//------------------------------// // Act II: Fire in Teawater, part 3 // Story: The World is Filled with Monsters // by Cold in Gardez //------------------------------// The blood conquered the room. It slicked the floorboards of the municipal attic, smothering the rough planks and swelling the wooden fibers with gore. It drowned the fallen candles, beading on their white tallow sides and soaking into the wicks. It suffused the air with its scent, a coppery, meaty tang that coated Vermilion’s tongue, crept into his nose and slathered his coat. He would smell like blood for days. They all would – an absent, detached part of his mind imagined sharing his bed with Rose Quartz in a few hours, dragging his muzzle through her mane, inhaling deeply, desperate to catch the scent of pepper and cotton that always attended her, or the stale dust of the unpaved streets, or the salt of her sweat. Anything but this blood. They tried to avoid stepping in it, of course. The pegasi hovered overhead, perching in the rafters and squeezing their wings tight against their sides. But the rest of them had no such option – to reach Botanique’s body, they stepped hoof after hoof through the blood. It splashed it onto their fetlocks. Tiny specks of it profaned Rose’s pale coat and dried into rusty flecks. He knew his own belly was likewise decorated with Botanique’s remains. And now they stood, arrayed around the mayor’s corpse. A few early rising flies had discovered the feast and filled the air with their buzz. “Tell me again,” Rose said. Her voice was calm and dispassionate, as if she were discussing one of her patients. “She was still alive when you found her, but…”  He told them. How the odd light flickering from the town hall’s highest floor caught his eye; how Piedmont tried to stop him on the stairs. The anguished expressions on the yokai’s faces as he arrived to witness the final act of their ritual. The terrible sound of Botanique’s body opening along hidden seams to spill her contents onto the floor. The horrified run to find his friends before the monsters could do the same to them. But the yokai had already fled. An hour before the dawn would have chased them away, they abandoned their hosts, leaping back into the shadows and crevices of the town like cockroaches scattering from the light. The confused ponies meandered about the still-dark green before wandering to their homes. All but Botanique, of course. No more home for her. He closed his eyes and tried to remember her as she had been, still smiling, welcoming, alive. “What killed her?” Zephyr asked. “The yokai are too weak. Even the most fearsome are just an illusion.” “They couldn’t harm a fly,” Cloud Fire echoed. His eyes traced the path of a fly buzzing above Botanique’s corpse. “So they said. But they had every reason to lie.” Rose took a careful step around Botanique’s corpse. Her hoof made a tacky, wet sound as she pulled it free from the blood. “Quicklime?” The little unicorn frowned. Her horn filled the room with a warm golden light, and pages of notes swirled around her like planets orbiting the sun. She squinted at the corpse and leaned in to inspect the long slice down Botanique’s midline that had opened her like a book. Her muzzle wrinkled in distaste, and she pulled away. “I’ve never heard of yokai doing this,” she finally said. “I don’t think anypony has. But before we came to Teawater, no one had ever heard of yokai possessing ponies, either. This might… no, this must be something else new.” “But why?” Cloudy asked. He leaned over, clinging upside-down to the bottom of the rafter to peer at the corpse splayed beneath him. “Everycreature was so happy. It was like they said – a paradise. Why kill one of their own?” “Monsters kill because they can.” Zephyr tip-toed along the rafter above Cloudy. She was the only one of them with the presence of mind to bring her weapon, and she held it loosely in one hoof. “They enjoy it.” “Do they?” Rose mumbled. “What was it Piedmont told you, Vermilion? When you found him up here?” Vermilion closed his eyes. “He said it wasn’t something they wanted. He begged me to leave and said we would assume the worst if we saw what they were doing. He said… they didn’t want it, but it was their nature.” “Their nature?” Zephyr asked. “How is this natural?” Silence responded. They each stared at the Botanique’s corpse, frozen in death. At the agonized expression stamped on her face. At the pool of blood that filled the tiny room and spilled down the stairs in a thick, clotted waterfall. When Quicklime finally spoke, Vermilion knew what her answer to Zephyr would be. He remembered watching it rise, phantom-like, from Botanique’s vivisected body, cycling through all the forms a yokai might be before evaporating into the ceiling. He tried not to wonder how many times it had happened before – where all the hundreds of yokai filling the town must have come from. “It’s reproduction,” Quicklime said. “It’s how new yokai are born.” * * * They buried Botanique at the edge of the almond orchards, in between the rows, where the last of the cultivated trees gave way to their wild kin that dotted the prairie extending west into the distance. Vermilion gathered her body. The others offered to help, but their hearts weren’t in it. So he made up some doggerel about earth ponies attending to their own, and he put all the pieces of her into a hasty pine box and dragged it down the gore-slick stairs to the hole the unicorns excavated with their magic. It was just a temporary measure, Rose said. Once they freed Teawater, the townsponies would surely give Botanique the last rites she deserved. The whole time, as they filled in her grave, a thought tumbled around in his mind. It repeated, mantra-like, outside his control. He found himself mumbling along, and he bit his lip to stop when Quicklime glanced too sharply in his direction. Don’t bury me on a farm. * * * They waited on the porch as twilight descended over the town. To the east, Simoom burned with the last rays of the setting sun. Slowly, gloom ascended the cloud city’s walls, chasing before it the yellow and gold and orange, until all that remained at the very pinnacle of the city was a fading, bruised red glow, and in moments even that vanished, and night swept across the world. The ponies of Teawater grew still. They froze in the streets, or fumbled to a stop in whatever half-hearted task occupied their addled days. The town fell silent as it waited for the arrival of its masters. And when the yokai finally came, creeping up from the shadows and the cracks between the floorboards to possess their hosts, they abandoned the fanfare of the first nights in town. There was nothing left to celebrate. “So, do we go to them, or…” Cloud Fire let the suggestion trail off. Out in the streets and on the town green, the fantastic forms of the newly arrived yokai shied away Vermilion and his friends. Those with wings took to the air, perching on the roofs or in the trees lining the green. The siren sank down into her well. The rest retreated as best they could, hiding in the darkness beyond the lanterns, huddled around the corners of shops and homes to peer out at their unwelcome guests. “They’ll come to us,” Vermilion said. He peered around at the empty green. “Let’s… let them make the first move.” So they waited. The moon rose in the east, climbing over the mountains and painting the edges of Simoom silver. Overhead, stars emerged as the last glow of the sun faded beneath the horizon. No yokai came. After an hour, Rose spoke for the rest of them. “They’re not coming.” “They will.” Piedmont would, surely. Vermilion studied the half-hidden faces peeking out from behind the walls. “I dunno, boss.” Zephyr’s hooves shuffled on the porch. Her wings flexed at her sides, betraying the nervous energy they all felt. “Maybe they’re more patient than we are,” Quicklime said. “They’re not patient. They’re terrified.” Rose squinted at the fleeting forms of the yokai. She had foregone her eyepatch, leaving the scar across her face exposed to the world. “There’s