//------------------------------// // Whose Star Shines // Story: For the Star Swan // by Odd_Sarge //------------------------------// “There was an overlooked piece of the delivery. The Ponyville Spaceport’s officers processed it as a manifest without looking. It is much more. It contains the same latent magic as its sister object, and it matches the carbon content. You have two scrolls, Princess. I hope you’ll share what they say: we’d love to hear from the ponies behind the creation of this canister.” Celestia reread the scientists’ thank you one more time, then gently set it aside. In an afternoon’s time, it appeared all of her excitement had trickled down to her little ponies. Perhaps that was for the best... With her anxiety rekindled, she shuffled her wings. Having journeyed to the empty flat of her desk, the gray letter sat in waiting. And pinched perfectly shut, a protective foil bag joined it. Were it a few hours later, she might have been tempted to tear right into them both, but the reality of the situation had finally set in. Inching her folded wings back and forth yet again, Celestia looked to one particular side of the room for help. The gilded cage of Philomena remained empty. Her mind went out in search of her long-lived phoenix companion, but it was a muted attempt. Philomena would return when she was ready to, while Celestia had yet to ever leave. She stared again at the metallic spools of magitech that contained a letter within. Her ponies had soared to the stars on artificial wings, but they had not foregone their roots. Even with hundreds of light-years between them, they had remembered their princess, and even been thoughtful enough to send her a letter. Whatever messages laid within the scrolls, Celestia was sure it was better in the hooves of the princess who truly guided the stars. Celestia was but one small speck in the still vastly unexplored galaxy, and little more than a historical note written in the margins. Even now, her hold on the Equestrian bureaucracy was light; Twilight Sparkle had ensured Equestria’s ponies could expand without her. Celestia thought now of how foolish she'd been while her student lived. She wondered at just how she could have possibly seen her and her sister retiring. And at the same time, she felt as if she’d been forced to. What meaning did keeping Equestria’s ‘activity light’ green even mean? When ponies overseeing their colonies and stations looked at their reports and starmaps, they saw the beacon of their homeworld, eternally lit by the work of her and her most loyal subjects. But surely it couldn’t have meant so much? Celestia stared at the foil bag, now. Yes, she’d been considered enough by her ponies to have been sent not one, but two letters. And no simple messages sent via relay: these were ordinary letters from a simpler time, made extraordinary by the technology wound around them to ensure their passage. It was easy to see that they’d required hundreds of hours of work to facilitate the transport alone. This was a treatment befitting a better princess. The arrival of these letters was meant for Luna: the Princess of the Night, the Keeper of Polaris, the Princess of Starflight. She was the one who kept the spirit of ponykind alive. This was meant for her sister. No, these letters of the modern age did not belong the lonesome Princess of the Sun, even if their physical arrival was a practice that hailed from the history of their ancestral homeworld. The homeworld that Celestia would continue to maintain, for that was her everlasting purpose. Yes, she still had a purpose. But what she had been content with was what she deserved. Celestia’s desk hummed again. At first, she did not move. But she relented: she would not let her sister be ignored again. She would not make this mistake twice in another thousand years. Not ever. Never again. Still, when she answered the call with a firm press of her hoof, she did not speak. Luna, mercifully, was the one to bridge the light-years of silence between them. “Sister?” “Hello, Luna.” “...You do not sound well, Celestia.” The sun princess wrinkled over. “I’m fine.” “Fine? That is not what we were hoping to hear.” “What were you expecting instead, Luna?” The speakers crackled with a forlorn sigh. Lightly in the background, Celestia could hear voices. Faint voices of intermittent chatter, and tinny orders being barked. Instead of her chambers, Luna had reached out to Celestia from the bridge of her illustrious capital ship. A capital ship no doubt in the middle of guiding its flock. “We expected you to have been most pleased with the arrival of your gift.” Celestia leaned back, and squinted at the still-glowing ‘gift’. “I can’t accept this.” “What?” The voices