//------------------------------// // Chapter 8 // Story: The Lyrist and The Tempest // by Valiant wind //------------------------------// Grey Wind hesitated. This is not right. Everything should be within her calculation. Every single choice and the possibilities they’ll bring, every outcome that will affect her rate of survival and exposure. Calculate the effect of every single path and choose the one that has the greatest benefits—this is how things should work! Exercising the actions chosen by her algorithm should be the only thing she needed to do. Hesitation was NEVER a part of her program! Something is wrong. Deadly wrong. This algorithm is her base logic. Its violation could only mean one thing: there is a bug in the most basic and important part of her program. An unfamiliar sensation she’d never felt before rose into her, and she had to quickly reroute her neuron subunits to get rid of it. They are becoming more and more frequent. She must conduct a complete analysis of her code, every single last letter of them, as soon as possible. “Were those stalls here last time we passed?” Lyra suddenly asked. Grey Wind’s attention was driven to the plaza. The sun was right above their heads by this time, and the central square had become much more crowded. Many tents had been set up around the alicorn statue in the middle, and in front of every one of them was a piece of carpet scattered with many glittering items. Without her subunits, they were too far for her to make out the details. “They are preparing for the Moonlight Festival. It’s our town’s founding celebration,” Nightjar cheerfully introduced, “More stalls will be joining tomorrow, and by the day after that, the entire plaza will become one great marketplace! You are lucky to—" “Hey, Nightjar!” A voice called from across the plaza. A dark blue pegasus with a straight white mane was waving to them in front of a small blue tent. “Cirrus!” Nightjar beamed. They went over to the pegasus’ stall. Within his tent’s shadow, there was a bright blue carpet laid in front of him, filled up with numerous types of trinkets: books, candle stands, crystals. There was even a miniature golden chandelier. “You must be Lyra Heartstrings,” Cirrus took Lyra’s hoof and shook it, “and Grey Wind,” he slightly lowered his head towards her, then smiled, “it’s a pleasure meeting you. I am Cirrus, full-time head weather officer of Memento… and part-time merchant.” “And one of my best friends!” Nightjar proudly finished, then cocked her head, “Cirrus, does major Nebula know you are here?” “It doesn’t matter,” Cirrus smirked, “what matters is that the weather jobs are done, and I am here with all my goodies on sale,” he gestured towards Lyra, “take a look. I’ll give you a discount.” “You sneaky little brat!” Nightjar smacked his shoulder, “I won’t tell the major—as long as you sell books that could be added to the library!” “All of them are here,” he pointed at a small stack of books in the carpet’s corner, “take what you need, free of charge—no, no, don’t you argue with me,” he pressed on her beak, shutting her words back into her throat, “take it as the suspension fee for last time.” “You never borrowed—” “What is that?” Lyra seemed to have taken interest in a particular item. She was pointing her horn at a piece of folded black fabric on the carpet’s center. “This?” Cirrus took the fabric with his front hooves and spread it open. It was a large black cloak with a dark green lining on all of its edges. On the two lower corners of it, the part that would be worn above a pony’s cutie mark was two sets of three diamond-shaped emeralds stitched in triangular formations, “the cloak I ordered for last year’s Gala. Gotta wear something formal in Canterlot. Not much of a big deal, it’s just shop-level merchandise.” “But it’s so beautiful!” Nightjar exclaimed. She pulled on Grey Wind’s good wing, “I think it suits you well, Grey!” Suits her well? Grey Wind ordered a few subunits in her head to picture her wearing that cloak. The result came in the form of a generated image. She took a few seconds to examine it and nodded mentally. She did look fabulous in that way. The cloak’s color was so matched with her coat and her mane, almost like it was specifically designed for her. The emeralds were right in the place where her cutie mark should be, making a perfect amendment. All the calculations returned the same result—the cloak was a fit for her. “I agree,” she said. “Then we’ll take it!” Nightjar reached a front claw beneath her wings to reach for her purse, but Lyra had already thrown a few coins onto Cirrus’ hoof. She then raised the cloak with her magic and wrapped it around her torso. “Quick!” she ushered, “try it on!” All of her subunits lost their ability to respond for a moment. Before she could perform any kind of calculation or action, the cloak was already comfortably worn around her neck. The fabric draped down all the way to her knees. It was smooth and cozy. “Wow…” Nightjar gasped, “you look awesome, Grey!” It is working Lyra had been closely observing Grey Wind’s expressions. If her reaction this morning was the ripple of a pebble being thrown into a lake, then this time it was the tides of a small river. She could even see the faintest pink blush beside her muzzles. The power of her secret weapon was much more than she had anticipated. That cloak was no shop-level merchandise. It was one specially designed for Grey Wind, crafted by none other than Rarity, the element of Generosity herself, who, on behalf of Twilight, was kind enough to design, cut out the raw materials and stitch it together within solely an afternoon. She didn’t even ask for urgent fees. She had come straight back to Memento as soon as she received the cloak to meet up with Cirrus and Nightjar and set up the stage. The cloak had cost her quite the fortune. But judging from now, it was all worth it. The corners of Grey Wind’s mouth were starting to tilt up, but then suddenly her hooves trembled as if they’d just been struck by lightning. Her eyes became blurred