//------------------------------// // The Gift of Clarity // Story: Claws Scratching on A House of Glass // by Wise Cracker //------------------------------// Twilight smiled as the griffon entered the library. Spike was sitting patiently at a table, comic book ready to keep him busy, and Owlowiscious was on his usual perch. Everything looked neat and tidy, perfect to receive an inspection. Of course, she wasn’t the one being inspected, really, but it’s the thought that counts. “Hello,” Twilight greeted. “You must be the inspector. I’m Twilight Sparkle.” “It’s an honour and a pleasure. My name is Gaenorga.” The griffon extended a claw, and Twilight shook it politely. “I’ve heard many good things about you, and I apologise in advance for the inconvenience. I understand you are and your friends are figures of some importance, and while my colleagues can be a bit rough, I assure you we will make this as painless as possible.” “It’s no problem at all. I’m ready to answer any questions you have,” Twilight said, confidence oozing out of her voice. Indeed, she’d predicted all the possible questions she might get regarding the little changeling in town, and had memorised all the answers by now. She was perfectly prepared for anything. “I assumed as much. So I’d like to talk to your dragon first, if you don’t mind.” Twilight’s ears fell back. “Beg your pardon?” “Your dragon. Young Spike.” Gaenorga approached the table, and Spike already closed his comic book. “May I?” She asked, gesturing to a chair. Up above, Owlowiscious let out a questioning “Hoo?” “Umm, sure, but why do you want to talk to me?” Spike asked. “I thought you were here for Bastion.” “And why shouldn’t I start with you, then?” Gaenorga said, as if she were joking. “Seems like you two should be good friends, no?” “Err… not really. We don’t hang out that much at all.” “Is that so? But you’re so alike.” Spike shook his head. “No, we’re not. He flies, I don’t. He goes to school, I don’t. He feeds off love, I feed off gems. We’re totally different, and we don’t hang out much.” “You are also both dangerous to the ponies around you.” Spike stopped his idle kicking over the seat’s edge and grumbled. “Oh. So that’s your angle. Figures.” Twilight noticed Owlowiscious looking out the window again and letting out another soft “Hoo,” as if in protest to the situation. Gaenorga held up a claw and flashed the dragon a polite and formal smile. “Now, now, Sir Dragon, I am not here to make any accusations. I am well aware of your contributions to the Crystal Empire.” With a shrug, the boy said, “I jumped with a Crystal Heart in my claws. Not exactly Daring Do adventure stuff.” Twilight rolled her eyes. She admired Spike’s modesty, but part of her suspected that wouldn’t last once someone started actually praising him for his deeds. His ego wasn’t inflated, per se, but it didn’t take much to get it inflated. “It is for a little boy, and a creature lacking wings, not to mention not knowing how he’ll land. I assure you, it’s more heroic than you might think. But, be that as it may, you are still a dragon among ponies. You live amidst creatures who are potentially in danger, merely and purely on account of your presence. You understand then, of course, why I’d be interested in your opinions on the matter, more than any other. Given that the changeling has similar concerns, I mean. Do ponies ever speak to you about it?” “No, Ma’am. It only happened once, and it wasn’t the first time Ponyville got wrecked, so no one really minded.” Spike caught himself, and looked behind the griffon. “Miss Twilight, I’m going to have to ask you to stop making that throat-slitting motion, please? I’m trying to have an honest conversation with your boy here.” Twilight quickly stopped the motions she’d been making. “Who, me? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “I can hear your hooves scratching across your fur, along with your rumbling stomach. You should get that looked at, by the way: I hear stress is a killer for high-level unicorns.” She winced. “Right. It’s nothing, really. Just close to home, is all.” “I understand. But back to the matter at hand: no one’s addressed you about your transformation since?” “No, Ma’am.” “So no one holds any grudges? No one has the fear of dragons in them because of you?” “No, Ma’am. Fluttershy’s the only pony I know who’s scared of dragons, and she’s not scared of me, either.” “It wasn’t his fault that he grew. He wasn’t himself when that happened, so ponies forgave him fairly quickly. Especially considering how popular he is in town. Everyone likes Spike, same as how everyone likes Bastion. No one hates him, certainly,” Twilight said. “Mhmm. But no one has made any remarks your way? No one knows, say, how to prevent it from happening again?” Twilight sighed and came to sit next to Spike. “We can’t be a hundred percent sure of what exactly triggered it, no. And we haven’t experimented with it, either, for obvious reasons. I don’t want to put him through that again.” “Understandable.” Gaenorga nodded. “And medically, you have nothing to fall back on, either, correct? No doctors qualified to treat you? No medicine that