//------------------------------// // 5 // Story: Monochrome // by A Man Called Horse //------------------------------// Rainbow watched the scene before her with muted fascination. A pair of hooves across the table fiddled with a piece of paper—aligning, folding, all with surprising nimbleness and precision. One side of the paper was black and the other white, but as the hooves worked, it began to make sense. In mere moments, an origami penguin sat on the tabletop. The hooves set the paper penguin to the side next to several others. One of Pinkie’s ears gave a lethargic flop, and she reached for another piece of paper and began to fold it, starting the whole process from the beginning. “Pinkie?” “Hmm?” “Why, exactly, are you doing that?” “Oh, I dunno.” Pinkie stopped her folding to consider the question. “I guess I’ve been feeling kinda blue today.” “That’s good,” Rainbow said with a snort. “One of us should.” The corners of Pinkie’s mouth gave an almost imperceptible twitch upwards. “Good one, Dashie. But really…” She resumed her work on the penguin. “Everypony’s been so down in the dumps today. Do you have any idea how hard it is to cheer somepony up when everything’s black and white? I tried throwing a party earlier and it looked like something out of a prison camp. All those balloons and streamers and presents, and not a single color anywhere.” “So…” Rainbow raised an eyebrow. “You had no choice but to fold origami?” “Well, why not? Besides, penguins are cute, and they make ponies happy without being colorful at all!” She finished her latest penguin and held it up for Rainbow to see. “Doesn’t this make you the teensiest bit happy?” Rainbow couldn’t help but give a weak smirk. “Heh, I guess a little.” A look of hope flashed across Pinkie’s face, like a tightrope walker. “So,” she said, reaching down to rub a twitch out of her knee. “You wanna talk about what’s bothering you, Dashie?” “Ugh… not really. It feels like I’ve just been complaining and whining all day.” She plucked another muffin off the plate Pinkie had brought her and put the whole thing in her mouth in one massive bite. “Lemme guess,” Pinkie said, grabbing another piece of paper. “The Graying’s made you question yourself, and this, combined with letting Twilight down last night, has made you wonder who you really are. Except, you don’t know what to do about it, and you’re afraid of losing Twilight as a friend. And maybe even the rest of us, too.” Rainbow’s mouth hung open, half-chewed bits of muffin falling out. “How do you always do that?” she slurred. Pinkie shrugged, finishing another penguin. Rainbow finished chewing and swallowed. “Well, you pretty much hit the nail on the head.” She flicked the used muffin cup with a hoof. “Except, you left out the part where I was a huge flank-hole to Rarity, who was just trying to help.” “Oh, I’m sure she knows you didn’t mean it, Dashie.” Rainbow growled. “Ugh, why does everypony do that?” Pinkie paused her folding. “Do what?” “Make excuses for me! ‘Aw, you didn’t mean it’. ‘It was just an honest mistake’. ‘Twilight’ll forgive you’.” Rainbow curled her forelegs on the table and buried her face in them, her voice muffled. “Can’t I just be wrong? Isn’t it possible that maybe… maybe I don’t deserve to have you guys defending me all the time? That maybe I don’t deserve any of you at all?!” Before Pinkie could say anything, Rainbow cut her off with a raised hoof. “And I’m not saying I don’t, necessarily. But isn’t it possible?” Pinkie chewed this over in her mind, her penguin-production slowing because of it. “Well, I’ve always believed anything is possible. But just because something’s possible doesn’t mean it’s likely. We just care about you, is all.” “But who do you care about, exactly? The big showoff who lets her friends down when they need her? The pony who always goes on about being cool and awesome, but who becomes a whiny crybaby as soon as her colors go away?” Pinkie was silent for a moment, the penguins forgotten, and stared at Rainbow’s face. Finally, with startling seriousness: “No. I care about the pony who’s stronger than anypony I know. I care about the pony who’s confident and brave. I care about the pony who’s there for her friends when it really matters. She might not be perfect, but nopony is. The fact that she even cares when she makes a mistake proves that she’s a good pony. Everypony deserves to be loved, Dashie.” Slowly, Rainbow met her uncharacteristically somber friend’s eyes. “You wanna know something?” Pinkie asked with the beginnings of a smile. “I’ve always looked up to you.” Rainbow’s ears perked