Spectrum

by Sledge115

Act III ~ Chapter Twenty-Seven ~ Twilight, Alone

“Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”
 — Cloud Atlas, by David Mitchell

Friends, let us take a step back.

Where were you, on that fateful night of the Summer Sun Celebration, the return of Princess Luna? Where were you, when the Spirit of Chaos broke free of his bonds, and reshaped this patch of the world according to his twisted whims?

… Where were you, when the Royal Wedding was assaulted by Queen Chrysalis? Where were you, when the Dark King re-emerged to lay claim to the Crystal Realm, to Equestria?

I can answer all of these questions. For now, I shall answer only one. I’ll go back to the beginning.

On the Summer Sun Celebration, I was right there. I was in the town of Ponyville, present to witness the appearance of Nightmare Moon, long thought an old tale to scare and delight children. Showdown with that terror, however… The honour, that time, did not belong to me. That night, I was but one more face in a frightened, bewildered crowd.

How strange to think, though! If chance, or fate, whichever you’d prefer, had chosen differently, I may not have been there at all. Although I’d promised my lady-love I’d visit her in Ponyville, business of the day had brought me to Canterlot.

I’ll never forget that moment of me, standing on a bridge next to a friend, waving to Princess Celestia’s personal student as she hurried by, taking no notice of me. Twilight was always so intent on a task, once she’d set her mind to it… How could I have suspected her concern was this very event which, to the rest of us, seemed to fall so out of the blue?

Twilight learned a great lesson that day. Or night, if you like. So did the crisis have a happy ending. We were not always so fortunate… 

This is what we’ve created here stands for.

May none of you, from this point forth, think of yourselves as merely a face in the crowd. Through your individuality, our unity is made stronger. Through our unity, may your lives be enrichened. You are not powerless. You are not alone.

Welcome to the new world.
 — Ambassador Lyra Heartstrings, addressing the Co-Harmony Sphere

~ Canterlot, Equestrian Solar Empire ~ Twenty-First Day of the Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~
— Eight days prior to the Expedition’s departure

“Archmage Twilight? Are you alright?”

The voice of Captain Gallus, interspersed with his knocking upon the door, brought Twilight back into the reality she stood in. Or rather, how she was laying across the bathroom tiles, panting, with her eyes still fixed upon the mirror.

Luna. Princess Luna had been right here, with her. Twilight’s eyes darted around, seeking twinkling stars, stirring shadows, or those enigmatic, beautiful eyes...

Another knock at the door cut off her thoughts.

“Archmage?” Gallus asked, a touch gentler.

“I’m… I’m fine, I’m fine!” answered Twilight, slowly staggering onto her hooves, dusting off her custom-made star-decorated dress. “Just give me a minute, Captain...”

‘Please teach me how to walk out of this…’

She lamented in silence, biting back a grimace as her aura lit up her horn.

When Twilight opened the door, she was met by the sight of Gallus, impeccably garbed in Rarity’s finest of dress uniforms. Not his usual attire. Much like Shining himself, Gallus was more at home in full armour. For half the night, Twilight had wondered if he too felt suffocated by it all, the decorum. If so, she could hardly fault him. The Gala had never been such a fun occasion, even less now that she had visitors to greet on a regular basis.

“Evening, Captain,” Twilight said, keeping her voice steady. “Something wrong?”

“Uh, nothing, nothing,” said Gallus, the wavering tone betraying his true worries. “They said you went to the bathroom in a hurry.”

“I see,” Twilight said, nodding along. “Don’t tell me you’re avoiding your date?”

A furious blush crept up Gallus’ cheeks. “N-no, no, I was– I was just wondering about you, Your Ladyship.” He punctuated his words by holding up a sun hat – her own, with its prominent lavender-tinted bow and starry-blue veil. “You left your hat behind.”

Twilight considered him. She’d only heard hearsay of the Loyalty Guard’s interrogation methods, feigning compassion as they peeled away the layers of those in their custody. But here, by the dim light of the marble-plated bathroom, she saw nothing but a look of friendly concern.

“Just a headache,” Twilight remarked, gesturing with a weary smile towards her left ear – or where her ear once was. She grabbed the offered hat, placing it to cover the unsightly gash. While Twilight had never been vain, she couldn’t make herself comfortable with anyone seeing this scar, which was beyond healing. “Thanks, Captain.”

“Anytime, Your Ladyship.”

Something about his stiffened, awkward gait resonated with her, though. Clearly, the Captain’s heavy training had not extended to formal occasions. Or, and this she found more plausible, the prime source of Gallus’ anxiety had to do with Princess Silverstream.

Definitely Silverstream.

“Alright, Captain,” said Twilight. “So did she like it?”

“Like what?” asked Gallus, raising an eyebrow.

“The roast salmon,” Twilight continued, smirking. “You told me you’d try offering her some.”

What might have been a squawk erupted from Gallus. “Oh. See, here’s the funny thing. I was thinking that... I could give it to her once I get to Mount Aris.”

That got Twilight to smile. “Gallus, listen. I’ll join your table, alright? Keep the talk going, give you an opening, you get what I mean?”

“I’m sure you’ve got more important business to attend, Lady Archmage.”

Twilight shook her head, leaning forward with a conspiratorial glance. “Word of advice, Captain? The Gala is boring. And everyone knows it. It hasn’t been fun since–”

‘A moment in the gardens far and away, gazing at the stars. The scent of flowers hanging in the air. The warmth of Luna’s coat, her wing draped over– ’

“Lady Archmage?”

“Hasn’t been fun for a while,” Twilight finished hurriedly, shaking her thoughts away. “No, if anything, this detour will help me get a load of busybodies off my back.”

“Ah,” said Gallus. “Alright. If it’s not too much to ask. We still have space.”

“Really. What are friends for?” Nudging Gallus, Twilight adjusted her veil. “Your lady awaits…”

Without glancing at the mirror, Twilight led the two of them out, closing the door behind her.

Perhaps Gallus’ nervousness was well justified, Twilight concluded, not long after she herself had entered into conversation with Princess Silverstream. Not that Silverstream was a particularly intimidating character. As a matter of fact, Twilight found her rather sweet, but keeping up with her energetic chatter was a challenge in and of itself, even to someone who’d spent their formative years around the likes of Pinkie Pie.

Glancing out onto the floor, where she caught stolen glances from prospective social climbers itching to get into her good graces, Twilight decided that she’d rather be here. A pity for the poor Captain, though Twilight chuckled to herself. He ought to be over the Moon…

Across the table, Gallus’ face was dangerously close to getting frozen into a grimacing half-grin for good, as Silverstream pursued her enthusiastic recollection of hippogriff wrestling, described by her as a combination of griffon-style wrestling and what appeared to be finger-wrestling.

“... And then he used his left claw,” Silverstream exulted, almost breathless, “which no one saw coming! Oooh, that really turned the tide!” Shaking her head, she looked at Gallus, beaming. “What do you think?”

Gallus blinked. “Oh. Uh… I’m not sure I’m qualified to, you know, give professional commentary on the subject,” he stammered out. “It’s pretty neat, though.”

