Princess Celestia
Once upon a time, before the EBSS and before the Longest Night, there lived a young pegasus. His name doesn't matter. This is his story: a tale lost in the sunset of bygone ages, one I've pieced together from hushed deathbed confessions and the centuries-old diaries of ponies who have long since passed. It might not be how it happened. This is how I like to imagine it.
Few were those who knew this stallion and fewer still who wanted to remember him. He had given up on his family, just as his family had given up on him; he became a delinquent, a good-for-nothing, a ne'er-do-well. The only things the stallion cared for were the thrill of a fight and another night spent in good spirits, with good spirits.
He never thought his life might change. He never thought much about anything. Forget yesterday, live for today, and curse tomorrow – that was his mantra, the creed of his life.
For a little over a month now, the stallion had lived on the outskirts of the Old City: the courtyard of the castle where my sister and I resided. He spent his days in the forest, sleeping or scrounging for whatever might get him through his lonely hours. Only when the Sun set did he begin to live.
He made friends – tenuous allies, really – with ponies who were like him: ponies who had turned their backs on Equestria, for Equestria had turned her back on them. Together, the ragtag bunch of hooligans trawled for the unwary of the Old City, preying in the shadows of dark alleys for anypony who entered their net.
Rich or poor, good or evil, to them it made no difference; all that mattered were the precious bits in their pouch or the loaf of bread and bottle of wine in their basket.
Sometimes, they'd find a big fish. Nobles were often too arrogant – or plain foolish – to avoid a shortcut through the back streets of the city. There they would find their carriage's path blocked, their servants' noses broken, and their cabin plundered. On a better occasion, the stallion and his friends drank for a week from the catch.
Other times, they were not so lucky. News of the group quickly spread, and Luna's Night Guards patrolled the night streets vigilantly, their enchanted eyes scanning the darkness as though it were bathed in the light of day. The stallion saw many of his friends captured, but he was better than them. He always got away. He would never be caged.
His hooves shuddered. Not because of the chilling winter wind, but in excitement and anticipation of the night ahead. Tonight would be his last in the Old City. When the Moon reached its apex along the sky, he met with two others.
At the edge of the city, just by the great gates, an old mare made business out of her home by crafting and selling porcelains. She had refined her skills over a lifetime, and her wares became renowned throughout the land. Her shop had seen purchases from the richest of families over the decades. The stallion and his friends planned to break into the shop and make off with as many pieces as they could fit in their bags.
What the stallion couldn't carry, he would smash. Not because he wanted to; the stallion could not remember the last time he had wanted anything. He would do it for no other reason than that he could.
Half an hour past midnight, the stallion and his friends had filled their bags with the finest ceramics they scoured. When the old mare woke to the sound of shattering vases, the stallion laughed in her face. A single swing at her legs broke a knee.
The only thing the stallion respected, after all, was strength. The world trampled all those who were not strong enough. As he locked eyes with the terrified old mare, he imagined himself a force of nature, an earthquake, a hurricane: his actions born not of evil but the will of the destiny that guided all ponies.
It was easier that way.
A Night Guard called Silhouette would later tell my sister that he had a hunch. The notorious group had been far too quiet in past days, and he knew their kind, having been like them himself. He was the first to arrive, having heard a muffled scream from the shop.
He kicked in the door, and the group froze. Silhouette looked them over. “You are coming with me.”
Our stallion sized him up. Silhouette's slit pupils stared back, unblinking, unafraid. His leathery bat wings spread wide. In the Night Guard's darkly shining chestplate, the stallion caught a glimpse of his own frightened reflection.
“Get the freak!” he bellowed, lunging at him.
Silhouette possessed a piece of Luna's soul: a gift of initiation given to all Night Guards by my sister. It was her magic that pushed their minds and bodies beyond the capabilities of other ponies. An army of one, each of them.
