The Night is Passing

by Cynewulf

XXXVI. Jannah II: Have You Passed Through This Night?

XXXVI. Jannah II: Have You Passed Through This Night?

JANNAH

Only fools think that they enter and leave Jannah through anything as mundane as a door. Only a pony with no grasp of herself thinks that something as simple as leaving out the gate to Ostyallah is enough to shake the City off, as if it were something like rainwater or dirt. As if that City on the Veldt was something outside of their bodies!

There is no circumnavigating infinity. Ten thousand thousand blades cannot cut through the wilderness of the endless. Days and days and days and still Jannah will stretch on. Oh, you’ll reach the Tableland if God wills it. Great Heart, they say, cannot be denied. And many a pony has passed this holy place and gone on to the far western outer walls and passed over and away into the lands of the Batponies who abutt the end of the world. But those with eyes to see and hearts to feel among them know they have not left Jannah behind at all. They are still within it, trudging. When they are resting at home, they are still wandering in its vast vaults and peering through its darkened hallways. If they are lucky--if such a word applies to those who have walked in Jannah!--they will lie in their beds, a spouse murmuring warmly beside them and all around them feel the pattering of rain when it rains in Jannah, and feel the cool breeze that wafts through the columned promenades.

Is this a haunting? Is the City following you home? Or was it you who finally have opened your eyes? They City is a yawning open wound in the flesh of Creation, and it has bled and bled and bled and you have slept in your bed and kissed your loved ones and worked and played whilst you stood in rivulets of the world’s lifeblood staining you. Only now do you realize it. Abjection takes over. What is seen cannot, as they say, be unseen. What is felt, they do not say, cannot be unfelt. They say repetition is impossible, but they have not walked the City which Remembers. It repeats and remembers everything.

And Jannah will make sure you feel everything with it.

SWEETIE BELLE

“For the record, I really am glad that you’re out of the hospital,” Sweetie said quietly.

Sweetie and Scootaloo sat back to back in the now ruined library. Sweetie looked down at the torn books by her hooves. She had been on her haunches too long. It was really going to suck when she got up. She hated when her hooves fell asleep.

“Sure seemed glad,” grumbled Scootaloo.

Sweetie sighed. “You left because no one was willing to use force to restrain you. When you showed up at the door you were bleeding through your bandages.”

“Really only one,” Scootaloo countered.

“Two, actually.”

Scootaloo was silent. Sweetie sighed and turned. She kissed Scootaloo’s shoulder. “I was scared, Scoots. You were gone. This whole thing… this is all my fault.”

“Maybe,” Scootaloo replied. “A bit.”

Sweetie hung her head. She felt small and alone. One moment, she was walking among the high and mighty, safe and secure. So happy in her smugness! And then one morning your house is in shambles and your girlfriend is in the hospital and a bunch of ponies who believed in you are dead or hurt really badly. Oh, and an army shows up and it really wants to kill you, you know the one that everyone has been worrying would show up and kill everyone? Yeah, that one. And they can’t even figure out who blew off your door and also your wonderful, amazing, beautiful, stupid girlfriend reopened the wounds she got because you couldn’t just stay still you stupid, stupid--

“You know, I didn’t show up at the door,” Scootaloo said. Sweetie blinked and made a little inquiring noise, so she continued. “Y’know, ‘cause they blew it up, so it isn’t there anymore.”

Sweetie couldn’t help herself. She giggled. “You’re an idiot. Almost as big of one as me,” she said.

“You aren’t an idiot, Sweetie. Did I say something? I mean, uh… or not say something? I don’t know. You’re like way smarter than me.”

“Not as quick as you, though. Or as good at not dying.”

“You didn’t die. Also, I’m a cyclops now.”

“Only because you saved me.”

A pause. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Man, that was badass.”

A snort and a light punch. “Stupid.”

“Or cool.”

“Stupid,” Sweetie said firmly. “I wasn’t worth you almost dying.”

Another pause. “What?” Scootaloo had turned to face her, but Sweetie Belle didn’t meet her eyes. She went back to looking at the books on the floor. One of them had blood splatter on it. Perfect. Wonderful.

“Hey, what do you mean?” Scootaloo shook her a little. “Please answer me, Sweetie.”

“Look at all of this, Scoots. I’m not who they need doing… whatever the hell I was doing. Whatever plan they had for me is kaput. Gone. Our mansion just got bombed and raided. All these… all of our staff is either hurt or dead or shaken up so bad they probably won’t come back. How many soldiers do you even have left?”

“Most of ‘em.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Well, some of them died and the didn’t have to, and its because of me. I’m supposed to keep us from being in this situation.”

“Why you? Why not me? I’m your Marshal. If you even want me to be anymore. I should have had more patrols. I know I should have. Coulda grown our forces faster so we had more ponypower to spread over a wider area…. Hell, it’s my job to keep us safe from, you know, armed invaders.”

Sweetie shook her head. “But I was supposed to be the Lady of the House, Scoots--”

“And I was your marshal.”

“You’re still my marshal,” Sweetie Belle said. “If I’m even the Lady of a House anymore.”

“I think you are still.”

“Luna… she made me think I could do it. I mean, I don’t blame her, but either she was desperate or she and my sister vastly overestimated me. I got so excited about what the House of Belle was like in the past and I thought for a while that we could be like that again, me and Rarity and you.”

“Belle’s not my name, silly. I’m a mutt from Ponyville.”

Sweetie realized she was crying. It was a strange and detached feeling, brushing a troublesome itch on her cheek only to find that her foreleg came away wet, realizing that, oh, these are tears--connecting those to herself. She was barely here at all, in her own library. If it was her own.

When she replied her voice sounded dead in her own ears. “I was going… I mean, when Rarity came back I would step down, and I thought… I mean, it’s not the best name combo, but…” Stop and start. Stop and start.

“Sweetie… Aw hell, c’mere.” She felt Scootaloo embrace her from behind. She felt her most loyal friend kiss the top of her head. “I get it. I’m… aw geeze, I’m flattered.” Sweetie cried a little harder, really feeling it now. Scootaloo panicked a little, fumbling with her words. “I didn’t say no! I’m bad at words, you know that. You’re the…” She sniffed, and Sweetie wondered if crying was still infectious when you weren’t a filly anymore. “You’re the friggin’ dictionary.,” Scootaloo finished.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Sweetie said. She repeated it over and over.

“Don’t be. Please, c’mon, you… I probably was gonna get hurt anyway, filly,” Scoots said. “You were just trying to help me. That’s not bad.”

“But I made it worse.”

“I really, really friggin’ don’t care. I care that you tried,” Scootaloo said. “See how badass my eyepatch is?” She pulled away and pointed. Tears streaked down one cheek. Sweetie Belle supposed they coursed down her own. “Let RD come back and top that,” Scootaloo said, trying to smile.

“I almost lost you.”

“You lost me? Sweets, girl, I’ve been thinking about how I almost lost you before we were even tellin’ everybody. Not that everyody didn’t already know.” Scootaloo wiped the moisture from her eye, careful to avoid her bandages. “I was so dumb. I’m so stupid and insecure about being like RD, and liking mares, and ponies thinking I’m a boy when they don’t look hard enough, and, and… ugh. This whole thing is stupid. I don’t want to sit here and cry. I want to go kick somepony’s ass.”

Sweetie laughed. It was a sort of gurgly, choked sound, but it was still a laugh. “You’re dumb.”

Scootaloo rested her head on top of Sweetie, touching her girlfriend’s horn with her nose. “You’re dumber.”

“I’m not the one whose a cyclops.”

“Well I don’t have a dumb horn on my head.”

“My horn is wonderful and ladylike,” Sweetie murmured into Scootaloo’s now much damper fur.

“Yeah right, you’re always horny.”

“Ugh.”

“Ugh,” Scootaloo mocked with a lopsided grin, and then coughed.

Neither of them really wanted to move, so they didn’t.

TWILIGHT

Rainbow Dash standing alone, the wind howling around her. Below, the landscape was twisted, altered, dying or dead. The horizon glowed with a sickly light. The trees were dead. The sky was black from the thickly laid cloud cover. Everything was gone and it was her fault, her and her friends. They had done this. They had pushed the world over the edge. No, she wasn’t going to accept that, she would be the--

Twilight twisted out of the way of a Seeker’s rusted hoofblades. The fallen pony stumbled and fell, hitting the wall of a house.

All around her, the Fallen were chanting. Singing. Whatever the hell it was, it was unpleasant and it felt like somepony was slowly drilling into her head and letting her brain leak out. The hallucinations came faster now, more vividly She saw--

Twilight hunched over a desk of paper work, trying to gather her wits. This was important. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by regrets. Her friends could work things out on their own, in their own time. She was on Equestria’s time and--

She saw with two sets of eyes. Before one pair, the Fallen who had attacked her was getting his bearings and turning to make another attack. The mist was rolling in and she was in Jannah, somewhere in this city that the universe had spat out. Before another pair of eyes she watched other lifetimes, other worlds, ones darker than her own or different, ones she barely recognized. She was in Jannah, but not in Jannah.

Her magic came almost unbidden. She formed it into a fist and slammed the Fallen back against the wall. He crumpled, unconscious. Stars, she hoped he was unconscious, but she didn't’ have time to worry about whether she’d killed him. There were more coming. She could hear their lively, endless song.

Her other friends were locked in their own struggles. Pinkie was dancing around another Fallen, avoiding his broken lance and taunting him. Tradewinds was yelling at her to move, to get out of the way of her shot. Abdiel was leaning against the wall beside the alleyway that this pack of Fallen had come from as he waited for their fellows to arrive. Applejack dealt with two foes at once, her forceful kicks missing by a hair’s width.

Twilight charged for Applejack. “AJ, on your right!”

A pegasus like rust, guns on his saddle, a hat like Applejacks, landing long enough to fire. A short unicorn throwing debris at a raider trying to take him down from behind, calling out his name as she did. She brought a pistol to bear in her magic’s grip, aiming it at another one of the savage--

Applejack dug her shoulder into one of the Fallen, and he fell back. As soon as he was seperated from the melee, Twilight was ready. She caught him with a bolt of arcane lightning and he went rigid with shock and agony before cumpling to the floor.

His companion didn’t notice at all, or if he did he made no sign of such an acknowledgement. He kept swinging wildly, still singing, “Jannah ilyae! Ik’ilus barrach Jannah! Eloi! Eloi!” over and over.

He was screaming even as Applejack finally caught his face with a powerful hindleg kick. “Eloi--” and then he said nothing. Twilight heard the snap that could only be his neck, and she could not look. She couldn’t spare the time to even shudder. Pinkie had pushed her own attacker over and Tradewinds fired her rifle, silencing the madpony.

The party stopped, panting in the side street.

“Too damn close,” Applejack muttered.

Big Mac in a trench, trying to keep watch at the same time as he watched his companion die. It was too close, every engagement was so close to being his last. Damn it. He had to protect them all. He had to stop this.

Twilight shook her head in a vain effort to clear it. A chorus of voices and images sprang up again and again, unbidden, bypassing any feeble attempts at resistance with little effort. She felt less hazy than the day she had entered the city, but not as clear as she did when out of the mists.

“We have to move,” Abdiel said, and then left his vantage point with a grunt. “We are lucky, none of them are coming.”

“Y’know, you coulda helped me a bit quicker,” Applejack drawled, glaring at him.

He glared back. Twilight looked from face to face, unsure, but it was Abdiel who sighed and covered his eyes. “I thought… The city gave me sounds of hoofsteps and I thought they were coming up the street.”

Applejack opened her mouth, as if to call him out, but then she faltered. “No, I get it. Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Just… Just focused,” she said, and turned quickly. She pushed her hat down and made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Well? We gonna move on?”

Twilight realized that the noise, the song, had stopped. She was about to say something when Abdiel replied, his voice low and a little harsh.

“Yes, we will.”

