The door in front of Twilight seemed much larger than a door had any right to be. The handle aligned perfectly with her collarbones, and each panel of the dark brown wood that formed its surface stretched nearly half her height. She craned her neck to look at the top edge—miles away. Then she looked down at her shoes—

The dream hadn’t stripped her of her memories, thankfully, and Twilight could clearly recognize she no longer inhabited the body of her teenage self. Her reduced height was the biggest giveaway, but there were other differences too—her hair pulled back into a ponytail, her legs bare below the knees of a ridiculous pink-and-purple skort that she’d have been mortified to wear past puberty—eight or nine, then, she decided. It’s probably summertime, too.

She tried to turn around to get a look at her surroundings, but her body refused to cooperate with motions further than a few inches off its predetermined path. Great. Relegated to a spectator, she grumbled internally at the exact same time her child self opened her mouth and asked the door, “So can I come in yet?”

“Oh, so five minutes is forever now?” Something swooshed, like fabric billowing out to settle. “Then what happens at six minutes—forever plus one?”

Twilight crossed her arms, even though the person behind the door couldn’t see it, and declared, “No, then I’m gonna stop waiting forever and go do something else instead.”

The person behind the door snorted. Twilight recognized it as the type of laugh adults made when kids did something adorably annoying. “Alright, alright. Just give me thirty more seconds.”

And of course Twilight’s past self had to count each second out loud. It was an odd feeling to have her mouth speaking completely separately from her thoughts, especially when they were mostly filled with sympathy for whoever the person dealing with her antics was. They must have the patience of a saint.

“Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.” She reached out and wrapped her hand around the doorknob, then pushed as hard as she could. “Thirty!”

The door flew open, and Twilight’s heart nearly stopped at the sight she saw inside.

The wizard’s room was nearly identical to how it had been in Sunset’s memories—plush grey carpet beneath a stately antique desk, bookshelves along the far wall stuffed with books in disheveled piles, some display cabinets with odd contraptions and papers and even more books visible behind their glass doors, and the twin suits of armour standing proud against the wall behind the desk.

But as much as the similarities stood out, so did the differences. For one thing, the view of the backyard through the windows was nearly dark, a stark contrast from the memory’s sunny day. The lights in the room were off, and instead various candles of different shapes and sizes positioned around the edges of the room illuminated the space with a warm and flickering glow. The suits of armour held a different pose than usual—in order to balance candles between their hands, Twilight realized—and the centre of the room had been cleared away to make room for a large black tarp covered in an intricate pattern that looked like it belonged in a fantasy novel: a magic circle.

Twilight turned toward the voice. “Absolutely,” she replied, the word filled with a childlike wonder so foreign to the shell-shocked teenager seeing through her eyes.

She knew she should have known—the woman wore Celestia in her features so clearly, even with her hair and eyes a different hue. She had the same dimple at the corner of her mouth; the same high cheekbones; the same playful twinkle just behind her eyes. No one who’d ever met them both could deny that she was related to Celestia—but Twilight had absolutely no idea who she was.

“Well! I’m relieved to have your approval.” The woman stepped over to close the door, then reached down to ruffle her hand through Twilight’s bangs. “You’re lucky you’re my favourite niece, you know. I don’t go through all this trouble just for anyone.”

“I’m your only ‘niece’,” Twilight complained, though she pushed the woman’s hand away with a barely-disguised smile.

And a sickening thought quickly followed alongside Twilight’s sudden epiphany: She’s the ‘someone’ Celestia tried to save.

But there was no time to process that thought, for the memory kept marching onward regardless of the still-reeling Twilight paralyzed behind the eyes of her younger self. She couldn’t stop from trying to stare at Someone, even as her body turned away to examine the rest of the room.

“Well, I noticed that this whole setup is way too much effort for just stargazing,” Twilight felt herself point out. “What are we really doing?” She paused, then added, “And we’re still stargazing, right? ‘Cause the maximum eclipse is supposed to be just after eight-thirty, and even if it’s not a total eclipse I still really wanna—”

“We’re still stargazing, Twilight,” Someone interrupted gently. “And before you ask, it’s only a few minutes past eight. We won’t miss it.”

I don’t remember ever having this much of an interest in astronomy, Twilight thought, frowning. But the excitement stirring in her blood felt genuine—a product of her own curiosity rather than something Nightmare could have fabricated. Did... did I forget about that too?

Someone smiled wide and stepped over to her desk. “Is having my favourite niece stay over not reason enough to celebrate?”

Twilight raised an eyebrow and shot Someone the most withering glare her tiny self could muster. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh, wow. Who taught you to be a smart-ass?” Someone blinked, then corrected, “I mean, smart-butt.” She slid open the top drawer of her desk and continued, “But I’ll admit you got me—no matter how special it is to have you stay over...”

Someone pulled a rectangular object out of the drawer with a flourish, then set it on top of her desk with a satisfying thump.

“…I’ve been planning for something way more important than just a sleepover.”

“Bingo!” Someone replied, and slapped her palm down flat over the sun emblem on the book’s cover. “Tonight’s as good a night as any for you to finally try your hand at some real magic.”

Twilight waited for her younger self to voice the familiar retort she thought she’d known her entire life—magic isn’t real; magic doesn’t exist; magic is fictional and fantastical and lies. But instead of a rational dismissal she heard her voice ask something completely wrong instead:

Not that she physically couldn’t—if she put her mind to it, she probably could have listened to Someone’s explanations or her own excited questions fired off one by one. But how on earth was she supposed to listen to the chattering of a child while the world crumbled to pieces around her?

Because Twilight Sparkle had never believed in magic, yet her memories seemed to think that she once had.

“...and I figured we could do something before we stargaze.” Someone’s voice faded in over Twilight’s silent shock. She flipped through the pages of the book idly with her free hand as she spoke. “It’s pretty simple, and I thought you’d get a kick out of ‘spooky’ magic during an eclipse.”

“Yes!” Twilight nodded her head up and down furiously. “Absolutely; just tell me what I need to do and I’ll—”

Someone interrupted her with a snort and a raised hand. “Hold your horses, Twilight,” she said sternly. “You haven’t even let me explain anything.”

“No, it’s not,” Someone corrected. She shut the book with a snap and lowered it, her expression hardening to something much more serious. “Remember when I told you about the time I tried a luck spell without reading the whole thing first?”

Twilight felt her excitement immediately wilt. “...You cast it on yourself by accident,” she mumbled.

“Bad luck for a month,” Someone agreed. “You have to remember that real magic isn’t the same as in books or movies. It’s more like...” She trailed off with a frown as she tried to find the words. “I guess it’s like playing a game where you don’t know the rules.” Her mouth twitched into a smile. “Like teaching Shining how to play chess.”

“Oh.” The analogy didn’t clarify anything for Twilight, but it seemed to make sense to the version of her in the memory. “So you try to move your bishop like a rook, and...”

“Bad luck for a month,” she echoed, defeated. After a second of hesitation she tentatively asked, “Was it really that bad?”

“We can find a way to calculate the probability of flower pots dropping when someone walks under them, if you want.”

Twilight shuddered at the thought. “I changed my mind,” she decided. “You should explain everything first, and then you tell me what to do.”

“Perfect,” Someone said with a wry grin. She flipped back through the book to the page she’d been on and opened her mouth to speak, only to be immediately interrupted by two sharp knocks rapping against the office door at the exact same time. Both Twilight’s body and Someone flinched at the sound—they’d been too wrapped up talking to notice the footsteps that had approached from down the hall.

The handle turned and the door cracked open before either of them could say anything. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” a familiar voice called out.

And Twilight didn’t miss the way Someone’s demeanour darkened, turning to steely eyes and a clenched jaw and white knuckles around the spine of her book. “There’s no point in knocking if you’re just going to come in,” she muttered.

“Well, I wanted to check in on the two of you.” The door swung further open, and suddenly Twilight was face-to-face with the Celestia of her childhood—younger by nearly a decade and yet still recognizable in almost every way. She hadn’t ever thought time had changed her mentor much, but the contrast between present and past was far more blatant when not viewed as a gradual shift. No laugh lines. No grey hairs. No ice in her eyes.

“We don’t need to be checked on,” Someone retorted. She turned away from Twilight so she faced Celestia with her shoulders squared and the book on her open palm held between them like a barrier. “Thought you were too busy to join us anyways.”

Celestia wrinkled her nose. “I am busy,” she said slowly. “I just thought I’d take a quick break between courses to see my sister and my niece. Was that wrong of me?”

“Whatever could I possibly be interrupting?” A raised eyebrow joined Celestia’s wrinkled nose to create an expression Twilight immediately understood as exasperation. “Seems like you’re just standing around in the dark. I do pay for electricity; you’re very welcome to use the lights if you want.”

Someone’s eyes narrowed to slits, and her jaw tightened even further. “Yes,” she said, the single word dripping with enough ice to cause verbal frostbite, “I am aware.”

The air in the study grew thick with a tension that Twilight’s younger self didn’t seem to understand. It was terribly awkward to witness a spat between siblings, but even more so when she couldn’t stop herself from trampling over the tension with innocent ignorance. “Are you working again tonight, Auntie?” she asked into the silence.

Celestia glanced away from Someone and forced a tight smile. “Unfortunately so,” she admitted. “But I’m looking forward to hearing about the eclipse and the movie tomorrow at breakfast.”

“And about the...” Celestia trailed off. The smile faded. “The magic,” she finished. “Yes. About that.” She turned back to Someone and added under her breath, “You’re still leading her on about this stuff?”

“I’m not leading her on,” Someone whispered back between clenched teeth. She cleared her throat and said loudly, “Twilight, could you make sure the telescope is set up? I just remembered I may have forgotten to... take off the lens caps.”

