//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: A Simple Reflection // by FanNotANerd //------------------------------// It was always fascinating to see just what thrived in a simple drop of pond water. From the naked eye it seemed to be a clear, featureless drop, but under a microscope’s unyielding gaze it was an entire world teeming with life. One such individual was skittering across Twilight’s field of view just then, pushing itself through undulations of a small, whip-like tail. She scowled at the tiny cell, expertly twisting the knobs that moved the stage around to the organism in sight. Of all the things I choose to study, she thought morosely as the cell nearly swam out of her field of view again, I had to pick the fastest one. To her right, a pencil floated in her telekinetic grip, occasionally darting down to add a small detail to the sketch on a sheet of parchment. Several others like it were already scattered across her workbench, depicting similar creatures: a long, ovoid shape covered in tiny hairs, an amorphous mass that streamed across the slide like a mass of sentient slime, and glassy structures that appeared in a startling array of geometric shapes and colours. Those drawings had been much quicker, but then the subjects of those had actually deigned to keep still. So focused on the organism under the microscope was she that she didn’t notice the soft blip from a device packed away on a shelf. A moment later, the machine’s small waveform screen flickered to life again, and the blip became a constant tone. Twilight flicked her ears against the sound, glaring into the microscope. “Spike!” she called, making another adjustment to keep the cell in view. “Can you shut off whatever that is?” From behind her, she heard rapid footsteps, and the sound of the closet door opening. But the tone continued. “Spike?” “I’m trying to figure this out,” Spike said, confusion in his voice. “It’s coming from the thaumascope, but… it’s not hooked up to anything.” Twilight scowled at the algal cell swimming around on the slide, as if it was the source of all her problems. However useful the thaumascope was in detecting and interpreting magical auras, it was an imperfect technology and had several irritating flaws. The most common of these was a tendency to go off in the presence of strong magical fields, regardless of whether or not activating magic was being channeled into it. “Well… put it in the basement. At least I won’t hear it down there.” Spike paused. “Uh, Twilight? I think there might actually be something wrong with it.” Twilight almost looked away. Almost. In the instant that her eyes were unfocused, the algal cell had made it to the edge of her field of view. “Oh, no you don’t,” she muttered, fiddling with the knobs again. “No I don’t what?” “I wasn’t talking to you,” Twilight replied. “What do you think is wrong with it?”  “Well, it’s showing me values that are off the chart. This thing goes to—” “Two hundred megathaums. I know.” Twilight cut in. That much magical energy was enough to lift a mountain—or smash it to pieces. There was no way anything nearby could be generating that much power. “You’re right. There must be something wrong with…” She trailed off. If there was no magical field like that, why was her horn tingling? It was barely more than a faint itch, on the edge of her awareness, but it was there. Based on her experience, she could only feel it when in close proximity to an intense magical field, something in the hundreds of kilothaums. As far as she knew, she was the only one in Ponyville even capable of generating that kind of field. It was entirely possible that across town, unicorns were blinking in confusion and rubbing at their horn, but only a few who had spent significant amounts of time either working with or studying magic actually knew what it meant. Realizing her thoughts were wandering, she shifted her focus back to the microscope slide and saw that the tiny algal cell had left the field of view. “Where did you go, you little—” “I haven’t gone anywhere!” Spike protested, setting the thaumascope down on a table. In a flash of irritation, Twilight forgot herself enough to pull her gaze from the microscope and shoot an annoyed glance at her dragon assistant. “Still not talking to…” Her eyes widened. “Um, Spike?” Spike blinked. “What?” His nose twitched as a tendril of acrid smoke wafted past. He blinked again, and glanced toward the thaumascope, which was now centered in a steadily widening circle of char on the table. He made as if to grab it, and snatched his claws back, hissing in pain. The metal casing began to glow a dull red, and sparks shot out as internal components overloaded and failed. Without wasting another second, Twilight wrapped the thaumascope in the strongest force field she could generate and suspended it in the air. And not a moment too soon. As soon as her magic encased the instrument, it erupted into flame. “Are you okay?” she asked Spike, eying the melting thaumascope warily. Within moments, the magical bubble was choked with acrid-looking black smoke. She channeled a second spell to vent the smoke, clinging to the hope that something would be salvageable. “I’m fine,” Spike replied, blowing on his claws. “Just a little singed. What the hay happened there?” Twilight winced as the thaumascope collapsed into an unrecognizable mass, spitting out one last