//------------------------------// // XVIII - Transcendence // Story: Transcendence // by Corejo //------------------------------// Transcendence The day had arrived. It came like any other.  No grand orchestra or trumpet call heralded its arrival; there were no flags or banners waved in joy or celebration.  Only the early morning sun and its light shining off wood and window bid it welcome. The sun had only half risen when Scootaloo and Tyco took to the skies for Fillydelphia, and a warm, muggy tailwind hastened their flight.  It would be hot this day. They flew in silence, the only noise between them the whistling of the wind in their ears.  Scootaloo desired concentration, and her father was more than apt to allow it.  He wore a small smile, one Scootaloo would not have noticed if not for a chance look in his direction.  It reminded her of the one Rainbow Dash had given her before her first 5K—almost devilish in its certainty.  It made her own all the brighter. The fields surrounding Fillydelphia were a sea of moving colors.  Ponies swarmed like ants around stalls and makeshift marketplaces far below.  Scootaloo remembered this from the last time she was here.  It was as if nothing had changed—time had been frozen for a year and then thawed.  Her eyes wandered toward the far end of the crowds, where a semblance of organization stood amidst the chaos.  Specks of azure dotted the grass and clouds at the other end of the field, and she knew that was where she needed to be. They didn’t waste a second getting there, and when they did, curious eyes followed.  The whispers of ponies met their ears.  “Isn’t that the Wonderbolt from forever ago?”  “Is that his daughter?”  “What’s she doing here?”  Scootaloo huffed them away, keeping her head down. The two skirted around a couple deep in conversation to see Spitfire, wearing a crisp, dark-blue commander’s shirt adorned with medals and ribbons, aviators resting on her forehead.  Rainbow Dash sat beside her, empty eyes reaching for the far horizon.  Scootaloo stopped in her tracks, her heart rooting her in place.  A slow heavy breath escaped through her nostrils, and death simmered in her eyes. Spitfire caught sight of the two.  Curiosity steepled her brows, and she glanced at Rainbow Dash for a long moment before looking back at them with what felt like wary interest, the slightest smile turning the corners of her mouth.  She turned to walk for another group of Wonderbolts, her eyes remaining on Scootaloo for a couple steps before shifting ahead.  In that time, Rainbow Dash had only slightly lowered her head. Scootaloo felt her stomach turn at knowing Rainbow Dash dared not look her way, as if such manners were beneath her.  The urge to scream consumed her, but she held her tongue.  Rainbow Dash would see soon enough. “Don’t worry about her, Scoot,” Tyco said in her ear.  “Just do what you do best and the rest is history.”  He patted her on the head, and it was a long while before she was able to pry her glare from Rainbow Dash.  He was right; she had to prepare. “I’ll go get your cloud ready for you, and then I’ll be out there cheering you on, okay?”  He gave her a smile worth all the medals of the world.  “You’ll do great.”  A ruffle of her mane, and he was off for a large cloud rolling over the nearby forest. Scootaloo smiled as she watched him go.  Thanks, Dad. A soft wind drifted across the plain and she closed her eyes, listening to the bustling commotion of preparation.  Shouts and catcalls rang over the sparse birdsong and distant cries of vendors selling their wares.  Cut grass filled her senses with the rich dew of Summer.  She released a sigh she didn’t know she had drawn and opened her eyes. The far reaches of her memory served to recognize a hoofful of the competitors stretching and flying about.  Many new ones filled the open field, one particularly noticeable dark-orange pegasus among them. A cold vice gripped Scootaloo’s heart for an instant, but then melted away like ice to a flame.  She walked toward Pyra. No longer was she the filly Scootaloo had known.  Grace had gifted her length of wing and leg, and hard work a subtle movement of muscle beneath the skin.  Early adulthood had grown her cocky smirk into a spirited smile so cool and calm that it could have extinguished the wild flames of her mane and tail.  Pyra passed this smile over her, and Scootaloo felt the heat of the morning relent, if only for a moment.  She cocked her head, and a lock of orange shifted to hide an eye and the intrigue glowing within. “Aren’t you a little small to be in this race?” she said. The words were friendly, if not provoking.  They had a ring to them that rode the line between coy and amorous, reminiscent of the last time they had spoken, though more mature.  It held greater restraint on the undertones of competition that used to prowl like a wolf about its prey. “You’re gonna find out real soon,” Scootaloo said back, trying her best to return the hidden threat.  Pyra giggled, almost more of a chuckle. “Tough words.  I beat you last time...”  She blinked, and it was as if a spark flashed within her eyes.  “Think you got what it takes?” Scootaloo certainly had what it would have taken to put a hoof between her eyes, but she let the pot simmer and only gave a half grin. Pyra laughed.  It made Scootaloo feel as if worms were wriggling over her neck. “Good luck,” Pyra said as she turned to leave, her smile lingering upon Scootaloo a second longer. Scootaloo watched her go, watched her long, curled tail sweep back and forth like fire trying to torch the ground in her wake.  She had her work cut out for her, even with what she had up her sleeve. A shake of the head cleared away her worry.  She took a deep breath.  Starting box.  With an objective in mind to stave off uneasiness, she headed for the nearest unoccupied square painted in the grass.  It was freshly made, the noxious smell of spray paint lingering in the air.  It mingled with the scents of grass and light humidity.  She filled her lungs with them. The grass was soft and lush beneath her.  