The roots of his life were withering away, and he never noticed.
It would be years before he truly reviewed what had happened. There would be a brief period before his death when he would be possessed by a sort of madness: the insanity inherent in spackle pretending to be a soul, and... it granted him a certain degree of what could pass for rationality, along with a chance at perspective. He looked back at everything which had taken place, written nearly all of it down because there was a chance that any moment could have held something vital. Something which would end her.
Linchpin hadn't been anything close to the first brought in, but... he had been among the longer-running specimens. And just about nopony ever talked about their pre-community lives, because those had been discarded. Kicked away like refuse, flowing down the toilet trench of time. Those memories you had, of everything which had happened before arrival? They were the property of a different pony, one who had been built from layers of destiny and mark and magic and name. And the only way to achieve Freedom...
Minotaurs would understand, she had once said. That there were all sorts of ways to create slavery. And if you wanted to make a chain almost impossible to remove, all you had to do was convince the subject to forge it. Put it on their own body. Tangle everything together, wrap the metal in layer after layer until you could barely see what might have been holding it all together at the center. Just about all which could be perceived was the bindings and if that was what was out and about in public, then that was you.
If you really wanted to make it work, you then told the pony to make sure they also built a lock. After all, you didn't want anypony coming along and stealing your chains.
(The mare had...)
It was possible that the years which had passed since Canterlot had seen certain refinements in technique. A shortening of the period required before somepony new would greet their first day of Freedom. Linchpin didn't really know about what had happened to most of the others. There had been little more than occasional words, half-sentences which weren't so much cut off as crushed under a sudden weight of guilt: the emotional penalty for having (almost) spoken at all. Because if you had a truly talented overseer, the slaves would whip themselves.
Or each other --
-- he didn't know what had happened to most of the others, to bring them in. But for some of them, it would have been the stallion.
Before the departure, during those final weeks in Canterlot, Linchpin had been thinking of their connection as something very much like a... rebound relationship. (He'd told his new friend exactly that, and it had brought out what had so quickly become an expected laugh: something which was nearly as distinctive as the pony.) And there were certain commonalities. The stallion was always there. Always there for him. If he needed somepony for conversation, to keep the pace during a trot through winter air -- the stallion had to cut his pace a bit for that: longer legs -- to just spend a little time with.
More than a little time.
Just about all of his time.
But it was so easy. To talk to him, to just be in the presence of someone who truly listened and always seemed to understand. And when he was spending so many hours with the stallion (who was staying in a hotel close to Linchpin's home, who kept turning up on the stoop as Sun rose upon another chill morning), it meant he wasn't using that time for anything else.
Or for anypony else.
...and what was wrong with that?
The little trails of Linchpin's life had seen a number of friends sharing his path. It was just that... most of them had branched off. He'd lost track of just about everypony from his primary and secondary schools. There were still occasional letters from those he'd known best in college, but... he'd mostly connected with other architects, and the search for skylines to impact had spread the graduates across the continent. Only a few had remained in Canterlot, one of them was currently trying to draw up designs which could stand up to heat and sand because a new desert settlement was supposed to be opening soon, and...
...only a few had remained in Canterlot. Most of those had been anchored. The ponies they were dating were here. Their spouses. Their first foal. And it was so hard for Linchpin to be around them, to look at those who had achieved what he could not. He'd... told himself that it would all change, once he'd truly found his special somepony. Change back.
It was hard to be around them. The stallion was easy. The larger earth pony made himself accessible, but -- it was more than that. If Linchpin found himself thinking about all of the failed relationships, about everything which had gone wrong -- then the stallion just seemed to turn up. Personable, quick, he listened, and there was a warmth about him. It was like having a personal Sun to bask in, when the rest of the architect's life seemed to have grown so cold.
But it wasn't Sun. Sun wasn't reaching him. Neither was anything else, because the stallion was always there. If Linchpin briefly considered talking to a friend, then the stallion turned up. Trying to let go of his thoughts for a while in the best way he knew, sitting at the drafting table with the right instrument in his mouth, opening a channel from mark to dream and trying to figure out how it could all be rendered in stone? Then there would be a knock...
(He'd barely worked for weeks.)