Silhouette would easily overpower all three assailants, and as his hoof pressed down on the stallion's throat, the defeated pony could not help but look up at the Night Guard in awe. When Silhouette took him away, he asked how he might become like him.
Years would pass until the two would meet again, but the stallion would never forget the face of Silhouette.
Princess Luna has spent many a night watching over the dreams of our little ponies. I admired her; she could always find the good in the most wicked of hearts. When she peered into the stallion's mind, she found his soul twisted but unbroken. She saw in him not a heinous criminal to be locked away, but an abandoned child crying for help.
To her, there was no such thing as a bad pony. Though bad deeds might never be undone, he could yet do good – and in turn help us all far more than spending his life in a cell ever would. That was Luna's philosophy.
To join the Night Guard, a pony would have to give up their body, their name, and indeed, their life. By linking their souls with that of Princess Luna, they pledged to serve to the very end. For Luna, tearing away a part of her own soul to weave it between the threads of another soul had never been easy, but she never let that stop her. “It is a pain worth bearing,” she would tell me.
For the stallion, making the sacrifice was simple, for he had never had a life to begin with.
Although I did not know who he was back then, that fateful night was when this story – a story that few would ever know, yet would resonate across Equestria – had started in earnest.
Swift Sweep
The EBSS Headquarters and our temporary detainment cells lay within Canterlot Mountain, hidden deeper even than the glowing crystal mines. Well, 'hidden' might be a strong word. Everypony knew it was there; what better way for a mother to scare her misbehaving children into submission by threatening them with being taken away to the mountain's cavernous maws?
Heavy Yoke hailed from a family of humble cherry farmers down to the south-east; honest work, and a noble occupation in its own right. Why he and his sister chose to trade harvesting fruit for harvesting organs remained a mystery for the time being. With the ever competent Royal Guard failing to track down their elusive Priestess Nichts, and the young Red Petal being in no condition to talk, Heavy Yoke was our only way to find her.
A stallion with a stronger spine would have taken advantage of that fact. Luckily for us, Yoke here seemed to possess a simple soul with all of his family's inherent servility. He was tough, but lacked any wit. I knew we could crack him; we'd only have to lean on him.
The problem was Celestia leaning on us. She was most disappointed with our performance: we let Nichts slip away, another of our marks nearly died, and the third still wasn't talking. We all knew what it meant when Celestia was disappointed.
Old dogs never retired. We had all pledged our undying loyalty to the Crowns when we enlisted in the Night Guard long ago. Although Princess Luna was no longer here to guide us, that did not relieve us of our oaths. That is to say, we would continue our work in the EBSS until the day we died.
Be a good employee and be rewarded with Celestia's most important tasks – or become a faceless failure, living out our lives in an underground office filling out forms without once seeing the light of day. Stars knew that Celestia's brave new Equestria needed bureaucrats.
Celestia started out disappointed. Now she grew impatient. If we didn't give her results soon, we would all be replaced by her new recruits. To be reassigned was the ultimate insult one could suffer in the EBSS: a testament to your incompetence.
Project Heartbreak would remain ours. I knew just how to crack Heavy Yoke.
I waited in the magically-lit hallway before the interrogation room for River Flow to finish his shift in questioning him. Though I did not usually pay attention to the Royal Guards who helped us run the EBSS HQ, I took note of the one guarding the door; I did not recognise him.
“You're the new guy, I take it.”
He saluted. “Yes, sir.”
I did not like new faces – not in general, much less in HQ. This particular guard certainly did not wow me, either. He was short and looked as fragile as a twig, and beneath the golden-plated armour and prideful expression I saw no substance. Truly the organisation has fallen a long way if they accepted such sorry excuses for stallions.
“Yes, I've been told to expect a replacement,” I said. “Whatever happened to Halberd?”
“I understand he had an accident, sir.”
“Well, let's hope he can return to work soon.”
He did not answer that. How smart. I might just start to like you yet.