up in surprise. “Really?” “Mm-hmm.” She began work on another penguin. “My goal in life is to make ponies happy, and I like to think I do. But you? The way you leave ponies with wonder in their eyes? You don’t just make them happy—you inspire them! You call out the best in them, even without them realizing it, or realizing it yourself.” Pinkie looked out the window, folding without looking, her eyes fluttering slightly. “When I lived on the rock farm, my life was almost as gray as Ponyville is now. But then you happened, Dashie. Just like a flashlight. I wouldn’t have even come to Ponyville if it weren’t for you. And I’m lucky to have you as a friend. We all are.” Rainbow’s lips moved, but no words came out. Finally: “P-Pinkie, I… I don’t know what to say, but…” “Then don’t say anything. Just be. Because all the gray in the world can’t take away your true colors. You didn’t lose them. You just forgot where you put them.” Pinkie finished a penguin, and let out a massive yawn. “Okay, I think that’s enough penguins for now. Maybe I’ll do more tomorr—” She looked up, then froze, looking at Rainbow, and at the single tear running down her friend’s fuzzy cheek. “Oh my gosh, Dashie! Don’t cry! Whatever I said, I’m sorry. Please, I just wanted to make you feel better…” “No, Pinks,” Rainbow said, wiping the tear away and getting to her hooves. “Don’t be sorry. That was really, really sweet of you. And thanks for the dinner, too. But I’d better be moseying on. I have some thinking to do.” She got up and made for the door. “Dashie, wait!” Rainbow turned and looked at the gray party mare, shifting uncomfortably as Pinkie studied her face for a long, long moment. Finally, Pinkie gave a tiny smile. “Wanna hang out some more tomorrow?” Rainbow sighed. “I wouldn’t miss it, Pinkie Pie.” Then, Rainbow was gone. The last of the puffiness in Pinkie’s mane gave up its fight, and long, straight strands of gray mane drooped around her shoulders. And the emptiness of Sugarcube Corner surrounded her. * * * * Twilight poured every ounce of her concentration into the spell, despite the throbbing in her skull that only got worse with each passing minute. She tried tapping into the leylines as they vanished into the meteorite’s mana field, but it was like trying to follow a trail of breadcrumbs through a cloud of fogged ink. The mana signature of the meteorite was unlike any magic she’d encountered before, and, try as she might, she couldn’t navigate it. Even the simple diagnostic spell she was currently casting met with about as much success as a wave meets a cliff face. A knot of pain twisted in her horn, and she nearly gasped, grimacing as she let the spell die. She could barely even see the meteorite in the resulting dark, but the droning sound in her brain remained, like hellish laughter. “Twilight?” said a tiny voice behind her. She couldn’t even bother to be startled. “Yes, Spike?” “Are you, um, making any progress?” “Not at all.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’ve been down here for, what, two hours? Three? And nothing I do does anything to this stupid rock! It’s so unlike any kind of magic I know of that it might as well be impervious to my spells.” “Oh…” Sensing something in his tone, she asked, “What is it?” “Well… Zecora thought I should wait and let you work, but… I kinda just got another message from Princess Celestia.” He produced said scroll and held it up for her to see. “Oh?” Any enthusiasm she might have otherwise felt was muffled by the pounding in her brain. “What’s it say?” “Well… apparently the Graying’s in Canterlot now. It’s still spreading. Celestia says she'll have to postpone her trip to Ponyville by at least a day.” “Wonderful,” Twilight snorted. “And there’s more. That astronomy professor at Celestia’s school? He gave a brief summary of his findings to the Princess.” “Oh?” she said with much more interest. She turned away from the meteorite and approached Spike, taking the letter in the crook of her hoof rather than using her magic. She ran her eyes over the familiar, flowing script of Celestia’s horn-writing. “Hmm. It says that during the meteor shower there were strange magical frequencies. Well, nothing new there. Something about patterns. I already knew that, too. And apparently, the frequencies affect, among other things, the part of the brain responsible for eyesight. Makes sense, but again, nothing I haven’t already guessed.” She continued reading, then stopped. “Huh.” “What is it?” “Well… according to this professor’s arcanometer, there were unusual sub-harmonics in the shower’s magical