As I drift awake, a sliver of light shines through a tiny crack between the curtains and straight into my eyes. I've been dreaming of the time I first saw Rarity and her friends.
Five years have passed since that day.
Only Celestia has the power to see between worlds. For the first year, I asked her to look in on my original home again and again. She said my side had won the war, but my parents and brother were grieving for me. I still wish I could send them a message. And I wish I could accept that it's impossible.
I hear hoofsteps approaching, my door opening, and a voice. "Good morning, dear!"
Rarity, you angel, you've brought me breakfast in bed. Come to think of it, I feel like I haven't eaten in days.
Within a minute, I'm doing my best not to bolt down a tray of oatmeal, banana muffins, and orange juice. Rarity was always adamant about table manners. Strange—she hasn't brought anything for herself. She hovers at my bedside, balancing on her hind legs, tapping her forehooves together.
"What's the matter, honey?" I say.
Rarity's ears flick back a little, and her answer is oddly stilted. "What a question... dearest. Of course you know... tomorrow, we must face Moloch."
Moloch.
Nine days ago, a hideous creature fell into the Royal Palace with a thunderous crash. No spell or weapon could hurt it, and it walked with impunity into the diarchs’ audience chamber, where it dropped a severed head at Celestia’s hooves. None of us present could believe our eyes at first, but there was no mistaking the head’s long muzzle, mismatched antlers, and single large fang.
The abomination said it had done this to demonstrate the least of its master’s power.
The master's name was Moloch, who in ten days would arrive to claim a sacrifice of ten thousand children, or failing that, one hundred thousand adults. Moloch would leave this world for all time if the sacrifice were given, but if not, it would destroy every living thing here.
"Well, the day after tomorrow, Moloch will just be a bad memory," I say. I can see Rarity needs the assurance as much as I do.
"Well, of course!" Her tone tells me it hasn't helped much. "With five alicorns and seven Elements, how could we lose?"
Yes—the Elements of Harmony: Magic, Generosity, Courage, Loyalty, Honesty, Kindness, and Laughter. Each has a wielder, and each wielder carries a necklace. These are identical, except for the colors of their stones. Mine, the stone of Courage, holds a sapphire as big around as my hoof. I wonder what it would be worth back home.
Home? Equestria has been my home for five years. Why would I think of that other Earth as home now?
When I was a kid, my teachers used to say that all the time I spent reading science fiction was a waste. But if I hadn't been able to imagine fantastic worlds beyond my own, adjusting to life here would have been much more difficult. It all went by so fast—learning to use my new body, exploring Equestria, moving into one of the suites in Twilight's castle, finding the Elements of Harmony with my new friends, courting Rarity. Looking back, it almost feels like a dream... or a pulp magazine story.
"Even so, Twilight wants us to help her in the library," Rarity says. "In case there's something she's missed, you know. Really, why take a chance?"
In every spare moment she's had, Twilight has been at the books harder than ever before, looking for anything that might give us an edge. More likely, we'll have to hit Moloch with everything we've got and hope for the best.
A few minutes later, Rarity and I walk through the library's broad double doors. In keeping with Twilight's M.O., it's the largest room in the castle, and its walls are lined with shelves that stretch all the way to the high arched ceiling. These are usually kept in order, but now many are almost bare, and their contents are stacked all over the long tables placed at intervals along the length of the room.
I enjoy Twilight because she can talk as enthusiastically about pulp adventure stories as about history, science, politics, or what have you. But she's on one of her information binges, and as she meets my gaze now, she looks like she hasn't slept in days. She nods hello, and wordlessly gestures to a table covered in two neat stacks of unopened books.
As I approach it, I see Pinkie Pie at the next table over, sitting under the glare of two sun lamps and seemingly trying to read five books at once. Now and then, she jots something down on a long scroll that's already mostly covered with crabbed pencil markings.
She looks up at me, and without introduction, says, "Hey! Did you know, at really really really stressful times, your body can do these amazing feats of strength? Of course, you get torn muscles and snapped tendons doing it, but..."
