Though it was known abroad as the Palace of Sunlight, Canterlot Castle heaped praises on the night just as readily as the day. When the sun set, casting Equestria in its last brilliant wash of color, when the sky bruised and faded to black, night crept in like a lover to a rendezvous.
She guided the heads of the staff as they used their polewicks to light the high sconces in the hallways. She ushered some ponies to bed even as she roused her slit-eyed faithful with a bell of silver light. Then, she began to conduct her symphony: crickets in the garden took to their bows, nightjars called each to each, and the comings and goings of staff on the marble formed a quiet percussion below it all.
The night's warden watched the night-time self of the town below the castle stir in its eventide sheets, first in the lighting of the lanterns all along the paths, then in earnest as lights flickered on in windows, ponies settling in for a night of study or preparing for a night out, carousing or patrolling or simply living.
Finally, Celestia raised her head to watch the moon for a time. With the gate fully open and all its light spilling through, the mark of the Mare in the Moon was plainly visible. She wondered, as she often did, how it was Luna. Was she sleeping, and did she dream? And, if she dreamed, did the Nightmare torment her as it did Celestia? Would the millennium be as a blink to her sister, or did each year weigh heavy as it did on her? Was there even anything left of Luna, or had her soul been torn to shreds, or fled to the sea from which none could return?
In silhouette, she could not say whether the form across the moon-gate was her dear sister or her dread foe.
The moon had departed from the horizon fully. By now, Sheaf would usually have pulled her from her musings to remind her of her next appointment, and she would be glad to leave the Sunset Balcony. But as she walked back into the castle, her seneschal was nowhere to be found. Sheaf made up for his starchiness with a firm adherence to schedule, so most likely she had asked him not to attend her and had simply forgotten. But why?..
It hit her like a crop to the flank and she was off, quickly schooling a gallop to a near-canter. Twilight Sparkle. For whatever reason, Sheaf's presence made her clam up entirely, so Celestia had asked that he not attend their lessons. And had assured him, of course, that she wasn't some old nag who would forget one appointment in her evening. She worried at her lower lip in a minor show of self-chastisement as the door to the apprentice's apartments approached.
The door was open, with Downdraft posted to one side and Virga to the other. Downdraft was peering inward, but a nudge from her partner brought her to attention at one side, her armor barely clinking. The movement revealed Twilight Sparkle, back to the door, deep in focus at one of her exercises: above her, two wooden blocks were suspended in her pinkish aura.
Her task was, on its surface, simple: use sway to hold one wooden block stationary while moving another. The loads were light and small, the sort that fillies typically trained with, but focusing a wish on two objects instead of just one required exponentially more concentration. Many unicorns never had cause to do so, but it was necessary for many of the more advanced conjugate wishes. To see her student already coming to grips with the task was more than encouraging, especially with how far she had come.
When Celestia first took Twilight on, the filly's sway control was weak for one at her age. She was goal oriented to a fault: when she had enough control to move a book's page, she had immediately moved on to studying other stars. It had taken a mentor's guidance to pull her back to sway and familiarize her with al-Kawkab, starting with larger objects and recently expanding to multiple. Deepening one's relationship with a single star was a good way to begin learning the intricacies of astral magic, improving focus and control, aspects Twilight sorely lacked. The breadth of Twilight's study thus far was impressive, the depth sorely lacking.
The average unicorn began to develop the depth she lacked once as she earned her cutie mark and found her patron star. Twilight Sparkle, however, had no patron. A pediatrician had explored this first, and Celestia had confirmed it herself with the visual ley test: no star in the sky shone brighter than any other for the filly, indicating an attunement to the ley that flowed from it and thus the wishes it granted.
A full revolution round the astralidade and a confession in the timid tone Twilight took when she feared disappointing somepony had instead privately elated Celestia, since it was a confirmation that Twilight wasn't one of the rare unicorns with a dark star for a patron.
For days, Twilight had despaired. She would not have a special relationship with a star as other fillies did, one whose magic would come to her as naturally as breathing. But, as Celestia had assured her at the time, there were many accomplished practitioners of astral magic who had no patron star of their own. A patron was only a headstart. Talent was no match for skill and dedication, after all.
But Celestia had a suspicion of her own, one she didn't speak for fear of tipping the scale. It came to mind whenever Twilight learned the feeling of a new star, each one coming so naturally, like it was her special talent. Because when Twilight stared into the sky, her eyes watered, as if the sprawling tapestry of ley was too bright to take.
As if heaven entire was Twilight's patron, and all the stars within it were calling her.
Quietly, Celestia trod into the chamber, eyes fixed on Twilight's display. She walked until she was to Twilight's right and a little behind, then sat and waited. Twilight was just as enamored with her work as her mentor; the filly's eyes were wide and sparkling, reflecting pink light from the suspended blocks. Slowly, to get her attention without pulling it entirely away from her work, Celestia raised a wing and brushed her primaries against Twilight's side.
"Princess!" Twilight turned, alight with excitement, and the blocks clattered to the ground. She swiveled back to them immediately as her expression followed them, falling into dismay. With some effort, the first block rose, but the second only had a weak light surround it before the first fell again. Twilight huffed and tried again, but this time neither rose. She stamped a little hoof. "I really had it, Princess, I promise, I just—"
Celestia pulled her wing in, cutting her student off as she was dragged into an embrace. She found she had to take a moment to steady her voice. "I saw, Twilight. It was very impressive. You're certainly improving."
