And by the rules of the Hall, your runes wouldn’t constitute cheating in a duel, provided they are employed judiciously.”

“A duel for which I shall be arbiter,” stated Darkhoof. “Where you may be sure of my impartiality.”

Alex breathed out. In his mind, he drew upon the sense of commitment that had seen him through three wars, in Afghanistan, in Iraq, and finally in his own America.

 “Okay…” he said, “this isn’t what I was expecting, but… Although it’s Stephan Bauer who fancies himself a Knight, the old Kraut, I will step forward as a champion for Lady Cadance’s honour.”



* * * * *



That evening, one member of the Equestrian Royal Family, at least, had found relaxation.

“What did your father say?” yawned Blueblood, stretching himself under the covers.

Placing his cup on the bedside table, the young Minotaur paused to recollect. Ever the scholar in the making, Basil still held a few sheets of parchment in his spare hand. Blueblood would have preferred if his lover could keep the scribbling at the door when they retired in the evenings, but he wasn’t about to complain. Assiduous observations of the different parties at the Hall were useful to a diplomat, and better that the patient Basil take the time to write it down than he.

“The duel shall be held according to procedure,” Basil stated, as he moved to get in beside Blueblood. “Tomorrow at daybreak, in the central chamber. Anyone who wishes may watch.”

They spoke in Common, though Blueblood found it rough on the tongue, for despite their educations, Basil’s ability with Equish was rusty and Blueblood’s grip on Tauren shakier still.

“Daybreak,” Blueblood groaned. “And it’s Summer. Ugh! Seriously, why did your culture let the morning people run things?”

Basil shrugged, his gesture lightly displacing Blueblood with his muscle. “Oops! Sorry. Well, I imagine it’s that they say Minotaurs used to have poor eyesight. You want to get much done by light of day when you can’t see well, Asterion.”

Hearing Basil’s pet name for him put Blueblood in mind of its mythical origin. “Yeah, I hadn’t noticed all those legends about learning to see…”

“It is possible to still do much without seeing,” smiled Basil. “One of our most famous poets wrote his work while blind, you must know that.”

What Blueblood had noticed was Basil’s tendency to hold his eyes close to his parchments. “‘Used to’, you say. But not anymore?”

Basil blew air from his lips. “If only that were so. We’ve simply… found ways. You saw that Father wears eyeglasses.”

“Oh,” said Blueblood. “And with that kind of setback… What about your participation in Madame Heartstrings’ planned expedition, what did he say about that?”

“My eyesight’s as sharp as a bull’s can get,” Basil reassured him. “Besides, look at me. Do you think I’d be put to the kind of work which requires looking far, or handling delicate pieces? A well-practiced Minotaur is capable of these things. But if this expedition is financed by Kirin, and we can expect it will be, they’ll take one look and all they’ll see is raw strength.”

Blueblood rest his head upon the Minotaur’s chest. “Isn’t that such a shame,” he said. “Just like it’s too bad you’re dead-set on obligingly spending the trip below-decks, with that damn rugged industriousness of yours.”

“Be of no ill grace, Asterion,” Basil commented, affectionately pulling up Blueblood’s muzzle. “If it’s what you want, I can give you a closer look…”

That got Blueblood smirking. His forehooves wrapped around Basil’s considerably bulkier frame, he slided up so his eyes stood a smidge above his lover’s, by princely right. A short interval passed, then he went in for the kiss. Which Basil eagerly returned, lips brushing against the golden stubble Blueblood was letting grow along his chin, joining him in holding on to as long as possible.

The moment was broken by the sound of gentle knocking.

Blueblood pulled away from the Minotaur’s lips, feeling his ears flicker as he turned sharply towards the door. Who, he wondered, could that be at this hour. As in Canterlot, the staff here were under strict instructions – the Prince’s bedroom was his personal kingdom, and he woke at his own leisure.

Having let silence hang, Blueblood shrugged, preparing to return to the kiss. That was, until the knocking sounded again, insistent.

Basil grunted softly. “A visitor calls, love. You should go and greet them.”

“Do I have to?” Blueblood sighed. In answer, he felt the Minotaur muss his mane. “Oh, alright…  Look, I’ll be right back. I’ll just go tell whoever it is to leave.”

Slipping out from Basil’s arm, Blueblood got up and marched towards the door. It did briefly occur to him that he hadn’t even thrown on a nightgown. But he didn’t care. If he could lay himself bare before Aunt Luna, whatever nuisance lay at the door didn’t merit half the courtesy.

Irritably, Blueblood unlocked the door.

“Yes, what is it?” he said sharply, slinging it open. “Now’s not the time–”

Then Blueblood saw who it was. Cadance.

He was about to say something then, ready to tell her off for messing with him, just like she used to back when they still lived in the same palace. Yet the urge evaporated the moment his eyes fell upon her wings. Stunted, they were, and she had lines under her eyes where none should be.

“Hi, Astron,” said the elder Cadance.

“Ah, um… Lady Cadance,” Blueblood said. “I say, this is a surprise! What brings you out here at this hour?”

She looked past his shoulder, and whistled. “Keen eye as always, Blue,” she said, smiling wistfully. “Good catch.”

This was so like when Cadance, the Princess Cadance he knew, had come upon him and Celaeno on The Alicorn that Blueblood’s mouth ran ahead of him.

“Don’t tell me this is another dream-visit!” Blueblood snapped. “I’d begged you not to do that unless absolutely necessary!”

Lady Cadance’s whole bearing went stiff, her eyes darkening.

“Oh. I assure you, this is no dream,” Cadance said. “I wouldn’t. I promised you– well, I promised my Blueblood. And since he’s…” She cleared her throat, looking away. “Sorry. I just thought I’d check on you. It’s been too long. But… I guess I’d forgotten a few things about you, is all.”

His cousin, if that’s what she was, sounded hurt, stung.  Blueblood’s chest contracted as reality caught up with him, seeing her this way.

She was a Cadance who’d known so much hurt.

“Cadance…”

Blueblood edged out the door, so he could face her in the hallway. After a short hesitation, he closed the door behind him, privately glad that after how he’d just behaved, he couldn’t see the look in Basil’s eyes.

He traced a forehoof along the ground, tied for words.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Blueblood finally managed. “It’s… He’s a sweet fellow.” He grinned awkwardly. “And I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just… This must be ancient history to you, I imagine. But Princess Cadance always did like making Prince Blueblood the fool for loving too freely. When I saw you, I thought that was your game… I wasn’t, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hm, did I, now?” Lady Cadance asked. “Well, to be fair, I was young.”

If only he could have told her she still looked young.

“Yeah,” said Blueblood. “I guess you were? You do look like her, you know. Like… like Cadance. Even if you look as if you’ve been through a rough time. But… Maybe you’re lucky. I used to think… that I’d fancy dying young. Sometimes, well, I still do, although that year aboard ship knocked part of it out of me. And now Auntie C’s told me about your world.”