Twilight cleared her throat, before Gallus could dig himself deeper. “Actually that reminds me,” she said, as Silverstream looked at her. “Gallus here has done some griffon wrestling, from what Shining’s told me. Isn’t that right, Captain?”

There it was, the opening. An opportunity fast slipping from Gallus. Without missing a beat, Twilight nudged Gallus’ hindleg from beneath the table, eliciting a quick glare that faded the moment Silverstream returned her eyes to him.

“Yeah…” he said, after a moment’s pause. “I have, back in Griffonstone.”

Silverstream’s eyes widened. “Really? Tell me tell me, what was it like?”

Gallus shrugged. “It was…” he began, brows furrowed in thought. “To be honest with you, it’s been a while. And I was never the best at it. You wouldn’t want to see me there.”

He took a sip from his rosewine, and said no more. Twilight, for her part, felt a pang of regret. Gallus never really liked to talk about his past, a childhood spent scrounging or tussling for scraps in the streets of Griffonstone, with only the occasional charity from old Grampa Gruff, if it could be called that, to provide for him on the coldest of nights.

Only through sheer force of will had the young griffon climbed the social-ladder all the way and never looked back at the street-rat he once was.

This remembrance led Twilight to take another look at the two characters she was sharing the table with. Their avian physiognomies aside, like chalk and cheese, there could not be a pair who were further apart from one another in worlds– 

A metaphor which made Twilight swallow, temporarily breaking her train of thought. 

Silverstream reached over to hold Gallus’ claw, smiling kindly. “I’m sure you did fine,” she said, “but if you don’t feel like talking about it, I won’t pry. You know, you said you wanted to brew me something. What is it? Tell me, tell me.”

For his part, Gallus kept his cool. “It’s… well. Maybe it’ll be…”

His eyes met Twilight’s. Twilight graced him with a tiny, encouraging nod. Gallus turned, and looked at Silverstream’s eyes.

“Maybe it’ll be perfect for… uh, gallery-viewing?”

He winced a little bit, but Silverstream wasn’t bothered by it, evidently, for she had clapped and cheered.

“Oooh, you’re right! That’ll be perfect! Okay, okay, uh, Lady Twilight, how’s the Great Equestrian? Tell me there’s still room there!”

For a moment, that naughty side of Twilight’s, which had surfaced oddly late in her life and may have stayed buried without the wonders of socialisation, pictured a bedroom for two, so carefree was Silverstream in her inquiries. But as she opened her mouth– 

‘Wind blew. Lightning-struck wood splintered. The shadowy alicorn coated in mist, reaching out towards–’

“Uh, Lady Twilight?”

Twilight blinked. She glanced at Gallus, whose gaze was knowing. Shaking her head, she refocused her gaze upon Silverstream.

“The Great Equestrian’s gallery is out of commission,” Twilight said sadly. “Sorry.”

“Aw, that’s alright,” said Silverstream. “Means I’ll have fewer paintings to haul. Ugh, see, Dad told me we had to follow the norm here. Which means I shouldn’t fly everywhere, and, gah, stairs! Why so many stairs?”

For emphasis, the Princess stretched out her wings, almost knocking over a nearby waiter. Twilight wondered if little details like this, expressed in Gallus’ presence, reminded him just how unalike a Princess’s mind worked from his. Naturally, because she was Twilight, it shamed her slightly that she couldn’t tell whether this might push Gallus away or simply endear Silverstream to him further.

A Princess could afford to complain about a thing so mundane as stairs. Such was it when you’d had the good fortune to grow up in comfort, free and unafraid, sheltered from outside threat. While Twilight knew her first memories of meeting hippogriffs would always be associated with the Crystal War, their self-chosen homeland in Mount Aris had been spared the onslaught.

How could you compare that with a life on the streets, of an impoverished nation whose people were not renowned for either their sense of generosity or community? Twilight had never found out what the whole story was behind that, which only her brother was privy to. The simple misfortune of orphanhood, or was it abandonment, brought on by parental rejection? No lifetime of research might yield her an answer there.

Chalk and cheese, truly. And yet the Captain’s taciturn nature would recede around the Princess, the sparsity of his words no longer attributable to brooding, but purely to being tongue-tied.

“Well,” Twilight said, once Silverstream’s apologies had died down, “there’s always our magnificent cloud cities. Captain Dash would love to show you around.” A sly glance at Gallus prompted a smirk and a follow-up. “Or Captain Gallus could, actually.”

Cloudsdale wasn’t known for its art scene. But this mattered little, not when the door stood wide open for Gallus.

“Oh, no, you don’t want me leading you around,” said Gallus, sweating beneath his feathers, “I’m… I’m not the best tour guide…”

“Hey, that’s alright,” Silverstream replied. “That means we can both be tourists! Oh, Lady Twilight, you could show us around, too, right? It’d be fun!”

Ignoring Gallus’ exasperation, Twilight beamed. “Absolutely.”

‘Sorry, Gallus,’ Twilight thought, as Gallus turned to smile sheepishly at Silverstream, ‘but sometimes, you need a little push…’

It had been her brother who’d first told the griffon this. Shining had seen his potential, the foreign volunteer for the Guard who wouldn’t go away, and so had been the one to guide him through the trials and hardships of the military, while the Lady Archmage taught him the intricacies of Equestria.

There had been another who’d shown him the gentler side of life, taught him how to dance and open his heart to the one who’d charmed him so. Twilight could just about see her there, sitting opposite her brother in this very ballroom, laughing at some long-forgotten joke.

None would mention her name. They knew what she had done. They knew what she was. Traitor. Turncoat. Heartbreaker.

And yet a friend is seldom forgotten.

Even as the bitterness seeped in, Twilight could only hear Cadance’s laugh and see her smile, her comforting voice and guiding hoof for a child who’d seen the world in her. Sister, she’d called her, before she’d screamed at her, this loving, caring mare, about not deserving her wings…

Trying her best to ignore the headache, Archmage Twilight took a long sip from her glass, gazing towards the ballroom.

To Twilight’s great chagrin, the night saw no shortage of curious eyes, especially once the dance began as scheduled on the ballroom floor, to the tunes played by the four lead musicians of the Canterlot Symphony Orchestra.

Strange it was, though a few years had now gone by, that the late Octavia Melody would no longer appear as the ‘face’ of said band. Officially, Twilight should not even have given thought to Octavia playing such a prominent role in the first place – but some faces are more easily stricken from the records than others. Particularly when there is a degree of connection. A neighbour in a friendly little town, for one.

… Maybe a distant cousin of Pinkie’s, too? Twilight shook her head. She’d never gotten that figured out.

And the dance went on.

Even as Twilight had kept pace with Gallus and Silverstream’s bashful flirting, the gazes of many were all too keenly felt upon her. For the most part, all she could do was hold her hat tighter still. She excused herself from the table, to Silverstream’s dismay. To her own dismay as well, upon feeling the stares from amongst the gentry. Privately, Twilight regretted the Queen’s absence, who’d excused herself a good three or four hours ago. Then again, she hardly could blame Celestia for choosing to avoid the tedium of the Gala in favour of her private chambers.