Sometimes, Twilight would look at a tall spire and find herself disoriented. Only focusing hard on what was before her eyes could straighten out the lines and beat back the illusion of warped space. The streets would seem infinite until, of course, they ended. Buildings would seem almost concave for a moment until she blinked, and then they were back to normal.

A hundred voices argued in her head.

They weren’t here. Here was an illusion, a bad dream. Nothing more, nothing less. They were back in Ponyville, or they were in the Empire, or somewhere called Sarnath, or in a high eyrie. Twilight’s head ached. Sometimes, she would try to think and find herself lost in a flash of vision, a peek into some other world.

They aren’t real. I’m the real one, and all of that is just… it’s just a trick. It was this damn city. It was awful.

In the corner of her sight she caught motion and turned her head to see Scootaloo facing a setting sun where the wind was rising, knowing that something had changed and it could not be put together again. She would simply restart everything. She would win back the dead from the grip of the grave, she would find the--

Twilight tore her eyes away.

Days had passed in rapid succession. Days in Jannah were not the same as days outside. Trying to think too hard about how the sun rose and set at a different time from the outside had… had been a little too much for her, honestly. The idea would have bothered her even without the almost inebriating effect of the omnipresent mist. Omnipresent wasn’t just a figure of speech, either. The damp, cloying mist clung to almost literally everything. She felt sometimes that it was worming its way inside her, seeping through her mouth every time she opened it. Every now and then, when Abdiel paused to get his bearings, she imagined that it her eyes might absorb it and its poison, or that she would build up so much of it on her coat or mane that it would begin to suffocate her.

She walked beside Pinkie. Tradewinds took up the rear, grumbling softly to herself in her own strange tongue. In front of her, Applejack hung a few steps behind Abdiel, glaring at him. Abdiel hadn’t talked to any of them since the ambush.

Twilight’s eyes wandered from building to building, all down the row. They were back in dense residential areas now. Abdiel had grumbled something that morning about finding a good place to scale the wall, whatever that meant. Hadn’t they already done that? Kind of? Her eyes twtiched. She rubbed them. Almost immediately, she thought of the mist and she panicked. Slightly panicked. All she did was make a little noise of dismay and try to wipe her hoof on her saddlebags, but the outsides were wet.

“Twilight?”

Twilight ignored Pinkie. She didn’t have time for that. There had to be some way to be clean. She had to be dry, keep the mist out. All the way out. She kept walking--if she stopped then they would notice and she couldn’t have them stopping her, they were too stupid and slow to understand!--but she didn’t need to stop to search. She had magic! Magic was wonderful, wasn’t it? It was. Her magic found something dry and she pulled out her bedroll, unfolding it enough to reach her eyes.

Only to find that it was damp too. It had been outside, even if for only a moment, but the mist had gotten it too. She growled at the bedroll and stuffed it back into her pack. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Yo, Earth to Twilight? Come in, Twilight?” Pinkie waved her hoof in front of Twilight’s face.

“Ah, don’t! Mist!” she hissed. “It’s covered in it. Don’t touch me.”

Pinkie retreated. Twilight really saw her now, the mist forgotten just long enough to see that little glint of surprise and hurt in her eyes. “Whoa, Twilight, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad…”

Twilight just stared. She still felt unclean, but her irritation drained away. “Pinkie, keep walking. Don’t let the others think we’re stopping, okay?”

Pinkie nodded. They kept their pace. She didn’t look at the others. Her shame was enough to handle without their gazes.

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said softly. “I just… I started freaking out about the mist and being dirty and…”

“It’s doing this to us,” Pinkie said, matching her soft tone. “I’ve been scared all day, just constantly. I… I haven’t wanted to be me. I worry about everything, like when ponies are mad at each other.” Here she glanced at Applejack and Abdiel up ahead. “Or at me. And then I worry about whether one of those nasty Fallen guys are gonna jump out and get me. Or if those… other ones, the ones with the g-guns… I mean… I’m miserable.”

Twilight almost said, Why didn’t you say something? But she already knew the answer. Because no pony alive wanted to be the weak link. Why did she insist they keep up appearances? And to make things worse, this was Pinkie. Happy-go-lucky Pinkie, smiling and laughing Pinkie.

Did the city do this? Poison you like this? Did it make you into something else or strip away all the lies to what you were already?

“I’m sorry,” she said instead. “I should’ve… I don’t know, but I could have helped. I’ve been sluggish and uncertain. I couldn’t say anything earlier when those two were bickering. Abdiel and Applejack are angry and Tradewinds…”

They both looked at Tradewinds. For her part, the mare from Petrahoof was looking around, humming a little song. She waved.

“And Tradewinds is Tradewinds,” Twilight grumbled. Pinkie couldn’t help it, it seemed. She snickered. “But we can’t forget who we are,” Twilight continued.

“Who are we?”

“Twilight and Pinkie. You and me. You’re the laughy one and I’m the booky one. Wow, I sounded like you.”

Pinkie giggled softly. “A little bit. That isn’t all we do.”

“Yeah, I know.” Twilight sighed. There were a few moments of silence as their party moved into an open space. Yet another square, yet another fountain. She grimaced. “I’m really starting to hate fountains.”

“Over and over and over and over,” Pinkie said in a little sing-song, as if reading her mind.

“Ugh, don’t. Please, Pinkie, it’s bad enough seeing it.” She glanced over to see Pinkie grinning.

“Well, you did want me to be the laughy one.”

“I guess I did say that.” Twilight hummed. Abdiel didn’t seem to stop to consult a map or anything. He picked a path and they followed.

“Hey, Twi?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think… if this place is doing things to us, do you think it’s adding stuff?”
Twilight blinked. She shivered at unbidden thoughts. “Adding stuff? Could you elaborate?”

“Like, me being afraid and nervous and you being freaked out about everything being perfect and AJ bein’ mad and all and Tradewinds--”

“Being Tradewinds. If we say her name again she’s going to notice.”

“Sorry. But hear me out, is this us?”

“You mean, is it making you feel this way, or were you always feeling this way?” When Pinkie nodded, Twilight sighed. Again. “I don’t really know, Pinkie. I think you’ve been suffering a lot more than me, so far. I don’t know what that means. Have you been hearing and seeing things?”

“Not that… many times? I mean, like once or twice I thought I saw somepony or heard something weird.”

“Well I’ve been having full blown hallucinations. Like I’m here, but I’m also there.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Yeah. Very.” Twilight sniffed. It took a moment to get over the stab of panic at the thought of having sniffed in the mist. Being unclean. PoisonPoisonPoison.

“I won’t tell anypony if you don’t want me to. Pinkie promise,” she said solemnly. “Cross my heart and--”

“Cupcake in your eye, I remember.” Twilight chuckled shakily despite herself. “No need. I trust you,” she said. It felt good to say that. “You’re Pinkie. I trust you.”

“Thanks. I don’t know about your or AJ, but… I think I’ve always been this way.”

Twilight looked at her. She frowned. “But… but you’re…”

“Always a little nervous, deep down, about how happy ponies are around me. I’m not miserable all the time, don’t go making that silly face.” She smiled, and Twilight felt a little less heavy. “I mean, I’m not panicky about it usually. I just… I’m silly ‘cause I like being silly, but also because I want everypony to be happy. Like, all the time. It’s kind of selfish.”

“It’s understandable.”

“Still a little selfish, but Rares is the generous one. I’m the party one. I don’t know how understandable it is or not, I just know it’s true. I really, really want other ponies to be happy. What does joy feel like to you?”

“A stab,” Twilight answered automatically, and then coughed. “Uh.”

“Morbid, geeze!”

“Sorry. You know, that sort of stab of… joy… ugh. Ask me when I’m not in the m-mist.”

“Is it getting to you?”

“Gods. It’s vile.”

“I’m sorry. I was going to say that to me, joy is a lot like a hug. When others feel joy, I feel joy, and I feel like when that happens, when we’re both doing the same thing… we’re kind of together, you know? Like, for just a moment…”

“You’re not alone,” Twilight said, and looked at her closely.

“Well, yeah!” Pinkie said, and laughed. “Nice mindreading, bookworm.”

“Thanks.”

They were quiet a little longer.

“Think we’ll make it?” Pinkie asked.

“I do,” Twilight replied. She smoothed her mane, and then freaked out when she realized her hoof also was sullied. “I do,” she repeated with a little more force. Even as she said it, Twilight felt her thoughts race through every possible way that they wouldn't make it. Every way they would find their final end in Jannah. Going mad, eaten alive, lost and starving, killed by Fallen, shot by those other ponies... Or maybe just Twilight, left alone, the last one. What if they left her, or she got so distracted by trying to get the mist's poisons off that she got separated? If she never saw them again what would she do--

“Me too,” Pinkie said.

They had to set watches now, armed and waiting. Not all Seekers attacked on sight, but the mystery of the snipers had yet to be solved. Abdiel would take no chances, and when he had suggested--no, demanded--that they set three watches. He would take the first, but then Applejack offered to. They glared at each other. And then Abdiel relented. He sighed and thanked Applejack, and Applejack in turn said that it was nothing, and that was that.

Twilight had offered to stay up with her. Applejack grunted her acceptance, and while the others lay down to sleep, a farmer mare watched boarded windows and a nervous librarian watched the stairs.

It was a different layout this time. It always was. They had holed up in some sort tenement building or hotel for the long night, on the fourth floor. The rooms were small, barely big enough for two ponies to sleep in comfortably, and so they had spread out slightly. Abdiel had grumbled, but he seemed to speak less and less as time went on.

So they more patrolled than kept watch. Sit, wait a while, get up, wander to the other side of the hallway, and then wait again.

After a long while, Twilight found Applejack slumped against a wall, staring. Twilight looked down at her, really looking.

She looks so tired. How much has she slept, while she was here? Though I’m one to talk. Er, think. Even with the Annex to rest in, I still feel drained. But Applejack looked far worse than a simple insomniac. Had she always been so frail, so thin? So strangely still?

“AJ?”

Applejack didn’t respond at first. Twilight had a horrible thought then. Was she seeing things, now, away from the mist and in the safety of this haven? Was she losing the ability to tell between fantasy and reality? Was this Applejack?

How would she even tell?

“AJ?” she asked again, breathing quickly. “Hey, AJ? You awake? Are you okay?”

“Mm.”

Twilight twitched. She nibbled on her lower lip and stepped closer. Then stopped, then stepped back. Maybe she’s just… asleep. It would be bad to disturb her, right? Rude.

But she was on watch, and she would be upset if she slept through it after volunteering.

But maybe, I mean I’m just saying that if I bother her--

Then you won’t have to see if you’re losing it or not.

Well. Yeah.

Twilight, the Apostate even a little, even now, retreated a few steps. Every step sounded like coward. She sat a few meters down the hall, waiting. Applejack was breathing. That was good. See, she cared.

Why am I so afraid?

Ahd she found that she was afraid. Truly, deeply afraid. It had been easier to pass this off as mere nervousness or mere uncertainty. No, she was afraid. A simple emotion and a powerful one. But why? Well, why not? If this Applejack was a lie, then were any of them not a lie? How would she know? If this Applejack were true, then her own fear frightened her. What might she doubt? Everything? Maybe she already did.

And if it was Applejack, then it was even worse. The only thing more frightening than absence was presence.

It’s just Applejack. She’s your friend. You love her. She loves you.

She was another mind, another pony outside of herself. Ever word Twilight said would be received and translated into another’s frame of reference. They would be putting her together. They would, without a single shred of doubt, be putting her together wrong. And what could she do? She couldn’t see what they did or thought!

Twilight closed her eyes. Why was she thinking about this? This was a recursive circlejerk. It was speculative, pointless, even a little juvenile. The real question, the more immediate question, was the source of all of this. The city was pressing on her. All day she felt nervous and uncertain, hazy and ambiguous. She felt sullied constantly, violated by the mist’s touch. Abdiel and Applejack’s anger grated. Everything, in fact, grated.