in the background fell silent. “It’s... too kind.” “Sister, it is justly so, crafted for a princess of Equestria by her loyal subjects.” “You know that speaks to both of us.” “But you are Equestria, dear sister. You are who a pony believes in when they dream of a better world.” “It’s not fair to you.” “I have my own purpose, sister. You know this. We rule our separate realms, and someday soon, we may see them intertwined.” “But until then, we are not the same.” “Celestia. Dearest sister. Please do not contest me on this hill.” Celestia’s fight instantly fled. “Your subjects have created a most precious gift. For you. It is yours. Everything is earned, and you have earned this.” A pause. “And it is your birthday.” In the background, there were a few half-called cheers of ‘happy birthday’. On top of her sister’s reassurances, it made Celestia’s heart swell. But enough of the ache remained to thwart any warm words. “You had something to do this with this, didn’t you?” “I will not lie to you. In our brief anchorage in the systems of the Haltermouth Nebula, we did finalize the transport of a message pure of spirit.” “Finalize?” Luna carried on. “You have letters, Celestia. Scrolls. Are you not the least tempted to tear their binds asunder, and to read them as if they were of Twilight’s own?” Celestia’s perfect heartbeat jumped, and pain surged through her. She closed her eyes. “I played no further part in this beyond funding the vessel in which your ponies’ work is contained. I can assure you, the letters ascribed to you are from ponies who well and truly believe in you. And that cannot be taken away by any neigh-say spat from your aching heart.” Celestia could hear Luna’s wings ruffling, almost as if her sister was reaching out to her to hug. And in a way, she was. “Read, and be healed by the words your ponies offer their princess.” Before Celestia could be allowed another word, the speakers cracked, then faded into silence. Celestia stared at the foil bag, and the scroll’s ‘vessel’. An envelope of metal. She breathed unsteadily, her throat hitching as she inhaled. And as she let loose, her horn ignited in a flare of yellow. She reached out with her magic, and the foil bag tore silently along the folded seam. The telekinesis smoothed it over, and wordlessly, she dove in, wrapping her ethereal grip around the interior, feeling it out for the contents within. The first scroll emerged, and the days of Equestrias past filled the room: the sweet cereal fibers smelled fresh, and Celestia suddenly longed for a quill and ink. As more of the lightly-tannish paper emerged, its imperfections began to show. The pulp was not entirely smooth, and the more granular sides of the paper dominated the edge. But where text had been printed in precise, even strokes, the texture of the paper flattened out. The message strewn across the uneven and quite lengthy sheet was legible, and that was what mattered most. She gently set the precious paper across the desk, and bled her magic to the open air. Leaning forward, Celestia slid her hooves from their gold shoes, and smoothed the paper out flat. She breathed again, and her eyes watered. Celestia licked her lips, teetered further forward, and began to read. Dear Princess Celestia, I truly hope this scroll finds you in good health. It took a great deal of effort to not cry and ruin the work that went into creating this fond artifact. An artifact such precious little ponies have brought back to life. My name is Skylark Twinkle. I am the Headmare of the Farrieway Schoolhouse, and I am writing to you on the wonderful creation from our first ever class of students. I am a mare fond of history, and as one of the few ponies in Farrieway officially recognized as a suitable instructor, I interact with the students on a level some ponies in this day and age might find untenable. However, I am a mare also sound in the ways of science, and I was able to conjoin these facets into assigning a project that I dearly hope you will enjoy as much as the students did. For our opening year and class, I opted to establish a project so that the little ones might learn to find comfort in each other, and learn through the lessons found in the trails our ancestors blazed across the stars. A project about the science behind the pioneering that has fueled ponykind for centuries, and the magic of friendship. These trails all lead back to one place you know well. We were lucky enough to have a number of pioneering families settle the Farrieway Habitat, and neatly balanced between the tribes. As you may be aware, we are one of several colonies in the Haltermouth Nebula who are attempting a planetside colonization, with the hopes of one day pursuing terraforming in the