Enceladus. You said she was at the ritual?” Vermilion nodded. “She and Bijoux. And a few I didn’t recognize. And Piedmont, of course.” “Good.” Rose let out a long, trembling breath. “Alright. Cloud Fire, Zephyr, bring her here.” Cloud Fire’s wings twitched. “Uh…” He glanced at Vermilion, then Rose, and back to Vermilion. “Now, if you please.” Rose’s gaze didn’t waver from its target, hiding at the back of a group of yokai. Zephyr moved first. She jumped from the porch, her wings snapping out to launch her forward with startling speed. Cloudy was a heartbeat behind. They were already halfway to Enceladus before the yokai reacted. A few shouted in surprise, and the greater mass scattered. Enceladus only made it a step before the pegasi fell upon her, and she wailed as the pegasi seized her. “What are you doing?” Vermilion hissed. “What you won’t.” Enceladus struggled, and if she had just been an earth pony, she could have easily fought off a pair of pegasi. But she was an earth pony possessed by a yokai, and yokai were the weakest of spirits, barely more tangible than a spring breeze. Cloud Fire and Zephyr dragged her effortlessly to the porch and shoved her to her knees. She blubbered at them, tears running from her six eyes down the pearly scales covering her cheeks. “Shut up,” Rose snapped. She stepped down off the porch in front of Enceladus. “You were there last night, with Botanique.” “P-please, I—” “Shut up!” A soft glow began to build around Rose’s horn, chasing away the night. Enceladus’s scales reflected it like a thousand gentle stars. “You killed her. Tell us—” “No!” Enceladus shook her head frantically. “It’s not like that. We didn’t kill her! We were helping—” Rose’s hoof silenced her. Enceladus’ head rocked to the side. A broken tooth tumbled out onto the dirt. She stared down at it, stunned. “Celestia,” Quicklime whispered. Then, to Vermilion, “Do something, Cherry.” “Uh…” He swallowed. Louder: “Rose, uh…” But Rose wasn’t listening to him anymore. Her magic gripped Enceladus by the jaw and dragged her face back around.  “You weren’t helping her,” she spat. “I’m a healer. I know what helping means. It doesn’t mean slicing somepony open from breastbone to groin and spilling out all their organs. We call that murder.” From somewhere hidden on her person she produced a penknife, a tiny thing with an inch-long blade, and she pressed its point in between the scales at the top of Enceladus’ sternum. A little bead of blood appeared. Everypony started moving. Enceladus tried to scream through the magic holding her jaw shut. Cloud Fire and Zephyr jerked at the sight of the knife, momentarily losing their grip on the struggling yokai before seizing her again. Quicklime hopped down from the porch, her own horn beginning to glow with power. The crowd of yokai had crept closer, and now they were shouting. Rose leaned forward until her muzzle was only inches from Enceladus, and her lips moved with some whispered words too quiet for Vermilion to hear – for anyone to hear, except perhaps Enceladus herself, but the yokai only kept screaming. And Vermilion did nothing. He could react faster than thought when ambushed by monsters in the woods but could do nothing here except stutter. He opened his mouth to try again— “Stop!” Another voice cut through the chaos. Everypony froze – even Enceladus ceased her screaming, though a pitiful, moaning whimper continued. Her whole body shook in the pegasi’s grip. Rose straightened, peering over her captive at Piedmont, who stood a few steps away.  “Please,” Piedmont said, softer. “I’ll tell you everything you want. But let her go. She can’t help you.” Rose nodded ever so slightly. Cloud Fire and Zephyr flung themselves away from Enceladus as though glad to be free of her. They settled atop the rafters over the porch, peering down like owls. Enceladus stumbled away from Rose. She managed to get onto all six feet, then spun and embraced Piedmont. Her body shook with quiet sobs. He whispered something and turned, giving her a gentle push toward the crowd of yokai behind them. She vanished into the chaos of fantastic limbs and wings and dreamlike forms. Rose folded her knife and vanished it somewhere. She took a long, deep breath, then turned and walked back up the porch beside Vermilion. The tips of her ears trembled in time with her pulse. He could feel her heart hammering through the faint vibrations of the floorboards. “We just want answers,” Vermilion said. It was a lie, of course – coming to Teawater had never been about answers, it was always about destroying monsters. And now, after days of hiding themselves behind glorious manifold masks, the monsters of Teawater were revealed. With Botanique’s death all their qualms could be set aside. No wonder Piedmont was so desperate to keep Vermilion from seeing the ritual in the attic. “That’s what you want, fine.” Piedmont’s huge golden eyes shifted to Rose. “But what does she want? Which of you is in charge?” I am in charge, he wanted to say. But was that still true? He didn’t feel in charge. His pause gave Rose the opening she needed. “We’re all equals,” she said. “And we all want the same thing. To free the ponies of Teawater from your possession.” “Oh, you’re here to help.” A sneer wrinkled Piedmont’s long, canine muzzle. “Is that what you were doing to Enceladus? What was it you said? You know what helping means?” Vermilion took a step forward. “A mare is dead, Piedmont. You told us Teawater was a miracle. You said your hosts were living out their dreams. That wasn’t what I saw last night. What are you doing to these ponies?” “We didn’t…” Piedmont paused. His long, pink tongue emerged to lap at his muzzle. “ What you saw… it was something that had to happen. But the rest of us were just there to watch. To make sure nothing went wrong.” “Nothing went wrong?” Vermilion gawped at him. “Piedmont, she died! What do you mean, nothing went wrong?” “There’s no simple answer.” He glanced over his shoulder again. Every yokai in the village seemed to be gathered along the edges of the green or perched on the roofs above. “Our life cycle isn’t the same as yours. New yokai aren’t just born the way ponies are.” “It’s a bit more complex than that,” Quicklime said. She ducked at Amorak’s frustrated glance. “A new yokai can only be born when an old one dies,” he continued. “It’s rare. In my lifetime I’ve only seen it happen three times. Seven centuries I’ve been alive, Vermilion, and before Teawater I’d only seen three new yokai come into the world.” Wait. “What do you mean, before Teawater?” Piedmont’s tongue lapped at his muzzle again. The comically small gossamer wings sprouting from his shoulders stirred up a small breeze with their frantic buzz. “Before Teawater…” Vermilion prompted again. “You can’t understand what it’s like,” Piedmont said. “I can’t explain—” “Then perhaps Enceladus can,” Rose said. She peered over Piedmont at the swarm of yokai. “Should I ask her?” “No!” Piedmont jumped to his feet, hopping up onto his back legs to intercept Rose’s gaze. “No, that’s not necessary. It’s just… you’re going to be angry.” “I am already angry, Piedmont,” she said. “So angry you might do something rash. Like, try to hurt us, which would only hurt our hosts. We love them, and we don’t want anything to happen to them.” “That’s not what I saw last night,” Vermilion said. “I know. I know.” Piedmont closed his eyes. “Please believe me, all of you, we don’t want this. We didn’t ask for our nature. We would give anything to change it. All that any of us ever wanted was just to be ponies, like you. Teawater lets us do that. No more languishing for centuries in a world of shadow and mist, Vermilion. We can be alive, just like you are, and that means dying, just like you do, and letting a new life replace us. It is the only thing we ever wanted and we can finally do it here.” “And your hosts?” Rose asked. She peered over him again, her eyes slowly sweeping across the swarm. She was counting, he realized. “They fuel the process,” Piedmont said. All the energy had left his voice. “We steal their life essence. This