Maybe it’s just stress. Maybe she was losing her mind bit by bit. Maybe this is how it happened to the Fallen. It occurred to her that Abdiel had grumbled something about the Fallen never sleeping. Maybe not sleeping made it harder. Sleep was supposed to help with anxiety, wasn’t it?

Twilight made a decision. She inched closer until she was in Applejack’s reach and touched her shoulder. “AJ? Are you okay?”

Nothing awful happened. See? You’re paranoid. The thought that she might actually be growing actually paranoid as well as simply anxious and nervous in this city grabbed ahold of her for a moment, but then she soothed herself with a deep breath. Applejack stirred. She groaned softly.

“I was awake,” she said. When Twilight didn’t reply right away, she took her hat off and shook it out, as if it would be dusty inside. “Honest, just spaced out a bit.”

“Really?”

Applejack cursed. “Naw. Don’t tell, please? Consarn it, I’m sorry. I ain’t gonna lie to you, but don’t breathe a word of it..”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Twilight said. She paused, then decided that she had come this far. “Are you alright?”

“In what way, sug?” When Twilight tapped her head, beside her horn, Applejack made a face. “Ugh, thought you might mean that.”

“Well?”

“Do you want me to be honest or tell you somethin’ worth actually hearin’? No, I ain’t alright. Of course I ain’t. We’re in a dead city where the sun works even less like it should in a world where everythin’ is fallin’ apart and nothing I do makes a damn lick of difference to it. I’m a bit frustrated. Just a tad.” The last bit came out as a snarl.

Twilight winced. “Er, yeah.”

“And I ain’t dumb.”

“Didn’t say you were. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. But, like I was sayin’, I ain’t dumb, I know this place is getting to me. I know it’s getting me all riled up like a cat in a bubble bath--I get it.” She waited for Twilight to grin, and only then did she grin back. “That one wasn’t even good!”

“Maybe it made you bad at countryisms.”

“Now that would be a bleedin’ tragedy,” Applejack said and dipped her hat.

“It’s just… I mean, I understand what I feel. I guess I can kinda see how Pinkie is--you remember the one and only time we tried to throw her a surprise party?”

“I have tried rather hard not to think about that whirlin’ pool of madness.”

“Hehe, me too. But I can kinda see Pinkie being way too concerned with keeping everybody happy and…. however she would describe it. But you being angry I just don’t get at all.” When Applejack looked at her in a hollow, blank sort of way, Twilight felt her words dying even as she rambled them. “I mean, I’ve seen you irritated and mad before, but it’s not like you have a problem with it or anything.”

“Don’t I?”

Twilight blinked. “Uh… I never…”

“Not in the way you’re thinkin’, Twi. It’s more a frustration problem than a anger problem. I ain’t punching or kickin’ holes in things and I ain’t never touched hair or hide of my kin in wrath. Excepting the time I gave Apple Bloom a whoopin’ after that whole… debacle. With the barn, and the flamestones, and the scrap metal.”

“I… Could you?”

“Rocket ships.”

Twilight blinked.

“It’s a long story that I suddenly don’t feel like tellin’ at all. In hindsight, it's funny, but I was pissed as hell at the time. Point is, I don’t have a problem with being angry. I have a problem with how darn frustrated I can get. You know my mama and pa died when I was filly.”

“Yeah,” Twilight said, unsure where this was going. She coughed. “Yes, I remember.”

“Mama with AB, Pa when she was two years old, durin’ the Great Flood. It’s just me now, in a way. The only one who keeps that big farm runnin--or well, I guess kept it runnin’--was me. Macky is strong and hard-workin’ and he weren’t a slacker. He even has a head for numbers! But he don’t got the drive. Bloom’s just a filly, or was. Granny is old as sin. Or was.”

Twilight winced.

“So it was me. The middle one. I push Mac every year and drag AB along with us. I keep one motivated and I make sure the other keeps up. I did as much as I can. But even before everything went to hell in a big ole handbasket, I knew it weren’t ever enough. I can’t buck enough, I can’t sell enough. I’m just one pony. I can’t… I have to do it but I can’t. And I feel so small all the time, so useless. And it makes me so mad, cause I’m tired of feelin’ that way. My farm’s gone, and my family’s in Canterlot, and we ain’t making progress like I had hoped and Celestia might be…” She shook her head. “She’s alive, but we gotta actually find her, and I don’t know how long that’s gonna take if we spend weeks in this place.”

“And your family…”

“I’m fed up. I’m not quite at my limit, Twi. But I feel like it. I feel like if I have to feel weak or helpless or useless one more time I’m gonna snap an’ with how irritable this place is makin’ our guide it’s gonna be me and him in a right fierce brawl.”

“I… I hope not,” Twilight managed, anxiety clawing at her.

“Well, for what little it counts, I don’t exactly hate him, and I hope I can stay calm and collected tomorrow. But right now I just feel plum defeated.”

Defeated? Applejack? Twilight was taken aback. Those were not words she associated. “What?”

“Yeah. I was about this close to packin’ my bags for the coast all day. If I’m just gonna be a waste of space meathead, useless an’ all, slowin’ y’all down, then why not just bail? That’s what I kept thinkin’. I mean, I would never do it. But I thought about it over and over. And it just made me feel worse and worse, cause I knew y’all would be fine without me around distractin’ Abdiel and tickin’ him off. I mean, it ain’t like you got time for my lil sayings, and now with those guns and with your magic back up to snuff, it ain’t like you need my hooves. Y’all don’t need me at all, do ya?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Except cookin’, cause yer a plum awful cook, Twilight. I love you girl, but it’s true.”

Twiligth was trembling. Why was she trembling? What had Applejack said?

Applejack trudging off under an endless cycling sun in the dead city, her companions left behind. Far behind, in fact. Tossed aside like baggage. And she was back again. Twilight blinked, disoriented by the sudden flash of her vision. What? Where?

“I ain’t one for magic or quests. You’re lightning trick gives me the willies, Twi. Er, no offense, I hope. You don’t gimme the willies.”

Twilight responded only because Applejack seemed to expect her too. “No worries,” she said hollowly.

Twilight under a dying sun, and the Apotheosis of All Deserts. Twinned pistols, one on either flank, the dying strains of a slughorn chasing her as she chased a Mare in Black endlessly over and over. Alone, she was alone, her country awreck. What were friends to the pony only concerned with a dark one-mare crusade? An endless awful quest? What were companions but deadweight or cannon fodder? What could other ponies be but weak to the pony who could have been an archmage? She--

“And it just makes me so mad, cause not havin’ magic or wings and all that never bothered me before, but now I feel plum useless. You’d do better to just leave me behind. I ain’t smart enough for all this crazy vision stuff. Next there’ll be prophecies and magical artifact-like things and time travellin’ shenanigans or a crazy cult or--”

“You’re not useless,” Twilight stumbled. “Or weak. You’re… I mean…”

“Hm? Spit it out Twi.”

Twilight gestured futilely, and then edged closer. Her words came quickly. “AJ, you were what kept me going! You kept me strong when I was falling apart. Over and over on the way here, when I was fragile, there you were--knowing what to do. Or, if you didn’t know, you were always a rock. Please… please don’t think you’re useless, or weak, or… or…” Twilight shivered. A cold breeze hissed through the hastily constructed barricades over the windows. “Or any of that. You’re Applejack. You’re the toughest, most dependable pony in Ponyville. You still are.”

Twilight sat back down on her haunches, breathing a little heavier than before. Why was her heart beating so fast? Wasn’t she done? But she felt a compulsion to speak. To say something. “I don’t know what to say,” she said finally. “This is the kind of situation that… that wants some kind of speech, but I can’t think of one. I don’t know what to say, and I don’t know if there is anything I even should say. You don’t know either, I know. I know that. But I’m so tired of my friends being there for me and I can’t be there for them.” And she found, to her shock, that her eyes were wet. “You scared me a little, AJ,” she admitted, and she had no idea why. Something was wrong. Something was off. Why did she feel like any moment she was going to collapse? Why did she feel like any moment Applejack would leave? Because hadn’t she thought that more than once? “Today. I was so used to you and your laugh and that tough way you just sort of shrug off hard stuff and make us all feel like maybe we can do it too, but you were so busy bickering with Abdiel or keeping your distance. Somewhere along the way… Somewhere along the way I started worrying you were mad at us. At me. Cause I dragged you out here to the end of the damn world to help me find Celestia and I never seemed to ask--’Applejack, is this okay?’ or ‘Should you stay with your family?’ because I’m not… I’m so bad at being…” She was staring holes in the floor.

“Whoa, whoa nelly, I wasn’t serious about the whole fightin’ thing, Twi!” Applejack was shaking her slightly. “Hey, hey, calm down.”

Twilight shivered again. It wasn’t the cold. The twisting in her gut was back. It had creeped up from the city streets and found her high above. “I’m trying. It just… it just happened.”

“What happened? Aw, sug, hey,” Applejack placed her hat lopsidedly on Twilight’s head and grinned at her in the darkness. “See? Got my hat on, can’t be crying with the stetson on, looks silly.”

Twilight cried for real now. Applejack sighed, took the hat off, put it beside her and hugged Twilight tightly, nuzzling into her mane. “Well, it works with Bloom,” she muttered.

Twilight’s heart was trying to kill itself by breaking through her chest. Her head ached, and her thoughts drowned under their own entropic weight. What weak things, she thought--a thought that came and went in a flash of agony--what weak things are knees and legs, failing at the wrong times. Like now. She shook--oh, how she shook. Applejack’s mild alarm become something fiercer as her attempts to communicate went unanswered.

Twilight felt that she was watching herself, and felt a vague emotion like disgust. She was so detached now. She could feel, and see, and think, but also her self, that part of her in relation to all of those things, felt as if it were on the other side of the hall, just observing.

Objective, Twilight diagnosed herself. Panic attack. It’s been a long time since I had one. The last time was--

--Canterlot, a startled Celestia thundering regally down the hall, led by a nervous attendant at a loss for words. Trying to explain that one of the students she had offered to help with a paper had found her on the floor, curled into a ball, a heap. A mess. Something less than pony. Something small and fragile and sick.

A while ago, she concluded, feeling nothing about the incident. There was no pull at her heart thinking about Celestia, not this time. A relief, really. It was better that she have this dissociated self who could look at this without being destroyed. It was good to have a part of her that could look--

And the objective chill shattered as Applejack cradled Twilight. “Twi, Twi, please… I don’t know what’s goin’ on. Please jus’ talk to me. Aw, hell. Aw--Pinkie,” she hissed. “Anybody?” She was loud as she could be without giving them away. Twilight felt her panic, her confusion. “Twilight, I--”

“No.” Twilight managed, her body shaking. “No, I… I-It’s just…”

“Sh,” Applejack crushed her and Twilight accepted mutely. “Sh, sugar. I got you.”

SPIKE

If there was a god of dragons, he was laughing. No, he was roaring with laughter.

Spike held the long Griffon rifle awkwardly, feeling like the worst and--dare he say it--lamest dragon ever. He had fire, dammit! Claws that could tear flesh! Strength beyond any pony who could face him!

Unfortunately, he knew arming him on the walls in this fashion made sense. He still carried his sword, now with the name Hope engraved on it, but the rifle was what he was expected to be using. At least the sword had been up close. A dragon hunkering behind the wall made sense. He would rather not be a target in the air with this many firearms, and there was a lot of space between the Canterlot lines dug just outside the city gates and the entrenched foe. He also didn’t really have much faith in the machine gunners on his own battlements, to be blunt. The ones who were loyal were fine, but trustworthy or not, they all stunk. Their weapons were bad. Everypony on the walls or below in the trenches and dugouts of the last line knew it by now. Of course they were bad. An army who had never fought a modern war had never truly tested their arms. It was so laughable.

Almost as laughable as a dragon with a gun crouching behind a wall. Almost.

