“What do we do with her?”
“I have seen many things throughout my years, but a threat such as this is… new to me.”
“Twilight, I’ve seen you work magic with more than your horn. Do you not have faith that the same can be done here?”
“Well… I just… I ran the school, with her at my side, for months! And I didn’t see anything! How can I even be trusted to ask what to do now?!”
Starlight sat, uncomfortably still, on a chair in the Canterlot palace, listening to her teacher and the royal sisters argue.
The school had been partially destroyed, and magic restored to Equestria, only two hours prior. It wasn’t nearly long enough for her to digest her own thoughts on the matter—but, helpfully, it was just enough time for the worst cramps she’d ever experienced in her life to set in. Spending three days straight trapped inside a magical sphere with almost no freedom of movement, suspended magically with no need to use her muscles, was not an experience she was eager to repeat.
Three days. It had taken three days for the worst disaster Equestria had seen since Starlight herself to come a hair’s breadth from destroying… everything.
She’d lived through Nightmare Moon’s return, and the Longest Day in a Thousand Years. She’d lived through Discord’s return, and the days immediately afterward before news reached the farthest corners of Equestria and nopony knew if the world was still ending or not. She’d heard of, if not experienced, Chrysalis’s first coup and Tirek’s absorption of almost everypony in Equestria’s magic, and seen the Pony of Shadows with her own eyes. She’d rescued both royal families and her friends from a megalomaniacal queen and stopped a silent takeover of the Equestrian government.
And none of them—not Chrysalis, not Tirek, not Nightmare Moon, not Sombra or the sirens or Discord—had come as close to the total destruction of everything as the ten-year-old filly sulking upstairs.
Except, of course, Starlight herself. But she had enough to think about right now, and, for once, her past was on a back burner.
Cozy Glow, after her nearly-successful plot was foiled, had been easily captured, and was now temporarily held by the royal guard in the highest room in the tower, directly above this one. It was almost funny how easy it’d been; physically, she was nothing more than a pegasus filly. And not a particularly strong one.
It was almost funny. Until Starlight remembered how she’d felt when Cozy tripped her into that magical orb. How she’d felt when the filly explained her plan with that horribly dissonant smile, and Starlight had realized with horror what could happen. What almost had happened.
She resisted the urge to curl into a whimpering, shivering ball. So close. They’d come so close to the end of everything.
Because of a filly. That Starlight had trusted. That Twilight had trusted.
Normally, after something like this happened—and wasn’t that a funny idea, that these world-saving escapades had become normal—she felt accomplished, or at least enough of an adrenaline rush that her feelings had time to sort themselves on their own. This time, she’d sat, helpless, while other ponies barely managed to save the world. That was the furthest thing from an accomplishment.
Shaking her head, knowing that continuing down that path of thoughts wouldn’t lead to anything productive, she returned her attention to the others.
Luna was talking. “Sister, I know you harbor great faith in the ability of ponies—all ponies—to do good. And I love you dearly for it. But… sometimes, we cannot afford to take risks. The safety of millions may depend on it.”
Starlight wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Celestia so dejected. The Princess wore her joy on her proverbial sleeve, but it took truly unnatural circumstances for the opposite to shine through. “I… fear you may be right.”
Twilight, looking equally hopeless—Starlight’s heart burned to see her so, but, being barely more put-together herself, there was nothing she could do—paced about the small room. “What would you propose instead?”
The sisters exchanged glances. “There is,” Luna said, “An obvious choice.”
“Cozy Glow mentioned being in correspondence with Tirek,” said Celestia. “Allowing either one of them continued influence on the world at large risks something like this happening again. If they were to be confined to the same location…”
“...Once their methods of communication are revealed and secured…”
“...They would be unable to conspire to any effect,” Celestia finished, a grim look on her muzzle.
Wait. They can’t be…
Twilight had clearly realized their meaning in turn, and froze before a window. “Do you mean…”
“Until such time as a better option reveals itself, Cozy Glow may reside in Tartarus,” said Luna.
“I– No,” Twilight said, shaking her head as if to dislodge a fly. “There has to be a better option now. We convinced Discord to change his mind, right?”
“You said a moment ago that you feared you were not equipped to take charge of Miss Glow,” said Celestia gently. “If you wish to try anyway, you will have my full support. But, before you decide, I ask you to consider carefully.”
