The Worst of All Possible Worlds

by TheTimeSword

World 10

“Easy for you to say. Magic turned you into something beautiful. The last time I tried to use it, it turned me into a monster. I'm just so afraid it's gonna happen again,” the Twilight Sparkle with glasses explained.

Sunset Shimmer stepped closer as she became lost in a memory. “Yes, last time I turned into something amazing, but I've let magic turn me into a monster, too. So if anyone understands what you're going through, it's me. I can help you, Twilight. And the rest—“

“She really does understand, does she not?” one Discord said to the other. They watched together as Twilight Sparkle and Sunset Shimmer argued, trees and tents around the girls with a lake not far off. It was all shown by the little television screen in the dark, drab place they enjoyed congregating. “You have to admit it. She has grown,” he said in his formal, strange pronunciations.

The other Discord frowned, his thin black mustache stretching down. “I won't disagree. She kicked me to the curb and did what I believed impossible. But whenever a bit of chaos gets thrown into the mix, the impossible becomes improbable.”

The first Discord blinked, and then swiveled his head away from the screen to face his companion. “You do not mean to say our interference led to the possible—what would have once been impossible—do you?”

“I do.” The mustached snapped his fingers together and a few other television screens illuminated, each inlaid side by side. The glow brightened the two Discord's faces, pushing back the darkness from around them. “Seven worlds. More, had you not interfered. Without you, seven doubles—triples almost! Without you? No me! No world of chaos, no Princessland.” The screens showed moments of victory for Sunset Shimmer in each of the worlds. A scattered board game. A broken mirror. A destroyed book. All touches by the unicorn's presence.

“And that is a bad thing?” the formal Discord asked. “She restored one of us, and we gained something more. If what you say is impossible, then surely our interference is for the best. Of course, we can never know—alas, pointless to discuss.”

The mustached Discord sneered and nodded. “But who knows what we could've witnessed? So many worlds lost—so many stories snuffed out from our viewing pleasure!” He grew hot, but his temper subsided with haste. There was no point in getting angry with yourself. “I suppose it's true. Sunset Shimmer did more than just save one of us and that world. Her own actions will ripple across the strings that tie these universes together." He then crossed his arms and gave a snort. "Still. Those worlds might have been interesting."

Another voice from behind them interjected. “If you want a look, why not just see what they're up to? Surely they must have something worthwhile—even a short glimpse.”

The two Discords looked at each other. “View a world in the line that Sunset didn't go to?” the formal questioned.

“Skipped by Sunset, true. But altered from her own,” the voice mentioned. "Then you two could try to imagine what it would've been like had Sunset gone at all."

"A brilliant idea!" The mustached Discord pulled out the remote and hit a few buttons. "Let's choose one at random—this one! I wonder what's wrong with it that could've led to Sunset's miserable failure."

"Or her wild success!" the formal argued while wringing his hands in delight.

The two Discords became entranced with the new world, and the voice stifled a laugh. "Glad I could help."

---

The wooden balcony sat two stories above the side entrance, its overhang shadowed the guard standing below. Plastic morning glories of violet and blue hung over the railing. They didn't come close to the guard's pink plume that sat atop his golden helmet. His outfit, the color, everything about him—Twilight Sparkle recognized him as a member of the royal guard. But he was alone, and she could see everything.

It might have been night but Twilight knew the building wouldn't be empty. It'd have working ponies almost as numerous as the day. Not that day existed any more. The Everglow Shield that surrounded Canterlot stood as reminder of that—a dome of lilac colored glow that was never truly bright enough to match what used to be the sun. Most ponies needed lamp light to see, but Twilight wasn’t such a normal pony. She used to be pupil to Princess Celestia. Spells and incantations were her domain. Of course, that was a lifetime ago. Things would never have gotten this bad had Celestia not disappeared.

But her mentor's teachings had not gone to waste. An enchantment on her eyes—night vision—allowed Twilight to see the door, guard, balcony, morning glories, and paint chips, all as though the sun still rose. She did this all without being seen by the guard. Darkness shrouded her and her alley, and the jet black outfit she wore made her invisible in the void. There would be no way he could see her—but hearing a creak of boards was different. The balcony had its own doorway into the building, but two stories up wasn’t enough distance for the sound to be lost. How observant would he be?