Soarin’ waved a hoof at him a few steps away. Soarin’ grinned, and Spike felt himself smirk as much by habit as by actual feeling. Actually, no, with way more habit than feeling.

“Well, it’s quieter,” Spike grumbled, the bass notes carrying well over the now howling wind.

“Yeah. Storm’s comin’,” Soarin’ offered. He looked up. “Mighty good one, too, I think. Gonna be great.” He returned his gaze to Spike and his grin became a little more manic. “You know we can--”

“Ride the lightning? Feel it in your feathery bones? Something like that?”

“Er, yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

“Now that’s a tired line of inquiry,” Spike grumbled. “Nevermind. Hung out with RD too much, I guess. It’s your turn to look.”

Soarin’ sputtered. “Now, Spike, I’m positive--”

“A dragon never forgets,” Spike said. He flashed a very toothy grin. “Ever.”

Soarin’ groaned, rolled his eyes, and dug through the saddlebags he had set on the wall previously. “Glad we relocated,” he said. “Okay, lessee…”

Soarin’ took a deep breath and then looked out over the battlefield. He was silent for a time, and Spike simply watched him. What strange creatures, ponies were.Soft, pliable, feathered or furred or both. He found them alien. Yes, Spike had grown up among ponies all his life. Ponies had raised him, taught him to speak the common tongue, how to count and do sums. Table manners they gave up on after awhile, but was he so different from colts? He hadn’t been, at some point. Yet somewhere between then and now he had shifted. Was it simple height and thickness that made him feel as if he were no longer Spike of Ponyville?

Well, no. He was still of Ponyville. In a way.

Soarin’ came back down with a grunt and sighed. “Still don’t see many fliers.”

“A good thing.”

“Maybe. Where the hell are they? Spike, I say this knowing it’ll sound ridiculous, but if anypony was gonna be in on all this raiding it would be us.” Suddenly, he snorted. When Spike raised an inquiring eyebrow--or what counted as one, in his mind--Soarin’ explained with light laughter. “All pegasus parties, like the real ones? The old saying goes that they always start with a raid. If you’re partying it’s because you stole all the ingredients. Makes ‘em taste sweeter. Spoils of war.” He waved a hoof dismissively. “It’s a really, really old joke in Cloudsdale. One day, you and me and the Wonderbolts, we’ll have us a real symposium and then you’ll understand.”

“I look forward to it,” Spike said, and smiled as he leaned back against the wall. “Are they doing much over there?”

“Besides clogging the road and hiding behind every rock from here to the valley? Not that I see. Been a whole day since they stopped here, and all we’ve had is some pretty piss poor mortaring and potshots.”

Spike looked at him and narrowed his eyes. “They’ve tried to break through to the gate at least twice.”

But Soarin’ was shaking his head before Spike finished. “No. They tried to keep us from attacking first. Now we’re all nice and passive, all complacent. Those weren’t real assaults, Spike.”

“They sure felt real,” Spike said, and he shuddered. “All that…”

“Yeah.” Soarin’ grimaced, and they both fell silent for a few beats. “But, no, they didn’t mean those. Now, if they had worked, then they woulda meant ‘em. Maybe. I tend to think they wouldn’t have committed. Just let the stupid crazies die.”

“As if there is someone out there who isn’t?”

“Trust me. Remember the ones all prettied up out there? In barding and uniform? In tan and white?”

Spike blinked. “Oh. I had…. I had forgotten all about them, honestly. I was so focused on the raiders.”

“Yeah, well they haven’t committed a single feather or hoof to an attack. They got sharpshooters in the rocks--I saw one watching the line, actually, I might take a potshot at him before we bail--but they’re keeping the good stuff for later.”

“The good stuff.”

“In a manner of speaking. Any word on our white-cloaked friends inside? Or on the attack?”

The attack. Spike felt something very frightening and hot inside him at those words. He growled wordlessly before he answered. “No, because I haven’t torn any ponies into tiny bloody shreds today.”

“Yeesh. Remind me not to watch or I’ll lose my lunch and dinner.”

“They’ll lose theirs too.”

“Gross, man.”

“Justice,” he said fiercely and Soarin’ didn’t contradict him. “But no, no news. Luna is dealing with tracking them down, but the Duskwatch and Nightshades combined have turned up nothing we can follow through with yet. Just scattered half-clues. These guys are good.”

“Nothing can hide forever.”

“I don’t think they want to. Which is, of course, fine with me,” Spike said. He opened one clawed hand and flexed his clawed fingers. “Very fine. I’m ready for when they finally decide to move, because they’re in for a rude awakening. Me and the Duskwatch together? It’s gonna be a monster freakshow Canterlot won’t ever forget.”

APPLEJACK

They stood quietly on either side of the room, staring at each other. Fidgeting. But mostly, they stared.

Applejack swallowed hard. This was, of course, pointless because she was in a dream. But habits die hard, especially in Earth ponies. Dreams should make other things easier, in theory. Such as reuniting. Shouldn’t she not feel the long distance and the great gap of time between them here? Didn’t dreams wash such things away and leave only the rush of emotion?

It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to see Soarin’. The exact opposite was true. What she wanted more than anything in the world at that very moment was to cross the distance between them, pull him into the biggest, tightest hug of his feathered life, and kiss him until his lips fell off. She just wanted to be held. Preferrably by him. At this point she might make do with Tradewinds in lieu of a nice stallion in Jannah. She had nice muscle structure, right? Applejack looked away to conceal the awkward smile forming. Gonna scare the poor fella off if you start jokin’ too hard-like with him right away, AJ.

“Uh…” Soarin’ shuffled, and Applejack looked back at him and smiled.

“Um, yerself,” she said and grinned even wider.

“Hi.” Soarin’ shifted his weight from hoof to hoof like an awkard schoolfoal trying to ask a mare out to prom and Applejack found it endearing. Ridiculous? Absolutely. Eye-roll inducing, even. But endearing.

“Hey, sugar. Long time no see. Thought you’d found some better tail already.” She paused. “Don’t look so glum, Soar. I’m really glad to see you. You caught me at a rough time.” She sighed, and like that her hat vanished. Her hair came untied, and fell back along her neck. She knew that he watched this. She knew he enjoyed it, and she enjoyed his enjoyment.

They stood again as they had long before under the shade of the apple trees, with the sun sinking down into its resting place and the shadows lengthening into night. Soarin’ began to walk to her as she began to walk to him.

They met before one of her trees and held each other. They said nothing at first. There would be time for that. For now, presence was enough. Presence was almost too much. Applejack trembled slightly, as if it were hard to believe, as if it were very hard to accept. He was here. She hadn’t seen him in… how many days had it been? How long since she turned away from Canterlot? She hadn’t looked back, not even once, leaving Ponyville and Luna and her family behind. And how long had it been? Months, at least.

And she knew that Jannah was stealing more than the number of days she had spent abroad. In a flash, she knew that it was sapping the form and the meaning of those days. She squeezed Soarin’ tighter.

“I missed ya,” Applejack murmured into his  chest. “Somethin’ fierce.”

“I’ve missed you, AJ. Terribly. It’s worse than when you left. I think about you everyday. I worry every--”

“--I’ve been plum terrified that Luna or Spike had got you killed or--”

“--the roads are full of raiders and nopony knows what’s out there--”

“--this damn city and Twi and…”

They stopped, looked at each other, and Applejack laughed even as she felt tears roll down her cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re in one piece.”

“I could say the same for you.” Soarin’ rested his head on top of hers, and they rocked back and forth.

Two ponies, sitting under an apple tree with the retreating sun ever retreating and the crickets chirping.

“Now, I’m gonna ask you a weird question.”

“You? Weird? A question not about apples?” Soarin’ shivered. “Here we go…”

“Hush, big fool.”

“I’m just saying, I’m not sure I’ll be able to take what comes next! When you reveal your inner depths!”

Applejack seriously considered making an inane and dirty joke out of that statement, but she moved on. “Serious, tho, Soar’. I… well. Do you know what a panic attack is?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“Well, cause I didn’t. I had heard of that before, but I thought it was somethin’... crazy ponies did. Or something made up, an excuse. And--”

“Twilight?”

“Wha? How’d you…”

Soarin’ sighed. “Who else? Pinkie? Nah. I doubt it. You? No, it doesn’t fit you, I think. But Twilight? High strung former student of the princess of the Sun, Equestria, and everything else? Yeah, it’s almost more of surprise that its only happened now.” He held a hoof up to cut off her protest. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying anything bad about your friend. I think she’s alright, if a little too high strung. I’m just saying that she strikes me as the type that would happen to.”

Applejack wasn’t entirely mollified, but she went back to leaning on her coltfriend and looking at the blazing sun in the distance of the Dream. “Well, yeah. We were on watch together, and the whole day everypony had just been… not fallin’ apart, that’s too melodramatic. Somethin’ Rarity would say, no doubt.” She rolled her eyes. “But we’re fraying on the edges. I’ve been angry as a flea-bit bull all day. Pinkie’s been on edge. Twilight was anxious and freaking over completely pointless things. Our guide an’ me came close to blows at least once, and I know it’s not really because we’re mad at each other. It’s the city.”

Soarin’ stroked her mane. “It’s getting to you.”

She nodded. “I don’t like it. I don’t like that it’s reachin’ in there and toying with my feelings. Those are mine. They’re mine as much as my body is, and I get to choose how they come out and only I get to do that. Not you, or Twi, or some stupid city that shoulda crumbled already.” She looked back at him. “You know what I mean?”

“You’re an independent mare, and I’ve always admired that. You feel like that’s under fire.”

“Damn straight.”

“Well, as you would say, ‘it ain’t’.” He chuckled. “The fact that you can tell me this says that much, I think. You’re you, and you’re in control. I know you can keep your head.”

“Well ain’t you all supportin’ and sweet,” she murmured. “But Twi was so… it was so, so bad. She was shakin’ like a leaf, cryin’ and shiverin’. Her eyes were so… her…” Applejack closed her eyes and shivered. “I didn’t know what to do. I was useless again. I didn’t know where it came from.”

“How is she now? What did you do?”

“Just held her.” Applejack hummed softly as Soarin’ kissed her head. “Don’t get used to all this mushiness, featherbrain,” she warned without even an ounce of heat.

“Why not? Not so bad, once in a while.”

“Maybe. But all I did was hold her. Rocked her like I used to rock Bloom when she was little and had nightmares. Pinkie was there in a flash. Hell, everybody woke up. I had Tradewinds take over and me and Pinkie were with her ‘till she tuckered herself out. She and Pinkie are asleep in a corner, now, sharin’ a blanket. Twi needed somepony cuddling close, said it would help. I figured I’d want that too.”

“I’m sorry that happened, hon. If it helps at all, I’m not sure you botched that. There’s not much you can do. You’re not her. It’s an internal kind of thing.”

“You seen this before?” She looked up at him.

He looked down at her with a strange sort of look--soft, liquid, tender and yet with a depth she did not recognize. Remembering? She thought it looked a little like relief. “I have,” he said. “A few times, and with varying degrees of seriousness.”

“I felt bad, because I didn’t understand. I thought it was something crazy ponies did, all that shakin’ and panickin’, and Twi isn’t crazy. Not a lick. She’s rational as you or I. Little more so than Pinkie.”

“Lot more, I’d think.”

“Hush, you.”

They were quiet a bit more.

“Jannah’s awful big,” Applejack said. How could she not talk about the City? It was a bit impossible to not discuss it at some point. “We’ve been in the same city for days now. Short days, too. Time works differently. That’s what Twilight says.”

“Differently?”

“Differently. Melty clocks or some such bull. It could be possile that we get out and we’ve been inside shorter on the outside? I mean, uh, the time is shorter. Aw, hell, I don’t know. It makes my head hurt. It’s weird. It’s huge.”

“A good description.”