Although I never cared to ask, I'd always wondered whether Celestia went out of her way to colour-code her Royal Guard recruits, or if they had to ritually dye their coats white before joining the service.
The heavy steel door of the interrogation room cranked open, its metallic scrapes echoing across the windowless halls. As it closed behind River Flow, he put a hoof behind his neck and circled his head. The old, rugged scar on his throat refused to stretch with the rest of his skin, creasing and pulling it all around itself.
He gave an exhausted sigh, though to the uninitiated ear it might have sounded like the growl of a wolfdog. “How long have I been in there?”
“About three hours.”
Turning his head down, he rubbed his throat and gurgled phlegm before swallowing hard. “That makes it forty-four for him.” He stretched out a leg, cranking his shoulder. Then he shot me a piercing glare. “I don't think what you're planning is going to work. You're going to completely destroy him, we'll get reassigned, and I'll be blaming you.”
Always the critic, River. I didn't think he liked any of us, but he held a special spot of hatred for me in his heart. It had been me who found him with his own spear lodged inside his throat, after all. I'd grown used to his jabs, none too subtle as they were.
“Grotto put me in charge of the interrogation process.” I did my best to maintain a straight face and a professional tone; no need to sink to his level of petty insults. “I'll ask for your opinion when I need it.” And whoops, a slip of the tongue.
His face was as hard as stone: his lips stiff as ever and chin always raised just an inch higher than yours. He looked me over with disdainful eyes before answering. “Impress me, Swift. Or rather – impress Celestia.”
“Mind stepping aside, then? You're blocking the door.”
I could've sworn I saw him smirk for just a moment before standing out of the way. “I take it you're about to drop the bomb. I'll be listening.” With that, he turned around and entered the observation room directly next to the interrogation room.
With a deep breath, I pushed the steel door open, again sending a wave of reverberations down the hallway. Inside, Royal Guards on each side of the door saluted my entry.
Heavy Yoke slouched in his chair with his back to the door, eyes closed, head drooping to one side and jaw hung open. As he began drawing in a deep, slow breaths, I slammed my hoof on the desk in front of him, making him jump.
He looked at me with eyes red from a day spent crying, barely able to keep his slack eyelids above his pupils. “Please, let me sleep,” he said, his tongue waggling weakly and slurring every word. The hairs on his muzzle had clotted together from tears, and I could see the irritated skin of the bags under his eyes, red from all the rubbing.
I took my seat in front of him and angled the desk's magical light into his face. Mentally, I noted the little blue gemstone embedded into the centre of the desk: a piece of enchanted sapphire that transmitted every noise within the room to the scribes – and River Flow – on the other side of the wall.
“Look at me, Number Twenty-One,” I said. “What do you know about Priestess Nichts?”
He squinted through the light and gave a choked gasp as though trying to sob, but his throat was too dry. “Please, I told you, I don't know anything.” He rubbed his eyes. “Please, just an hour, half an hour...”
“Tell us again.”
He choked on another breath, then licked his lips before continuing. “Priestess Nichts... I don't know. We've only ever seen her once.” He sniffed. “We've only ever seen her once, we've only ever seen her once.”
Yoke had been repeating that – verbatim – ever since we brought him in. A phrase put into his mouth, no doubt; something to fall back on when pressured. By the looks of it, he'd sooner go mad than tell us anything here. We'd driven him to the edge of his sanity for a reason, of course, as my plan hinged on him being worn and susceptible.
Having not spoken for a moment, Yoke's head was already drooping to the side, eyelids slowly descending.
“I assume you're concerned about Number Twenty. That is, your sister.”
His eyes snapped open, a piece of eye crust peeling off with a crunch. He quickly lurched forward and clambered onto the desk. The guards behind him grabbed their spears, but I stopped them by raising a hoof.
Yoke dug the tips of his hooves into the desk, his shoulders sticking out as they desperately tried to keep his head up. “Y-you know about Red? How's Red?”
