The Student of Sun and Shadow

by Journey Blue

Introductions - The Silent Cinder

You would think a day such as this would tremble to begin.

~

Sunlight streams through the open windows of Twilight’s chamber—pink hues radiating through a yellow glow. The light is warming to the touch and is accompanied by a cool breeze that smells of morning dew.

There comes a sound, the clip-clop of hooves up the stairs, and the creak of hinges as the door to Twilight's tower opens. Hoof-falls click across the marble tiles of the library, approaching the bedroom door.

There is a pause, and then the door to the room opens soundlessly. A pegasus mare, with a snow-white mane and fur the color of wood-ash, sticks her head in. Spotting the princes, the she notes the Twilight is still asleep. She makes her way across the room, trotting on the rugs when she can, taking care not to wake the sleeping princess. She is laden with a tray of off-white pearl and golden embroidered edges, sitting snug between her wings. On the tray are smaller dishes, with slices of orange cut in perfect sixths, a bowl of oatmeal lightly steaming, toast spread with strawberry jam, and a teapot and cup that match the tray: Twilight’s breakfast.

Cinder Hooves had been assigned as Princess Twilight’s personal attendant shortly after her coronation. An unusual choice, to have a pegasus as an attendant, as the a position is normally more suited for unicorns.

Cinder liked working in Canterlot Palace, with its white marble columns, vast ballrooms, and high gold ceilings—its architecture reminiscent of a more gilded age. Most of all, Cinder liked working in close proximity to the Princesses. Cinder had wanted to be a member of the royal guard, but that turned out to be a disaster—problems with authority. Luckily, being a pegasus, Cinder had access to areas well beyond the reach of an earth pony, so she easily found employment among the cleaning staff.

So then how did she end up as the attendant of Princess Twilight? Simple. She had asked Twilight personally.

Princess Twilight had had one condition: Cinder could not address her as Princess. She had been quite adamant about that. Cinder agreed, and as it was a princess’ right to choose her attendant, she got the position—much to the resentment of the more experienced staff. She would still refer to Twilight as Princess, but only on occasion and never when the young princess was present. Cinder readily embraced her new position with Princess Twilight, and undertook her new duties with great zeal and diligence.

True to her form, as Cinder enters the room, it is no more than fifteen minutes after sunrise.

Cinder’s on a roll, Cinder’s got control. With firm hooves and skillful wings, Cinder crosses the chamber to the sitting table beside the bed where the young princess sleeps and, with just her wings, she guides the tray of food onto the table with only the slightest clink of cutlery as she sets it down.

Such a feat is worthy of recognition, yet went unnoticed by most. Few ponies ever appreciate the difficulty for pegasi to carry a tray of food up the spiral staircase of Canterlot’s third highest spire, or any stairs for that matter. While it was true that Cinder could use her wings to hold the tray as she climbed the stairs, she, like many pegasi, was rather clumsy on her hooves. All too often she would slip on a poorly positioned hoof and lose her precious cargo when she flared her wings for balance. By comparison, dusting was easy as she spent most of her time aloft and off her hooves. But now she spends most of her time with her hooves planted and she quickly learned why unicorns were more suited for her position: magic made everything easier. But she was undeterred—she’d show them. Whoever they were.

Within the first week, she mastered the art of carrying trays of assorted food up vast spiral staircases. Now she could even ascend all 157 steps to Princess Twilight’s tower at a brisk canter—211 if you included the steps between the tower and the royal kitchens.
Twilight told her this—Twilight liked how all the steps in Canterlot Palace could be grouped into prime numbers. Cinder just liked that the princess had taken notice.

Cinder turns to look at the sleeping princess—Twilight laying curled, catlike, in the center of her bed, atop the covers. It was common for the princess to sleep like this. Often she would arrive to bed after a taxing evening attending to her duties, or a late night of reading, so tired that she wouldn’t bother herself with the blankets, just fall across the bed and sleep how she lay. It was nights like these that Cinder would slip in quietly, and tuck her in. But last night she hadn’t the opportunity. Twilight had stayed up far later than usual. Nor had she remembered to take off her dress before getting into bed this time. Must have been something important, Cinder decided.