you know of?” “No. But that’s not true for Bastion, though,” Twilight replied. “The council gave us all the information we needed, and the Royal Guard still had their data. Changelings have been among ponies for longer; we know about them. We know how to care for them if we have to.” “Ah, but that knowledge doesn’t extend to how to fight them, does it? Or how to restrain them?” Twilight bit her lip. “Wow, you really don’t try to hide your point at all, huh?” “I leave subtlety to the guilty.” “No one in Ponyville knows how to stop me, no,” Spike said. “That’s not true, Spike. I do. Miss Gaenorga, Princess Celestia has been sending me more advanced spells recently. One of them is a ‘Go to Sleep’ spell that has been known to work on dragons, even large ones. If push comes to shove, I can neutralise Spike without hurting him.” Spike looked up in surprise. “Really? You never told me.” Twilight’s stomach rumbled again. Another hoot from her owl made her ears twitch. “I didn’t want you to worry, Spike, or get the wrong idea. Discord got into our heads, remember? Chrysalis had some form of mind manipulation that worked on ponies, the Crystal Empire had traps for the mind, as well. If anyone tries to use you against us, we need some way of keeping you safe. I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt, and I know you’d never forgive yourself if you hurt a pony. So… now you know.” The inspector glared at the pair. “I can’t help but ponder you specified it works on dragons. Are there any countermeasures that work on changelings?” Twilight winced and nodded. “Umm… yes, I know some, technically, but none that I’d risk using on a child, certainly not willy-nilly. Dragons are tough by nature, and they have an implicit size factor. Changelings have an explicit size factor, magic doesn’t work the same way on them.” “Of course it doesn’t.” Twilight leaned closer in a conspiratorial fashion. “You want to know what the procedure is, don’t you?” “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” came the casual reply. “Please don’t play coy with me, Miss Gaenorga. Lyra and Bon Bon are my friends, and their son has been through a lot. If you want to know, just ask.” “Very well, then. What happens when Bastion goes rogue? What happens when his programming takes over and he goes on a rampage, or starts to sabotage things around here? What happens when he starts changing shape to eavesdrop on you?” Twilight leaned back, content at having put the conversation back on the rails. “First we establish guilt, through proof. Which, begging your pardon, I find highly unlikely, given that it’s Sapphire Gaze who was the magic expert, not Bastion or his uncle. But, regardless, then I cast all the necessary protection spells and give Spike an emergency scroll to send to Canterlot. After that, I go talk to his mothers, see if they’re compromised. If not, I let them know of the situation, if they are, I either purge them to the best of my abilities or I retreat to safety.” “And if he manages to catch you before that? He’s a smart boy, I heard. Great tactician.” Twilight grinned. “Oh, that? That’s a lie, ma’am, a big blatant lie, and there is no way you don’t know that. I’ve seen him at the local game shops: Bastion is a good strategist, but an absolutely lousy tactician. He makes all his decisions before he does something, he can’t adapt to change while he’s making a move. As for what would happen if he got me, well, he’d have to get Spike, too, and my friends. They all have an emergency scroll to send if something happens. Even if they only suspect something.” “And have they ever?” “Never.” “Not even when he attacked Apple Bloom?” Here, again, Twilight could resort to her rehearsed replies. “That was different. Ponies get into scuffles like that all the time, even among friends. The only difference is he has those spurs on his limbs and he didn’t realise. No, in my opinion, Bastion is no greater hazard than Spike, or any pony. I’ve shared a classroom with more dangerous ponies than him. And frankly, I find the idea that he’d be a safety hazard insulting.” Owlowiscious let out a happy hoot at that. Gaenorga looked up at the owl above, squinting before turning her attention back to the Unicorn. “How so? He’s still a changeling, isn’t he?” “Yes, but he’s trying not to be. Even Spike doesn’t-” She stopped, seeing the trap. “Spike doesn’t… what?” Spike decided to be more blunt about it. “She means I don’t try to be anything other than a dragon. But from what I hear, Bastion tries really hard to act like an Earth pony. He hangs out with a woodcutter, with the Apples, he doesn’t fly very often, or use magic.” “I have offered to teach him, of course, but he’s not interested in anything beyond the basics,” Twilight added. “Same with flying: he has all the opportunities, no one would think of banning him from lessons, but he doesn’t seem to want to take advantage of them. At least so far.” “Any reason why, in your opinion?” “My guess is he fixated on the food production. His Hive went hungry for a while, the reason we fear changelings as much as we do is because of their feeding practices. Love and food are two