She wanted to be a ghost. Get in, get out, no one the wiser. If she knocked out the guard, if she got spotted, or if she roused suspicion of a possible intruder, an investigation would be called. But if a box or two went missing, the blame might fall on a worker or guard—not an outside thief. They wouldn’t post more guards for that, only search the workers more than they already did. A smuggler is a rich businesspony’s first thought when there’s never mention of a break-in.

This wasn’t Twilight’s first rodeo either, but she had never been to this building. This warehouse was a new addition, purchased for the sole purpose of storing the famous Flim and Flam Goldlight. The fuel was created by the twin brothers, and stood as the most valuable substance in the world—or what was left of the world. All life depended on Goldlight. Not only did the brothers sell it to plantations—which they also owned shares in—they also sold it commercially, to be used in their own metallic inventions.

Goldlight had become a status symbol. A storefront that had bulbs coursing with the glowing unnatural liquid were seen as well-to-do, while those in candlelight—or worse, unicorn magic—were seen as lowly. Serfs, peasants, or those that simply did not make enough bits in their craft could not afford the luxury. Homes of nobility had long since replaced their candlesticks with the bulbs on strings. Canterlot Castle was always lit up, no matter the hour, with the golden glow. A display of dominance.

Twilight frowned at the idea of the castle. She did not desire to be anywhere near the two twin brothers, though she had heard they rarely visited anymore. Some proof to that was here. This moderate building, newly acquired, was several districts away from the castle—and their other warehouses. They had to be expanding, maybe planning to hoard some Goldlight to raise prices. Their mysterious golden glowing liquid was valuable enough to have guards at every warehouse and factory that housed the stuff.

But the reason didn't matter. She needed the Goldlight. Just enough for a month or two. And it would be now or never. The guard looked half asleep.

With a teleportation spell, Twilight landed perfectly on the wooden balcony. She couldn't move, however, for fear that the boards might creak. If they did, the sound alone might cause the guard to investigate. Instead, she was going to perform a second teleportation by viewing the inside through the keyhole. She dared not teleport directly into the factory without knowing the layout, that might end up with her teleporting into a vat of the golden fuel. Yet now she found herself at an impasse, staring at the door that didn't have a keyhole.

She knew of two directions she could take—open the door where the hinges might squeak, or teleport inside blindly and possibly alert a worker. Of course, there was a third option. She glanced over her shoulder back at the darkness of the alleyway. Biting her lip, she knew she couldn't turn back now. Well, she could, but wouldn't. Others were counting on her.

A moment passed of silent contemplation before she turned the knob with her magic and found the door unlocked. She held her breath, waiting for it to creak. When she could see just enough in, she teleported inside and then, at a snail's pace, closed the door. With a sigh of relief, she found herself in the manager's lounge. Beige wallpaper was still being placed on two of the walls, and the bulbs overhead lacked the golden liquid. A burgundy loveseat made of vinyl sat with a short, curved coffee table in front of it. The only other entrance to the room sat east, just left of the loveseat, and a large window ran the north wall, stopping when it reached near the door. The glow of Goldlight passing through the window's obnoxious aluminum blinds was the only light in this upper room.

Looking out, she expected several night workers. Loaders, unloaders, movers. Instead, lit by a few of the overhead lamps of Goldlight, she found a round table sitting on the factory floor. Her face had to be pressed against the glass just to see them as they sat right below the overhang of the lounge. Five ponies—their uniforms matched Flim and Flam colors—were sitting around playing with cards.

"Lazy louts," she silently mouthed. She could not hear them—which made sense, the room would be fairly soundproof. Higher ups always made it a point to keep their conversations hushed as to avoid business deals going south. She'd been in Canterlot all her life—before and after the Great Upheaval, as somepony foreign might ask. Touching hooves with the upper class had its perks, though her parents knew that more so.

But soundproofing alone wasn't the only reason she could not hear the jovial conversation below. Twilight crept to the second door. This one had a keyhole, to which she used to scan the second room. Another table, this one longer and filled with papers, sat in the center of the room. A door, which she assumed led down into the factory, sat next to another large window to the left. This one had pink and gold curtains that were closed. Those colors were of the royalty, which meant Flim and Flam had adapted them to their own style without shame.