I slowly shook my head, closing my eyes for effect. “Red Petal is not well, I'm afraid.” Opening my eyes, I saw Yoke sprawled out on the desk, eyes speaking of pure desperation and mouth gasping for air.
“I need to see her,” he blurted.
Hook, line, and sinker. I'd interrogated farmers before; they were all, always, about family. I had to keep myself from smiling. “That will not be possible.”
He pushed himself up, a newfound flame flaring up in his eyes. For the first time in a long while, he looked like he had a reason to fight. “I'm not saying anything until you let me see her.”
“Is that so?” I leaned back, crossing my hooves and sending a condescending glare. “But you have nothing to say, as we've already established. You don't know anything. Why should we let you see Number Twenty?”
His façade of strength collapsed along with his body. He caught himself with a hoof before his head hit the desk and spoke through trembling lips. “Please. I need to know she's okay. She didn't do anything, it was all me, I swear upon all the stars in the sky, please...”
Now, I'm not saying earth ponies were all the same, but from experience I've found they had incredibly strong familial connections. A quick background check quickly told us that these two had broken from their family years ago. That was to say, they only had each other.
I leaned back, now letting an easy smile show. “I can see you love your sister very much.”
“Yes! Please, just for a minute. It's not her fault.”
“Very well.” I pushed my chair out and stood up, waving to the guards. “We're going to the infirmary.”
From Heavy Yoke's expression I thought he might have jumped for joy, had he had any strength left. He almost looked grateful. Even a beaten dog will lick your hoof if you cover it in fat.
The guards helped lift him from his chair. His legs were weak and wobbly; the guards had to support him to make sure he didn't fall over.
As we left the room, a pair of scribes rushed from theirs. Their horns glowed, auras carrying inkwells and papers as quills scribbled mid-air. River Flow was the last to step outside. I would have loved to gloat at being right, but I could not rightfully do so until Heavy Yoke really talked. I couldn't help but think that River Flow would've found some perverse consolation in our mutual failure.
We blindfolded him – as was protocol – and the assembled team escorted Heavy Yoke down the dim hallways amidst much pushing and shoving. Three turns and a flight of stairs above the temporary holding cells lay the infirmary, and inside, our esteemed guest's burnt younger sister.
Another pair of guards greeted us by the door, and a nurse – surprisingly stockily built for her occupation – stood before Red Petal's bed. Although Yoke had been nothing but a chore to get here – his lack of sleep making him very clumsy – when we took off the blindfold he quickly sprung to rush for his sister. The nurse promptly shoved him back.
“Don't touch her,” I warned.
Yoke reared, trying to get a look of Red Petal over the nurse's shoulder. I let him struggle and watched with shameful pleasure as horror dawned in his expression. This was his first time seeing his sister since they separated at the mansion – before Nichts broke free of the inhibitor. Good thing Silhouette wasn't there to watch me; he'd surely have hoofed me across the back of my head.
Red Petal had avoided death by a hair; it was a miracle in itself that our doctors managed to stabilise her at all. Much of her skin had been burnt to a crispy texture, with only the odd patch of charred hair littering it here and there. She'd suffered severe internal injuries and had bled profusely for a long time, and although I wasn't privy to all the details, I'd been told that they had to remove splintered bones from punctured organs.
For the time being, however, she was alive – and stable. Indeed, with the right drugs and a righteous amount of magic, we could keep her among us for as long as we wished. Pain and delirium prevented her from moving or communicating in any way, though as far as we could tell, her mind was still there. A perfectly healthy – if scarred – soul trapped in the body of a vegetable, and we had the key to the lock.
The grim fact of the matter was that Red Petal proved much more useful to us as she was. I considered it a fitting punishment for the things she'd done.
Her bloodshot eyes moved lazily about; it took her a while before she noticed her brother. When she finally did, her eyes went wide and her lips contorted, her throat making a raspy, incoherent gurgle barely louder than a dying whisper.