very similar stimuli to his body, it’s pretty clear cut to me.” Twilight looked down and only now noticed Gaenorga’s papers full of scribblings. She hadn’t even seen the griffon taking notes. Something was off about this one, and it wasn’t just the armband she had that was clearly magical. Her body language, her motions, there was an air of calm menace to it, familiar in some respects but alien in others. “You don’t think he’s trying to make himself look harmless to hide any ulterior agenda?” Gaenorga asked. “No. He looks and acts like any of the children in Ponyville.” This time she did see the griffon write it down. It gave Twilight time to think. “And that’s the issue, isn’t it? You think he shouldn’t be? Why?” Gaenorga took her time to look Twilight in the eyes. “You are trained in magic, yes? Classically trained, I mean, in the old ways?” “Classic and modern,” Twilight replied. “Mostly rational, a little bit emotional, and trying my hoof at pure will magic, too.” “Then I’m sure you’re familiar with the basic mechanisms of necromancy?” Twilight’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh.” “I’m curious: does your owl always react so violently to a conversation?” Twilight looked up, and Owlowiscious looked like he was dancing, or gesturing on a Pegasus landing strip, frantically waving his wings about. “No, he usually… Bastion, is that you?” “Hoo!” The owl cried out, before flying out through the window. Twilight made it to the door just in time to see a little green flame land and duck into a corner, headed for Carousel Boutique while her owl took the quickest route to Fluttershy’s cottage. “That wasn’t him, for the record: he was sitting in a tree outside. He’d changed himself into an owl and probably recruited my assistant to signal us.” “He was eavesdropping on us?” Gaenorga asked. “I think so.” Twilight went to her bookcase, took out one storybook in particular, and let it fly into the kitchen. “He probably put a listening spell on this book, he returned it this morning.” The griffon snorted. “He can do that? That kind of magic?” “I didn’t teach him that, and I’ll certainly be wary of him trying it again, but yes, I’d say it’s well within his limits. Changelings have some innate but primitive communication magic, and because of the emotional factor, it’s not limited by species. Excuse me for one moment?” Twilight opened her door, popped her head out and cast a retrieval spell for her owl. He came back in short order, followed by a spectral hand that was very busy waggling a finger at him. Owlowiscious let out a guilty hoot and turned his head away from the librarian’s judgement as he went back to his perch. Gaenorga chuckled. “Quite clever of him. And sneaky. That kind of behaviour doesn’t worry you?” She closed the door and smiled nervously. “Umm, would it reflect badly on him if I said it didn’t?” “No. To be perfectly fair, now that we’re alone,” Gaenorga said, before tapping the gem on her bracer and nodding, “I’d have been worried if he didn’t try something like that. All the information we have on him suggested as much. But still, how do you feel about that?” Twilight sat back down. “I’ve seen worse from some of the other children in town. And I think if you’ve done your research, you know exactly how much worse. So no, I’m not worried. I’m sure he’ll come by tomorrow or next week with some kind of apology, a big apology, too, because he’s very polite like that. But more importantly, now that we are in private...” Twilight crossed her arms and did her best impression of a glare. “I’d like to know just what you are investigating, exactly. If you’re asking me about necromancy, that doesn’t leave too many options. You think Bastion is just a vessel? You think he’s a bodyhopper, perhaps?” “No,” came the curt reply. “Not him, no. But we’ve had suspicions in the griffon lands that Chrysalis was building up to something in her Hive, generation after generation, even with her relatively young age. Your Princess Celestia will likely send you a warning thereabouts soon.” “Building up to what? What’s a bodyhopper?” Spike asked. “A forbidden ritual, a magic ritual,” Twilight said. “Death magic.” “To reincarnate at will, essentially, usually into an unborn child.” Gaenorga’s tone hardened. “But, with some forms, into another complete and independent living being, to consume its soul and steal the body, reclaim youth by destroying another’s. Lost knowledge, thankfully, completely eradicated. But the problem with eradicated knowledge, of course, is that it is still a form of truth, and...” “Truth doesn’t change, so it can be rediscovered. And changelings have a genetic memory, at least a rudimentary one.” Twilight rubbed her chin, thinking. “When you put like that, they do fit the profile. But if he’s not a vessel, then what, you think little Bastion has something imprinted in him?” “I won’t know for sure until I speak with him myself. It’s possible Chrysalis purposely fragmented some knowledge to prevent it being used by someone else.” “Like Bastion’s uncle, Faux Pas.” “Exactly. The naga are the ones instigating this investigation, but we griffons have been getting a