Twilight couldn't see anyone inside, but she couldn't see all of the room. There was a blind spot, just to the right of the door. After twisting the latch and turning the knob, she opened it enough to peer in. Tall stacks of cardboard boxes sat against the wall and pushed from it—a tell-tale sign of someone moving in. They made a large curve, taking up that corner of the room entirely.

Without bothering to close the door behind her, Twilight entered the room and skipped to the papers covering the table. She would take a few, for fun, in the hopes of disturbing the peace among the workers. She'd done things like this before in the other factories and warehouses. If it was only Goldlight that went missing then a burglar would surely be the cause—but a stick of gum? A pen? Work boots, a small amount of bits, or a box of labels? It was safe to say she wasn't the only one taking these things, and the higher ups couldn't force mandatory searches for things like pens. At least, not without a revolt and strike from the workers. To use royal guards for that would be scandalous.

But these weren't empty sheets of parchment and a few scribbled notes. Twilight had hit a figurative motherlode in terms of knowledge. These scraps of paper were the plans for how to make a diluted version of Goldlight. Twilight couldn't believe her luck. She didn't even know what she was looking at—but this was better than Goldlight. For years she had tried to come up with a way to replicate the fuel, and now here it was, being diluted for a cheaper product. The entire manufacturing process—except for a mysterious secret ingredient. A bit of paraffin mixed with a few drops of quicksilver, some corn starch, golden food coloring, and an unknown spell marked as 'F&F'.

"Of course. They own the mines and farms, no doubt they've got the best wizards," Twilight mumbled. "But that isn't difficult. I could replicate it and try a few spells." The documents showed how to mix the quicksilver in and lessen the starch and paraffin to create a brighter glow that wouldn't last as long—driving up the need to buy more. "I should copy this." She glanced around for a spare paper, which she found with a pencil underneath a few scraps.

As she wrote down the ingredients and committed them to memory in case it was lost, she remembered to keep tabs on the party below. Turning back to the door she'd come through, Twilight looked through to see if the lights were still on. When she saw they were, she crept to the curtains and looked out. A metal catwalk with stair walkway led down to the storehouse floor from the door next to the curtains. The five at the table were still slacking off.

But a sudden groan sent her reeling away from the window, the curtains still swaying from her sudden movement.

It hadn't come from the window, and her bump against the table rattled the pencil she'd been using straight off. "What was that?" a voice asked—and it came from the room.

Twilight turned to the only other objects aside from the table. The stacks of cardboard boxes weren't just stacks pushing out from the wall—they were a barrier to completely hide a pony behind it. Not just any pony either. A disheveled, exhausted looking, unicorn—and one half of the twin brothers. "Flim!" Twilight wanted to bellow, but held her tongue. She could see him perfectly, but she knew he couldn't see her. Not yet. Not with the lights still out—but he was a unicorn.

His horn lit, catching her in shock. "Who—" he started to yell, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Things tumbled out of control in an instant. Twilight sent the table with all the documents at the brother, who sent it reeling back at her. Through the window it went, which Twilight narrowly avoided, shattering the glass and rousing the workers below. The short bout of tennis allowed her a moment to run to the door, slamming and locking it behind her. She didn't wait for him to teleport in if he could. She rushed and threw open the balcony's door, leaping into the night and teleporting to the alleyway.

Twilight didn't look back. She ran, teleported, and ran some more. There was no way she'd allow herself to be caught now. The ingredients were locked in her mind—she was the only one who could break the brothers' monopoly, the very thing that dominated control of the remaining cities of Equestria. Everyone she loved could live permanent, healthy lives with her new knowledge. She just had to make it back.

Those that were awake at this late hour saw nothing but a black blur pass them, though most only heard her hoofsteps. She ran to the one place she relied on. A place that made her feel safe—the same place that needed Goldlight more than ever. A short turn, she went down an alley and past several old shops that had long been up for sale. Then through the yard where some of Old Shortbeard’s prized petunias drew eyes during the working hours. Hopping a short chain link fence, Twilight then trotted through the playground to the back entrance of her school. Her former school—and current employer.