“Red!” Yoke moved to grab her hoof, but the nurse stopped him. He never took his eyes off his sister. “What did they do to you?”
I put a hoof on Yoke's shoulder, and he froze to the touch. After a moment, he turned to me.
“We did not harm your sister. Celestia would never condone harm to her subjects. This...” I waved a hoof towards Red. “This is the doing of Priestess Nichts.”
Yoke pushed my hoof off, gaping and shrinking away. “No. She'd never...”
He turned to Red, who in turn moved her head up and down the slightest bit, dragging loose skin over her pillow: her equivalent to a nod.
Yoke's face scrunched up with pain. “We were doing good. For the greater good. This was supposed to be better.” He swallowed and turned to me. “The Children, we're here to mend the world. We're trying to help you, don't you understand?”
“Is torturing ponies mending the world?” I nodded towards Red. “Is this?”
He dropped to his haunches, fixing his gaze on the floor. “You just don't understand.”
I put my hoof on his shoulder again. “Celestia wants nothing but the best for all her little ponies. Unfortunately, your little sister might not survive.” As Yoke turned to me, I saw Red's eye spin my way, too. “Not unless she receives urgent medical help – help that Celestia might be reluctant to offer somepony she can't trust.”
Yoke kept looking into my eyes, but said nothing. In his gaze, however, I saw the realisation gather.
“We all want to help you,” I said, pulling my hoof back. “We want you back in your family. Think about them. Do you think they'll want you back like this? Nopony welcomes an enemy of Equestria. You have a choice here. It's up to you to make the right one.”
I waved to the nurse, and she stepped aside. Yoke jumped up and took his sister's hoof into his.
“Do you want to be Number Twenty-One, or Heavy Yoke?” I asked. “Will you help Celestia, or will you lose Red Petal?”
His breathing grew faster, and I saw him clench his teeth under tightly shut lips.
“The Children of the Night betrayed you. Don't play a hero to them. Be one for her.”
Yoke burst with sobs, lowering his head and putting Red's hoof to his forehead.
“Nie,” he whispered.
The scribes quickly perked up, quills at the ready. River Flow, previously leaning against a wall, now straightened himself.
“Louder now,” I said.
“Prophet Nie,” Yoke blurted. “Nichts said Prophet Nie would soon come to Canterlot to lead us to the Mother. And... and Nichts loves him. If Nie is coming, Nichts will be at his side. She always is.”
Prophet Nie! Indeed, we'd heard the name; this wasn't the first time some deranged lunatic gibbered something about this prophet who bound all of the cult together. Nie appeared to be the mastermind behind the entire Children of the Night phenomenon – the priests and priestesses being his most trusted servants. But Nie was a ghost. We'd always hoped to one day get our hooves on him, though until now we focused on cutting the cult apart slice by slice.
If Nie really was coming to the city, however, that changed everything.
Yoke whipped around and grabbed me by the chest. “But I don't know when he's coming,” he cried, “or how, or anything, I swear, I don't know! I really don't know!”
Spent, he collapsed at my hooves into a pile of tears and incoherent sobs. I nodded for the guards.
“Take him away.”
A pair of guards picked Yoke up and dragged him out of the room. I turned to the others. “Find me Twilit Grotto. He will want to know all the details. Tell him I'll meet with him in a minute.”
They left too, passing by a speechless River Flow. I raised my brows at him.
That made him frown. “Proud of yourself, aren't you?”
“Why shouldn't I be?”
He nodded towards Red Petal. “She is suffering, and you're keeping her that way.”
I glanced towards the broken mare. She was eyeing us, too. “This is nothing compared to what her victims went through.”
River scoffed. “We're supposed to be better than them.”
“No,” I replied, “we're not. We're here to stop them.”
“What if the Princess knew what goes on down here?”
“Everypony knows.” And that's the beauty of it. “You see, that is precisely why we'll never have to explain this to Celestia: she knows, so she doesn't ask.”