Something changed, ever so slightly, in Lady Cadance’s eyes, at the moment Blueblood named their Aunt, the same way they’d each agreed to call her when Aunt Luna returned. But then it passed and Cadance’s wan smile returned.

“I’m sure she’s told you plenty already,” she said, plainly. “But honestly, I’m not here to talk about my world. I suppose we can catch up some other time.”

“Wait, Cadance–”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’ve got someone waiting for you. And… besides, we’ve got time until you leave harbour on the next ship.”

Blueblood wet his lips, surprised. “‘Leave harbour’? Who tipped you off?”

“Not who, what,” said Cadance lightly. “Favourite barber’s out of town?”

Blushing a little, Blueblood felt for the hairs on his chin. “Oh, this? Yes, I– I ended up growing one last time, and… Well, I liked it. And it doesn’t just look fancy, it’s useful, too, against the cold. You’re a clever lass.”

Strange. ‘Lass’ was a term akin to one Shieldwall might have spoken, rather than his customary parlance as a Prince of Equestria. Maybe the beard did make the stallion.

Lady Cadance seemed to think so, as she chuckled subtly. “I had a good teacher,” she said. “And he’s standing right here. Seems I did remember that part right… You’re still the same big kid playing sailor, Bluenose.”

“Well, then it’s good to see I’ve disappointed you twice over, Candy. Same old me.” 

“No, no, you haven’t,” said Cadance. “I like the same old you. And… I’m glad to see you can still find love in plenty of places. It’s wonderful.”

“You’re always so kind.” Blueblood sighed sadly. “But I’m a buffoon, aren’t I? I know I am. Maybe not even that. A proper jester speaks the truth. Easy enough, making people happy by saying things you don’t mean… Harder to be the real you, when you’re… Well. Me.”

His cousin raised an eyebrow, to glance at the door.

“Is that really how you saw yourself, all those years? A court jester?” Cadance said. “What about the Minotaur, then? Have you been telling him things you don’t really mean? Because I think you like him a lot.”

Blueblood tilted his head. “Wait, so you are still the Princess of Love?”

Cadance shrugged. “That’s not me. But both she and I know love, wings or not.”

“Then I’m glad for that, at least. Really, I am,” Blueblood said. “But I’m still a fool when it comes to feelings, like I hurt yours. You know this, or… you used to.“

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Cadance winked, slyly. “Besides, I’d like to hear it all from him– next time we see each other. I’ll let you get back to him now.”

“Say what?”

“You were a little gruff back there,” Cadance conceded. “It’s more than I felt prepared for. But actually, I did want to mess with you, Bluenose. Just like old times.”

And Blueblood stared at her, not knowing what to make of this Cadance. Older, more worn, yet underneath it, there was still Cadance.

As she readied to turn, he hurried in front of her.

“Wait, wait, please, just a second,” Blueblood said. “I know I’m not a party-planner or anything… Well, alright, I am very good at throwing parties set up by experts. But it doesn’t take a party-planner to tell you could do with some goofing-off, Lady Cadance. If… if you want to keep messing around. I can have something ready in a few hours.”

She tapped her chin, contemplatively. Then she shrugged.

“Took you long enough to ask, Prince Blueblood,” she said, smiling wide. “Sure.”

Discretely, Blueblood sighed in relief. “That’s great. I hope you don’t mind if I invite a couple of friends over? Sooty and Wally– sorry, Awesome Fire and Shieldwall, you remember them, right? From my trip aboard the Starspear.”

Cadance was less speedily responsive to that. A small frown crossed her face, before she chose to give him a nod, once.

“Ah, yes, I do remember,” Cadance said, quietly. “They were your best friends. By all means. Just… If they’re going to come along, I’d really like to see your sweetheart around as well.”



* * * * *



It was unusual for Chrysalis’ chambers to be quiet at these hours. Even more unusual, considering only one of the three Changelings currently present was normally mute. Thorax wished one of them three would speak. But until now, he’d had to be content with Aphid looking back and forth between him and Pharynx, across the floor, her eyes wide and lips quivering.

That wouldn’t do.

“Aphid, it’s… it’s okay,” Thorax began, but Aphid shook her head, and pointed at Pharynx. Meanwhile, Pharynx rolled his eyes, forelegs still crossed.

Then Aphid looked at him too. Pharynx let out a groan. “Alright, fine,” he said gruffly, “I get it. I walked right into it. And I thought I saw something that wasn’t.” He looked straight at Thorax. “Aphid, tell Thorax I… I acted too fast. And he’s not to blame here, either. And I bit his ear… a little harder than I should.”

Aphid returned to Thorax, miming all of Pharynx’s words in quick succession. Thorax nodded, feeling that bit less heavy in his chest.

“Also,” Pharynx added, “tell Thorax he’s still an idiot. And should stop chasing after her already.”

Baby steps, then. Aphid turned her gaze back to Pharynx, as she too let out a sigh. Then she touched Pharynx’s forehoof, and Thorax’s, as far as her little forelegs could reach. She tugged on both with minute amounts of secreted wax.

Thorax stared at Pharynx, with a tiny, uncertain smile. Pharynx’s face remained impassive, with maybe a glower. A glower that softened, just as their forehooves touched, prompted by Aphid, who made them shake gently.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough. Pharynx pulled back slower than Thorax had anticipated.

Aphid’s happy clapping was interrupted, unfortunately, by the door swinging open. The three of them scrambled into where they should be, guarding the cage occupied by the dragon Garble. Thorax only just had the presence of mind to kick Garble’s care-package, which he’d got Aphid to bring back on a little detour by the Dragonlands, into a puddle of wax behind the cage.

But Queen Chrysalis didn’t notice anything, too consumed was she by her current ire.

“Stupid, stunted little whelp.”

It wasn’t the first time Chrysalis cursed and complained about Lady Cadenza’s altercation. She certainly wasn’t about to stop, as Thorax could tell. The Queen was in a mean mood. And when Chrysalis was in a mean mood, someone would get hurt.

Shaking her head with a hiss, Chrysalis turned her gaze towards them all near the cage, lips curling into a wicked smile.

“Aphid, come over!”

Aphid bolted to stand by Chrysalis. Thorax caught a glimpse of Aphid’s adoring expression. In a rapid departure from her usual laidback style, Aphid’s mane changed to the turquoise shade common to the Ebony Hive.

“Did you bring it, dear?” cooed Chrysalis. Aphid vigorously nodded. “Excellent!”

Eagerly, Aphid was soon presenting their Queen with the contents of her shoulder-bag, which contained a medical kit. Chrysalis opened it, taking out a needle.

“Very good, Aphid,” praised Chrysalis, giving her a gentle pat on the head. “Now we can begin. Pharynx?”