"Pinkie, that's not helpful," Twilight says, her voice just slightly raised. "Keep looking."
"You can't ever know what might be helpful!" There's a rough edge in Pinkie's words, but she obediently turns back to her books.
I follow suit, taking a seat and opening the top volume in the closest stack. After a few minutes, something occurs to me. Looking around, I see that Rarity is now seated at the opposite end of the room, facing away from me as she pores over a cloth-bound tome.
I tell myself she must have some reason for this, but I can't help feeling a little hurt.
The hours pass quickly, but our progress is slow. Over the course of the day, the others quietly arrive one by one: Rainbow, Fluttershy, Applejack. I'm used to exchanging warm greetings when I see them, but only curt nods of recognition seem appropriate now. For some reason, Applejack avoids my gaze as much as she can, hiding beneath the brim of her hat.
Around suppertime, I again hear hoofsteps approaching, and as I look up from my book, I can't help but feel a little reassured, for Princess Celestia stands in the doorway. Almost as one, the six mares drop their books and trot toward her, and I follow close behind.
"Hello, my little ponies," she says, her gaze meeting each of ours in turn. Most times she says this, there is a twinkle in her eyes and an undertone of joy in her voice, like a mother talking to her own foals. Now, though, her manner speaks only of a deep sadness, as though she is saying goodbye forever.
"Moloch will arrive tomorrow morning—here," Celestia says. "We must be ready."
How does she know it will show up here? Did I miss something? I want to ask, but I've learned from experience that she always has a good reason when she leaves something unexplained.
No one responds. They don't even exchange glances, but keep looking to Celestia, their eyes pleading for the slightest hope.
"I suggest we all turn in early tonight," she says. "Tomorrow, we will all need every strength and personal faculty we have."
("Like we'll get any sleep now," I hear Rainbow say under her breath.)
In a moment, Celestia and most of the Element wielders have left the room—including Rarity, who has slipped out without my noticing. Pinkie reaches to switch off the lights, but turns back when she notices I haven't moved.
"Why so glum, chum?" It seems she still has a little whimsy left.
"Rarity," I say. "She's avoiding me."
"Well, no sense worrying about it now, when today might be our last day on Earth!"
Eternal jollity, even in the face of annihilation. At least Pinkie is the same as she always was.
"Do you think we stand any kind of chance?" I say.
"Silly! Of course we do!" The matter-of-factness in her tone surprises me, but then she takes another of her sudden turns: "I mean, anything's possible, really. Who knows—maybe this is all some big dream you're having. Well, g'night!" With that, she bounces away and out of sight, seemingly unperturbed by the enormity of our situation.
I turn out the lights and begin to plod back to my quarters, mulling over Pinkie's words. In seemingly hopeless situations, the tendency is to hold onto any hope, no matter how absurd. I saw it in the war, and here it is again.
And this brings me back to what I've often wondered over the past few years, starting with that first night after they took the bandage off my eyes. Can a place like Equestria even exist? Did I ever leave the world in which I was born? Or am I laying catatonic in a bombed building in Luxembourg? Will Equestria vanish when the last of my soul trickles from my body?
* * *
That night, I dream of the other world.
It's 1927, and I'm going to the pictures with my parents. I'm excited because this one is about a city of tomorrow, like in the pulps. As I watch, my eyes go perfectly round. The buildings are as big as mountains, with mighty highways connecting them through the air, miles above the ground.
The hero is the son of one of the city fathers. One day, he goes exploring in the under-city, where he finds himself inside a huge machine—a mass of wheels, pistons, and cylinder tanks, belching plumes of steam. Six workers labor at consoles, keeping it from overloading itself. But one of them collapses from exhaustion, and the machine begins to overheat. There is a terrible explosion, and many workers are killed or maimed. The hero is thrown back and knocked senseless. In his half-conscious delirium, he sees the machine again, but now it resembles a hulking statue of some corpulent prehistoric god, into whose cavernous maw is forced a struggling rabble of half-naked slaves.
An intertitle appears, bearing a single word in enormous letters:
"MOLOCH!"