//------------------------------// // Last-Minute Adjustments // Story: The Fading World // by Neon Czolgosz //------------------------------// Twilight Sparkle never quite felt at home with the Seer Council. Working for them as a warlock had been a refreshing change from her previous job, and far more hooves-on at that, but they were strange in a way that clashed with her own strangeness. They were half-security agency and half-church, born of an ancient organisation that monitored and created prophecies when the Royal Pony Sisters were in power. After Nightmare Moon’s betrayal and Princess Celestia’s sacrifice, they became the keeper’s of Celestia’s legacy. They worked off the apocrypha, the thousands of writings pertaining to the Princesses and saved through the ages, and kept the Sunstone, a weak avatar of Celestia which served as an essential focus even though its personality had lain dormant for centuries. They also maintained bestiaries and instructional tomes to halt magical threats to the realm, taking a special interest in magical creatures and mages who used their powers against the strictures of Celestian ethics. Twilight found them muddled, and hidebound by tradition. Their dedication to a ‘cult of Celestia’ to prepare for her eventual return seemed tainted with sentiment, a thing to give them a sense of meaning rather than for any practical purpose. Their censorship of profane materials, something Twilight found a laudable goal, was guided more by internal politics than scriptural obedience, and frequently stymied by diplomatic talks with various magecraft organisations. She had left them to join the Royal Guard, and found it a tolerable change. Still, she was grateful for her time there. They had taught her much about ritual magic. Not about the theory or execution of ritual magic—she’d known the theory since childhood, and had long since developed her own tastes and designs. They had taught her strategy. Seer Council warlocks needed their rituals to be obtainable, adaptable, and fast. Rituals that employed extended vigils or struggling animals were difficult in the field. That was not the way of a warlock. Warlocks timed their rituals to the second and bought chalk by the barrel. Twilight could never match their obsession with tradition, but would happily outstrip their obsession with ritual magic. She took their basic tenets—small circles, redundant channels for easy modification, aesthetically pleasing mathematics, plan for last-cast—and built on them. A ritual that could be prepared quickly and easily was good. A ritual that could be prepared instantly and effortlessly was better. For this purpose, she created a large, clunky ritual to prepare small, fast ones. When she breathed on the pile of chalk dust and sent it scattering across the wax runes, five air elementals appeared from their plane, basking in the energies of strange geometries. They followed the intricate spirals and fractals like moths to a flame, soaking in magic, until they each reached a glass phial at the center of their casting circle. Twilight corked the five phials, each now filled with a lump of chalk, a scrap of paper, and a happily dazed air elemental the size of a grape. When shattered, the air elemental would fly into a frenzy and draw out a complex casting circle in seconds before returning to its own plane. Fast. Simple. Adaptable. Satisfied with her efforts, Twilight packed away each phial, cleaned away her casting circle, and then made herself a midnight snack. Sunset Shimmer walked in a short time later to be greeted by the sight of Twilight eating. She tried not to cringe. Twilight was an obsessively clean and formal pony in all areas of her life except diet, thought Sunset. The food was bad enough. Twilight seemed to have appetite for nothing but the strongest food. Blistering spices, mind-curdlingly sour sauces, cheeses that stunk of rotting hooves, durians and fermented beans. Tonight’s dish was a morel tindaloo, a curry that was less a curry and more a vengeful pile of chilli seeds in sauce. She had made additions, too. Sunset could see a pickled habanero sticking out of the mess. Twilight’s table manners were worse than her food choices. She wolfed down the curry with a hoof-sized spoon, splattering hot sauce around her lips and down her chin, noisily gulping her food between chews. She paused only to clear her palate with ice water, which would not stop the heat but only make the next mouthful seem more powerful in comparison. Sweat ran down her brow, her cheeks were bright crimson, and tears ran down her face. Every few mouthfuls, she snuffled her nose into a napkin. “There’s been a problem,” said Sunset. Twilight did not look up