masquerade, this dreaming festival we put on for them… it’s how we repay them.” “And how much do you steal?” Rose asked. She was still counting. He shrugged. “It’s not a precise thing. Perhaps… perhaps a decade of life for every year that passes.” Luna help us. Vermilion stared down at his hooves. A few flecks of Botanique’s blood still stained their furrows and grooves. He imagined he could smell it. “How many new yokai have there been, since you came to Teawater?” he asked. Piedmont was slow to respond. Vermilion was about to repeat the question when he finally answered. “Seventeen.” * * * “Seventeen.” Rose’s voice was a hiss, seething with frustration. “Seventeen ponies they’ve killed, and we’ve been treating Teawater like a vacation! Making friends with them!” They had retreated into the guestrooms after the confrontation with Piedmont. Outside, through the uncurtained windows, they watched the yokai go about a semblance of their previous welcoming ritual, setting out tables laden with food and drink. But their motions were furtive, interrupted by frightened glances toward the guest house, and the victuals they laid out were plain and half-hearted compared with the lavish feasts of the nights before. They were, it seemed, too afraid to host a proper party tonight. “We were learning about them,” Vermilion said. “We didn’t know what they were doing to their hosts. And we never would’ve learned if we hadn’t taken that time.” “I dunno, boss,” Zephyr said. She stretched out on the bed, her spear at her side. She nibbled at her wing and spat out a tiny fluff of down. “We always knew they were monsters. And what do monsters always do? Kill ponies. All I think we learned were their methods.” “They’re good ponies, though,” Cloud Fire said. At Rose’s glance, he amended, “Creatures, monsters, whatever you want to call them. We’ve all spoken with them. They’re friendly and loyal and they genuinely care for their hosts.” “You got to know a few of them pretty well,” Quicklime said.  Cloudy frowned at her. His feathers puffed up. “And? What’s that supposed to mean?” “It’s just an observation. We all used different methods.” She pointed a hoof at Zephyr. “Zephyr watched them constantly, never letting any of them get close to her. I took notes and drew sketches. Cherry talked to their leaders. And you got to know them personally, as friends. There’s nothing wrong with any of those techniques, but I think it may be coloring how each of us view the yokai now.” “They are sympathetic creatures, certainly,” Rose said. “Piedmont wasn’t lying to us. I don’t think they want to murder their hosts, but it’s their nature.” What was it he had told Piedmont, all those nights ago? Not all monsters are evil, but all monsters are incompatible with ponies. They will destroy us if we do not destroy them. “Maybe they can change, then,” Cloudy said. He hopped on the bed beside Zephyr. “Help them find a new nature.” “They can’t change their nature,” Zephyr said. She leaned up and gently tugged on his wing with her teeth, pulling him down beside her, and started carefully preening through his ruffled feathers to settle them back into place. “Imagine a wolf. It might be the kindest, most loyal, most generous wolf in existence, but it still eats lambs. To the sheep, it will always be a monster, and no matter how good the wolf may be, it can only live by eating the sheeps’ children. They can never have peace.” “So, what, we just kill them all? Who exactly is the wolf in this metaphor?” He pointed a hoof at Rose. “And what was that, out there? Were you really going to cut Enceladus open? She was begging you to stop!” “Of course I wasn’t,” Rose said. Her chin tilted up in that subconscious pose unicorns so often took when speaking to the other tribes. “That would have just hurt the real Enceladus. But somepony needed to do something to get answers. Waiting clearly wasn’t working.” Her gaze shifted to Vermilion at that word, at that accusatory waiting. The pegasi glanced at him, then down at their hooves. Quicklime looked between them in silence. “What you did worked. But we hadn’t agreed as a team yet—” “Somepony has to lead us,” Rose said. She took a step into the center of the room. “We’ve followed you from the beginning, Vermilion, but only because you took that task upon yourself. If you won’t act when necessary, one of the rest of us will.” He took his time before answering. This was thin ice to be treading upon. “Alright. What do you think we should do now, Rose?” She nodded slowly. Perhaps she felt the ice creaking as well. “Quicklime has an idea.” “Idea is a strong word,” Quicklime said. Her notebook floated over and opened itself on the floor, its bindings unraveling and scattering an array of papers in a chaotic assemblage of notes and diagrams. “We’ve been stuck so far because the yokai are inseparable from their hosts. We can’t hurt the monsters without hurting the ponies too. So I’ve been working on a spell that can separate them, or at least let us perceive them as separate. Then we could… well, hurting the yokai wouldn’t hurt its host. If it works.” “So we could kill them,” Zephyr said. “Or just threaten them?” Cloudy said. “If they knew we had this spell, they might agree to leave. Nopony would have to die.” “That would be their choice,” Rose said. “How soon could you have this ready, Quicklime?” Quicklime grunted. Her notes lifted up from the floor and floated together, reassembling themselves into a book that she slipped into her saddlebags. “Another day or two, at least. It’s not just one spell – it’s a combination of spells that would all need to work at the same time.” “Good. It’s agreed, then,” Rose said. “Quicklime will finish this spell, and we’ll offer the yokai a choice: leave the town or be destroyed. Their fates can be in their hooves.” That didn’t feel agreed. That felt like Rose making a decision. The others must’ve felt the same way, for they exchanged silent looks. But none of them spoke up, and neither did he. Rose gave them a wan smile. “I know everypony feels a bit… unsettled, right now. The lack of sleep today didn’t help. And I’m sorry if I stepped on anypony’s hooves. But we have a path forward. Let’s get some food, try to stay up until dawn, and then get some rest. Quicklime, I’d like to talk about the spell a bit more, if you please.” The unicorns retreated to the inner room to discuss arcane matters. And the rest of them went out into the village of the yokai again. * * * The night slid by quickly. Vermilion ventured into the village, but the yokai kept their distances. Piedmont and Enceladus were nowhere to be seen. The siren in the well retreated back into her depths when he approached the green. Overhead, the flying yokai gave him a wide berth. He might as well have been the monster. But you didn’t kill Botanique. He wondered where the newborn yokai had gone after the ritual. He saw it vanish into the rafters, and presumably it kept rising, higher and higher, until nopony on the ground could have told its glow apart from any of the myriad stars in the sky. And then, perhaps, it would swoop down on some unsuspecting pony and make them its host. What town was it in now? Or was it still a wanderer in the land of mist and shadow that the yokai called their home? He could ask the yokai. But he doubted they would tell him. The buffet was a meager imitation of the previous nights. Some breads, some fruits, a few drinks. He picked at the offerings half-heartedly. “Um…” A quiet voice behind him broke his musings. He turned to see Umbra, the little filly, crouched a few paces away. She shook with barely suppressed fear but took another step toward him. “D-do you… do you want anything more? F-for food,” she stammered. “I c-can g-get it for you.” He sank to his knees and dipped his head, until his eyes were more-or-less on level with hers. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.” “Y-you came here to k-kill us. I think I do.” He glanced around the green. A few other yokai were visible along the perimeter, keeping their distances. “Is that what the grown-ups told you?” She shook her head. “I’m as old as they are, m-my host just happens to be a foal. I saw what Rose did. I know what she wants.” Ah. “And what do you want?” “To be left alone. T-to let us have Teawater.” “If we do that, everypony here will die. In a few years your host will die, and you too. Is that what you want for her?” Umbra shook her head again. “Of course n-not! But we can’t help what we are, and in the few years we have with our hosts, they’ll get to live a fantastic dream, unlike anything any normal pony gets to experience. If you lived on a farm like they did, wouldn’t you trade a long, boring life for a life of dreams, no matter how short?” He found he had no answer for that. Eventually he stood and went back to the guest house, leaving poor, befuddled Umbra behind. * * * They forced themselves to remain awake until dawn approached. Exhaustion nibbled at the edges of Vermilion’s mind, cramping the long muscles of his neck with every twist and turn. Even the little bread and fruit in his belly sat like lead. But they waited until the yokai vanished with the arriving sun before settling themselves into bed. The mattress shifted as Rose climbed in behind him. She groaned quietly atop the covers. “I really wish these windows had curtains.” “If you’re tired enough, you can sleep through anything,” he offered. “Then I should be able to sleep through the end of the world.” She yawned and squeezed up against his back. Her hoof wrapped around his chest, toying absently with the ruff of coat running down his breastbone. He cleared his throat. “Did you work out the spell with Quicklime?” “Almost. We’re close.” Her breath was hot on his neck. She dug her muzzle into his mane. The spiraled ridges of her horn brushed his ear. What happened sleeping through the end of the world? “When will it be ready?” “Not tomorrow, I don’t think. The night after, though. We’ll give the yokai one last chance to leave Teawater.” She shifted her weight, almost rolling atop him. Her lips found the rim of his ear and began nibbling. And then we can kill them. Put an end to the lethal dream that was Teawater. He shivered. Rose froze. “Are you alright, Vermilion?” “Sorry, just… just tired. Why don’t we get some sleep?” He carefully slid out from beneath her and scooted a few inches away. Rose didn’t answer. After a few seconds the mattress shifted as she settled back down. The heat of her presence against his back ebbed away, and he could almost pretend the bed was his alone. Except for the damn smell of Botanique’s blood. * * * They woke, as usual, a few hours before dusk. Rose was silent as she left the bed, giving his shoulder a brief touch with her nose before heading out the door. Outside, the faint sounds of a town consumed by lassitude continued. He lay atop the sheets. The scent of dust slowly replaced Rose. Quiet voices trickled out from the other room as Quicklime and the pegasi woke. No tensions in there. Somepony has to lead us. Rose hadn’t meant it like an accusation, but it still hung in the air like one. He rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, where spindly little spiders hid between the wood beams supporting the ceiling. Some of them hadn’t moved in all the days since they’d arrived in Teawater. They might not move for months, until some hapless gnat bumbled into their webs, joining the dozens of desiccated corpses hanging there already. The spider wasn’t evil. But, he allowed, gnats might disagree. With a grunt he pushed himself up, rolled out of bed, and went to join the drowsing ponies of Teawater. For all the drama of the past nights, the town hadn’t changed. But now that he knew the yokai’s secret, little signs unveiled themselves. The too-many homes. The odd number of single parents. Unattended businesses. All things he’d noticed before but discounted as unrelated to the yokai’s possession. He saw them now with fresh eyes, and knew with unwanted certainty that if he cataloged all the derelict homes and businesses and the farms with not quite enough ponies, he would find seventeen empty spaces – seventeen ponies whose absence couldn’t be waved away as the result of chance or migration or premature deaths. Seventeen victims of monsters. A few ponies lounged on the green, enjoying the cool breeze washing east from the river. It smelled like the desert with a hint of oak bark, a tannic scent that would color his memories of this place for all his remaining days. Teawater. He stopped by the well. Its depths were shrouded in shadows so deep that even his sharp, Luna-gifted eyes couldn’t see the water below. But he heard it lapping gently at the stone walls, echoing up to him like the sound of the ocean from an enormous seashell. “Anypony down there?” he called, not expecting an answer. One came anyway. He jumped as Zephyr answered behind him: “I hope not. Ponies drink that water.” He patted the stone rim beside him, and she joined him to peer down into the well. “What about the siren? She’s down there all night.” “That’s different. Sirens are supposed to be in water.” She gave him a little flick on the shoulder with her tail. “Besides, I’ve seen how you and Cloudy look at her. Don’t tell me you don’t want her down there.” He glanced into the depths again. In just a few hours, some drowsing mare would follow the setting sun here, to where they now stood, and climb up the rim of the well. An unknown, irresistible urge would tip her over the edge, into the waiting arms of the lurking yokai, and together mare and yokai would become the dazzling, luminescent, scaled and frilled siren that coiled and sang in the water below. A siren, though as false as any of the monsters here, still dripping with fecund charms, infecting him with fevers of flesh and lust and wet embraces, climaxing with a burst of inebriating, all-consuming animal pleasure before ending in the welcome annihilation of her countless, awl-like teeth. Yes, he did want that in the well. What stallion wouldn’t? A forbidden sexual treasure, lurking just out of sight, where he could forever fantasize about taming it; tasting the release she offered but escaping the death just behind. His groin twitched as the idea and blood flowed from his mind to his all-too eager body. What stallion wouldn’t want such a hidden promise, just one poor decision away? He stepped back from the stone rim. There was another reason he wanted the siren down there, though not the one Zephyr probably imagined – down there wasn’t up here, and few things in the village frightened him more than the idea of that monstrous, irresistible wyrm being up here with him. “Can’t disagree with you there,” he said. The sun was near the horizon now, and he decided not to be there when the siren-mare arrived for her transfiguration. Zephyr trotted with him out to the edge of town, where the last few ponies were trudging in from their labor in the fields. He wondered, again, if the villagers knew what awaited them. Was it dread or anticipation that drove them onward, back into the arms of the yokai? “Are we doing the right thing?” he asked. A long, quiet sigh preceded Zephyr’s answer. “I don’t know, boss. But I’ve been watching these yokai for nights now, watching them while you debate and Quicklime draws and Cloudy flirts. And I think I finally know what they are – vultures. They found a town of weak ponies, worn down by the fear the Nightmare is casting all over the world outside Equestria, and it was the chance they needed. They’re eating these ponies while we watch.” Overhead, the dimming sky swirled with shadows. Pinpricks of starlight appeared in the firmament, blinking in and out of sight as the arriving spirits passed across them. In the shadows of the orchard trees, tar-like shapes rose from the ground – monsters, waking from slumber, seeking out their hosts. The yokai returned to Teawater. “They’re not evil, though,” he said. It was, admittedly, hard to square with the invasion of spirits all around them. “Yeah.” She shrugged. “But they’re still eating them.” A high, tremulous note caught his ear. It fell and rose in gentle crescendos, a half-familiar, half-heard melody that sank like a hook into his mind, and he knew, if he could just get a little closer, hear the mesmerizing song a little more clearly, he would remember the rest of the tune. He found himself standing, turned back toward the town, one leg already raised.  