She ground her hooves into it to listen to the ripping and feel the cold touch of dirt, an unconscious but comforting feeling.  An ant bobbed on a blade of grass in the slight breeze.  She took another deep breath.  Focus. Here, other racers stretched and flew in near silence, hoofsteps and wingstrokes the only sounds heard.  They were focused, none of them even noticing her age let alone existence.  Chiseled and lean, they stood as specimens of athletic perfection.  Not an ounce of excess fat or skin clung to them.  They were beings of victory, built and bred.  And they were many.  You’re out of your league. She closed her eyes and listened to the deafening sound of silence—true professionals readying themselves for their moment of glory, their purpose in life.  Good luck...  She released a shaky breath and took another.  It all came down to this.  Her legs quivered as she searched within for something—anything—to cling to.  Applebloom.  Sweetie Belle.  Dad.  Friendly faces, but they vanished as quickly as they appeared to leave her alone.  Then she paused, her breath catching in her throat.  The sonic rainboom.  Lightning calling.  Everything that had lead her to this very moment.  All the pain, sadness, and exhaustion she had endured to be here this day.  She looked at her cutie mark, and the tension in her heart laxed.  She began to grin at it, then at those around her.  They’re gonna need it. “Alright!  Listen up, all of you!”  Spitfire wore a stern glare that she swept over the competitors, many of which shrank as it passed.  It landed on Scootaloo, pausing for a split second before continuing down the line.  Her curiosity from before showed like a crack in a suit of armor.  “First thing’s first.  You’ll all line up in a starting box and wait for my signal.  When everypony is silent and still, I will blow my whistle and the race will begin. “As you can see, this is no ordinary course.  This is five thousand meters of hell designed to test your limits in speed, agility, and control.”  Spitfire glanced casually up at a maze of clouds above.  The crowd began to whisper, some nervously, others dismissively.  “Most of you won’t even qualify.”  Spitfire’s eyes flicked in her direction. Scootaloo felt them trying to drill into her, break her, but she stared right back.  She had her cutie mark. Spitfire scanned the crowd one last time.  A grin curled the corners of her lips, and she huffed with satisfaction.  A quick nod and she took flight for a large cloud above, where the other Wonderbolts sat waiting, Rainbow Dash included. Scootaloo looked her dead in the eye, but Rainbow Dash wouldn’t meet her gaze.  She was a statue upon the cloud, staring into nothingness ahead of her.  Scootaloo gritted her teeth and spit her disgust into the grass. “Racers to your marks!” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them to the white strip before her.  She set her hoof just behind it.  The air became still, as if holding its breath.  She let the familiar numbing focus fill her mind like it had every race before.  Just another race.  Another gold for the pile.  It was her and the sky, and nopony else. “Set!” The world went silent.  Her heart beat aloud its fear and excitement.  Twice it pumped in a soundless second, waiting for the call.  Her eyes rose to the labyrinth above.  Hooves ground themselves into the earth. “Go!” A whistle pierced the air to thunderous cheers and an explosion of wings.  Bodies bumped and jostled for space in the flurry of feathers all around, the heat of their breath sticky in the humid air. Not a hundred meters above, a cloud marker signalled a sharp right through a tunnel of cloud.  Scootaloo dashed ahead to win the first turn, but others had the same idea.  The pack collapsed upon itself like a wave breaking overtop a wall.  In the chaos, a blue stallion shouldered her into the marker.  Its dense vapors broke slowly as if she had flown through a feather pillow, and clung to her like molasses. She shook her head to dissipate the rage swelling in her bosom.  A death glare had to suffice for the moment.  She would catch him soon enough. Little distance was there between the marker and the tunnel, making catching up impossible.  Scootaloo looped around the outside of the pack to take a spot at the end and avoid the skirmish.  The heavy breaths of the racers echoed within the tunnel like a thousand steam engines, and the sun disappeared for a second before piercing the darkness at the far end. A loud whistling overpowered the breathing, slowly becoming like the roar of a tornado.  One by one, the racers were launched out the end of the tunnel sideways.  Scootaloo felt herself instinctively slow, body reared back slightly, teeth clenched.  No time for fear!  Go! She surged her wings to make up for the lost second and clear the end of the tunnel.  A wind stronger than the largest tornado she had ever seen or made blasted her from the side.  She shut her eyes to the onslaught, feeling her body torn from the path she desired.  Earth and sky became one and a cloud caught her in the face just, as she had taken a breath, and filled her lungs with vapor.   The missed breath forced a fit of coughs against all desire for air, the world around her a spinning terror.  Deep within her mind, a plea for control cried out against the screams of instinct to panic.  Wings became stiffer than boards in response.  She twisted them with the wind, catching the swirls and eddies and whips that sought to destroy her, and pulled out of her spin just above the heads of a spectating crowd. Their cheers and jeers were lost in the distance almost instantly, Scootaloo’s gaze already fixed to the next cloud marker above, and the lead racers already banking around it.  Her cheeks burned hotter than molten glass, but she quickly redirected the energy to her wings. Gouts of flame wound their way through her muscles in the climb, egging her further on.  The race was too far ahead to compromise with her body’s cries for pace.  