little antsy on the matter, too. We know many who have tried to perform the Rite, you see, usually on children. Our kind is especially fond of it, being a composite creature ourselves. It comes easier to us because of our dual nature: we have a seam in our soul, if you will, where the bird and cat meet, makes it easier to initiate the injection, so to speak. Then there’s our eggs, which removes another layer of difficulty to the process. To a changeling, with a fluid nature? I shudder to think what progress a mad Queen might make with a whole Hive at her disposal.” “She did blank her drones early on, with magic. But then why leave her council free-willed like that?” “She didn’t. She never used magic to control her council, she left them uncorrupted, no doubt as some kind of essence farm. Incarnating over and over, you see, even if it’s successful, you risk losing pieces, memories and knowledge begin to fade. Only the most desperate necromancers risk the consuming variant, and they have to strike a fine balance between the original host and their own spirit. If the host is too strong, the process is fought off like a mere possession. If the host is too weak, there’s no structure to attach to, it effectively means they’ve taken a sick body now, and at best the spirit becomes fragmented. Princess Celestia doesn’t subscribe to our theory yet: she reasons Chrysalis has greater aspirations, possibly trying to resurrect her ancestors or something.” “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t have a lot of time in her presence. But I wouldn’t put it past her. She did seem a little more crazy evil than regular evil,” Twilight remarked. “Regardless, their species has access to magic that transfers knowledge through blood, that would make the Rite easier to perform. Bastion shows all the signs of a potential recipient, that is objectively a cause for concern. He was in prime position to have some knowledge implanted, and that is, objectively, another cause for concern. His behaviour, what we know of his training, it doesn’t align with what we know of the War Engineer Faux Pas, and given the pandas had some very in-depth knowledge on that individual, we know for a fact Bastion was not being groomed merely as a successor.” Twilight nodded. “And on top of that, Bastion is a boy. He was born one, at least. Female bodyhoppers are rare, aren’t they? They can’t perform the ritual just like that, even if they lay eggs. So he’d be a better target, as a stepping stone to the next one. Assuming she doesn’t want to keep on consuming.” Gaenorga shuddered. “You are well-informed, for a pony. Yes, the male variant is comparatively common, and thankfully blessed with an abysmally low success rate. Females, they… they are slower, less stable, but more elusive as a result. Whatever the case, Bastion being sent here was an unexpected boon. He’s spent enough time among ponies for his conditioning to wear off. His metapersona, his learned personality, is getting weaker. The more he acts like himself, the less likely it is he can be subsumed.” “But then whatever dangerous knowledge might be buried in him might come back to the surface. If he even has anything.” “Exactly. Matters concerning the Rite and reincarnation are a sticky subject in international law, that’s why I’m here. A single soul can cause global conflict by hopping from one species to the other, after all, you have to think in terms of generations to fight that. The snakes don’t want to take any chances, they have their own problems with death magic as it is, they’ll nip this in the bud if they can. Personally I don’t think Bastion fits the profile yet, but there’s always a chance he’s not a target, but a container. Could be knowledge, essence, who knows what form it might take. If his uncle did pass anything on to him, it’ll likely have been in secret. So, Miss Twilight, having said that, can I count on you to take the necessary precautions?” Twilight held a hoof to her chin and thought. “There’s Master Azure’s Storm of Cleansing, Swan Diver’s Inner Flame, and Rockhoof’s Reverse Snake Coil. Any one of those spells would be enough to break that kind of control, without any risk to Bastion’s mind. I haven’t mastered them, but I have the books and I can start on the basics. I should be able to just rip her out if she tries to take him, with no damage to him. As for knowledge… I can do a temporary amnesia spell. If she tries to take anything from him, she’ll leave an opening. If I can get to her within a week, with those spells, I can undo everything she tries, I’m pretty sure.” “Excellent. That will be all, then.” “Just one more thing,” Twilight said before Gaenorga could leave. “If he does get stronger from, you know, breaking his conditioning and being himself, would a change of scenery help or hurt?” “Depends what you have in mind. In principle, if he is starting to recover now, then giving him the chance to find his own self would make any past efforts of conditioning quite useless.” “So, say, a camp without his parents or his local friends around?” Gaenorga nodded. “That’s what we usually do with groomed victims, yes. But preferably