Only Zephyr’s hoof had stopped him. Her touch woke him from the trance, and he shook his head to banish the rest of the song. The siren was awake. Together, clear-headed, they walked back toward the town. * * * The rest of their team was waiting on the green, surrounded at a wary distance by an assemblage of yokai. The wild menagerie parted as he and Zephyr approached. Rose Quartz gave him a small nod, and when he was close enough, leaned her head forward to whisper. “Do you want to tell them?” No, he didn’t. But the yokai might listen to him – Rose would just terrify them again. So he nodded and stepped toward the crowd of monsters. A few shied away, but enough of them knew him – had spoken with him, ate food with him, shared the details of their hosts’ lives with him – that they crowded closer. He raised his voice, so the entire village could hear. “We came to Teawater to rescue its ponies. At the time, we didn’t know the nature of the danger posed to the town. And as I have gotten to know you and your hosts, I hoped I would find a compromise. A solution that would let us live in peace. But after seeing Botanique’s death, and learning what will happen to all your hosts, I cannot see a way forward any longer. This is your ultimatum.” The yokai stirred as he spoke. A few leapt up onto the roofs, hissing at him. The dreamora basking above the bonfire swelled with smoke, growing dark and tumescent. Within the crowd, Piedmont pushed his way forward, coming to a stop at the fore. “You can’t threaten us,” he said. “You can’t harm us without harming our hosts. You know that, Vermilion! What do you hope—” “What if we could?” Rose asked.  The crowd went still. Never had Vermilion been in the midst of so many living creatures yet amid such silence. He took a quick breath before continuing. “Our team has developed a spell that will destroy you,” he said. “It will purge you from your hosts and kill you. It will end all this.” Piedmont’s lips peeled back, revealing the wolf’s teeth. “Why not use it, then? Aren’t you eager to?” His eyes darted back toward Rose as he spoke. “We’re not unreasonable,” she said. She had donned her eyepatch for this event, and she turned her head to scan the entire crowd. “Vermilion mentioned a compromise. Well, here is the compromise I offer: You have tonight. Enjoy this life you are stealing for one last night, because tomorrow it ends. When the dawn comes, abandon your hosts, depart Teawater, and never return.” Piedmont glared at her. “Or you’ll kill us.” “Yes.” He turned to Vermilion. “You’ll allow this? This will make you happy, Vermilion? A slaughter?” You have to know what happiness is. For a moment he could almost imagine Canopy hovering behind him, asking the question.  “It is duty,” he said. “The duty we owe to our liege. But we also owe it to the ponies of Teawater. We cannot allow this… this slow devouring of their lives. If you won’t…” His throat was dry, parched by the enormity of his words, and he swallowed before continuing. “Please, Piedmont. I don’t want to kill any of you. Please leave.” Piedmont did leave, at that. But not in the way Vermilion wanted – the amorak snarled at him and spun around, loping off into the darkness that engulfed Teawater. The other yokai backed away fearfully, lurking in the shadows and the edges of the buildings, always watching them. “That could’ve gone better,” Cloud Fire said. “It still might,” Rose said. “When they feel the dawn approaching, they will flee. They don’t want to die.” “And if they refuse?” Zephyr asked. Her wings flexed, feathers bristling. Rose shrugged. “Then we’ll be ready.” * * * The yokai made every attempt to change their minds. Teawater’s final haunted night became a desperate celebration of the dreams they lived on behalf of the town’s poor, possessed ponies. Look, said the yokai’s unspoken pleas, look how glorious every night can be for these dreamers. See how amazing their lives are, now that we live for them. The feast returned. Spirits laid out table after table in the green, piling them so high with food that their wood feet sank into the grass. A mountain of pastries rose above Vermilion’s head, capped with a frosted summit of chocolate-drizzled eclairs and surrounded by a dozen tureens of honey and syrup and caramel and jellied fruits. Beside it steamed a meadow of gourds – pumpkins and slender calabash, mottled bitter squash and ripe, brilliant tinda, winter melons and zucchini all slathered in butter or stuffed with legumes. The powerful, aromatic scent of garlic and onion suffused the air above them, while sprigs of mint and rosemary nestled between the round, weeping fruits. One table was laid out with coals, its surface charred and smoking, and above it on skewers cooked fish for the pegasi. A salmon as long as Vermilion’s leg stared blindly up at the sky, its skin slowly goldening in the heat. A sharp wood spear lanced an eel’s folded body again and again, weaving through sizzling meat to suspend it over the fire. An impromptu concert broke out around the bonfire. The changelings led the way, setting an echoing beat with their drums, and other yokai joined in the song. Enceladus brought out her flute, and the kirin Bijoux sat beside her, strumming a long-necked biwa with her magic. The combination of drums, woodwinds and the plaintive, sharp strings of the biwa was like nothing Vermilion had ever heard, but rather than discordant he found the melody pleasing to his ears. Alien, but not unwelcome. Above the town, the winged yokai challenged the pegasi to feats of aerial prowess. They brought clouds down low, packing them into stiles and ramps, and whirled around them like giant bats. They twirled in elaborate, gliding dances that reminded Vermilion of the courtship rites of the frigatebirds over his family farm. They raced through the streets, hooves and scales and claws brushing the heads of the yokai or ponies beneath, oblivious to anything but the intoxication of speed. As midnight approached, they set out a platform on the green and staged a play for his enjoyment. He sat beside Rose and watched the story of two lovers, a winged serpent with brilliant white plumage and a jet-black lion whose eyes glowed like lanterns, whose passion for each other was exceeded only by their fear of death. In the end, each concocted a plan to siphon their love of the other into a philter of immortality; each plan worked, and they lived forever, their hearts turned to stone. Yokai posed for Quicklime’s sketches and drew their own of her. Yokai plied Rose with books and baubles and magical charms to unconsciously direct ponies’ attention to the left half of her face. They rolled out barrels of spirits – the alcoholic kind – to reward Zephyr and Cloudy for their aerial prowess. Finally, Piedmont found him, away from the hustle of the green and the raucous celebrations. The wolf-like amorak settled down at Vermilion’s side and gazed up at the moon with him. “You haven’t eaten anything,” he said. From somewhere he produced a tiny plate laden with pastries and set it on the grass between them. Vermilion nodded. “I don’t want to send the wrong message.” Piedmont raised an eyebrow. “That you like food?” “That I’m accepting a quid pro quo. I don’t want to make them think I’ve changed my mind.” Still, since it was just the two of them, he leaned down to nibble at a flakey croissant. “It would make the baker happy just to know that you enjoyed their gift,” Piedmont said. “Would you deny them that pleasure?” “Happiness again.” Vermilion let out a breath. “Why can’t you just leave? Free these ponies. You said you’ve lived for centuries – so go back to living out those centuries in peace.” Piedmont didn’t reply. He stared up at the night sky, the little gossamer wings sprouting