"... You're late, Princess," came a voice from her side, the tone obviously trying to be displeased. Twilight did a poor job of hiding the comfort in her voice, a mirror of the warmth of her teacher's embrace.
But still, she was right to be upset. "I am. I apologize, Twilight."
"... It's okay. I'm getting better at waiting."
Celestia smiled. "Well, let's see that patience rewarded. Since you've obviously been keeping up with your exercises in sway, why don't we do some studying?"
Twilight shot like a bolt from beneath Celestia's wing at that word, clambering with surprising agility up one of the stacks of books that lately littered the floor. "This one, this one!" she yelped with glee, hopping in place before realizing she was treading on a book and immediately jumping down. Celestia smiled, keeping to herself the comparison her mind drew between her student's enthusiasm and a filly asking for her favorite bedtime story.
She lifted the tome, Folding Space: Secrets of an-Nasl, into the air with a glow of gold. "Of course. This is a good choice, Twilight — you've already made your first wish with ar-Risha, so independent study of an-Nasl will help you start to bridge them together." Twilight practically matched Celestia's magic with the glow she exuded under praise. "Have you read ahead?" An enthusiastic nod. "Can you recite Asterism's Parable of Dislocation, then?"
Twilight's smile vanished. "Yes, but..." She scuffed the carpet with a hoof. "I don't really get it."
"That's perfectly understandable. The workings of an-Nasl are rather esoteric compared to others."
"Esoteric?" Twilight prompted with a tilt of her head. The way she copied Celestia's pronunciation left the word feeling jarringly regal in her mouth.
"Specialized, theoretical, obscure, or abstract. Likely to be understood by a select few," Celestia supplied automatically.
"Esoteric...." she mumbled, tasting the word. Then, a moment of silence as she swallowed it, sending it to her mind for digestion and leaving her hunger for vocabulary entirely unsated.
Celestia placed a hoof on Folding Space. "Some stars, like al-Kawkab, lend themselves well to our way of navigating the world, physically or mentally. Others require us to change the way we think. While the magic of earth ponies and pegasi has until recently been passed down entirely through oral tradition, the workings of astral ley have long been written, going back as far as Clover the Clever. These are the parables astrologists covet, and the ones you study now."
"Well, I got Confluence's retrieval one... I think it just meant that ar-Risha is like a rope, so the tricky part of pulling something is making sure the rope is taut... Is that what an-Nasl does? Tauten the space between you and where you want to go?" Twilight asked, her pitch rising with excitement.
There were things Twilight still didn't understand about that particular parable, but that was only natural. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Twilight," she admonished gently. "Remember, there is no true understanding of the whole without at least cursory knowledge of the parts. Why don't we work through Asterism's parable together, starting with your memory of it?"
"Okay! Well," Twilight started, sitting down on one of the cushions scattered around the floor, "one day, a mare is walking in the woods and sees a river. She's curious what's on the other side, so she walks up to the bank. First, she looks at the opposite bank. Then, she looks at the river. Then, she looks at the bank under her own hooves." Twilight's expression soured. "Then, she turns around and leaves! She never makes it to the other side at all!"
Celestia arched an eyebrow. "Am I mistaken, Twilight, and this is in fact a Parable of Teleportation?"
Twilight blushed heavily. "No, Princess," she mumbled.
"Let's put movement aside for now. For these more advanced parables, Twilight, how things are described is often more important than what happens. They teach us a new way of looking at the world, if we listen without our own goals clouding our vision." Celestia opened the book, flipping through it to the beginning of the parable, then flipped a few pages forward. "Could you read this passage for me?" she asked, highlighting the words with a quick flicker of magic as she nudged the book toward her student.
"And so," Twilight began obediently, "the mare saw that the other bank was edged with grass, and the one she stood on was as well. That one gave way to dirt and then to the river, as did this one. That one was shaded by the trees above, as was this one. The only difference, as far as she could see, was that she was standing on this one, and not on that one. And, in the end, that was as minor a difference as the arrangement of the pebbles."
Celestia nodded. "And so, she sees that two places are in fact one."
"But they're different!" Twilight cried.
"But some things about them are the same. The loyal pair of guards standing outside are different in some ways, but the same in others. Just as you can say they're different for their differences, despite their samenesses, you can say they're the same, despite their differences. It's a matter of how you think about it."
"That just sounds like lying," Twilight huffed. "And even if it's not, the mare in the story is so... so... uncurious!"
"Incurious. You do not have to agree with all the viewpoints you'll learn as a scholar of the astral ley, Twilight, only understand them."
"I don't understand how somepony could be happy with that..." she grumbled. "Besides, even if it works, isn't it confusing?"
Celestia tapped a hoof on the forgotten book. "That feeling of disorientation is precisely what this parable is attempting to communicate. an-Nasl is about being where you are and where you aren't at the same time." Twilight was looking increasingly queasy. "Identifying similarities is one way to tap into an-Nasl and link disparate things. Think of how you tell apart two places, and then invert that.
"Of course," she continued, "the most natural way to compare two things is visually, so most astrologists are limited by sightlines. There are ways around this limitation, but we'll focus on visual teleportation first." She didn't add how much more manageable Twilight would be if she couldn't teleport where she couldn't see. "All you need to do is see that one riverbank is much like the other, as Asterism did."
