I must apologize for the abrupt end to my last letter. I was interrupted in its creation by a matter of urgent importance, and I sent it off more quickly than I should. Perhaps that is a better indication of the state of affairs than anything I could say—things have progressed so far that even I have difficulty remaining in control. These are strange and exciting times; even as I write of what has already become ancient history, the future's history is being created.
But matters of the present can wait, for now. I've established a pattern, it seems, and to deviate too harshly from it would be to lose my train of thought. For the most part my stories have been in roughly chronological order, and though their events mingled across the timeline, the "climax" of each has been later than that of the previous. Thus, it is only fair that in detailing the lives of my five closest friends, I must bring up Pinkie Pie last. It is her influence, after all, which is the source of the turmoil that currently rocks my world.
You see, as I’ve alluded to before, the actions of Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy vastly opened the world. For the first time, we became aware of the true size of the universe—and simultaneously of our strangeness within it.
My, how shocked we were to rediscover the laws of gravity! We’d known that the planets were supposed to orbit the stars—and indeed, it was an unhidden secret that your magic turned the planet, not the sun—but we were unprepared for the true reality of it. In having control over the day and night, we are unique. No other planet turns as ours does—or rather, as ours does not. Epona was born tidally locked. Stillborn, in essence, until a great impact spun it around and established the magical conduits through which we learned to control it. But that is all ancient prehistory, and a story you lived to know.
The first event I must reference happened just over a hundred years ago, scarcely two months after the chartering of the Federation and only weeks after I used the Elements of Harmony to give the planet and moon a stable cycle—for doing so was far more safe and efficient than interchanging the sun and moon each day, even if the latter is tradition. (I hope you are not offended by my doing so, but the fact simply is that this saves a great deal of time and energy.)
The story I tell here begins with a visit by an ambassador from the Empire of the Hand.
We hadn't had many visitors to Epona. Since the One Night War, many were distrustful of those from beyond our sun's reach, and indeed I was not so different. When the Hand ambassador contacted me with a request for an audience, I forced myself to be cautiously optimistic. The Hands were the most powerful of our new friends, and they were also the most like us in many ways. They breathe roughly the same kind of air, eat similar kinds of foods, and in many nontrivial ways are biologically and socially similar to us, though they do ascribe a much greater significance to religion than most denizens of Epona.
I’d learned the language spoken by his people before he arrived, which was obviously a huge boon to our interactions. He was an amiable fellow, and despite the fact that he had to crane his neck to meet my eyes we shared a pleasant, even jovial conversation upon our meeting. Even our ideas of humor match. Truly, it is a remarkable thing.
But, unfortunately, this visit was soon to be cut short. Part of this ambassador's mission was to conduct a cultural and technological exchange. In doing so, he showed me a device he carried in his pocket.
At first I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but he explained to me that it was a computing device. I was incredulous; it was the size of my hoof, and he claimed that it could store within it anything, from books to images to songs to films. I asked for a demonstration, and he showed me footage of a symphony, recorded in his home city.
It was at this point that I assumed the device was powered by magic, and asked him several questions about how it was enchanted to perform so many functions at once. His was quite disturbed by the nature of my questioning, and he seemed somewhat surprised that I would even consider it. Magic, he claimed to me, did not exist.
Obviously, I found this hilarious at the time. I assumed—in this case rightly—that my grasp of his language was faulty. I did not realize, however, that he had absolutely no idea what magic was.
I casually picked up the object with my telekinesis, sarcastically stating that he was of course right and that magic did not exist at all. The look on his face immediately crushed my humor, however. He stepped away from me, terrified, and demanded to know how I was holding his device. It took an hour of conversation to convince him that he was not dreaming, and longer still to convince him that I wasn’t going to use my magic to harm him.
He did not stay the night, as I offered, but immediately returned to his ship, visibly shaken. Before leaving, however, he gave me a piece of advice: “Do not be so quick to demonstrate your power before others.”
I later came to understand that he never even told his superiors about my abilities, and with good reason. According to what I later learned of the Hand's dominant culture, “magic” (or the word closest to it in his tongue) is synonymous with evil, with calling upon dark spirits and higher powers which care not for mortal life. It is considered by most to be a superstition, but one that their religious rulership do not take lightly.
Had I visited them instead, I might very easily have been imprisoned, and I suspect my immortality would have only caused further alarm. I am thankful that the emissary they sent was as dedicated to peace as I was, for otherwise my casual actions could have led to Epona's first interstellar war.
I learned through other sources that the other species we’d come into contact with were as uninformed of magic as the Empire of the Hand had been—and as a consequence they all outstripped Eponan technology by perhaps hundreds of years. They all sailed between the stars, and they did so without the natural gifts possessed by equinity. (There is one exception, but I will approach them in due time.)