To the sides of the bed, Cinder spies Twilight's ornate horseshoes strewn about, their placement lacking the princess' usual organized touch. Cinder eyes them fondly.

Once, as a modest prank, she had placed a small lizard from the Canterlot Gardens in one of the shoes, and it had dashed up Twilight’s leg as soon as she put it on. On that day, Cinder learned that Princess Twilight had an irrational fear of reptiles.

Once, when Twilight had left without them, Cinder had given into temptation and proceeded to prance about the room with them on, enjoying the tinny sound they made against the marble floors—chim-chime, chim-chime. Her fun was short lived when Twilight returned for them and caught her red-hoofed—gold-hoofed to be more accurate. Twilight had been amused; Cinder had been mortified.

Looking up, Cinder spots Twilight's crown resting on the table in front of the vanity mirror. She centers it gently so that the star-shaped gem faced forwards. Cinder looks at the crown, at the dress, at the star-shaped lamp, the rose-tinted mirror, and wonders—why so much pink?

Cinder's eyes were not pink, but pale magenta—she was quite adamant about that.

She looked into the mirror. A lightning-like crack transected its face, warping its surface such that Cinder saw two of herself. Both stared back at her with a perplexed expression—three Cinders, their heads at a slight tilt and their eyebrows raised.

The mirror of pink glass bears a crack, look into it and two look back. Cinder shook her head at the accidental rhyme. Keep that up and you will be a poet before you know it. She facehoofed—should have seen that last one coming. It she wasn’t careful she’d soon have a limerick.

Cinder turned back to examine Princess Twilight, her pale magenta eyes reflecting concern and various shades of lavender. The princess’ coat glowed in the warm light of sunrise, and her mane swayed gently in the cool breeze from the open windows. For a moment, Cinder could imagine Princess Twilight was radiating the same ethereal magic as Celestia and Luna. Seeing nothing to worry about, she saw no reason to worry herself.

Cinder approaches the side of the bed where she crouches at the edge and tentatively extends her wing and pokes the sleeping princess gently on the nose. Boop.

“Wakey, wakey, Twilight.” Careful not to say princess, “It is time to get up. You got a big day ahead of you”. She pokes her again.

While some would see this treatment of the princess as undignified, it was not. Cinder is being cautious. While Princess Twilight was usually quite affable and often encouraged Cinder to be friendly and informal with her, she tended to be cranky when she awoke, and could become rather terrifying. Cinder didn’t want to be turned into a potted plant—once had been enough.

Cinder pokes the princess once more—her wing the kitten’s curious paw, probing the larger sleeping cat, ready to flee should it stir. Should she incur the princess’ wrath, Cinder knows she can hide under the bed—experience has taught her this.

The princess doesn’t stir—not even a twitch.

At least Cinder tried.

If Celestia’s Royal Scheduling Advisor, Kibitz, disapproved of her less than valiant effort, then he could wake Twilight himself. See how he liked being a fern.

Not that being a fern was all that unpleasant, Cinder reflected. Twilight had made sure to give her sufficient water, and plenty of sun while looking up the proper counterspell. In fact it had been too pleasant, and that frightened Cinder in a strangely abstract and existential way. Nor did it help that Twilight ended up botching the counterspell. Now Cinder found that, were she inclined towards the leafy disposition, she would revert into a fern. The reverse process also held true, but was far more difficult: ferns don’t readily desire to become ponies. Needless to say, trotting through Canterlot Gardens had become a trialsome ordeal. How the plants taunted and tempted her—roses in particular.

Better to coax the beast from its sleep, thought Cinder, retracting her wings, and remaining firmly in her furred and feathered disposition.

Cinder got up for the edge of the bed and moved towards the sitting table. There, she takes the teapot and pours out of cup of tea, its trail of steam bearing the floral scent of mint and chrysanthemum. Moving behind the table, she gently flaps her wings, wafting the alluring aroma over to the sleeping princess. She needn’t close the windows. It is one of the perks of being a pegasus: the breeze would listen to the magic in her wings and aid in her endeavors. She knows she has succeeded when the princess' nose begins to twitch.

Satisfied, she made to leave. She turns to look at the sleeping Twilight once more.