At the time, it had felt so much like Sun. But it was shadow. Something which surrounded, darkened, cut him off from every other means of support. There might have others trying to reach him, but -- a big body was blocking the way. The social diet had narrowed to a single source of nutrients, and that meant he had to keep going back because there was nothing else.
But that wasn't how he thought about it at the time.
He just felt that he'd made a friend.
He needed a friend...
Perhaps Abjura would have recognized what was going on. Understood that a particular set of conditions were being carefully arranged.
Experiments have to be isolated.
They're talking about his failed relationships again. The stallion has a talent for listening: something which approaches the level of a mark. (Linchpin's thought about his friend's icon, but... there's no way the symbol is for that.) He also doesn't mind revisiting a subject. Frequently.
Linchpin sometimes claims that he's the aspect which caused every budding structure to collapse before completion, the stallion has to beware of that because the next one might come down on him, and... the stallion laughs. Tries to make it feel like the mares were the ones who'd made the mistake.
He also never really disagrees.
There are times when he talks about how Linchpin was easy to -- diagram, especially when asked how he'd managed to intercept his new companion yet again. Architect problem, right? This line has to lead into that one. Over and over.
The same patterns.
And when that subject comes up, the stallion laughs.
The sound is never unkind.
It only feels like vibration working deeper into the natural flaws of a soul.
An illusion. Linchpin can become somewhat morose when he's drinking. Morose and, when it comes to what his imagination might conjure, a little morbid. Depressed. Feeling as if he isn't good enough, that he could never be good enough because no matter how deeply he delves within himself, all he ever finds is more Linchpin.
(The stallion keeps bringing him to bars.)
But his friend accepts him...
They're at a bar. (Another bar, always the same kind, with privacy granted by shadowed booths and the presence of those too lost in their own mugs and misery to listen.) They've been drinking for a while and while they both have earth pony endurance, his friend is bigger.
(It will also be years before he realizes that any alcohol consumed in the presence of the stallion seems to come with a little extra intensity.)
"I can get the next round," the big stallion says.
"You've gotten enough of them already," Linchpin protests. There's supposed to be give-and-take in a friendship and when it comes to bar tabs, his friend gives a little too much.
It's a somewhat slurred protest. Words which have to work their way up through that much liquid lose a degree of cohesion.
"I've got the bits," the stallion genially shrugs. "They're not doing me a lot of good in too many other ways. So let 'em go for this."
He brings the hoof-looped mug up to his lips. Takes a long swallow, and carefully lowers it to the table again. Something which is just about at floor level, because constantly reaching up for a mug doesn't make a lot of sense.
"I've got bits," Linchpin tries. "That's what jobs are for --"
barely drafted anything in the last
The abrupt sensation is strange. New, foreign -- but it rises from within and in doing so, cuts through the caustic inner waves. Glancing back at the location is automatic --
-- his friend notices, and that naturally-bright smile steals lumens from the bar's dim lighting.
"Let me guess," the big stallion proposes. "Hips just twinged?"
Linchpin, momentarily lost in an odd sort of stun, just barely manages the mod.
For the first time that night, his friend's head dips. The smile fades.
"Kind of like a nagging spouse, isn't it?"
The Canterlot resident blinks.
"I don't --"
"-- telling you that there isn't enough work being done," his friend quietly states. They're very soft words, carefully pitched, and Linchpin is the only pony in the bar who can hear them at all. "It wants you to go sketch something. To do what it wants. And it doesn't care about what's going on in your life, or how much you might need some time to think things over. It just..."
And now his friend looks -- tired. Pained. The pony who's been trying to help him, who's been there for him all the time for -- well, it feels like longer than that -- is hurting, and Linchpin wants to help but doesn't know how...
"...it wants," the big stallion forces himself to finish. "And now it's trying to tell you that you're not cooperating. Marks do a lot of things, Linch -- but they ain't all that good at caring."
The air is oddly thick in this bar. It has weight. Certain thoughts seem to be pressing deeper than they should. And he can hear the ponies around them, in a rather distant way. Aural currents breaking up against the bulwark of the shadows. Unintelligible murmurs, mugs being raised and lowered.