It was only by a stroke of luck that Rarity took anew to the floor, breaking away from her middle-aged yet admittedly handsome Saddle Mareabian partner.

“Why, thank you for the offer, Lady Archmage,” Rarity had loudly proclaimed, though Twilight made no such overtures to her, “I’d be honoured to take it up!”

She’d swept her into an elegant dance, upon that.

This, for the most part, got most eyes off her back. Few would ever dare challenge the pairing of the Lady Archmage and the Minister of Inspiration.

Before long, having surely crushed the hopes of many suitors, the two of them had given everyone the slip, sharing a laugh between friends at the Palace Gardens.

“Thanks for the help, Rarity,” said Twilight, crookedly smiling at her ‘dance’ partner. “I hope I didn’t disappoint that suitor of yours.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Twilight, it was no hassle,” said Rarity, “I’m sure he won’t mind at all.”

“Here’s hoping,” Twilight agreed. But the smell of the gardens reminded her of something. “Listen, um, about Discord–” 

Her friend shushed her, smiling. “Like I said, don’t you worry, Twilight, we’ll have time to deal with that ruffian when you’re faring better. Now, I’ve got a dance to finish, and you, my dear,” she said, adjusting her friend’s hat, “have got a talk. Go on then, won’t be too long before the next suitor sees you on your own.”

Suppressing a shudder, Twilight embraced her friend. Rarity departed without another word. She hadn’t mentioned where she’d be heading, but Rarity had always been attentive to all her little tells and cues…

So Twilight found herself alone, amongst the autumnal flowers of the Royal Gardens.

All along the cobbled path, that flowery scent coursing the tranquil night air accompanied Twilight in her stroll. The sounds of the Gala faded, drowned by a hush of bristling leaves and flowing water. From the shadows, the curious eyes of wildlife, her only living companions, stared out from within the vines and beneath the rosebushes. In olden times, she’d always been one to give treats, even as her visits grew scarcer.

Still her headache persisted, so Twilight went on her way. Past the hanging vines, hanging exotic flowers from Neighponese chrysanthema to Monegasque carnation. Time had faded them. Even the finest of gardeners in Equestria could never hope to match their original caretaker.

It was there amidst growing bamboo shoots and orchids that Twilight saw her. Standing upon her pedestal, her back against the vine-covered wall and fountain that marked the garden’s edge, nothing much had changed save for a few leaves scattered at her hooves. Her defiant gaze remained frozen where it had been – ahead, facing her assailant.

“Hello, Luna,” said Twilight. Her lips twisted into a crooked, bitter smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

No answer. Shaking her head, Twilight made her way to the nearby bench. She took off her hat, letting the cool night air brush against her ear – or where it once had been. A stray thought went by her mind. Here deep within the gardens, perhaps an intrepid reporter or two had made their way in, seeing her at her most vulnerable…

There was no one else here. No one but her and the alicorn beside her.

“No, I didn’t bring any books,” said Twilight, sighing. “Busy night, you know. The Gala’s always a hassle. Don’t think you’ll be missing that, right? Don’t answer. Of course you wouldn’t. You used to drag me here every Full Moon. Every time your sister wanted you to attend the Gala and make it livelier. And… you did! You always did. whenever you could, you and that voice of yours…”

Such a waste of time. Perhaps she ought to apologise. That was also silly. Luna wouldn’t hear her. She never would.

‘But that wasn’t true, was it?’ thought Twilight. ‘She listened to you. She’ll listen now…’

Would she, though? Even as she thought so, Twilight felt a flash of stinging pain. On instinct she reached upwards, touching the spot where the bullet had connected. The exposed flesh below her ear had healed well, yet every now and then, the phantom pain made its unwelcome presence felt.

And still she dreamt of the alicorn in blue, wrapped in the endless field of stars, looking at her with that alluring gaze… Or perhaps it was no dream. Perhaps she had been there, whispering. Perhaps she had stood there, beckoning her to–

‘I trusted you!’

Her Luna would never have hurt her. Never tricked her. She was there for her, always there. Like she surely was there when she’d been at her lowest, on countless lonely days. It had to be so. She would be there, reaching out towards her…

“Was that you?” Twilight whispered. She stared into Luna’s stony eyes. “Was that you, Luna?” Quiet as stone, the figure was. Still Twilight persisted. “I saw you there. You don’t need to pretend. I don’t know if it was you. But I know you’re there. I know you’re…”

‘What am I doing here?’  she thought. ‘What would she think? I… I don’t deserve this.’

Yet she was here for answers, whatever they may be.

“There was another you,” Twilight continued, lowering her voice. “We talked. And… and I really wanted to believe it was you. But she wasn’t. She never was. How could she ever be? She doesn’t know me. She’s not you. She doesn’t…”

Twilight winced and groaned, holding her head, eyes closed. She was there at the Royal Gardens, panting, breathing, holding her hat close to her chest. Nothing. Nothing but her, and her ever silent-companion.

“She doesn’t know me,” Twilight repeated, pausing to take a deep breath. “She’s not you. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. You always were and now…”

Perhaps she was seeing things. Because Luna was here, yet never again would she fly, hooves reaching towards the mare she cared very much about, her velvet voice whispering encouragement and sharing her innermost pains…

How could she ever deserve it, indeed. She was just foolish little Twilight Sparkle, grasping at the figments of a distant past.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever find a way,” Twilight whispered. “I’ll just… Forget about it. It’s fine.”

She stepped off the bench. The Moon had reached its zenith. The sounds of the distant Gala had faded and soon many would wonder where she had gone to.

It was only as she stood at the threshold of leaving the secret garden that she looked back, sparing the mare she loved one last glance.

“Good night, Luna.”

No answer came. None ever did.

Night turned into day. And so the week went on, settling into all of its usual routines.

Twilight knew this well. Repetitive to some, perhaps even stifling, yet there lay a comfort in how very secure it was to her. Her mornings were swift. No later than six o’clock would she rise from her bed. A quick breakfast and shower would follow to get the day started. Indeed, a little-appreciated upside to her title was that she could always count on getting a hayburger. Next, off she went to her office just across from her bedroom, where her desk lay surrounded by stacks of books. Perhaps a mess to the untrained eye, but organised chaos was one thing Rarity had taught her well.

Rinse, repeat, so it went.

Each day another day at the office. Each day would be perfect, Twilight told herself, no matter what little deviation came by. And indeed, they almost were.

… Almost.

Medication could only do so much. Her head pulsed throughout every meeting, every shift, every moment in her study. Bless her foresight in requesting a quieter, solitary office as the war effort intensified. Twilight could hardly fathom how she would have fared, had there been more than Sunburst interrupting her precious train of thoughts for the day.

He, for the most part, hadn’t noticed her predicament, so concentrated was he in the daily reports on spellcraft. The same couldn’t be said of Terramar and Shearwater – who, evidently, did not keep track of one another, since they asked her on separate times if she was alright. And then there was Gallus.