shower of sparks. Replacing that particular piece of equipment would be a pain. Technically, it was still a prototype model. Something told her that Canterlot University wouldn’t be keen on lending her a second. “Maybe there was a faulty circuit,” she said lamely, momentarily forgetting to chide Spike for his language. “Short circuits cause overheats sometimes…” Sheesh. I don’t sound like I even believe myself. Spike shared her opinion, and folded his arms. “Last I checked, short circuits don’t do that. That looked more like an overload.” “All right, so I don’t know what happened!” Twilight snapped. She closed her eyes, reining in her temper. “What I do know,” she continued more calmly, “is that I just lost a very expensive piece of equipment.” She glanced at the table Spike had placed it on, which was now sporting an ugly patch of char. “And a perfectly good worktable.” Spike cast a worried glance at the shelf the thaumascope had been previously resting on. The shelves above it were crowded with scrolls and sheets of unused parchment. “Good thing I moved it, though. That could’ve been nasty.” Twilight frowned at the ruined thaumascope, still hovering in a force field. Though lack of oxygen had choked out the flames, the metal casing still glowed dully. And then there was what she had felt. Right before the thaumascope went haywire, the barely noticeable tingle in her horn had ramped up to a very noticeable itch. The last time she’d felt that was when standing beside Princess Celestia as she raised the Sun.  “Spike, get me everything we have on spontaneous magical discharge.” Spike blinked. “You think it might’ve actually been a magical field that did this?” “I don’t know what to think,” Twilight snapped. “But maybe we can figure it out before it happens again.” ---------- Scrape… scrape… scrape… Shining Armour twitched an ear against the sound. Who or what was making that? Couldn’t they see he was trying to sleep? He tried to shut it out of his head, but the scraping continued. Scrape… scrape… scrape… All right. If the sound had continued for that long, whatever was making it had to be right there. Mice and similar vermin were unheard of in Canterlot Castle, so it had to be somepony being plain inconsiderate. Didn’t they know that he needed to rest if he was to chase down that thing Celestia had— His eyes shot wide open as memory crashed into his head. Horseapples! How much time did I lose? He sat bolt upright, trying to gauge the time by the angle of the sun—and squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at his head and groaning as pain lanced through his skull. From the feel of it, a bandage had been wrapped around his head. “Oh, bloody excellent. You’re awake.” Shining looked to where the voice had come from, blinking in surprise as he recognized Fairweather. A few well-worn files and lumps of stone sat on a nearby table, giving him some clue as to where the scraping had come from. “They went an’ told me you needed a wee bit o’ rest,” Fairweather continued conversationally, frowning at a misshapen lump of stone in his hooves. With a stretch of the imagination, one might say it had the shape of a bird in flight. A very wild stretch. And a severe case of myopia. “How long has it been?” Shining rasped. His throat felt like it had been coated with sand. “You’ve been out for about a full day. You should 'ave woken up sooner, but th’ quacks did something to make you sleep longer.” “A whole—” Shining sputtered, and threw the covers aside. “I don’t have time to rest. That thing could be anywhere by now!” A hoof suddenly pressed into his chest. Shining glared upwards at Fairweather’s face. “Are you going to try and stop me?” “Don’t make me laugh, boy,” Fairweather said, his previous joviality gone. “You ne’er bested me e’en when you were at your best. Now lay back down. I’d rather no’ add to what you took earlier.” Reluctantly, Shining laid back. “What happened? Something went wrong with Princess Celestia’s spell, and… I must have gotten knocked out.” Fairweather grunted, and went to a table on the far wall, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher. “You were lucky to e’en survive, much less get off with a rattled skull. The ‘ole bloody room nearly collapsed.” Shining tried to sit up, but the earlier surge of adrenaline had worn off, and his limbs failed him. “What happened to Celestia? And that thing in her room?” Fairweather paused. “You and Celestia were the only ones we brought out of there.” “Is she all right?” The grey pegasus came back to the bedside and held the proffered the glass of water. “Drink, boy. Th’ quacks gave me specific directions t’ keep you hydrated.” Shining pushed the glass to the side. “Is. She. All. Right?” Fairweather looked away, sighing heavily. “You were lucky, getting blown out of the room like that. Celestia wasn’t. Three thousand pounds o’ stone… I dinnae think anything could live through that.” Shining’s heart sank. “So… she’s…” “Did I say she was dead, boy?” Fairweather cut in angrily. “I went in expecting th’ worst. What I found was bloody close, but both of you were still breathing. Our fair Princess won’t be making any public appearances for a while, but she’s alive.” “What about the third?” Shining asked. Fairweather frowned. “The third what? There was another pony in there?” He shook his head. “There was nothing there. Don’t blame yeself,” he said to