Far above the cloud marker waited, pointing to a series of dive rings that corkscrewed toward the earth, already filled with a blurred rainbow of bodies. Scootaloo forced herself to the peak of the dive in hopes of using it as a breathing point.  Parts of the rings had been warped and vaporized by the speed of those ahead.  The world pulled taut in her eyes as she gave a single surge of her wings into the corkscrew. A tip of a mach cone formed at her hoof.  The thought of a sonic rainboom now was tantalizing—an easy gap closer.  But it would lessen the impact it would have in the second round, and the loss of agility would prove deadly at the end of her dive, where a cloud arch on top of a hill marked an upturn toward a distant helix.  She blinked away wind-shorn tears. A pink pegasus was the first of three racers she caught in the dive.  All gave incredulous looks, barely seen out the corner of her eye, forcing a brief grin before flaring her wings to take the upswing as sharply as possible.  Blood flooded her legs to bursting, a shadow fell over her vision, and an odd feeling of detachment washed over her. Time slowed, and something rang in her ear. Before she could understand what was happening, the world snapped back like a rubber band.  She took a breath before noticing one of the pegasi overtaking her.  She gritted her teeth. The two paced neck and neck into the sky toward the massive helix.  Pyra was distinct among the pack just nearing the base, the flames of her mane like a spark to its fuse.  The pack was halfway up when Scootaloo reached the helix. She banked inward to ride an unseen upcurrent that followed in the pack’s wake.  The wind picked up speed, pushing her onward, pulling her forward.  The pegasus flying abreast fell away as if Scootaloo alone felt its effects.  Stragglers dropped back one by one in the dizzying spiral. At the helix’s peak, Pyra arced her head as she flew inverted over the center.  A goading flame roared in her eyes and would have billowed smoke from the wide grin that plastered her face.  She and the pack were gone over the top in less than a second, but the sight burned like an afterimage of the sun. Faster. Numbness worked its way through Scootaloo, starting in her wings—a concordance of the lava in her veins and the air in her lungs.  A daze filled her head like honey, vision hazed just slightly, mind slipping into self awareness. One more section... She cleared the final spiral of the cloud structure and dove over the side for an immense fog that covered the green of the earth.  The tail end of the middle pack had just entered as she surged into the unknown. A dense chill wrapped about her like a wet blanket.  Noise faded away into distant echoes and far off gusts of wind, a low howl and her heartbeat pervading the broken silence.   Lightning ripped through a swirl of vapor like a wolf leaping for the throat.  Scootaloo skirted to the side just in time, the electric heat searing the hairs of her underbelly.  Before she recovered, a cloud marker suddenly appeared in the fog, pointing left, deeper into the invisible labyrinth.  She cut a near-right angle in the nick of time.  In the half second after, she allowed herself a sigh of relief, then gritted her teeth.  Without sight, sound and reflexes would have to guide her. A crosswind started blowing from the left.  It grew in strength as she barrelled through the maze, forcing her to fight it.  But compensating left her wingspan tilted, her heart beating desperation and nervousness, as a sudden change in wind could send her wildly off course.  The instinct seemed to have been shared by a hooffull of others, who either dared for headway or slowed for control.  Those without the guts to fly against the wind she passed within seconds. At the end of the long straightaway, the fog relented enough to reveal a curved, half-tube of cloud that formed a hairpin turn back into the dense vapors.  She banked hard, forcing every ounce of energy into her strokes to maintain speed through the turn. There was a scream and a crack of lightning.  The veil at the end of the turn became engulfed in a swirling bolt of lightning and was sucked in by a vortex of mist and shadow.  Scootaloo flared her wings to escape its pull, but was caught in its grasp before she could flee. Grey swirled and roared the rage of a vengeful lion as it threw her every which way.  Faster than it had happened, she felt herself launched out the other end of the vortex.  Instinct stiffened her wings as lightning flashed in the unseen distance. She heard the hiss before it struck. It leapt from shadows and eddies of cloud.  Hundreds of bolts screamed as they shot past and back into the nothingness beyond.  The fog slowly formed a tunnel that disappeared around a bend.  Blindly, she fired down it, spiralling and looping to avoid the screaming lightning. The tunnel wormed a chaotic path far into the unknown.  A pair of racers fought for room in the narrowing tube ahead.  Excitement coursed through Scootaloo at the sight and redoubled her speed.  She looped up and over them, smirking at an expletive one of them seethed. But her grin was short lived as the tunnel came to a dead end before she could react.  She burst through the fog and was immediately caught in an upward draft.  A hiss and flash above caught her eye.  A quick surge of her wings snapped her to the side just as the bolt tore past, but was thrown tumbling sideways by a cross-sectional jetstream. The two racers overtook her in the maddening spiral, they themselves collected and in control.  In the split second she had to look them in the eyes, she saw nothing but contempt.   Silence returned to the world around her by the time she caught the wind beneath her wings and rode the jetstream through the fog that quickly brightened with the day it tried to fend off. The sun blinded her as she burst from the labyrinth, its thick contrails vaporizing in the brilliance.  Through squinted eyes, she saw the two stallions, and the remainder of the pack not twenty meters ahead of them.  