“If you don’t get up soon, your breakfast will get cold,” she says in a sandy voice across the room. As Cinder exits, she caught Twilight stirring, and believes Twilight has heard her.

While it is true Princess Twilight had heard somepony speak to her, it was not Cinder.

~

It is time for you to wake up, Princess.

Twilight stirs, but does not yet wake. Her mind stands on the bridge of waking dreams. She is aware that her body is bathed in warmth and of a cool touch moving through her mane. In the air there is a playful scent she cannot yet identify. Beneath her, she is embraced by something soft.

She believes she rests atop a cloud. She has come here to hide from the thing that had chased her in her dream. Below her is a vast and green sea of dark leaves and deep canopies: the Everfree. It was in there that the thing had pursued her. Through the trees and foliage, over roots and underbrush, Twilight running, running as fast as her little filly legs could carry her. Little Twilight running through beams of light that broke free of the dark canopy, like stars raining down from the night sky. Not knowing where she was nor where she was going, all she knew was something was following her. Heavy crashes sounded behind her as the trees were torn away for the soil and tossed aside like weeds plucked by a gardener’s hoof. She, a helpless little filly, knew she must run.

Then, when the vegetation had become a thick wall of thorns and shadows, when the earth heaved upwards as the tree behind her was sent skywards, when she could run no longer, she looks up, and sees the sun. Then, and only then, does she remember that she isn’t helpless, isn’t powerless. She remembers she can fly, and upwards she flew to the safety of the bright sky and soft clouds, beyond the forest, to where the thing could not follow. As she alighted upon the cloud, she looked back down at the forest, into the dark depth, and she saw the thing. It looked back up at her with glowing green eyes and lavender wings.

But she needn’t fear it now. Now she is safe atop her cloud, in the warm sun and cool breeze. It can’t get her now.

Open your eyes.

Her eyes are open and she is fully awake. Her dream, as vivid and as real to her as the wakened hours, slips from her memory like water in a wicker basket. Soon she remembers none of it. Nor does she remember the night before. Not yet anyway.

The warm smell of mint and tealeaf reached her nose—chrysanthemum, if she wasn't mistaken—and she turned her head towards the source. Resting on a small sitting table near the entrance to her room was an embroidered tray of pearl-white .

That put the time no more than half an hour past sunrise. Cinder Hooves, her chosen attendant, arrived every morning, with meticulous punctuality, and breakfast in hoof—wings technically. The steam still rising from the cup told Twilight that Cinder had been by quite recently. Cinder did not deviate in her morning routine more than one iota. Twilight, who had been used to sleeping in late when she lived in Ponyville, found that she had to start getting up much earlier if she didn’t want her breakfast to be cold—it always tasted off when she had to reheat. Twilight suspected that this had been intentional, that Cinder’s timeliness had been encouraged as a subtle means of getting her up on time. Probably Kibitz’ doing.

Twilight slid out of bed—not rolling out, wings made that difficult—and made her way to the sitting table. She winced, finding her legs to be surprisingly sore, and her head heavy. Had she been able to sleep at all last night?

Last night… something about this thought clings peculiarly to her mind. But whatever it is, right now she is too groggy, and too hungry, to consider it.

Twilight sat by the table with her breakfast. Her eyes are closed, her head dropping slightly, and, for a moment, she does nothing. Then the teacup gingerly floats up to her mouth, and she takes a sip. Other assortments, a piece of toast, a spoon of oatmeal, a slice of orange, follow in a similar fashion as Twilight used her magic to methodically eat her breakfast. Half asleep all the while. She made sure to keep her head over the table; it wouldn’t do to get crumbs on her dress. It was bad enough that she occasionally slept in her clothes, but luckily she found that the ruffles readily disguised the wrinkles—one of their more redeeming qualities.

Once she finished her breakfast, Twilight felt sufficiently awake. Refilling her teacup, she made her way to her mirror. Her mane probably looked horrendous.

Twilight looked into the mirror. The left side of her mane is modestly disheveled: a few individual hairs sticking out at odd angles. Her pink and gold dress is in better condition—a few sweeps of magic and no pony would notice where it had wrinkled. Her coat is slightly matted around her collar, but it is nothing a good brushing couldn’t fix.