None of them have heard anything which was just said. He knows that. Because if anypony had, there would have been a lot more than mere murmurs. He can barely believe that those words emerged from a pony's mouth.
Nopony else heard those words. He knows that, and that the stallion's next sentence reaches no ears other than his own. Because if the next statement had been heard by another, there would have been a fight. The natural reaction to hearing a near-ultimate level of blasphemy.
Darkly, with just a hint of the suppressed anger breaking through as something heavy presses upon the stallion's friend, narrows the eyes as it adds a guttural note to the too-steady voice, "You know the usual definition of something which can't care?"
And he wants to protest, to counter, to argue, to find the terms which will return the big stallion to sanity. But he's been drinking, and -- this is his friend, somepony who's so obviously hurting, Linchpin wants to help him and --
-- his hips had just twinged.
They've never done that before...
His friend abruptly sighs, and a little more weight goes into the air. Stares down at the mug, while fur slowly settles back into its natural grain. Something which is hard to see, with the shadows and the winter garment covering so much of it.
"It's okay, Linch," the big earth pony quietly offers. "I feel it too."
"...you do?" Oh, good. Two words. Those can make up a foundation. He's not sure how many more he can pile on top of them --
His friend's head turns. A purple gaze, nearly black in the shadow, slowly moves back along the left flank. Stops at the hip, and wearily regards the icon as if it was an anvil which somepony had tied to his tail.
"It wants me to leave town. Get back on the road," the big stallion tells him, and the tones are so weary. "Better yet, to go where there isn't a road at all. It's been like that for a while now. And the longer I pretend I'm ignoring it, the worse it gets. Mark wants what it wants. And it doesn't care much about what I want."
"...what do you want?" Four words. Progress.
Evenly, "To be with my friend." A large forehoof slips out of the mug's loop, solidly plants itself against the edge of the table. "You're more important."
Just for a moment, Linchpin finds himself wishing that he was attracted to stallions. He's completely certain that he's never been so complimented in his life.
"Thank you," feels fully insufficient.
The big stallion smiles -- but there's still some weight in the words. Gravity, and a light touch of sorrow. "Some ponies would probably call it a colt priority. But I think it's important to remember what it was like, being a colt. To still think that way, as much as possible."
"Colt priority," the architect tries, and can't quite get the concept to sink through the layers of alcohol. "I don't get it."
Which gets him a light, fully genial shrug. "Colts and fillies, really," his friend begins the explanation. "Youth. Because ain't nopony born with a mark." The shudder is not only openly faked, but exaggerated for comedy. "Can you imagine? Bad enough that most foals are on their hooves within two minutes. Can you imagine if your spouse popped out a newborn doctor, and the first thing the kid does is try to nip off their own cord?"
The image makes Linchpin laugh, and his friend grins --
-- but only for a moment.
"Didn't mean to bring up spouses there," the big stallion apologizes.
"It's okay." It almost is.
And that just gets him another sigh. "Been trying not to mention -- well, anyway, back to the point. When you're a kid, there's no mark. Sure, there's adults telling you what to do --" he snorts "-- too bucking many, way I remember it, and they talked all of the Tartarus-freed time. But that's the outside voices, and don't kids figure out when to ignore those in a hurry? Not what shows up inside, when the mark comes. Softer than a whisper, but -- insistent. And when you're a kid? All the voices are outside. The only one in your head is you. So you learn about the world, you make your own decisions, and kids? Prioritize for their friends. So I figure..."
This smile is small, but bright.
"...I can do a lot worse than being a really big kid."
The architect...
...it makes sense.
"I get it." Not blasphemy. Just -- a point of view. Still, it's probably a good thing that nopony else heard that. It would have been a lot harder to explain with somepony who wasn't a friend. "I really do."
The stallion nods, and that's peaceful enough. But something about his eyes feels deep.
"It's harder than it should be, though," he states. "To remember what it was like. And I think that's because there wasn't a mark. Wasn't a channel for thought. Because when you're a kid, you're sailing on a ocean. Everything's a new discovery. You can go anywhere. The whole world is just -- more possibilities to explore. Do anything, be anything, Linch. But then you get your mark, and..."
The large forehoof slips back into the mug's loop.