from his shoulders wafting the air with each gentle caress. Eventually, a lone cloud blew across the moon, its edges rimmed in silver light. “You have to understand, Vermilion. Those centuries aren’t worth living,” Piedmont finally said. “We’re like ghosts. Once a month, on the night of the new moon, we can gather around ponies’ homes and briefly, briefly share their lives, donning the appearance of their dreams as we walk through their streets. It’s why ponies call us tricksters – they see us that one night a month, wearing their own memories as our garb, and they assume it is our true nature. But they are only seeing a reflection of themselves, and when the sun rises, we return to mist. It is a pale imitation of the life you have.” “Then how are you doing this?” He reached out a hoof to touch Piedmont’s shoulder. The shaggy, wiry fur felt just like a real wolf’s. Piedmont inclined his muzzle toward the moon. “Up there. Between the stars, we can hear the Nightmare’s call. It sympathizes with us, Vermilion. It pities everything unloved by the sun, everything you call monsters, everything chased into the corners of the world or hunted into extinction by the Equestrians. It showed us Teawater, and how to use its night, its new darkness, to possess our hosts.” Vermilion flinched away. “You… you’re in league with it? You serve it?” Piedmont shook his head. “No. The Nightmare is a god of pure malice, while we yokai are creatures of love. But we are desperate, Vermilion, and desperation makes for strange allies. The Nightmare… I cannot understand its thoughts – it is alien and incomprehensible to me – but it seeks a revolution. A setting of the sun for a thousand years. And we pitiful creatures shunned by the day will be its favored children.” “And your hosts?” He stood, then forced himself to sit again, lest he do something regrettable. “You love them, you said, but you are killing them. You are stealing their lives to live out your own. You’re… Zephyr was right. You’re eating them.” “Eating them…” Piedmont closed his eyes. “Oh, Vermilion. Soon, when the Nightmare is triumphant and the world is remade, our hosts will be the luckiest ponies. Their lives will be short, but they will still know joy. That is more than you will be able to offer them.” Vermilion saw it again. The same image that first plagued him in the hospital after Hollow Shades, and then in Lord Graymoor’s blood-soaked mirror, and then in the profane shrine in Cirrane. A new darkness, rising to wash over the world, snuffing out all the lights of civilization. The yokai were its unwitting servants, more to be pitied than feared, but they were still part of its grand, dark design. He stepped around in front of Piedmont. “Piedmont, I am begging you. Neither I nor Rose want to kill any of you, but we will. We have to. Please, please, do not make us do this.” Piedmont’s muzzle twisted, and finally he looked away. “You’re a good pony, Vermilion. I know you’ll do the right thing.” He stood and jumped away into the darkness, leaving Vermilion alone with the night. * * * Dawn found them morose and exhausted. By the end of the night, the yokai’s pleadings had taken a desperate turn. They begged Vermilion and his friends. They wept. They pushed little Umbra to the front of the crowd, to make sure the team saw her frightened countenance at every turn. And when, at last, the dawn flowed in from the east, the yokai vanished, and the confused ponies of Teawater stumbled back to their waking lives. “Do you think they’ll leave?” Cloud Fire asked. “I hope so,” Quicklime offered. Charcoal from her pencils smudged her lips. “Doubt it,” Zephyr said. “They’re hoping we’re too weak to carry this through.” “A poor gamble on their part.” Rose seemed more tired than the rest of them, and he wondered how much sleep she was getting. The daylight streaming in through the curtainless windows certainly bothered her more than the rest of them. It struck him, then, that the other room had no windows – even at noon it was dark as pitch. The pegasi could barely have slept otherwise. And yet, she insisted on sleeping with him. A queasy sense of shame roiled through him at the memory of his behavior toward her. They couldn’t leave Teawater soon enough. “Is the spell ready?” “The spells, you mean,” Quicklime said. “And yes, basically.” “Basically?” She shrugged. “I might have to wing it a bit. We’ll see tomorrow. Tonight. Whatever. I’m going to bed.” With that she turned and hopped up onto the porch, vanishing into the mayor’s house. “I think she has the right idea,” Rose said. She gave the pegasi each a bump with her nose, then snagged Vermilion’s mane in her teeth and tugged him inside. It was such a familiar gesture – one mothers across Equestria used to corral their foals – that he had to smile. They settled atop the covers. Vermilion waited until the ruckus in the other room quieted, and then rolled over to face Rose, an apology on his lips. He would kiss her, and if she wanted, they might do something more, curious ears be damned. But she was already asleep. He lay there, watching her breath for a while, and gently pushed himself out of bed. “Muh?” He looked back to see Rose looking groggily at him. “Nothing,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” “Mm.” Rose rolled over. Her horn glowed fitfully for a moment, tugging at the sheets. He waited until her breath slowed and her ears sagged, and when he was sure she was asleep, he carefully unbuckled the side pouch on his rucksack, easing the straps loose until they fell silently slack, and he pulled Canopy’s journal out. The door creaked as he opened it, and he supposed that might have woken Rose again, but by then he was outside and trotting through the somnolescent town. Drowsing ponies swayed on their hooves as he passed. In time, he reached the orchards outside town. Rows of stately apple trees, their boughs heavy with unharvested fruit, marched in orderly rows across the rolling acres. He paused to grab an apple from the branch, chomping it down in a few bites. Overripeness softened it, but he had eaten worse. The sweet scent of rot rose from the fallen and burst fruits littering the ground. At last, he reached the final rows. The brilliant green of the trees gave way to wild amber grasses that stretched across the prairie out to the horizon. There were, he presumed, more towns out there, more ponies building lives and communities outside the Sister’s domain. He stopped at the edge of the known world and let the newly risen sun warm his bones. It was not, he decided, a terrible place to be buried. Especially if you loved apples. He turned away from the distant horizon and settled down on the freshly churned dirt that covered Botanique’s grave. He cradled Canopy’s journal in his crossed legs and opened it to the middle. Cramped paragraphs of notes on some long-past exercise filled the page. He flipped back through the book, finding the dog-eared page that contained her musings on the afterlife, and read through it again. What is stopping us from being good now? The answer, of course, was that the world was too complex to simply decide to be good. What was good for the ponies of Teawater would destroy the yokai who haunted them. Being good required discernment – the wisdom to understand the world and weigh all its myriad facets. It required sound judgments based on that wisdom. And, most of all, it required the courage to execute those judgements. And the poor ponies of Teawater relied on him for all those things. He, who was neither wise nor sound of judgment nor particularly brave. Teawater needed a pony like Canopy, but all they had was a pale imitation of the mare – a callow earth pony carting around a copy of her journal. He turned to another page toward the end of the book. On it, Canopy described the Company’s trudge through Gloom’s Edge on the way to Hollow Shades, their discovery of the webs, and most astonishingly his own name. Quicklime came to me afterward. She was upset that she hadn’t spotted the webs last night or understood this morning that they were