somewhere secure. Do you have any ideas?” Twilight winced. “I might know one spot.” With the Mayor and teacher both located, the next part of the plan was to determine where they might speak. Cheerilee suggested a place called “Sugarcube Corner,” which struck Gytha as a terrible name for a building: sugarcubes were fragile, and prone to crumbling or flaking. To have a building be only a corner of one was just asking for trouble. She shuddered to think how the local Weather Patrol kept the place from dissolving. But the Mayor quickly corrected course and suggested a place named “Daisy’s.” They could eat brunch there, and Gytha could ask away. The griffon had no problem with the situation, all in all. The ponies seemed to prefer an outside spot, but Gytha herself asked for seats indoors, so as not to draw too much attention or distractions. The Mayor had agreed, and noted that Sugarcube Corner was out of the question for the exact same reason, so why not. Once Gytha and the two ponies were seated, the brown mare spoke up. “So, what precisely is it you want to hear from us?” Gytha took a moment to collect herself, patting her saddlebags nervously. “Well, umm, I guess the first thing to ask is: what’s it like in Ponyville, for children? Generally speaking, I mean. Is it safe here, are they happy?” “As happy as you’d expect little foals to be in a small town. They tend to be very active, doing little things to discover their talents or try out new skills.” “We have a well-maintained park, frequent foal-friendly events, and lots of after-school activities for the little ones to enjoy,” added the Mayor. “As for how safe it is: our Weather Patrol is very competent, and nothing in the Everfree Forest ever comes out without provocation. Children know not to provoke anything, and not to go in there alone.” “And what about all the incidents in the papers? The Princess of the Night returning? The Ursa Major? That dragon that nearly destroyed the whole town? The draconequus?” Cheerilee winced at the griffon’s tone. “Gytha, I hope it’s okay to ask, but... do you have children of your own?” “T-two,” she replied, stammering before smiling dreamily. “Twin boys, toddlers, still. Sweetest things you ever did see.” “And in the time you’ve had them, has nothing happened in the griffon kingdom? No national crisis, no upheaval? There’s no dangers that tend to cluster around some region?” “Necromancers, vampires and… changelings,” Gytha spat. “Especially near the Black Mountains.” “Would you say those dangers are part of life there, or unacceptable to any responsible mother?” Gytha sighed. “I suppose, having visited there once or twice, I wouldn’t say they are unacceptable. They are rare, relatively speaking. But they still occur there more often than elsewhere. And that is an unfair comparison: we griffons deal with our problems. Ponies just think happy thoughts at them and expect that to fix everything. That’s a horrible way to approach dangers.” Mayor Mare shook her head. “Usually, yes, but you have to understand thinking happy thoughts at things does work for us. There is actual magic in our friendship, we wouldn’t be relying on it if it didn’t. But perhaps we should go over the incidents one by one, in an official capacity?” “Please do,” Gytha said. “Don’t you need to write this down?” Cheerilee asked. Startled, Gytha quickly got out a pen and paper and started jotting down things. “Yes, yes, of course, sorry. Featherbrain.” “Right. So, to recap: Nightmare Moon was a national crisis, potentially global. Had she not been stopped, the ramifications would have reached even you. So that’s beyond the purview of normal safety hazards. The same goes for Discord: he’s a villain. It doesn’t matter where you put him, he’s going to cause trouble.” “But they both came here,” Gytha argued. “True, and they were both defeated here,” said the mayor. “Had they gone anywhere else, our local heroes would have given chase and the outcome would be the same.” “They still could have struck any child present.” “And any adult present would have protected the child, as much as they could,” Mayor Mare retorted. “The Ursa Major was, in fact, an Ursa Minor, a baby. Resorting to violence would have made the situation worse, and drawn more creatures out of the Everfree, not fewer. Proper use of restraint and a little bit of kindness resolved that situation. As for the dragon you’re referring to, you don’t mean Spike, do you?” “He tried to make a hoard, using one of the local ponies as a hostage.” “Spike wasn’t himself then,” Cheerilee said. “He couldn’t help it.” “He could have hurt someone.” “And he could have gotten hurt in the process. Wonderbolts are trained in classical Pegasus magic. Not the old ice touch, I don’t think,” Mayor Mare said. “Soarin is,” Cheerilee said. “I think he has an Ice Amulet, too. Keeps his desserts nice and cool, he said. And Spitfire is a licensed Lightning Ring instructor, if I remember right, and then there was one who has a Wind Belt, but I can’t remember who.” Mayor Mare nodded. “In any case, that particular ice magic is not common anymore, but physical enhancements through magic are. Wonderbolt wings