"...the ocean becomes a canal. And that's what you're stuck sailing, for the rest of your days."
He sighs. The mug comes up, goes down again.
"I miss being a kid," the big stallion tells him. "I miss the possibilities. Feeling like I could learn to do anything. Everything. So there's times when I want that back. A life without limits. But it's not something you can say to most ponies. They don't think about it, and... I wonder if that's because they're not always the ones thinking."
One more swallow, and then shadows ripple across the lessened liquid.
"No limits," his friend says. "As wishes go, I think that one's pretty fair." Another smile, one which comes across as being saturated with relief. "And thanks for not walking out on me just now. I was half-expecting --"
"-- I wouldn't."
The big stallion carefully regards him from across the table. Less than a body length away, and yet it's as if an oddly-timid gaze is trying to cross an ocean.
"Do you ever wish --"
To be a colt again.
To... start over.
To find a new path.
Something which leads to love.
Acceptance.
Family.
"-- yes."
And that's the last time they talk about it.
On that night.
The roots of his life wither, and he fails to notice. But a new seed has been planted. Something which sends down its own tendrils into freshly-tainted soil. Pushing at connections. Concepts. Beliefs.
In the end, it makes him that much easier to dislodge.
To pull up.
To tear apart.
There were ways in which it had become a traveling joke: something which moved from one end of the continent to the other while never quite managing to reach the coasts. Because they were about to rush in with what suddenly felt like just about no preparation, possessing very little idea of what they could actually do while wondering if it would be possible to improvise their way out of disaster...
The rod fragment was the centerpiece of what had once been a near-empty palace room and even with everything which was going on around her, happening too fast, Twilight was still having trouble keeping it from becoming the focus of her attention. Something which got a little worse every time another spark floated up, and further intensified when she internally measured the shrinking wait time for each successive loss of irreplaceable thaums.
After the jolt in the basement -- well, there hadn't been a lot of time for staring at the leaking device in horror. She'd desperately shouted for Spike, the scroll had been on its way to the palace within three minutes, and it had only taken a few extra breaths before the tree's main level found itself illuminated by twin flashes of light.
There had just barely been enough time to explain, and most of that had gone into the frantically-written scroll. A pair of grim-faced Princesses hadn't seen any need to grant Twilight and Trixie the multiple seconds required for horrified apologies.
They'd been teleported out with dragon and device, brought into a nearly-bare palace room somewhere in the Solar wing. Left there as the alicorns vanished again, and then the next flash of light had deposited a bewildered, half-dozing Rainbow just before Luna went to fetch the next...
It hadn't taken long to assemble the group. (Celestia had initially teleported Applejack into a different room, giving the earth pony a few private moments to recover.) And since then, staff ponies had been galloping and flying in and out of what was quickly becoming a much more crowded room, subtracting the space required for supplies to what had already been claimed by six Bearers, one Protector, a performer who'd mostly been taken along because she'd still been trying to account for it all when Twilight and Spike were collected and it was easier to let her keep talking in Canterlot, plus two alicorns who were trying to decide whether to call the whole thing off.
"Because we get one chance," Celestia directly told them at the moment the most recent delivery pony cleared the exit door again, looking down at a group which was mostly united in location: the Bearers had a rather crowded corner, while Trixie was off to the right.
The steadily-increasing stun and fear, however, were effectively universal.
"One," the Solar Princess repeated, "And the risk is higher than I ever want to see it."
"We attempted to stabilize the device," Luna stated as her corona lanced towards a number of boxes, opened them and sent the contents towards waiting saddlebags. "As best we could, without creating any further disruption. We failed. An attempt was made with --" she briefly glanced at Trixie, who was doing her best to effectively create a pacing groove on marble in a corner with no turning radius "-- an outside expert --"
Ratchette. Twilight distantly wondered if the mechanic was still in the palace.
"-- and that also failed," the dark mare grimly finished. "The charge level is steadily depleting. We possess a rough concept for how much power it contained at the start, and I have calculated the effective duration remaining until it will no longer be capable of opening a path into the between. It gives us very little time for arguments."