It was an obvious lie, but Twilight hated that she fell for it regardless. She gave Someone a thumbs up and tiptoed around the magic-circle blanket to inspect the telescope on the other side of the study. Thankfully, even though she could no longer see Celestia and Someone, she still managed to catch the hushed conversation that appeared to have gone straight over her younger self’s head.

“Why do you police my interests so much?” Someone spoke first, her words harsh and hurried beneath her breath. “Can’t Twilight and I just have a little fun?”

“I’m ‘policing’ your interests because I’m worried.” That was Celestia. Her voice rang low, but not nearly as close to a whisper as Someone’s was.

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m badgering you, but you just spend so much time on this occult nonsense that I know you can’t possibly have—”

“Because part time is working out fine! I’m making enough for rent, aren’t I?” Someone’s voice raised on the last two words, then quickly corrected to hushed on the following sentence: “Mind your own business for once and leave me alone.”

Twilight fiddled with the eyepiece of the telescope, careful to avoid touching her fingers anywhere close to the lenses. The ridges of its dial bit into the pad of her thumb when Celestia finally replied, “I might be moving, Luna.”

The name felt like an electric shock and a bucket of ice water all at once. Her name was Luna.

“I... I’m considering accepting it.” Celestia exhaled, then drew a nervous breath. “The pay is only marginally better, but the administrative connections are invaluable when it comes to the PQP in a few years. Plus they’ve guaranteed I’d get experience in both the intermediate and senior divisions next year, and—”

“And you just expect me to uproot my entire life to move too? Are you serious?”

“No, I— Listen to me.” Her voice strained to keep below a stage whisper. “I’m not forcing you to come with me, but I also can’t put my life on hold forever.”

Luna inhaled sharply, but said nothing. Celestia took that as permission to keep talking.

“If you want to stay here, I need to be confident you’ll be able to take over the mortgage on your own. Two properties is beyond what I can afford, and I can’t possibly justify commuting a half hour across the city and then back here again daily—”

“You think I could afford to split rent in one of those fancy downtown condos either?”

Twilight leaned down to peer through the telescope’s eyepiece, then straightened up a second later. “Everything looks good,” she declared. “You already took the caps off, I just had to—”

Luna’s voice pierced through the tension, whispers and forced smiles finally abandoned for frustration. She slammed her book shut again at the exact same time the barrel of the telescope jerked down into the windowsill with a crack.

“Sorry,” Twilight breathed. She hadn’t meant to jump, but Luna’s anger had exploded out of nowhere in such a startling manner—

“No, we’re sorry for shouting,” Celestia quickly corrected. She shot Luna a glare out of the corner of her eyes. “Aren’t we?”

“I—” Luna’s expression softened. “Yes. I’m very sorry you had to hear that, Twilight.”

Twilight opened her mouth to say something, then decided against it. She ducked her head into a nod instead. They seem more concerned with my feelings than with each other’s.

Apparently satisfied with her apology, Celestia reached over to the door’s handle and took a step backward into the hallway. “I think it’s best for the both of us if we continue this discussion tomorrow morning,” she said carefully. “I need to get back to work anyways. Don’t want to keep you from your... magic tricks, after all.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Luna repeated once the sound of Celestia’s footsteps faded down the hall. She took a deep breath and ran her hand through her hair from forehead to nape, only exhaling once her palm lay flat against the back of her neck. “I should have just told her to leave. It’s not fair to get you wrapped up in this kind of grown-up stuff.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “And don’t worry about the telescope; I’m sure it’s fine. Lord knows I’ve dragged it through things far worse.”

Relieved, Twilight nodded again. Rather than responding to anything Luna had said, though, she instead asked, “Are you mad at Auntie Celestia?”

Luna didn’t answer for a few seconds. She took another deep breath. “...A little bit, yes,” she admitted quietly.

“What?” The corners of Luna’s mouth twitched into a smile. “No, that’s not why.” She let go of her neck and moved her arm behind her to lean back against her desk on her free hand. “Celestia’s a ‘big picture’ type of person. She’d work herself to death in the present if she thought it’d bring a better future. But I’m not the same as her.”

“Well, consider what we’re doing right now.” Luna tilted her head toward the telescope and explained, “Stargazing won’t help me apply to jobs. Spending time with you won’t update my resume. My ‘occult nonsense’ is just a constant reminder to her that I’m wasting my life in the present instead of preparing for the future. Does that make sense?”

It did—to both the Twilight of the present and the past. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I get it.” Maybe even more now than I did then. “And I guess I hope you can figure out how to not be mad at each other.”

“And...” Twilight hesitated as long as the memory would let her. She felt stupid even thinking her next statement, but the words spilled out all the same: “...I hope you can prove to her that magic’s real one day, too.” Heat crept up her cheeks and into the tips of her ears. “It’s not nice of Auntie Celestia to look down on the stuff you like. And I really like that you actually listen to me, and that you do all this cool stuff when I come over. Because even if grown-ups aren’t supposed to believe in magic, and even if when I grow up I’m not supposed to believe anymore either, and even if stuff like luck spells won’t ever be enough proof for people like Auntie Celestia... it’s really real, right?”

The question hung in the air between them. Twilight hadn’t been able to tell until that moment whether Luna honestly believed in magic or not, but as soon as she heard Luna’s response she understood:

“You believe in magic, Twilight,” she said gently. “And so long as you do, that’s belief enough for me.”

The tension lifted once Luna remembered the time and quickly busied herself informing Twilight about every aspect of the ‘real magic’ they were to perform. Dramatic irony, Twilight decided as she watched Luna’s over-the-top gestures and theatrical explanations leave her younger self absolutely starstruck. With a performance like that I’d bet that sometimes she even has herself fooled.

Because magic wasn’t real—at least, not to Luna. Not like it was to Twilight. But Luna entertained the idea regardless with her thrift store spellbooks and supercentre candlelight, content to play pretend if it meant making happy memories that Twilight wasn’t supposed to forget.

It was a bittersweet sentiment, Twilight thought, despite the nausea threatening to rend her stomach from her throat. Whatever they were doing, Luna had put her whole heart into it for Twilight’s sake.

A ghost summoning spell, her mind supplied helpfully—it had finally processed Luna’s speech into coherent thought. They were to perform a charade Twilight knew was normally doomed to fail, if not for the fact that Luna was Someone and Someone was gone.

Instead Luna creased the spine of her book and flipped it around to Twilight. “And just in case,” she said, not without a bit of excitement in her voice, “I’ve bookmarked this passage about a banishment spell—better safe than sorry if a spirit wants to stick around, y’know.”

Twilight took the book and immediately started skimming. What a joke, she thought internally. Putting so much effort into pretending some handwritten ‘spells’ in a secondhand ‘spellbook’ were real? That much dedication would have been worth so much more if applied to something else. Not following nonsense about banishing spirits written in ink-black writing so neat it could have passed as typeface—

“The...” She squinted, then sounded out syllable-by-syllable, “The ‘Elements of Harmony’.” Twilight looked up from the book, confused. “It says this spell isn’t as good as that one.”

“Oh! Right.” Almost sheepish, Luna leaned down and flipped forward a few pages until a different chapter stared back up at Twilight in the same nearly-perfect writing. “It was an interesting read, but there wasn’t much of an explanation on how to actually use it. Plus, in my opinion it seemed more like a purification spell than a protection spell. I just figured we’d be better off with the other one.”

“Hm.” This time Twilight’s past self scanned instead of skimmed, giving any memory-based spectators plenty of time to read ahead.

Section XII: Undocumented Magical Phenomena

The Elements of Harmony

While us humans possess no innate magical ability on our own, there are records of encounters with the arcana and beyond enabling us to tap into harmonic magic for a temporary period. However, though the sheer power of harmony is formidable enough to have even once brought chaos to order, what little understanding we have of harmonic magic indicates that a single human cannot activate nor utilize harmony on their own—only in combination with others is there potential for harmony to exist. It is perhaps the most human magic of all, as it is seemingly empowered by those most in touch with the qualities that serve to define us as humans.

The pieces clicked for Twilight before her body finished reading. She’d seen the exact same handwriting twice over—once in memories that hadn’t belonged to her, and once in the words that had appeared beneath the sentence she’d written in a nearly-identical book.

“I think you’re right,” her voice said. It sounded warped, as if she were underwater or a hundred miles away or both. “The first one’s easier. Besides, if we get a nice ghost we won’t even have to use it!”

“Fingers crossed,” Luna agreed. She took her book back from Twilight and stepped forward with her socks just barely touching the edge of the blanket at the centre of the room. Her free hand held one of the candles from her desk, and she squatted down on her heels to place it in the middle of the blanket before asking, “Are you ready?”

She moved against her will around the room to each candle one-by-one, her arms folded behind her back and her shoulders straightened as high as they would go. Bend at the waist. Blow. Stand up on tiptoes. Blow. Kneel down on one knee (not both). Blow.

Candle by candle, flame by flame. The study darkened further with every wick extinguished until all that remained was the final candle at the centre of the blanket’s circle, and the pale glow of the moon shining in through the windows behind Twilight’s back.

Twilight held her breath for what seemed like an eternity—an endless wait for the inevitable horror she knew was supposed to arrive. Nothing dared move in the moonlit silence of the study, a stillness broken only by the too-fast and erratic heartbeat pounding loud against her ears.

But then the eternity stretched too long, and the tense anticipation faded to a confusion that both versions of Twilight felt in unison: It didn’t work?

“Hm.” Luna flipped back a page and pretended to reread their ‘spell’. “I thought a spirit would make a bigger scene than this.”