Pyra was in the lead by a nose, just crossing over the cloud marker signalling the dive to the finish. Scootaloo was far too behind to work into a final sprint.  She had to go—now.  Come on, wings!  The last reserves of sanity propelled her forward through gritted teeth.  Grunts and heaves for air came loud from the two stallions as she overtook them just before the dive.  Their struggle added to the impending victory that throbbed in her chest, gave an extra flair to the final stroke overtop the marker. If the wind wasn’t already roaring in her ears, it was now. The finish line sat like a speck upon the distant earth, growing ever nearer around the frames of the final three racers ahead.  Their tails billowed in the wind to mime inextinquishable flames, Pyra’s the most vibrant.  Her body undulated slightly with each wing stroke, a signal she had not yet kicked, still had some speed hidden up her sleeve. Third place fell off pace, his fading wheezes audible even over the wind.  Scootaloo came abreast of second, a thin mint-green mare with an eye that snuck a glance at her approach.  It blazed death over the hissing of clenched teeth and trailing saliva.  She took Scootaloo’s pace, the will to win filling her every move. They came abreast of Pyra, who looked at them for only an instant.  Concentration held her face stoic.  For a fleeting moment, Scootaloo believed her to be spent.  But a faint grin on Pyra’s face denied her hopes. The mare shot forward as if launched from a catapult.  Scootaloo grunted away the pain stabbing at her sides.  She clenched her eyes shut to wring out the last drops of energy.  A cone began forming at the tip of her hoof, but she held fast, not wanting to risk its desired shock value in the second round. She again came neck to neck, the grin on Pyra’s face as calm as ever.  Its impossible coolness sparked what could only have been fear in her heart.  A cone started forming at the tip of Pyra’s hoof.  No. There were no second chances, no second places.  No exceptions. Scootaloo kicked one final time to force her cone to its breaking point.  The thread unravelled and snapped to leave the pain of the world behind.  The finish line and its spectators wizzed by in a blur of grey as she tilted her wings to shoot skyward. She could see and feel their cheers and awe-struck gazes.  The triumph she had felt after her very first 5K flooded back like an undammed river.  She smiled, letting the world return to color and sound, craning her neck back as she looped upside down to look for her father.  He was no more than a tiny speck among the crowd, but his distant grin shone bright like the sun.  None of the others mattered. A laugh, filled to the brim with pride, escaped her as she glided toward the coolers behind the finish line.  The cheers had died down to whispers and murmurs by the time she landed, her smile now contained. “That was pretty cool,” came Pyra’s voice after a moment’s daze. Scootaloo turned to meet her eyes.  Even in defeat, they were cool and collected. She was walking past her for the water coolers.  “Can’t wait to see what else you got.”  A wink, a turn ahead, and she was already chatting up a Wonderbolt tending the coolers. Scootaloo shook her head.  How Pyra was so carefree all the time was beyond her.  It was like she had no reason to be there, simply was.  Whatever the case, it was hers to deal with.   Flanked by two Wonderbolts, Spitfire landed not far from where Scootaloo stood.  She cast a curious eye over Scootaloo before turning to one of her attendants.  He saluted and took flight for the fog. Spitfire walked slowly forward, eyes toward the finish, calculating, analyzing as the remaining racers finished.  The thoughts training through her head were hers alone to know, but the way she held her shoulders high spoke volumes of her confidence.  She stopped in the middle of the finisher’s box and waited until all were accounted for. “I’d like to congratulate you on a job well done,” she said, her voice a note higher than usual, either genuine or out of surprise.  “This wasn’t the fastest bunch overall, but it’s the first to have nopony drop out in the middle of the race.  That said,” —her voice returned to its normal bark— “we already know who our candidates are.”  She scanned the group with a stone-like gaze, mentally culling the herd. “Blink, Shiftspark.  Both of you showed keen awareness in the fog maze.  You’re through.”  The blue stallion that had shoved Scootaloo and a brown mare blinked wide, then grinned and sighed relief respectively. “Jetstream, Torque, Far Flung,” Spitfire said.  “You three had great acceleration—something I like to see in recruits.  You’re in.” Scootaloo glanced up at the clouds—where most of the Wonderbolts sat watching, searching for Rainbow Dash—eager to see the look on her smug face.  The mare sat on a mid-hanging cloud, tail spilling over the side.  Her face was blank, eyes hollow and glazed. “As is custom,” Spitfire continued, “first, second, and third place are automatic qualifiers.” Scootaloo huffed and lowered her gaze back to Spitfire. “To the rest of you, better luck next year.”  There was a general murmur of disappointment among the unchosen, but all began dispersing.  “Qualifiers, follow me.”  She took flight. The group followed her out to a clearing, where newly-laid grass failed to cover the scars of last year’s auditions—gashes and divets pockmarked the entire area, a brighter green than the rest.  The Wonderbolts gathered to the side, just within a bright-orange fence that circled the clearing.  Earth-pony spectators crowded around outside, clamoring for a front-row view, and pegasi made high clouds low with their piled weight.  All was strangely quiet. Spitfire wheeled around on the racers.  “Alright.”  Her voice echoed off the rolling hills and nearby forest.  “We will begin the second phase of the auditions momentarily.  Soarin, will you please explain.” The stallion named Soarin stepped forward.  He was impressive in his full flight suit, goggles secured tightly over what could have only been a stern, practiced gaze.  