old and unused. We burned an hour of the day because of her misapprehensions. Across two-hundred ponies, that is nearly eight days worth of hours. With one single slip she wasted the equivalent of an entire pony’s week. That is how her mind works – calculations and efficiencies. She knows how out-of-place she is in the Company and dreads the idea that she might inconvenience or delay us, and now all her worries have been confirmed. She barely kept herself from crying as we spoke. Oh, Quicklime. If only you could watch me for a day, and see how many foolish errors I make just getting the Company through breakfast. Before you joined us, I sent Electrum on a wild goose chase researching the history of Gloom’s Edge and Hollow Shades, when it turned out Picadilly had already produced just such a report, and I forgot it under a pile of paper on my desk. Poor Buckeye and his quartermasters have refurbished, restocked and returned wagons full of extra cold-weather gear I thought we would need on this mission, when it turned out we already had a warehouse full of the stuff, left over from last year’s maneuvers. Quicklime, you are upset that you wasted the Company’s time for an hour? I have wasted months, and I can only pray that waste will not bring us to some terrible end. I do not think it will – the ponies of the Company are skilled and resourceful and brave, and the Princesses consider me the best officer to lead them. But I do wonder if Major Corinthium ever felt the same way. I told her these things. I told her I could spend my life on the verge of tears, torn by guilt and shame for my errors. Or I can press onward, wings taut, and tackle the next challenge, hopefully wiser for my mistakes. We cannot change the past. We can only do better next time. Addendum: Asked Vermilion to shadow her. Will be good for them both. Huh. He reread the passage a few times, squaring it with his memories. So many things that had later transpired – his knowledge of the spiders, his friendship with Quicklime, her place on the team and all the ponies she had saved with her magic – all due to this one, off-the-cuff decision by the Major. “I wish you were still with us.” He closed the book and brushed his hoof against its canvas cover, imagining what their adventures would be like with Canopy as their leader, rather than him. He yawned. Sleep hadn’t been good to him, either. He set his cheek down atop the book and let his eyes drift shut, even as the rising sun washed over him with welcome warmth. The soft earth, not yet riddled by the passage of worms, embraced him. He slept atop one dead mare’s grave and dreamt of another. * * * They convened again in the green. An east wind, blowing in from the approaching night, kicked up dust from the desert and cast a shroud over Teawater, obscuring the horizon with haze and coloring the whole world a vivid orange. To the west, the setting sun was a brilliant red orb, dim enough to stare at without fear. Streaks of purple clouds banded the thin stretch of sky beneath it. “Maybe they won’t come,” Cloud Fire whispered. He sat beside Zephyr, their spears resting on the grass between them. “We’ll see,” Vermilion said. “Quicklime, how does this work?” The little mare stood a few steps away, in a clear area demarcated by chalk diagrams and strings and dozens of notes pinned to the earth with stakes. She looked up from her books. “The first spell will be a barrier.” She touched one of the notes with her hoof, then indicated a spool of copper wire unwound around her in a spiral. At various points in the spiral the wire knotted around tiny charms and fetishes – a raven’s feather, a blood-smeared stone. “It blocks ponies from passing but not spirits. The yokai will be able to escape, but they won’t be able to take their hosts with them.” Next she touched four glass vials hovering in the air, surrounded by the faint glow of her magic. They were blocky and thick, the glass filled with bubbles, and stoppered with some sort of black wax. “You’ll drink these to activate the next spell. It’s more of a, uh, a preparatory evocation, to ensure the final spell takes hold and doesn’t slip off immediately.” “What’s the last spell, then?” Cloudy asked. “Will it hurt?” “I don’t think so?” Quicklime tilted her head, as though the question had never occurred to her. “It’s a sort of summoning spell, but in reverse. It modifies your phase space ever so slightly out of tune with this universe. While it lasts, the yokai will appear real to you—” “They already appear real,” Zephyr said. “Well, yes.” Quicklime frowned. “But they’ll be real, in every way that matters. You’ll see the actual yokai, not the disguise. And anything you do to it will happen to the yokai, not the host.” “Anything, like… hurt them?” “That’s the point, isn’t it?” She looked down at the ground, a little frown still on her face. “So… make sure you’re certain before you do anything. They’re very fragile.” Zephyr hefted her spear. “Will they be able to hurt us?” “No. A foal could kill them.” But would a foal want to? Vermilion swallowed the thought. “Ready when you are, then.” “Right.” Quicklime huffed out a nervous breath and turned to the west, where the sun was just starting to kiss the horizon. “Here goes.” She touched her hoof to the great copper spiral and closed her eyes. The light around her horn doubled and redoubled, until it outshone the sun and cast its own shadows around the green. The wire glowed a faint cherry red. Smoke rose from the grass where it touched the ground. The scent of ozone stung Vermilion’s nose, and the hairs of his mane stood on end. In the distance, all around them, faint sparkles filled the air like misplaced stars. “That’s one,” Quicklime said. Beads of sweat dappled her coat, but her voice was still even and unhurried. “If you would each take a potion and drink it?” They each snagged one of the vials from the air. “Bottom’s up,” Cloud Fire said, and they bit through the wax seals, letting the flavorless liquid inside dribble into their mouths. It felt oily on Vermilion’s tongue, as though it didn’t want to be swallowed. Beside him, Rose started to gag before wrestling the reflex under control. “And the last one. See you on the other side.” Quicklime drew an odd, twisting shape in the air with the tip of her horn. It hovered before her, pulsing in time with her heartbeat, then slowly grew, filling first the green and then his vision and finally the whole world with a blinding light. Sight returned slowly. Colors washed out from the world, leaving it wan and enervated. The sun, still half above the horizon, now seemed a pale pink, rather than blood red. Even the grass beneath his hooves strained to achieve the softest of moss greens. Only his friends still wore their normal colors – all except Quicklime, whose coat and mane appeared as gray as the world around them. “I guess it worked?” Zephyr said. She picked up Cloudy’s spear and passed it to him. The colorless wood shaft slowly browned as he held it. “It did.” Rose drew her sword, a thin, flexible rapier in the style preferred by unicorns. It floated in the air before her, borne aloft by her magic. Its blade was flawless, unscratched and unmarred. She had never used it in combat, as far as Vermilion knew, preferring to rely on magic itself as her weapon. His own sword felt like a club in comparison. He set his teeth into the saber’s grip and pulled it from the scabbard over his shoulder. The metal was mottled, permanently etched by the blood of monsters whose lives it had cut short. But its blade was thick and heavy – a little marring bothered it not at all. “Here they come,” Rose said. She pointed up with her sword, where shadows whirled between the stars. Around them, dark shapes leapt up from the cracks and crevices, from under the floorboards and beneath the doors. They slid out from the spaces behind bookshelves, underneath pillows, from the interstices between blades of grass. Down from the gutters and out from the eaves, the yokai returned. Piedmont was the first to approach. He squinted at the mess of notes and