“I’m sure you followed everything perfectly. If anything, this one’s on the ghosts.” Grinning slightly, Luna raised one fist in mock anger and proclaimed, “You hear that, spirits? Spoilsports, the lot of you!”

“Absolutely shameless!” Luna lowered her fist and her voice, then added in a whisper, “You think that’ll get them to come out?”

Twilight stifled a giggle and whispered back, “I think you might have scared them even further away.”

“Cowards.” Twilight choked on a snort of laughter following her deadpan delivery, a sound which only seemed to make Luna’s grin stretch wider. “Still, the spell was pretty cool, right?” she asked. “Did you notice the blanket’s glow-in-the-dark?”

“It’s—?” Twilight jerked her head down to look. She’d been too focused on the candles to notice anything else. “Oh, wow. Where did you—no, how did you get this?”

But Luna just winked and teased, “A good auntie never reveals her secrets. I need to have some ways to impress you, after all.” And with that remark she got to her feet and tucked her book under her arm. “Now let’s clean up quickly and get set up for the eclipse,” she said, stepping over to the door to flick on the lights. “You think we can do it in five minutes?”

Ever competitive in all things organization, Twilight shot to her feet as well and gave Luna a mock salute. “Bet we can make it in three.”

And, true to her word, they did. There wasn’t much to tidy, really. All Twilight had to do was gather up the candles into a cardboard box—while being careful to not spill any of the wax pooled in the hollows as she did, of course—and help Luna fold the blanket back up into a neat little square. By the time the third minute came around all the supplies had been tucked away in their box beneath the desk nearly thirty seconds ahead of the deadline Twilight had set.

“Thanks for setting all that up,” Twilight said as she watched Luna adjust the telescope one final time. She sat on the edge of the desk kicking her legs in a slow rhythm against the front panel: one, two, one, two. “It was fun to try a real magic spell, even if it didn’t really work.”

“Too bad the ghosts didn’t want to play along,” Luna sighed, one eye pressed against the eyepiece of the telescope. “I can only imagine what the look on my sister’s face would have been if we had actually gotten a spirit to show up.”

The heel kicking slowed to a stop. Twilight felt her giddy energy vanish almost instantly at the mention of her other aunt. “That’s why you wanted it to work?” she asked with a frown.

“Well, it’s not the only reason, but... sort of a nice little bonus, don’t you think?”

“Oh.” Twilight’s frown deepened further. “It’s just, I wanted it to work because a ghost spell sounded cool. Not because I wanted to rub it in Auntie Celestia’s face.”

Luna blinked. “I mean, it’s not mutually exclusive, Twilight,” she tried. She lifted her head from the telescope and glanced over her shoulder at Twilight with an odd, unreadable expression. “Of course I thought the spell sounded cool too. When I read the chapter I knew it was right up your alley, and I wanted to do what I could to have you try it out tonight.”

“All I’m saying,” she continued cooly, “is that if—when, really—you do something magical, I’ll be the first one to say to Celestia ‘I told you so’.”

The barrel of the telescope dipped slightly when Luna let go, though it didn’t drop far enough to hit the windowsill. The tension returned, smothering the study alongside the insect chatter and summertime heat wafting through the opened window. Disappointment and bitterness and irritation radiated from Luna’s hunched silhouette, alongside… something else.

“...I just wish she’d bother to listen to me in the first place,” Luna eventually muttered.

“I wish she wouldn’t work herself to death for some shi— stupid career path she never even wanted. I hate that she never has time to join us for movies, or dinner, or literally anything other than five minutes of ‘goodnights’ and the occasional breakfast if I’m lucky.” Luna’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “She calls it dedication, ambition, whatever. But to me it’s like she barely gives me—us—a second thought.”

One of Sunset’s memories flashed to the surface of Twilight’s mind—four lines of perfect handwriting on a dog-eared and bookmarked journal page. And though she’d never read them with her own eyes, the number of times Twilight had seen them through Sunset’s had burned each and every word into a memory of her own.

But Luna kept going, her words tumbling out so fast that Twilight could barely keep up:

“Then on top of hounding me over my career, and merely tolerating the fact I’m a disappointment without a five-year plan, now I have to think about moving. And I don’t even get a say in the matter!”

“God, do I wish she would just listen for once in her life—to me, to you, to anything she doesn’t want to hear.”

She jerked her hand out to emphasize her point. It smacked into the telescope and sent the end spinning into the frame of the window. Something cracked. Luna didn’t seem to care enough to find out what.

And over Luna’s shoulder through the half-open window rose the moon, its pallid surface clearly visible against the cloudless sky. The eclipse, Twilight thought numbly. They were going to miss its peak—even if the shadow was barely visible and even if it wasn’t comparable to a total eclipse at all, they were still missing it.

“It’s just,” Luna finished, blinking far too many times in a row as she did, “I would do anything to make her choose her family over her fucking job.”

And it was only then that Twilight realized the moon’s light had turned to red.

But wait—that didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t supposed to be a total eclipse, so why would it—

Instantly Luna stopped moving, one hand gesturing furiously to her side and the other tucked neatly over the book held beneath her arm. Her confused expression sent a shiver rippling down Twilight’s spine despite the slightly-humid air.

“A power outage?” Luna whispered to herself. She lowered her hand. “Twilight, can you check the hallway lights?”

Twilight gave her a nervous nod and slid down from the desk. “Okay,” she breathed, and headed for the door.

And then every window in the study simultaneously exploded inward with a thunderous BANG.

The house shook beneath their feet. A shower of glass pelted against Luna’s back and sent her lurching off balance. “What the f—”

Then a terrible shockwave followed not even a second later, rippling out from the centre of the room with enough force to knock Twilight off her feet and into the carpet beside the door. On the opposite side of the room Luna stumbled backward against the shattered frame of the centre window, one arm crossed protectively over her face to defend against the glass fragments that suddenly reversed their course and shot back out like bullets into the walls and the ceiling and the garden just outside.

“Auntie Luna!” Twilight shouted. She scrambled back up on trembling legs, the familiar thump-thump of her heart beating at the back of her throat. “What’s going on?”

“No!” Luna lowered her arms slightly to look Twilight in the eyes. Even across the darkened study Twilight could see they’d widened with a fear strong enough to island her irises in white. “I didn’t plan for this, I—”

The laughter rang high and smooth and without any noise audible to human hearing—instead it echoed at the back of Twilight’s head so loud it deafened all other sounds her body tried to process. Her younger self clamped her hands down over her ears to try and block the noise, but Twilight knew too well it wouldn’t work.

Then the laughter trickled away into a voice as cold as ice. You’d do anything? her shadow asked.

The shadow shuddered, then suddenly stretched wide over the silvery carpet until it all was cast in black. Twilight backpedalled against the study door in an attempt to avoid standing on it, but it was no use—it merely passed beneath her socks as if she wasn’t there.

Run, Twilight tried to tell herself, despite the fact she knew it wouldn’t work. Get out of there!

The centre of the shadow—the centre of the study, now—twitched, then twisted. Smoke billowed from the carpet like a chemical reaction gone wrong, pouring out to engulf the study walls with black. And against the backdrop of a full moon painted red rose a humanoid figure formed by the very shadows from which it came: the weightless, faceless monster with a smile carved as empty space.

Its body finished forming facing Twilight, and when its limbs uncurled to their full length she swore its smile sliced through its body even more.

Well, woman? Nightmare swivelled away from Twilight to face Luna, its body turning soundlessly on legs that hovered inches above the ground. One of its spindly arms stretched toward her with its claws curled around an open palm. Do you want the power to prove your sister wrong?

Luna’s terrified eyes flicked down to the hand for a split second. She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

Then Twilight heard footsteps on the floor above their heads. They moved over the hallway and started pounding down the staircase. Celestia, she realized in horror—and it appeared her younger self had noticed too.

“Use the other spell!” she screamed to Luna, and threw her back against the door to hold it closed. Nightmare’s head whipped around toward her at the sound of her shout, but for some reason it made no further moves to silence her. “Hurry!”

That seemed to snap Luna out of her shock. She quickly yanked her book from beneath her arm and started flipping through its pages as fast as her trembling fingers would allow. “Holy shit,” she swore. “Holy shit holy shit holy shit—”

The footsteps hit the main floor. Nightmare shook its head at Twilight in mock disbelief. You free me just to lock me up again? It withdrew its hand and made a sound like television static—an exasperated sigh. Such a pity. We could have done this the easy way, you know.

Luna stopped flipping. She’d found the spell. “Holy shit I hope this works,” she breathed, and raised the book with both hands in front of her—

“Luna?” Celestia called. The handle rattled against Twilight’s back. “What on earth was that sound?”

And for just a single second Luna faltered, her gaze shifting away from Nightmare and over to the study door. Twilight’s stomach dropped when she saw Luna’s eyes flick to the side—because she’d looked away for a single second, and that was more than enough time for Nightmare to make its move.

Its body burst apart into smoke and dropped like liquid to the shadows pooled over the carpet. The study door pounded against Twilight’s back with increasing strength as a horribly familiar scene played out in front of her eyes. Just like Sunset, she realized as Nightmare blinked back into existence through shadows behind Luna.

And Luna didn’t even get a chance to speak before Nightmare thrust its hand through her back and out her heart.

Everything happened all at once after that: Twilight bolted across the study at the same time Luna toppled forward at the same time Nightmare and all its shadows funneled into her body through the wound at the same time the book slipped from her hands and fell to the carpet at the same time Celestia threw herself against the door and burst into the room. Twilight managed to snatch the book from the floor as she ran and caught Luna in a panicked hug with enough force to keep her standing. “You’ll be okay,” she felt herself sob. “I can fix this; I promise I can fix this; you’ll be okay—”

“What is going on?!” Celestia interrupted. She thrust one hand toward the opposite wall and shouted, “And what in the world did you do to the windows?!”