He cleared his throat. “Ever since this team was founded, the Wonderbolts have always striven to improve upon perfection.  We look for only the best to add to our ranks, and their stunts to our repertoire.  The second phase of the auditions is simple...”  A small smile cracked the corners of his lips.  “Wow us.”  His smile was contagious, spreading to the other Wonderbolts gathered, Spitfire included. “Simply put,” she said.  “Now let us begin.  Ascending order.  Blink, you’re up first.” The stallion reared back at the mention of his name, eyes wide.  He recovered quickly before nodding, and was almost an invisible speck against the sky in a matter of seconds. Scootaloo watched with rapt attention, analyzing every movement he made.  She had her ace in the hole, but that was no excuse to brush aside the competition.  But it was as Blink began his first dive that she noticed Pyra sitting next to her, eyes skyward but absent—as if she was waiting for the right moment to speak.  That time came just as Blink finished his routine of downward spirals through cloud rings to roaring applause. “Nice rainboom, by the way,” she said, the usual hint of mockery or challenge absent from her voice.  Something else had taken its place. “Thanks,” Scootaloo replied after a moment, not expecting the compliment. “Just so you know,” Pyra said, “I’m sorry for everything that happened.” Scootaloo raised a brow at her.  Her tone hadn’t changed, was still edged with an unknown quality.  Scootaloo couldn’t read her. Pyra met her eyes, and for once there was an emotion within hers that Scootaloo had never seen: sorrow.  It tensed the very tips of Pyra’s brows, the slightest of winces attempting a smile beneath them.  “With you and Rainbow Dash, I mean.” Scootaloo’s brow would have raised further if it could.  “What do you mean?” “I...”  Pyra looked away. Scootaloo mirrored the gesture.  “What do you care, anyways?” she said venomously. A single laugh, soft and knowing.  “Because... we’re kinda in the same boat.”  Scootaloo didn’t respond, waiting for her to continue.  Pyra took the hint, and nodded at Spitfire at the far end of the enclosure.  She was glaring their way and held her gaze upon them for a long while before shifting it above. “Spitfire and our dad have always hated each other,” Pyra said, “something about her mom and him.” Scootaloo glanced back.  “‘Our dad?’” Pyra chuckled and shook her head.  “Yeah.  Spitfire and I are sisters.  Well, I mean, half sisters.  I was his golden girl, though—treated me pretty much like I was his only.”  She shrugged, letting the noise of the auditions punctuate her words.  “He always wanted me to join the Wonderbolts, and he even tried getting me in through her.” She laughed again, derisively.  “Like that would have helped, anyways...”  She looked into the sky, where the white stallion named Jetstream was circling about.  Cheers of the crowd surged over them and ebbed into tense silence, ready to rush over them again at a moment’s notice.  Scootaloo shifted on her hooves, watching the stallion, unsure what to make of this outpouring. “Of course,” Pyra continued, “she told him no every time.  Eventually made Dash train me when she first joined just to get him to shut up.  And she’s a really great coach, too—best I’ve ever had.”  There was silence.   “It was always you, though.”  She turned to Scootaloo, smiling. Scootaloo looked her in the eyes, ears half-swivelled toward her. “Every day she complained about something I was doing wrong, always comparing me to you.  ‘Just you wait,’ she kept saying to me.”  Her smile began phasing through Scootaloo, into a distance not measured physically.  She cocked her head in a half-shrug and looked down at her hooves.  “And, well, I guess we both know the next part.  I don’t know why she did that, but I figured you should at least know what I do.  And...” she shrugged again.  “Now you do.” The crowds roared in a frenzy, almost deafening, as the two let their own silence build between them. “I guess I’m just sorry for screwing up ponies’ lives like I usually do.” “Pyra!” Spitfire barked.  “You’re next.” Pyra looked up from her slump, ears perked forward, shoulders suddenly squared.  A fire absent from her eyes rekindled itself to a roaring blaze.  Spitfire was impassive.  The half-sisters stared each other down for a long second.  It was only broken when Pyra cracked a smile, turning it to Scootaloo.  “Well, here we go.”  She spread her wings to take flight. “Hey,” Scootaloo said. Pyra stopped and looked over her shoulder.  Scootaloo grinned.  “Kick some flank.” “Oh, hey, don’t be jinxin’ me like that,” Pyra said, forming a mischievous grin of her own.  She laughed away the worries of her world, and Scootaloo felt them breeze by with the gust of her wings.  Out the corner of her eye, she watched Spitfire gaze upward with intense zeal. The same boat, huh? Pyra flew high toward an empty cloud sitting in the middle of the audition space.  She brought it low for all to see more clearly.  Slowly, she flew around it, punching and kicking, condensing the cloud until it was less than half the size it once boasted. A grin, and a glance skyward.  She shot above for another.  It too was brought down, made to envelop the thick mass of the first cloud.  Whispers pervaded the crowd like brushfire. Before they had a chance to rise to shouts and cheers of anticipation, Pyra was already far above, stalling into an inverted swan dive.  She beat her wings for speed, barrelling toward the cloud with all her might.  Gasps rose from the crowd as she neared.   Headlong into the cloud she plunged, the puncture point sucking the cloud into itself.  It billowed out the sides like the one so many months ago, and Scootaloo braced herself for what was to come. Pyra burst out the underside of the mass, her legs wrapped around the dense, inner cloud.  She clicked her hind hooves together, and the vapors trailing from both the ball in her hooves and cloud ignited.   The sonic boom of the cloud’s eruption set many of the spectators on their hindquarters, the remaining few shielding their eyes from the blinding light and scorching heat.  