With two rough knocks of her hoof, she waited for the stallion to answer. Principal Loyal. Young, handsome, and would be a complete failure if not for Twilight. Of course, she knew that and never said as much, because she assumed he knew it too. But if he was nothing, he did at least live up to his name. “Twilight?” he whispered from behind the door as the sound of locks being undone echoed.

When it opened, Twilight rushed inside past him. “Close the door and come quickly,” she said to him in the darkness of the kitchen. She didn’t wait for him to respond. Twilight headed past the pantry and out into the cafeteria where colts and fillies would sit for lunch during working hours. Once in the great entry hall, she looked to the front door, making sure it was locked. All the lights were out except a few candles on the upstairs balcony. They couldn’t waste Goldlight frivolously—not yet, at least.

“Twilight?” Loyal came up behind her, his horn lit. “Where’s the tanks? Did you manage to get any?”

“Better,” she said, turning to face him. “Anyone else here? You made sure the school was empty, right?”

“Of course. Rosethorn was here a few hours ago but I sent her packing. I gave her the whole spiel about how the School for Gifted Unicorns needs professional teachers, and that teachers who get a good sleep are often the most professional. She ate it right up and then—“

Twilight walked away as he droned on, heading over to the big staircase that sat against the right wall. There were classrooms upstairs, but it was beneath the staircase she wanted. A small door under the banister, the broom closet, held a second door on the inside. This one led down with a small set of stairs into a grey stone basement. She didn’t bother lighting candles since her night vision spell still held, but Loyal lit a few as he followed.

The room was smaller than any of the classrooms, but would hold if the students needed a place to hide. And it was the perfect place to keep the school’s Goldlight—though there was so little of that now. The castle hadn’t brought in their latest supply, and the last few of Twilight's thefts were less than extraordinary. Only a few tanks still held, along with some extra glass tubes to hold the liquid.

Without waiting, Twilight crossed the small room to the far side, passing by the single log pillar that pushed against the wooden rafters. A counter sat on the far side, junk, extra loose components for spells, and learning instruments littered the space. It also held all of Twilight’s notes. She quickly pushed the used papers aside and took an empty sheet. With ink and quill, she jotted down the recipe.

“What are you doing?” Loyal asked, coming up behind her with a candlestick levitating at his side.

“I got something better than Goldlight. I got their recipe, Loyal,” Twilight replied as she turned to look at him, a smile on her face. “I know how to make Goldlight—all except for their secret spell.”

Loyal’s face split in two with an open mouth grin. “Twilight!” He hugged her tight, and then shook her from side to side. “That’s amazing! That’s stupendous!”

“It wasn’t easy—I was seen. And I’m not sure what their spell is exactly.”

“Well it’s a shame we don’t have some of the brightest young minds here in Equestria available to do research or anything!” he sarcastically said a second before bursting into laughter. “Oh, I can’t believe it! I wouldn’t have thought I’d see the day. To think—wait, you said you were seen? Seen by who—“ A sudden knock upstairs cut him off.

Twilight squinted and gritted her teeth. “There’s no way. They couldn't know.”

He looked to the stairs, then to her. “I’ll see who it is—you get changed. And wait here.” Loyal then trotted up and out of the basement.

Twilight went back to her notes, quickly duplicating them into a second piece of paper and stuffing them into a random book. With it done, she could hear voices coming from the great hall. Refusing to wait, Twilight stepped like a cat up the steps as she removed her outfit. With a creep and crawl to the closest’s door, she scanned entry hall. “—We have a report of a blackened figure running through a yard near here,” she heard a stallion say to Loyal. She could see the pink plume of a helmet above Loyal’s head.

“Old Shortbeard,” she whispered to herself. “I’ll make sure that mean fool has a few of his petunias go missing over the coming weeks.” She couldn’t stop herself from getting a tad angry—it wasn’t the first time Old Shortbeard had been troublesome to the school. Loyal could deal with the guards just fine, though. But as she went to head back down, she made the mistake of knocking her stealthy outfit into one of the brooms. It hit a wall, then the corner before settling, each time making an echoing thud.

“Is there anyone else with you, principal?” she heard the guard ask.

“Uh, yes—“ Loyal replied, and she knew she was in trouble.