Pharynx cast the tarp aside, revealing a snoozing Garble behind the wire-mesh. Tremulously, Thorax unlatched the door, pulling it open. And Garble was caught unawares, yelping as Chrysalis seized hold of his tail with a hoof-full of wax.

“It’s your lucky day,” Chrysalis cackled, her smile turning unnerving as she raised the needle. “Time for your shot, Garble. Though, I ain’t gonna sugarcoat the truth… This is rather unpleasant. Brace yourself, dearie.”

Whereupon she jabbed the needle into Garble’s thigh.

Or rather, tried to, for even as the dragon yelped and thrashed within the cage, Thorax saw the needle hadn’t gone through at all. In fact, it had bent and snapped in half. Huffing, Chrysalis threw it away.

“Confound it,” said Chrysalis, slamming the cage shut again. “Took all that time, and it looks like we got ourselves a faulty needle.”

Pharynx hadn’t even opened his mouth when they saw Aphid fling herself at Chrysalis’ hooves, imploring her Queen with sad-puppy eyes.

“Shh, there, there,” Chrysalis said gently, patting her again. “Not your fault. I forgot dragons have such pesky scales. But it looks like I’ll have to find myself another needle, and oh my, wherever shall I find it?”

The cunning gaze she threw at him, then Aphid, unnerved Thorax. He felt his hooves twitch. Aphid must have travelled far to bring the needle here. And a lonesome Changeling seldom performed well, even scouts like her.

But amidst Thorax’s growing urge to step in, and Garble’s relieved, nervous chuckles, a sound of hoof-steps at the door caught his ears.

It was Papillate, the Harlequin Queen-in-Waiting, carrying a saddlebag by her side.

‘And Chrysalis’ bedwarmer…’ Thorax thought, before he could stop himself.

“I… heard you might need this, Ebony Queen.”

On cue, Papillate brought out an even larger needle than the one Aphid had brought, gleaming at the tip. Thorax knew that he’d forever remember the look of speechless, growing horror on Garble’s face, and Chrysalis’ look of pure delight.

“Ahhh, yes, that will do!” Chrysalis purred, hugging the young Harlequin Changeling to herself. “Such a sweet girl, Papillate. Alright, now that’s been taken care of… Only one tiny thing left to do before our rest, hm?” 

Her horn shone poisonously, and she lifted Garble’s tail once again. As the cage re-opened, both Pharynx and Aphid pounced inside, to grab onto Garble’s hindlegs before he could even begin to try and escape.

“Hey! What the– Just– gah, let go, let go!” Garble yelled, but the drones didn’t budge. Their wax-covered hooves did the job well enough to hold him down helplessly.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Chrysalis said. She raised the needle high. “For your own good. And my own childish amusement, of course. What’re you gonna do, go crying to Tia?”

And Thorax covered his ears.

“When I’m outta here I’m– aaaaaargh!”



* * * * *



Lyra Heartstrings had taken a little over an hour, several hundred paces about, and a reflection on her previous, scripted speech, for it occur that perhaps speeches weren’t her thing after all.

“Okay. How to start… ‘dearly beloved’? No… wait, what are you doing, Lyra? What’s this, a wedding? No. No, no… start over.”

She walked through the hallways and past the ever-present lavender pots, amidst the stillness of the Hall at night, carrying a notepad and quill, scribbling and reciting. At least now she wouldn’t be getting any odd stares. From the sheer amount of rubbish she’d cast into various trashcans – thank Celestia for her preparations – and the thinning amount of paper, it wouldn’t be long before she ran out of time and space. As it were.

“Curses!” Lyra exclaimed, throwing another crumpled-up roll. “How’d I pull it off the other day– how does Twilight keep doing it right?”

She passed by moonlight rays, streaming through the window. The silvery glow and shimmer, beautiful as it was, clearly mocked her complacency and creative sterility. Or at least, that was how it felt to her .

‘Great,’ Lyra thought. ‘I’m starting to daydream. Dream. Whatever. Darn it. Screw you, Moon. Not you, Princess Luna. You. Yeah, I see you up there. Stupid night-orb.’

She stuck a tongue out at the window, then turned the corner, away from the accursed rays. Down, down the staircase she went, down to where perhaps, inspiration, and a little extra waking hour or two awaited. To the pantry, naturally.

Her forehooves echoed down the stairs and throughout the empty halls. Here, she also cursed Bonbon’s talent and penchant for sweet delicacies. How they spoiled her, truly, for nothing else was now on her mind but the various delights that awaited her, from all across the world.

Cake and sweetbreads, chocolate bars and cupcakes, candies and bonbons, always sweet bonbons… Or maybe she was thinking of Bonbon. It didn’t matter. She liked them both, confection and girlfriend.

‘Just… gotta finish this blasted speech and take a slice or two and I’m done…’

The pantry, fortunately or unfortunately, had other plans. One glance within was to leave her little doubt that a slice or two would be far from enough. As Lyra discovered when she pushed the door open, gently, and took in the sight that greeted her.

The pantry wasn’t excessively large, surprisingly. Three long tables, stretching from one end of the room, with short cabinets beneath them. Oil lamps and lanterns alike hung low from above, illuminating the pantry in a dim orange glow. And to Lyra’s nose, the scent of food enticed her, from freshly baked bread, rolls and other, exotic delicacies the world over.

For the most part, it was empty at this hour. There was no reason to steal. Celestia had decreed, the place was open to all.

Including a pony, sitting down with a plate, beneath one of the hanging lanterns only a few seats from where Lyra stood. And few ponies could be so bright to Lyra, in appearance and in effect, for this was at a glance, the spitting image of her old foalsitter.

She sat there quietly, munching down on some cake, her gaze half-lidded. Lyra wasn’t so sure she had ever seen her look so haggard.

“Hey, Lady Cadance,” Lyra finally said, with a sheepish little smile. “How… well, how are you?”

The mare that was and wasn’t Cadance turned to look at her wryly. 
 
“I was just out and about,” she said. It would have been graceful, if her mouth wasn’t half-full. “Astron asked me to find some cake and… well, I thought I’d have a little snack first.”

Lyra looked at Lady Cadenza’s pink-stained plate, and shrugged. She walked over to seat herself, right by Cadenza, resting her chin on her forehooves.

“Pretty big detour you got going here,” said Lyra, nodding at her food. The pegacorn snorted, wiping away a stain on her muzzle.

“Mmm, I couldn’t resist,” Cadenza admitted. She gulped, swallowing the cake, and belched loudly. Her rosy pinks blushed darker still. “Oh, excuse me... I, ah, haven’t had cake in a while.”

The thoughts of Earth quickly came up to the surface, but Lyra brushed them away, for now. She rubbed the back of her head, gears turning on the inside.

“Well, uh,” Lyra began, clearing her throat. “I had guessed. After what you said ‘bout shortages… And, everything to do with the war.”