He stayed silent for a moment. After a deep breath, he nodded slowly, not in approval but in understanding. “She doesn't ask, so she doesn't know.”
“Are you ready?” Twilit Grotto asked.
I swept my mane back, straightening my posture. My chest pounded, and I could feel my legs shake; I did my best not to show it. “Am I ever?”
On the morning after our breakthrough with Heavy Yoke, Grotto and I had to present our results to the Princess herself. The road had not been without its bumps, and I'd lie if I said we did exceptionally well, but all was not lost. We did have two out of three marks in custody, after all, both properly pacified and compliant. And now we had something to go on, not just to find Priestess Nichts, but the mysterious Prophet Nie as well.
With a deep breath, Grotto nodded to the guards by the throne room's doors. Although they weren't allowed to answer, I saw them nod back with encouragement in their eyes. I appreciated that; it was a rare show of compassion. Most ponies did not like the EBSS, although none would have said it out loud.
Their horns lit up, and their joint aura crept up the great jewel-studded gates, swinging them open. Grotto stepped forward first. I followed him quickly.
The throne room was not at all as I'd expected. Thick curtains draped over the great stained glass windows, filtering the morning light and painting the room a dark shade of red. The twin thrones – one for each princess – stood vacant at the other end. Under the sole window whose curtain was still open, Princess Celestia sat by a small table set with a kettle of tea and a number of accompanying cups.
As the doors closed, Celestia didn't turn to greet us. Her gaze was set somewhere on the city outside, the gentle light of the Sun shimmering on her bright coat and casting a kaleidoscope of colours on the floor as it shone through her flowing mane. Terrified as I was to see her, I had to admire the splendour of the throne room: a stark contrast to the underground quarters and cramped spaces of HQ where the light of the Sun never reached.
Celestia herself moved with grace and elegance as every single motion seemed to bring with itself the pleasant serenity of a summer afternoon. To a simpler pony, the mere sight of the Princess of the Sun and Moon might have been enough to inspire lifelong awe. Her picturesque exterior belied the determined, ruthless ruler that hid underneath. Me, I've always felt that Celestia looked the most terrifying at her most peaceful.
I found my steps becoming shorter the closer we came; Grotto had gone ahead of me. I shook myself and broke my imaginary shackles, hurrying my steps to catch up with him. When we reached Celestia, she didn't turn. We waited a moment – still nothing – then Grotto cleared his throat.
Celestia turned to us and gave a few quick blinks as though recovering from a daydream. A warm smile spread across her lips. “I apologise. Please, have a seat.” She gestured towards the two chairs on the opposite end of her table. A warm aura tugged at their backrests, pulling them out for us.
“Thank you, Princess,” Grotto said as we sat down. “As you know, we are here to—”
“It is a beautiful day today, would you not say so?” Celestia turned to the window again. There were no clouds in the sky, letting the Sun shine unobscured onto the white spires of Canterlot.
Grotto and I exchanged a look. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought the old mare had finally cracked.
“Yes,” I said, “most certainly.”
She turned back to us, still with a smile. “I must apologise again. Without my sister and with all this darkness in the world, sometimes I fear I forget about the little things. Like a bright day of sunshine.” She cleared her throat and her smile faded, although it did not disappear entirely. “I understand you have made progress in Project Heartbreak.”
“Indeed,” Grotto replied. “As you are aware, we have successfully captured two lunatics in an earlier raid. Unfortunately, their purported overseer Priestess Nichts fled the scene through means we do not yet understand.”
A cup floated to Celestia's lips, and she took a sip under a raised brow.
“After a long interrogation,” Grotto went on, “during which, might I add, no physical harm came to the subject designated Number Twenty-One, he finally decided to talk. He revealed information pertaining to the leadership of the cult, as well as their possible goals. Our next objective is to evaluate the veracity of his claims.”
“I see,” Celestia said. “Please, go on.”
