//------------------------------//
// Chapter I: Encounter 
// Story: Tower of Shadows 
// by Knight of Cerebus 
//------------------------------//

	It was near midnight when the call came in, but she didn’t mind. Any chance to get free of Canterlot was a good one. Walking into the latest troubled village was like breaching the surface for a breath of fresh air. She may not have had the fastest reflexes amongst her order, but she easily outpaced her colleagues in grabbing a mission. Today’s call was yet another slice of nowhere by the name of Ponyville. Something about problems surrounding the Everfree Forest (no surprises there). Something about witchcraft. It was a chance to walk. She took it.   

It felt good to slip into her armour again. Truth be told, to her body it was more comfortable wearing the armour than not. Her time in long, flowing silk dresses and fine jewelry left her feeling like she’d been dug out of a shell. The marks on her skin where the padded leather straps rested were finally reunited with their snug burden. Her thick, rough hide others called skin was no longer on display like a gaudy leather dress.  

It was no secret that Celestia felt no attachment to the city her guild resided in. The sum total of her time surrounded by her colleagues was walking in the door, finding an application, attending whatever inane socials or fundraisers her higher-ups had scheduled during the wait for approval, then returning to the field as quickly as she could tear off the latest garish garment they’d selected for her. The last piece of armour was the helmet, and it was this that was the only piece Celestia truly disliked. The Solar Knights avoided contact with the public where possible, attempting to distance themselves from the conflicts they sought to resolve and avoid building attachments to people they might have to abandon. Celestia hated it. But her helmet was a part of her, even if it was one she resented, and so she placed it squarely over her head and marched towards the door of her simple board room.  

The chariot ride to Ponyville was a quiet one, as Celestia had intended. She muttered a half-truth to the fellow guards that she needed quiet to gauge the situation. But the passage of rolling countryside was better on her conscience than the incessant inquiries about her that her fellows continued to make, so she told the truth in that way if nothing else. Her eyes flicked to the report after a good quarter-hour. Her mind free of its burdens for the moment, she decided to open it. The locals were said to be a superstitious, cowardly lot, meaning their claims had to be taken with at least a grain of salt. 

Nevertheless, as the source of most of the kingdom’s horses (including the ones currently driving her chariot), Ponyville was high-priority when it made a claim. And then there was the Everfree to think about. The problem with a boy who cried wolf is that one is far more likely to take their claims seriously when they live next to a wolf den. And living next to a nightmare of a “forest” like that one would make anybody fearful. If it weren’t for the enchanted soil being so great for crop and livestock, it would be a miracle to find any kind of outpost there. 

And yet there they were. Consequently, attacks by hydras, constellation monsters, dragons, manticores and cockatrices were all calls that had made rounds in her time with the guard. The hydra in particular she had dealt with personally. The poisoned blood had carved ugly scars into her body where the gaps in her armour lay, but she’d emerged to the sight of a set of terrified civilians look at her with hope, then relief, then gratitude. 

A mousey, quiet local named Fluttershy had approached her after that battle, wearing her amazement all over her face. The talk that ensued was a welcome chance to socialize with somebody who didn’t see her for her history, and a chance to inspire somebody to make a difference in their world. She’d received a letter from this same Fluttershy outlining how she decided to follow her advice and example--she stood up to a cockatrice after it had cornered some children she’d been looking after and saved their collective lives with her newfound courage. Celestia only hoped she’d appreciated the glowing response. 

But this time was very different. The locals weren’t afraid of any kind of monster that could be slain or driven off, nor in some kind of dispute she could settle diplomatically. They weren’t even being plagued by a rogue magical effect, catastrophic as those could be. No, this time was different, and far more dangerous for it. A dark magician had set up a tower made of oak and crystal in the ruins of the Everfree’s old castle, and the locals had little doubt she’d turn to them for test subjects at a moment’s notice. 

Of course, “dark magician” could easily have been a stretch. The last witch-doctor call she’d answered for these people had turned out to be a black woman who liked making herbal medicine with a few traditions the locals had misconstrued as sinister. The woman--Zecora--still wrote to her to tell her how she was doing now that the locals didn’t think of her as a cannibal priestess. Particularly to tell her about the adorable bond she’d formed with one of the little local girls who wanted to know more about potions. The magic soldier felt a warmth bloom in her heart just thinking about it. 