"So I'm going to summarize the situation," Celestia told them. "Right now, the device can still try to return to its origin point. Attaching yourselves to it, through Twilight, will let you follow. We originally thought it would get most of the way there. But now we can't be sure. It might fall well short and when it drops out of the between, you'll all go with it. This could put you anywhere along the general path -- including over water."
Fluttershy was paling beneath her fur. Rainbow's wings unfolded, briefly shook as if trying to shed moisture.
"Spike can signal us," the oldest alicorn reminded the group. "And we're providing you with something from the armory: an emergency-deploy raft. We can try to narrow down your location and send help."
And I didn't take the test.
I should be able to attach myself to the device and follow it, but I don't know if I can bring everypony.
If I get this wrong, any part of this wrong...
"However," Luna darkly added, "there is more than a mere ocean to deal with. I have some concerns regarding recoil. Something which likely would have been a problem regardless, at least on the level of bruising. But falling well short of the true destination may involve appearing within a mountain. The speed achieved upon reaching open space once again..."
Several ponies shuddered.
"And even if you manage the full trip," Celestia reminded them, "there's the lockdown effect. We don't know where the stallion left from, relative to it. You may still have to deal with that on the way in."
"The risk is high," Luna concluded. "Too high. And so I wish to make this clear --"
The dark gaze quickly darted across the group. Moved to Trixie, and momentarily lingered on the performer's mark.
"-- you do not have to do this." Several of the tail-bound stars dimmed. "We can continue our research. Hope that the soil samples will provide us with a place to begin, then offer a more standard means of transport. This problem must be dealt with, and we recognize that granting it extra time may simply allow things to become that much worse. But when it comes to the current means of travel, we will not order you into this level of danger."
"Because we don't want to lose you," Celestia quietly finished, and the borders of the flowing mane stilled. "We're bringing in supplies now because..." and the old mare almost smiled "...we recognize that that you might decide to go anyway and if you do, we can't lose the time to bringing them in after. But taking the chance, going now -- it's your decision."
"All of you," Luna said. "Together."
Six mares looked at each other. Made room for the dragon, as the performer twisted closer to the walls.
"Y'all said it could be a weapon," Applejack reminded the group, and her ears pressed tightly against the sides of her hat. "They've already had long enough t' work on it. Really don't want t' give someone more time for that."
"...or there could be sick ponies," Fluttershy whispered. "Who don't believe there's any hope left, and they're just waiting for everything to... fade..."
"It's attacking us," Pinkie declared. "It goes after the best part of us..."
A spark formed at the tip of a broken silver wire. Parted, floated away from the partial device, and dissipated.
Spike took a slow breath, and scales shifted against each other. "If any of you are going," he announced, "then so am I --" and before Twilight could do anything, "-- don't. There's no other way. We have to stay in contact with the palace."
Because the Protector won't abandon his charges. A very small knight, riding into what could be the battle of a lifetime.
"Rainbow, dear," and Rarity's voice was just a little too steady, "in the event of a recoil which sends us all into the air -- if you can recall that multi-pony carry which was utilized after the Best Young Flyers competition..."
"Who needs to remember it?" the pegasus almost smirked. "I do that stuff on instinct."
And then it was down to Twilight.
None of them saw the picture. What it looked like when the mark evaporated.
(She wondered what it felt like for the doctors, to have been there at the actual moment.)
(If it came back to them in their dreams.)
(If they had been sleeping at all.)
It never should have happened to anypony.
Maybe he wanted it. Maybe he wished for it, worked for it. But we still have to find out how. To keep it from being used against the world.
And if it is a weapon, a disease, anything involuntary...
...it can't hurt anypony else.
Ever again.
"I'm willing to risk the transport," she told them. "If it's a launch recoil, I can try to teleport again. Get some of us higher." It wouldn't negate the momentum, but it would give Rainbow --
-- should it be Rainbow?
-- or, with some luck, Fluttershy -- the caretaker usually had very little air speed, but hybrid strength allowed her to pressure-carry ponies with relative ease -- more time to reach the vulnerable. "But they're right. No matter what we do, this is going to be a giant risk. I can't ask any of you to go --"
"-- if one of us is going," Rainbow announced, "then we're all going. Because I can snag as many ponies as I have to." And, with a grin, "Besides, I don't trust the rest of you not to screw this up."