This is the mare Twilight sees in the rightmost section of the mirror. But this is not the mare she sees in the leftmost.

This mare looks back at Twilight, meeting her eyes with ones the glow with anger, eyes that glow green. She wears a dark violet circlet, and is draped in the colors of dusk. Her wings spread wide.

We are more alike than you know.

Now Twilight’s wings are flared. Her teacup shatters on the floor, its content splashing over her hooves and the sleeve of her dress, staining it. She takes no notice of this.

Standing there, her silver and purple dress in tatters, pieces of her crushed armor falling away, landing without a sound as they dissipate back into the darkness beneath her hooves, Twilight can see Sombra’s marred face mocking her from across the black void, its red gash still glowing from the magic that had inflicted it, its gleeful eyes, one whole, one sightless, staring at her, and lingering for a time as the rest of Sombra’s body fades back into the shadows, leaving her in silence and solitude. Her circlet still proudly adorning her brow.

She can see herself now, her head held high in triumph, her wings flared wide in anticipation, her battered body standing firm, oblivious to the pain. Her eyes wide, full of fury.

The mirror shatters.

Twilight’s horn hums, and her body shakes. She can remember the fear she felt when she first encountered King Sombra. The unease she felt, staring at her altered images, at their grandeur, at their appeal. Convincing herself that there was nothing to fear from a mere shadow, finding the courage to stand up to the King Sombra, and to denounce him and his offer.

She could remember how the crystals had crushed her. How it had hurt.

Why? Why had she been so powerless to stop him? She could have stopped Sombra without resorting to dark magic. She was Twilight Sparkle, previously one of the most gifted unicorns in all of Equestria, and now an Alicorn Princess with Alicorn Magic! She could have thwarted Sombra without a second thought, with a quick spell, all she had had to do was focus for just a moment and the shadow of a king would have been no more.

But she hadn’t.

Instead she had given into weakness, she had let her fear take control of her. She knew how Sombra’s magic could manipulate a pony’s fear and use it against them, as it had done to her back in his castle. She knew this, and yet she had let Sombra toy with her fears until, finally, she snapped.

Then, in her panic, in her rage, as an act of desperation, and of spite, she had seized the very darkness engulfing her. She had brought it into herself, merging it with her will, and used it against the shadow that thought himself a king; and she had maimed him. It had been her intention. To hurt him, to humiliate him, to show the he was inferior to her, that she was greater than he. Yet, she had only proved him to be her equal.

We are more alike than you know.

Well, now she knew.

Hoof-falls click across the library—the sound of precious metal on marble tiles. There are two short taps at the door to Twilight’s chamber, preceded by a melodic voice.

“Are you awake, Twilight?” It was Celestia's voice.

The door held ajar and stands open between the two princesses, blocking their view of one another, but Twilight can see the slender white point of Celestia’s horn and the incandescent edges of her mane.

Startled, Twilight instinctively cast a spell to repair her mirror. The reflective shards coming together soundlessly, the cracks vanishing with a quiet, keening note.

“Oh! Princess Celestia, good morning.” Twilight handled the words awkwardly. She felt that peculiar feeling—that culmination of relief and guilt—when we successfully hide our mistakes, and then reprimand ourselves for having done so.

As Celestia steps into the room she gives no sign that she has noticed anything amiss. She smiles warmly at Twilight and there is jubilance in her voice.

“Good Morning, Twilight. I gather you slept well.” A playful note in the last words as she beholds Twilight disheveled appearance. Twilight wonders how to respond, but is saved the effort when Celestia continued to speak, “You know, you needn’t still call me Princess, Twilight. Of the many privileges you have as a fellow princess, I would hope you could embrace that one most readily.” The affability, with which Celestia spoke to her, made Twilight blush slightly—a light hue of fuchsia painting her face.

“Oh. Um… right. So what brings you here this morning, Celestia?”

“I would like to say I am here as just a cordial visit really, but there is something I wanted to ask you. As you know, the Summer Sun Celebration will be held in a few days time, so this is rather late of me to ask but, Luna and I were wondering if…” Celestia stops as she glances at something on the floor behind Twilight and her smile fades. When she turns back to Twilight, there is concern in her voice.