"I don't like it," Twilight announced loudly.
"Ah well," Celestia said with a shrug, hiding a smile. She closed the book, ignoring the way Twilight's mouth formed an indignant 'o', then tweaked her horn to pull over the wooden blocks that lay forgotten on the carpet. "I suppose we can strike teleportation from your curriculum."
"I— I'm sorry, Princess! I don't mind it! Please don't—"
"Hush, Twilight," Celestia said, placing the book back on its pile. "I'm only teasing. But our session nears its end."
Twilight pouted, an accusatory look in her eyes. "I don't like being teased. Bullies tease."
"... Ah," said Celestia. "I'm sorry, Twilight. But it's natural that these parables take time to digest. Even if you don't concentrate on it, your mind will work on breaking it down in the background. That's why it's important to eat well and rest well. One cannot study all the time."
Twilight was wearing an expression Celestia rarely had the chance to see: that of a filly who believes herself to be in possession of a trump card. "You were late."
... Touché. "I was, and I apologize." White lie?.. No. "I was distracted. But you'll see me again the day after tomorrow."
"But that's so far away!"
It was easy to forget, but where two days for Celestia was a sliver of time, for Twilight it was a slice, just as one step for Celestia was six for the filly. So how could she say no to forfeiting a sliver of a sliver? "... Downdraft?" she called.
"Yes, Princess?" asked the pegasus guard, peering into the room.
"Would you go find Sheaf and tell him I'll be twelve minutes late? And send somepony to let Twilight's parents know of the delay." Celestia didn't typically take meetings after sundown, and the slot was actually time set aside for her to attend to some paperwork, but her tardiness would still affect things. She turned to her student and smiled. "Ten more minutes, then."
"Thank you!" Twilight yelled, galloping a quick circle around Celestia in her excitement, then bolting to the balcony.
Celestia followed her, curious. "You don't want to read more?"
"Oh, um... I can read anytime," she said, though Celestia caught the way her eyes flicked longingly toward the inside of the tower, "but I only get an hour with you! And only every other day!" Her eyes returned to her mentor, tracking up from her hooves to her chest to her face, three heights above hers.
"I'm flattered," Celestia laughed, "that you'd choose me over your books." Her own gaze left Twilight and turned to the night sky. They were on the lee side of the moonlight, so only stars occupied that space above them, stars and the intricate web of astral ley that flowed between them. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"
Twilight shuffled a little closer. Celestia remembered how she had instinctually enclosed her in a wing earlier, had done so several times since she resolved to keep her distance. She dimly observed that her wing was already resting around Twilight and kept her gaze trained upward.
"... Are the stars alive, Princess?"
It was the kind of question Celestia treasured from Twilight, the kind that showed her fervor for learning could reach out to others in time. "Not like you or I. They have neither friends nor family nor favorite foods. But each one has a perfect world it desires, and wishing on them lets a little of that world into ours.
"Al-Kawkab wants a world where everything floats as if underwater. an-Nasl wants a world where nothing is distinct, everything diminished to a single point." Celestia looked down at Twilight, who was gazing up at her like she was a star herself. "And, like medicine, too much of any of their desires is dangerous. That is why you must be very careful when you heed their requests. Our world is a balance between all of theirs." Perhaps it is even a wish formed from all of them combined, she mused, an idea she'd heard whispers of for as long as she was alive.
Twilight nodded enthusiastically, then looked up at the stars again, absorbed in her own private world. Celestia saw her weave a little, her horn lightly strumming the strings of the astral ley. She joined her, closing her eyes and just feeling the sprawling network of ley beyond the firmament. It was at once relaxing and invigorating, like stretching a forgotten muscle.
Surely. Surely, this impossible filly, who learned stars as fast and as naturally as most foals her age made friends, who was already learning how to weave them together, surely she could see her Princess as a pony like any other. Without looking, Celestia looped her aura through the straps on her petral hidden beneath her mane and let it float to the floor.
Twilight looked up at the soft sound the metal made on stone. "... Princess?" she asked, a lost note in her voice, like she didn't recognize who she was looking at, all for the lack of one piece of ceremonial barding. Celestia felt the cool breeze of night against her bare chest.
"Just relaxing a little, Twilight," Celestia said, smiling in what she hoped was a comforting way. "My barding weighs on me after a long day." Who was she, seeking approval or acknowledgement from a foal? But at the same time she wondered: had centuries in this new role of Princess insulated her from other ponies as assuredly as her old title? Had anything truly changed?
Twilight looked away, violet eyes (so much like her own, so curious, so cautious, searching out praise and shying away from condemnation) fixed on the abandoned petral. "Okay, Princess," she said, raising that word like a ward.
Sunset Shimmer had to be reminded to call her that in front of supplicants. She had never had an ounce of admiration for Celestia's position, only for what she could do and what she knew. Why was Twilight different, when Celestia had thought she understood? She hadn't asked her outright, not wanting to force the issue with such a young pony, but... Maybe it was for the best. Sunset always had issues with authority, and it got her into trouble often, sometimes with Celestia herself. She winced as memories of scoldings she'd delivered flowed through her mind, Sunset's eyes growing duller and harder with each one.