The good Captain had been busy with his own day-to-day, as duty beckoned him. Every once in a while, on the few occasions he was on field duty, his path would cross with Twilight’s. One afternoon that same week, they did meet by chance just outside her office.

“Do you know where I can get some flowers?” Gallus blurted out. “Sorry, Lady Twilight, I was hoping to bring this up in private but, you know how shifts are. My apologies.”

Twilight shook her head. “It’s alright,” she said, chuckling. “We do get really busy these days. Anyway, ah, I do know a place in Canterlot. Opens at ten. It’s closed today, I think, but should be open tomorrow.”

The Captain let out a sigh, massaging his temple. “Darn it, I was hoping it’d be open today. My new shift starts tomorrow.” he said. “I… suppose I can wait and all.”

So sullen and crestfallen was he that Twilight felt compelled to reach out and pat his shoulder. “Silverstream’s leaving tomorrow, isn’t she?”

Gallus nodded. “She is.”

“Then I’ll head out myself,” said Twilight. “I’ll be back before you know it. So, what were you planning on giving her?”

That brightened his face considerably. “Carnation,” he mentioned. “She said she loved the scent when we walked near the gardens.” A moment’s doubt flashed by. “I don’t know if she means it or not, though.”

This time, Twilight had her smile at the ready. “Don’t worry, Gallus, she’ll love it. It’s you.”

~ Canterlot, Equestrian Solar Empire ~ Twenty-Fifth Day of the Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~
— Four days prior to the Expedition’s departure

On that afternoon, when the Sun had scarcely moved past its zenith, Twilight excused herself from a routine meeting. Passing the Guards posted throughout the Palace was a trivial affair, as none would question the Archmage, let alone the Captain of the Guard who let her pass. Seeing as in these midday hours, the city was at its busiest, Twilight had the forethought to bring her hat and veil. Most expected the Lady Archmage to be clad in her robes of office. Fewer would glance at a mare wearing a brown tweed jacket topped by a neat little bowtie. There was little harm in dressing properly, least of all here in Canterlot.

With only an acknowledging glance towards the Guards standing vigil at the Palace gates, she took her first ginger steps out of the gates and took in the sight that greeted her.

Much had changed in Canterlot. Twilight had seen the city sights all too often, staring from the Palace windows since her youth, but rarer was the opportunity to gaze upon its towering heights from the streets. Long ago, Cadance had told her of her first sight of the city, this ivory city reaching high into the skies from the mighty Canterhorn. So captivated was she, that the Captain who’d accompanied her to Equestria had to keep her from falling off the sky-boat.

Twilight walked on.

Canterlot, as the jewel of the Canterhorn, had always been imbued with a certain magnificence, the image of the archetypal ivory tower amplified to cover a whole city, perched from the side of the lofty mountain. Nowadays, the Palace alone retained that ivory texture, and this was primarily out of preservation of a classical aesthetic. Modernity had overtaken the capital, paved over the old with its building blocks that poured forth from the North.  This world in which she walked, once ivory, had become crystal.

Above it all, civilian airships lazily drifted by, arriving and departing from the sky-port at the far end of the city, ferrying the populace to and fro across the whole of the Solar Empire and its coalition of equine nations. Public transportation, yet vessels greater in size and sophistication than the Royal sky-boat which had brought the Crystal Princess to this place, many years ago… 

Ponies still milled the streets, all around her, although Twilight felt glad to walk unrecognised. A curious thing it was, that during those early years of her bearing an Element, she could continue to blend in as another face amongst the crowd. Unthinkable today, when not only she held such a prestigious office, but the government scarcely wasted an opportunity to remind the public.

Even with her face covered, Twilight had to duck with embarrassment when she saw one of the various billboards, which adorned the top of most roofs, flash to life. A moving picture projected from a totem-prole below the board, it boasted a frankly idealised and larger-than-life likeness of her own self, albeit with the grey stripe in her mane restored to the natural red of youth. She hardly bothered to examine what the billboard proclaimed, some inspirational slogan drawn from the “friendship letters” of a more innocent era, most likely.

What Twilight did catch were a few snippets of chatter. These streets were the province of ponies, as they had been fifteen years ago, yet while she might hide her face, a pony’s face had long ceased to be sole representative of this city’s make-up, with the cosmopolitan turn it had taken since the founding of the Co-Harmony Sphere.

Aside from the usual suspects of the unicorns – still the majority here in Canterlot – or the pegasi and the earthponies, hippogriffs and horses also could be seen going about their business, exchanging the latest news as they understood it.

While most of it had to do with local concerns, intermittent mentions of Earth did come by.

“So how long d’you reckon the skirmishes will keep goin’ on for?” asked an unusually short, beige-coloured hippogriff, his question addressed to a pegasus manning a hayburger stand. “They’ve been cloggin’ up the process for, what, four years now?”

“Five,” replied the hayburger seller, a fairly stout fellow, his colours a faded teal. “And don’t expect them to lighten up none, any time soon. It’s a delicate operation, y’know, cleaning up a whole planet. They did say it might take up to twenty years.”

“Yeah,” said the hippogriff, “but think it’d go faster, if there weren’t so many… insurgents?”

The hayburger seller shrugged, applying sauce to the burger he’d prepared.

“I got a cousin in the Guard. He says, most of the natives are right willin’ enough. Thing is, Guard’s stretched thin as it is, watching over a project this big. So whenever trouble arises, there’s only so much they can do.”

Twilight heard no more, the exchange lost to her as she continued steadfastly onwards. At the very least, what she’d heard there confirmed that Rarity’s department did sterling work. Despite relentless distribution of samizdat tracts by the PHL and their associates, the official story remained the one accepted by the general public.

She’d noted that of the two citizens chatting, the hayburger seller wore a star-shaped badge. Shaped after her own cutie mark, as a matter of fact. This denoted him to be a participant in a novel initiative of hers, which had taken off only last year, still finding momentum at present. A friendship credit system.

Perhaps the seller had opted to participate because it’d boost his business. Perhaps he was as true a believer as his comments on Equestria’s military operations suggested him to be. One way or the other, there was a good chance he’d placed himself ahead of the curve, as this new system would gradually become common practice.

Yet, the part of town Twilight was headed to, coming up to sooner than she’d believed possible, for it lay closer than one might to the Palace, was one vestigial of a different time. Synthetic crystal did not yet plate all of the buildings, nor were rainbows painted along the streets. As Twilight neared her destination, fewer faces showed up that weren’t pony, and a little of the old Canterlot style shone through, albeit no longer so polished, in the ivory architectural facade.

Beneath the sights and sounds of the Empire’s beating heart, there was only one place that Twilight sought, quietly walking down the sidewalk.

The little shop down the road which Luna had mentioned on occasion. Despite all her promises, Twilight could never find the time to visit it for herself. Not so much today. The weekend was fast approaching. Bustling as Canterlot was these days, the crowds were less noisy and inquisitive, so preoccupied were they with their day-to-day lives.