“Twilight, is there something wrong?”

“What do you m—” Following her mentor’s gaze she sees the broken remains of her teacup lying forgotten in a cold pool of amber liquid. “—…Oh.” The word slips out quietly.

What should she say? What could she say?

“I...” she grasped for the words, “was just being a little clumsy”.

A pregnant pause. Twilight felt that she should say something more.

“So what was this Luna and you were wondering?” said Twilight, redirecting the conversation.

“Right." Celestia's smile was back, "Luna and I were wondering if, for this year’s celebration, you would like join us in the sun raising ceremony”.

“You want me to be part of the ceremony?” Twilight's head tilts.

“I know this is a bit short notice, and you have already done more for organizing and preparing the event than anypony could ask for, but Luna and I would be honored if—”

“—Of course!” Twilight response was sudden and enthusiastic, her hooves clapping together. Need the princesses even ask?

“I appreciate your enthusiasm Twilight, but I daresay this task is not as simple as it may seem”.

“How difficult could it be? I’m certain I can handle it.” Twilight said confidently.

“Even if it involves a bit of flying?” A smug look from Celestia.

Twilight’s demeanor faltered, “Weeeeell...” To sum up Twilight’s skill at flying in a simple analogy: Twilight was to Fluttershy, as Fluttershy was to Rainbow Dash. Her maiden flight at her coronation had begun well, and ended disastrously when she crash head over hooves into the royal vineyards. Turns out grapejuice stains take more than magic to remove.

“Worry not Twilight, I have recruited the help of one Equestria’s finest fliers.”

Oh great, another famous pony she would have to entertain, probably a Wonderbolt, “And who might that be?”

“Rainbow Dash,” said Celestia, smiling as Twilight’s face lit up, “I have invited her, and the rest of your friends to come to Canterlot and help you with the preparations for the festivities”.

Celestia laughed softly as Twilight suddenly threw her hooves around her.

“Thank you, Thank you, thank you Pri—I mean—thank you Celestia". Twilight then managed to calm herself, "This means a lot to me.” More than you know—she thought ironically as she ended her embrace.

"I am glad to hear that," Celestia spoke warmly, "and so will Luna." With a graceful nod, Celestia turned towards the door.

So the cordial morning visit came to an end. The room had brightened as dawn had finally given way to day. Much the same could be said for Twilight.

“Twilight,” Celestia turned back to Twilight. By the tone in her voice, Twilight knew Celestia hadn't forgotten about the cup. The cup that, Twilight realized, she was trying to block from view, “I know it may be difficult to see me other than as a mentor and as your princess, but I hope you could see me as a friend as well. If there is anything troubling you, no matter how small, you can always go to your friends. Luna and I included.”

“I will, Celestia,” Twilight said with a nod. Celestia pressed the subject no further and made to leave.

It was now or never, thought Twilight. She made to speak and found, just as earlier, that she couldn't. Instead, she found herself doubting.

How did she know if any of this had actually happened? She had had nightmares before, and she had experienced Sombra’s magic back in the Crystal Empire. Both experiences had felt real, too real, yet they had all been in her mind.

What is there to say that this is any different? Her body is sore, but that could easily be psychosomatic.

Twilight looks into her mirror, its surface unmarred, and inspects her reflection. It too is normal—and rose tinted.
Could all this be urgency of her own manufacture?

It is now or never, Princess.

“Celestia, wait!” Twilight ran into the library after the princess.

~

From above and out of sight, in one of the library’s windowed alcoves, sat Cinder Hooves. Well… not so much sat as hid. She watched the two princesses converse below her. The topic seemed intensely personal, from what Cinder could hear—which was all of it.

“Luna made mention that you had a nightmare.” Celestia’s voice comes to Cinder, clear as ever. Cinder wishes that she had thought to leave when Celestia had first arrived, or that she was hard of hearing. She had been watering Twilight’s philodendron when she heard the mirror shatter. The alcove she was in contained an interior window, for decoration and lighting, and it looked into Twilight’s bedroom. From there, Cinder saw that Twilight had broken the mirror with her magic. She was hesitant to do anything at that moment—being twice shy of Twilight’s magic—opting for an observational role.