“As you know, creatures bound in Tartarus do not age,” added Luna. “What is best now need not preclude a future change of circumstance, but still it may be best.”
“I…” said Twilight. She looked as if in physical pain. “I…”
Starlight was frozen—now not by the past, but the present. They couldn’t.
But… they could. It was their decision, to begin with, but, more than that, they were right. Painfully, inconveniently right, but right all the same. Cozy Glow had successfully hidden her true intentions and true self from all of them. And yes, they knew that now, but what was to stop her from building up a new set of lies without their ever suspecting? Worse, what if she was able to change in truth, but they were unable to believe her after what she’d done?
And that was just the ponies who knew her. What if she escaped, with the same or worse goals? The most cynical, suspicious pony in Equestria would fall for anything that adorable pegasus said. She’d be impossible to find, and, once she was out of sight, impossible to stop. In Tartarus, she’d be isolated; unable to discern or deceive.
But still isolated.
Could Starlight let that happen? To anypony, let alone a foal, no matter the risks? A foal she, as a counselor, had been responsible for?
Could she still call herself the alicorn of Empathy if she did?
She knew, in her shell-shocked heart, that she wasn’t any more qualified to give input on Cozy than Twilight was. Faust, she was less qualified—she’d been fooled faster and more easily, and had a fraction of Twilight’s interpersonal experience.
“I think…” Twilight said, voice quivering.
But if Starlight didn’t, who would?
“...You’re right. Damn it, damn it, you’re—”
“I’ll do it!” Starlight blurted out.
The princesses looked at her in surprise; it was the first time she’d spoken in an hour.
She stood up, and promptly collapsed onto her barrel on the carpet. Her legs still felt like gelatine; she’d had to teleport into the chair. But, with some effort, she raised herself. Assertive. Like Trixie showed you. “I’ll do it.”
“What precisely do you offer, Starlight?” asked Luna.
As if she’d thought that far ahead. What was she offering? Anything that would keep her student out of Tartarus. “I’m… not sure,” she admitted. “But we can’t send her there. I mean, we can. It’s probably the tactically correct thing to do. But… I can’t.”
Twilight sighed in obvious relief. That was good. Now Starlight felt a bit less like she was arguing alone against two thousand-year-old demigods.
“You will need to determine what you intend before we make any decisions,” noted Celestia. Maybe Starlight was imagining things, but she thought that the sisters too had relaxed, slightly, upon her interruption. Maybe it was a good thing she’d been here?
No. That was ridiculous. She couldn’t claim that until something good came of whatever ridiculous decision she was in the process of making.
“What if…” Her eyes darted to Twilight. “I take her on? As a… student. Like you did with me.”
The sisters exchanged glances, and Twilight’s brow creased. “That wasn’t like this, though. You were willing to learn. Cozy’s done nothing but antagonize the guards and us since she was captured.”
“I was only willing because you stopped me first,” said Starlight. “And because I saw… Well, you were there. It’s not that different. Besides, Discord didn’t want to be reformed, right?”
“Discord is an unusual case,” Celestia pointed out. “Destruction has never been his goal, and his nature imposes limits on him which make working with him relatively safe.”
“Safe and annoying,” Luna grumbled.
“Well, yes. But Cozy Glow has proven herself very different.” Celestia looked piercingly into her eyes; Starlight resisted the urge to hide her face with a wing. “Should you do this, you will be responsible for the most dangerous threat Equestria has seen in years. As a Princess of Equestria, are you prepared for that?”
Starlight nearly giggled hysterically. Nope! Of course she wasn’t prepared! Nopony would be prepared for that! She wasn’t even sure what she was preparing for!
So, bowing, she said, “I am. I’ll—”
There was a crash from the floor above.
The group looked at one another in a panic, and ran for the stairs. Starlight, not trusting herself to run (or, indeed, walk), teleported directly to the entrance to the floor above, horn lit.
Cozy Glow was still bound by magical chains to the same chair they’d left her in. But now, a smug smile had replaced her furious glare. And her guards were rolling on the floor in front of her, doing their best impression of brawling schoolcolts.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” shouted Luna, who arrived moments later. The Royal Canterlot Voice nearly tipped Starlight over.