Shining’s wordless protest. “Blows to th’ head rattle a bit more than the skull. I’d be surprised if you didn’t have trouble with your memory o’ that moment.” “Fairweather, look at me.” The major sighed, and looked Shining in the eye. “Do I look like I’m making this up? There was a third pony in there. I don’t know where it came from, but whatever happened with Celestia’s spell, it caused it.” Fairweather paused for a long moment. “When I got there, I was jus’ in time to watch the room go up. One o’ the boys thought he saw something falling, but...” He shook his head again. “I cannae see any way something could survive that fall, even if they landed in the water.” He glanced at Shining and smiled wryly, the scar twisting it into more of a friendly-looking grimace. “Then again, it does look to be a day for miracles.” “Something tells me it wouldn’t just go and die that easily,” Shining said coldly. “That’d be too easy, wouldn’t it?” Fairweather frowned, wings rising nervously. “If you’re right... if what you saw did that...” Whatever he’d been about to say, he never got the chance. The door to Shining’s chambers burst open, and a midnight-blue shape stalked through. “Ah. You are awake,” Princess Luna declared, fixing her cold blue eyes on Shining Armour. “Can you walk? You are needed immediately.” “Now hold on for one bloody moment!” Fairweather snarled, his burr thickening with anger. “Princess or no, Ah still be in charge o’ Shining here!” Luna smiled at him, unfazed. “Major Fairweather, is it? My sister has told me about you. She said you were, and I quote, ‘an insubordinate old coot who would be living in a country home if he wasn’t too stubborn to retire.’ Is that about right?” Fairweather’s face went a dangerous shade of purple. “Aye,” he grated. “But did she happen to mention ‘ow many times I staved off what would ‘ave been a bloody catastrophe?” “She did, come to think of it,” Luna replied coolly. “And that you were one of the most valuable members of the Guard. As it stands, I’m inclined to agree with her.” Fairweather looked her over levelly, and barked a short laugh. “I think we’ll get along jes’ fine, Princess.” He glanced back at Shining. “But I’m afraid Ah still cannae let you take Captain Armour from his—” “I can walk,” Shining said quietly, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing unsteadily to prove it. Fairweather frowned in disapproval and muttered under his breath, but that was all. He took a few shaky steps toward the door, tightening his jaw against the pain in his head and pointedly ignoring Fairweather’s grumbling. He caught something that sounded like “stubborn mule” before passing out of earshot. You’re one to talk, old friend, he thought grimly. “You can come as well,” Luna said to Fairweather. “Someone should be close at hand to make sure Captain Armour’s legs don’t give way." The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "And I might be able to make use of your penchant for... unbiased opinions." The pegasus noticeably brightened and followed. “So what is it?” Shining asked. “Did somepony find—” “Not until we are alone,” Luna cut in, looking pointedly at a group of palace servants walking by. Shining fell silent, mind racing. That could only mean one thing: Luna already knew about what he’d seen. She knew, and it scared her enough to keep it quiet. That simple fact scared him more than anything else. ---------- “Now Sweetie Belle, I cannot stress enough how important it is that you leave everything just the way it is. You may have your friends over if you want, but you have to promise me that you will not make a mess. Am I clear?” Sweetie Belle sighed. “I get it, sis. But how am I supposed to get my cutie mark without doing anything? I don’t think there’s a cutie mark for not doing anything.” Rarity mussed her younger sister’s mane, ignoring the annoyed glare the filly shot her. “Oh, please. There are plenty of things you can do that don’t involve making a mess.” “I guess,” Sweetie Belle said, slumping dejectedly. “Come now,” Rarity implored. “It’s not so bad. It's only for one day.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Besides, my studio is quite well soundproofed, if you know what I mean.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Sweetie Belle groaned. “C’mon, Rarity. Singing’s just a hobby. I can’t actually go anywhere with it.” “Not with that attitude, you can’t,” Rarity replied, gathering up a folder filled with sketches. “Don’t worry. I’ll just be gone for the day. I’m sure you can occupy yourself for that long.” “I guess,” Sweetie Belle replied, slumping dejectedly. Rarity smiled warmly, before turning and walking out the door, taking a moment to don a massive, peacock-feather chapeau. On anypony else, it would have looked ridiculous, but Rarity had a way of making anything look good. Sweetie Belle waited until her sister was out of sight before allowing a grin to break out across her face. Perfect! A whole day with her sister out of the house! There was no end to the amount of crusading she could get done. Of course, not being able to leave the house or make a mess put a bit of a damper on things, but she could think of several potential activities. Now, if only she could find something to juggle… She had just begun gathering a few balls of yarn that would be ideal when hoofbeats sounded from outside. A moment later, the silhouette