Twilight could feel the weight of twinned royal gazes. The Princesses silently watching, allowing them to work it out while, a short distance away, light blue hooves nearly twisted themselves.
It wasn't your fault.
I'm sorry...
"We're not all going," Twilight told them.
And then they were staring at her.
"Come again?" Applejack checked.
"I didn't take the test! This is a six-sapient escort! I'm only verified for three!" The narrow rib cage was beginning to heave. "And maybe I should be the only one who goes, because there's so much which could go wrong! And even if it's three, we have to decide --"
-- may need her magic, but this is going to the southern hemisphere. Discord sending us to Trotter's Falls had her vomiting: moving Applejack that far across the planet could be a lot worse than that. Rainbow gives us raw power, but Fluttershy can get information, and I wish I could let Spike be safe, I wish but we --
"-- y'can do it," the earth pony solidly stated. "Test don't matter. The pony does."
"We trust you, Twilight," Rarity calmly offered. "All of us."
Desperately, as the sweat began to rise in her coat, "But if I fail --"
I don't have all the workings mastered.
If I screw it up.
If I hurt any of them.
If I lose somepony in the between.
If I k --
The Solar Princess rather audibly cleared her throat.
"There's a standard working which gets used at the test sites," Celestia told them. "It's not a lockdown: it doesn't stop a full teleport. It prevents partials. Any mass you can't fully manage stays behind. We can have it cast in here before you leave, Twilight. You'll only move somepony if you have the strength for it."
And from off to the side, just barely audible, with perhaps only backwards-twisting ears registering the words at all, "You can do this, Twilight. You know you can..."
I can do this.
It didn't seem to mean much.
Twilight pulled herself up to her full height. That felt as if it meant even less.
I can do this...
Maybe if she just kept telling herself that.
I can do this...
It didn't assuage the fear. But she needed the fear. Terror of hurting anypony might help her to not get it wrong.
Please let me do this.
I can.
I have to.
They were about to rush in with what felt like just about no preparation, possessing very little idea of what they could actually do while wondering if it would be possible to improvise their way out of disaster.
So now it was a real mission.
Some part of Twilight's mind insisted that Princesses weren't supposed to be doing any packing. But there were no members of the palace staff left in the room. (Trixie, still in the same corner, apparently waiting for some level of formal dismissal, very obviously didn't count.) There was nopony else available.
Additionally, the alicorns knew what the supplies were.
"Some old books about the general region," Celestia tightly said, and a few too-thin volumes floated into Pinkie's waiting saddlebags. "They're all we could grab in time, and some of the political information is going to be out of date. But the geography should hold up. Once I have something more recent, I'll send update scrolls to Spike."
"Translators," Luna announced, and disbursed a few. "The ones which are strapped to ears and throat are the more standard models. This one -- yes, Twilight Sparkle, I recognize that expression: you may use it, and you are explicitly instructed not to take it apart in the name of investigating the means by which it functions. That black opal is meant to stay in the center of the disc. Leave it there."
The librarian winced.
I can do this...
"Is there a hat?" Pinkie quickly asked. "I know we're wearing some light clothing to cover our marks, but I think we need a hat. Because I think those sparks are coming faster now, and we really really need to have some way of not having an alicorn with us. Just Twilight. Without her being an alicorn." Even more hastily, "Not we're trying to change her back, but we don't need anyone to see --"
Dark energy moved a new item towards Twilight's head.
It looked like a mane tie: something to be worn along the back of the neck. The fabric loops seemed oddly stiff.
"This is the device," Luna announced. "I performed a portion of the enchantment myself. It will conceal the horn, and the platinum within the layers makes it self-charging. However, I do advise attempting to wear a hat. There is a style being included in your supplies. Something which ties under the jaw."
"We tested it," Celestia chimed in, carefully placing folded Hoovmat suits into Rainbow's supplies. "It obviously doesn't help with making accidental contact: we couldn't get it to cooperate with a scavenged phase shifter from a hoofball team. But there were no problems in having the spell keep up with the background environment. It can camouflage the horn -- but it has trouble with coronas, Twilight. Any attempt to use our fields over the partial level had the light shine through the illusion. So you'll have to be very careful about your casting."