frequencies. Specifically, counter-harmonics.” “What does that mean?” “Well… think music. A counter-harmonic frequency would be like playing a discord on a piano.” “Discord?! So he’s behind this after all?!” Twilight sighed. “No, Spike. Discord’s magic is a law unto itself. This is something else. You know how magical energies flow along leylines, right?” “Not first-hand, but yeah.” “Alright, well, they don’t just move down leylines in a straight line. They modulate, and at certain frequencies. Now, most magical frequencies are harmonic—basically meaning they flow well with other frequencies, because their frequencies are synchronized. Otherwise, those frequencies might get jumbled up and congest the leylines, resulting in magical blocks.” “Like a traffic jam?” “Exactly! But certain kinds of magic have what are known as counter-harmonic frequencies. It’s hard to describe in laypony’s terms, but it essentially means it subverts other magics, usually with disruptive effects. Magic with these counter-harmonic frequencies are usually referred to under the umbrella term of ‘dark magic’. And apparently, the meteorite is giving off a form of dark magic. The only problem is, dark magic is rarely just an accident. It requires some form of… intent. A will. This meteorite is trying to do something.” “But what?” “I… don’t know,” Twilight admitted. Spike watched her face, noting the bags under her eyes and the sluggishness of her movements. “Hey, Twi? How about you take a break, maybe get some shut-eye and make a fresh start in the morning?” She sighed. “Normally I wouldn’t even consider it, but with this headache, my magic’s about to give out on me. I think some sleep would do me wonders.” With one final, half-defeated glance at the meteorite, Twilight followed Spike towards their tiny campsite near the edge of the clearing. * * * * Rainbow had long since lost track of how long she’d been lying there staring at her ceiling, but it was long enough that she had every shape and swirl of the cloud marble memorized. According to her bedside clock, it was morning now. Sunrise was right around the corner. The only light source in her bedroom was the single beam of moonlight pouring in through the window, and everything was silent except for a nearly imperceptible breeze wafting in. Tank lay beside her on the bed, his head and legs withdrawn into his shell. Rainbow gave his shell a loving pat with her hoof, then resumed her scrutiny of her bedroom. She would periodically close her eyes in the hope that she might drift off to slumber, but every attempt so far had been in vain, her mind racing and sluggish all at once, all the day’s events and all her self-pitying washing over her like numbingly cold water. With a sigh, she got out of bed. Her limbs begged to be used. She made her way to the window and looked out, much as she had the previous morning when the nightmare had begun. She raised up and draped her forelegs over the window sill, resting her chin on her hooves as she looked out across the town and the stars and the gray, gray, gray of the world. A new breath of air came in through the window and passed through her feathers. Rainbow smiled, for the first time that day feeling an actual desire to fly. With one last glance at Tank’s slumbering form, she spread her wings and leapt out the window. In the darkness, the lack of color was less obvious, and Rainbow could almost convince herself that everything was as it should be. That familiar patter of her heart picking up speed as the rest of her did thundered in her chest, and she smiled into the moonglow. Everywhere around her hung clouds stricken through the pale light, and the occasional streetlamp from Ponyville below mirrored the stars overhead, as if it weren’t a town at all but rather a reflecting pool. Rainbow soared through it all, dancing with the stars. And she was alone. Her smile vanished, and her legs hung limply beneath her. Spotting a lone tuft of cloud, Rainbow made for it and set her hooves down. She lay, folding her legs under her, and regarded the night—not the illusion of normalcy, but the reality of overwhelming dark. She looked down at Ponyville. She knew, by sheer memory, where all the major landmarks were. Here was Ponyville’s town square, and Sugarcube Corner at the edge of it. There, the more sparsely populated suburbs, with Carousel Boutique as its jewel. To the south, the Everfree Forest—expansive blackness that it was—with Fluttershy’s cottage next to it, like a tree leaning over a yawning chasm. To the west, row after row of apple-scented trees and a deeper, older scent of