Scootaloo stared undeterred, the blaze before her nothing compared to the light of a mach cone.  But seeing Pyra carrying the second cloud as it burned in her grasp loosened her jaw. Pyra’s face was set in a staunch grimace, whether by pain or determination or both.  She clenched tightly to the sphere as it blazed like a hot coal to leave a glowing trail of flame and ozone in her wake.  She pulled upward toward the sky in a wide arc and at the peak of her climb, released the cloud and kicked it like a soccer ball.  It soared far above like a flare into the heavens that were cast into shadow by the false sun. It sizzled into nothingness for a brief second, waiting, baiting the audience into desiring more.  Their wish was granted when the night-like sky exploded in orange and yellow.  It swirled on its axis as colossal tails of flame spun outward, spewing forth their power into the open sky.  And just like that, the miniature suns vanished. The crowd began roaring its applause as Pyra landed, a smug smile on her face aimed directly at Scootaloo.  The wind from her landing was cold on Scootaloo’s sweat-drenched coat.  She walked over, the smile never leaving, but anticipated words of competition never leaving her mouth. Scootaloo smirked.  “Well?” “Well, what?” Pyra asked, matching her expression. “Aren’t you gonna tell me to top that?” Pyra chuckled.  “I know better than to go double or nothing.”  She flicked her eyes at Scootaloo’s cutie mark, then winked.  “Good luck.”  She strutted off for the gathering of auditioners by the fenceline. “Scootaloo.” She turned to the voice.  Spitfire was staring at her, impassive, before a faint grin cracked one side of her lips.  “You’re up.”  A din overtook the crowd, the high hisses of whispers and disbelief like knives swishing through the air.  Scootaloo held Spitfire’s gaze, letting the expectation fill her.  A brief glance to Dad and his winning smile among the many crowding the spectator clouds, and she was off. The air was heavy with humidity, and equally hot.  A sweat broke on her brow just as she reached a large thunderhead drifting over the nearby forest—the one Dad prepared.  Piece by piece, she moved the monstrosity over the clearing.  Each patch growled with the electricity it held within, and grew loud and threatening as she neared completion. By the time the final piece was in place, thunder boomed off forest and hill alike.  The crowd had stepped back from the fencing quite a ways, cloud beds pushed back twice as far. The blood in Scootaloo’s heart vibrated with the power of her creation, and she couldn’t help the grin that showed through the face of concentration she tried retaining.  With a final glance down at her father, she rose up through the beast. It was cool within the cloud, like the morning after a nighttime Spring shower.  Flashes of white went off like the cameras of paparazzi all around.  She breathed deep of the momentary silence, readying all her worldly worries to be stripped away by the coming roar.  The boom was louder than any she had ever witnessed, and it left her in an even deeper silence than the one before, pervaded only by a muffled ringing. Above the cloud the temperature rose back to Summer’s scorching fury.  The sun shone brighter, as if trying to fend off the creature encroaching upon its territory.  Scootaloo laughed away the sweat and heat.  She took a deep breath to fill every crevice of her lungs, held it, closed her eyes, and smiled it all away as she leaned over backward into a dive. A small poof brought the coolness of her inner world back to reality, the winds building in her ears and mane.  White lightning flashed to her left, and a bolt lashed out like a snake after its prey.  Scootaloo stiffened her wing to dodge, the bolt grazing just against her stomach.  She smiled over her shoulder with a “Hah!” and redoubled her surge earthward. The cloud’s belly scattered as she broke free of its clutches.  It roared in anger, striking out in blind rage with its streaks of power.  None came close as she focused her sight on the tip of her hoof, where a mach cone formed. Scootaloo gritted her teeth, pushing harder against the cone, but pulling back against her will.  Her timing had to be perfect. The cone snapped to a sharp point, reds and blues and yellows swirling up and down its length.  Static sizzled about the tip of her hoof.  Closer.  It dissipated, tearing away the myriad of colors with it.  Too close.  She relented her assault, slightly, minutely.  It answered with a widening cone.  Come on. Thousands of backlashes had prepared her for this moment.  She would not be denied. A white sheen overtook the swirls within, turning them shades lighter and eventually draining them utterly away.  It flickered.  Now. Scootaloo clenched her wings to her sides as tight as possible.  With all the effort she could muster, she tucked her head in and flipped just as the cone pulled taut against her hind legs to suspend her in the air for the briefest of seconds.  Like an ethereal springboard, the cone backlashed to launch her skyward.  A single powerstroke of her wings thrusted her through another cone and rent it apart at its seams.   The world went grey instantly. Cloud and lighting alike parted for her as she blasted upward, wings surging with all their might to draw the vapors in around her.  Heat worked its way through her wings, clawed into her chest, pumped through her veins.  It twinged and leapt across skin and bone, building toward her backside and out her tail as she outflew the charge.  A month of dedication had taught her not to look back, and trust it followed loyally, leashed itself deep within the core of the beast. She burst through the top of the cloud and into the grey light of a dimmed sun.  Exhaustion flooded its way through her like the fires of lightning.  She spread her wings rigid, letting the life of the lesser world return for a short moment, a respite amidst the sea of distress.  