components splayed out around Quicklime and sniffed at the air. “What is this?” “We told you to leave,” Rose said. “We have tried to be fair. This is your last chance. Go now, abandon your hosts, and never return. We will kill you.” “Please,” Vermilion said. “Piedmont, please. You are special and beautiful and you all deserve to live, but so do the ponies of Teawater. Please.” Nothing. Piedmont stared at them. The crowd of yokai behind him shuffled nervously. No one moved. “Alright then,” Rose said. “Go.” Zephyr moved first. Of course she moved first – more than any of them except for Rose she saw the yokai for what they were, vultures slowly devouring the ponies of Teawater. And Zephyr had no compassion for carrion eaters. She flew forward, unleashed like an arrow from the bow, her spear sweeping out to pierce the neck of a changeling before crashing into it with her hooves and driving it into the ground. Its insectile wings buzzed in panic for a few tortured seconds before going still. For a long moment, no one else moved – not the yokai, not the ponies, not even the wind. The very world seemed to hold its breath, until Zephyr pushed herself from the dead yokai and wrenched her spear from its corpse. Slowly, the changeling faded, replaced with the slumped form of an earth pony mare, her chest rising and falling in slow exhalations as she slept. The night went mad. Yokai screamed with all the voices of their myriad throats and scattered. Those with wings lurched into the air, only to find Cloud Fire waiting with his spear. He danced between them, thrusting and slashing, spraying their ichor all about. Zephyr leapt after him, her eyes trained on a covey of yokai fleeing toward the edge of town. They struck Quicklime’s barrier and rebounded in panic – a moment later she was within them, all wings and teeth and that terrible, marvelous needle, her spear. Like a nightmare, the killing lost any sense of coherence. He remembered it in flashes: the iridescent reflection of Enceladus’ scales when he found her, cowering in the wainwright’s workshop; Bijoux’s desperate scream, reduced to a vomiting froth of blood by his sword. The dreamora hiding in the bonfire’s smoke. Changelings crouched beneath the porch, clutching each other in panic as he pulled them out and slew them, one by one. Time assumed a bewildering incoherence – it was day, it was night, he murdered Bijoux again and again, Enceladus’ headless corpse followed him through Teawater, lecturing him on happiness. He dragged changeling after changeling from the hive beneath the porch, spitting them on his saber, and still he pulled more, until a mountain of their corpses buried the town. He saw the little breezie in the grass, its butterfly wings broken. It tried to crawl away. He smashed it beneath his hoof. Like fishers, the pegasi hauled the siren out from the well, their spears hooked through her flesh. She wailed and sang and thrashed, opening the wounds even further as they cast her down on the grass. Her wild, desperate eyes spotted Vermilion, and her song pressed like a blanket on his mind, the arpeggiating tune dredged straight from his childhood, begging him to come closer and rescue her from the winged demons. The song ended with a whimper as Cloud Fire’s spear crashed through her heart. In a moment of clarity, he found himself in the center of the green. Piedmont slouched before him, his left foreleg missing at the shoulder. They both panted, covered in sweat and blood. “Why?” Vermilion asked. He realized his sword was buried in Piedmont’s chest up to the hilt. “Why couldn’t you just leave?” “You… can’t understand,” Piedmont wheezed. His voice grew softer as his life poured out onto the ground. “Better… better than going back to that gray hell.” Fine. Vermilion waited until the amorak stopped breathing and pulled his sword free. Across the village, the yokai fell silent. He stumbled through the dark streets, searching for any who somehow eluded the pegasi, but they were vigilant hunters. He watched Zephyr drag a stygian out from a second-story window and slice away its sable wings. It landed with a ugly thud on the dirt street, and Cloud Fire finished it off. And then, only one remained. The last yokai of Teawater trembled beneath Rose Quartz’s hoof. It was Umbra, the shadowy little filly who refilled his cider without asking, whose shy antics amused the rest of the town. Umbra, who stole ten years of her young host’s life with every year that passed. She shivered in terror, pinned by the press of Rose’s leg. Rose shook as well. Dark trails of tears ran down her cheeks. Her rapier, hovering in the air beside her, was unblemished – not a drop of blood or ichor stained its perfect blade.  He walked up beside her. “Rose…” The rapier twitched. Its point started to lower toward Umbra’s chest, but then it fell with a clatter to the dirt. Rose stumbled away, falling onto her haunches. “I can’t.” Her voice broke. “I can’t do it.” He pulled her into a gentle hug. Her scent, of pepper and cotton, teased his nose, briefly rising above the stench of the yokai’s illusory blood. He closed his eyes and breathed it in. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.” He picked up her rapier and did it for her. * * * Color returned with the morning’s light. Its golden rays swept across the gray world, banishing the otherworldly nocturnal dimness wrought by Quicklime’s spell. Vermilion let his eyes drink the sunrise, savoring its pinks and blues and brilliant golds. Around him the grass recovered its emerald hue; the wooden buildings their humble, earthy tones. The ponies of Teawater woke. They blinked blearily and stood, stumbling like foals taking their first steps. Voices rose in confusion and alarm – none of them remembered falling asleep where they woke, and except for misty impressions, it seemed they could not recall the fantastic nights they had spent with their hosts. Yokai dreams were like any other dreams: desperately remembered and as impossible to grasp as smoke.  Piedmont – the powder blue stallion, not the wolfish amorak – walked unsteadily toward them. He paused, anguish and uncertainty stamped on his face, and eventually he faced Vermilion. “Who… you must be visitors. I’m afraid something strange has happened and none of us…” He trailed off and turned in a circle, searching for something he couldn’t remember, knowing only that it was missing and it was so desperately important to him. He started over. “I’m sorry, I’m… Have you seen our mayor, Botanique? She has a cinnamon coat, a bit darker than yours, and she’s getting on in her years. She… she’ll know what to do.” In the town, beyond the green, Vermilion heard ponies shouting. They sounded desperate. One name was repeated over and over: Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum, where are you? The townsponies converged on the green. Many cried with relief as they found their loved ones – others grew more desperate. Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum, the cry echoed on. Piedmont was talking to them again. More ponies arrived, asking questions. Somewhere, the town’s pegasi began to notice it was late summer, and that months of their lives had vanished overnight. The cries for the missing grew louder. “Do we… Can we leave now?” Zephyr asked. Her spear lay where she dropped it. They should stay. The ponies of Teawater still needed them, if only to explain where their lost time had gone. He imagined Quicklime holding an impromptu lecture about the yokai in the town green. For a desperate moment he imagined meeting them all again – shy little Umbra, steadfast Botanique with her common sense, the sly Bijoux, and tremulous, beautiful Enceladus. Piedmont, but not this babbling, frightened pony; the other Piedmont, the wolf who spoke philosophy and understood happiness. They could stay in Teawater and keep living those beautiful, magical nights. The moment passed. The illusion faded. Those yokai were dead, and these ponies were strangers. They had done enough. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. We can.”