Passing by a closed-down teashop, Twilight stopped before hanging flowerpots, set against a quaint little facade. She glanced down upon the address scribbled in Luna’s elegant hoofwriting. Funny, then, to think Luna had come down to such a humble, antiquated shop, one of the last of many lining these streets. Or perhaps it wasn’t such a wonder…

A stinging pain coursing through her head interrupted her reminiscence. With a resigned huff, Twilight adjusted her hat, glancing left and right to ensure none had their eyes upon her.

‘Right,’ thought Twilight, once she’d ascertained that the street number matched what was written on her note. ‘Here we go.’

She knocked gently once, then twice. No answer. Another knock, another pause. Still no answer. Her forehead creased by a frown, Twilight looked up at the door, where her eyes found a small wooden sign hung across;

Lunch Break.

Twilight only just suppressed a long, heavy groan. ‘Of course it’s closed. Of all times… Why pick now, Twilight. Fine, I see how it is–’

“Pardon me, but can I help you?”

Twilight turned around. There stood a green earthpony mare, looking at her with a quizzical tilt. Perhaps she’d stared for too long, though, for there were the hints of a flustered blush on the earthpony’s freckled cheeks, and she looked as if she wanted to retreat beneath her sun hat.

“Oh,” Twilight began. She glanced at the mare’s flank, spying a drooping, brown-potted white flower upon it. “Sorry, where are my manners? You must be the owner, right? Sorry, sorry, I was just looking around.”

The mare nodded. “I am, yes,” she said, her eyes drifting towards the display. “Oh. My apologies. I probably should open the door. Sorry. I don’t normally get visitors at these hours.”

So quiet was the mare’s voice, that it took a glance at where her eyes were aimed for Twilight to realise she was standing in her way.

“Ah!” Twilight said, stepping aside. “By all means, by all means.”

The mare gave her one last quizzical look, before unlocking the door and pushing it open. In Twilight went, following after her. The cool Autumn air dissipated, replaced by warmth from within the flower shop. Hanging lanterns and a couple of crystalline lamps filled the room with their light, and Twilight’s eyes were greeted by the sight of flower pots large and small.

“See anything you like?” said the florist. She took off her hat, revealing her lush, if slightly scruffy dark-green mane, then hung it on the nearby rack. “Still at full stock. Not that, well, anyone’s rushing to buy…”

The mare trailed off, eyes full of reminiscence. Then she blinked, refocusing her gaze onto Twilight.

“Right. I should let you pick, sorry.”

As the florist headed over to the counter, Twilight turned her gaze onto the nearest rack. Rows upon rows of neatly arranged flower pots greeted her. Their scent was alluring, a mix of roses, lilies, even chrysanthema and sunflowers, and other flowers that Twilight could not identify, save for a familiar one that tickled her nose so very much.

Lavender. Lovely, soothing, delicate lavender. Such a familiar sight that greeted her, all the lavender arranged so neatly before her eyes, like they were waiting for her and her alone. Much like how, in nights past, she’d come home to a fresh pot of lavender, accompanied by hoofwritten notes of how much their sender wished her a good night’s sleep.

‘No-one wants them,’ she thought. ‘You took her away, remember? They’re for her…’

Shaking her head, Twilight tore her eyes away. She had a single task and flower in mind. Once she found it, a full bouquet of carnation, she went right on her way over to the counter.

“Will that be all?” asked the florist.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Twilight answered. “Sorry for, you know, cutting down on your lunchtime.”

“It’s fine,” the florist shrugged. “Chamomile from next door would wait on the shop, when she wasn’t too busy herself. Not that her business was all it used to be, either. Same story all along this street, I fear. But she was the best at keeping her head above water.”

“That’s kind of her. Did something happen?”

“She’s moved to Vanhoover. Wanted her and her kid to be with her in-laws. Her husband didn’t come back from Earth…”

The florist sighed, staring down at the counter.

“Anyways, business has been slow for everybody and… yeah. Right. Um. Sorry.”

Twilight offered an understanding smile. “Hey, it’s alright. Guess that I’m the first customer of the day, huh? Believe me, I get being lonely.”

“I see. That’ll be twelve bits. Nothing for yourself?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Forgive me, Madam,” said the florist, clearing her throat. “But… people don’t typically pick a flower this fast. Would you like to pick another one?” She finished by gesturing towards a few flowers, displayed on the other side of the counter.

Awkward and clumsy, Twilight thought. The little part of her mind told her to decline, turn away. But Luna had frequented this place often, spoken highly of the flower bulbs she’d selected, and Luna seldom gave shops such an honour. And this florist…

Twilight regarded the florist for a fleeting moment. She could not have been much older than herself, a mare of thirty-seven, with freckles that belonged to a younger soul. There were, however, deeper lines below the eyes that betrayed nights of weariness, chipped hooves that bespoke days spent carrying a heavier load than a florist ought to.

As with many, it was the eyes that told her the most. Such sad, delicate eyes. They reminded Twilight of Fluttershy’s. But where Fluttershy had remained true to herself, the mare before her had hardened, heart now veiled behind the faded colour of her eyes.

Perhaps a touch of generosity wouldn’t hurt.

“Alright,” said Twilight, nodding, smiling politely. “I’ll have a look, then.”

The mare did not say anything, only nod, but her cheeks flushed with colour. She took a step back from the counter, allowing Twilight’s eyes to glance over at the flowers presented.

Pretty little things. Dandelions, roses and daisies, even a corsage or two. Simple little flowers for a quick purchase. But one flower drew Twilight’s eyes, for reasons she was sure plenty would laugh at, yet all would understand.

“What do you think?” Twilight asked, holding the miniature pot before her. Twenty little flowers, all with that same, graceful purple shade, with the yellow head that gave them their name.

“Aster,” said the florist. “New beginnings. Lovely choice.”

“I felt sentimental,” Twilight said, rather plainly. She winked. “And it’s my colour, too. I think that’s how it works, isn’t it? Don’t tell my friends, I’m a bit new to this.”

An easy lie. Luna had never missed a chance to speak fondly of her work. And, of course, that first pot of lavender she’d been gifted had been welcome company during those long sleepless nights out in the cold, working to end Sombra’s war…

“That it is,” the florist answered, and for a moment, there were the telltale hints of a suppressed laugh. The relief in her brown eyes was as clear as day. “If I may, who told you of my shop, Madam? I’m flattered.”

Twilight looked at her with a tiny smile. “A friend. You might know her, she used to go here.”

“Did she now?”

“Mhm!” Twilight affirmed. “She thinks highly of your work. She also comes here to think and reflect– pleasant company, she said. Well, can’t say I disagree…”

But the florist’s own smile faltered, to Twilight’s surprise.

“Ah… I see,” said the florist. “That’ll be twenty-six bits all in all, Madam.”

Twilight thought of it for but a moment. “Forty, actually,” she said. She deposited the amount without hesitation, before the florist could protest. “For your troubles.”

Yet before either the florist, or Twilight could do so much as muster a thank you or inquire further, the bell on the door rang.