“Oh, no, apart from that,” Cadenza answered hurriedly. “I haven’t had much cake at all, actually, but I sure liked the sugar lumps the humans kept offering us during meetings. Not that cake wasn’t available, funnily enough, but it sure took a while before anyone on Earth figured out chocolate isn’t actually toxic for equines from Equus. Huh, that rhymes.”

Cadenza let out a sweet little giggle, one which didn’t really befit the tired representative Lyra had seen earlier that day, before the eyes of the Public Assembly.

“Heh, toxic,” Lyra mused. She levitated a nearby coffeemaker, right next to Cadenza. Small wonders of machinery – this one must have had a Kirin-made battery. She activated it with the flick of a switch, letting it pour hot coffee into a mug.

“So, uh, ahem, right. Earth. Fun times,” said Lyra. She snorted. “Sorry, um… I was just… you know, practicing, on the way here.”

“Practice?” asked Cadenza. Lyra nodded.

“Yeah. Making speeches, you know. Tougher than it looks.”

“Oh, I know,” agreed Cadenza. Perhaps it was subtle, but Lyra picked up a touch of regret and longing in Cadenza’s eyes when she said this. “Something caught your tongue?”

Lyra grabbed onto her notepad, waving it around. “A lot,” she lamented. “I mean… not so much something as… everything. I still don’t know how Twilight does it.”

There it was again. The sad little look, one shared by Alex Reiner and Dame Moondancer… and Redheart, too. The downcast, shadowed glance. It passed, as it often did, and Cadenza settled for her usual tranquil gaze.

“That’s Twilight for you,” she stated. She put her fork and knife aside, dabbing away at the stains left on her muzzle. “I wouldn’t advise sticking to her example.”

“Be myself, huh?” Lyra deadpanned, grabbing her cup of coffee. Cadenza laughed. Her musical laugh was the same as Cadance’s, only ever more hoarse and tired in its melody.

“Word of advice, Lyra?” said Cadenza. “Forget about writing it down. You just say what you’ve got in mind. They’ll get it.”

“Would they, though…” Lyra asked, staring into the coffee. She took an uncertain sip. “I’m gonna be addressing the whole wide world. What am I supposed to say?”

“Well, you know, you always had something to say about humans when asked.”

Lyra blinked. “You remember that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Cadenza said, shrugging. She lightly poked Lyra’s shoulder. “Come on. That’s so you.”

Lyra’s stomach knotted at that. Perhaps it was the coffee, she thought. But where humans once had filled her with a sense of the marvelous unknown, now a sinking feeling crept in.

“Y-yeah, I guess,” whispered Lyra, sipping more coffee. Bitter, but she didn’t particularly mind. Not when there was so much hurt elsewhere. “Just…”

“Mmm, I get you,” Cadenza replied, reaching out to pat her back. “I was wondering where you went earlier, um. Sorry. It’s… still a lot to take in myself.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I was… I was with friends, just… I needed a break.”

“Ah. Well…” Cadenza hummed, tapping her chin. “Okay. So, speech. You need help with that?”

“I… yeah.”

Now Cadenza turned to face her fully, swivelling on her chair. “Okay. Just… right. You know what I’ve told you, right? Be true to yourself. Be honest. And that’s how they’ll listen. I’m right here. I’m all ears. Go ahead whenever you’re comfortable.”

There were plenty of thoughts that crossed Lyra. But now, before the mirror image of Princess Cadance, another figment of her childhood, so very tired and wispy as Cadance was not, a testament of the world that lay behind the mirror, there was only one thing Lyra Heartstrings needed to say.

“I don’t want to go,” Lyra stated. She regretted it almost immediately, when Cadenza looked at her right in the eyes, her eyebrow arching.

“What?” asked Cadenza.

“I don't want to go. There, I said it!” Lyra shouted. Her legs felt weak, but her voice, even as it grew shrill, held firm. “I'm s-scared, alright? I said it.”

“Lyra?”

The days that had gone by returned to Lyra in an instant, voices and vivid images that lingered.

“I saw it... everyone saw it. Princess Luna was hurt and, and I'm dead in their universe, Cadance. I don't... I don't know what I'd do. A-and then here, there are Changelings and that Queen of theirs is around and no-one cares and I'm just a musician and…”

Lyra leaned against the table, breathing in and out rapidly. The dark green chitin and bright eyes of the Ebony Queen haunted her dreams, mocking, taunting, alluring her and her friends to her choking embrace. And all was fine, just fine, she whispered, in that droning voice of hers, echoing for days and weeks after the accursed wedding…

Then the visions of Earth returned to Lyra, the Newfoals and the war, empire and tyranny. Her own corpse, smashed into a million pieces, or hung or eviscerated or whatever horrid thing they had done to her and Bonbon, sweet Bonbon, rambling on and on, forever asking her to be safe... 

At last, there was Redheart, always Redheart, who’d been so polite to her, on those many occasions when Lyra had to visit the hospital... Weeks and days and hours before someone that was and wasn’t Redheart wanted her dead.

Feeling lightheaded, her withers heavy and heart sinking into a gaping maw, Lyra reached out for her cup of coffee, clutched to drink it. But her aura sputtered and faded, her head grew heavier and lighter… There came a faint smell of roses, streaming in to tickle her nose.

“Hey, Lyra, Lyra!” Cadenza spoke. She pulled Lyra into a tight hug. “Hey, hey, take it easy, alright? I thought you were talking about that expedition. You don’t… you don’t need to come to Earth. I’m not asking that of you. It wouldn’t be fair...”

Lyra’s breathing slowed down, little by little, under Cadenza’s hug. It was warm, like mornings down at Ponyville, like the first ray of sunlight on Winter Wrap Up. And it too was sweet, like Bonbon’s finest candies, offered for her on each quiet morning...

Then Lyra’s eyes drifted to Cadenza’s horn. It glowed, faintly, with her light blue aura, its invisible threads weaving in with her thoughts, soothing, calming...

“You’re afraid of seeing Bonbon, aren’t you?” Cadenza whispered. What could Lyra answer to that, if not with a nod. A slow, reluctant nod.

“Y-yeah,” she admitted. The regret had set in. She shook her head quickly. “N-no, just, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be, but… I just… Bonbon’s here and-and I don’t know if I can bear seeing her like that on Earth. I’m–”

“Don’t,” Cadenza answered promptly. She pulled away slightly, from the hug, and met Lyra’s eyes. “Don’t be, Lyra.” She shook her head. “I… I’m sorry. Alex must have told you about the Ambassador, hasn’t he?”

“He did…” Lyra answered. “B-but I don’t want to disappoint him or, or anyone! Oh, I’m… I’m such a disappointment to you–”

“Lyra, you’re not beholden to filling her shoes,” Cadenza retorted. “Look… if… you don’t want to, you know–”

“No,” Lyra interrupted, wiping away a few tears. “No, no it’s… it’s something I have to do. I gotta make the speech. It’s something I suggested and… now I gotta own up to it.”