Twilight’s voice now, anxious and urgent.

“I don’t think it was a nightmare, it couldn’t have been.”

This is what you get for being curious, Cinder, you end up learning something you’re not supposed to. The princesses won’t be pleased to know you’ve been eavesdropping.

She found herself becoming inclined towards the leafy disposition, and had to stop herself. As long as Cinder didn’t make any sudden movements, or transformations, she would likely stay undetected. Better the marble disposition, she noted, looking at the white and gray marble that composed the alcove, and how closely it matched the colors of her own coat and mane—or lack there of. This was one of the few times she could appreciate her overly subtle complexion.

“If what you experienced was indeed not a nightmare, then you mustn’t think such thoughts Twilight. They are the only means by which he can harm you.” Celestia’s voice, firm and earnest, “You must not let him feed off the doubt in your heart. Most importantly you must not doubt yourself. There is no shame in using the dark powers as you did; they were the only means by which to free yourself from his control. And you were able to conquer the darkness he had set upon you. For that you should be proud.”

Twilight certainly didn’t look it, observed Cinder, from between the leaves of the philodendron.

Cinder liked Philo—her name for the plant—he didn’t taunt her, as did the rest of the vegetation in and about the palace. When Philo had still been a fledgeling sprout, resting on the windowsill in Twilight’s bedroom, the same window Twilight had placed Cinder when she first became a fern, they had had a moment of bonding—in a plant sort of way. Twilight had told Cinder that plants could communicate through chemical signals… or something. Chemistry aside, Philo had greeted her with what she would describe as a peppy Hi. Cinderfern had responded in kind, and thus began their rather usual friendship.

Cinder couldn’t communicate with Philo now, but judging how the glossy leaves seemed to reflect the light so happily, she guessed Philo was more than glad to help her hide.

Cinder looks back down at the two princesses. Celestia nuzzles Twilight gently before leaving the library. It is over, thank Celestia—literally. Cinder readies her escape.

But as soon as Celestia left, Cinder saw Twilight’s head and wings droop, looking defeated, and Cinder is struck by a different compulsion.

Spreading her wings, Cinder floats downwards, the flat and fringe tips of her feathers moving through the air soundlessly, not unlike the those of the barn owl. Her wings, too wide and large for high speeds and quick turning, found their forte in precision. Just before reaching the floor in front of the door to Twilight’s chamber, she gives a single flap, and moves backwards through the door, into the bedroom. Not a sound is heard, and only the slightest draft felt.

In the short time she spent in the guard, her stealth and complexion had earned her the callsign Ghost—an apt nickname even now.

~

Twilight hadn’t move throughout the duration of Cinder’s performance. Though, had Cinder the subtlety of Rainbow Dash, it was unlikely that she would have pull Twilight from her thoughts even then.

Why? Why couldn’t Celestia see the truth? Twilight hadn’t doubt in her heart nor had she been forced to use dark magic. She had given in, and she knew it. She hadn’t conquered the darkness, it had conquered her.

Celestia’s words, words spoken to comfort, but spoken in ignorance, for all their good intention, only added to the guilt in her heart.

Why couldn’t she see?

Then again, do you really want Celestia to see the truth? Wouldn’t her words of praise, even if undeserved, be better than her silent disappointment?

Mustn’t think such thoughts. Celestia’s words in Twilight’s voice this time. She had better things to dwell on than shadows and doubts. There were things she had to prepare for, the Summer Sun Celebration but one among them. Her friends would be arriving today and she was not going to let a bad dream—that was all it really was in the end—ruin it for her.

Twilight lifts her head and trots purposefully back into her bedroom. Heading towards her bed, it took a few moments to realize the room was not as she left it. The breakfast tray and dishes were gone, her shoes placed neatly at the hoof of her bed, the cup she had dropped removed, and somepony had cleaned away the spilt tea. On the sitting table, the teapot still remains and next to it was a saucer containing the broken cup. She went to the table, repairing the cup with a quick spell, and pours herself one last cup of tea. Twilight smiled, the scowl she had been wearing disappearing as she sipped the tea.