Upon meeting the newcomer eye-to-eye, she froze, as surely she was seeing a spectre. For Twilight had never seen the mare so clearly before as she did now. Pink, vibrant and warm, like the Sun piercing through the cloudy skies. Then her eyes, those dark purple eyes, once filled with care and love…

But it changed little. Twilight Sparkle stood there before a haunting shadow, and she could not find her voice.

“Ah, Miss Blush’s shop,” said her brother’s wife. “What fine taste you have, Lady Twilight.”

The walk back to the Palace proceeded in dread silence. The Sun above her had scarcely moved from when Twilight stepped into the flower shop, yet its rays felt colder still than it had been between the flower racks. No thanks to the mare by her. Neither had said anything to the other, once Twilight had said her final ‘thanks’ to the florist – Wallflower, Twilight reminded herself. Her visitor had given her the name of the florist at last. But Twilight could not dwell on Miss Blush, or what stories she might hold of Luna.

Not when her company could be so suffocating now.

She dared not glance at Ardor, not once during their trek up the road, nor when they finally reached the nearest bathroom within the Palace. Her head hurt now, pulsing, threatening to split her skull with every beat of her heart.

“Excuse me,” Twilight had said simply. Before the other mare could reply, as her head pulsed, Twilight went right in.

The door swung shut. She was alone, as she preferred, as she ought to be.

There, reflected against the mirror, she saw herself. Haggard, tired, her hat ajar. Twilight took it off gingerly, resting it upon the sink. Every line etched upon her face, every strand of grey mane was there to behold.

She was tired. So very tired. She wished the pain had faded with the passing days. Yet that would be too kind for her, as it were. It was there, always there, behind the veil she had woven so long.

Twilight raised a hoof, feeling it move towards the mirror. That part of her still thought of turquoise eyes staring back at her from the shadows, watching her…

“Your Ladyship?”

Twilight felt her chest tighten. She withdrew her hoof, glancing at the exit.

“Ardor,” said Twilight. “Sorry. I’m just… reflecting. Thinking, really.”

The pegasus mare called Andalusian Ardor did not reply at first, merely glancing over at the mirror, then back at her.  She stood in the doorway, tall and elegant, clad in full armour.

“You look prepared,” Twilight continued. “I thought you’d be with Captain Armor.”

“Aren’t I always?” Ardor replied in that smooth, velvet voice, tinted with Oleandrite. “And yes, I ought to be. But are you well, Your Ladyship?”

Twilight sighed, massaging her temples. “Yes. Yes, I am. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, but it does.” Ardor took a step closer. “It is my duty, Your Ladyship. I am a guardian.”

Almost on instinct, Twilight’s horn lit up with a low hum. “Don’t do that. Just don’t.”

“I mean no harm,” said Ardor, smiling widely, in what might have been kindness. “That vow extends to you.”

Twilight blinked. Of course. She had been there, reviewing endless Conversion logs. Not least of which was the mare assigned to her brother. “You… remember?”

She knew the answer the moment it left her mouth. It did not make it any less difficult.

“I was corrected,” said the mare, still with that pleasant, unwavering, sunlit smile. “And now, I correct people.”

Her eyes moved from Twilight to the mirror. Twilight felt her breath grow shakier by the passing seconds. Ardor saw her, did she? Alone, staring at the mirror, hoping desperately to see Luna’s eyes stare back at her.

Twilight gasped when Ardor closed the distance. A hoof reached out, brushing against strands of loose mane over her ear – and adjusted the single aster she had worn on her mane.

“There,” Ardor said, full of pride, the kindly tone familiar to her ears yet with a cold touch that permeated every word. “Isn’t that better?”

“What do you want?” Twilight finally said, after what felt like an eternity, gritting her teeth. Ardor merely looked at her contemplatively.

“I only wish to inform you, Your Ladyship. I suppose this is as secure as we can get for now,” Ardor said, chuckling. From beneath her ornamental armour, she produced a rolled-up scroll. “They have found your sword.”

~ Hajnowka, Podlaskie Voivodeship, Former Poland, Colonised Earth ~ November 28th, 2024 CE ~

Crossings to Earth, though her visits had grown scarcer in recent months, had become somewhat rote for Twilight. It went by in a blurry haze of colours and scent, the rich vibrancy of Equus dissolving into the oft drab, though always fascinating Earthen shades. As for the smells, thank goodness for their ongoing efforts, those were much more pleasant than had been only a few short years ago.

Another yell and grunt brought her back to where she was. Standing at the base of the Warden’s Tower, flanked by Shearwater and Terramar. In the few times she had personally come here, Twilight had met with guests from all over, be it dutiful officers of the Crown or ambitious overseers seeking another post.

Today, however, the person in front of her was an earthpony child no older than thirteen, and their meeting hadn’t held much in the way of talk. In fact, Twilight wasn’t sure she was supposed to meet the child at all.

The young farmer – pale, teal in coat and mane – for her part, averted her brown-eyed gaze, looking down at her hooves. Twilight could hardly blame her. Perhaps she’d expected her parents to speak up.

Not that they would, nor any of the good dozen others assembled before her. Earthponies, of varying ages, all of them showing mixed expressions of shame or defiance. Not one had their eyes on the pegasus stallion pacing back and forth before them, eyes fixed in a firm glare.

The Warden of Europe was a patient stallion, but one look at him and Twilight could tell Earth had not been an easy assignment. His green coat had grown faded with age, streaks of grey interweaving his brown mane. Every so often he’d glance at the group, shaking his head and muttering all the while.

It was when his eyes met Twilight’s, though, that prompted him to finally speak aloud.

“Take them to the holding cells,” said Green Fields, raspy voice stern and commanding. “I’ll deal with them later.”

Twilight shared one last look with the young farmer, right as she was escorted in single file with what Twilight assumed had to be her family. Once the last of them exited the courtyard, flanked by a few zebras and horses of the Guard, Twilight turned her attention to the former Trailblazer officer whose visage she’d grown accustomed to over the years.

“Warden Green Fields,” Twilight said. “Shall we proceed?”

“Your Ladyship,” said Green Fields, nodding in return, “if you would follow me.”

There was nothing else either of them said for a long while afterwards, during the long walk up the Warden’s Tower.

When the flag of Celestia’s Sun had at last flown from the Atlantic to the Caucasus, many had expected the creation of a new bastion in one of the former capitals, a testament to their triumph over the old nations of Europe. But few within and without the Empire had anticipated a small town in what was once Eastern Poland. 

Twilight knew the reasons very well, for it had been her call to make. Thus it was at Hajnowka they settled, a base for the new Imperial arcology built and grown from crystal. Yet the work was far from done, from what she could see. Workers and soldiers alike, zebras and Newfoals, hippogriffs and ponies, even a few griffon mercenaries were milling about down below.

Her thoughts faded as the great wooden doors – one of the few other building materials in this fortress of crystal – opened at a deliberate tempo, welcoming her into the Warden’s office.

