The malachite melted into a slick, green pool under the ray of energy, spreading across the floor until it filled the borders of the salt square. At first it appeared to dimly reflect the room above, but the dark-green image shifted until it was clearly reflecting a different room entirely.
“Everything is in place at Amethyst Manor, Twilight,” said Sunset Shimmer. “You can step through the portal whenever you are ready.”
Twilight nodded. “Thank you. Only contact me with the predetermined codes.” She took a step toward the portal, but stopped short. “Oh, and good luck.”
A baby dragon burst through the door, a frantic-looking mare chasing after him.
Twilight turned her head sharply. “Spike, you need to go with Twinkleshine or you’ll be waiting in the cold for the next train.”
The purple dragon ran to Twilight and hugged her as tight as his arms could manage. She folded a fore over his shoulders in an approximation of a hug.
“I can’t go yet, Twilight!”
“Spike—”
He looked straight upwards, into her eyes. “Promise me you’re gonna come back safe, okay? I’ll go to Manehattan, but you gotta promise me!”
Twilight sighed, but did not release her hug. “Don’t be foolish, Spike. Professor Shimmer and I are going on a dangerous mission. If I could make that promise, I wouldn’t need to send you to safety with Twinkleshine.”
He began to cry. Through tears he said, “You can’t say that, you can’t just go...” before breaking down into sobbing.
Twilight looked conflicted. “Spike, we are both powerful mages, we both have powerful Servants, and our alliance gives us a clear edge over the other Masters. We have done all we can to prepare, we are in the best possible position to survive, and we can ask no more than that.” She tried to pat him reassuringly, but it came off as compulsive tapping.
Sunset walked over, and put a hoof on Spike’s shoulder. “C’mere, Spike, look at me.”
He cautiously broke away from his embrace. “Auntie Sunset?”
She looked him in the eyes. “Me and Twilight are working together. I swear on my heart, my soul, and all of my magic that I will bring her home safe.”
His sobs died down, and he sniffled. “What about you?”
Sunset laughed. “Spike, you don’t even need to worry about me. I’m a stone-cold badass, as the foals these days say. But, tell you what...”
She got up and walked to a painting of Canterlot on the wall. She took it down, opened the back of the frame, and pulled out a piece of parchment from inside. She showed it to Spike.
“This,” said Sunset, “is my note of inheritance. My dad gave it to me when I was, oh, maybe a year older than you? It says I’m the first heir of the family magecraft, that I must use my skills for the benefit of ponykind, and that I must honor my family. Take it.” She offered him the parchment.
He carefully took the paper. “Why are you giving me this?”
“Because one day, I’m giving this piece of paper to my own foal. This scrap of parchment is my most treasured possession. It’s been in my family for three-hundred years. You’re going to keep it safe for me, for a month or so. And I swear I’ll be back for it. Can you keep it safe for me, Spike?”
He nodded, eyes wide, and gave an odd little salute. “O-of course. You can count on me!”
“Good.” She clapped him on the back. “Now scram, you little ratbag, before you make Twinkleshine late for the train.”
“Hey, I’m not little!”
Sunset grinned like a shark. “Then how come I can do this?” She pulled three feathers from thin air and began to tickle the dragon relentlessly, until he was guffawing on the floor.
“Gyaah! Stop, okay, I’m going,” he giggled. The feathers disappeared and he got to his feet. He kissed both Sunset and Twilight on the cheek, got a normal hug from the former, and a painfully solid hug from the latter.
When he was gone, Twilight turned to Sunset. “Thank you for handling that. He seemed upset.”
Sunset smiled. “He’s a good kid. He’ll be okay.”
* * *
Sunset Shimmer chose the academy’s elemental sciences casting theatre for her summoning location. It was where she’d learned the true arts of fire magic, where she taught them, and was utterly secure in her power here.
She had spent the afternoon binding and summoning six elemental spirit into a single crystal. The confinement enraged them, and they fought each other within their tiny prison. The sheer violence inside could be harnessed and obviate the need for blood sacrifice in the ritual. Afterwards, they would be released harmlessly to their planes of origin.
Two of her senior apprentices scurried about, attending to the fine details of the summoning. Sunset had ordered them to create the ritual to her specifications. This was both valuable training for her apprentices, who both had the talents for great deeds in the future, and it freed her to concentrate on logistical issues. She went through the thaum-current checklist with one apprentice while the other double-checked the runes, adjusted the ambient pressures, and calculated temperature flows.
Sunset placed the elemental crystal in the channeling brazier, where it was quickly surrounded by flame. She cast in the activation reagents. Void salts. Spider eggs. Drake bile. Caster sugar, Copper salts. Sipping whisky.
Her lines were rehearsed. The lights were dimmed. The helpers shooed.