Celestia withdrew her gilded watch from within her discarded peytral and examined it. "I'm afraid it's time, Twilight. Downdraft will escort you home." She wasn't surprised to catch the filly staring covetously at the watch, which made sense, symbol that it was of maturity and responsibility. Night Light would likely give her the Canterlotian coming-of-age gift earlier than most, unrestrained by the fears of Twilight Velvet as he was. And then, Celestia would really be in trouble when she ran late.
The river of Asterism's parable continued babbling through Celestia's mind in the following month, even after its meaning sunk in enough for Twilight to apply the star's potential. As Twilight toiled through the intensely abstract exercises of an-Nasl alone (because, really, the only interesting things you could do when fooling the world into thinking two spaces were one were achieved in the ensuing separation of those spaces), Celestia thought about her past. Unlike her young student, Celestia had forded many a river, and she had often found the other bank to be just the same.
The first time Twilight had teleported across the room (between two podiums carefully manufactured to be near-identical), Celestia's applause had practically been a stampede. But rather than satisfying Twilight, praise only seemed to drive her further. It wasn't long before she was practicing teleportation in the hedge maze, then across substrate gradients, even jumping from flagstone to dirt and low to high.
But while Twilight had moved past the parable of the river, Celestia found her mind mired in the mud of those twin banks.
As her position of Princess had solidified over the centuries, she'd slid from a distant wisdom to a near authority. Once, only her advice was sought, and she held court in glades whose only resemblance to a cathedral was the arching sylvan roof. In those days, she'd felt like a sunbeam: illuminating and blissfully momentary. Now, the institutions of Canterlot had arrayed themselves around her, and she had to set up delegations like irrigation channels to avoid being drowned in authority.
A century ago, a signet had been cast in the image of her mark, and four seneschals later they were still trying to convince her to wear it on her pony, if not as a horn ring then at least as a necklace. The ceremony of petitioner presentation was getting more and more elaborate, and she'd had to explicitly introduce laws against bribery just to stem the tide of gifts. And none of this even touched on the Mendicant Nations. Court, supplicants, jewelry — so many little points of similarity, separated by her time in the glades.
Her wings twitched. It really had been too long since she had considered Asterism's parable. A long and dull meeting with the Cabinet was the perfect time to meditate on it. The ponies around her were discussing policy, specifically the fifth iteration of the same discussion on the logistical nightmare that had been the recent controlled burns in Hayseed Forest. It had gone well, but the time it had taken to coordinate that many accomplished dancers to manage such a wide area had put quite the strain on the Wonderbolts as a division worked to manage the rising temperatures.
She had fought hard for the privilege to be on the front line with the earth pony brigade, guiding the fire through the woods with rhythmic, ancient steps. Celestia masked the smile that found its way to her face with a nod of approval as Rainshadow, the Cloudsdale ambassador, finished outlining her plans to make the Wonderbolts more able to cover long-term assignments.
"Auntie!" Princess Mi Amore Cadenza burst into the room, feathers mussed and coat near-lather. Not exactly the first impression she was planning for her to make on the Cabinet.
"Cadenza?" Celestia glanced around at the gathered dignitaries. "These meetings are still a little... advanced for you."
Ignoring the mild rebuke, Cadenza rushed up to her side, dancing on her hooftips. Celestia inclined her head slightly. "Twilight's missing!" the younger Princess hissed in her ear.
"Calm, Mi Amore," Celestia said softly, her mind already whirring like delicate clockwork. "Remember to breathe."
Cadenza quit huffing and instead took deep breaths, her eyes closed as her chest swelled in and out like the tide, wind-whipped waves subsiding for now.
"Good. Now, tell me what happened." Celestia's voice was quiet but urgent as she mentally reviewed security meetings, paging through remembered movements of the Nightmare's vague and ever-shifting apparatus.
"I went to pick up Twilight and her teacher said she disappeared! They've been searching the school for her, thinking she cast an invisibility spell, but I think she might've teleported!" The young alicorn's breath had fragmented into huffs again.
"Slate?" Celestia asked with a raised voice, ignoring the pointed stares of the gathered officials. They could read in her manner that this wasn't exactly the type of national emergency that merited an interruption of the Cabinet. Celestia hoped they were right.
The guard in question, an earth pony with coat, build, and expression all matching her namesake, appeared at the door. "Yes, Highness?"
"Please fetch a pair of guards from the barracks. Princess Cadenza will join you shortly at Twilight Sparkle's classroom to direct a survey of all likely exit points by sightline which could be reached with basic teleportation," she said, subtly supporting Cadenza's theory and lending her niece some of her own authority for the work ahead.
"Yes, Highness!" Slate responded with a quick bow, then trotted smartly from the room.
"Thank you for informing me, Mi Amore, but this is likely nothing to be worried about," Celestia said, half to Cadenza and half to the Cabinet. "Twilight is easily overwhelmed in group situations. I'm sure she's just hiding somewhere. Please, find her and help her calm down."
Cadenza nodded jerkily. "Yes, Auntie." Her eyes darted to the assembled Cabinet, recognizing the meeting she was interrupting for the first time. "Er... I will... shall be... taking my leave, now. Princess."
Celestia brushed her with a wing before she could turn. "You did the right thing by coming to me, Cadenza. Have a messenger sent when you've confirmed my student's safety."