from her dish. “Mmph?” “Several hours ago, a guarded mail wagon was robbed. It contained the only extant artifact of Nightmare Moon, one I was planning to have interred safely in our vault during the Grail War.” The ceramic spoon clattered against the bowl as Twilight funneled the last few mouthfuls of mushroom curry into her waiting maw. She wiped her mouth and then her snout with the same napkin, brushed away the sweat on her brow with a fetlock, and looked at Sunset. “You don’t think this is a coincidence.” It was a statement of fact. “Too much of a coincidence.” Sunset laughed mirthlessly. “The Apple Clan are likely suspects, being both resourceful and shameless. House Blueblood lacks the spine to do something like this, and I don’t think that the Griffic Seer Society has the inclination to summon an equine Servant. Maybe the Manehattan Society have decided to field a player... Regardless, this requires a change of strategy.” Twilight stood, and summoned two glasses of cider. “What do you suggest?” “Nightmare Moon will almost certainly pursue Archer, seeking revenge,” said Sunset, “which means that Archer can no longer hide while Caster baits our trap. She will be hunted, and even though she could almost certainly defeat the betrayer in a one-on-one battle, she will no longer be able to act freely.” “We know the identity of another Servant, at least,” said Twilight. “No sensible Master would forgo such a powerful being.” “This is true, and we have records of Nightmare Moon’s life and personality. All serious scholars agree that she was the weaker sister, unable to match Princess Celestia either on the field of battle or in personal combat. She was unable to match her sister in honorable pursuits, and became consumed by jealousy. She succeeded through demagoguery, dark magic, hostage-taking, and murder. Her skill in the dark forces were matched only by her viciousness and cowardice.” “Then Nightmare Moon will be either Assassin or Caster. And we already have Caster.” Sunset nodded. “Therefore, we are expecting Nightmare Moon, as Assassin, to pursue Archer. Because Archer is a target, it now makes more sense to pair her with you. You no longer need to create and bait traps with Caster, because you have your bait ready. You know far better than I how an assassin and infiltrator thinks, and you can keep them held up long enough for Caster and I to bring backup, wall them in, and destroy them utterly.” A grim smile crossed her face. “We can destroy a third of the competition before the others realise what is happening. Two Servants will remain, and once we goad them to fight each other...” “We will be prepared,” said Twilight. * * * Polaris Blueblood was once again checking his equipment. The barding was moonstone, a pale grey metal that only shone at night. Heavier than mithril and weaker than steel, but it could bear enchantments in a way that few other metals could. He ran his magic over it, probing the surface for missing runes or internal cracks, anything that could compromise the charms of speed, evasion, and shielding. He checked the straps for stress and the padding for wear. All flawless, just as before. His two hornblades were sheathed on the left pauldron of the barding. Endurance, the Blueblood family sword, was his main weapon. Thick-bladed, far heavier than a normal hornblade, and unwieldy in the hooves of anypony but an expert fencer. It could channel magic like no other weapon and make its edge burn with cold, crackle with death, or cut through the void itself. Mercy was his second sword, a fencer’s blade that he had trained with since foalhood. It felt lighter than air, handled beautifully, and seemed to know what he wanted before he did. He checked both scabbards. Both oiled, both secured, neither snag nor drag for either of them. The peytral was not a true piece of armor, it was instead a dozen different artifacts build into a moonstone frame. Three amulets were set in a column, one to grant luck, one to amplify his magical prowess, and one to shield his mind from attack. A dozen enchanted rings were set into the metal, powerful treasures of the Blueblood family, granting boons on the wearer and curses on their enemies. Lining the edges of the peytral were a hundred aquamarine gems, each holding a bound spell to be unleashed at the wearer’s command. The moonstone itself only held one enchantment: a spell which masked the presence of the piece from anypony of the Blueblood line who did not bear a Command Spell. Polaris smiled grimly at the inscription. If not for that charm, one of his uncles would have surely pawned it decades ago. The bracers bore lighthoof charms that would allow him to fall from great heights