//------------------------------// // Where I was reborn // Story: Salvation // by voroshilov //------------------------------// Ablazed Glory’s fort was surprisingly well built, especially considering the short amount of time it was built in. There was something about earthpony engineering, perhaps it was their inherent magic, that made anything they constructed always be superior to something they did not. Even following identical schematics, using identical materials and labour practices, the earthpony variant of a construction would always be better, if only slightly. The fort was clearly built by an earthpony, likely a team of them, such was the solidness of its foundations and walls even over four millennia after its completion. Penumbra stood before a wooden door, which, on closer inspection, was not wood at all, but some kind of metal painted to look like wood. That, she thought, would explain how it had not been incinerated, or simply rotted away after all of this time. There was a lock, a crude one at that, but the door wasn’t locked. In fact, it was partially ajar. She pushed it open and stepped inside, greeted by total darkness. The hallway she had entered was entirely empty, save another slightly open door at the far end. It didn’t make much sense to her, why a room would be left completely unused like that. But, then again, it might’ve been used for shoes or hats and Ablazed Glory didn’t have those, in part because she wasn’t an aristocrat - although she technically was - but mostly because she was on fire and thus would simply burn any clothing. The next room along had once been the archetypal room in a noble’s house, serving absolutely no purpose but to show off opulence and the concerning amount of silverware they owned. All of the silverware, however, had been torn from the cabinets and placed on the floor, covered in hand written notes - by someone who Penumbra could only assume to be Ablazed Glory - that when assembled formed a strange story about someone with a fetishistic obsession with silverware. Penumbra hoped that the protagonist wasn’t based off of Ablazed Glory. She relaxed immensely when she reached the next room, which had been incinerated for a reason only Ablazed Glory - Penumbra had absolutely no doubts she was the culprit of the act of auto-arson - could fathom. A single note was placed in the spot where the silverware had been in the previous room - the rooms apparently identical in layout, again serving an unknown but no doubt useless purpose  - reading simply: “I fucking hate silverware.” Was she missing a joke, or? The next room was the last one, more in keeping with the aesthetic of the first room than the other two. It was minimalist, having only a stone chair within, it was also dark, with no lighting of any kind, no doubt because Ablazed Glory provided all of the light she needed. Laid onto the chair was a key and a note.  “Penumbra,” the note was addressed, “I know it has been a long time since you and I last spoke, so I believe I should bring you up to speed. Firstly, on how I know it is you reading this note: the shield I have placed over this town is attuned to only allow you past. I do wish I could have added Luna and Rarity. You, however, I am certain still live, I can feel your presence in the void, almost unreachable to me now but no less there.” The note was saturated with magical energy, as was the key, no doubt in part to keep them from simply burning up near her.  “At the end of the War, a cruiser crashed in the tundra. I have spent the past four thousand years making what repairs I can. Its crew are long since dead, I buried as many as I could, though I am almost certain I did not find them all. The ship is in a bad shape, even my best efforts cannot hope to return it to full working order. I have, however, fixed the engines and Rift generator enough that I believe I can use them to do what I need to do. The key I will provide bears the closest static location that I can give you as a marker. Follow it there. However, should the ship still be on the ground, or damaged in orbit, you will know that I have failed, and you may safely disregard this note and key.” She had signed her name at the bottom of the note, scrawled in ink seemingly at the last minute, as if Penumbra wouldn’t know who she was. Penumbra tucked the note securely into her armour, before picking up and checking out the key. It was an old style affair, a ring, large metal body, then head - it was also very clearly magical. Evidently, the key was more a prop, like paper, for what had been carved into it in odd runes. They were similar to some she had read before, though appeared almost elaborate in comparison, with extra swishes and dots where none needed to be. Penumbra had a fairly robust understanding of the Irenton languages, though this particular language, or perhaps dialect, initially eluded her. She had thought at first glance it was similar to Low Irenton, though the addition of a pair of extra runes, alongside slight changes to several of the other runes in the set, confused her. She tried a basic translation in Low Irenton, as much as she knew, which formed an image in her mind of a set of coordinates - though partially incomplete due to the pair of unknown runes. “A dialect,” she thought aloud, “perhaps. A dialect of Low Irenton. Though, what do these two runes mean?” Her armour then translated for her, a feature she didn’t know it even had. It was a dialect of Low Irenton, at least as far as the tooltip her armour was concerned - though it didn’t seem sure which one. As expected, it formed a full set of coordinates, ones that she assumed the Luminary would be able to follow, since she had no clue about navigation. She tucked the key into another case on her armour, just in case something happened to the other case. Though, whatever would manage to destroy one of the cases would no doubt destroy the other. Still, better safe than sorry. There was nothing else in the room, no hidden messages or items. Penumbra was almost disappointed, she had expected at least a hidden passage, or a bed. It was curious, in a way, the lack of furniture other than a clearly uncomfortable chair. Did Ablazed Glory not need sleep? Or, possibly, she slept elsewhere. She might have moved her bed when she left the fort for all Penumbra knew. In fact, it was probably best she didn’t need sleep, given the fact that most beds she could use would be prone to burning. She left the fort behind and returned to the Retaliator, not so much as bothering to speak to Spike or any of the other ponies, who had gone who knew where. They had their lives and Penumbra had hers, which was about to take her on a merry chase. The Luminary accepted and understood her coordinates, plotting them a course to a world on the edge of the Milky Way, orbiting a small, red star. It informed her about its conditions as they lifted off, the ride surprisingly smooth considering they were still in the atmosphere. “Atmosphere is nitrogen based, with gravity at acceptable levels. The planet is tidally locked, with only a ring around the planet approximately one hundred kilometres wide capable of harbouring life. Temperatures exceed nine hundred degrees kelvin on the star-bound side and fall to a minimum of twenty kelvin on the dark side.” “Sounds lovely,” Penumbra deadpanned, “let’s check it out.” Far above New Horizons, backdropped against the yellow star, reality was torn open. A rift formed and the Retaliator passed through its maw. Within seconds, it was gone. The maelstrom of the Rift, swirling white and red and purple, pure energy all around, greeted Penumbra from the viewscreen. She had never had a proper respect for the Rift during the War in Heaven, due mostly to its volatility as the war tore it apart. From the Retaliator, however, she could relax and delight in its faint songs and beautiful colours, free from the possibility of malice that had infested it previously. Sadly, she was only ever in the Rift for a few seconds, emerging from it into the dim light of a red star.