With that, the Princess of Love turned and trotted quickly from the room. Celestia turned back to address the Cabinet. "Apologies for the interruption, dams. Let us carry on. Secretary Jumble?" The pegasus in question was the exceedingly competent Secretary of Finances, and a constant reminder to Celestia to brainstorm legislation to keep ponies from naming their foals such unfortunate things.
When she'd first found Mi Amore Cadenza, she was struck by her name — 'my heartbeat'. It spoke either of utmost love or utter dependence. She'd grown so much since then. The filly that had slipped through the castle's halls like carpet was growing into a mare who strode with purpose and confidence. But her loving nature had always shone through, even back when she was too young to be exposed to any machinery of governance more complex than a lever. It was fortunate then that Celestia, final authority on all things, served exactly that purpose in Equestria.
She was rarely one to practice that authority, but the nominative issues were approaching exception. More pressing than poor Jumble was the triplicate temptation burgeoning among the nobles. Another sour taste of Prance, despite her attempts to tamp down her 'nephew', Sang Bleu Ciel. Often, she wondered whether shoring up the crumbling Prench monarchy was really worth the trouble. If the trend took root, court would have to be extended by an hour just to make room for the announcements of Lights Camera Action and Crystalline Endless Ripples and Gild The Lily. And then they'd be onto four and five, until every pony's name was a language unto itself.
Unfortunately, the thought of those projects did little to distract her from her true concern. The idea of Equestria's sole sovereign joining in on the search for a lost filly was ridiculous. It showed clear favoritism, not to mention a lack of faith in the abilities of the Royal Guard. Celestia continued repeating this to herself in her mind as she stared through Secretary Jumble.
The Guard was searching direct eyelines because Twilight had only accomplished basic teleportation, which required a clear line of sight. She could manage successive jumps, but she likely wouldn't want to, instead collapsing where she landed. But something was bothering Celestia. Twilight wasn't simply studious, she was ravenous. She hadn't been exaggerating when she had said Twilight would teach herself teleportation.
Using Ākhiru-n-Nahr for scrying allowed one to circumvent basic teleportation's line of sight limitation, and there was one place close enough to scry but not visible from the school that a distressed Twilight would seek like a homing pigeon. Only she knew enough of Twilight's abilities to realize that, but she was stuck in this meeting, unable to so much as lift a hoof.
Celestia's growing irritation sought a target, ideally somepony droning on about tax margins, but found none. The Cabinet was silent.
"I would like to adjourn this council for the day."
It wasn't Celestia who had said that. Instead, it was the Secretary of Defense, whose gaze skimmed over Celestia as it swept the room. Usually, the Cabinet was happy to discuss policy until sunset. Surely the proposal would be rejected outright.
Across from her, Rainshadow nodded. "I agree with Secretary Wedge. We've accomplished much today."
Celestia peeked over at Sheaf's minutes. The last item was from two minutes ago, when she'd been asked to comment on Farasi's proposal for a trade agreement. Whoops.
The rest of the assembly nodded their agreement, all of them studiously ignoring Celestia. Nopony mentioned how distracted she surely looked. Each secretary just acted as if she had her own personal appointment she had to keep, independent of the others. Which left Celestia wondering: should she push back against this obvious acquiescence to her own distraction? Would that only assure them of the need for adjournment? She glanced again at the minutes, realizing it had been twenty minutes since Cadenza's interruption. Twenty minutes with no word. Twilight was still lost.
"Very well," she decided. "We have accomplished everything on the agenda and can table the items that have been brought up until our meeting in a half-moon. Thank you all for joining me this afternoon. Meeting adjourned." She stood, nodded once to Sheaf, and left the room, ignoring the murmuring that bubbled in her wake.
She didn't teleport, but the distance spanning her walk rippled and folded as if she had. Her progress didn't stop as she cast open the tower's doors with a flick of her horn. A quick glance around the interior turned up no lost filly. She peeked out from the balcony with Ākhiru-n-Nahr and could see the school clearly. But no filly. Perhaps she was wrong about Twilight teaching herself more advanced teleportation. Even then, there were plenty more places she could have teleported to, so—
She heard a sniffle.
Turning and hurrying across the room to its source, Celestia used her magic to lift a pile of books. In a hollow dug into the literature lay Twilight Sparkle, curled in on herself. Her body shook with sobs.
Celestia leaned over the filly, only for Twilight to raise her head, horn seeking out a star. Celestia's haunches tensed at her instinctive search for a star and the way her eyes were screwed tightly shut, but it was only a wish to al-Kawkab. Once she found the star and pulled on it, a broad and heavy tome was opened wide and yanked into the pit, covering her head. "Go 'way."
Not one to take orders from a foal, Celestia sat down next to the pile of books. "I only wanted to check on you, Twilight."
The book atop her twitched, but didn't move. With her own horn, Celestia lifted it, revealing her student. The fur on her cheeks was still damp, but the tears had stopped flowing. Still, she squirmed away from the light, burying her face in the books opposite. Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly, with only a few shakes in her diaphragm. "... I hate ponies, Princess."
Celestia took a step back at the force of the words. They were only a whisper, but in her mind they echoed, twisting and warping back over a millennium to the sound of another confession... One she should've treated more seriously.