unscathed, walk on clouds, and run on water. The cloak was woven spiderweb, impenetrable by all but powerful magical blades, and enchanted with an aura of displacement. While he wore it, he would never quite be where an opponent took aim. Only through absurd luck or sheer volume could an attack actually strike him. It also made him near-impossible to scry, allowing him to mask his identity or become invisible at-will. His equipment was essential. That was the only reason he’d been fussing over it for the last hour. It had nothing to do with the cold, grasping feeling that ran from his throat to his stomach. Rarity came through the door, bearing two cups of coffee. “You’re still awake.” “You wouldn’t have brought coffee if you thought I was asleep.” Rarity gave him the same odd half-smile that was so frequent lately. “You’ve been up this late every night for two weeks.” “I am... worried,” he said. “I am unprepared. I can never be prepared.” “Nopony can be prepared for this,” she replied, softly. “You have done all you can, and that’s so much more than most ponies in your position could dream of achieving.” Polaris nodded, and was silent for a moment. He swallowed. “I... I keep thinking of Hoofington. I was there for three days, and I wasn’t even there for the worst of it... I saw a foal, younger than your sister, prying the shoes off a dead pony’s hooves. For pennies. None of it had to happen. It could have been prevented, if not for the pride and greed of Honeywine and dozens of other bastards, and it won’t stop there.” He looked down, and sighed. “If I fail, that is the fate that awaits all of Canterlot, and from there all of Equestria. The Grail’s prize will fall to squabbling mages, and everything I have worked to accomplish will be for nothing.” Rarity set her coffee aside, and placed a hoof on Polaris’ withers. “You have a powerful Servant and powerful magic, and you are playing by different rules. Your opponents must defeat every other Servant to win. You need only defeat one.” “My opponents have trained their whole lives...” “In your own way, so have you. They will underestimate you, and it will prove their downfall.” A small smile worked its way across Blueblood’s face. He took a pull of his coffee. “You have a point.” “Yes, I do. Now, it’s time for bed.” He turned back to his equipment, shaking his head. “I won’t sleep after drinking coffee.” She moved forward, nuzzling him, and nipped at the hollow of his throat. As he gasped, she grabbed his coffee in shaky telekinesis and set it on the floor. “I said nothing about sleeping...” “Rarity, I—” She shushed him with a kiss. Her lips were soft yet forceful, tasting of mint and coffee. He kissed back, grasping her thick mane in a hoof, slipping his tongue between her teeth. He bit her ear, earning a delighted coo before she turned, wrapped her tail over his neck and, led him to the bed. They fell onto the mattress together, giggling. Rarity smiled as she wriggled in close. “I wanted to marry you, once.” Polaris put a hoof on her cheek. “Once, I wanted to ask for your hoof.” “No you didn’t.” “I did.” She laughed, and hooked her hind legs in between his own. “You wanted the idea of marrying me, but not the actual reality of it. It would have changed everything, and not all for the better. Your family would be far less pleasant, to say nothing of all the mages and merchants and peers who see you as a bargaining chip and me as the help. Besides, look at us. We’re not the type of ponies who would marry for love of all things.” “Yes I suppose that’s true,” he said, burying his muzzle in her neck, “and it would have interfered with my vow to remain a bachelor.” She moaned softly. “Mmph. I hope you didn’t take any vows of chastity, my lord?” “Certainly not.” “What a pity. I can’t just tease you all night and leave you dangling.” “That’s always an option, my dear.” They kissed more, turning down the lights and dragging the warm duvets up over them. Polaris stopped, suddenly. “Rarity...” “Mmhm?” She looked up at him with big blue eyes. “I—I don’t know if we should. What you said the other night...” He swallowed, again. “I don’t want to hurt you. I know it might happen anyway, but I don’t want to hurt you more.” “Polaris,” she whispered, “I wasn’t lying when I said it hurt.” She cuddle him closer, planting a kiss on his breast bone, then up to his neck, and then a third on his jaw. “But darling, I also wasn’t lying when I said I accepted it completely. It’s the right thing to do.” She kissed him once more on the lips, and nipped his ear. “Right now, I don’t want to wonder what could have been. I want to act on those desire. I want you.” Polaris kissed her back, and turned off the lights. “You have me.”