Though crystal was still dominant, from the floor all the way to the hanging chandelier, Green Fields had taken his time in lending the place his personal touch. This included a sizeable wooden desk of what could only be Vanhooverite pine, a beautiful carpet of Maretonian origin, hanging paintings from various locales the old soldier had visited in his long career, and – yes, a grand and well-stocked bookshelf. There was even a fireplace to complete the picture, right behind the desk. This was certainly ornamental, Twilight could tell, for she keenly felt the warmth of the Warden’s Tower, a product of contemporary heating systems ranging from the floor beneath to the walls that surrounded them.

A comfortable abode, very much a cut above the endless crystalline halls or industrial metal hallways in the Empire’s best airships. 

She shot Shearwater and Terramar a knowing glance. They nodded in turn, and stopped short of entering the office.

It was only when the door closed, leaving the two of them alone within the office, that Green Fields finally let out a long sigh and broke the long silence.

“Just another day at the office, my lady,” the Warden remarked. He glanced at Twilight, his rather faint smile apologetic. “If you’d pardon the expression.” He gestured with a wing towards the nearest velvet armchair, facing his desk. “Please, please, do make yourself comfortable. I shall retrieve your sword.”

“Thank you, Warden Fields,” said Twilight, removing her hat and seating herself. Idly, from how far she sunk into it, she wondered if the good warden ordered his chairs from wherever the Queen ordered her pillows.

“How are things, Lady Archmage?” said Fields, rummaging through his shelves. “Is Her Majesty the Queen well?”

“All is well,” answered Twilight, nodding along. “You know how the Gala is, Warden, all talk and little fun. Even for… well, especially for her.”

“Right, of course, of course…”

But his words reminded her, and Twilight found it worrying. The Queen had not attended a number of meetings, not in the past week. Although, Twilight reckoned, Gala hangovers were one thing, and Celestia trusted her along with the rest of the Council in their judgements.

All of that faded when Fields sat himself down opposite her. Very gently, he laid down a case, beautifully and intricately patterned with flower motifs.

“Here we are,” Fields announced, almost reverently. “We went to recover it as soon as possible. The frontlines were, shall we say, rather volatile.” His voice rose with pride. “But rest assured, Your Ladyship, it was no difficult feat for our finest Trailblazers.”

Even at peace, Twilight remembered the turbulent waters of the Northern Atlantic. ‘The pond’, her British colleagues had nicknamed it. Such a mundane name for the second largest ocean on this world.

She gave a polite nod. “Thank you, Warden Fields,” she said. “Give my regards to the retrieval team. Are they here, actually?”

“Unfortunately, they’ve had to return to their station at Hollow One. Tight schedule, so I was told.” The Warden bowed. “Apologies. I thought you, of all people, would deserve a better presentation. Thank goodness we have this thaumically sealed, at very least.”

With a flick, the case was unlatched, its contents revealed to her eyes.

The sword lay there, much like it had been on the day the Queen herself had presented it to her. Grey in colour, the shards of the sword lay neatly arranged, polished and cleaned from the ashes of the city it had fallen into.

Then Twilight remembered. A voice, piercing through the clouds, as she held the blade before her, ready to pierce her enemy’s– 

‘Remember who you are, Twilight Sparkle. Remember who you were. Come with me. It is not too late…’

Twilight got up from her seat, headache pulsing, her teeth grinding against one another. Striding, with a hoof held against her aching head, she hurried over to the nearest open window, the breath of fresh air it provided a desperately required tonic against the spots dancing in her eyes.

The windowsill was in the clutch of her forehooves as she steadied her sway, gasping. With no other option present, Twilight’s mind dove into an old technique to relax her. Fact-checking. Where else to start, then, that the view which slowly swam back into her perception.

Before her eyes lay Hajnowka, the bustling centre that it now was. There were many airships throughout, whether they were docked on the spires or recent arrivals from the far-flung corners of Europe. A good hundred thousand of the finest troops and personnel from the Solar Empire and her allies lived, worked, and thrived here. Its streets and buildings of crystal spread out like a spider-web, the heart of their cause beating true.

Yet it was neither the towering spires nor the polished roads Twilight had tread on that drew her sights. Near the Tower, where the city faded into the old growth Białowieża Forest, she saw them. A herd’s worth, grazing away at the forest’s edge beneath the light of the setting Sun.

Wisent. Great roaming mammals, akin to bison as Earth’s horses were to ponykind…

“Is… everything alright?”

Twilight looked away from them. The Warden remained where he was, looking very much concerned.

“Yes, just fine, Warden,” said Twilight, mustering a smile. “Forgive me. I was just reminiscing.” She paused. “Do you know why we’ve erected our banners here, Warden, why we’ve chosen this little town?”

She looked back out the window before he could answer, drawing a sharp breath. Her glance fell back on the wisent herd, still grazing away. Only now they had company, in the form of soldiers marching nearby.

“The humans hunted the wisent, whether for meat or horns to drink out of,” Twilight spoke. “Białowieża was the last refuge for them. And when war came to Poland, the one to end all wars, do you know what they did? They slaughtered them. Out of boredom, or spite, who knows. There were so few left the world over, and none in the forests they belonged in.”

Down there, the soldiers, a mix of earthponies and zebras, had come to a halt. Their commander, a robust-looking unicorn, stood at the head, a hoof raised. The wisent herd stood in their path.

“It took another thirty years for them to return to Europe’s forests, starting from here. Their entire history as a species, decided by another.”

The unicorn’s horn lit up with the colour of dawn, and the wisent dispersed, lumbering into the forest. The soldiers marched on.

“I wanted to prove something, I suppose,” Twilight continued, in lecture mode, but this time she felt hesitance seep in. “That we could do better, that we could continue their work with our Harmony above all, and succeed. And so we had to build it here.”

She turned away, facing Fields. She smiled, despite herself. “But you probably knew all of that already. I'm sorry. My friends told me I tend to do this a lot.”

Fields let out a chuckle. “All my experience on the field, Your Ladyship, and I always enjoy a good history lesson.”

“Don’t we all? But I do hope your station hasn’t been dull,” Twilight remarked. She strode over to the chair, reseating herself. “How is your daughter, actually?”

Another bout of guilt, as Green Fields’ face fell.

Given her photographic memory, Twilight asked herself how she could fail to make this connection a lot earlier than she had. Was she simply still not geared to place people at the forefront of her mind-palace? The florist’s words from earlier, only this very day, should rightfully have sparked her to notice the holistic scope she was wading through…

“Ah, Chamomile…” Quietly, he poured a cup of tea, offering it to her. Twilight followed his gaze towards a photograph that lay displayed on his desk. A pretty cream coloured-mare, paired with a handsome, dirty-white stallion in Guard armour, and much more vibrant Green Fields sitting in-between them. “She still writes to me– little Glider’s growing up fast. Her first day of school was just the other day this month.”

Twilight took the offered cup, taking a sip. Sweet, very sweet green tea.

“Thank you for the tea,” she said, “and that’s lovely to hear, Warden.”