But this time was different. This sorceress, this--she checked the name--Twilight Sparkle had a record in Cantolot, too. After a disastrous attempt at an application to the wizard’s college had catalyzed a history of ostracism owing to her uncontrolled magical ability, the girl had fled to an abandoned observatory in the town of Solarity and lived a hermit’s life. Then she’d found a tutor, rumor had it. And not a good influence, either. Mages from the town had picked up on dark magic in her study and reported it to the local college. The budding witch had, according to the investigation that took place after, been writing her own magical theory books in every discipline under the sun. Some of them were being taught in colleges to this day, so skilled was her grasp under the eyes of whoever was tutoring her. 

But the scope was troubling. Necromancy, pain magic, shadow magic, blood magic. There was evidence she’d experimented, too. And her writings implied she had a detached curiosity on these fields, and on the practical applications of her spells. Regardless, it wasn’t her Celestia was truly worried about. Her tutor, whoever they were, seemed to trapped by some kind of powerful magic. Those kinds of seals were usually in place for a reason, and this Twilight Sparkle seemed to be looking for a way to “repay her for her teachings”. 

The stars will aid in her escape, she’d written out in the last of her journals before she’d fled. And now she was in a nexus of chaos and darkness magic. Celestia sighed. At least she’d probably get some paid leave for this. She could visit the locals, see if Zecora had met Fluttershy yet. Talk to that pink-haired woman who always got so excited when she visited. She looked outside again. There it was--the forest of monsters, still as dark and tangled as ever. Cutting its skyline was a tower built from glowing amethysts and rune-covered wood. 

This was her stop. She stepped out of the carriage. 

Celestia lifted her head to study the tower. Eldritch magic of a lavender persuasion emanated from the top of the tower, travelling down its length in twirling ribbons of light. She recognized the patterns--wards. This Twilight was careful, if nothing else. She looked back to the town, then at her report. Part of her thought that perhaps Fluttershy or Zecora might know something about this, but the report told her most of what she needed to know. Experimentation on the edge of town. Some sightings of a hooded figure observing the town folk silently. And, of course, there was the eternal conflict between duty to her subjects and personal interest that talking to these people would involve. She had to do this quickly, and a cold interrogation wasn’t something she was interested in thrusting upon people she’d forged some kind of emotional bond with. 

She scanned the tower instead, making sure to hurry her approach towards the forest without another glance back at the warm and inviting community to her rear. Better to avoid mixing her friends (or, what could pass for as close to friends as she had) with her job. Duties had...complications, and emotions were an unwanted presence when engaging in this job. The wards were certainly expertly made, she had to confess. An ornately coiled set of enchantments tensed casting effect to near-instantaneous reaction, while microscopic spindles of mana shaped like spider webs betrayed carefully-laid activation mechanisms. 

The wards themselves were laid out in ways that suggested at least some concern for intruders: Repulsion spells gave way to mental magic and then a layer of terrain alteration. The spells with lethal effects appeared to be tethered to triggers deep within the tower. Celestia filed away the relief at what that implied about the sorceress’ state of mind for later. Her boots crushed leaf litter and loamy soil with callous disregard, her body moving in harmony with her mind’s pace. The forest itself was familiar to her, if not admired in any respect. Formidable oaks wrapped in hanging ivy overshadowed spiny brambles and poisonous fungi of gelatinous disposition. Crows, mourning doves and blue jays formed a chorus fitting for the forest: harsh, gloomy and dark. The stink of rot and old growth flooded her nostrils. 

Her feet navigated the paradoxical tangle of blooming, ever-bountiful life and gloomy, morose decay with the experience of a frequent visitor. Over forty calls in these dark woods had left her with the experience to navigate the twisted forest with few incidents. Her eyes and feet worked in unison to sidestep a manticore’s game trail, the ruins of a townhouse from an era when the forest was still inhabited, then the den of some timberwolf puppies. Even as she marched through the sinister lands, she continued to piece together how she would deal with the latest danger the forest had birthed. 