“Auntie!” Twilight clung tighter to Luna’s waist. “The spell— The ghost— We didn’t mean to—”

Celestia’s gaze bounced between the windows and Twilight and Luna and back. Her expression twisted into a confusing mix of anger, concern, and fear. “Luna,” she said finally, her voice straining to keep calm. “Please tell me what’s actually going on.”

“Hold on,” Twilight tried, “the ghost is— I need to use the spell to—”

A hand gently pressed against the top of her head to cut her off. Familiar fingers ruffled through her bangs.

“It’s okay, Twilight,” Luna said quietly. She untangled herself from Twilight’s arms before she could protest and straightened up to face Celestia. “Let me talk to her.”

Twilight’s mouth went dry. The whites of Luna’s eyes had turned pitch black.

But in the darkness of the study Celestia didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. “I don’t have the time to deal with this,” she groaned. “I was supposed to take photos for listings next week—is that why you’ve done this? Because you’re upset that I need to move?” She crossed her arms. “Explain yourself!”

“I will not!” Celestia took a step forward. “You’ve destroyed part of my property—”

“A laughable claim, considering you hardly spend time with her when she’s here—”

“—and now you can’t even bother to offer me an explanation why?” Another step forward. “And so help me, if you try to pin the blame on magic, I will not—”

Luna clawed her fingers and thrust her palm forward, and immediately a pointed black spike burst out of the carpet at Celestia and jerked to a stop barely a hair’s width away from her neck. Celestia flinched reflexively at the sudden movement and went still as a statue, as if her brain was struggling to catch up to the input from her eyes. Then a moment later she crumbled, her eyes widening with fear and her mouth parting to release a strangled croak.

“Wow,” Luna said dryly. She flexed her fingers, and the spike shuddered in response. “That look on your face is even better than I thought.”

Behind Luna’s back Twilight clutched the book to her chest and started inching away as quietly as she could. She knew Celestia would be fine—she’d lived to the present at least, years longer than the memory’s time—but her past self had no such reassurance. Without that knowledge two thoughts repeated over and over in her head above the panic thrumming beneath her skin: Do the spell. Stop the ghost. Do the spell. Stop the ghost. Do the spell—

“Aren’t you proud of her?” Luna took a step forward, and this time Celestia stumbled back two steps in response. “Twilight was right all along—and yet you never even bothered to give her a chance.”

“Is this real enough for you, then?” The first spike dissipated as a second shot past Celestia’s cheek. “Is this proof enough for you?” The second vanished. A third grazed her shoulder and tore through the fabric of her jacket. “Is it?”

Do the spell, Twilight repeated to herself, her eyes still locked on Luna’s back. She opened the book and flipped through it with a trance-like calmness that didn’t match her shaking hands. Stop the ghost.

“I’m sorry!” Celestia blurted out. She backed into the bookcase behind Luna’s desk hard enough that a book toppled off one of its over-full shelves. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” A spike glanced across her cheek and she yelped in pain. “I’m so sorry, Luna!”

Do the spell. Trembling, Twilight raised the book with one hand, her thumb pressed between the pages of the spell that Luna had marked. Something seemed off, though. Wasn’t Celestia supposed to cast it? Isn’t she supposed to interfere?

“A little late for apologies,” Luna snarled as she strode across the centre of the room. Three spikes pierced out of the carpet at Celestia’s feet—one on either side and one more to threaten her throat—and trapped her against the bookcase.

Twilight took a step forward, then another. Her free hand floated up from her side with its fingers splayed, as if reaching for something. Stop the ghost.

“Luna—” Celestia choked on her words. The spike at her throat moved up to press against her skin.

“I hate you so much,” Luna lied. Her voice cracked. The fingers of her outstretched hand began to tremble. “I—”

One final step. Stop the ghost, Twilight echoed, and reached out to press her hand into the small of Luna’s back.

Oh, Twilight managed to think as she stumbled away from Luna. Her eyes wandered down to the pitch-black spike protruding from the centre of her chest, then back up to where Luna stood horrified and petrified with one clawed hand still outstretched.

The world spun. Everything turned on its side—no, I fell, Twilight corrected through her mental haze. I fell, and it hurts, and I’m cold, and it hurts—

Blood as black as tar oozed across her vision, seeping out from underneath her crumpled body and soaking through the carpet. Her awkward viewing angle made the pooling liquid appear as wide as an ocean—an illusion of a metallic and bloody sea.

Someone screamed. Celestia. Luna still didn’t move a muscle, but a puff of smoke exploded behind her as the spikes surrounding Celestia instantly disappeared.

The world blurred. Twilight blinked it clear, and suddenly Celestia was there, kneeling into the carpet and staining her pants with red.

“What did you do?!” she shrieked. Her voice sounded distant despite its volume. “What did you do?!”

“I didn’t mean to,” Luna whispered. Her eyes were wide and fearful and white. Not black. Instinctively Twilight’s hand twitched against the pages of the book still held between her fingers. Right, she remembered. The spell.

Everything hurt, but it didn’t matter. Everything was cold, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered anymore to Twilight was the book, and the spell, and finding a way to stop the ghost. With the last of her strength Twilight managed to raise her arm up just enough to push the book up from the bloody carpet and into Celestia’s lap.

Celestia jumped when the book made contact with her legs. “Twilight!” She immediately clutched at Twilight’s wrist and squeezed it tight. “It’s okay, you’re going to be...”

Her voice faded out to a dull whine. Twilight felt her heartbeat retreat from her fingertips, leaving them cold and stiff and numb. She let go of the book.

But even though her heart had stopped beating and her body lay sprawled limp across the carpet, the memory carried on. The pain vanished with her life, and suddenly Twilight—the spectator, the bystander—found that she was free.

Then Luna let out a terrified, gut-wrenching wail, and Twilight quickly scrambled out of her body and to her feet so she could better observe the scene.

“Bring her back!” Luna screamed. She clutched at her head with both hands and curled in on herself at the waist. “I know you’re still there—I know you can bring her back!”

Celestia squeezed Twilight’s wrist tighter. “You’re okay,” she whispered blankly, even though Twilight knew she couldn’t feel a pulse beneath the skin within her grip. “You’re okay, you’re okay—”

Nightmare finally returned, this time speaking at the back of all their minds instead of using Luna’s voice. Celestia whipped around to face Luna at the sound of it, clearly terrified out of her wits.

“She— she’s the reason you’re free!” Luna sputtered. She balled her hands into fists. “Does that mean nothing to you?!”

Correct, Nightmare agreed. Though, it’s a pity that a believing life so young should end so soon.

“Who is talking?” Celestia whispered, glancing frantically around the study. “Who are you?! If you can help Twilight—”

Nightmare laughed again. The both of you are fools, it said, its tone frosty. I do not help those who offer me nothing in return.

Having finally piqued its interest, Luna drew a shaky breath and offered her hand in a handshake toward the empty air. “That book we used contains a spell,” she explained, her words hurried and her voice raised. “With it I could have you banished from my body and sealed away again. And I know it works,” she added before Nightmare could interrupt. “You may be in my head, but it’s a two way street—I know you’re not a ghost, demon.”

“But since you’ve been so kind as to share with me how you work, I’ll make an offer I know you can’t refuse.” She raised her hand higher. “If you save my niece’s life, I swear that so long as you possess me, my sister and I will never use that spell against you. Never.”

“Luna!” Celestia finally let go of Twilight’s wrist and pushed herself to her feet with the book clutched tight in one hand. “What are you saying?”

“You can have my body; you can have your freedom. But only if you bring Twilight back.”

“Then I’ll fight against you every second I still live.” Determination flooded Luna’s voice—she meant it, Twilight realized. And the burning conviction reflected in her eyes made Twilight think she could actually succeed. “For the rest of my life and until your magic kills me, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from hurting anybody else.” Her outstretched hand showed no signs of wavering. “You’ll use me for nothing. My sister will banish you when my body fails. And for the rest of your eternal existence you’ll be forced to remember that you could have done so much more with me had you just agreed to save a single human girl.”

It didn’t seem like a bluff. In fact, it seemed like a deal weighted far too heavily in Nightmare’s favour—an offer that it had no right to refuse.

You make an interesting proposal, it hummed. Though, I can’t say I see what’s in it for you. Black smoke coiled out from beneath the sleeve of Luna’s shirt, twisting down her wrist and into the air as a disembodied approximation of a hand. But if you and that sister of yours swear by these terms—

“We swear,” Luna confirmed. She locked eyes with Celestia over her shoulder. “Right, sister?”

And once again Twilight saw her mentor reflected in Luna’s face—a calculated, unreadable mask of emotions atop an expression filled with ice. Something secret passed between their gazes, and while Twilight had no idea how to read its meaning it seemed that at least Celestia understood. She held Luna’s gaze for a moment that stretched longer than it should have. The muscle in her jaw tightened.

As soon as the words left her mouth the shadowy hand solidified. Then it’s a deal, Nightmare cackled, and snatched up Luna’s waiting palm in a handshake to seal their oath.

Another shockwave rippled through the room when their hands met, though not as destructive as the one before. Twin bolts of white light followed with a flash—one shot down Luna’s arm and vanished beneath the skin of her throat, while the other zipped through the lapel of Celestia’s blazer and winked out.

Then the shadowy hand let go of Luna’s and began to grow. It stretched out high into the air, peeling itself away from her before unfurling back into Nightmare’s humanoid form. Its limbs flexed. A smile sliced through the darkness of its face.