“Yes, yes, quite,” Fields agreed, lifting his cup, but his forlorn look did not leave his eyes. “A nice little Vanhoover school. She and Glider moved up there, wanted to be closer to Winter’s family…” He sighed. “If I may share, Your Ladyship, I don’t think she’s forgiven me.”

“Forgive you?”

“Well… I’d made an impression on him when I was stationed at Vanhoover. Convinced him and that rascal Icewind that they ought to join the Guard and… and now both are gone,” Fields recollected. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. “Our duty for the realm, that’s what I told them. Duty called, and they answered.”

He shook his head, muttering something that sounded like ‘colts’, before taking a long sip. His words remained, however, and Twilight felt her hoof reach up towards her missing ear. And, at that moment, she remembered who Fields had been, and where’d he been before Vanhoover–

‘You don’t deserve to be an alicorn.’ 

“Cadance.”

Fields set down his cup. “Beg pardon?”

“You brought her to Canterlot, didn’t you? With Celestia, when she was still the Sun Princess, as Captain before Shining.” Twilight continued. She waved it off. “Nothing, nothing. Just… just remembered something.”

“I did, my lady, but what brought this up…” Fields said, as his gaze drifted to where her hoof had been. “Ah… right. Right, nasty business, that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Twilight replied, shaking her head. “Duty. Funny little word, isn’t it. I still don’t understand why she’d turn so easily.”

‘Liar.’

A stinging pain. Twilight bit her lip.

Hadn’t Green Fields’ final assignment in the Guard, during his renewed tenure with the Trailblazers, involved something to do with Spike? Twilight’s mind was feeling fuzzy. Spike and a truant Rarity. That didn’t sound quite right. She’d lost Spike in Boston – her brave, long-time companion another casualty of war, if not dead as such.

While it was like Spike to stray off the beaten path at times, how could she reconcile that thought with Rarity, the same dedicated mare who’d been promoting the Empire at the Gala, only days–

“Indeed, Lady Twilight,” agreed Fields, who did not seem to have noticed. He leaned in closer. “Here’s a funny thought, then. Would you believe that the farmers we’d caught were growing food in secret?”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Food?”

“Yes, food. Grains, all the essentials,” Fields affirmed. “Clever, really. No one would suspect excess food, we’d be too busy rooting out drugs and what have you. They were acting all in accordance with their tasks. But they were too clever by half, mind. We caught onto where they were sending the food.”

“... You caught them smuggling food,” Twilight began, feeling rather incredulous. But then the pieces fell in place, and she understood. “For humanity.”

A million questions passed Twilight’s mind then. Of farmers and soldiers, of scale and magnitude, and of quality of supplies lost and food grown. All very detailed, meticulous, precise. She could envision it clearly, without feeling compelled to launch into a motor-mouthed lecture. Word of such clandestine operations had reached her ears before, of course, yet it was different to be confronted with it directly, even in passing. 

“The audacity!” The Warden barked in laughter. “Right under our noses. All that food wasted…”

A rather humbling reminder it was of the limitations of the Empire’s grasp, over such a small thing as food supplies. One-fifth of this planet belonged to them. One-fifth of a new world, an expanse shielded by the Barrier, and for which they only had so much manpower to monitor, regulate and patrol. If there was one single card humanity still held in the technological race, it was their possession of satellites, where the Empire had none.

Until such a point when the Solar Empire caught up on mankind there, with scrying a notoriously complex and unreliable form of magic, what means did they have to survey this newly-conquered territory, beyond the conventional? Even the most powerful of the modern human empires, employing a vast array of technological marvels at their disposal, had struggled to tighten the noose around old-fashioned contraband or guerilla warfare.

Humans could not penetrate the Barrier on Earth. Offworlders sympathetic to them could. She wondered how many networks there were like this. Or how many kinds. Farms, and their produce and the means to transport it. Ships and carts built of thaumon-seeded materials…

But as Twilight’s thoughts drifted further, to the nameless farmer who’d stared at her with such innocence and curiosity, fearful eyes of her party looking at the Warden’s finest, no other question bothered Twilight Sparkle so much as a simple ‘Why?’

“If I may be blunt, Your Ladyship,” said Green Fields. “Did I, and I suppose by extension, my troops, pass the test?”

“Test?”

“Yes, a test,” Fields elaborated, waving a hoof. “You were testing my resolve, weren’t you?”

“Ah. Right. I suppose… I suppose I was,” Twilight answered. “The farmer… what’s going to happen to them?”

“Sent back to the fields,” said the Warden, shrugging. “We still need their food. This time, they’ll be… escorted, so to speak.” He chuckled. “Perhaps a few hours extra on their shifts. All this, my lady, assuming their crimes aren’t as severe as we fear them to be.”

“I see,” Twilight replied. Still the question echoed in her mind, lingering, itching at her.

As her eyes fell on the sword, as her mind drifted between wisents and farmers and the haunting gaze of the Moon, her voice and warmth so alluring, Twilight hesitated. The sword lay there, untouched, ready to serve, as she did. And yet…

The door behind them burst open. Twilight turned to meet their visitor as Fields cried in alarm. The young hippogriff was panting, drawing deep breaths.

“Lady Twilight, Y–Your Ladyship, sorry,” Terramar stammered out. “It’s the Resistance."

The answer came to Twilight right then and there.

She lifted her sword, assembling it piece by piece with a flick of her horn, then sheathed it. She looked at Terramar, her frown deepening.

“Where am I needed?”

“I think they’re looking for me.”

She felt Luna stir. When she opened her eyes, she saw Luna look right back at her, eye to eye, blue against purple. There was now a deep frown etched across her face.

“Are you certain?” asked Luna. Twilight nodded. No sooner had she done so, than the Princess of the Night let out a very unladylike groan. “Must thou return so very soon… Thou hast asked for mine presence in these gardens to soothe thee.”

Twilight felt her cheeks flush as Luna’s wing brushed against it. There was little she could say to the contrary. The past few weeks had seen a flurry of activities, all centered around that strange new world, unveiled to all Equus. Meetings, planning, organising. Even the Gala this year was no exception. Few wanted to ask her questions outside of Earthly matters.

But they were matters for another day. Here and now, her world was this garden, and the alicorn whose delicate hooves allowed it to flourish, a sanctuary just for the two of them.

“Come on, Luna,” Twilight replied, rolling her eyes, “don’t pull the whole archaic diction shtick on me.”

“Why, the gentry seemed to have found it entertaining,” Luna retorted. “And so have you.”

Twilight let out a short laugh. “Touché. But…  yeah. I feel like they’re calling me soon.”

"Twilight, dear, what are they going to do? Demand that I release you from my clutches? The Gala can wait. I’ll make sure of it."

"Well, okay then, if you’re so insistent,” Twilight said, in mock haughtiness. She gave Luna a cheeky glance. “I can pull an all-nighter if you really want me to."

"Huzzah! But, do you want to, though?"

Hearing this, all Twilight could do was giggle, as she buried her face in Luna’s fur once more.

"You know I do. It’s you.”