Every step towards the tower was matched by a thought to how to unravel a ward. Every breath she took matched by a wave of determination, powering her forwards. The swing of her mace kept time with the formation of a plan to talk down her quarry. Twilight Sparkle was, after all, at her heart a young woman with a hard life behind her. Dark magic or not, the vulnerability and inexperience of the person meant there was a chance she was not set on the troubled path she had been walking for most of her life. That she had been forced upon it by her life’s circumstances further boosted her confidence. Perhaps most crucially, the pattern of the wards gave her hope that she could reason with her, that this Twilight would not be so quick to lash out at an invitation to live in harmony. That Celestia could disarm the threat she posed without destroying the life of the persecuted creature. 

Maybe this time she could save the person from herse--she stopped, her body tensing along with her mind at the memory the stray line of thought dredged up. Perhaps it was a foolish wish. Would saving a woman she’d never met really ease her mind? She set a foot forward again. Ultimately, what she got from the exchange was unimportant. Her duty was not to purge her demons. She tightened her grip on her mace, expression stone-faced. She would be a saviour, with or without the solace she so wanted. With or without anybody by her side. A sharp light emerged from the top of the tower, and she was once again pulled from her thoughts. The energy radiating from the amethysts at the top of the tower converged into a bright violet flame. 

The magic rippled and roared, betraying itself as stinking of corruption in the development of the incantation. The shape of a cat’s slitted eye formed in the center of the pyre, and a great floodlight formed under the narrow pupil’s gaze. A scrying spell. And a powerful one, at that. A range limited to a single cone of light was offset by its ability to undo even the most powerful concealment spells. Celestia’s breath drew, and her body forced itself against the back end of a tree. She forced tensing muscles to melt into the bark, animal instinct being trumped by a sense of purpose. The alien glow of black magic swept across the forest, its source widening in conjunction with its master’s wishes. Celestia shrank into the roots of the tree, hoping against hope that the enchantments on her armor would not betray her. 

The twisted floodlight illuminated a grove to her left, falling upon the set of ruins she’d avoided travelling through earlier, then flicked across her. She felt dread well up in her stomach. The light shone past either side of her hiding spot, the tree’s long shadow her only safety against the black magic. Her breathing hitched, muscles rigid and body huddled at the base of the mighty oak. Then, without any further ceremony, the light passed on, studying a nearby set of trees with the same fervor as her hiding spot. Celestia waited with baited breath, expecting a return to her location, but the light moved on, almost mechanically, to yet another clump of trees after a few more moments. It was here that Celestia truly froze. 

While the light finished its rounds, she set to thinking: A scrying spell of that power suggested anticipation of the arrival of an experienced spellcaster. The methodical nature of the way the spell was cast suggested her quarry was taking no chances, or perhaps was attempting to make it look like they had not found her. It was hard to glean how much they’d learned in the time they’d spent upon her, or if they’d even found her at all. Perhaps that was the point of the spell’s pacing. Perhaps she was meant to feel at ease. Whatever the case, forethought had gone into this. This was not a search cast in blind panic, and unlikely to be a daily event she’d had the bad luck to walk into: Twilight was expecting her, and had made plans to deal with her entry. At last the spell flickered out, the black-and-purple cat’s eye at the top of the tower dissolving into the roaring fire it had been conjured from, then dissipating into smoke and wind like a snuffed flame atop some grotesque candle. 

Celestia redoubled her movements, eyes flicking over every tree. The closer she got to the tower, the more she noticed modifications to the environment. Here a set of trip wires to alert the caster to the presence of a magical entity. There a set of footprints trailing from a bed of nightshade, the pathway to the toxic plants guarded by powerful wards against magical beings. Hypnotic spells that compelled animals beyond a certain weight limit to give the tower a wide berth, all placed along areas that would normally make ideal game trails. She’d gravely underestimated the unstable youth. This wasn’t her forest anymore. This was a place of a wizard she’d never met, a wizard who wanted to have a plan to thwart her and anybody else that might cross her in every waking moment of her lifetime. A wizard with the intelligence to reach such a lofty goal. Celestia’s slowed her pace to a careful, slinking crawl, wishing more than ever that she could see into the mind of the woman she was up against.  