“Not really. It’s more like…”

LUNA

Beneath High Canterlot the forge of the moon and the stars bellowed and roared. Hammer fell on iron like meteors striking the earth. The impact echoed through empty halls that only two ponies had walked in a thousand years.

Sweat streamed down into Luna’s eyes, and she paused to wipe it away. Her breathing came more calmly and steadily than a normal pony could hope for, but more ragged than she was used to.

She was almost done.

You know, this isn’t going to help.

“It’s all I know how to do,” Luna said quietly. She was not surprised by the voice which seemed to echo throughout the great forge. She knew that a pony in the catacombs would hear nothing. The complex enchantments that kept this place working also insured her privacy, should she want it. Which she always did.

Little Luna, runaway. Crawling to your hole to hide from your sins. How typical. How boring. This whole exchange is boring and overplayed. Dull.

“Then you can be silent then, and not be missing anything, yes?” Luna hammered on. Her horn glowed brilliantly, casting her face in a strange light as it conflicted with the fire’s glow.

She stood now in the heart of Canterlot’s mountain, in the Songforge. When Everfree had been the capital, long before her fall, Celestia had helped her dig deep channels in the mountain and brought all of her lore and learning to bear on making it into a wonder of the wide world. A hidden wonder, a secret between the two of them. Luna’s heart leapt within her to think of the day and night they had worked side by side, under a great strain and with unyielding joy.

“Sister, I hear it! I think at last I hear it. Something like a song.”

She closed her eyes and paused, but only for a moment. It had been a wonderful day, hadn’t it?

And then when you were gone she covered up the mistake she had made. You abuse all your gifts, don’t you? Turn Twilight’s sweet little dragon into a murderer. Rarity gives you her sister and her honor and you almost get her killed and get her girlfriend severely wounded. Celestia gave you the kingdom on a silver platter and you ran it into the ground.

Luna began to hammer again. The forge was a gift from one sister to another, made with magic, kept by magic, fed by magic. Things had been strained some times, back then, but they were always sisters. She had known, watching Celestia grinning at her own work, that her sister loved her--and she had loved Celestia. For your birthday, Celestia had replied cheekily, as if either of them even knew when that was.

And now it’s just you and me.

“Yes, Nightmare mine, it is thee and I.”

And Luna’s magic had been there too. The place was attuned to her. In a mystical sense that Celestia would have better been able to explain, it was apart of her. It was her. And echo of what she was, perhaps? That worked well enough for Luna.

She had come here to make the armor of Nightmare Moon, and what had been only a foreboding shadow on this place had transformed forever into a sinister cutting voice. Her voice. It hated her. It wished for her to climb back into the shriveled husk of the old mare and despair.

There were many versions of the tale of Nightmare Moon. Jealousy driving her to rashness. A long-planned coup. The intervention of an outside evil. The list went on and on. Luna had not bothered to clean up the mess after she had settled in. Oh, she had wanted to, but what is possible and what one wishes are not the same. Rumors often grow when one tries to squash them. So she said nothing, and ponies stopped talking about it after awhile. It is hard to talk about a pony’s inner evil when she is building orphanages and smiling at foals and such. Not impossible, just harder.

The truth is uglier.

The truth is more mundane. There is a nadir of the soul, a place at the bottom of sanity and virtue, so far from salvation that only miracles can reach. There is a dark night below the surface of the world, and Luna found that place and languished in a long dark night without stars or her own moon to grant light to see by. Luna was familiar with despair.

A Lover.

A student. The hammer clanged. If a pony could have sat in the ancient hallways of Luna’s most private sanctum, it would have sounded like a storm at the end of the world, the howling of the lowest pit of hell. But Luna was sequestered in wards and magic so thick that to her it was loud, just a bit, no more.

She was student of the concept of despair. It was a sickness, a sickness unto death but not death itself. Death was Sleep and what she knew of Sleep she would not say to any who lived for their were no words to say what she would say. Despair was a sickness inherent in the self, a sense of loss that came with having, with being a Self. Despair was the worm in the apple that was in despair over itself--the sickness which refused to see itself, leading its host to live normally before her peers as she rotted beneath.

This is not thinking. It is stolen words. Think and accept.

Luna ignored the voice. Perhaps it would be easier as she continued, but perhaps not. Either, or, it didn’t matter. Her hammer rose; her hammer fell. Her magic flared and her teeth ground together.

That self which is in despair is in despair over itself because it is not what it wants to be. The Moon is in despair over the Sun, for it cannot be the Sun. To be the Moon was no sin. In being the Moon, that self would have been happy and fulfilled, it would have found the opposite of despair, which Luna had found no one name for, as of yet.

She expected the Voice, the Nightmare, to say something, but it did not. She looked up, momentarily caught off guard.

You miss me.

“You are my shadow,” Luna said softly. “And I have accepted, to answer your earlier protestations. I have accepted Luna.”

You are my Shadow. I was Truth and you were mewling weakness.

“We are Luna. You and I.”

I and I. Thou? Nothing. Malinger on, crippled smith.

“I will sing. If you would like to sing with me, Self, you may.” She smiled. “Would you like to know what I read, once?”

Silence.

“‘Pony is spirit. But what is spirit?’” Luna wiped sweat from her brow. Her magic found among the tangled web of arcane threads and found the right one. Cool air blew from the ceiling, and she let it blow over her face with a sigh and a smile. “‘Spirit is the relationship of the self to itself.’ Twilight Sparkle gave me that book, Luna, though she would not remember it. Celestia asked her to provide a list of things for me to read and she went overboard. Art, philosophy, literature, even something mundane as a jokebook. Twilight Sparkle, thorough and organized.”

That isn’t my name.

“It is our name. My name. Luna is you, and Luna is I. We are not separate. I know what you are, though I do not know if you know yourself, despair.”

A long silence, and Luna returned to her labors. She sang a song with words that nopony had heard in hundreds of years. Sometimes she thought that perhaps--perhaps!--there were two voices in unison. But she could not be sure. But Luna hoped. While she breathed and swung the hammer she had not swung in so long, Luna hoped. There was little to hope about. An honest assessment would be a bit more blunt: there was nothing to hope about in sight. But Luna knew what despair was.

The myths of the Nightmare had faded because they were wrong. Ponies had forgotten them, or forgotten parts of them, because something in the hearts of little ponies knew that, no, that wasn’t it. She had not been taken over by a nameless darkness. She had not lost her mind to virulent madness, seeing things which did not exist. Jealous beings did not become Gods--jealousy made small monsters, petty ones, vicious but short in reach. But it looked like jealousy, despair. She was the Moon that did not wish to be herself, that had wished to be the Sun, and the greatest secret she held was that throughout all of her “madness” she had been horribly sane. She had meant it. She had meant every single bit of it.

No. I did those things. You would steal my glory.

A little weaker than before, Luna noted. The voice that leaked from the walls sounded less sure, less sharp.

“You are Me. I am Thou. I am the real thou and you are the real me, or you should be. There is no--” her words were cut off briefly by another hammer swing and the fly of sparks. She grunted. “There is no isolation.”

Why are you even here?

“To create. The defensive line has been abandoned, and the enemy guns decimated. The siege lies before the laws. I shall need a new set of armor.” She smiled. “And so will Spike. Do you have any ideas, Luna? We’ve never made armor for a dragon before.”

Dragons already have armor. Making them armor is foolish and pointless.

“But you think on it, do you not? Would you not rather abandon your posturing? It would be a challenge for us, Luna and Luna. How to supplement our companion’s natural armor, while also capitalizing on his fearsome demeanor. Hm?” She smiled even wider. “Would that not be a joy? To be as we were meant to be, Luna? You are not the Nightmare. You know you are not. You are only touched by my despair because you are me and I am you, a soul in two forms. I am no longer that false self, and neither are you. Please.”

Silence. But she felt that it was not a bad one.

His front is weakest, Forge Luna said quietly. The Nightmare’s rough edge was leaving. So armor that focused its protection on his softer belly would be most wise.

“I happen to agree,” Luna said. When she sang again, the walls sang with her.

PINKIE

Her eyes jumped from companion to companion, studying, worrying. How were they faring? Was Applejack frustrated? Was Abdiel sinking into bitterness? Was Twilight anxious? Because she knew herself already, and she was filled to the brim with a rather un-Pinkie-like worry.

Well, not Un-Pinkie. Just un-Pinkie as defined by her Ponyville life. She had done such a good job, too.

Nopony had talked much since the night before. What was there to say? They all knew that the City was worming its way into their minds. It was obvious. As soon as a pony got out of the mist, her mind cleared, and with a clear mind came realization. There hadn’t been much discussion of it at all--what was there to say that didn’t sound like a pale excuse? “Oh, sorry I almost hit you earlier, the creepy mist stuff got to me.” “Oh that’s alright, it makes me a nervous wreck unable to smile or communicate!” It helped that she gave the two little voices in her head particularly pathetic little voices. It was the sort of detail Pinkie liked to pay attention to.

Pinkie hadn’t seen many things. Well, not like Twilight. Or Applejack, she added silently. Sometimes, she would look at them and their eyes and they would be staring off at nothing. She could see it even when their faces were out of view in how they walked haltingly, as if in a deep sleep that lasted only a moment.

In other circumstances, she would have found it amusing. She might have chuckled at Twilight’s silly dream face--said something like “Hey, Twi, forget your coffee?”--though, obviously way funnier than that. Like tons funnier. But she just wasn’t in the mood. Also, Pinkie wasn’t cruel. She could be a little too rambunctious, yes, she knew that. But she wasn’t a dumb pony. On the contrary, she was sharper than most gave her credit for, especially when it came to her friends. Twilight wasn’t a pony Pinkie could poke and bother right now. Not that she was in the mood, but Twilight was off-limits. Like Fluttershy. Always had to tone down the loud noises with Fluttershy, she always panicked.

Pinkie frowned.

And then her tail twitched in a certain way and Pinkie froze.

Her eyes were wide as saucers. There, yes! Her ear flopped on its own.

There are miracles here and there. Ponies step back from the brink of oblivion. Foals are born. The Rockville Drudgers beat the Dredgemane Miners and win the pennant. And, just maybe, Pinkie Sense was a thing that worked deep in the maw of Hell itself.

Nopony noticed that she had stopped. Pinkie was waiting for her ear to stop flopping. The next thing would tell her what the combination was, she felt it. Other ear? Somepony was about to trip. Tail twitch again? Falling objects, small ones. Hoof itch? A smile stretched across her face as her anticipation swelled.

And then nothing happened.

She stood stock still. It wasn’t that Pinkie didn’t understand what had happened. She understood perfectly well. It was just that what had happened was impossible. Pinkie Sense didn’t just… stop. That’s not what it did.

Pinkie wilted. Her friends noticed her absence and she stumbled forward so they wouldn’t ask questions.

A few moments of silence passed. More buildings. More mist. Pinkie was still reeling when she felt the back of her left hindleg’s hoof itching and her heart leapt. There it was! Just late! So that meant… nothing. She had no idea what that combo meant.

Or it wasn’t a combo. Could this place really mess with Pinkie sense? Why? What could it possibly gain from--her other ear flopped. Her tail twitched on its own. For the first time in a very, very long time, Pinkie found her own quirk a little unnerving. She wasn’t causing any of this. She hadn’t made any of it happen. What did it mean--

Pinkie heard something akin to a growl of frustration. It was louder than a trumpet in her ear, and she stumbled. Yet the others seem uneffected. She stared at them, and then heard the noise again, like sharp agony in her ears.

Pinkie dug at her own hears. What did it want? What was happening?

HELLO?

Do you hear me, strange one?

Pinkie stopped again. “Yes.”

Twilight looked back at her. “Pinkie?”

Yes, Pinkie added mentally. “It’s nothing, Twi. Sorry, just muttering to myself!” She smiled.

I have caused you distress. I am unused to contact.

You scared me half to death! I thought my Pinkie sense was going haywire!