of a pony appeared at the door and seemed to pause. Sweetie Belle gasped. A customer! If she could sell a couple dresses, Rarity would be ecstatic! And she might be able to earn a salespony cutie mark while she was at it. “Come in!” she called. “The Boutique is open!” The bell over the door tinkled as the customer pushed his way in. It took a few moments; the pony seemed to be having trouble with the door. Sweetie Belle blinked in surprise when it finally made it in. The customer was a drably coloured stallion, who was currently looking around the store with something like bored disinterest. Sweetie Belle frowned. Stallions usually didn’t come into the Boutique. In fact, she wasn’t sure Rarity had ever designed anything for stallions. Besides that, the stallion looked just plain odd. His face was too long, the eyes didn’t look right, and the colour of his coat wasn’t something she’d ever seen on a pony before. Still, Cheerilee had always said never to judge somepony by how they looked. “Good morning, sir!” she said jovially. “Might I interest you in a couple… um… dresses? You know, for your special somepony?” The stallion swung his head around and fixed her with a blank stare. Sweetie Belle fidgeted uncomfortably, feeling far too much like an insect on one of Twilight’s microscope slides. “Um… are you looking for something else?” He ignored her and walked to the other end of the store, surveying Rarity’s workbench, which at the moment was a mess of fabric. “I-if you want, I can ask my sister to design something for you,” Sweetie Belle stammered nervously. “She’s the one that makes all this.” The stallion gave no indication that he’d even heard. Instead, he bent over and sniffed at a bolt of Chantilly lace that Rarity had left out. Sweetie Belle’s frown deepened. Sure, Rarity had occasionally told her about rich “eccentrics” who came into the boutique, but this was getting ridiculous. Her gaze fell onto the stallion’s flank, and her jaw dropped. “You’re a blank flank too?” she burst out. The stallion’s head swung toward her, and she shrunk back. “I’m sorry if you’re sensitive about it, but... I haven’t gotten my cutie mark either. I just thought...” She trailed off. Wait. This stallion was fully grown. Did that mean she might not get her cutie mark until she was old? Her thoughts were abruptly cut off as the door swung open behind her. She swung around, surprised to see Rarity walking through the door. “I know, I said I’d be gone for the day,” she said. “But I forgot one of my design books. Fancy Pants did ask to see my full portfolio. Luckily, I remembered before I boarded the…” Rarity trailed off as she noticed the stallion hovering over her workbench. “Sweetie Belle,” she said in an odd voice. “Why is there a stallion eating my Chantilly lace?” Sweetie Belle wheeled around. Sure enough, the stallion was staring back at them, chewing thoughtfully, the bolt of lace hanging from his mouth. “Um…” she deadpanned. “Maybe he’s hungry?” Rarity’s eyes narrowed. “He’s hungry,” she said quietly. Uh oh, Sweetie Belle thought. “He’s hungry?” Rarity shrieked, turning her blazing eyes toward the stallion, who was still standing there, utterly oblivious to either of them. The stallion turned its doleful gaze on Rarity, swallowing the last bit of lace. Rarity’s eye twitched. “That lace had to be specially imported from Prance,” she whispered. She turned to her younger sister, obviously struggling to keep herself under control. “Sweetie Belle? Be a dear and go outside, will you? Preferably well out of earshot.” The filly hesitated, and while she did, the stallion lowered its head and began munching on another bolt of lace. A loud snapping sound could be heard from somewhere inside Rarity’s head, and her horn lit with magic. “Get your face out of that, you stinking piece of—" Sweetie Belle all but fled the boutique, doing her best to seal her ears, as her normally dignified older sister let loose with a blistering tirade of obscenities that would have made a Diamond Dog wince.  A moment later, Rarity’s profanities were punctuated by a chorus of alarming smashes and crunches. Sweetie Belle clapped her hooves over her ears and did her very best to sink into the ground, become invisible, or some combination of both. A moment later, the stallion crashed through the plate-glass window at the store’s front, snorting wildly. He stumbled as he landed, and galloped off out of sight. She turned back to the boutique, which Rarity was just stumbling out of, her mane disheveled and filled with wood splinters. “Well, that’s the end of that,” she spat. Sweetie Belle took a hesitant step forward, noticing that her sister was swaying on her hooves. “Uh…are you okay?” Rarity blinked. “What a perfectly ridiculous question, Sweetie Belle. I’ve never felt...” Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she collapsed in a dead faint. ---------- The stallion continued to run, panic fueling its strides. Something had gone wrong, but he couldn’t quite reason out what. He knew it had something to do with a stab of pain in his right foreleg, at least. The four-legs here had smelled friendly. So why were they being not friendly? With a snort, he turned toward another smell he’d noticed. There was a hint of more friendly four-legs coming from that direction. Besides, they smelled like apples. He liked apples. Leaving the Boutique behind him, he set out.