I was posed with a problem. As much as I knew that eventually they would have to come to terms with our use of magic, we were not in a strategically feasible position at that time. We could not simply say “this is the way we are” and stand our ground. The Hand ambassador stressed this, in fact—for their religion is not just a faith, but a major means of choosing their leaders. Some of the other races proved to have similar dispositions, and seeing as how our magic was the only thing that put us on equal footing with they who could so easily come to see us as the incarnation of evil, I chose to hide this fact of our biology from them.
Thus, when it came time to form an ambassadorial corps, I was left in a difficult position. Unicorns were straight out—there was too much chance that their magic would slip out somehow. Pegasi, likewise, would raise too many questions. Though Fluttershy’s was a face they all knew, I decided to minimize the chance that someone would question how pegasi could fly when their wings were so obviously too small to lift their mass.
The solution, then, was earth ponies and members of the non-pony races.
(Though it seems biased to phrase it in such a manner, you must understand that by and large the other races simply didn’t care. Equestria was always the face of our world. The zebras stood at our side, and the dragons made use of our technology, but the others? After the many treaties and collaborations that stabilized things with the changelings, they wanted for nothing. The minotaurs and diamond dogs were plenty content with their ancient cities, and those who weren’t kept away from politics outside of Epona.)
Thus, by and large, the early ambassadors of Epona were earth ponies, with myself as the notable exception. Given the greater size of my wings, I did not seem so improbable, and I kept my horn well under control while I was in the presence of guests. Still, I stayed out of the way as much as possible, leaving the diplomacy to my ambassadors for the most part.
Who else was there to choose as their leader but Pinkie Pie? She was outgoing, open-minded, optimistic, and most of all, a veritable sponge for information. Plus, she was absolutely ecstatic at the opportunity. She became the face associated with Epona—and that was perhaps our saving grace. Though it sounds borderline evil to say it, I absolutely wanted us to appear as nonthreatening as possible, all while steadily increasing our power until we could no longer be opposed by any of our allies. It sounds conniving and unerhooved simply because it was. I was facing the very real prospect of a holy war against my home, and I refused to take chances. This is why the Celestia was constructed, if not why it was given your name. The Fleet was the crowning jewel, the proof that we could and would defend ourselves, should any of our allies take issue with our nature.
It struck me many times that I was probably being paranoid, and Pinkie herself told me as much on more than one occasion. However, I’ve never forgotten the lesson learned upon our first meeting with Zecora. Looks can be deceiving, book, cover, et cetera—but one’s appearance can also be a danger to oneself. Had the Hands or the Kahri seen us as an aberration at that time, they would have attacked us, and they would have won, with consequences too awful to contemplate. Having studied their cultures and seen the precedents set within their histories, I am certain of this. And unlike Zecora, we could not simply explain ourselves, for what they were taking issue with was the basic nature of our bodies. It would have been as if, back then, we had attacked Zecora simply for being a Zebra. After all, it’s not as if she could have taken off her stripes.
So I hid behind Pinkie… and, as is typical, she did something remarkable.
The first word I had of her actions came from the Nivenn. They are strange creatures, living in the relics of a far greater race which has long-since vanished from our realm. They are tight-lipped about the nature of their home, which is a terrestrial, ring-shaped megastructure—spun for gravity—surrounding a star that too small to theoretically exist without some kind of artifice. What little I knew of them then indicated that they were a relatively peaceful race, using their borrowed technology to protect their limited numbers from those outside. In a way, they as much like us in spirit as the Hand were like us in form. Pinkie was, as I understand things, the second outsider—after Fluttershy—to be allowed to set hoof upon their ring-world in at least two thousand of our years.
One should fully understand: This is an entire species which has lived in all but isolation for the better part of two millennia, and which was so fearful of outsiders that they would not allow their bodies to be photographed or their voices to be directly heard.
Before Pinkie Pie returned to Equestria, I received a notice cordially inviting me to attend a meeting with the Nivenni governing body. I traveled to their ring-world, and found it even more incredible than I’d imagined. I could fill—and perhaps will fill—books with the knowledge I obtained merely from studying the structure, but I will not bore you with it all here. Suffice it to say, even a modest glance was enough to spark the imagination to a white-hot burn.
The Nivenn were welcoming, even excited to see me. I was taken to meet with their council of elders, all of whom introduced themselves with an apology in common Equish. (When we signed the treaty codifying the Federation, the Nivenn provided their mark without actually being present, something the other signatories accepted out of necessity. Apparently, they’d become convinced this was an unforgivable affront, and wished to make amends.) It took some time to cause them to cease apologizing, at which point I finally discovered the reason for my visit; they wanted to begin a cultural exchange program with us.