The guards, a white stallion and a teal mare, leapt to their hooves and saluted clumsily. “He started it!” shouted the mare.
“I did not!” yelled the stallion, instantly abandoning his salute and rounding on his partner.
“You were the one who said I deserved to be getting paid less—”
“That’s not true and you know it, you said I didn’t know what I was—”
“Don’t lie to me, I’m not deaf—”
“You bucking—”
“SILENCE,” boomed Luna. She glared at the guards. “I expect better of you, especially when on duty. Report to your superiors immediately at the beginning of your next shifts for disciplinary action.”
“Golly!” said Cozy sweetly, looking concerned. Starlight was disturbed that, even after three days of hearing her evil monologues, her first impulse was still to comfort the pink filly. “I was just sitting here, and these two scary guards just seemed so angry with each other, so I asked them what was wrong! But whatever I said just made them madder! They seemed so darn nice; I wish they knew they didn’t have to fight—friendship is magic, after all! Isn’t that right, professors?” She smiled winningly.
Starlight shuddered.
“You’re gonna what now?”
Applejack’s incredulous expression matched the five other Elements—and Spike—seated around the Cutie Map.
“I’m going to take on Cozy as a student,” said Starlight. Again.
The stunned silence was shorter this time, but not by much.
“Does everypony else think this is as crazy as I do?” asked Rainbow Dash. For once, the others looked as skeptical as she did.
“I figure I just made that pretty clear,” Applejack said.
Pinkie Pie raised a hoof. “Yyyyyup!”
“Obviously,” said Rarity.
“What Rarity said,” said Spike.
“...Maybe?” said Fluttershy. She received five skeptical looks. “Well, um… Yes.”
Twilight remained impartially silent.
Starlight grimaced, and shifted uncomfortably in her throne (which, having been added after the castle grew, was squeezed between Twilight’s and Applejack’s). Since the altercation last night, she’d been doing her level best to justify her decision to herself. Her reasoning, though, felt significantly less evenly matched against seven others.
“Okay,” she said. Again. “I know that none of you are in, well. A forgiving mood right now. And I don’t blame you. But I don’t think this is crazy.”
“How can you say that, dear?” asked Rarity, not unkindly. “I’m all for second chances, but they’re best given to those who wish to, well… use them.”
“Exactly!” Dash said, hooves on the table. “You saw what she tried to do! I mean, even though she failed, she still trapped you in a bubble for three days! She betrayed more ponies than I even knew you could betray at once!”
“And she did it with fun!” Pinkie said—or shouted, since it was Pinkie. “Parties, smiles, cupcakes, concerts… Those are things you do for ponies you love. Not to trick them.”
“And she didn’t care at all for what her plan would do to the animals,” said Fluttershy, shivering. “So many of them need magic. Without help, they wouldn’t revert to normal creatures like the ones in Tartarus, they’d just…” She gulped.
“And that’s besides what it’d do to us,” Applejack pointed out. “I don’t mean to sound self-centered or nothin’, but Sweet Apple Acres couldn’t run without the pegasi planning the weather out day by day. And I reckon the same goes for most of the farms in Equestria. If Cozy’d gotten her way…”
The rest went unsaid. But not unheard.
The trouble was, they were right. Of course they were—and Starlight had thought of dozens of other horrifying consequences of Cozy’s plan that the others hadn’t even brought up. But, when she tried to let herself be convinced by the overwhelming evidence, she couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that they were going about the argument the wrong way.
She held up a hoof to forestall the continuing protests. “I know. Trust me, I do. But, well…” She bit back a wince. She hated using herself as an example. “Do you remember what I did? Not almost did. Actually did.”
“You didn’t know,” said Twilight softly. It was her first time speaking in nearly an hour, and Starlight could have counted on four hooves the amount of times the Princess had spoken at all since last night. She looked… haunted. “You didn’t know what you were doing. You just wanted to stop our friendships, not destroy everything. And nopony in Equestria even remembers that it happened except us.”
“But I still did it,” Starlight insisted.
But the others weren’t listening. Hearing, yes, but not listening. She could see it in their faces.