Pinkie kept up with her friends. Now that the painful noise and the crazy fake Pinkie Sense were something sane, like a voice in her head, she felt a lot more secure in her own safety and sanity.

I do not understand.

Well sometimes, I get these weird feelings or my hooves itch and my ears go flop. It’s all very complex. Twilight tried to study it once and she went craaaaazy.

I have met this Twilight Sparkle of Ponyville. This one is Pinkie?

Yupperooni!

I am glad that you answered. There was a rasping sound everywhere, like a pony out of breath. Or in pain. Pinkie’s sense that she understood what was going on faded. It… it hurts. Remembering… I… I am glad that you answered. Please, I must tell you and then return.

Return? Where are you?

I am Everywhere, I think. There is no way to explain. Please… please listen to me, Pinkie.

Pinkie shut up. Or, well, she stopped trying to talk. In her head. This was awfully confusing, but she knew when it wasn’t cool to mess with a pony. Even if that pony was a voice in her head that sounded pretty but also unhappy.

The City is dangerous enough, but there are other dangers. You must tell Twilight that Eon told you to… Oh, love, I-I can see his face! I… I’m sorry, I have to go. Eon said there is danger ahead. There is another group seeking what she seeks.

And Pinkie heard a great big sucking noise, and there was a gust of very real wind that caught them all by surprise, and then she was alone in her head. Pinkie blinked.

After a moment, Abdiel shrugged, and they all began to move. All of them but Pinkie.

“Hey, Twilight.”

Twilight turned.

“Who is Eon?”

TRADEWINDS

Tradewinds was tough. Petrahoof winters were not kind to the weak of heart, frail of body, or any other thing that was less than hardy. Those who did not learn to endure the cold and to ride out the food shortages died or left for the sunny south. On the edge of Equestria, in a place where hearing the common tongue of ponies was rare, Harmony meant everypony working in the same direction against an all-hungry winter.

She was no stranger to hardship, then, but she was also no stranger to violence. Petrahoof was civilized, but the highlanders were not, and they still worshipped the twisted visage of Nightmare Moon. Ponies trained with the militia early on. Tradewinds first fired a gun when she was nine, as a part of her weekly drill day with the Young Filly Pioneers. Her marks were exceptional. The goofy smile, the warm--if abrasively worded--demeanor, all of it rested over the kind of soldier generals drooled over.

She laid flat on the roof of what had probably been some sort of shrine. She didn’t care what it had been or was. Sightseeing was for ponies out of range.

Pinkie huddled behind her, trying to be as inconspicuous as a bright pink pony with a huge floofy mane on a stark white roof in dimming light could be. To be fair, she was doing a much better job than Tradewinds had anticipated.

Below, battle had been joined. Tradewinds kept her gun silent. She watched. If she had to, she would pick her targets off at leisure. She had the best vantage point of this small battlefield. She had the high ground.

The Fallen, the broken and wandering Seekers, were easy to identify. Some had armor, and some did not. Many were armed, but a few were not--yet for all of their differences, they all moved the same way. It was a jolting, unnatural gait, as if they were empty puppets propelled by unseen hooves or magic. A normal pony would probably have been unnerved, but Tradewinds had found that it was hard to be unnerved when she clung to the icy pit somewhere below her heart and above her stomach. She gripped that ice, curled her body around it, and it was no longer its own thing. She was ice. She was the snow that buried Petrahoof, that could and would outwait anything.

The Fallen streamed into the killzone, and the rifles of the mercenaries flashed. They were mercenaries, she knew this without thought. She knew their type. Fallen fell, but others came. With them came their strange alien tongue, screaming and screaming, the only intelligible word being that damnable name. Jannah! Jannah! Jannah!

She watched expressionlessly as a mercenary unicorn hidden behind a perfectly preserved foodcart was overwhelmed. He called up a shield, but it was too faint. She knew he was panicking. He swung the butt of the rifle with his magic, hitting one of the Fallen on the head and sending the husk of pony sprawling, but there were others. Two of them held him down and throttled him, stamping on anything soft, anything not covered by his barding. He screamed, and then one of them beat his head against the ground and then he did not scream. His companions did not seem overly concerned. They were still winning, and easily. The two Fallen who were still beating the weakly struggling body were killed in an instant, and the ones behind them also died.

It was, for the most part, a massacre. The Fallen had no guns. Most of them were unarmed, and the mercenaries below had rifles and plentiful ammunition. Their barding was good. She’d paid attention to that. Reinforced, too. Bullets and magic would cut through. Hoofblades might, if one got the kick right. Hooves? No chance. Well. Applejack was strong. A good kick might not get through the barding but the force would still send one of them sprawling.

Behind her, Pinkie shivered. “Is it over?”

“No.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Like, really soon? Like, super soon, please? This… this isn’t fun at all,” Pinkie said. Tradewinds imagined… she couldn’t imagine what Pinkie’s face would look like. Soft, fat southern sunlanders. She thought this without much heat. It was no crime to be gentle. Death sentence? Yes. But not a crime.

Another mercenary died. Tradewinds watched carefully now, noting their placement in the failing light. Three lines, spread out so so as to split the Fallen and keep their sheer mass from overwhelming the defenses. She approved of their use of cover and the environment to funnel the enemy into the square and force them into tight lanes. She did not respect, only approve. A Petrahoofan did not respect the enemy. She killed them.

Another mercenary died, but the last Fallen was also disposed of with a shot to the leg. It fell over, writhing and madly chanting as it tried to run. It succeeded only in spinning pitifully in a circle, spreading its blood on the perfect marble floors of a pavillion of stone.

A mercenary who looked different than the others strode out from behind the pillars. He was a unicorn with a patch over one eye and a mane shaved completely off. She saw something on the side of his head--

The ice melted a little. “Chyort,” she whispered. She knew that mark.

The unicorn pulled a revolver from his side and shot the Fallen twice, once in the chest and once in the head. He chuckled and spoke in the northern tongue. “That’s the last of those fuckers.”

“Da, captain, do you want us to check?” asked a mercenary among the carts as he stood.

The captain spit. “Nyet. These ones dance when you wound ‘em. Conserve ammunition. Everypony!” he shouted to the air and Tradewinds marked every head that turned. She could take them all. Before they returned fire she could kill five. A whole clip. She was good. They were targets and it was snowing and this was Petrahoof. “Five minutes! I want us inside before night comes. Check the idiots who bit it, strip the good stuff, leave the bodies. We’ll get back to the Preacher tomorrow. No sermons tonight.”

There was a ragged cheer, and a lot of not-so-good natured laughter as the mercs mercilessly stripped their fallen companions’ equipment and kicked at the bodies of the slain Fallen.

“Trades? Tradey?”

Tradewinds heard Pinkie but she did not answer.

Mercenaries. No, she had known that from their cold demeanors, from their… no, she supposed somewhere she had always known. The Black Hoof. She swore, more so than usual. The Black Hoof was here, of all places? Here, at the end of the world.

How fitting.

Tradewinds had never wanted to murder anything so much in her entire life as she did right then. She could kill that ugly suka. Then she’d put holes in the heads of the ones dragging the clips off the body of the first slain merc. Then her last bullet would go right through the eyes of the one smoking by the--

“Tradey!” Pinkie’s hoof was on her flank, shaking her. Tradewinds blinked and looked back.

Pinkie’s face was pale. Her eyes were big as saucers. “What happened? You were saying words I didn’t know and--”

“Sh.” Tradewinds realized she was shaking in rage. She took a deep breath. Pinkie was her friend. Friend, Sun’s Mercy! She had to calm down--

“Think the preacher’ll be done with whatever the hell he’s doing?” one of the mercs below asked.

“Who the fuck cares, man? I hope not. Know why? Long as he’s here, plenty of shlyukha, da?”

Tradewind’s fury did not burn. It froze her features. It was a miracle it did not freeze the very air. She could end his words forever. She could kill him. She could do what she had not done in Petrahoof they would not touch her they would not--

“Tradey,” hissed Pinkie. “What’s going on?”

Tradewinds shut her eyes tightly. “Pinkie,” she managed. “Pinkie, please be quiet, da?”

Pinkie was quiet.

She did not return to looking. Her whole body shook in rage. Perhaps with something else.

After a few minutes, they left, and Tradewinds remained. After so much time, some things remained the same, it seemed. She took the rifle harness off.

Pinkie was at her side, fussing. “Tradewinds, please. What happened? Was it the city? We need to get back… are you okay? Please, talk to me--”

She was rambling. It was hard to translate the words when they came to fast. “Zatknis’,” Tradewinds hissed. Pinkie wouldn’t understand the words, but she would understand the sentiment. She stopped her babbling. Tradewinds stood and shook herself. “We return,” she said, and then paused.

Pinkie’s head hung, but she nodded. Tradewinds felt the stab of guilt, but the ice was still around her, keeping her going. Regret was there, but it was far away for now. She would apologize when it was safe.

“And you… you recognized these ponies?” Twilight asked her.

“Da,” Tradewinds said, staring at the wall. Another false night, another empty room. “They are…” She fumbled slightly for the common word. “Mercenaries. Black Hoof. Are from Petrahoof.” She spat. “Were from Petrahoof.”

“Your hometown,” Applejack said softly.

“Disgrace,” Tradewinds could form sentences, but not now. She didn’t care at all if she spoke proper common or not. She was seething. “Murder, torture, rape, is all they do. Sell themselves like whores to any pony with bits so they can do what they would do anyway.”

“Whoa, nelly, calm down a bit,” Applejack said, gesturing with both forehooves. “I believe ya, but you gotta calm down. Gotta think with a level head.”

Tradewinds ground her teeth together.

“What are they doing here? You say they’re mercenaries. Why would mercenaries be here?” Twilight asked nopony in particular. Her gaze wandered.

“Somepony paid them,” Abdiel said from across the room. “It is not that uncommon for foolish treasure hunters to employ guards… but not this many. Not like this.”

“These ponies… are not guards,” Tradewinds said. “If they are here, who has hired them, he is evil. They live to kill. They live to… to…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Twilight Sparkle, you have seen raiders.” It was not a question.

“Yes,” Twilight answered regardless, her voice… strange. Strangled? Was that the word?

“Black Hoof make Raiders piss themselves,” Tradewinds said. “Black Hoof do for fun what raiders did for food. Raiders wish eat, da? Black Hoof thinks new world is a paradise.”

Twilight shivered. Good, she understood. “You’ve encountered them yourself, before, then?” she asked.

Tradewinds did not know what to say to that. She did not… she could not-- “Yes,” she said.

They followed the Black Hoof the next day. Tradewinds and Abdiel took point, keeping watchful eyes on their foe and a respectable distance. Tradewinds imagined sullenly that she was hiding in snow drifts.

She thought about shooting them. She thought about this the way some mares thought about making love or a nice bottle of champagne. No, not like those things. She was more excited about them dying and then screaming that Petrahoof sent its regards. But she did not shoot the filth that walked before her. No, their times would come. She would give them to this city as a gift to the gods of hate.

More and more, however, her thoughts returned to Pinkie. Stunned Pinkie, frightened Pinkie, asking over and over in her mind, echoing--Are you okay? What’s wrong? What happened?--and she felt something that was an almost physical pain in her stomach. Twisting in knots? Yes, that was the phrase. She remembered now.

Tradewinds thought she heard things. Voices, scrapings. Bits of song, most unknown, but a few familiar. Once she thought she saw a little green filly scurrying across the thoroughfare from alley to alley. She was not impressed. Such things, they worked on the sun-dazed and the soft. Not that these things were bad. Simply that she was from Petrahoof and made of sterner stuff. Sometimes, on the verge of exhaustion in the snow, one saw things. Vague shapes loomed in the distance. An extra companion among your fellows that was always just out of the corner of your eye. She had experienced this as a young mare on mandatory Youth Militia training exercises once. All in all, if this was the worst Jannah could produce, then she would laugh at it. They should have brought a few dozen of her kin here, just so she could laugh at this place with all of them.