She felt Cadenza’s forehoof trail across her forehead, wiping away a wayward bang.

“I’m not making this any easier, am I?” said Cadenza. “I’ve… yeah, I thought I saw her in you. But that doesn’t mean you’re her, and that’s okay,” she added, when Lyra opened her mouth to reply.  “You’re… you. Ambassador or not.” She cleared her throat. “Listen, Lyra. If it makes you feel better. You… remember the whole… actually you know what, okay… okay.”

She looked at Lyra, straight in the eye.

“I punched Chrysalis.”

A pause followed. Lyra tilted her head. “What?” 

“You heard me right,” Cadenza answered, lips twitching. “Socked her right in the jaw. I mean, it wasn’t the best call to make. But you know what?” Still with tight lips and clenched teeth, Cadenza leaned closer to Lyra, her eyes fixed in a glare. But the telltale quiver of her lips did not escape Lyra. “It felt real good.”

Lyra blinked.

“What.”

“Yep.”

“So. You went to Chrysalis…”

“... Because Princess Celestia asked to, yeah.”

“And you punched her,” Lyra continued, “the Changeling Queen, right in the jaw.”  

“Oh, yes, I did.”

“Huh.”

At first, nothing more was spoken between the two of them. Not a single word. Then, it began with a little snicker from Lady Cadenza, her lips curled into a joyful smile, followed by Lyra’s. Soon the pantry was filled with the sound of uproarious laughter, echoing.

It hadn’t taken long for Lyra to realise she had been crying, too, leaning against Cadenza, her laughter mixed in joyful, mirthful tears that streamed down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking.

“Feel better, Lyra?” asked Lady Cadenza, amidst her own giggles. They broke apart from the hug. “You can… you can come see the… let’s say, compensation match, tomorrow. I’ll save you a seat, what do you say?”

“S-sure, sure,” answered Lyra, wiping away at her nose. She lifted her notepad weakly. “But… I… I still got this cruddy speech to give.”

“Here, Lyra,” offered Cadenza, pulling up a napkin, wiping away Lyra’s tears with gentle brushes. “Whatever you say to them, well…” She tapped Lyra’s chest. “It’s from here. They’ll know it. Trust me on this, Lyra, because I’ll be there with you, as Bonbon will. Go talk to her. She’ll know what to say, better than I do.”

Lyra bit her lip. Many thoughts trailed her mind, passing by in a dash. But there was not much else she could say then.

So she settled for a nod, and pulled Lady Cadenza into one last hug, before they parted ways for the night, on to where they were needed.

For Lyra, there wasn’t much left to think about, in her walk through empty halls. Then she came to her room, and everything did come barreling through her scrambled mind when she took in the sight of Bonbon, who despite her frazzled mane and dozing eyes, was nothing short of the prettiest, kindest mare Lyra had ever met.

She said nothing, leaning against Bonbon, then she threw her forehooves around her neck, and pressed her head against hers, nuzzling and smothering her beloved with kisses.

“Hey, Bonnie?” Lyra whispered to a startled Bonbon. “Can, can you be there with me? Just... just close enough. I don’t wanna mess it up tomorrow.”

She knew the answer of course. Her Bonnie would always be there for her. It did not change just how much she thought of her, here and now, far away from any war. Only she and her, together.

“Sure, Lyra,” answered Bonbon, and she had the warmest smile when Lyra met her eyes again. She tugged at her forehoof, and Lyra was all too happy to follow, with a flutter in her heart. “C'mon, big day’s tomorrow, and you definitely need your sleep.”

So they climbed into bed, together, and there was nowhere else they would rather be.



* * * * *



From her few times spent on her world at the Hall of Unity, this wasn’t one of the places Lady Cadenza could claim familiarity with. Yet it was little surprise that her cousin should gravitate towards this section of the Hall. Prince Blueblood, even with his overly romantic notions of the life aboard ship, had always valued comfort and leisure.

“Wait, the bathing-pools?” Cadenza asked bemusedly, while he stood at the doors, smiling. “What’d you bring me to the bathing-pools at night for? I never remembered Prince Blueblood thinking of me that way.”

Speaking of gravity, Blueblood was currently holding in his aura a massive plate sporting the hugest, most pink-coated cake she’d found in the pantry, at his request. She had not asked what it was for, but it wouldn’t surprise her if he fancied a midnight feast.

Blueblood chuckled good-naturedly. “Nor do I, Lady Cadance. Just because we’re royalty, and cousins, doesn’t mean we should rush into anything.”

“How gracious,” Cadenza deadpanned. “But if a swim was what you’d got planned on surprising me with, you could’ve easily done it during the day, you know.”

“Oh, I’m up for a swim, if you are,” Blueblood said, nudging open the marble-lined double doors, carefully levitating the cake plate forward. “But I fancied showing you something first. I talked it over with my chums, and they agreed this idea might amuse you.”

“And what might that be, I wonder…” 

She followed him down the wide, sloping staircase, waiting for an answer that didn’t come. This was indeed the Blueblood she remembered, however, Cadenza reflected as she trotted after him. Here in the middle of the night and in small company, he wore one of his dinner jackets, because this was what a proper occasion demanded.

Cadenza suppressed a roll of her eyes. While Blueblood had never felt shy of skinny-dipping, he’d have worn a formal jacket to a bathing-pool before he wore a striped bathing-suit.

They descended the rocky-walled staircase, illuminated softly by the sea-green glow of cavern-moss. She shivered, briefly, despite herself. The glow reminded her a tad too much of a Changeling Hive. It didn’t help the air grew moist amidst the moss. The only difference from a Hive was that it also grew warmer, as they came closer to the hot springs within the mountain.

It was no long descent. After a few dozen steps down, they reached another set of double-doors.

“Here,” Blueblood said, stopping, horn still glowing, a forehoof pressed to the door. “I asked the lads to get here before us. Hope they didn’t slack off.”

“Friends of yours, slack off?” Cadenza murmured. “The very idea, Astron.”

He contrived to look offended, his horn glow intensifying. “Why, you wound me, Candy,” Blueblood said innocently. “I’ll have you know I’ve found my better half in a Minotaur. Very industrious people, they are. Very hardy.”

“‘Half’?” Cadenza said innocently. “More like twice a head taller, I’d have assumed. Which reminds me. You did say you’d be introducing me to young Darkhoof?”

“Of course, of course,” said Blueblood, looking back to the door. “Just remember to speak in Common. Fire and Shieldwall have met Basil a couple times already, but this is our first proper get-together. Work at the Convocation does take up a lot of the day, believe me.”