That silence was enough to pull Twilight from her pit. She sat bolt upright and yelped, "Oh, not you of course, Princess! I could never hate you! Or mom, or dad, or Shiny, or Spike most of the time... I just..." Her ears drooped. "Why are ponies so mean?"
Celestia raised a wing, and Twilight hesitated only a moment before clambering out of the book pile and joining her at her side. "I wish there was a simple reason, my student," she said, pulling the filly close. "You once inquired whether I know everything or if, in my long life, I have run out of questions. Ponies are one of the subjects of which there always seems to be more to learn."
She looked out, over the balcony, at the spires and promenades of the castle. She knew the seemingly uncountable count of bricks in the brickwork before her, and it still was only a fraction of the number of ponies she'd known. "All I know is that all of us are full of potential for cruelty and love both. Were your classmates unkind to you?"
Twilight squirmed against her side. "The teacher was talking about patron stars and special talents, asking everyone to demonstrate theirs. She called on me, and... I said I didn't have one. A— And... Twinkleshine said I could do polymorphs, and then another filly said 'as long as you don't want to turn back', and then they all started laughing, but it wasn't funny! Miss Syzygy told everypony to calm down, but Lemon Hearts said I'd sic Spike on them, which I only did once, I promise, Princess, and they all started laughing again, and I—
"And I... came here," Twilight finished. She was utterly silent, as if waiting to have judgement rendered unto her.
"I am sorry, Twilight." Celestia swallowed her frustration at Syzygy, who had Twilight's lack of patron star on file and shouldn't have called on her to begin with. Marching down to the school and telling the students not to bully Twilight wouldn't help either. "They shouldn't have said that to you." She nearly winced at her own wooden words.
"But... But what if they're right? What if I lose control again? What if I turn mom into a plant and they can't change her back?" Twilight poked her head out from the plumage and looked up at Celestia, her eyes tearing up. "Wh— What if I'm just a danger to everypony, forever?"
"You aren't a danger to anypony, Twilight."
"But how can you know?" the filly quailed. From the student who thought her teacher knew everything, that cry was an admission of terror.
"Twilight, what star is that?" Celestia asked, lowering her horn to point at the center of two swirling eddies of ley. As a unicorn, Twilight didn't need the night sky for a quiz on stars — she could see the radiance of their ley clearly through the blue of the firmament.
Twilight, glory upon her, actually perked up a little at the prospect of a pop quiz. Wiping at one eye with a foreleg, she answered, "That's an-Nasl." She sniffed. "You already taught me it. How's knowing teleportation going to stop me? That just makes it worse..."
"I taught and you remembered, Twilight. Very good. Now, shall we try with the astralidade?" Twilight nodded, though the way her teeth worried at her lip and her eyes flicked to the side showed how she felt about the instrument. Celestia knew that it looked a little scary to a filly: the azimuth and altitude wheels caged in the small mount where head rested, and the various straps and buckles looked like something of a more primitive era. Twilight was obediently placing her head in that thicket now, her eyes blocked by a fitted pad to ensure focus on her horn.
Braces were snugged into place and mechanisms adjusted to compensate for her horn elevation and curve, figures Twilight's pediatrician had given (with a few quiet adjustments from centuries of experience). Then, Celestia began to adjust the altazimuth mount to the specifications she'd long since memorized, adjusted for the time of year: this particular astralidade had been a fixture of the castle in this very spot for centuries. Once she'd dialed it in so Twilight's horn was pointing directly at the star, she asked: "Now, what star is that?"
Twilight's neck muscles flexed as she instinctively tried to weave her head around, to feel the tautness of the connection between her and the distant star. Celestia suspected that the astralidade was actually more obstacle than aid for a prodigy, but it would be useful once they began covering the more obscure stars. Besides, half its utility was in stopping a student from looking up at the star at which she was meant to be pointing her horn. "That's..." Twilight murmured, "al-Kawkab. Definitely."
"Correct," Celestia replied, then dialed a new set of coordinates into the altazimuth. "And this?"
A faint glow surrounded Twilight's horn as she tentatively felt for the star. "ar-Risha," she said with certainty.
A warm feeling of pride blossomed in Celestia's chest as she followed the line of Twilight's horn to the Star of Retrieval, carefully unbraiding the sensation of her own connection to it from the many connections tied like loose thread around her own horn. "Excellent, Twilight." She felt a little guilty about this next part, but it was vital to hammer the lesson home. "Now... In my upcoming meeting with the Mendicant Nation of Griffonstone, should I ask that the shore of the northern crossing be ceded for revitalization efforts by ponykind? Or shall I let it lie for another two hundred years, for fear of wounding their pride by asking so recently after the violent events of the twelfth succession of the Althaus clan?"
Her student was silent for a moment, and she was sure her eyebrows would be furrowed in confusion if they weren't hidden by the astralidade's rest. "... What?"
"Is it best that the shore be ceded to us now? Yes or no."
"I... don't understand, Princess. I'm sorry." She squirmed against the restraints.
Celestia allowed a little of the ice she reserved for testy supplicants to creep into her voice. "Yes, or no?"
Twilight was bucking against the braces now, a faint sheen of lather against her neck. "I— I don't know! Yes!" she said in a panic, and Celestia's heart twinged at the desperation in her voice.