Bravado did not carry one on forever. It was exhausting, keeping just out of sight. Finding new perches every few minutes, making sure to signal to the others when they could move up. Her wings were finally working, but Twilight had been very insistent that she not strain them. So for now, she kept herself to brief flights. A few seconds at most.

Even this was painful. Her wings felt weak. Shameful.

TWILIGHT

She slept and Dreamed.

Twilight wandered aimlessly through swiftly changing aether. Where would she go? It was an interesting question. She could go anywhere, really. Anything that her little unicorn heart could conjure up, the Annex would provide.

What would it have been like, to traverse this city without Luna guarding their dreams? She could imagine. Or, rather, she could try to imagine and decide that she would rather not find out that her postulation paled in comparison.

Presently, she walked in the door of Golden Oaks Library, perfect as it had been in the days when she had first moved in. She smiled at everything in an absent way. Books, the pony bust she had inherited from the previous librarian and hadn’t had the heart to move, the stairs up to her room. The door to the reading room was half open, and on a whim she trotted in.

A little table. She had tutored foals in here. Cheerilee was a wonderful teacher, or had been when there was a school to teach in. But there was only so much an earth pony could teach young unicorns about their magical abilities. Twilight had offered to help and the long suffering and always smiling Cheerilee had been grateful.

She could almost see it again. The Aether began to reconstruct a scene: Two foals, still misty as her memory tried to put them back together.

“No,” she said quietly. The mist did not usually respond well to spoken commands, but it sensed her intent and the two foals disappeared.

She did not need to relive a memory half-retained. Instead, she circumnavigated the table and crossed to the window. She gazed outside and found that Ponyville had been reconstructed for her. She smiled at it wanly.

“Twilight?”

Twilight turned and found Luna poking her head through the doorway. It was a silly sight, and Twilight chuckled at it warmly. “Hello, Luna. I’m glad you could make it.”

Luna grinned sheepishly and stepped inside the reading room. “I am sorry. Things… things are dire now in Canterlot, or I would have come much sooner.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Dire?”

“Violent, even.”

Twilight felt something akin to her stomach falling right out of her body. Oh, violent. She could imagine that. She could imagine it very well. Violent like Vanhoover’s docks on fire, maybe.

She shivered. “How… do I even want to know?” She did want to know. More accurately, could she afford to know? “Is Spike…”

“Spike is alive and well.” Luna paused, as if considering something. She looked over Twilight’s shoulder, and then returned her eyes to meet Twilight’s. She offered a lopsided smile. “My companion is rather put out by the idea of shouldering a fire arm. He grumbled something the other day about the God of Dragons laughing at him. I didn’t have the heart to inform him the dragons of old were rather stringent atheists.”

Twilight paled. “Spike has a gun?”

Luna opened her mouth as if to respond, and then closed it. She tried again. “I… I didn’t want... “ She grimaced. “I am sorry,” she replied, looking down. “I am a fool. I know hearing of Spike as a warrior distresses you, Twilight. I should have said nothing. He is adamant, and the city needs all of its defenders. I could not let him risk close enoucnters, where his claws or fire or sword could be useful. Not as things are. So I found a rifle fit for a griffon.”

Twilight swallowed. She shook her head, closed her eyes, sighed. “It’s okay. I understand.” She opened her eyes again and offered Luna a weak smile. “I do understand. I know you love Spike and wouldn’t risk his life without, how did you put it? Dire need. I know Spike can take care of himself.”

Luna nodded. “May I approach?” She asked, with a tone somewhere between joking and pleading.

It tugged at Twilight’s heart. “Duh,” she said, doing her best Rainbow Dash impression. “Know what this room is?”

“I confess an unfortunate lack of familiarity with this place. It is your library, is it not?”

“Mhm.” Twilight hummed and stroked the table in the center of the room. “This is the reading room. I mean, I guess you could read out in the main room, or in the other rooms, but this room was meant to be quiet. The walls are thicker, and it has carpet so its less prone to noisy echoes. I used to write letters to Celestia in this room sometimes. I tutored foals here, too. I was just thinking about that.”

“Tutored? Ah, young apprentices. Fancying yourself to be a princess, Miss Sparkle?” Luna asked with a little laugh. She still stood a little ways away, but Twilight understood why. “I jest, of course. With your grasp of magic, I am not at all surprised. I’m sure you were a wonderful teacher.”

“Eh. I did okay. It’s hard to slow down explanations. Or, at least, its hard for me. I get excited pretty easily.” Twilight sighed. “It was fun, though. For awhile there, I was really thinking about actually teaching at Celestia’s school. I probably… would have.” She pursed her lips. “Hm.”

“Is it… unpleasant to be here?” Luna asked.

“I don’t know.” Twilight walked to her, and with a smile offered her a hug which Luna accepted and returned. It was quick, and she did not linger. Their conversation was between them. Twilight hated that feeling of separation… but she still couldn’t give an answer. Not now, not here. But there was no need to be distant. She was still Twilight and Luna was still Luna.

Back in the main room, Twilight gazed around at the legions of books. “Luna, this is going to sound… asinine, honestly, but I think I get what it must feel like for you to see the future. Like, our present. This place is so different now that to think of it as it once was feels jarring. Thinking of it how it is is jarring. I loved my library.”

“This is a good place. Or was. And shall be again,” Luna said.

Twilight nodded. “It was a wonderful library. My quarters were small but snug and warm. It always felt like home, and that’s what a home supposed to feel like, I guess!” She chuckled. “Circular logic’s fun. See that desk?” She pointed with a goofy grin. “That’s where I wrote letters. Most of them to your sister, but a few to you. Several to older mages in Canterlot. Scientists at the university in Hoofington. Always learning, always studying. Finishing up my thaumaturgy grad work.”

“I may have read some of your work when Celestia was distracted,” Luna admitted.

Twilight turned to find her leaning against the doorway to the reading room, having not moved. Twilight managed to look bashful. “Really? Aw, geeze. None of that was near ready for anyone to read. I wouldn’t have let the Princess read them except I knew she would scold me if I didn’t let her help me. She was my thesis advisor after all, and also one of the only ponies who could really half of what I was doing.” Twilight paused. “Wow, that sounded arrogant.”

“Regardless, it was the sooth. I understood it, and was very impressed. In my day, Polydimensional magic was rather new.”

“You actually managed to make it useful?” Twilight asked, incredulous. “You’re joking, right?”

“I kid thee not!” Luna said, and raised her eyebrows. “Surely my sister told you this.”

Twilight felt a little foolish. “You mean… No, she didn’t. Oh, stars, I probably seemed like a child. She didn’t have the heart to tell me somepony had already done it all.” She was surprised to find that she felt a little hurt. After all this, and she actually cared about her damn dissertation?

“I’m sorry, Twilight. I don’t think it was that. After the… war, much of our knowledge was lost. Celestia couldn’t know everything, after all. Some of it she let die. Flight, for instance. I was shocked at the state of Equestrian air travel. Airships when I was new to this time were rather primitive. My sister…” Twilight watched her brow furrow. “Celestia informed me that she did this purposefully. Memories of my fleet were rather new, and many of the best minds of a generation were gone. It was best to keep her ponies away from such things. So my sister said.”

“Maybe.” Twilight wandered over to her old writing bench and touched it reverently.

“Twilight, I have waited, but I am very… anxious. I wish to ask you of your sojourns in Jannah.”

Twilight shivered again and looked at Luna. “Do I have to?” She said, somewhere between a sigh and a whine.

Luna blanched slightly. “No, of course not! I am sorry, I cannot seem to mind my own tongue.”

“No, it’s okay! Earlier was okay. It’s just… I mean, you’ve been here.”

“Yes.” So much darkness was in that single word! Twilight was a little afraid.

“I want to talk about it, but I’m a little afraid to talk about it. Does that make sense?”

“More than you would expect.”

“And,” Twilight continued, gesturing a little wildly, “my head is clear now, but it isn’t like it’s clear. I can think now, but now my mind is full of very legitimate worry instead of the crazy mist… craziness,” she finished, lamely. “That one got away from me a little.”

“The mists? Ah. Yes, they affected us as well. I have never forgotten them.” Luna’s turn to shiver, and somehow that made Twilight feel simultaneously worse and better. “Would it be forward for me to suggest we retire somewhere we might converse at length in comfort? Forgive me, I do not wish to press. I have no intentions… I mean…”

“I know.” Twilight smiled. “It is a bit forward in context, but you’re also right. I’ve been on my hooves all day.”

Twilight lay on the bed and Luna sat on a pallet in the corner.

“When I was younger, I was a very excitable pony.”

“I can hardly imagine.”

“Shush. But it wasn’t so bad. Eager unicorn fillies excited about magic is standard, par for the course. But when I had been in Celestia’s school for some time, I began to realize I was… I don’t know. I got worked up so easily. I panicked over little things. At first I chalked it up to stress, and I was right. I just didn’t realized how badly I would take all that weight.”

“You feel this again in the mist?”

“Not the school part. The crushing weight, the anxiety. That part. I had a panic attack a few days ago.”

“I am… unfamiliar with this term.”

Twilight paused. It had always been hard to describe a panic attack. How did you describe something that you knew and had lived through to somepony who had no way to understand and it not sound like a life threatening experience?

But Luna would appreciate honesty, so Twilight was honest. “It depends, but generally I guess you could say the body overloads? That’s not right at all, but whatever. For me, I usually end up curled up in a little ball somewhere, hyperventilating and crying like an idiot. I’ve lost my ability to stand at times. It’s psychological, really. Your mind just refuses to work like you want it to for awhile. So I end up crying, freaking out, unable to get up and go… at least for twenty minutes. Sometimes longer. Shakes, too. I forgot those.” Twilight held her hoof up in the light and gazed at it. “I feel like I’m dying, or have a sense of impending doom.” She chuckled softly. “That’s a silly phrase.”

“Twilight… there’s nothing funny about that at all.” Twilight looked over at her and saw Luna’s face twisted in something like agony. “I… This affliction, surely Celestia could have--”

Twilight waved a hoof at her. “It’s okay, Luna. No, she can’t do that much. It’s not a disease she could magic away or give me penicillin or something. It’s a problem with me, with the way I handle things. It’s not important,” she added. “It’s not. I was just one pony.”

“An important one.”

Twilight smiled. “Thank you. The Princess was actually there for my first one.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

They were quiet for awhile. Twilight hummed a few bars of a lullaby. Luna hummed something strange and haunting.

“Were there Fallen when you were here?” Twilight asked.

“Fallen?”

“Ponies under the spell of Jannah so long that they’re kind of like zombies. They chant and sing and generally are rather frightening. Prone to attack on sight if you get too close.”

“Ah, those unsung profligates.” Luna’s voice became harsh. “Yes, they were there in force. Jannah draws all kinds of treasure seekers, and it preserves them all, does it not?”

Twilight grimaced. “There are tons of them. At first I thought they were terrifying, but I almost feel bad for them.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s hard not to when they just run blindly into gunfire or magic blasts. Those mercenaries--”

Luna interrupted her. “Mercenary? What band?”

“Tradewinds said something about the Black Hoof.”

When Luna didn’t answer right away, Twilight turned over on the bed and saw that her eyes were wide and her expression blank. It was only now that Twilight began to think about that name. It had sounded familiar, but why? Where would she have heard it? From the way Tradewinds talked, some atrocity, but…

“The Mad God is in Jannah,” Luna said breathlessly.

And Twilight jolted upright. “What?”

“D’Jalin. The Mad God. The Blood Mage of the Zebrahara. Set loose to ravage the sands before my sister’s departure. We sent troops to help the Emperor contain or stop him. His… his followers died. We had hoped he was dead somewhere in the ruins of his fortress…” Luna groaned. “Twilight, this is an ill fate. The Duskwatch reported rumors of the Black Hoof moving through the central province months ago, and followed them into the Zebrahara. Before I recalled them, one of the Watch advised that the only group or individual in the desert willing to hire those scum was the Mad God himself. I… I meant to follow up, but things…”

“Fell apart,” Twilight finished for her.