family. And, almost directly beneath her, a towering tree and a hurt alicorn. They really are great friends, Rainbow thought. All day, through all her whining, they had lent their ears and tried to comfort her. Had she even thanked them? She couldn’t remember. They deserve better… Slowly, she raised her eyes, staring off into the distance. “Okay, think,” she said out loud. “You can do this. You can’t just cut yourself out of their lives, and you can’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself. You…” She struggled to even form the thought, honest as she knew it was. “You made a mistake.” Applejack’s voice drifted through her mind. “But… that don’t make you a bad friend, does it? Even best friends make mistakes sometimes.” “But… sometimes mistakes ruin friendships. Just like…” As if on cue, her thoughts were interrupted by movement out of the corner of her eyes. Turning, she spotted the ghostly likeness of Gilda landing on a neighboring cloud, watching her silently with an inscrutable expression. Rainbow snarled. “Go away! How am I supposed to work this out with you following me around?! You aren’t even real!” The griffon merely looked at her, unblinking. With a snort, Rainbow faced away from the phantom and tried to ignore it, wracking her brain. “Yes, sometimes mistakes can ruin a friendship. But they don’t have to.” If she was honest with herself, her mistake hadn’t really been that bad. There were far worse things she could’ve done to Twilight than not show up for a bit of stargazing. Nonetheless, she could almost feel Twilight slipping through her hooves, falling away from her. The thought of losing her—of losing any of her friends—was terrifying. She looked over her shoulder at Gilda, and she remembered Rarity’s words earlier. “You’re repentant. You realize you made a mistake—though, for the record, I think you’re blowing the mistake far out of proportion—and you’re willing to do better. Tell me: Did Gilda ever show remorse, or apologize?” Rainbow’s eyes widened. “That’s it! I have to do something for Twilight. Words won’t do it. It has to be a… a gesture! I have to show her how much her friendship means to me. How much they all mean to me. But how…?” * * * * Twilight woke from a fitful sleep, finding darkness all around her. Glancing to the side, she found that the campfire was burning low. Using her magic, she poked at the fire and placed a few more pieces of wood into it until it blazed brightly once more. In the restored light, she saw Spike and Zecora, still asleep, both of them with expressions of discomfort on their faces. She briefly wondered if their proximity to the meteorite was giving them nightmares. Thankfully, her own dreaming had been largely uneventful, likely due to the mana-reduction field she had placed around herself to ease her headache and quiet the incessant whine of the magical note coming from the space rock. Neither Spike nor Zecora heard the drone. She'd asked them before they went to sleep. Furthermore, neither of them had suffered from headaches like Twilight had. She'd already suspected that the drone was causing her headache, but now she wondered if her horn made her especially sensitive to its frequencies. She added it to the list of unsolved mysteries with a frustrated huff. With little hope of going back to sleep, Twilight crawled out of her sleeping bag. She walked across the campsite quietly on the tips of her hooves and then stepped beyond the range of the firelight, heading across the clearing toward the crater in the center. The meteorite was right where she had left it, quiet and black and unnatural, singing its unearthly note into the world around it. Twilight didn’t cast any spells this time, instead sitting and staring at the thing. If she didn’t know any better, the note sounded… almost sad. “How are you doing this?” she asked it quietly. “Why are you doing this?” The stone gave no answer. Twilight recalled the letter, and the professor’s findings. Why a chunk of rock floating through space would generate such complex sub-harmonics, radiating dark magic into an even darker cosmos—she had no idea. She gave a snort. Maybe I should just blast it with the Elements, she thought with a roll of her eyes. It’s worked before. Then, her ears fell flat against her skull, her own joke falling sour in her heart. Except… I don’t have my friends with me, do I? I left them behind without even inviting them along… Her shoulders sagged, and though a part of her felt like crying, no tears would come. Instead, she only thought: I’m so sorry, girls… * * * * The eerie facsimile of Gilda