"There you have it," she said, unbuckling the restraints and freeing Twilight from the instrument that was likely a little bit more of a torture device in her mind than before. She pulled back instantly, falling to her haunches and shaking her mane out. "I apologize for the demonstration. You cannot answer a question you don't understand, Twilight. You know this. But when put under pressure, it is easier to answer than keep your silence." Celestia sat in front of Twilight. "When we first met, the stars had asked you a very difficult question, in a language you barely understood. You agreed out of fear, and they took you for a moment."
Twilight's eyes were hidden behind her short bangs, and Celestia would've recognized the look even if she hadn't seen it on the filly before. "Twilight," she said gently, lifting her chin with a hoof so she could look into her watering eyes. "It wasn't your fault. I know it must have been scary, but I won't let it happen to you again."
"... Do you promise?" Twilight asked in a wavering voice.
Celestia could count the promises she'd made in the last two centuries in one round. She didn't like them. They only brought a false sense of security, acting as a bandage to dress a bleeding-out of confidence. She never broke her last promise, but it hadn't made a difference. Yet, she told herself. It hadn't made a difference yet.
"I promise," Celestia asked, releasing Twilight's chin and earning a shaky smile. "Part of that is my protection, but the majority of it will be you, my student. What you lacked then was language. You didn't understand what the stars were asking you, so you felt pressured to agree. If you learn the stars' names, their coordinates, and their sensations, you can understand their requests, and accept or deny them." Celestia's eyes swept over the tower's bookshelves. "Have you heard of Starswirl's constellations?"
Twilight nodded, eager at a chance to answer a question. "Yeah! I even got to try number twelve in class, the one that makes you floaty." Her horn made a vague slash through the air, the instinctual motion of connecting two stars into a dyad.
Just then, a guard trotted in and bowed. "Princess Celestia!" he said, looking between her and Twilight. "Sheaf asked me to find you. Is everything alright?"
"Certainly. Would you fetch Princess Cadenza and her guard detachment for me? I've found Twilight. I'll be with Sheaf shortly — he's in the audience hall, I take it?"
"Yes, ma'am!" The guard saluted again, then left.
"Starswirl was much like you, Twilight," Celestia said. "He had no patron, but possessed an affinity for astrology. The stars would grab him by the horn and shake, and sometimes that wrought terrible destruction on himself and others." She saw Twilight's eyes go wide at that. "But it was also how he learned, put to paper, and refined all his constellations. Those same constellations became the building blocks for many conjugate wishes still in use today."
"He was... like me?" Twilight asked, her eyes wide not with terror but with wonder.
"In more ways than one. He had your same passion, so I'm sure you'll learn the language of the stars as well as he did. But there is another trick you can use in the meantime." Her sweet remembrance turned bitter in her mouth. "One he never grasped."
"What's that, Princess?" Twilight loved secrets, Celestia had noticed. Little gems of knowledge not known to anypony else. She hadn't yet discovered whether she intended to hoard them or share them.
"Restraint."
"... Restraint?" she asked, a twinge of disappointment in her voice.
"Often, when you don't know the answer to something immediately, it is best to wait. Restrain your urge to rush forward, and take a moment to consider the question and your knowledge. Build a proper answer that you can put your whole heart behind. Not all questions even need an answer, and certainly not always on the terms set by the asker."
"So... If someone asks me a yes or no question... I don't have to say either?"
"Not unless it suits you."
"That's good," Twilight said. "I don't like multi-choice questions. Filling in the circles is boring."
Celestia chuckled. "You are quite the essayist already. But developing this kind of restraint requires cultivating an inner peace. It's important to have a place you can go without distractions, to focus on yourself." She lay herself down, fores joining her hinds on the carpeted floor, so she could look at Twilight from her level. "Do you have somewhere like that?"
Twilight was silent for a moment. "Well, at home there's the neighbors, or dad playing his records, or Shiney doing drills with mom... There's a tree on the playground that I read under, but lunch is only twenty minutes..." Her gaze drifted upwards, following the winding shelves. "Princess, I like it when we study here. It's like it's just you and me and the books, and there's nothing else outside the tower besides the stars. Is that what inner peace is? When there's no outside?"
"That sounds exactly right, Twilight." They shared a smile, and then Celestia's eyes followed her student's upwards. Could this tower be the inner sanctum Twilight needed to form a confident core from which she could reach out to others? Or would it become a stronghold, isolating her further from those around her?
Questions, questions. Too many questions, lately. Futures for Twilight spread out in her mind like branches, not of bonsai but oak — no, apple, heavy with bright red fruits. But no tree could spare enough for every branch. "You know, Twilight, this tower doesn't see much use outside of our lessons... Traditionally, it is the residence of my student."
"Aww, your student is so lucky..." Twilight murmured, still gazing upwards. After a moment, her head whipped downward so she could stare at Celestia. "Wait! I'm your student! Does that mean—"
"It does, Twilight. Think of it as..." — she swallowed back 'a home away from home'. "Your own library. A place to learn and to think."
"Oh, Princess! I'll study every day!" She looked at the tower's bookshelves with new eyes — no longer a borrowed domain, but a space of her own. "Are all these books really for me? I don't know what to read first! Do you have any books on Starswirl? Wait, I mean— Do I have any books on Starswirl?"
Celestia's smile was as warm as sunlight. "I believe there are a few." Horn glowing, she summoned a small pile of tomes from around the library, placing them next to the filly in a stack three times her height.