as she closed them, and her body wobbled to the sides. “I—I’m not feeling too well,” even now she still sounded very calm, “…I…need some rest…” “Oh my,” Nightjar narrowed her eyes, “that concussion must be really bad. We’d better get you home,” she gave Cirrus a final smile, “thank you, Cirrus. We’ll be going.” Lyra looked back to Cirrus as well. Three pairs of eyes met together, all conducting the same silent message: Good job, everypony. What is wrong with me? Grey Wind stared blankly as Nightjar hang the cloak onto the outfit pole beside her bed. Was that a thought? Was she supposed to have it? “There you go,” Nightjar said. She brushed her wing against Grey Wind’s back, “treat this place like your own home, alright? Lyra stays across the hall, and I’m always downstairs when you need me.” “Al…right,” was all she managed to mutter out. “Take your time and have a good sleep, okay? I’ll call you when it’s time for dinner,” Nightjar smiled at her before turning around and going down the stairs. As soon as her clawsteps vanished, Grey Wind initiated every single subunit in her central nervous system. She thrust all her energy reserve into their calculations, launching a full-scale scan on all of her programming codes. She didn’t care whether she’d have to bypass the security protocols. She didn’t care if it may accidentally delete some of her defining basic codes. She didn’t care if it will shut down some of her most important functions. She had to eliminate everything that was not a part of her program before these feelings get worse. When Nightjar came into the kitchen, she made a long deep sigh. Lyra straightened her back on the couch. “How is she?” she asked nervously. “Not too good,” Nightjar pressed a front claw on her forehead, “poor girl is confused. She is scared, Lyra.” “Not strange,” Lyra said, “she has never experienced anything like this before. I would be scared as well if I was put into her hooves.” “She couldn’t feel any emotions…no courage, no friendship…not even…” Nightjar shuddered, “…happiness…gosh, this is horrible…” she clutched her front claw to the floor, “…we have to help her, Lyra. No pony should deserve this.” “I’ll try my best,” Lyra replied. Lighting up her horn, she floated her lyre from across the room and enlarged it to its normal size. She laid her hooves onto the strings. Not sure if I’ll be good enough, but… she thought, nothing brings out emotions more effectively than a good piece of music. She took a deep breath and started to play. Nothing. She found absolutely nothing. A hard breath escaped Grey Wind’s nostrils. She had searched everywhere, literally more than a million times. There was nothing wrong with her codes, but the problem still lingers. Her program is being gradually eaten away. Her algorithm was collapsing. She should never be allowed to perform any action out of her program, but now... The worst part? She couldn’t do anything about it. How could there be nothing…? The absence of hope. Despair. WHY IS SHE FEELING DESPAIR? SHE ISN’T SUPPOSED TO FEEL— A sound made her snap out of her thoughts with a gasp. Music was coming from downstairs. It was a song she’d never heard before, but somehow it bore a comforting sense, that she knew she’d be alright as long as she could still hear this song. The subunits making up her muscles relaxed as she silently sat down and listened. She could read out many emotions from this song: loneliness, yearning, sadness…even though her calculations were screaming to her that she wasn’t supposed to understand any of them. They were so deep, so…realistic. She wanted to hear more of it. Tentatively she set off her hoofs, chasing the music downstairs. When Lyra finished the second song, Grey Wind appeared at the staircase. Her brows were furrowed close together, and from that Lyra knew she was making progress. “Oh, hello, Grey. Did I wake you up?” she quickly greeted, “sorry if I—” “No, no,” Grey Wind said. Her voice was still emotionless, but Lyra could tell the rumble of thoughts hidden behind it, “it’s just…I heard some music.” “You mean this?” Lyra pointed to the lyre in her lap, “yeah, I was practicing. See my cutie mark? I can stop if you need to sleep—” “There is no need,” Grey Wind interrupted her, “I actually…” her eyes twitched, “…wanted to hear it.” “Of course! I could use an audience,” Lyra smiled. She set up the lyre and closed her eyes, then began playing the third song. Grey Wind found a comfortable spot on the couch and sat down, listening to her silently. By the time the song was finished, her eyes were already closed, and her ears were drooping down in relaxation. “Well?” Lyra asked, putting her lyre onto the table, “how do you like it?” Upon hearing this, Grey Wind visibly shook. She urgently sat up straight, her ears perking up in alarm. Her eyes widened into dinner plates, then slowly shrank into two emerald crescents. “I…can’t tell,” she said slowly, “I wasn’t supposed to appreciate it.” “Oh, come on, Grey!” Lyra beamed, “you know what’s the best thing about art?” She wrapped her hoof around Grey Wind’s neck. She fully expected her to immediately pull away, but she didn’t, “no matter how badly you perform it, no pony can stop you from enjoying it!” Grey Wind lowered her head in hesitation. There was a short silence. The living room of the Cosmetic Balcony was much dimmer than outside, but this time Lyra didn’t see the glow on the stripes of her mane. After a few minutes, she raised her head. No distinguishable expression “I…want to hear more of it.” “Sure!” Lyra smirked, grabbing her lyre. To be honest, her hooves were becoming sore after three consecutive pieces, but it was not like she minded it. Grey Wind was enjoying her song—that was all that mattered. To enjoy something is still not an emotion. She’ll have to feel happy about it, she thought cheerfully, but at least she’s shown some affection. This is progress. Notes flew from the strings as she plucked them, filling up the library, then slowly rose through the window and into the endless dark blue evening sky.