You’re not done yet. When the first specks of color bled their way into sight and the cone returned her to its grasp, she shrugged off the dizzying fatigue and pushed back against its force, again aiming for the shining white and subtle flicker.  Focus. No less did the cone desire mastery than she, and it fought to keep her from its prize.  Red traded with blue as both rushed overtop yellow and green fighting for a place within the gossamer.  It need only defy a second longer.  Control. Again the cone blazed white in submission and flickered with a final chance for revenge.  Scootaloo tucked her head in, and her body followed to be caught within the cone’s grasp.  Lightning wrapped itself around her in the split second she remained motionless, and was abruptly blasted away by the force of another sonic rainboom. Everything Scootaloo had left she put into her dive through the lightning funnelling up from the hole.  It pushed back with all the force that nature could supply to drown her in its burning fury. The smell of singed hair and ozone filled her nostrils, and a heavy blackness cut jagged scars up her foreleg.  There was no distinct pain.  Don’t panic. Scootaloo felt the lightning coursing through her, so condensed that its leaping stings became like a coursing river.  She felt its upward force slowing her, pushing her toward the cliff of her greater, colorless world.  Her foreleg blistered instantly, blood oozing and boiling off in a steam that mixed with the swirls of cloud vapor.  Fight it. She pressed through the lightning and into the center of the cloud, plugging the fountain.  Against her will, her eyes closed to defend against the heat both within and without.  This is it!  Everything now! A final stroke brought her to the very core of the beast, and the lightning was stoppered completely.  With nowhere else for it to go, it went the only way it could... Out. The entirety of the cloud surged away in a deafening explosion, a torrent of dazzling white spidering and arcing through air and fur.  The upward force relented, and Scootaloo powered herself downward anew, the cosmic storm irradiating the sky that funneled in behind her. Even in her enlightened world the lightning hissed and snarled like a thousand snakes, nipping at her tail with their fangs of white fire.  It gave noise to what would have been the wind if not for her speed, chasing her toward the slate-grey grass below.  She set her jaw, squinting to gauge the distance.  Not a split second passed before she grinned.  Perfect. Scootaloo spread her wings wide and angled them to catch the wind like a propeller blade.  The shades of grey all around blurred together like the lines of a record player.  A cone formed about her as color drizzled its way back into reality upon the spinning earth.  It warped about her, contorting to her dive and sucking the lightning into the vortex it channelled behind her. At her speed, she held herself so for only a second before flaring her wings to brake.  A cloak of lightning draped over her wings and back so great that it could have shrouded the sun. Not twenty meters above the earth, she gave a single stroke of her wings.  The cloak warped beneath her, connected, and surged for the ground.  The earth cratered as if beneath a meteor, and then heaved skyward like a volcano erupting with dust and blazing grass. Her hooves found purchase in the molten dirt, carving a deep circle as her body rotated.  Razors of wind tore at her hide while fire channeled through her veins, the tornado bearing down upon her with its full, electric fury.  She pulled her wings in to her sides to keep from being ripped in half. Slowly, the strength that tried crushing her billowed out and away as the tornado collapsed upon itself.  Lightning shot out in massive arches that ripped spiralled lines all around, dying down until there were only filaments of static dancing between blades of grass like dew-laden spider webs. Scootaloo wrenched her hooves free of the dirt and stepped out of the crater.  Little threads of electricity lapped against her legs like waves upon a bluff as she shook herself from head to tail and observed the crowd’s reaction.  There were no cheers, only gaping faces. A long moment passed before the awe wore off.  At the flip of a switch, the crowd went wild.  The sound boomed like cannon fire all around, an unending roar of excitement.  But the only thing Scootaloo could do was look directly at her father.  He was the only pony not moving in the crowd, a statue among wheat on a windy day.  She did not need him to join in the chaos or shout her praise to the heavens.  All she needed was the smile upon his face, and the pride glowing in his eyes.  And she was content. Scootaloo shook off the remaining static in a shower of sparks and walked toward him, head held high.  Spectators, Wonderbolts, and newsponies rushed in to congratulate and question.  They pressed in thick, shouting above each other.  She pushed through the crowd, ignorant to their desires, only looking forward at Dad, who had landed at the far end of the clearing. Pyra and Spitfire were sitting outside the crowd, both grinning at her.  Scootaloo couldn’t help but smile back.  Words needn’t be said.  She returned her gaze to Dad, her smile still present, a lightness in her chest she hadn’t felt in many months, wanting nothing more than to wrap him in a hug and head home on the swell of his pride.  But it was as she neared him that she noticed the crowd had quieted, and she stopped, sensing a presence behind her.  Ahead, Dad’s smile turned grim. “Hey.” She took a breath.  Rainbow Dash’s grated, hollow voice echoed in her head.  A sound once so full of life, now frail like that of a withered mare on her deathbed.  It trembled with emotions that she could only guess.  She briefly closed her eyes, not turning to look. There was a pause.  “I just...”  It came out as a sigh, as if the words were too difficult to say.  “I’m sorry.” Scootaloo didn’t respond, looking slightly, almost absently, down.  Those were the two words she had desired most—needed like oxygen—since the Flier’s competition.  