Very interesting choice, ladies, it said, its voice laden with delight. It’s rare to find a human willing to make a pact with stakes as high as this.

Luna lowered her arm and glared up at where Nightmare’s eyes should have been. “Fulfill your end of the bargain, demon,” she spat.

Nightmare raised one arm toward Twilight’s body and flexed its claws. The spike in her chest shuddered, and as it did Twilight—the spectator—felt a familiar pressure tug against her heart. The same spot, she noted absently. It was almost too morbid a scene to look at, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away.

Treat this not as a resurrection, but as an exchange, Nightmare said slowly. All mirth had left its voice—instead it spoke in tones Twilight almost misheard as kind. White light surrounded the spike. A fraction of my power lent to guarantee a freedom I have rarely known.

The spike began to shrink, turning smaller and finer until the tip finally disappeared under the bloodsoaked fabric of her shirt. The light faded. The pressure squeezed. Twilight felt her pulse return beneath her skin.

Nightmare lowered its arm at the same time her body drew the first breath of its second life. And so long as you keep your oath, it finished, the girl will live.

Immediately Celestia dropped back to her knees and scrambled over to Twilight’s still-unconscious form. She pressed two fingers to the side of her neck and, once she felt her heartbeat, pulled her body up into a hug with a wordless sob. Behind her, Luna’s shoulders visibly slumped with relief.

Of course I did. It tilted its head to the side innocently. I would be a liar if I didn’t.

Luna stared at it for a few seconds, as if she expected it to change its mind. Then, when it didn’t, she turned to Celestia. “I’ll keep mine as well, then,” she said, directing her words at Nightmare even though her body faced away.

Celestia stilled. She straightened up and looked back over her shoulder to meet Luna’s gaze, Twilight still clutched tightly in her arms. “What will happen to you?” she whispered.

“Exactly what I promised,” Luna replied carefully. “This demon will share my body, and I will do nothing to stop it from wreaking the havoc it so desires.” She lifted her chin. “And so long as it possesses me, neither shall you.”

There it was again: that odd, clinical phrasing of their deal. So long as it possesses me. Twilight furrowed her brow in thought. Why would Luna bother to word it in such a specific way?

“That spell,” Celestia tried to ask, but Nightmare shook its head to interrupt.

If you use it against me, the girl’s right to life is forfeit, it said calmly. Those were the terms of our deal. I do hope you don’t consider breaking them, if only for the child’s sake.

“I’m doing this for Twilight,” she said simply. Her eyes narrowed. “Besides. Even if you wanted to use it, you don’t know how, do you?”

More hidden messages. More purposeful emphasis on words passed between the tension. Celestia’s shoulders rose defensively. “Of course I don’t.”

They stared at each other silently. Without breaking eye contact Celestia slowly moved her far hand—the one with the book, the one furthest from Nightmare—so that one finger curled around the book’s cover to feel for a certain creased page within its leaves.

Just that simple gesture spoke volumes to Celestia’s response in their unspoken conversation: I understand.

Enough stalling. Nightmare snapped its fingers, and in a split second it disappeared into a cloud of smoke, then reappeared behind Luna with one hand on each of her shoulders. The girl lives. I want the freedom you promised in return.

Another backstab, another wound, another rush of darkness from the shadows into Luna’s heart. Though much of the shock value had been lost on Twilight—she had seen it happen three times over at that point—it was the first time that Celestia witnessed the horrific way Nightmare seized its host.

“No!” she sobbed. Twilight’s heart sank at the despair in her voice—Luna was Someone and Someone was gone, and even though Celestia couldn’t have known that yet, it seemed that deep down she understood it was farewell.

All the shadows vanished with an air-splitting snap. Celestia’s hair whipped out behind her. Luna stumbled forward at the impact. She shuddered slightly as she caught her balance, then stretched her arms out in front of her and raised her head.

They made eye contact. Celestia inhaled sharply. She pulled Twilight closer, twisting slightly to position herself between her and Nightmare before she asked, “What have you done to my sister?”

Nightmare grinned with Luna’s face and straightened up. “Why, I’m helping her,” it sneered. “Poor woman—ever scorned by her only kin, and yet without the power to have her voice be heard.” It paused to work its jaw, both hands pressing its fingertips into its cheeks as it did. Twilight found its motions familiar, like that of a person putting on a new pair of shoes. “Resentment is just perfect fuel for entertainment, don’t you think?”

Nightmare grinned wider. “You’d have to make me,” it taunted. Its eyes flicked pointedly over to the book still clutched in Celestia’s hand and added, “Oh, that’s right—you won’t.”

“That is what you humans tend to call me, yes,” it said dryly. It flexed its fingers one by one, then rolled its wrists. “Now, I wonder where I should start?” Something popped when it stretched its neck. “I don’t want to burn dear Luna out too quickly, after all. Though I’ve so many ideas on how to slay that selfish reputation of yours that I hardly know which one to...”

Its voice trailed off when Celestia stood up, Twilight’s body curled behind her and the book held open in one hand. Her eyes burned coldly in the blood-red moonlight—calculated and anguished and furious all at once.

A golden aura erupted around the book and flashed out into the darkness with a light so harsh it painted long shadows up all four walls of the study. Celestia’s hair and jacket blew backward in the magically-induced windstorm, and she gripped the book’s spine tighter against the recoil to prevent it from flying out of her hand—despite its frantically fluttering pages she managed to keep its cover open to the spell she’d bookmarked with her thumb.

Across the study Nightmare’s—Luna’s—face twisted briefly in surprise before morphing back to a crueler, more arrogant expression that Twilight hated to see her wear. “So you’ve decided!” it called over the hum of magical energy pouring out of the book. “The life of your sister over your niece!” It threw its arms wide and shouted, “I wonder if Luna will be happy with your choice?!”

Celestia glared at it but said nothing. She extended her arm out straight with the book held steady at the end.

Nightmare’s smile instantly vanished. It took a step away from Celestia and dropped its arms. “You’ll kill the girl if you use that spell,” it snarled. “Her blood is on your hands, not mine—do you really think Luna will forgive you for this?”

But Celestia just narrowed her eyes and calmly stated, “I never said I’m using it on you.”

“For just a hundred moons’ delay / Shall stand a prison mortal made / And that which sleeps shall bide its time / Within what object seals away.”

Another ripple of gold light tore through the air. Nightmare doubled over when the light struck, something pale peeling away from its body when it did—an outline like one of its smoky shadows, except cast in a blue so pale it passed as white. The smoke held its form for only a brief moment before it dissipated into the magical windstorm howling through the study.

And when Luna’s body straightened up with its eyes still black as pitch, Twilight suddenly understood exactly what her plan had been.

Ha! Nightmare’s mental voice effortlessly boomed above the uproar. That’s a pleasant surprise. Afraid your sister wouldn’t uphold her end of our deal, are you? With how little she thinks of you, I suppose I should have expected—

“Do not misunderstand my actions,” Celestia cut in. “Luna wanted this. She’s trusted me to do this for her in her stead—no matter how desperately I wish I wouldn’t have to.”

To free me fully? To end her life yourself? Nightmare cackled loudly. Do you consider it an act of mercy to separate a human’s body from her soul?

The pages of the book flared with light. And before Twilight’s eyes a familiar pinprick of light appeared beneath the passage Celestia had read: four more lines of text in looping cursive printed gold.

“What were the terms of our deal again, demon?” she asked. “What conditions on Twilight’s life prevent me from using this spell?”

“And isn’t that an interesting way to put it?” Celestia traced the finger of her other hand down the book’s page and raised her eyebrows. “If Luna’s soul no longer has a body, are you really possessing her?”

And when the gravity of what she’d said finally sank in it lunged frantically across the study at Celestia with a furious and guttural roar—

The book snapped shut. Nightmare’s nails just barely managed to graze Celestia’s cheek before a golden shockwave blew it backward and into the opposite wall of the study with a bang.

Luna—Nightmare—collapsed face-down against the carpet. Celestia lowered the book. A single red rivulet ran down her face as she recited the second section of the spell:

“And those who dare defy their fate / Twice over part in consequence / Farewell to myth and man alike / Farewell to both before too late.”

The whole house shook. Books and papers and pens and trinkets flew from their places and scattered in the storm. The cabinet doors behind Celestia whipped back and forth like flags. Behind the desk the barrel of the telescope crashed through both suits of armour and sent pieces flying in every direction.

Another flash of gold light. Luna’s body convulsed on its hands and knees, and suddenly Nightmare’s smoky form split apart from her back—its head and shoulders lifted away from hers, but its limbs still remained connected as it desperately tried to brace itself against the wind.

You lying woman! it howled. Its left leg tore free and dissolved into obsidian smoke. You dare assume your kind can trick a demon without consequence?! Its right leg followed, leaving only the upper half of its body clinging on. How wretched must the bond of sister be for you to so willingly throw your own away!

Celestia flinched slightly at its words. She sucked in a shallow breath and raised one hand to wipe her cheek, obscuring her eyes from Nightmare with her wrist. “I’ll get her back,” she whispered, just barely loud enough to hear above the storm.

Nightmare barked out a laugh. Its waist scattered away to nothing. If only you mortals maintained existence separate from your forms! it cackled. Poor Luna—she’d make good company in our time as prisoners if that were so!

And I’ll have my revenge, Celestia. Nightmare’s chest began disintegrating. Vengeance in its sweetest form comes cold—do you really think another hundred moons means anything to a prophecy written in the stars? It yanked its right arm free and jabbed one claw toward where Twilight’s body lay, gloating, That girl is mine!

Celestia’s eyes flashed behind her hand, a reflection of the storm’s brilliant golden light. “You won’t have her,” she hissed.