continued to stare from its cloud, but Rainbow did her best to ignore it as she paced back and forth, her mind a tangle of thoughts. The more she thought about it, the more realized her friends had been wrong. They’d told her that the lack of color couldn’t change who she was, but it had. It had made her into the mopey, whiny thing she had been all day, had caused her to forget who she really was. Even now, her mind was fuzzy, distorted. But why? Was it just the Graying messing with her head? She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her question. Just who was Rainbow Dash? “You? What do you have to feel sorry for yourself over? You’re the coolest pony in Equestria!” Scootaloo’s answer made Rainbow smile, chuckling despite herself. Coolness was certainly a part of it. But was that all? “I became friends with a pony who’s strong and brave and loyal, a pony who brings out the best in everyone!” Fluttershy had made a good point, too. Rainbow was strong. But what was it about her that brought out the best in others? Was it loyalty? That was her element; the quality that most ponies associated with her. But what good was loyalty, in and of itself? Whether loyalty itself was a virtue depended on what you were loyal to. So, what was she loyal to, in the end? The answer was so obvious it smacked her in the face. Of course, it was her friends. Her friends, who meant so much to her. Opening her eyes and looking across the town, her heart almost hurt thinking about them. She knew she didn’t say it enough, but she loved her friends more than anything. There was a time when she hadn’t even had friends. Her early foalhood had been so very lonely. She hated being alone. But then she’d met Fluttershy, and eventually the others. And she had never been happier. That is, until all the Graying had come along and tried to take it from her. All day long, it had been like a wedge driving them apart. She turned to the griffon and scowled, compressing all her blame and hate for the Graying into that spectral shell of her former friend. “I hate you!” she screamed to the scapegoat. When the griffon remained silent, Rainbow turned away with a growl. She spent a quiet moment looking into the distance. The sky to the east was brightening slowly. Dawn was approaching. Finally, Rainbow addressed the griffon again, quieter this time, a small smile on her lips. “Did you know that the six of us might not have become friends at all if it weren’t for me? That day I earned my cutie mark—when all of us did—I connected us all together. I didn’t know it at the time, of course.” The corners of her mouth sagged downward slightly. “In fact… I hadn’t even wanted to go to flight camp in the first place.” An image flashed through her mind, the passing shadow of a memory she hadn’t recalled in years. It all came rushing back to her as her eyes blinked closed… * * * * Rainbow lay on her bed, hugging her tiny hooves to her chest as she stared at the Wonderbolts nightlight near her bed. There was a knock at the door, followed by a voice. “Dashie? Are you awake?” “Yeah, Mom.” The door opened, and light from the hallway came pouring in, across her bedroom floor and onto the foot of her bed. Her mother stepped through the door, a small wisp of a pegasus, walking on thin legs. She approached Rainbow’s bed and carefully lowered herself to her haunches. “Dashie,” she said, her voice gentle. “Your father tells me that you’re having second thoughts about going to flight camp.” Rainbow fidgeted slightly, but didn’t say anything. “Is it because of your age? I know you’re younger than some of the other foals that will be there, but that's only because you're such an amazing flyer for your age.” “It’s not that,” Rainbow muttered in a tiny voice. “Then what?” Rainbow tongued the inside of her cheek, then forced the words out. “Other foals don’t like me.” Her mother blinked at her. “Whatever do you mean?” “They say I’m too loud, and that I brag too much. And sometimes… they make fun of my mane.” “But why would they do something like that? Your mane is beautiful, Dashie.” She reached out with a weak hoof and ran it through the prismatic strands. But Rainbow just swatted her hoof away. “I dunno. They just do. Probably ‘cause it’s different.” She rolled away, facing the far wall. “I just… don’t wanna go if they’re just gonna leave me out of everything. Sometimes I wish I could just be like the other fillies…” Her mother reached out with a hoof again, this time grabbing Rainbow’s shoulder and rolling her back so their eyes could meet. “Don’t ever say that, Dashie,” she said, her voice