can cut through solid stone, and I believe you know full well they can slice open a dragon’s hide like butter. They came after him, they made it quite clear what they could do to him with a simple fly-by. Spike is a child, no different than the foals of Ponyville. Violence would not have made anything better.” “And Bastion?” Gytha asked. “Is Bastion different from the foals of Ponyville?” Cheerilee shrugged. “Not really, actually. He pays attention in class, he’s very helpful, very polite. There were a few hints of his conditioning here and there, sure, but most of those have gone away now.” “Traces, such as?” “If you grilled him, asked him questions very quickly so he didn’t have time to think, he’d slip into a daze and stop thinking at all. If you asked him something he didn’t know when he was like that, it hurt him. Twilight Sparkle, our librarian, said that it was like an open wound in his consciousness, and it was best to keep it open and clean, if that makes any sense, so it didn’t get infected. I only did that kind of thing two, maybe three times a week, never for longer than five minutes. By week three, he stopped slipping, and now he doesn’t hurt at all when he doesn’t know something.” Gytha drummed her fingerclaws on the table. “I see. So he thinks for himself now, do you think?” “Oh, absolutely,” Cheerilee replied. “He has his own likes and dislikes. Twilight Sparkle knows what to look out for in cases like him, and according to her, he’s been getting back to normal, mostly.” “But not entirely,” Gytha suggested. “There’s a few small things. Odd things, you wouldn’t notice unless someone told you to look out for them. But even that is nothing compared to some foals, especially the ones with strong magic. He has his issues, and he deals with them, same as any other child.” Gytha scribbled that down in her notes. “So does he play with them, then? Does he socialise?” “He’s quite prolific when it comes to contests. He’ll try anything twice, especially games where thinking and strategy are involved,” the Mayor said. “Not much of a theatre pony, but he’s tried his best at it, and he decided against doing it more often.” “He doesn’t race, either,” Cheerilee added. “Which is odd, since most of the foals he’s close with are fast, and competitive. But again, I suppose that’s a preference, perfectly normal. I never thought to ask why he doesn’t try it at least once.” Gytha nodded. You don’t have to guess why. It’s obvious why doesn’t like racing, or theatre. Cheerilee noticed the griffon’s hesitance, apparently. “Is… is that a bad sign?” “No, of course not, no. He feeds off of attention, after all. He grows stronger when he’s well-liked, same as any changeling. Him avoiding it is merely a show of self-restraint, and that’s an admirable trait to see in someone like him.” “I suppose, when you put it like that, it makes sense. Are you an expert in changelings, by any chance? I was told the griffons would be sending one of their specialist squads.” Gytha’s jaw clenched. Something bunched up in her throat. “I… I do have some experience with changelings, yes. None good, I’m afraid. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not share the details on that matter.” The two sat in one of the many restaurants of Canterlot, in a back corner where no one would overhear them talking. Sapphire Gaze sipped some root beer, smiled, then waved at Starlight. “Now then, your story, please.” “Like I said, not much to tell. Me and Sunburst grew up together. He was my best friend. He was my only friend. Then he got his cutie mark, and his parents sent him to Canterlot the very same day.” Starlight shrugged. “I never saw him again, I never made another friend.” “And that’s where your interest in emotion-based magic came from, then, that bad memory?” “That, and I’ve always been pretty good at it.” She nodded. “Everyone always tells me what a powerful Unicorn I am but, you know, emotional casting isn’t the same as the bookish types, so I try not to flaunt it too much. I don’t want anyone to know I’m a fraud, obviously.” “Something I can relate to. And beyond that? Your, ah, ‘long-term’ reaction to this event?” Starlight let her head hang. “I want to get rid of cutie marks. Just, the whole thing, as a concept, I want it gone for every pony’s sake. I want everyone to be equal, so what happened to me doesn’t have to happen to anyone else. And I know how to do it, too, Celestia mentioned it. There’s this one hospital in Alherda, highly specialised, highly restricted, and I… I volunteered. I’d read about the spell they use there for years, studied the theory behind it. Since there aren’t a lot of Unicorns with the stomach for that kind of magic, or who can stand up to the stigma that comes with it, they were more than happy to teach it to me.” Sapphire took another sip and smiled in sympathy. “And because you used it for the, ah, right thing, so to speak, you were only strengthened in your convictions.” Starlight nodded. “I’ve ripped cutie marks off little foals plenty of times, usually Unicorns who can’t control their talent: little fire-starters, teleporters who kept hopping off the map, mind-controllers