So, without allowing herself time to consider the emotional ramifications of what she was about to do, she lit her horn, and called to mind the scene that had been plaguing the back of her thoughts for nearly two years—though never more than since Cozy was captured yesterday evening. They wouldn’t listen, so they would have to see. Above the map, the air shimmered and grew less translucent until a flat surface, somehow facing in every direction at once, formed. She concentrated, and colors spilled across it, as if from an invisible bucket of paint. Browns, greys, and blacks swirled together until an image formed.
The Wasteland. The final timeline she’d created.
She only saw the image for an instant before she tore her eyes away—but it was enough. Her horn flickered out, but the spell, which moved as realistically as if it were a window, remained. She’d cast it that way on purpose.
The wind was louder than she remembered. It didn’t sound like a picture, or a memory. It echoed from all sides as if she were still standing in it. She closed her eyes, but all that did was wipe the image of the castle from her mind’s eye and let the wind paint a new one in its place.
She knew it was an image, not a somatic spell, but the wind buffeted her mane all the same. She felt it. And she felt it blow through her ears, through her skull, and through her heart, to scrape at her soul. Like sandpaper on a wound.
It ground at her emotions until they chipped and flaked and blew away, like a bird’s beak pecking at the last scraps of flesh on a skeleton. Starving.
A starving, desperate, lonely bird, in a land of wind and dust.
Suddenly, a flash shone through her eyelids, and they shot open involuntarily.
Oh. Right.
The spell was gone—dispelled, presumably by Twilight. The wind was gone. The memory was gone. She was seated in her home, with her friends. She was safe. They were talking about Cozy Glow. Starlight had cast an illusion spell.
And everypony was staring at her. She shrunk down in her seat. Her eyelids ached. Had they been shut so tightly?
Twilight’s hoof was on her shoulder. Grateful, she focused on the sensation.
“I, uh…” Applejack sounded hoarse. “Think we get the picture, sugarcube.”
Dash’s fur stood on end. “Yeah. Thanks, Twi. That was… long enough.”
Rarity had somehow paled beyond her usual shade of white, Pinkie looked as though she were near tears, and Fluttershy looked… relatively normal, in the sense that severe fright was one of her more usual expressions. Even Spike, who’d been present to see that image in person, had a haze of memories in his eyes that Starlight suspected mirrored her own.
“I’m sorry,” Starlight heard herself say. She managed to clamber back into control of her voice; the argument she’d intended to make was scattered around her brain like a train after a hurricane, but it was there. “That was… reckless.”
“Please, darling!” Rarity said firmly. “We will not allow you to apologizing for exposing us to something you carry with you at all times! What sort of friends do you take us for?”
Unfathomably, unbelievably good ones. Starlight laughed shakily. “Thank you. That means a lot. But I was trying to illustrate a point.” She pointed a wing at the spot above the table where the image had hovered moments before. “I did that. Myself. And maybe I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t make the outcome any better.” And it doesn’t help the ponies who lived their lives in that world.
Her friends looked at one another. As little as a year ago, she would’ve been unable to say something like that without fearing that, somehow, it would prompt them to suddenly realize what she’d actually done and leave her on her own. It was why she’d always brought it up so often; better to get it out of the way quickly. So said her anxiety. Fortunately, now, she knew better.
“Supposin’ we agree with that,” said Applejack. “That what Cozy did wasn’t any worse than what you did. And I ain’t saying that; I just… don’t know how I feel about all this yet. But even so, that filly’s the biggest and best liar I’ve ever seen, and I’ve met Queen Chrysalis four or five times by now. Suppose Cozy can learn. How are you gonna know when she does? How are any of us?” The others nodded; even Twilight.
But Starlight was ready for that question. “We’re not.” She waved down the immediate and vocal confusion. “I’ve thought about this a lot—not just with Cozy, but with everyone who might be able to learn more about friendship. And… I’m not sure it really matters much.”
Pinkie tilted her head nearly fully upside-down in confusion. “Buuuut how are we going to have any idea if she’s really getting better if she could just be putting on a cute face?” She frowned. “A really, really cute face.”
“And, for that matter, what guarantee do we have that she won’t just do the same thing all over again?” objected Rarity.
Starlight shrugged. “Nothing. Exactly like every other villain we’ve ever reformed.”