Sunset Shimmer was ready.
She took the summoning focus, an ancient, hoof-written grimoire from her family’s private archive, and placed it in the center of the ritual circle. She intended to summon Caster, and would do so with powerful reagents, a powerful link, and the power of nine archmages coursing through her body.
She began.
“Five! Stand to summon, and let course, strange powers through veins, of deepest source.”
“Four! Vessels emptied, caught in strife, strings all cut by darkest knife.”
“Three! Commands, to bargain or bind, squandered by fools, the unwise and the blind.”
“Two! Master and Servant, connected by spark, and Master and Master, allied in dark.”
“One! A wish, I summon you, an oath, I bind you, and change your fate once more!”
“Ai! Ai! Ai!”
“To this circle, appear, and fight in my name!”
There was a subtle, quiet shift in reality. A well-conceived ritual with proper designs and reagents rarely had any explosions or lightening or dimming of the lights, no wastes of energy. Only a brief flash of purple, and then a pony in the middle of the ritual circle.
He was an old pony, yet still strong of sinew and stature, clad in fine blue robes and a pointed wizard hat with golden bells on the rim. A wispy, white beard flowed down to his breast bone. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he beamed at Sunset.
In a voice like plum pudding, he said “Hello, young lady.” He glanced around the room, thin, white eyebrows shooting up as he saw the preparations around him. “Lovely summoning circle, by the way. Very crisp runes. It warms the heart to see a mage who pays proper attention to their calligraphy.”
Sunset gave a courteous tip of the head. “Why, thank you.
“Yes, a rather nice arrangement indeed,” continued the old stallion. “Why, this whole summoning theatre—doric columns, primary and secondary pulpits, refractive domes—it rather reminds me of the old workshops in Unicornia.”
“It’s based on the old Unicornian designs, actually. Most of the older buildings on the campus are.”
The stallion gave a curious smile. “Oh? I surmise that Unicornia was quite some time ago, judging from my surroundings. You are a student of history then, I take it?”
“Among other things,” she replied. “I am Professor Sunset Shimmer, a scholar of magic.”
“Ah! Well met, then,” said the stallion. “Star Swirl the Bearded, at your service.”
* * *
In the cellar of Amethyst Manor, Twilight Sparkle surveyed her preparations.
Her casting glyphs were tight and complex, the components were cheap, and the circle could fit inside a kitchenette. Normally, she would have said the words, sparked the circuit, and been done with it. Something itched at the back of her brain this time, though. It wasn’t worry, Twilight didn’t do worry.
It was something like the sudden realisation of gravity, as you stand on the edge of a cliff.
Conjuration had been the most difficult school for Twilight to master, not because of the complexity of the rituals—correctly-applied necromancy was far more challenging—but because of all the cloying sentiment of it all. Twilight loathed sentiment.
Half of conjuration consisted of fuzzy-minded poetry. Standing vigils, prayers to uncaring spirits, mumbling at statues, dribbly candles in place of correct ambiance... nearly all of it was a collection of poorly-conceived hacks and cludges, rote learning in place of proper enquiry, and an utter lack of philosophical rigor. She had only authored eight academic papers on conjuration, all of which felt like a tedious exercise in bringing up freshmare-level thinking into correct scientific thought, and altogether barely scratched the surface of discipline's pervasive mediocrity.
This felt different. The golden tiara in the center of the casting circle was a scientifically sound anchor, but it felt... inadequate. It gnawed at her. She had worked for the Seer Council, where any of her colleagues would have given their lives for an opportunity like this. They were surely tainted by dogma, but still it seemed... crass, to pay this ritual no more respect than summoning a fire sprite or dreamcatcher.
She went upstairs, and returned shortly afterwards with a small marble statuette. She placed it at the far end of the circle from her position. The tiny statue’s eyes seemed to bore into her own, but the thought of removing it made her even more uncomfortable.
It would simply have to do.
She took a breath, and said the incantation:
“Servant, I bind you here to grant my wish and change your fate.”
She shot a beam from her horn. Lightning crackled and smoke rose from the chalk. She paid it no mind, a little noise and light was an acceptable compromise for cheap reagents.
Power danced through her veins, along the lines and swirls and runes that danced to her command, shooting through into the tiara, the focus.
Twilight’s vision went white.
When she opened her eyes, the entire basement was brightly lit as if the sky had opened over it. The chalk dust had risen in cloud, appearing as a shining mist.
A majestic alicorn stood before her, her coat as white as summer clouds, her mane flowing like the northern lights. She was clad in gold regalia, wore a gentle smile, and her eyes seemed older than time itself.
Twilight could not help herself. “Celestia...”
The alicorn spread her wings and rose to her hooves, as a halo of pure light manifested behind her.
“I am here, my child.”