soft as ever. But her eyes bore into Rainbow’s own, strong and filled with fire. “Don’t ever say you want to be anything other than yourself, do you understand? You’re an amazing pony.” Rainbow grumbled and tried to roll away again, but her mother’s hoof remained on her shoulder, holding her there. “Please, Dashie. Look at me.” With a groan, Rainbow did as she was asked, meeting her mother’s tender eyes. “I know what it’s like to be singled out, Rainbow. My whole life, I’ve been frail and weak, and I didn’t have many friends either. But I’ve always tried to keep my head high, no matter what, because this is the only life I have, and I refused to live it in fear.” Her voice began to tremble. “W-when I got pregnant with you… the doctors didn’t think I would make it. They said I was too weak to carry a foal. So what did I do?” Rainbow looked at her with wide, wide eyes. “I proved them wrong!” A tear slipped from her eye as she looked at Rainbow. “The day you were born was the happiest in my life, because even then I saw how strong you are. You were like a light in my life, Dashie. And I think that’s what you were born to be.” She smiled at her foal. “Can you promise me something, Dashie?” Rainbow nodded slowly. “Whenever life throws something at you, I want you to look it in the eye and not back down. Alright? Because you’re my awesome little filly. Just remember that.” She leaned down and kissed Rainbow on the forehead. “You’re going to blow their minds at flight camp, Dashie. Someday, you’re going to do great things, and make friends who will love you. I promise you that. Someday, you’ll paint your name across the sky with all the colors of your spirit. And everypony will see.” * * * * … and blinked open again, filled with tears. “And that’s… that’s just what I did,” Rainbow whispered. “I went to flight camp, and I wowed them all. I made my first real friend. And now, I live in Ponyville.” She smiled down at the town in question. “And I’m happy. Actually, completely happy.” Her smile faded slowly. “Or… I was. Before the Graying. But you know what?” She shot a determined look back at the griffon, whose expression hadn’t changed. “I’m not letting it go without a fight. I will not let this stupid curse take it away from me!” Pinkie’s words echoed in her mind: “Just be. Because all the gray in the world can’t take away your true colors. You didn’t lose them. You just forgot where you put them.” Rainbow stood up slowly, looking at the brightening horizon where the was just beginning to rise. “You were right, Pinkie Pie. I did forget where I put my true colors. I forgot that have them inside of me. I forgot that if I want them, I have to make them happen. And… maybe friendship isn’t something you have… but something you do. It’s something I do. Can do. Will do!” She gave a chuckle. “I’ve been so worried about losing the ‘Rainbow’ that I forgot the ‘Dash’. And something tells me one will follow the other.” She looked down at Ponyville once more as dawn broke over it, and she smiled. Wings still folded to her sides, she tipped forward on her hooves and fell off the cloud, going into a freefall through the Ponyville airspace. As she fell, she looked up at a cloud that had once borne a griffon. It was now unoccupied. With a smile, she turned her gaze earthwards, challenging the ground as it rose to meet her. Her friends needed her, and damned if she wasn’t going to be there for them. She spread her wings and gave them a flap, and another, and another. A laugh tore from her throat as she dove, the joy of flight embracing her for the first time since the Graying began. In the east, the sun was peeking into the sky, gray light pouring over the horizon and bathing Ponyville. But whereas the grayness had once been a wet blanket draped across her figure, now it was a challenge, and Rainbow looked it square in the eye. She continued to flap her wings. The air screamed around her, tugged at her, tried to suck the air from her lungs. Everything bent and threatened to tear, but she didn’t back down. Not anymore. Because she was Rainbow Dash, and she was back. The sky over Ponyville exploded. * * * * Applejack saw it. She was seated at her windowsill after a restless night’s sleep, tying her mane back into her trademark ponytail for another day of harvesting. That’s what she was supposed to do, anyway. But then the earth rumbled, and she raised her eyes. There, towards Ponyville, a massive ring of colors spread across the sky. She dropped the hair tie she’d been holding in her teeth and stared. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but she could have sworn that the apples all across the orchard caught the light and shone red for the briefest moment. Fluttershy saw it. She was pouring food into one of the many bowls in her kitchen, bags under her eyes and her mane frayed. All around her, animals milled and chattered anxiously, barely controllable. Then all the noise was overpowered by a massive blasting sound that rattled the window panes. The animals started briefly, but then came to a sudden stop. Fluttershy, who had been as startled as any of them, followed their eyes and watched the bands of color in the sky with the same expression of wonder. For the first time in more than a day, her cottage was utterly still and silent. Rarity saw it. She was seated at her kitchen table. With one hoof, she scribbled designs on a notepad; several balls of paper littered the floor beneath her. In the other hoof, a cup of coffee to cushion her lack of rest. The explosion knocked her formerly red glasses right off the bridge of her muzzle, and she nearly fell off her chair. Looking up, her mouth fell open at the sight of rainbows screaming across the sky. Her eyes widened, reflecting the beauty of the sight. Pinkie saw it. In fact, she was almost directly below it. She sat on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by thousands of paper penguins. Gummy was helping—if by ‘helping’ one meant ‘chewing one of the penguins to a black-and-white spitball’. The explosion was enough to lift Pinkie bodily off the floor, only to deliver her back to it with a thump that sent her sprawling on her back. Through the windows, she saw colors rippling across the sky in all directions. With a gasp, she got to her hooves and ran to her balcony, throwing open the doors and walking out to the spectacle. She smiled, and the smile grew and grew. She brought her hooves to her face, and her mane instantly poofed back to its usual shape. Through the smile, she managed to whisper, “Way to go, Dashie…” And Twilight… Twilight was sitting on her haunches, looking at the meteorite and pondering the elements of harmony. That is, until a strange fluctuation of the light caught her attention. Turning around, she saw the distant blaze of the sonic rainboom, expanding silently. It took several seconds for the actual boom to reach her, but even from this distance it shook the ground. She worked her mouth for some seconds, struggling to form words. “I… That… How?” Finally, slowly, a smile crept across her lips. “Rainbow Dash…?” Spike and Zecora—woken, she presumed, by the noise—came running up to her, following her gaze and mimicking her slack-jawed expression as they took in the colors in the distance. “Is… is that a sonic rainboom?” Spike asked. Twilight could only nod. “But, what does this mean? How can this be?” Zecora spoke up, her eyes wide. “Everything else is gray as far as I can see!” “That’s a good point,” Spike said. “How can that be in color when everything else is still color-less?” “I don’t know,” Twilight admitted. “Unless…” She turned to the meteorite, squinting at it in, literally, a new light. Then, her eyes began to widen, realization dawning alongside the morning. She looked back to the rainboom as it began to fade, leaving only gray skies in its wake. “Can it be…?” “Can what be, Twi?” Her eyes darted back and forth, as if reading a book only she could see. “You’re right, Spike. It doesn’t make sense that the rainboom would be in color while everything else is the same. Unless, that is, we were thinking about the meteorite’s effects backwards.” She swallowed, searching for the right words to explain. “If the meteorite were only affecting us at an individual, one-on-one level, then it wouldn’t matter what happened externally to us; we would still see what the meteorite wants us to see. But if the meteorite—bear with me, here—if it affected us collectively, as a group, then it might be different.” Spike, clearly struggling to keep up: “What do you mean?” “Magic is everywhere, and in everything—connected by leylines. That goes for our minds, too. Now… we the know the meteorite is tapping into and manipulating the leylines, but what I hadn’t considered before now that is that maybe it’s affecting the relationships between things within its field of influence. Through this ‘network’ it’s created, it may very well have made a sort of shared illusion. The Graying isn’t just our individual inability to see color, but our inability as a community to see it.” “Alright, I think I understand,” Spike said, not sounding very sure of his own statement. “But… what about the rainboom, then?” “Well, what