Its outstretched arm scattered away. Her belief will free me, it sneered. And when it does I’ll either revoke my borrowed power or have you face her as my heir. Its face twisted. After all, we’ve no agreements on the duration of our deal. A hundred moons of life is more than generous—and either outcome facilitates my revenge!

Nightmare’s final arm vanished in the wind, severing its connection to Luna’s form. Celestia lowered her hand from her face and snarled, “Then I’ll prevent her from freeing you in the first place.” Her hand clenched into a fist. “She’s still a child; she’ll outgrow magic long before the spell runs out.”

But before Nightmare’s face crumbled away its moon-like mouth curved into a gleeful and sinister grin. Even after a monster takes her aunt? it taunted. She’s seen proof of magic, Celestia—nothing short of a memory spell could break belief like this!

Then with those parting words the light tore Nightmare’s remains apart, consuming it within a golden glow that curled in on itself at the centre of the room. A beam of light shot out from it toward the carpet, then the ceiling, then the bookcase—it flashed over and over again at different angles until it finally struck the helmet of one of the fallen suits of armour.

The storm ceased. The corresponding pieces of armour scattered across the carpet shone pale blue-white, then gold.

Luna’s body collapsed face-down against the carpet when the light blinked out, battered and beaten and completely still—

Oh, Twilight realized, suddenly seeing through both the eyes of her unconscious body and through her memory. The dream was real.

Twilight tried to open her eyes, then realized that they’d already been open to an unending sea of black. Her body still felt weightless—like in dreams, in memories—but the terrible pressure crushing her heart felt far, far too real.

One by one she collected her scattered thoughts—Celestia, Luna, the book, Nightmare... dying. Twilight shuddered. She wished she hadn’t remembered how that felt. Then there was the deal, the spell, a prophecy, a hundred moons, a suit of armour—

An image of a shadowy replica of the helmet flashed to the forefront of Twilight’s mind. Sunset. Finding a way to save her—that was the reason why she’d wanted to see the memory in the first place. But...

Someone didn’t die, but she also hadn’t lived. And everything that Celestia had done to Nightmare was with the power of the book Twilight had seen destroyed. Nothing in the memory seemed of any use to saving Sunset or banishing Nightmare or stopping it from trying to take the fragment of its power back and killing her—so was that it? Twilight fumbled at her shoulders in the darkness and squeezed her arms tightly around herself. Was there really nothing she could do?

Even Celestia failed, she thought to herself bitterly. Why did I think I’d be able to figure it out?

The pressure intensified. Fog spread through Twilight’s thoughts. Her heart squeezed again, and she felt her eyes slip closed—

Blinding light flashed out from her arm into the darkness, the tiny pinprick still powerful enough to illuminate everything within her sight. Suddenly she wasn’t weightless but halfway real, experiencing a blurry snapshot of the world overlaid atop the darkness seen through eyes that were nearly closed.

“I’ve got ya,” a faint voice gasped. “I promised you’d be fine—I’ve got ya.”

Twilight blinked. The voice sounded distant and underwater, yet very, very close. Who...?

“Just hold on a little bit longer,” a second voice whispered. Twilight felt a hand brush her bangs out of her vision and to the side, lingering momentarily against her temple.

“You can do it, Twilight!” A third voice cut through the fog above the first two, followed by a brilliant flash of white light and a panicked yelp. “Ow! Guys, her aim is getting better—”

Another light flashed across Twilight’s view. Someone shouted. The floor trembled. Floor, she recognized dimly. Not carpet. At least, not carpet as soft as the study’s. She tried to move her legs. Sensation flooded through her limbs as she did, and her brain managed to orient herself—legs sprawled out over scorched auditorium carpet, shoulders propped up on someone’s lap, head tipped back as far as it would go, and eyes half-closed staring up at a blurry ceiling.

“Can you hear us, darling?” The hand squeezed tighter. “Terribly sorry for taking so long—whatever magic is on our side doesn’t seem to know right from left!”

Magic? The ice melted from Twilight’s fingertips. She felt real, finally—no longer suspended in infinite darkness but rather just an inch away from returning to the waking world. But the book said humans can’t—

Something exploded in Twilight’s peripherals. The sound and light startled her senses awake, and she snapped back to reality just as something—someone—slammed into the nearby carpet and tumbled beside her face. She blinked. Her vision cleared to blurry, then burst to clarity framed by flames of blue.

Twilight tipped her head back further and locked eyes upside down with a battered Rainbow Dash.

And finally Twilight found the strength she needed to sit up and figure out what the hell was going on.

Sunset—Nightmare—stood tall at the centre of the auditorium’s stage, her eyes back to blue-on-black and her palms outstretched in front of her. Her fingers flexed, and instantly a ring of black spikes materialized above her shoulder and shot like bullets up the aisle to Twilight’s right, carving bright white trails of light into the air before they slammed into a row of seating with a series of splintering cracks.

The spikes evaporated into smoke. Pinkie popped up from behind the chairs-turned-pincushions and stuck out her tongue. “Missed again!”

Another ring of spikes fanned out, and Pinkie quickly dove across the aisle behind a different row.

“What is she doing?” Twilight breathed. The second barrage of spikes pounded against fabric and plywood—not Pinkie. “Why is she—”

“Distraction,” Applejack wheezed. Twilight glanced over to where she was crouched at the edge of the centre aisle, her shoulder bleeding and the back of her flannel torn to shreds. “Dash and her... they’re the fastest.”

“Fine,” she said firmly. Her knuckles whitened against the carpet. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just... glad we got t’you in time.”

Twilight blinked. She spun back through her memories to try and make sense of what Applejack had said. When she’d last talked to Sunset she’d been backed against the stage, and yet somehow between then and waking up she’d moved all the way up the aisle and behind the seats.

She blinked again. Her thoughts slowed down long enough for her to take a better look at the girls around her—Applejack keeping lookout; Fluttershy kneeling with her legs just behind Twilight’s back; Rainbow breathing shallow breaths into the carpet as she watched blood drip down from her likely-broken nose; Rarity crouched at Twilight’s side with one hand still clutched tight around her own.

“Of course we did.” She smiled faintly, and at such a close distance Twilight could count the trails of red smeared across her cheek. “You said it yourself—we’re all making it out of this horrible ordeal alive. That includes you and Sunset both.”

Right. Sunset. Another round of spikes whistled through the air somewhere across the auditorium. “I don’t know how to save her,” she said quietly. “I thought I’d figured out another way—but I was wrong.”

She let go of Rarity’s hand and risked a glance over the top of the seating at the stage. Sunset launched another attack at Pinkie, and Twilight swore she saw black flames splinter briefly through her forearms. The spikes connected with the floor. Twilight quickly ducked back down.

“That weird book didn’t do anything?” Rainbow rolled over and sat up cross legged with one hand pinching her nose. “Why the hell’d we go through so much trouble for it, then?!”

“Great! Then tell me how to blast her with knowledge or what the fuck ever. Oh, or is just more of the mind-magic glowy shit your aunt did? ‘Cause I can still work with that.”

“Probably works better than a tackle, huh?” She flexed her shoulder and winced. “Hope it hurts less, too.”

“Won’t you listen?” Twilight protested, only for a hand to gently grab her attention by tugging at her sleeve. She turned to look—Fluttershy.

“Here,” she said, and pushed a tattered, soot-covered object into Twilight’s lap. “We got to it before Nightmare did, it’s just that none of us really know what it’s supposed to do in the first place. Except maybe Principal Celestia, but, um...”

Fluttershy’s gaze wandered over to the section of seating on the opposite side of the aisle. Behind the seats lay Celestia, still breathing but unmoving with the shadowy helmet locked tightly around her head. The other girls had at least moved her out of the line of fire, but they clearly hadn’t managed to wake her up.

Twilight swallowed hard at the sight. She’s going to be fine. She did her best to bury any uneasy thoughts and instead looked down to inspect the object resting on her legs.

But wait—this one had its cover still intact and its pages attached at the spine. It was nearly identical to Celestia’s, and Twilight couldn’t fault the other girls for mixing up the two because it bore a sun emblem so similar to the book from the office—a slightly different mark embossed in red and gold.

When Twilight reached down to turn it over, the cuff of her blouse pulled back briefly to expose the skin of her still-tingling wrist. And it was only then that she realized something gold was written on her skin.

There upon her wrist were six cursive letters strung together as a single word: belief.

“Oh!” Rarity gasped. “You got your word?” she tried to ask, but suddenly Twilight could hear nothing but the deafening crash of ideas connecting one-by-one at the back of her mind.

Seven trials. Seven words. Golden magic that carried a warmth contrasting Nightmare’s ice. No innate magical ability. Borrowed power. A second chance. The pressure living in her heart. The prophecy of a believing star. She flipped the book in her lap open to a random page—near-perfect handwriting in jet-black ink. It matched the passage she’d seen briefly in her memories. The qualities that define us as humans.

Twilight snapped back to reality in time to witness a wave of spikes skewer the carpet barely a metre away with force enough to send shockwaves rippling out beneath her legs. A second later Pinkie tumbled over the row of seats in front of them and rolled to a stop beside Rainbow with a pained grunt.

“Status update,” she coughed. A spike vanished from her thigh and left a hole in her leggings that framed a puncture wound the size of a dime. “I’m, um, kind of running out of steam.”

“You’re unbelievable, Pinks,” Rainbow said in a voice filled with nothing but pride.

“Well, I got good news for ya—Twilight’s up.” She pointed the thumb of her free hand over at Twilight and asked, “So what’s the plan? Figured out how to use that thing yet?”

“I have an idea,” Twilight said finally. “But I’m not one-hundred percent sure.”