But as they drifted across the space between, what to say didn’t come, only silence. “There were a lot of reasons why I did what I did,” Rainbow Dash continued.  “But I shouldn’t have... I know that.” The words felt toxic in Scootaloo’s ears, a pathetic phrase meant to smooth over too deep a hole.  The muscles in her legs tensed in rage, but she held herself together.  “Then why?” There was a sharp intake of breath.  Scootaloo could see the wince as clearly as if they were face to face and imagined a turning aside of the head.   “I... I was humiliated...” Rainbow Dash said.  “Angry that we worked so hard, and that it all just... fell apart.” Scootaloo took a deep, silent sigh.  What she had seen that day long ago as she lay upon the cloud was true, then—that Wonderbolt poking fun at her. “It was my fault, though,” Rainbow Dash continued, voice quivering.  “We didn’t practice at Cloudsdale’s altitude.  That’s what threw you off.” “So you knew I’d screw up,” Scootaloo spat to the side.   “No, Scoot, I didn’t.  I swear.  I didn’t think about it.  I was... by that point I wasn’t thinking about Cloudsdale and how it was higher up.  I wasn’t thinking about your tornado, or anything.  I... wasn’t thinking about you...”  The tone of the last sentence took an abrupt turn from defensive to submissive. A breath clenched within Scootaloo’s lungs slowly laxed and was released.  She couldn’t blame Rainbow Dash for that, not when she was just as worried about the auditions.  She looked down at her hooves, at the scars and calluses of her labors. They stood as a symbol for everything she had desired from the moment Rainbow Dash had kicked her to the curb, her dedication to a dream she lusted in realizing.  How Rainbow Dash herself must have felt the same way becoming a Wonderbolt while still being there each and every morning, despite the exhaustion that could have jeopardized her success. There was love. “After the competition, I was angry.”  Rainbow Dash took a hard swallow.  “I...”—A hard breath—“was angry.  I know I shouldn’t have been, even then, but I was anyways.  I-I couldn’t control myself. “I didn’t realize until later that I screwed up.”  She choked on the final words, and the rest she forced out between sobs.  “But I couldn’t go back on that—not after what I said to you.  I didn’t... I didn’t know what to do.   “Scoot...”  There was a pleading in her voice that Scootaloo had never heard before.  The hairs of her forelegs stood on end.  “I was scared.” Scootaloo took a slow breath and held it in like it was the only thing she had ever owned.  “You could have told me.  All I wanted was you back.”  The silence between them drew tighter than a noose.  “You called me a nopony.” “I...”—A trembling sigh—“I know.  But I don’t know why.  I wanted to take everything back, but since I thought I couldn’t, I just... I just wanted to get out of there—get away from everything.” The admission danced through Scootaloo’s mind.  Rainbow Dash turning tail, too afraid but desiring nothing more than to muster the apology on the very tip of her tongue.  If only she had... “I’m proud of you, Scoot.”  Scootaloo felt her heart skip a beat.  Her mind’s eye could picture the mare standing tall, a smile curled farther up one side of her face than the other, a glimmer in her eyes.  “I always was.  I just wish I had shown it.” The image became a dejected frown hung low toward the earth, ears reaching for the grass, tears spotting the corners of her eyes.  Hooves stepped closer, slow and cautious. “Scoot... won’t you just look at me?”  A hoof touched Scootaloo beneath the chin to turn her head, but she pulled away.  It retracted, and others stepped back.  Rainbow Dash gave a stifled gasp. “Scoot,” she whispered.  “Please... I just want to see you.” Scootaloo’s mind raced through all the memories she had cherished between them.  Her first flight over Equestria blended with the early morning workouts and flashing colors and ringing bells of the Fillydelphia meets.  She felt the warmth of Rainbow Dash’s fur against hers, the beat of her heart against her cheek, joyful tears dribbling on her head as hooves clenched her tight.  But Scootaloo didn’t turn to look her in the eye, gazing only at her father, who stood waiting in the distance.  Her voice was slow and level. “I don’t care.” There was a trembling of breath behind her and a swishing of grass beneath the weight of a heaving body.  Pity, scant and unaffecting, tugged at her, asked her to turn and grant the smallest of favors upon the one that had once stood as a beacon of worship.  But there was no room left in her heart amidst the pain she had felt since her condemnation.  So much loved, so much lost.  But now, after all was said and done, there was nothing left to feel. So she walked away. Pleadings and mewlings of a forgotten pony faded into nothingness, but they lingered in her mind, grasping at her like vines of long-dead ivy.  She moved slowly, marching through them toward her father.  His expression was level as she came to a stop before him.  He gazed at her, then over her shoulder. “You ready?” Scootaloo did not look up at him.  She listened to his words, let them resound in her head, set in stone what was to come once she spoke.  They carved her answer upon her heart. “Yeah.” He held his gaze past her for a moment longer before nodding with a grunt and taking flight for home.  Scootaloo waited, feeling the newfound heaviness in her chest.  Its presence was unwanted, but claimed—a weight she would have to bear for the rest of her life.  But she would not bear it alone, her eyes rising to the figure climbing into the sky.  Dad would be there, as he always had, to see her through and never again be taken for granted.  She drew a sigh, let it to the wind, and spread her wings. The vines pulled taut against her as she followed, but were snapped or uprooted and fell away, too brittle to hold her down.  Not a tear was shed as she flew skyward to leave the broken trophy of her past where it would forever remain. And she never looked back.