Nevertheless, Twilight managed to leap atop it, staring down at the title of the top book with unrestrained curiosity. "Treatise on... Extra-pla-nar Phe-no-meh-na..." she read. Celestia grimaced: one of his later works. She floated the book, and Twilight with it, off the stack, then lifted the next one before her eyes.
"Perhaps this one will be of more interest to you," she said, holding up Patron Stars. "An examination of the most common patrons, and the stars that nopony has a natural talent for, showing the potential of one without a patron."
Her eyes sparkling, Twilight gently gripped the spine of her book in her mouth. Celestia noticed with concern that she appeared to be salivating. "Well, it's certainly been an eventful day, Twilight... But they'll be expecting you back home with Cadenza."
"Can I—" Thump. Narrowing her eyes, Twilight flicked her horn to ar-Risha to yank the book into the air, then caught it with al-Kawkab. Celestia blinked at the casual use of the Star of Retrieval, a star her student had only learned the name of a scant few days ago. "May I take this home?" Twilight asked, inclining her head toward the floating book.
"Of course, Twilight. It's your library, so feel free to take out whichever books you like. As long as you record them in the ledger, of course."
Another thump as Twilight stared into space, the words "it's your library" likely bouncing around in her mind as the book bounced off the floor. Then, she bounded over to the ledger in question, eager to take on the role of junior librarian. Celestia watched her with unguarded fondness as she floated over the quill and then attempted to use the stamp in her book, only to find it had dried with time. After a few increasingly forceful attempts, Celestia took the stamp from her and, with a quick wish, revitalized it. She returned it to Twilight, who made use of it with visible satisfaction. "All done!"
"Very good. Would you like me to accompany the two of you back home?"
Twilight worried at her lip, glancing out at the balcony. "... It's okay, Princess." She drew herself up into a regal pose. "I've already taken up enough of your time."
Celestia held in a giggle at her noblemare imitation. "The time was given freely, Twilight, but I suppose I should return to my own schedule and you to yours."
"Twilight!" Cadenza trotted in with an unabashed grin on her face. She wrapped the filly in a tight hug with both forelegs. "There you are. We were worried."
"Sorry I ran— um, teleported, Cadence... I didn't mean to get you in trouble." Twilight mumbled, clearly holding in a desire to do so again.
"Cadenza isn't in any trouble, Twilight. She did the right thing by telling me so we could find you as soon as possible." Celestia walked closer to stand over the two smaller ponies. "But please, if the other foals are hurting you, talk to an adult. Miss Syzygy was worried about you as well."
"Yes, Princess," Twilight mumbled through Cadenza's wings, which had joined her legs in the embrace.
Her niece was looking down, deep in thought. Finally, she looked up at Celestia and released her grip, revealing Twilight, who jumped to retrieve her book. "... Auntie, can Twilight and I have a sleepover?"
"Sleepover?.." Twilight asked, looking back.
"Yeah!" Cadenza said, beaming. Then, her smile faltered a little. "Y'know," — ('you know', Cadenza, enunciate) — "a sleepover?.. Junk food, staying up late, truth or dare?"
"I like staying up late..." Twilight said cautiously. "And truth..."
"Well it's settled then! Isn't it, Auntie?"
Seeing her adoptive niece take so well to her charge warmed Celestia's heart, even said charge was only partway to reciprocation. The young Princess truly embodied her aspect, throwing herself into everything she tried. "Of course, Cadenza. I'll send a guard to inform Twilight Velvet and retrieve whatever young Twilight needs from home. And remember, Twilight, good rest is key to understanding the parables, so don't stay up too late."
"We won't!" Cadence chimed, then turned to Twilight when the filly didn't fill in her half of the chorus. She was looking at her book, which was suspended in her raspberry glow. "Is something the matter, Twilight?.."
Her teeth worried at her lip. "I've... never slept outside my own house..." she mumbled.
"Oh!" Cadenza exclaimed. She ran over and pulled Twilight into her wing again, drawing a yelp from her. She was a very physical pony, even for a pegasus. "There's nothing to worry about. The castle's safe as safe can be! Auntie's here, after all, and all her guards. There are even wardens on rotation to help keep our rooms safe from wishes."
A little worry bubbled up in Celestia's mind, but... Mi Amore still hadn't been affected, and Sunset never had been either, despite both of them living in the castle. Foals, perhaps, were safe.
Cadenza went on: "I can get the chefs to make us pizza, and we can gossip, or play games, or stargaze, or whatever you want!"
Twilight glanced back down at her latest treasure. "Can I read my book?.."
Cadenza rolled her eyes fondly. "Of course you can read your book, Twilight. So long as you don't forget me again!"
"I won't," Twilight insisted with a blush.
"I'll come and check on the two of you when my duties are completed," Celestia said, ushering the both of them out of the tower. "And I'll send a guard for Twilight's things. Please ask the staff if there's anything you need." She glanced upward, mentally recalling her schedule for the evening. "And Twilight, please make yourself at home. If you need anything else, you may send for me."
"Bye, Auntie!" Cadence chirped, waving as Celestia continued down the hallway to her next appointment. Twilight just stared, too overwhelmed to say anything. She gave her one last smile over her shoulder before turning her attention to the mercilessly short, long-legged walk between her and her next meeting.