And collectively the mood hanging over the other girls shifted to relief. Fluttershy’s shoulders slumped. Rarity exhaled so sharply it nearly whistled. “Gotchu covered on the rest if you want,” Rainbow mumbled into her palm.

A wave of white light arced up the centre aisle. Twilight stole another peek at the front of the auditorium—Sunset had lowered her arms; instead she stood with the toes of her boots nearly hanging off the stage and a ring of spikes rotating threateningly behind her back. Pitch-black fire danced within her hair.

“Give me the girl!” she snarled, and Twilight quickly ducked back down before she was spotted.

“I— I think I’m going to sound crazy for this,” she whispered to the others. “It feels crazy. My confidence on this is practically zero, and if you asked me if I knew what I was doing I’d say I don’t, but...” Her wrist burned, and this time Twilight saw golden light flare through the fabric of her sleeve. “...I think that knowing what to do doesn't matter at all.”

“It doesn’t matter at all,” Twilight repeated. “It doesn’t matter whether I know what to do right now or not, because as long as I believe we can do something I’ll always have a chance to find out what.” She thrust her wrist forward and explained, “That’s what this means. We don’t have magic spikes or shadow monsters or whatever else on our side right now—we just have each other. And that doesn’t matter!”

Something onstage exploded. A wave of purple and black fire rippled out above their heads and splashed against all four walls. Clumps of embers scattered from the impact and ignited a flaming barrier that flashed outward and surrounded the entire room in an instant.

Twilight flinched at the sudden heat roaring at her back and tried to keep going: “We survived everything else Nightmare tried on our own, didn’t we? Then why would this”—she gestured around at the remains of the auditorium—“be any different?”

The floor rumbled. Twilight didn’t dare breathe after she finished, terrified that everything she’d said hadn’t made any sense at all to the others. Their expressions didn’t change for what felt like an eternity, and just as Twilight felt a nervous sweat start beading on the back of her neck—

“Yeah, that tracks,” Rainbow said with a grin. The skin beneath the hand pinching her nose illuminated her face in gold. “We’re fucking awesome.”

“Dunno about awesome,” Applejack deadpanned, “but I think Twilight’s got the right idea.”

“I—” Twilight drew a shallow breath. Their banter wasn’t doing much to calm her racing heart. Okay. At least they seemed on board. She hadn’t even told them the crazy part. “That’s where I’m coming from,” she explained. “There’s definitely a way to stop Nightmare—that’s what I believe. So...” She squeezed Sunset’s book tightly with both hands. “So please just believe in me too. Okay?”

And before anyone could stop her she stood up and stepped into the aisle to face where Nightmare waited centre stage.

“Twilight!” Rarity whisper-shrieked, but it was too late. Sunset spotted Twilight right away—and when she did the spikes rotating behind her immediately ground to a halt. She raised her eyebrows. Twilight met her gaze.

“Good choice,” Sunset sneered. Black fire flickered through her face where the skin pulled taut. “Glad I didn’t have to injure those friends of yours to force your hand.”

Friends. Twilight kept her breathing steady and tried not to think too hard about the magic burning Sunset from the inside out.

“Don’t take it personally,” she continued. She snapped her fingers to dispel the spikes to smoke, then leapt off the stage and landed catlike in the aisle with a nearly-silent thud. “Me, I’d love to keep you around, but spiky-magic-brain-demon here just isn’t gonna let that fly. ‘Power’ and ‘revenge’ and blah, blah, blah.” Sunset rolled her eyes. “You understand, right?”

Twilight didn’t answer her. Instead she broke her gaze to glance down at the book and flipped forward through its pages with her thumb. I should be nervous, she thought, her heartbeat pounding steady in her ears. Her mouth felt dry. Correction. I AM nervous.

She stopped flipping. There it was—a familiar line of text she’d written just the day before. And despite the fact that her present situation was so much more dire than shouting in the corner of a crowded cafeteria, no anxiety twisted in her hands or gut or throat.

At the other end of the aisle Sunset raised her arm. Her hand flexed. Pressure nudged against Twilight’s heart.

“I do understand,” Twilight finally replied. She shifted her grip on the book to the top of its spine so she could balance it against one arm. “What happened to Luna; why I was made to forget about magic; why you had to change your plans and go after Sunset instead of me—and how I’m going to beat you at your own game.”

Her vision went dark at the edges. Twilight forced herself to keep talking, a familiar magical burn spreading up from her wrist to the fingertip of her free hand. “Do you really think you’re some all-powerful being fit to play with human lives like toys?” Her legs wobbled. She traced her finger over the book’s pages as steadily as she could. “Because if that’s true, there’s a glaring contradiction I’d like you to explain.”

“What are you getting at?” Sunset clenched her hand into a fist, and the pressure mirrored her grip around Twilight’s heart. White light flared around her hand—but so did a fainter, golden glow beneath it. “I am all-powerful! And once I take back the piece of my power I’ve so graciously let you borrow, I’ll—”

Twilight blinked away the darkness in her eyes and straightened up. “That doesn’t sound very ‘all-powerful’ to me. If any believing ‘star’ can summon you at their whim, then I’d say you’re no better than a slave.”

A chorus of hushed ‘ooh’s rang out behind the seating to her right. “Daaaang, Sparkle,” Pinkie stage-whispered. “You tell her!”

Insolent child! Nightmare thundered. It discarded Sunset’s voice to fully demonstrate the fury in its own. How dare you tarnish the name of a demon such as I?! The light around its fist flared up—and suddenly Twilight’s chest felt as if it had caved in around her lungs. I’ll have not just your heart for that, but your head as well!

The world lurched. Something pulled at Twilight’s heart, and she stumbled backward, winded and breathless and cold and weak. But just as she lost her balance and toppled over—

And then it was five hands with five words belonging to five girls confident enough in her crazy idea to step out in front of a monster and catch her before she fell.

“We see what you’re gettin’ at,” Applejack said firmly, her hand squeezed tight around Twilight’s shoulder, “and if it were anyone else doin’ this I’d say there’s no chance that they’d be right, but—”

“—you’re Twilight Sparkle,” Pinkie finished with a wink. “You won’t be wrong.”

“Alright, Nightmare,” Twilight gasped, propped up back to standing against the others’ arms and trust. “Answer me this:”

She flipped Sunset’s book around and thrust it forward. Gold cursive marked its open pages left to right, scrawled beneath both Twilight’s earlier introduction and Nightmare’s cryptic, brief response—a mark of two promises broken both in act and word:

Nightmare let out a furious howl and lunged forward up the aisle at an inhuman speed with one clawed hand desperately outstretched at Twilight—

The light ripped through air and the aisle and the carpet and the stage and Sunset—an all-encompassing blast of magic that eradicated shadows in its wake. The sheer force of the detonation stopped Sunset midair for a split second—her hand still reaching, her face still twisted with rage and terror—before sending her flying back across the auditorium and into the base of the stage with a bang.

Then the knockback hit, and one by one Twilight felt the girls behind her lose their balance and tumble away with a chorus of shrieks. The impact struck her last, and yet instead of flying backward alongside the book effortlessly torn out of her hand her feet met air and stayed. The flames around her eyes burned bright, and suddenly a jolt like a static shock stung against her forehead and at her back, just between where both her shoulder blades framed her spine.

If darkness had still existed in that moment, she might have noticed that her shadow now had wings.

The last of the light washed through the room and burned away. When it blinked out, Twilight still remained hovering a foot above the aisle. She drew a shaky breath. Black feathers scattered in her peripherals. Electricity ignited in her blood. Twilight Sparkle felt alive.

But it wasn’t over yet. She may have severed its connection and opened its prison doors, but Nightmare had no intention of willingly leaving its host. At the other end of the aisle Sunset staggered to her feet with burning skin and black eyes filled with hatred and fear and hope and anger all at once. Twilight had seen those eyes before—in a memory that she’d once forgotten.

Don’t think you’ve won! Nightmare snarled. It shuddered, and for a moment Twilight could see its humanoid shadow form superimposed against Sunset’s—but then it vanished and Nightmare retained its hold. What delusion has you convinced of finding victory in a prophecy’s repeat forced premature? You can’t destroy a demon—no matter how much of that blasted harmony your kind dares to muster!

Twilight just stared down at it in response. Because for all of Nightmare’s bluster and all the fear that it had caused, the panic in its voice only served to evoke a familiar sort of emotion she hated feeling herself wear.

“You’re right,” she finally said. Her voice and pulse felt far calmer than they should have. “We can’t. Perhaps because it’s impossible, or perhaps because we don’t know how.”

Nightmare gasped out a laugh. So you drive me from this vessel with full knowledge of your futility? it jeered. Over and over, again and again, I always return. Resentful hearts have borne vulnerable hosts since my creation, and so long as a single star believes no prison made by mortals can ever hold! Sunset’s mouth twisted into a fanged and desperate sneer. Just as your constellations will scatter to nameless lights in time, so too will mankind eventually realize the definition of inevitable!

It thrust one hand forward, and a wave of jagged obsidian rushed in time with the motion along the floor of the aisle and up toward Twilight—

Her wrist burned. Just before the spikes struck a golden barrier burst to life in front of her to intercept, shattering the spikes on impact and rending their pieces back to smoke.

Twilight let herself drift down until her shoes met carpet instead of air, the palm of her word-marked arm pressed against her heart. Pressure squeezed beneath her skin when she spoke. “I don’t need to destroy you. I just need to stop you from hurting anyone ever again.”

Then, one hand shot to its chest to clutch at an invisible pressure Twilight knew it had never felt.