Cadenza felt herself unexpectedly smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Cadenza said. “You wouldn’t get it, but… Fire. Shieldwall. It only just occured to me. ‘Firewall’... You’d need to be a human to understand.” To the blank look he gave her, she smiled, if rather wanly. “Heh. Maybe I could get Dancer to show you. Humans have even the Kirin beat when it comes to technological wonders, you should know.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Blueblood. “Though I didn’t imagine they could outdo the Kirin for fires. What’s this you’re describing, a miles-high wall of flames? You should tell Sooty about it. He loves things that burn. Just… just don’t ask him if he’s got any Kirin blood in him.”

Cadenza paused for thought. “It gets…” she snickered. “Yeah. Sorry. Had a pun, but… it’s stupid. Anyways, it’s not exactly what you think. Humans do tend to use plenty of metaphors.”

“And we don’t?” Blueblood retorted. “Please. My family name’s old enough that it’s practically become synonymous with nobility.”

And Cadenza had to chuckle at that.

“Well, you’re laughing. A little,” Blueblood remarked. “That’s a good start. Now, allow me to introduce you to some friends.”

They entered the bathing-room, the cake plate held aloft.

One of several such rooms at the Hall, in fact, but the largest by far. It was expansive, rising by several storeys, such that there were even balconies protruding from the granite walls to overlook the pools. Cadenza counted about four of them, each the size of two tennis fields. But only one, to her right, looked full at this hour. In the faintly-illuminated water, to her surprise, she saw an indistinct reflection of stars.

Cadenza glanced up. Sure enough, the night sky. On the inside of the far-up, cavernous ceiling.

“It’s all done with mirrors,” smiled Blueblood. “No enchantments here. A feat of Minotaur genius, but you’d have to ask Basil about that. Or even Sooty or Wally. I’m not good with this stuff.”

She saw the ones in question waiting by the empty pool to her left. Which one was Basil, she did not have to ask. A young Minotaur, thus only a head taller than the average human, and she’d met plenty. Of a bronze shade of fur, he had kind eyes and a pretty mouth.

This gave her a measure of ease, but she felt guarded to see Awesome Fire and Shieldwall. The two were as she remembered, one tall and the other short, an off-colour yellowish white against pale blue, one’s mane as fiery as his name, the other‘s an odd black bouffant with green stripes. Awesome Fire, she hadn’t met in years, yet she’d had recent dealings with Shieldwall. And so had Princess Cadance, passing off for her to visit him, her impression no more favourable.

“Lady Cadance,” Awesome Fire smiled, trotting over to kiss her forehoof. “It’s an unconventional way that Bluenose proposed we meet, yet I’m honoured to greet you.”

Shieldwall nodded enthusiastically. “A pony from a parallel universe… How cool is that?”

And Basil Darkhoof presented a light bow. “We are happy to see you, Your Ladyship.”

Cadenza plastered a gracious smile. “Likewise, gentlemen,” she said. “Now, Astron mentioned having an… an amusement, in mind?”

“Oh, yes,” said Blueblood, eagerly. “Come over here, Cadance, to see. Sooty, if you’ll explain?”

Fire rolled his eyes. “Always giving me the job,” he muttered, even as they followed Blueblood towards the nearest empty pool. 

It did not remain empty for long. To Cadance’s surprise, Blueblood, focusing hard, delicately levitated the plate, multi-tiered cake and all, to manoeuvre down to the deep end of the pool, where it landed with a gentle clatter.

“It’s like this, ma’am,” droned Fire. “You remember a party game that’s been popular amongst the young gentry of our time? The… two-hoofed balancing act, they call it. A favourite of Bluenose’s.” He smirked, glancing at Basil. “Actually, I think he may just have a fetish for bipeds. But anyway. You remember?”

“Yes…” Cadenza nodded, staring at the pink cake in the pool. She felt vaguely disconcerted.

“Great,” said Fire. “Then you’ll remember how it goes. Who makes it across on their hindlegs, without falling down, is the winner. And,” he added with exaggerated distaste, “it’s my sad duty to report my friend Wally here’s a champion at this game.”

“But w-wait, wait. What’s the cake for?”

“Cushioning impact, was the idea at first,” Blueblood put in. “Then we talked it over, and…” He gave the others a playful glare. “Well, given my reputation following a certain cake incident, my friends and I agreed it’d ‘spice things up’ to use it for a dive.”

“What! Are you insane!” Cadenza cried. “You’ll break your necks!”

“Say what?” Blueblood blinked. “Candy, whoever broke their neck from falling that height?”

She prepared to retort, tell him how many horrid injuries she’d seen. But then it dawned on her. This wasn’t Earth. The laws of physics were different here. And she’d almost forgotten that.

It had been so long… 

“You’re… you’re right,” she said in wonder. “Here, it’s true.”

“And so we were thinking,” Shieldwall said concludingly. “You have spent time around bipeds, Your Ladyship. I placed a bet with Sooty. He says you can’t do it, I say you can.”

“Do what?”

“Why, the walk, of course,” Shieldwall grinned, gesturing at the lowest diving-board. “Care to do us the honour?”

She didn’t instantly catch his drift. “What do you mean?”

“The balancing act, Candy,” Blueblood said patiently. “Show the lads how it’s done.”

Cadenza began to blush. “Oh, now, really. I don’t think–”

“It’s not that hard, Lady Cadance,” said Shieldwall, standing himself upright, forelegs crossed behind his back. “Here, let me demonstrate.”

He walked to the diving-board, tottering slightly, yet keeping steady. Without hesitation, he placed a hind-hoof to the board, then another, and then further on. This he repeated, each step potentially meaning a fall. When he reached the edge, he did sway, but almost dismissively turned heel, and did what he’d done in reverse.

“See?” Shieldwall said, resuming four hooves. “And I’m an earthpony. You got wings for balance.”

“Try it,” Blueblood said. “Please? It’ll be fun.”

Boys and their idea of fun, Cadenza thought. Shining hadn’t been much different. Yet, she found Blueblood’s eagerness strangely infectious.

“Alright,” she smiled, “I’ll give it a shot.”

Later on, Cadenza wasn’t ever too sure how she’d managed it, but the results were there.

Teetering upon the board put her heart in her mouth. And yet she found an odd freedom in it. This wasn’t about flight, wasn’t about her useless wings. In a way, Shieldwall was right. Few equines could stand on their hindlegs so long, but somewhere, humanity had rubbed off on her. Now what would Lyra say to that.

Finally, she came back to much clapping from Blueblood and friends, though Fire scowled at Shieldwall’s smug grin.

“Wonderful, Cadance,” said Blueblood. “And now, to top that…”

He himself took place on the board. But when he reached the end, instead of turning, he posed in his two-hoofed stance.

“Behold, the big one!”

And he dove. However, rather than a ‘splat’, what rose from below was a loud ‘thump’.