And when it came to channeling power through a fully-hidden field, Twilight was horrible: the effects kept warping on her. (The runaway snowplow had been one such casting: Fluttershy's runway performance another, and the memory of either was usually sufficient to keep her from trying it again.) When in public, she would be limited to the most basic of effects.
"There's no time to apply fur dye," Celestia decided. "Or at least, to do anything other than dump it over your bodies: it would never dry before you left, and the stench would take longer than that to fade. We're still packing some in the hopes that you won't appear in front of witnesses -- something else we can't control."
"And this could easily place you at the center of an enemy camp," Luna too-calmly stated. (Two stars shed their outer shells.) "At the moment you appear, you must be prepared to fight."
Rainbow's nod was far too fast. "Ready to go," the pegasus confidently informed the world -- then looked at what Luna was placing into Fluttershy's saddlebags. "That's the medical stuff?"
"Yes."
"Why is some of it going to Twilight?"
"Because we are still lying about an injury to her wings," the dark mare irritably stated. "Wrap them after arrival. For the moment of appearance, I would prefer full mobility."
The next batch was also sent towards Twilight, and papers tucked themselves deep into fabric hollows.
"Copies of the stallion's paper fragments," Celestia told her. "Maps. That sketch of what the full device might look like..." More items were sorted. "There's plenty to eat growing wild: remember, you're coming into their summer. But this book tells you what isn't safe. These canteens purify water."
"...and what's our cover story?" Fluttershy softly asked. "We're not supposed to be ourselves..."
"You are being offered a choice of two," Luna said. "Switch between them at need. The first, as previously discussed, is to take inspiration from Ms. Lulamoon." Another glance at that corner: the mare, and then the mark. "A traveling troupe, bringing the wonders of pony magic to distant lands. Performances can be improvised. Costumes will be somewhat harder, and so this bundle will be -- not now, Rarity Belle!"
A blushing white form took half a step back, and the soft blue glow which had been surrounding three effectively-criticized stitches winked out.
"Your second option is to be explorers," Celestia quickly cut in. "Lie about your marks. I'd suggest having Pinkie for aeronautics --"
"-- I can do that! I've got the basics! Cherry showed me all kinds of --"
"-- while Applejack can be your botanist." The giant mare paused. "Somepony else can lie about her mark."
I can do this.
I have to.
More packing. Applejack and Pinkie had most of the weight.
Luna was just about finished. "-- and I will recover your caravan personally," she told the performer. "I will understand if you wish to return to the road. However, should you desire to remain for a time, I believe the palace can accommodate you. And as you are already part of this, a degree of information can be granted when the scrolls come in." A pause. "I would have some interest in discussing the manifestation of your mark. I seldom meet ponies so clearly meant to walk under Moon..."
Maybe we'll get lucky.
Maybe it's just a botanical garden in Equestria. One nopony knew about.
Maybe we'll show up half a gallop from my parents' house...
...I have to do this.
One chance.
I didn't take the test...
...I need to do this.
I can do this.
It was starting to become a litany.
I need them.
I need my friends.
All of my friends.
I have to bring everypony.
Everypony.
"...what about Spike's disguise?" Fluttershy asked.
I almost forgot!
It won't matter if we arrive in front of -- whatever's happening. He'll need his flame. But if we come in out of sight --
"Here!" Sunlight deposited a wrapped package into the caretaker's saddlebags. "It's --"
Another spark floated up. And then another --
"-- you'll see it when you get there!" the Solar Princess decided. "Twilight, are you ready?"
I'll never be ready.
If I screw this up --
-- belief.
Remember what Trixie said.
She risked a glance at the performer. Wished for a chance to say goodbye to her friend, as the only one who would say anything at all.
They don't know her.
They didn't try to know her.
If they just had a chance...
And her friend was --
-- Trixie caught Twilight looking at her, and all of the worry vanished.
The unicorn smiled.
"Go."
Part of this is belief.
Resonance.
There's no time to think about this.
No time to second-guess.
No time.
-- I can do this --
"Scout object!" Twilight requested. "It can be anything, just as long as I can see it! Brightly-colored --"
Soft blue glow offered up a large ruby. "Sufficient?"