Grotto looked to me, and I gulped none too subtly. “I was the one to coerce the mentioned information from Number Twenty-One,” I said. I stopped for a moment to gather myself – my voice wavered far too much for my liking. “He talked about one Prophet Nie, who is the ostensible leader of the cult. According to him, the Prophet and Priestess are working together, and Nie is coming to Canterlot sometime in the near future. Wherever Nichts fled, she is bound to return for the occasion. Therefore I propose that we further tighten surveillance over incoming and outgoing traffic to Canterlot, as well as—”
Celestia raised a hoof. “May I ask your name?”
“I...” The question had come so suddenly, my tongue tripped over itself. “M-my name is Swift Sweep.” Celestia stared at me; I had to shoot Grotto a glance, who nodded back. “Once Crescent Strike,” I added.
Celestia's expression was that of a proud mother. “Tell me then, Swift Sweep, how long have you been serving the Crowns?”
“Oh, well...” I looked to the side, quickly counting in my head. “It's been twenty-four years now. The first four as a Night Guard, the rest as the first generation of the EBSS.”
She looked to Grotto. “You have had a similar career as well, have you not?”
He straightened himself, throwing up a hoof to salute. “Twilit Grotto, once Dusken Caverns, at Your Highness' service.”
Celestia nodded. “Tell me then, how did this Priestess Nichts elude you?”
I glanced at Grotto, and he glanced back, but he didn't say a word. I turned back to Celestia. Her expression held no judgement, yet looking into her eyes chilled me to the core. “M-my partner Lullaby, once Nightsong, had Nichts pinned with her wingblades.”
“It's a standard restrainment procedure,” Grotto interjected. “It has served us well in the past.”
“Yes, quite right,” I said. “I put a spell inhibitor onto Nichts' horn, again as is standard procedure. I had, of course, checked the inhibitor prior to the raid and found it in working condition. Yet Nichts somehow managed to power through it, releasing tremendous magic in the form of an explosion that Your Highness no doubt remembers. I should think you've seen our full report.”
Celestia looked down at her empty teacup. “And then she ran away.” Her horn lighting up, the kettle filled the cup. A tuft of magic lifted it to her mouth, and she savoured the smell before taking a sip. “I admire you. I might never learn what it is like to age, but I do know that time is not kind to my little ponies. This Nichts was one young, spry mare, is that not right?”
“My armour was damaged in the blast.” I hung my head. “I came close, but I could not catch her.”
“Yet you push on,” Celestia continued, sipping again. “You work tirelessly for Equestria's future, day after day. I am not overstating myself when I say you have not only my admiration, but indeed, my gratitude.” She took another sip, emptying her cup. “Oh, how rude of me. Please, have some tea if you like.”
Grotto took the initiative, reaching for the kettle, pouring – and spilling a drop onto the rich tablecloth. He gave the kettle over, for fear of doing it again.
“That is why your reassignment breaks my heart.”
I froze.
“As Princess of Equestria and head of our Bureau for State Security, I have decided to reassign you two, as well as Lullaby, to another project. By placing Project Heartbreak in younger hooves, I aim to ensure such a simple blunder does not occur again. I have no doubt you understand my decision. That is, of course, if you both agree.”
Her horn glowed again, and her empty teacup floated over to me. That's when I realised the kettle was still in my hooves.
“Please, would you be so kind?”
Grotto and I once again exchanged a look. And in that shared moment, we understood. Celestia was not giving us a choice. She liked pretence, but she never gave you a choice. That little cup, floating in shimmering light in front of me, held our futures. If we said 'no' here, slaving in the mines for the rest of our lives would've been among the more merciful fates Celestia would pick for us. One does not say no to the rising Sun and watchful Moon of Equestria, after all.
Grotto nodded, then turned to Celestia. “We agree wholeheartedly.”
Celestia smiled at him, then looked to me, lifting the cup slightly. I poured from the kettle and did it with a smile on my lips.