“I'm afraid that was a little too far to the left…” Fire noted mildly, while Cadenza put a forehoof to her mouth.

Shieldwall, too, seemed a lot more concerned, as he rushed to the pool’s edge. “Bluenose! Are you alright?”

Swaying groggily, Blueblood raised himself. He’d missed the cake.

“Fine, fine…” he slurred. His face scrunched up in pain and he rubbed his snout. “Ouch! Oh… Darnit... Now by dose is really godda be blue…"

Quickly, Basil and Shieldwall climbed down after him, their strengths combining with Fire’s aura to lift him out. From her vest, Cadenza handed him a kerchief.

“You know what, guys?” Blueblood said, pressing the kerchief. “I think what you really need for this trick is boots. Fine cavalier boots, perfect for standing up on deck, or on the gunwale’s edge.”

Fire looked at Cadenza. “Well, there you go, Your Ladyship,” he said. “Back to obsessing over clothing and appearances. And here we were worried about him.”



* * * * *



For a time, Cadenza drifted at the pool’s shallow end, idly helping herself to slices of cake off of the edge, while observing the stallions and Minotaur frolic at the deep end. Seeing Basil Darkhoof at the deep end was quite the sight, to her pony eyes. Upright and three times as tall as the others, the young Minotaur stood easily where the stallions lost their hoofing – effortlessly keeping his head level with them, a hint of muscular shoulder bobbing above the surface.

She watched, feeling her heart go out to them. Too long was it since she’d been granted a moment like this. At this instant, she wasn’t seeing who these stallions had become. Only the carefree, a tad foolish souls they had been.

But Cadenza could not feel as if she belonged.

The plain, ugly truth was, this was not her cousin Blueblood. Maybe he mistook her for Princess Cadance, and she felt affection for him over that, for who else could have seen Cadance in her? They were not even the same age. Although Blueblood seemed to wilfully ignore it, she had left him and his friends’ age group behind long ago.

Cadenza felt more than saw the Minotaur’s great head turn her way, at the pool’s far end. He frowned slightly. She noticed him excuse himself from the stallions, and he trudged up the pool towards her, arms swaying below the water.

As she saw the young bull’s upper body emerge, droplets sliding down his broad, powerfully-built chest, Cadenza was surprised to briefly feel a flash of what Blueblood must feel for the Proxenos’s son. Turning red, she rapidly banished the thought. But not fast enough for her liking.

How could she think that way? He was so young, and Shining was never far from her mind...

“You appear lost in thought, Your Ladyship,” said Basil, drawing in a few paces away. He picked one of the last cake slices, and began nibbling at it. “Asterion did say you were more one to use your head than he.” He smiled softly. “After that little display earlier, I think I believe him.”

She had to wait before she could answer.

“Don’t I always,” Cadenza replied, wistfully. “I suppose he’s a little overeager to make himself more familiar, nose and all.”

Basil gave her a sideways glance. “That’s an interesting way to describe it.”

“Well… when he’s everything that my Blueblood was and wasn’t, you tend to linger on what you know, Basil.”

This seemed to get the Minotaur thinking. “Did he change?” Basil asked softly. “It’s funny. I’d probably never even have met him, if it weren’t for… your world. And the Convocation. I know we’re unlikely to be in love forever. But right now, I love him very much.”

Cadenza looked at him, somewhat forlorn. “Everyone changes. And you should count yourself lucky that you got to know him in his best years, it seems. I won’t tell you how much he’s changed in my world.”

‘However ‘changed’ six feet under means.’ the morbid thought arose, yet she shook it off.

She made herself smile. “But I know what you share is real. He’s yours, and you are his.”

From the corner of her eyes, Cadenza spotted the shadows near the pool’s edge stir with the twinkle of starlight.

“Actually,” said Cadenza, nodding at Basil. Holding the edge, she pulled herself out of the water. “I’ll be back soon.”



* * * * *



“Sorry,” said Luna, her voice measured and regal, “I hope I did not startle you there.”

“I wouldn’t be here if you did,” Cadenza replied. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”

The two stood at the balcony, just out of sight of Blueblood and his companions. Her ‘aunt’ stood taller than she, and Cadenza couldn’t take her eyes off her ethereal mane. How it flowed freely, when the last she’d seen her Luna, it was faded and dull. Just like the statue she became…

Cadenza shook the thought away. She glanced at the chestplate Luna wore, and frowned.

“Well, I suppose you’re prepared, aren’t you?”

Luna followed her gaze down to her chest. The white crescent moon of her mark was emblazoned proudly upon it now, yet though it was elegant and beautiful, set against the silver-blue metal and obsidian plates, it did not change the reality of what it was made for, nor the battle she had fought mere days ago.

‘A war we brought here…’ Cadenza thought morosely.

“These days, to come prepared ought to be a given, Cadance,” said Luna. Cadenza looked up, where their eyes met. Those cyan eyes had never looked so old before, she thought.

“Don’t we know it,” Cadenza replied. Luna nodded, and there was yet another pause. Her aunt could be so very… inscrutable, yet transparent at the same time. A splash and another burst of laughter from the pool caused Luna to glance downstairs, frowning in disapproval.

“I suppose I shouldn’t–” she began, but Cadenza raised a forehoof.

“You’re still doing that. I said I wanted to talk to you… Auntie.”

Luna let out a sigh, a smile to match Cadenza’s own. “Very well, then. I thought I might, at last, see how you are faring, Cadance.”

“Likewise,” Cadenza said, with a subtle nod. “It’s… nice, to see you up and about. That garden of yours still blooming?”

“Always,” Luna responded, beaming. “I presume it has been a while since you, or, well, mine counterpart has visited it.”

Cadenza wondered if the Tyrant had chosen to place Luna’s statue in her own garden, as mockery, or memorial.

“Well, we are heading to Canterlot sooner or later...” she said, pushing the thought away. Something still tugged at her mind. “But I don’t think you’re here just for gardening talk?”

Luna sighed. “Ah, of course… Well, I… was wondering, what you thought of Princess Cadance,” she spoke, softly. “She told me of your encounter and…”

‘Blunt as always, aren’t you, Auntie…’

“She’s a good mare,” Cadenza remarked stiffly, “and I look forward to working with her.”

Luna rubbed her chin. “Hmm, and of Captain Armor,” she said, “you’re avoiding him, aren’t you?” 

‘There it is.’

The bitter truth that she was not of this world came up once more, as it had at the pool. And Blueblood, however fond she was of him, was not Shining Armor. 

“I am,” said Cadenza evenly, carefully keeping her bitterness from bubbling up to the surface. “It isn’t that… it isn’t that I don’t want him, no…”

“And yet, you wish to forget–” Luna pressed on.

“I know what it sounds like,” Cadenza snapped. “There is nothing more that I want in this world than to see him safe, to see him as that same, goofy stallion I fell in love with. But I don’t want to replace him.”