“So she can just betray us again?” said Dash. She crossed her forelegs. “How does that help—”
“Discord did,” Fluttershy whispered.
The others fell silent. Starlight’s eyes shot to the yellow pegasus. Was somepony finally on her side here? Not, she chastised herself, that they aren’t being reasonable.
“What exactly do you mean?” Twilight asked.
Fluttershy cleared her throat. “Discord betrayed us. When Tirek tried to take over. And he’s more my friend than he’s ever been.”
“Well…” said Rarity, but she sounded thoughtful. “It’s not quite that simple, is it? Discord didn’t start off with our trust, and he’s always been… rather frank about things. He changed his mind more than he lied to us.”
“But then he changed his mind again!” Starlight said earnestly. “He thought he’d be okay with turning you over to Tirek, but because of his time with all of you, he realized that he valued friendship more than power! So even if it doesn’t work out in the end, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth trying.” She looked down. “And… I know you’re all more experienced with this kind of thing than I am, but I think you might be a little biased here.”
Dash frowned. “How’s that?”
“Because we were her teachers,” said Twilight quietly. Her eyes were still red; Starlight had known that asking her how much sleep she’d gotten would only make her feel worse. “We taught her friendship. Or… we tried. How could we not feel betrayed to see what she did with it?”
Starlight nodded. Exactly.
Chrysalis had been a queen, albeit a tyrannical one, trying to feed her people. Discord had wanted chaos. Tirek just wanted power. But, whatever their motives, they rejected friendship, and they, and everycreature else, were worse off for it.
Cozy was different. Twilight and her friends, and to an extent the entire town of Ponyville, had poured out their hearts to every student in the School of Friendship, and none more than the personal assistant to the headmare. She’d become the star pupil; a beloved example of how much good the school could do. And then she’d taken that love, fashioned it into a dagger, and stabbed her mentors in the back.
Who could blame them for feeling the way they did?
The Elements looked discomforted. Nopony could argue.
Applejack, unsurprisingly, spoke first. “I don’t like to admit it, but… I reckon you’re right. Both of you.” The others made varying sounds of agreement.
“But, um, Starlight…” said Fluttershy. “You were her teacher too. Don’t you feel… well…”
“Like you want to lock her in Tartarus and throw away that stupid key she trapped us with?” supplied Dash.
Fluttershy shrunk in her seat. “I was gonna say ‘betrayed…’”
“Well… yeah,” Starlight said. Of course she did. “But I wasn’t really her teacher; not like all of you were. Honestly, I only met her two or three times before she… Er, tricked me into a magic-nullifying orb.” Which, in retrospect, only made her feel worse. Maybe if she’d only met with Cozy more, she would’ve seen…
No. Nope. Not right now. Regrets were for crying on Trixie over. “But that’s my point. Just because we feel that way doesn’t mean that it’s not worth trying again, or that Cozy has any less chance than Chrysalis or Discord did. And… even if we fail—if I fail—it still matters that we tried. And it might still matter to Cozy, even if she does betray us again. Knowing that, and knowing the alternative, I can’t… I can’t not…” She trailed off.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Starlight had no idea if she’d managed to convey anything approaching a salient point.
She hated how much of her feelings about this were messy, irrational emotions. Surely she should be able to come up with a better justification for her plan than ‘I feel like it’? And surely anypony who felt like she did right now couldn’t be trusted with planning a bake sale, let alone making life-changing decisions? And surely—
“I agree,” Fluttershy said, startling her.
“I suppose when you put it like that… I do as well,” said Rarity.
“It’s not the craziest idea you’ve had,” said Spike, rolling his eyes.
“It’s nowhere near the craziest idea I’ve had!” Pinkie.
“I don’t love it, but this is your wheelhouse.” Applejack.
Everypony looked at Rainbow Dash.
She huffed. “Alright. If you think you’re up for it.”
The corners of Starlight’s eyes grew damp. “I…”
“Starlight,” Twilight said, smiling. “This is what you’re best at. It always has been. And whatever you want to do, we’ll be behind you every step of the way. Right, girls?” There was another chorus of agreement.
Starlight took a deep breath, and tried to will the tears out of her eyes. Someday, she would get used to this. The… trust. Someday, she’d stop being surprised. Someday.
“Th-thanks.”