The ensuing dialogues eventually led to the Federation Artistic-Cultural Trade System, the Interplanetary Student Exchange Drive, and the United Federation Research Institution. Before, even with the Federation’s charter, we were still distant and distrustful of one another. We were all aliens, after all. These initiatives would, over the course of the following century, bring us closer together, promoting understanding and co-operation on levels I’d never even imagined to be possible.
I don’t know what Pinkie did to convince the Nivenn to spearhead this initiative. She’s never told me, instead meeting my questions with a cheeky grin.
But that wasn’t where she stopped. She visited the Gryphons next, and convinced them to re-establish their embassy in Canterlot. She came back with fantastic stories of colossal buildings of jagged steel, of an empress with an eye that glowed like fire, of feats of technology that, had I been a few decades younger, would have seemed impossible to me. She convinced them to share their medical technology with us—considering that our biologies were similar enough that the same medicines would work—and in that one action completely changed how Equestria dealt with everything from illness to the aging process. You might have noticed me make casual mention of ponies living upwards of two hundred years. The average life expectancy in Equestria is now close to four hundred, thanks to Pinkie Pie. This has caused some problems, true, but in the end it has proved to be a powerful motive force. Even now, the technology the Gryphons trade with us often leaves me stunned. They did more than just leave the planet behind—they left us behind as well.
Pinkie next travelled to speak with the Grom. I didn’t see Pinkie for almost a year, but when she returned she had changed. Her mane was cut short, her ears were pierced with several gold ornaments, and her voice had deepened considerably. Even though these changes gradually wore off as she re-acclimated to Equestrian society, they gave me a hint as to how she had become so effective. Strange as it might seem, Pinkie is quite good at fitting in when the need arises.
The Grom are not the sort to learn our language, no were they the sort to open dialogues. My first impression of their ambassadors was that they were a surly, indifferent lot, but Pinkie brought back a vastly more intriguing account.
For the Grom are the only alien species we yet know of with magical abilities.
I cannot say whether they deliberately hid this from us or simply didn’t think to mention it, but I suspect the latter. They are a strange, clumsy race, their ships and cave cities constructed so haphazardly that it is difficult to believe them to be more than junk from a simple glance. Despite this, the Grom possess a unique ability which makes them theoretically the most dangerous of our allies. You see, an individual Grom generates a weak magical field. Whenever a large collection of Grom are in one place, these fields mesh and unify. When a population of Grom reaches a certain threshold—current clandestine research suggests around ten thousand, give or take a few hundred—this magic field becomes powerful enough to significantly warp the world around them. In short—their technology works solely because most of them believe it can.
When Pinkie returned, she was fluent in their language and exhibited an amazing understanding of their culture. She explained to me that she’d met and learned from one of their “smart boys.” (I’m not certain what role to assign they exactly. They seem to be somewhat like scientists, but far more influential to their society at large.) He’d given her a document, written in their language, to pass on to me. Within, this document was a lengthy explanation of their species’ ability, and a proposal for a mutual alliance should the more superstitious of our allies ever turn against one of us. It turned out Pinkie had not only spilled our secret, but become heavily involved in their society. I don’t know what she did, but they built statues in her honor. She still visits their capitol fairly often.
I suppose I should next speak of the Haarkin, whose flying cities hover above the clouds of gas giants. Pinkie visited them as well, a few years later, and though I know even less of her actions there than I know of her dealings with the Grom, I know that she somehow managed to convince their high king to grant her a city-seed. She showed it to me, a round sphere of pearly-white, and told me that if it was dropped into a gas giant’s cloud that it would do exactly what its name suggested, and that the ensuing growth would be specifically adapted to replicate the Eponan climate. The importance of this gesture cannot be understated—a Haarkin city is essentially a minor deity to them, and giving us one of these seeds was a symbolic gesture with the implication that we would be included in their eternal paradise. I found myself incredibly moved, but when I tried to compose a return gift, Pinkie stopped me, explaining that to offer another gift was, to the Haarkin, the same as rejecting the one previously given. This was neither the first nor the last time that Pinkie's advice saved me from embarrassment or worse. This trait is something I am extremely thankful for, especially in how it affects what happened next.
For now I come to the most fantastic of all Pinkie’s adventures: her visit with the Kahri. It was then that she truly saved not just the my honor or stability of the newborn Federation, but Epona itself.
For you see, the Kahri were the most volatile of our allies. The Empire of the Hand is ruled by a theocracy, yes, but it is also mired in beuracracy, and it is as slow to act as it is massive. The Kahri have no such qualms. Their entire world was ruined by a great war, and their surviving people subsist on a space fleet, which travels from star system to star system, scavenging dead planets and asteroids for the resources they need. For them, religion is the air they breathe, and any deviation is heresy with a penalty of death. As it so happened, our magic constituted a deviation.