would happen if something broke free of the shared illusion? For example, a pony who somehow rejected the meteorite’s influence? Would we still see that pony as gray?” “So… what? That was Rainbow Dash, right? Does that mean she ‘broke free’?” “As tired as I am of saying this, I don’t know. It’s just a theory, but it’s the only one that makes sense, all things considered.” “Is there a way to make use of this fact? To return the colors we all lack?” “Maybe, Zecora. There may very well be a way to turn the tables.” “Do you have any ideas?” Spike asked. Twilight considered the meteorite anew, the way one might look across a chessboard at an opponent who’d made a grave mistake. “I think I just might. So far, I’ve been trying to get into the meteorite directly, following the leylines as they vanish into its mana field. But maybe if I follow them into the network instead, I can find a way to use it against the meteorite—find a back door, or something. If so, though… that back door will probably be in my own mind.” Spike audibly gulped. “That sounds a little risky, Twilight. Are you sure?” She smiled at him. “I am, Spike. I have to try if I want to fix this whole thing. And besides,”—she looked to the now empty sky towards Ponyville—“it seems that Rainbow had some kind of breakthrough. I think I’m overdue for one, too.” With one final nod to Spike and Zecora, Twilight kneeled before the meteorite and moved her horn as close to it as she could. Once again, she tapped into the leylines in the area, but instead of trying to move into the meteorite’s manafield, the followed the leylines being affected by the meteorite as they spread outward—miles and miles of channels, perhaps millions of them. The network opened up to her like a vast spider’s web of energy as far as her mind could reach. And flowing through it all: The now-familiar drone of the meteorite’s ‘signal’. With all the network at the tips of her hooves, she turned her attention inwards, sensing her own placement within the network. She found herself in the unusual position of looking into her own thoughts as if from the perspective of an outside observer, and slipped into them. And everything went dark. Spike and Zecora gasped as Twilight went limp against the ground. They ran to her side and looked her over, finding her unconscious and unresponsive. They took some small relief in the fact that her horn was still glowing, giving small, consistent, gray-tinted pulses. Giving each other worried glances, the two of them continued to watch over Twilight and the black stone as day broke over the Everfree Forest. * * * * Four blue hooves set down on the gray grass just off Ponyville’s town square. Other ponies, countless shades of gray, began to pour into the square, wandering in from alleyways and out of their homes, all summoned by the dissipating rainboom overhead. Half in fear and half in awe, they gaped at the colorful figure standing in their midst. At the head of the pack was a certain wide-eyed party mare. “Dashie?” she asked, hopeful. Rainbow opened her rosy eyes. Her blue wings were still extended, and a breeze wafted through her multicolored mane. She looked down at herself in approval, then turned her eyes to the colorless masses around her. Meeting Pinkie’s eyes, she smiled. “Yay!” Pinkie tackled Rainbow with hugged her fiercely. She pulled her head back just enough to see Rainbow’s eyes. “But how?” “I followed your advice, Pinks. I found my true colors.” Pinkie giggle-snorted. “Boy, did you ever!” They ended their hug, and Rainbow looked towards the library. “And now, I have to help Twilight find hers. It’s time to show her just how much she means to us.” She gave Pinkie a smirk. “You know what this calls for?” The corners of Pinkie’s mouth twitched upwards. “A party?” she asked hopefully. Rainbow simply nodded. “But…” Pinkie mumbled. “But I tried throwing a party, remember? It’s so hard without color.” “Well, this is an unusual situation. Maybe it calls for an unusual party, huh? C’mon! You’re Pinkie Pie. You’re not gonna let something like this stop you from making ponies happy, are you? If in doubt: think penguins.” Pinkie’s eyes widened, and for a fraction of second, Rainbow thought she saw a speckle of blue in them. “You can count on me, Dashie!” With that, Pinkie took off to Sugarcube Corner to begin planning. “Now that’s more like it!” As more crowds began to gather and gawk at the sole island of color in the midst of town, Rainbow looked up. “Just you wait, Twi. I’m gonna make it up to you, and then some.” And with that, she took to the sky in a colorful blur.