who couldn’t control themselves, that sort of thing. I mean, I had to, that’s what I kept telling myself. They were scared, in pain, and no one could help them. Nothing helped, except taking it all away. I lost my friend to cutie marks, all those foals lost so much to cutie marks. Nothing helps, except taking it all away. So that’s my big plan: taking it all away. No more cutie marks, no more pain. Ever. For anyone.” “I’ve heard of Alherda. They have a bit of a plague going on there, don’t they? Among the Unicorn colts especially?” “Yup. It’s, umm, it’s a long story.” “Oh, no need to mince words, Starlight, I know all about it already, I’ve met some of the officials.” The changeling let out a private growl. “I can’t say I’d show your… restraint in the matter. Did you ever try tackling the problem at its root, so to speak?” “No, I kept a low profile, and I learned all I could. No, Alherda is for when I have enough power, enough ponies behind me. I’m closer to getting it done than you’d think, you know. The spell’s pretty easy on a technical level: it’s a basic chaos magic trance, and I’m good at it. I can’t make a cutie mark become my own, but I can rip it off and put it away somewhere for safekeeping. I know how conditioning works, I can make ponies see things my way. I’m all set as it is.” Sapphire Gaze let out a little hum. “Hmm, I suppose then the issue is how to scale it up.” “Oh, it’s not an issue. I bought a pretty large property in the mountains, one close to a giant crystal big enough to hold as many cutie marks as I want.” “I see. So, just to make sure I’m understanding it right: you became fixated on the concept of cutie marks as some kind of curse. Your aptitudes in magic most likely heightened that fixation, as well as the experience in the hospital. And on top of all that, you’re making practical arrangements. You’re not just dwelling on the past, you’re making preparations for the future. Would you say you are obsessed?” Starlight sighed and let her head fall back against the wall. It was soft and padded, appropriately enough. “I don’t know anymore, not after this morning. All my adult life, and most of my childhood, I’ve been holding all this… energy in me and now I’m just deflated all of a sudden. Sunburst, my friend, was here this whole time. I-it finally dawned on me that I could have gone to him, I could have written to him, but I didn’t. Same thing in Alherda: I could have done something, started a campaign there, but I didn’t. I let the problem get worse because I wanted it to. And… I can’t believe it took me this long to notice. I… I did this to myself. And I can’t even figure out if that’s a bad thing or not.” Sapphire took another long sip of root beer. “Not an unusual situation, though. You identified with your suffering, it became a part of you. As you grew stronger, so did the memory of the suffering. As one creature of emotional magic to another: it’s a predictable outcome, really. Be thankful you snapped out of it in time. Perhaps now the suffering has loosened its hold, you can pick up where you left off. You have land, for starters, that’s a luxury many ponies don’t have.” “I got it dirt cheap, literally. No one goes there except ski ponies and geologists.” “Still, it’s something you can build on.” “And keep going with my plan? Start stealing cutie marks? Make all of Equestria blank flanks?” The changeling leaned in and let her head rest on her hooves. “Explain to me, what was your reasoning behind that? What was the intent, the pattern of thought, rational or irrational?” “I lost my friend because he got his cutie mark. Differences tear ponies apart, we froze up our home continent over differences. The holiday we have to commemorate surviving that is pretty much what’s caused all the problems in Alherda. So maybe… maybe go and pull up the root of the problem instead. Maybe it would be better if everyone were equal, no special talents to break up homes. No more families torn apart because one pony has a talent the others don’t, no more villages doomed to fail because no pony has the right talent to fix the problems...” “No more free will?” Starlight shrugged and sighed, before sipping her drink. “Maybe. You tell me: am I wrong? You’ve infiltrated pony society, you’ve got an outsider’s view, you’d know.” “Oh, none of the Council were ever full-fledged infiltrators, not like our drones. But I was in charge of providing false memories for our most of our away parties, so yes, I do know. I know all about instincts and talents and even genetic memories, or stored ones. You used a mountain crystal, you say?” “Yup. Planning to, I haven’t done it yet. We used glass jars in Alherda.” “Hmm. Makes me wonder if Chrysalis had her own pile of glassware somewhere secret. But that’s neither here or there. I don’t think you’re entirely right on this. I do understand where you’re coming from, mind you. Truly, I do. It wasn’t easy for us free-minded changelings to live under the Queen, or even to live with each other. Some functions were quite simply held to higher esteem. Envy lurked behind every corner.” Starlight raised an eyebrow. “But?” “But, equality is not as