She pulled her arm away. The pressure on her heart turned to a sharp tug, and suddenly a crackling, pointed fragment of pitch-black magic emerged from her chest and settled hovering in the air. It appeared the same as Nightmare’s power in all but function—it didn’t hurt; it didn’t steal her vision or her voice. Her heartbeat still pulsed steady in her ears.

“You say that I’ve borrowed your power?” she asked. The fragment sparked. “I think it’s really you who’s borrowed mine.”

Black flames erupted on all sides of Twilight from floor to ceiling, scorching the remains of the carpet to smoldering ash. The gold barrier returned in time to prevent it from harming her, but it did nothing to stop the fire’s heat from splashing against her skin.

This isn’t possible! it wailed. This won’t be possible! I refuse to let you take another step!

Twilight grit her teeth. She wasn’t burning up, but she still burned—with confidence, with magic, with the heat that threatened to suffocate. It’s desperate, she realized. It’s desperate because it knows it’s lost.

She stepped through the fire. It parted harmlessly around the barrier, and all the heat and flames vanished back to smoke.

I’ll— I’ll just use you for my revenge! Nightmare’s arms snapped straight out in front of it, and suddenly a massive beast leapt out of its shadow with its maw stretched out in a furious roar. Celestia—don’t you hate her for what she’s done? Don’t you blame her for everything you’ve gone through at my hand?!

The monster—the manticore—pounced. Twilight exhaled slowly and raised her head to meet its pained and panicked eyes the split second before its jaws snapped shut. “I don’t hate her,” she said quietly.

The manticore bit down on golden light. Its body dissipated at the contact and scattered into the air. Twilight took another step forward.

Then aren’t you scared, girl? Don’t you know what I’m capable of? Nightmare’s form flickered again through Sunset’s skin, barely able to retain its control. It thrust its arms forward again, but with far less force than it had before. Shadows burst down the aisle from its fingertips and painted Twilight’s vision to weightless black.

You’ll go mad with power, it thundered, like every other human host before you. What makes you think you’ll stand a chance against me?!

The darkness splintered. Light broke through the shadows as she countered, “What makes you think I won’t?”

Another step forward. Twilight saw a past version of herself mirrored in Nightmare’s body language—back against the stage, eyes wide with panic, hands trembling so violently the tremors travelled up its arms. Sunset’s hands. Hands now nearly close enough to touch.

But those hands clenched to fists before she could reach them, and a circle of pure white light blazed to life around Twilight’s feet. Then you’d be unstoppable, Nightmare tried, its tone shifting to panicked encouragement, and nothing would be able to stand in your way. The circle flared. Twilight felt its magic attempt—and fail—to eat away at her legs. We’ll make the perfect team, you and I!

Desperation and lies. Nothing more. Twilight stepped across the circle and closed the last of the distance between them—

Nightmare slammed its fists against the stage, and a hundred—no, a thousand points of light flared behind its back in rows, forming a massive grid that stretched from wall to wall and stage to ceiling of the auditorium. A spike emerged from each light and swivelled down to face where Twilight stood, all of them twisting synchronized to look down on her like endless eyes.

Then Nightmare lunged forward and everything launched. Trails of light streaked behind each bullet as they fell—like falling stars, like shattered glass, like a thousand magical spikes hurtling down toward a human girl—and though the sheer power behind the spectacle should have inspired at least the barest hint of fear, all Twilight found she felt was pity for it having even tried.

The spikes fizzled out when they hit her barrier. She grabbed Sunset’s wrist out of the air before it struck her and met Nightmare’s terrified blue-black eyes with a silent and furious glare.

“The only thing I want,” Twilight breathed, her voice calmer than her thoughts, “is my friend back.”

And with the fragment of Nightmare’s stolen power still hovering charged before her, Twilight raised her other hand to Sunset’s heart and pulled.

She came to when the light faded—though Twilight really wasn’t sure if any time had passed at all. She still stood at the base of the stage with Sunset’s wrist clutched tightly in one hand and the other ghosted inches over the neckline of Sunset’s shirt. Her heart beat steadily and free of pressure. The fragment had disappeared.

Then Sunset toppled forward, and Twilight just barely managed to catch her before she went down face-first into the floor. A jumble of thoughts instantly exploded in her mind: holy shit we did it; holy shit I think the plan somehow worked; is this jacket real leather or pleather or something else; oh, gross, her hair is in my mouth; wait does it count as a hug if—

Sunset jerked upright and slammed the top of her head into Twilight’s chin. “I— ow!” she yelped.

“Ow yourself,” Twilight hissed. She resisted the urge to rub her chin and ran her tongue over where her teeth had clacked together. “That hurt.” Then she blinked. Looked down.

“You’re okay,” she tried to say, only for Sunset to grab both of her shoulders at the exact same time and bury her face against her neck.

Twilight felt as though she couldn’t breathe. “It’s not your fault,” she managed to force out. Thankfully her lungs still worked, even if her brain thought they didn’t. She inhaled as slow as possible and prayed that Sunset couldn’t hear her heartbeat through her skin.

“Twilight, it is. I hurt you; I hurt those other girls—I know you want to blame it on Nightmare, but part of what it did was up to me.” She squeezed Twilight’s shoulders. Twilight awkwardly navigated her hands to the small of Sunset’s back.

It felt wrong to receive an apology, even after everything that had happened. She could so easily place blame on Sunset, or on Celestia, or on herself—but it felt wrong. Especially when the apology came from the person Twilight owed one to instead.

“If that’s how you see it,” she said eventually, “then I accept your apology.”

Sunset went still. Then she let out a weak laugh into Twilight’s collar. “I thought I’d have to do more to convince you,” she admitted. “But it’s good that—”

And finally Sunset lifted her head to fix Twilight with a stare filled with disbelief. She opened her mouth to protest, so Twilight quickly continued speaking before she could get in a word.

“I’m not good with people,” she explained. “I’m not good at this whole ‘friend’ thing—both making one, and being one.” The toes of her shoes dipped, and suddenly Sunset started clinging to her shoulders with far more weight than she had before. “And when this whole mess started, I said something stupid that I shouldn’t have and hurt your feelings.” She paused to think. “I, um, don’t remember exactly what it was right now, except that it was stupid and you had every right to walk away from me—except I guess you came back for some reason when everything went to shit, so maybe you didn’t exercise your right—but the point I’m trying to make here,” she finished, her breath running out and Sunset’s fingers digging desperately into her shirt, “is that I’m really, really sorry. And—ow—I hope that we’re still friends.”

Silence. Twilight squinted at Sunset through her flaming ‘glasses’ and added, “Okay, that’s really starting to hurt, can you maybe—”

And then her glasses and wings and whatever the hell was on her forehead blinked out of existence as soon as she noticed her shoes weren’t touching the ground, and immediately the both of them dropped down half a metre and tumbled off their feet into the floor.

“What the hell,” Twilight repeated. She pushed herself up on her elbows and tried to process what had just happened. But then her scattered mind went back too far and she immediately remembered that oh yeah, this also happened when we blasted Sunset, and oh yeah, my crazy idea to reverse uno card Nightmare actually went and worked, and oh god, if this is permanent—

“That was the most amazing apology I’ve ever seen,” Sunset interrupted, her hair splayed out beneath her and her face way way way too close. Twilight snapped back to reality just in time to feel Sunset wrap one arm around her shoulders and pull her back down on top of her into a hug.

“Using magic is kind of a cheap move,” Sunset said, grinning from ear to ear into the top of Twilight’s head. She exhaled a giddy laugh, and Twilight froze at the sensation of her stomach shifting beneath her own. “Of course I accept whatever the hell you’re trying to apologize for. Definitely equivalent, right?” Her voice turned teasing. “You hurt my feelings, I tried to murder you; all water under the bridge, am I right?”

I think you’re trying to murder me again, Twilight managed to think. Somehow she forced her voice to grumble out a dry, “It’s not a competition.”

They lay there in silence for a moment. Twilight didn’t dare try to move away.

It’s really over, she finally let herself admit. It’s really, really over. Cryptic farewells and stolen magic and her questionable mortality be damned—she didn’t have to think about that yet. Not right away. Not when still sprawled on top of the girl she’d fought so hard to save.

A hand squeezed Twilight’s shoulder. She scrunched her eyes shut and focused on breathing as steadily as she could. It’s warm.

Monsters didn’t exist in moments. It was just her, and Sunset, and an overwhelming sense of relief.

“You know,” Sunset said eventually, “all of this counts as proof, right?”

“Y’know.” She poked Twilight’s temple with the index finger of her free arm and clarified, “Proof of magic.”

A piercing wolf whistle shattered through the silence. Twilight jerked her head up in time to see Rainbow pull her fingers from her mouth and dissolve into a fit of laughter at the top of the aisle, with Pinkie following suit a second later at her side.

Right, Twilight remembered. She finally noticed the top of Fluttershy’s head poking out behind the seats, and Applejack’s back turned pointedly away from her and Sunset, and the cheeky expression on Rarity’s face that made Twilight’s stomach squeeze in fear, and Celestia sitting in one of the surviving chairs with a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. We’re in public.

And then Sunset’s statement processed, and Twilight felt her train of thought slam straight through its station and derail off its tracks in a spectacular mental explosion of airborne carriages and world-shattering shock—because with all the adrenaline and life-staking danger going on she’d buried far too many hang-ups for her future self to handle, which hadn’t seemed so bad when it had been the present but now the burying was in the past and the present was the future and suddenly a compromising position over a girl with blue eyes and warm hands and a shit-eating grin didn’t matter at all, since—

“Oh my god,” Twilight whispered into the wreckage of her life. “Magic is fucking real.”

The Twilight Effect

by evelili

The Final Trial