She felt tears pool up quickly, just as suddenly as her outburst did, yet she did not care.

“The other-Cadance… Princess Cadance is happy, and I shouldn’t… try filling in the hole I have in my heart with her beloved, and I shouldn’t let him replace one moment of time I should have had with...”

Her not-Aunt said nothing at first, her stare tranquil as it often was, her eyes distant and cold as the Moon she guided. 

“I… yeah, I am being foolish,” Cadenza continued, “hanging onto the husband that cast me aside for some… some thing...”

“Have I told you before?” Luna said, abruptly, cutting into her thoughts.

“Huh?” Cadenza said, wiping away her tears. “Told me what?”

“Apologies,” Luna continued, clearing her throat awkwardly. “But… I must ask, did the other… Luna ever tell you, about whom she– I had loved, so many centuries ago?”

Cadenza shook her head. “No,” she said, “we never had that chance. And it never came up. You… you only told me about Princess Equinox, how healing was in our blood, Auntie.”

“Of course I would tell you of the Realm’s greatest healer,” Luna mused. “It was inevitable, knowing how much Cadance– well, my Cadance, pestered Tia about her. A fine healer you’ve grown into as well, just like her…”

Princess Luna sighed wistfully, her mane blowing in the non-existent wind. There was a twinkle in Luna’s eyes Cadenza had never seen before. The Princess threw back her gaze, staring up at the vast expanse of the sky reflected on the cavern’s ceiling, mirroring the starry horizons that covered Mount Metazoa.

“Orion was his name,” said Luna. 

“Orion…” Cadenza repeated. The name rang a bell. She followed Luna’s gaze, up toward the night-time skies. “Like the constellation.”

Luna nodded. “Yes,” she said, lips curling into a longing smile. “And when his time came, I wished for him to live on. So he does, in my heart, and across the night sky, so that all may treasure his guidance, as we cherished one another.”

There, up in the sky, in times of Summer, one could just make the outline of Orion Blueblood, that great unicorn tracker from the North, whose shimmering horn of three stars guided those seeking refuge in the Crystal Realm.

“The stories tell it differently,” Cadenza remarked. “Some say he was tricked by Celestia, after guiding ponies astray in Winter. Now he’s up there forevermore, atoning for his misdeeds,” She glanced at Luna. “You know, I don’t know why no-one put two and two together. It’s just… so obvious in hindsight.”

“A little tease between sisters,” Luna retorted, letting out a gentle laugh. “But all in good fun, I must assure you. As long as part of him is remembered, then all is well. Stories are so delightful when they are retold through the ages, through different writers and poets, and that of my Orion is no different.”

“What was he like, then?” asked Cadenza, looking back up to the constellation. “As you remember him. Was he like Astron?”

Luna snorted in mock contempt. “Orion was quite unlike that fop of a prince,” she said, with a haughty yet playful scoff, “save for that new beard, I’ll grant him that. Nay, Orion was light and charming, clever in words and action. A teacher and poet unlike those who came before him, nor those who tread this world after him.”

“Yes, I see he must have swept you right off your hooves, Auntie,” Cadenza blurted out without thinking, and she looked just in time to see Luna shoot her an annoyed glare. Yet her smile betrayed her true feelings.

“He was very much like you, actually,” Luna said, her glare melting into the twinkle in her eyes. “Kind and charming and quite… well, fun.”

“I can tell,” Cadenza replied, returning her smile. Fleetingly, the aroma of lavender enticed her. She wasn’t sure it came from the many pots hanging from within the halls. “I can feel it from you, Auntie. But it’s… faded, a little.”

“Perhaps it has. Our time was short, in the grand scheme of everything, yet the years I spent with him… I may have moved on, but I shall cherish the time we spent with one another. His time came, oh yes, but he passed not on the fields of battle, nor in the hospital, as my children did, but on the bed, with his family around him, and the mare he loved by his side...”

She shook her head.

“Cadance,” Luna said firmly, blinking away tears, “do you truly love him so, your Shining Armor?”

And what could Cadenza do, but nod without another pause upon her aunt’s query.

“Yes, absolutely. I don’t know how long it’ll take. But I’ll bring him back. I promised everyone at the PHL we’ll bring everyone back… and I think that’s how we’d all like it to be.”

“Then we shall see to it,” Luna agreed. “However long it will take.”

“However long…” Cadenza echoed, chuckling. “Not long enough to name the stars after him, hopefully.”

“I was a young and lovestruck mare once,” Luna said, fur and freckles on her cheeks darkening, “And you know how it goes, Cadenz– Cadance.”

“Cadenza.”

“Sorry?”

“You can call me Cadenza, Auntie,” Cadenza said firmly. “That’s one less Cadance for you to remember, in a way.”

Aunt Luna smiled, closing the gap between them, and pulled her into a warm embrace.

“Then Cadenza you shall be.”

For a brief moment, the calming aroma of lavender was joined by the vivid scent of roses, blossoming in that old greenhouse of her youth. And Cadenza, still nuzzling her aunt, wouldn’t have it any other way, beneath the moonlit sky.



* * * * *



In a darkened bedroom somewhere, a briefcase was flung open.

Its contents, a device not unlike the one Queen Celestia had burnt several nights ago, before the very eyes of this Convocation. Its owner, an individual always present, yet seldom noticed.

However, the device differed from its predecessor. Whereas Redheart’s ansible had taken the form of an old typewriter, this one’s keyboard was attached to a screen, nearly indistinguishable from a human computer.

Eyes stared out of a pale face, turned blue by the screen’s glare, to study the equine-adapted keyboard, pondering. She’d assessed the lay of the land. Only now did she feel it safe to write. Finally, she typed a simple message.



I’m in. What are your orders?



The sender did not have long to wait for an answer, as it appeared on the ansible’s screen with the quiet efficiency of all instant messages – albeit a message from across universes.



Follow your directives as before. Remain on alert for the grey alicorn.

Seek to ascertain where time flowed down a separate current in this Equestria – this mystery bears the hallmark of the Architect. Should you have the slightest suspicion of her whereabouts, follow the lead. If you can, you must bring her before me. As for the grey one, deliver my mercy unto her.

Above all, retrieve the heart-shaped locket. They cannot be allowed to wield it.

Trust that I watch over and protect you on your mission.

Regards,
~ C. R.



Her purpose reaffirmed, she closed the briefcase, laying it aside on her bed. She bowed her head in prayer, feeling the covers. Temporarily, she contemplated how it felt to again sleep in a bed such as this, a comfort denied to many for years. But it was comfort she’d chosen to deny herself. Material goods mattered not. Only salvation mattered.

She stood in their midst, a sword poised to strike. They believed her one of them. 

And the Weaver, even as she mourned Redheart’s sacrifice, stood firm in her resolve that none of it would be in vain.