ideal as you might think. We changelings, we can adapt. We can become anything we want. Our drones are as close to equal to each other as can be.” “But your Queen wasn’t, and that was a problem,” Starlight argued. “The source of your problems, even.” Sapphire sat back and wiggled a hoof at her, eyes narrowed. “Clever thought, but irrelevant to the discussion. The Queen’s power is what made them drones in the first place. It is the status of being a drone that we are discussing. So, simple question: do you think ponies would be better off as drones?” Starlight winced as she thought back to all those foals, to her own childhood. “Honestly? The sad part is, I think some would. Back in Alherda, I saw little colts scared to death of what they’d turned into. What are you supposed to do about that?” “Who scared them?” Starlight sighed. “Grown-ups. Schoolteachers. I mean, you’d know better than me: you’ve met the ones instigating it.” “But not the results. I can tell you this much: I’m warning every single changeling in Alveola not to go anywhere near that place, and I’ll have it on the books that any Unicorn refugees from that town are welcome with us. Honestly, if that’s what they do to their own, I shudder to think how they’d treat a changeling child. Still, at least they had ponies like you looking after them. I’m assuming, when you did your spell as therapy, you didn’t remove those cutie marks permanently?” “No, of course not, simple counselling and training is all those foals needed, it’s just that Alherda’s a magic-deprived city, is all. There’s ten Earth ponies and eight Pegasi there for every Unicorn. The Unicorns are shunned, hated, even.” “Because of Hearth’s Warming Eve?” “Because of how they like to celebrate it there, yes. But that’s beside the point. You can deal with Unicorns being shunned because they have magic, you can deal with little colts growing up thinking they were born bad because no one wants to teach them the good parts of their past. You can even deal with them being told that all they’re good for is to sacrifice themselves like back in the old days. But you can’t deal with it when no one feels comfortable teaching proper Unicorn magic. The teachers there aren’t trained to deal with magic problems. There’s not a proper wizard there for mi-” She stopped herself. “Okay, I admit, Alherda is probably a symptom of a different problem altogether. But that doesn’t change the big picture. Families get torn apart over differences in talent. Countries get torn apart over differences. Getting a cutie mark is basically like getting branded with magic. Some ponies can’t handle it.” “True, true, but then we’re talking a numbers game, aren’t we? Tell me, would you have made friends with Sunburst no matter what, do you think? If he hadn’t been a book smart pony, but a jock? A loudmouth? A bore?” She leaned in closer. “An Earth pony?” “No. Not sure about the last one, but the others, definitely no. We bonded over magic, Unicorn magic. I’m sure if he’d been born an Earth pony, all other things being the same, he’d have been great at their magic. Artifact magic has a fun history, for all pony tribes. You don’t see it that often anymore, either.” “So you agree: what made him unique is what made him your friend. And yet you somehow managed to convince yourself you should take away that very thing.” “I guess so.” She groaned and let her head fall on the table. “Oh, I’m a horrible pony, aren’t I?” “Not yet, you’re not. We’re only talking, you haven’t actually done anything you cannot undo, have you?” Starlight jerked her head back up, careful not to raise her voice too much despite her rising emotions. “I’ve set up houses. I’ve readied the crystal. For pity’s sake, I’m installing a propaganda room. I have speakers and posters and everything. I’ve learned a fifth-level replication spell just to make copies of my manifesto.” The changeling scoffed. “You ponies are such curious creatures, always thinking in terms of permanence when it comes to function. A propaganda room with speakers can become a relaxation room with music. You know scroll replication spells? Great, find some writers, perhaps they’ll appreciate a remote location to work in.” “It’s not that easy.” “No, to you, it isn’t, I know. You have a set sense of identity, and fear of change to boot. Again, I understand why. To feel your identity change, it’s a terrifying experience.” Sapphire hugged herself, and Starlight swore she cried. “To know how fragile memories really are, to live with the knowledge that all your niceties of today may seem like a different life tomorrow.” She clenched her eyes for a moment, then smiled and sat up like nothing was wrong. “But you can still take charge of your own identity. What and who are you, really? You are a Unicorn with a good grasp of the fundamentals of her craft, and who’s managed to cheat with emotion-fuelled magic. You are a land owner. Once being is clear, doing becomes obvious, or vice versa. Can you tell me what you are, and what you should do?” Starlight’s stomach groaned. “I think I am hungry, and I can’t do philosophy on an empty stomach, so I think I should eat. Food’s here.”