“Thank you, Cinder,” says Twilight. Though Twilight didn’t see any sign of the pale pegasus, or an out of place fern, that didn’t mean Cinder wasn’t around to hear.

Cinder had a way of reminding Twilight of her friends beyond her silent and caring touch. For one, Cinder also liked to pull the occasional prank—looking at her shoes by the bed, she knew it wise to check them. Cinder had discovered that Twilight was herpetophobic—which was odd considering that she was raising a baby dragon. Odd, and easily exploited. For Cinder it was the perfect way to reimburse Twilight for turning her into a fern. Cinder’s weapon of choice: the garden-variety gecko common to the Canterlot Gardens—and now, common to Twilight’s room.

Similar to their close relative, the golden-tailed gecko, Strophurus taenicauda, the Canterlot gecko was a striking arboreal lizard, having a light grey body, scattered with black leopard-like spots, an undulating golden-orange band that extended from spine to tail, and slitted eyes that were lidless and a vivid amber. Preferring to live in trees and tall places, when threatened, these geckos would instinctively climb upwards in a spiral fashion termed ‘squirreling’. Were a pony to be, say… about to step on one hiding in a shoe, the little gecko would shoot up their leg with lightning fast reflexes.

Quick, clingy, and constantly moving, Twilight found that they were rather difficult to catch with her magic and impossible to shake off—much to her significant distress. How Cinder was capable of catching the tiny heathens, was beyond her. Though, if she were patient enough, she may, on occasion, spot one sunbathing on one of the windowsills or scurrying across the floors of her chamber.

Glancing at her shoes—their contents unknown, at her dress—the sleeve lightly stained by dried tea, at her wings—thinking about the prospect of flying, at her mirror—at what it may show her, she decides to forego her attire, entirely.

Maybe if it possessed a bit a function, she might reconsider. In fact she had a few ideas that Rarity might find useful.

It is four days until the Summer Sun Celebration. Twilight finds that she is looking forward to these next few days.

~

Far away, in the heart of the Everfree, beneath the ruins where once stood the Castle of the Two Sisters, is a cavern wherein grows a sacred tree. A tree planted after the Crystal Empire ceased to exist, grown from a seed cut from the very stone whence the Crystal Heart was forged. It grew in secret until it was discovered by the Two Sisters, grown in hopes to recreate the magic that once protected the land. In hopes that it could bring an end to the Age of Chaos.

A hope that was realized when the Tree bore its fruit.

The magic that has resided it this tree has diminished over the ages. Soon, so very soon, in the next day perhaps, this magic will fail.

The Two Sisters knew that without its fruit, the tree could still possess the magic required to seal away the many chaoses upon which it grew. Were it necessary, this magic could be renewed by returning its fruit, the Two Sisters reasoned. But in the decades that came, when the younger sister gave into her own inner chaos, when the power of the fruit withered away in the hooves of the elder sister, the tree slowly, inevitably, withered too.

The tree stands atop the Heart of the Everfree, and its magic will soon be inadequate to stop it from beating once more. Soon seeds, the growth of which were stunted up to now by this magic, will begin to grow, seeking to fulfilled their purpose—a purpose more than a thousand years old. They will drain what magic remains in the tree, and then they will spread outwards, across all of Equestria, in search of more.

One more day until the seeds take root. Two days until their growth expands beyond the confines of the Everfree. And three days until Twilight, heiress to the fruits’ magic, will be forced to pay for the Two Sisters’ negligence.

Four days until the Summer Sun—one sun rising, another setting.

Comments

[Jman14102]

Another fantastic chapter. A wonderful mix of story-building and lighthearted humor (I really like Cinder's character). I once again must praise your writing style and pacing, it manages to describe everything in detail, from character thoughts to environments, while not feeling overbearing in the process. Keep up the terrific writing.

[Bloodstone38]

I hope we see Sombra again soon.

[Gastredner]

I love the idea of the Cinderfern. Very nice chapter.

[PurpleAcid]

very nice chapter
but i wonder if Sombra will appear soon

[The Book]

Four days until the Summer Sun—One sun rising, another setting.

SOON...

[Peridance Glow]

I cannot put into words how much I am loving this story.

[The oracle]

5300160 And the ever free began its assault on the world of ponies.