Because Rarity almost always had a few gems around. "Yes! Everypony, cluster around me! Make sure you're touching, because it'll be easier that way -- Spike, go on somepony else's back --" She had to concentrate: scales rubbing against her fur wouldn't help. "-- the device! Who's going to activate it? I have to connect up! I shouldn't try that and triggering it at the same time --"
"I'll do that," Celestia assured her (and Twilight tried not to focus on the worry creasing white features.) "Once you're safely in, you send back a scroll. Immediately. Are you ready?"
Twilight nodded. Focused, as familiar forms pressed against her.
Her horn ignited. The partial corona formed first. Then a full single. Double, as the core of the light surged towards white.
I need them.
I need my friends.
All of my friends.
I have to bring everypony.
Everypony.
A flicker of her energies projected, touched the fragment, and she knew the attachment was in place. So did Celestia, and sunlight flowed in close behind.
I CAN DO THIS --
Resonance.
It's a formal term, something which usually gets repeatedly pulled out by Gifted School graduates until an unwilling audience tries to beat them to death with it -- but the definition is simple enough. It's the emotional intent behind a spell, along with all of the feelings bundled within thaums. And it always has an effect. Confidence can play its part in a casting, and desire matters.
That's why it all happens.
Because there was a litany. Because she believed. Because magic is a wish made to the world and when she's pushing harder on this kind of effect than she ever has before, because it has to be everypony and she needs...
Resonance.
Emotion.
Added into a spell's variant, something she hasn't fully mastered.
All coupled with desire.
That's why it all happens. The journey, and everything to come.
The moment comes, and she doesn't fail.
Technically.
Some kinds of success can be their own problem.
There is nothing, and it is everywhere. But this time, it's merely nearly everything.
Teleportation takes time. A minuscule fraction of that which would be required to cross the distance in any other way, but -- time. And she's never been within the void this long. Part of her is starting to question how she's breathing, along with what. But she can't protect herself from sensory deprivation through wrapping herself in memory. She has to stay alert.
The void threatens to close in, and two things keep it away.
The first is the presence of her friends: something which isn't currently registering as touch or warmth or sound. She has a vague sense of tethers stretching away from her own form, and some kind of living weight at the other ends. They're with her, and she knows it. They're all with her. No matter what happens, they're all together.
There seems to be more of that weight than she'd anticipated. She puts that down to the presence of the saddlebags.
The second thing keeping sensory deprivation away is having something to look at.
The device is slightly ahead of her. The ruby is much further away: a gleam of bright red within the void. It has to be at a point where she can just barely see it, know what happens to the scout with enough lead time to try and react. The device is doing its job, most likely for the last time. The gem, pressed into service, just has to arrive intact, and then they can hopefully do the same. When it comes to recoil, the gem has a lot less to worry about.
...how long have they been traveling? It's almost impossible to tell. She could try to count by heartbeats, but her own feel oddly muffled. Half a minute. At least that. It could be more.
Focus on the ruby. The ruby is everything. She has to be ready to react at the speed of thought or better yet, the speed of Rainbow.
One chance. Everything about this is one chance, and there is nothing and it is everywhere and nearly everything, they all hurtle through it together and the void tries to close in around everything which isn't device and gem, to obscure them, but she won't let it happen and
there is nothing
then there's something
light within the void, the far limits of what she can see ends in a blaze of crackling turquoise which stretches across the between for what feels like infinity in every forward direction and the ruby hits it and then there isn't a ruby any more
there are fragments of gem scattering everywhere, some pieces are coming back towards them and it's what they feared it's the lockdown they're getting too close and maybe the device will bring them out before they reach it but she can't take that chance because an effect which shattered a gem will splinter bone and she has to get them out she has to she has to if she doesn't they're all dead and it's her fault --
-- one shot
one chance
she pushes, the course alters, but this isn't supposed to be happening, you don't change your mind in mid-teleport, there usually isn't enough time and she's never done this before but it's her friends, she's doing it, the void starts to part and the first hint of real air touches her fur and
half of the tethers break.
They split away as a unit. They become lost together.
Two groups, moving away from each other, fall back into the world.