Luna leaned forward. “You must be cautious. He is mad. Beyond mad. He is the embodiment of agony and death. He dances in the blood of the innocent and drinks the marrow of the weak. You must avoid him. His blood magic is formidable, and if he has mercenaries, I am sure he will also have followers, all of them crazed with his madness, all of them willing to die to do his will.”

“Well, it looks like I’ll see it firsthoof, because they’re between us and the tableland.” Twilight swallowed, her imagination filled with visions of blood and fire. “We’ll have to meet him eventually.”

TRADEWINDS

They reached the inner wall early in the morning and found the doors open. Tradewinds, who had never actually considered how they were to gain entrance to the inner city did not truly appreciate their good fortune. Mostly she thought about how far she could could hit a pony-sized target.

Five hundred yards reliably, by the way. So she was rustier than she liked to admit and the harness was weighted for a pony heavier than she was! Tradewinds grumbled about these things in her own tongue.

Twilight was with her this time. Tradewinds tried not to think about why, but this only ended in her thinking about nothing else but screaming at Pinkie to shut up, and then how her friend had… what was the word? For once, she was stumped in both of her languages. Wilted? Deflated?

“Will they close gate, Twilight?” Tradewinds asked.

“I think not. Actually, I’m not even sure they could if they wanted to. That door’s taller than two of my library stacked on top of each other. Moving that thing would require either some insane machinery or a lot of magic, and I don’t think the old enchantments will work.”

“So we can just be dancing in,” Tradewinds said with a grin and looked back at Twilight, who held a pair of binoculars to her eyes.

Twilight hummed distractedly. “Waltz. The phrase is ‘waltz on in’, Tradewinds. Yes, more or less, though I think you and Abdiel had better get up on the walls and make sure they aren’t readying an ambush for us.”

“You think they noticed us?” Tradewinds asked, somewhere between nervous and mildly insulted. It definitely wouldn’t be her fault. She was sneaky like the encroaching winter cold! Which, come to think of it, was less sneaky in Petrahoof. It was more or less the norm nine months of the year. So the analogy fell apart, whatever. She was way sneakier than that Abdiel.

“No, I don’t. But I’d rather not be wrong and die horribly,” Twilight said with a smirk. “You know, I meant to say this earlier, but your common is getting a little better. You’re starting to use more idioms, for instance.”

“Thank you, pasiba. I am trying,” Tradewinds said and she smiled back. “We learned very little.”

“Petrahoof was still in Equestria, wasn’t it?”

“That is complicated.”

Twilight made a little sound of surprise. “Looks like they’re stopping.”

Tradewinds looked back to her scope. True enough, the Black Hoof was stopping at the gate. Two ponies came to meet them, both dressed in strange rags. Tradewinds noticed with a start that they were zebras. These two had a short conversation with the captain, who stormed off and yelled to his troops. There was some sort of conference.

“Trouble in paradise?” Twilight asked.

“This is not Paradise.”

“Just a saying. In this case, I mean it ironically.”

“Oh.” Tradewinds blinked, and then memorized the phrase. “Trouble in paradise,” she said a few times.

“What are they doing?” Twilight asked.

“Drawing lots,” Tradewinds replied softly.

“What?”

Tradewinds shrugged as best she could on her stomach, eye to her scope. “I recognize it. See how they stand in a circle? It is an old game the Highlanders play that we still use to decide who is stuck with the worst job. If I am making a guess, I would say the zebras at the door want some to stay behind.”

“Why?”

“Us,” Tradewinds said simply. “I think they know somepony is here. They must have heard us shooting or being shot at when we were closer to the outer wall.”

“Or maybe they're just nervous. It is Jannah, after all.” Twilight crouched back down and laid flat beside her. “Alright. We’ll wait them out a bit more.”

TWILIGHT

Two Black Hoof mercs stood on the wall, rifles trained on the benighted streets below. On the opposite side of the wall, two zebras crouched and glared at them. The Black Hooves did not care. They were still on the payroll. Maybe when they were off they would do something about these weird striped freaks, but for now--

Violet magic gripped both of their heads at the same time and slammed them together. They were unconscious before they hit the ground, and the zebras outright panicked. One of them produced a flask and he brandished it, chattering in madness tinged Zebra--

Only for the violet magic to grab it out of his mouth, throw it over the side of the wall, and then push him down.

Over the crenulations, a beleaguered batpony carried a purple unicorn with light barding and a cloak. In the low light, she looked like an avenging spirit, her eyes bright and nothing else.

The zebra still on four legs bolted. Twilight threw an arcane bolt which hit him on the flanks. He spun, and a second bolt caught him in the chest. He fell.

The zebra with the flask rose shakily, shook himself, and then charged. Abdiel dropped Twilight and rolled along the wall, gasping for air. Twilight was alone before her attacker, and she sidestepped his wild charge without a word and caught him in her telekinesis.

“Demon! Demon!” he screamed before she silenced him with magic.

“Nope,” Twilight replied lightly. “I would enlighten you, but its sleepy time.”

She worked her magic and then bound all three of the living guards together. With a few quick spells, Twilight kept them still and in a deep sleep as she laid enchantments on the stone around them. “How long will enchantments on things hold, Abdiel?” Twilight asked lightly.

He wheezed. “You… You are very… very heavy, Apprentice.”

She frowned at him. “Thanks, Romeo.”

“No… problem… enchantments… should last… a day or so.”

“Good, so about half of the normal time.” Twilight finished and stepped back. Only then did she approach the still body of the second zebra. She gazed down at him. Dead. The second shot had been too forceful.

Abdiel recovered and sluggishly walked over towards her. “What… are you planning?”

“Hm?” Twilight did not tear her eyes away.

“Why spare them?”

“Because… Because of Vanhoover,” she said quietly. She looked at Abdiel, still breathing shallowly. “I’m sorry for being fat,” she declared, and he rolled his eyes. “In a city named Vanhoover, I used my magic to save myself and my friends and set off an explosion that killed a lot of ponies. They burned. It was horrible. I don’t even know how many died, but somehow I feel like it was all of them. Every pony. I have killed a lot of ponies. I didn’t mean to kill most of them.”

Twilight looked down at the zebra. What did she feel?

“Is it not just to slay the wicked? I would prefer we kill these as well.” He paused. “Tradewinds will not be pleased.”

“That’s why I’m not going to mention it. I don’t know what beef she’s got with these Black Hoof guys, but her eyes were like a crazypony’s. I am not going to contribute to that, if I can help it. I’m not killing them, and if you try to kill them, I will stop you so long as they are bound and non-threatening.”

When she glared at him, he backed away with raised hooves. “I abide, I abide. I stated my desire, not my plans, Apprentice.”

She huffed. “Is it so bad to not want to kill ponies that you have the chance to not kill? I haven’t had a lot of chances to pull my kicks. Usually, they have guns or hoofblades and it’s use my magic or immediately die. I try not to kill, but when being off with one of my bolts means death, I can never be sure. I killed dozens of raiders, I think. Probably. A few griffons. A whole dock worth of ponies. Now a zebra. I am very, very tired of killing things,” she finished.

Abdiel looked at her, and his expression was hard to read. Suddenly Twilight felt exhausted and did not care. She lay down, facing the zebra. “Abdiel, I need you to dig through my pack. I brought a blanket to sleep under, and I need you to hold it up for me.”

Abdiel blinked at her. Twilight met his gaze languidly. Feelings bubbled up. Why had she… but she had to do this. As soon as she had remembered.

He did as Twilight asked and brought blanket, hold it up and then raising an eyebrow. “So, what do we know, Apprentice?”

“I need you to be between the dead zebra and the other side, towards the inner city. I want to minimize the light.”

“What are you doing?”

“Zebra believe that the dead go to the ancestors and run with the Spirits after they leave us.”

“And you believe that, hm?” Abdiel asked.

“No. I don’t. I’m not sure what life after death looks like. But I’m not a zebra, regardless.”

“So what are we doing?”

“To be freed from the earth, proper burial rites must be given. At least, one of them must be.”

“And that rite would be? I confess, I am puzzled.”

Twilight sighed. “Zebra cremate their dead.”

CANTERLOT

The guns batter the mountain road and, as is the new norm, death holds dominion over yet another patch of Equestrian soil. There is nothing for it.

The barrage continues for hours. In the lower tier, civilians huddle in their homes with hooves over their ears. Foals cower under beds or in the arms of their parents. Soldiers in trenches shivered here and there. Others slept, too exhausted to be kept alert by something as trivial as mechanized slaughter.

It is a short day, and the guns fill it. All fighting along the front grinds to a halt. In Morningvale, new trenches are dug and old ones are reinforced. On the mountain the weary guards see campfires as they pause their digging. Up above them the raiders dance feverishly for tomorrow they shall die. The echo of the guns reaches them and somewhere in a part of their minds not yet rotted by corruption and alien influence they know that this play they call life is in its final act.

Night comes. Night always comes, softly and gently even in the most violent of worlds. Day always fades away into cold and darkness, over and over, world without end. It’s how things work.

But this is not a normal night. Somewhere in the West, Twilight Sparkle’s friends slept quietly but fitfully. In the east, Rarity’s army made camp on the edge of Manehattan. In Canterlot, Spike and Soarin’ were on the wall again and Sweetie Belle was bullying a scowling Scootaloo into taking her pain medicine and lying down. And Luna, high above them all, Dreamed.

What is this night? It is a breath. A deep, shaking breath on the rim of an abyss, a long and hollow look down into the deep pit beneath. This is not about calculation, not for those who pray for the sun’s returning. This is about breathing. It is about being alive another life. In their own ways, they are grateful. Life and love go on. Even under the thundering guns they are not snuffed out like brief candles.

Where did this night come from? Where did the evil it hides come from? How did it crawl into a world of light? Did it bubble up in Jannah? Did it seep through the cracks, or infect the stones? Did the winds carry it out from there in all directions?

Where does this dying come from? It is easy to think of guns and the ponies who make them, but that is looking at bread and asking why ponies eat. These monstrosities, these anathema were made not to fling shells but to alter the flow of time and fate. These die, and not those. Is it not easy to understand why? The greatest temptation is, after all, the greatest treason; to do the right things for the wrong reason. Perhaps, too, one might add to those old words that to make the wrong things for the right reason might too be anathema.

But surely this is easy to feel, if not to understand. Have you not also felt what it is to know evil? Canterlot reflects on this on the last night, on the last night Canterlot has before the beginning of the End. Under the roaring guns Canterlot finds itself, sober and drunk, rich and poor, reflecting on how evil is a circle. For a pony is wronged and in turn wrongs, and the wronged will wrong another and the evils of the world devour themselves and everything in between tail and mouth, which is much. They think to themselves quietly that they have done nothing to deserve this, whether it is true or not. Their evils are petty evils. The sneer across the table, the insult hurled into the street, the petty hatred of housewives and the small vicious ambitions of salaryponies. They have inflicted pain in small degrees, and even a hill built one handful of dirt at a time will be tall eventually. Yet these things do not deserve amelioration at the barrel of a gun. So the little ones in their little glass houses think to themselves.

Night does not seem to mind either way. All things that can die do, and those yet protected will not be next time.

The darkness beneath the endless Song roils and works. In the world above, its puppets dance around campfires or wait stoically in hastily dug holes. It sinks into everything it can, uses every purchase it can find. Night is the perfect cover for the sneaking of despair. And is not darkness, substanceless even in the form of the Shadow, the perfect picture of that sickness unto death? Night, darkness, these things conceal and hide. That is the thing that frightens ponies huddling together for warmth in Canterlot. Anything could be out there. The possibility of possibility itself. This darkness is the veil that evil wears.

Do you also feel this darkness in you? Have you also passed through this night?