---／人◕ ‿‿ ◕人＼---


The telescope focused in on the striking, heavily armored person making their way through the forest with practiced precision. Twilight’s eye squinted, taking in every detail. The enchantments were fascinating. The armor would become more rigid when taking piercing damage and more flexible when bludgeoned. There was an emergency teleport woven into the boots. It led a great distance away--probably to her guild, whatever it was. The helmet prevented mind reading. It was all so fascinating. There was nothing Twilight would have liked better than to strip the wearer and study the armor--maybe keep them for interrogation, maybe teleport them home. Probably interrogate them about intentions, first. Arrest was an inconvenience to her, and her current plans couldn’t be interrupted so quickly. Especially if they found her mistress.

She wound a few quick ensnaring spells into the base of the staircase. It would likely only slow down her pursuer, but it would at least help her in gaining an understanding of how that armor contained all that powerful magic without overloading. She couldn’t exactly boast that feat at the moment. Even now, the storage crystals tethering her more powerful outburs--spells of advanced magical calibre--remained unstable. She ran a few fingers along the most recent scar a bout of carelessness had earned her. It would certainly be useful. She ran a few quick calculations, writing them down more for posterity’s sake than because she was worried she’d lose them later on in time. 

A faltering leyline told her the paladin had just stomped across it without noticing it. The location meant the soldier would arrive within approximately twenty minutes. She’d have another twenty before they reached her sanctum. She had the time for one more trap, but she’d have to rely on her magic staying consistently in check to avoid overloading the objects with it. She cast a glance around at the room, fighting back embarrassment as best she could. Levitating furniture, books frozen in magical crystal, piles of ash that had been candles once and a tablecloth coated in ever-burning fire served as proof that there was every chance the final plan would fail. 

She’d almost considered turning herself in a few times. Despite what past experience had told her, there was still a glimmer of hope that somehow, somebody would be able to help her. Still, results had never been promising. Her condition wasn’t even documented in any of the country’s magical libraries, let alone curable. The only time she’d caught wind of discussion of it was in reference to her...accident at the academy. And even then, it was always “mysterious”. And usually speculated to be her own malevolent intent. Another leyline being knocked out of place by the paladin resting a hand against it broke her out of her memories. No, attempting to seek help from anybody else was a long shot, and she knew it. Besides, she and her mistress were close. 

That was, after all, why it was so important to capture the paladin. They’d know how to undo the wards that bound her mistress. She could charm it out of them, scan their mind for it, or maybe even talk them into telling her. She so hoped for the last one. She didn’t want to hurt anybody--it dug into a part of her she didn’t really understand, and haunted her for days ever after. But she needed her mistress. With her free, they could do anything together. She’d do anything with her, pay her back for everything. Conquest, revenge? Whatever she asked. After all, she cared. No one else had. Why should Twilight choose them over her? And then, maybe, her mistress could set Twilight free, too. She looked at the twisted, humiliating, magic-warped tower and cracked a bittersweet grin. They were so close. So close to a cure. And then…then…she’d go find somewhere she could live free and live with...

Twilight paused. That cursed emptiness was rising in her gut again. That feeling that she’d lost something important a long time ago. That need to hear a voice besides her own, to see a face somewhere other than a mirror. It was an emotion she’d never been able to put to words, but it had been there since the night she’d had to leave her family. Like a gap in a song she thought she knew all the words to. A void in her center she could never fill. Her fingers crackled, lightning racing across her hands, and the thought was lost. 

Priorities. Unknown emotions could be dealt with once her quest was over. Capture paladin. Free her mistress. Cure her cursed condition. Find a place to live in freedom. That was all she needed to focus on now. The rest could wait until later. 

The paladin triggered the final leyline. A faint ache reached the back of her head, and Twilight’s eyes shone with magic, excitement and the promise of a better life. It was finally time for her finest hour.