vein of the colonies established within the realm of the Equestrian Core Worlds. To this effect, several bio-domes have been erected to facilitate Equestria-like conditions. It is in our agri-dome that the story of our little ones begins. In a section of the community garden, we planted the seeds of our year-long journey. The earth pony members of our class were given the goal of nurturing various cereal crops. The fledgling fliers of our pegasus class were assigned the task of assisting with low-scale weather manipulation. And the unicorns—as well as some very helpful atmospheric technicians—ensured the plants enjoyed a fair climate. While there were many complications due to the nature of our colony’s still-seeding magic, the students’ rye plants exhibited tremendous growth. When the time came, the students ventured out with tools in hoof, and worked with great fervor. The unicorns, who had been previously lamented by the others for their lack of ‘real work’, were praised by all when the results of the rye pulp produced such sturdy pieces. It was just as profound to Princess Luna upon her arrival. I must admit, I felt bold in speaking with the princess. I very dearly wished to be her friend, as the word she spread among the pioneers was truly inspiring. She was so keenly interested in our bio-domes, and especially interested in the conditions the students had managed in order to produce what many parents referred to as ‘obsolete things from centuries past’. Princess Luna did not see it that way. The moment she was introduced to our project, her infatuation knew no bounds. The princess offered the students and their families a day upon the Tantabus. While there were many worries over ‘wartime demonstrations’, these were easily proved unfounded. The royal magicians and technicians were all too happy to share their facilities, and the wonders of the universe, with the foals of Farrieway. The vessel—as the princess calls it—contains a data-bank. The exact specifications and properties of the vessel have been highly detailed by the magicians and technicians behind its creation, but I think one aspect is worth noting at present: the seamless loop of harmonic magic that enables the stasis of the students’ work. Without it, you might feel fearful to expose the gift to the world. The work will remain eternally preserved in both its digital and physical forms. The princess assures me that you are able to add the data-bank to your personal archives. Alongside the vessel’s designs, it contains a scanned copy of both scrolls’ contents, as you may find it difficult to preserve this second and much-less important scroll. In addition, it contains the files associated with the third message, and the talented writers behind each respective line. Please, press the button on the vessel anterior whenever you need to add a little more sunshine to your day. Sorry, I couldn’t resist! Thank you for you and your sister’s kindness! Your faithful subject, Skylark Twinkle Celestia slid the scroll back into the analysis team’s protective foil. She looked intently at the gray vessel, half-expecting it to open for her. Carefully, she placed one hoof on both of the cylinders, then pulled. The back of the vessel did not arch as she separated the cylinders: the magnetic forces holding it shut shattered easily under her coaxing movement. The spine of the vessel was rigid, and the whole unit stretched until it clicked into place. Placed flat against the gray space within, the scroll peered up at her. Celestia cast her eyes away from the scroll, not daring to read it until she’d found the third message. The blue button was smaller than she expected. Placed below the ethereal frame of magic, it was surprisingly cool. The tactile button, soft underhoof, went as far as she pressed, until it soundlessly stopped at its furthest point. Celestia leaned back with bated breath, watching the field of magic idly shimmer. Beyond it, the backlit scroll appeared dark against the room’s lavender sky. But that was merely a trick of the light. The vessel hummed against the table, and like the speakers against the Oracle’s walls, and it too, crackled. The giggles that faded quietly into the room were crisp around the edges. A quiet voice hushed the assembled crowd, and the vessel creaked like a skipping record. Suddenly, the fidelity sharply increased, and the crunch of noise gave way. Celestia’s ears pricked high as the silence broke into tangible sound. Her heart jumped again. This time, there was no pain; she allowed a soft smile to light her visage. Tears brimmed against the corners of her eyes. The distant star’s foals rose up in choir. And their words invoked the healing their princess so desperately needed.