It is important to understand that as a consequence of having lived in space for so long that they no longer remember the name of their homeworld, they are quite good at interstellar war. The abridged history of the Empire of the Hand—given to me by their ambassador—contains this passage in regards to a long-ago war fought between them and the Kahri.
“Though the armies of the Holy Empress fought their bravest, the conflict did last some ten and twenty Central Years before it finally met its end. In that time, the worlds Lightgrove, Shimmer, and Fallwind were torn asunder by the accursed weapons of the foe. The losses on these three were complete, and though they were but fledgeling colonies the three million who the foe sent to paradise shall not be forgotten. In the end, the enemy had to be forced down with words, not with the sword, though the souls of those three worlds cried for blood. The Empire of the Hand did not falter, but the Holy Empress in Her wisdom knew that should the armies of the foe reach our glorious Holy Gaia, the cost would be far too great to bear.”
I must stress, again, that the Empire of the Hand is an interstellar presence with eighteen declared colony worlds—ignoring asteroids, moons, dwarf planets, and several planets which the Hands describe as “Outlander settlements.” They have a garrison fleet for each one of these worlds, and seven more besides of even larger size. The Kahri have but a single fleet. The Empire of the Hand was afraid of them.
So when the Kahri discovered our magic, I knew we were in trouble.
It occurred fifty years ago now. We’d begun trading with the Kahri—for despite how I’ve made them out, they’re not that hard to deal with when you respect their customs—and a unicorn freighter captain accidentally used telekinesis to help load a crate off his shuttle.
He was seized immediately. The Kahri fleet was suddenly in orbit over Epona. I literally woke up in the middle of the night to find starships hovering visibly in low orbit over Ponyville. They demanded an explanation.
They threatened to rip our planet in half if they didn't get one they liked.
I tried to gather the Elements of Harmony, but Fluttershy and Rarity were both visiting distant colonies, and Discord was with the former. Aside from myself and Cadance, I had no access to any kind of power in Equestria or elsewhere that could oppose them. I had to cease construction of the Celestia and have it break free from its orbital construction yard. Even then, its weapons were pitifully incomplete. My entire plan hinged on its sheer size scaring them off.
And then Pinkie landed a shuttle outside my castle. She calmly invited me to get in. Dumbfounded, I discovered that she’d already picked up Trixie and Rainbow Dash.
She took her shuttle to the Kahri capital ship, a vessel with a name that translates roughly to “House of God.” She landed us in their hangar, and was unafraid as a swarm of armed guards surrounded us. She led us forward into the ship, strange, alien weapons pointed at us all the while, until we were face to face with the Kahri clergy.
And then, she explained everything.
She was concise, she was polite, she was completely and unerringly honest. She had Trixie and I demonstrate a few of our spells, and had Rainbow Dash demonstrate her flight. Through the entire ordeal, the Kahri never spoke once. Through the entire ordeal, Pinkie Pie she was absolutely calm.
I don’t think it ever even crossed her mind that our entire species could have gone extinct that day. She just showed them the truth, and trusted them not to kill us for it.
How did she convince them to leave us alone and release the crew of that freighter unharmed? I don’t know.
How did she then convince them to strengthen their alliance with us, twelve years later? I have no idea.
How did she convince the Kahri—who had lived solely on that fleet of ships for more than a thousand recorded years—to accept an unoccupied garden-world as a gift, and establish their first planetary colony?
I wish she’d tell me. By the heavens, she’d make a better ruler than I ever could.
I learned something from that day, and I suppose that makes this letter more like the ones I used to send you all those years ago. I learned that even when it seems like the world may literally be about to come apart, people are still people. Be they pony, dragon, zebra, gryphon, minotaur, diamond dog, changeling, Hand, Nivenn, Grom, Haarkin, or even Kahri… they all have their reasons for being how they are, and for the most part they are not inherently evil. Nightmare Moon was a lost sister begging for affection, Discord was a bored child craving stimulation, Chrysalis was a hungry queen seeking to feed her children, Sombra was a desperate magician in search of immortality, Tirek was an ancient god chasing his former glory, and the Kahri were a desperate race on the edge of extinction, clinging tight to the last thing they had which promised them any kind of salvation or forgiveness. Even the unnamed aliens who first opened our eyes to this interstellar community, though they never spoke to us nor tried any attempt at communication, had to have possessed some reasoning behind their violent actions, whether logical or otherwise.
None can be called truly ‘evil’ with the benefit of hindsight, and perhaps that is why our world is worth living and laughing in. It is not hopeless. It is not drowned in darkness or cynicism.
There is light, and its shining is beautiful. This is why I still send these letters, because despite my claims of rationality and pragmatism, I can still bring myself to hope.
I must close off now, but I find myself optimistic. Perhaps you really are reading these letters. Who can say? The world truly is a strange and wonderful place.
~Princess Twilight Sparkle