As she rushed back down the steps, she could barely make out the guard asking to send in another officer. With haste, Twilight looked for a place to hide her outfit, but the basement had no closets of its own. She could teleport away—but it may look suspicious now that Loyal admitted to not being alone. Looking to the ceiling, Twilight noticed the rafters above had a little space between them and the ceiling. Without debate, she levitated the clothes up and left them there—one of the legs barely dangling down against the wooden beam.

A sigh of relief left her, to which she sucked back up when a voice called from above. “Anyone down there?” a stallion called, though not the same one at the door.

“Y-yes?” she replied, trying to think of what she could say or what reason she would have for being here so late into sleeping hours.

The guard’s metal boots rang out like gongs as he stomped his slow way down the steps. “I saw the candlelight and the open door—are you alone? Miss?”

Twilight couldn’t believe her eyes. This was the guard? A fortunate turn of events! “Shining Armor!?”

“Twily?” he replied as he was hit with an embrace from his little sister. “I knew you worked here but I didn’t think you’d be here so late at night. What are you doing here?”

“Me!?” She pushed away from him, staring up with all the anger she could muster. “What are you doing here? In Canterlot? I thought you weren’t ever coming back.”

His eyes fell away from hers. “Captain Nightwish—the captain over Manehattan—said he was tired of looking at how miserable I was. So it was either be reposted to Canterlot or be removed from the guard. Can’t say I didn’t debate the latter.”

“You big jerk! Have you told mom and dad you’re back? No—I know you didn’t. They would’ve told me if you had!” She turned away from him, facing the counter on the opposite wall. “Does Cadance know you’re back in Canterlot? She was pretty hurt when you resigned from being captain and fled to Manehattan.”

“I didn’t flee, Twilight.” He stepped passed her into the room, trotting up to the pillar in the center. With a single motion of his head, he scanned the countertop. “You know why I had to leave. I couldn’t be here anymore. Everyday was just another day that I felt like a failure. Even in Manehattan, every time I look up I’m reminded of how I failed. I couldn’t take it. And I couldn’t tell myself to remain, not even for Cadance.”

Twilight didn’t respond. She just stood, staring at the ground behind her brother. It was hard to think of what to say. Her fear, her panic, her excitement, they all fought to make her feel a certain way. He then asked, “Have you talked to her?”

“We meet at least once a week—well, actually it’s been less lately. She’s been having to deal with more. I’ve tried getting her to add more staff. It’s hard for her doing it all by herself.” A sudden glint caught her eye. Right behind Shining Armor’s left back leg, a little shard of glass. She shot a look up at the outfit, but couldn’t make out if it had fallen before or after he had entered.

“Has she said anything about me?” he asked as he turned back to her.

She snapped her head down, meeting his eyes before they had even turned their gaze to her. “Of course! She misses you. We all miss you.” With a few big steps, she reached and pushed him away from under the rafter and the outfit. “She’d be delighted to know you’re back in Canterlot.” His eyes fell dull, his mouth a hard line. “It wasn’t your fault, Shining,” she said, suddenly hot.

The surprising heat snapped his attention to her. “Twilight—I couldn’t protect her. I was—“

“No! You don’t get to come back to Canterlot, to come back into my life, and keep blaming yourself! How do you think I felt? I was her pupil—if there was anyone who should’ve known anything—it was me! I’ve moved past my guilt. There’s no changing the past, Shining. Stop blaming yourself for something that was out of your control!”

Shining Armor’s eyebrows had shot up, the look of shock spreading across his face. When her rant finished, and his shock dissipated, a smile pushed up his thick cheekbones. “I guess I have been a way for a long time. I don’t remember my little sister having the guts to yell at her BBBFF.” His eyes then fell back into sadness. “Maybe you can move on, Twily. But I was meant to protect her. I failed to do my duty. And because I failed, now the world has to live in darkness, only protected by—“ He motioned to the tanks of Goldlight.

She wanted to get mad again, but his face said it wouldn’t work. “I’m glad you’re back in Canterlot, Shining. You should see Cadance again. She’d be really happy to see you. And we should get together soon, and not just at my work.”

“Speaking of which,” he started to say, his eyebrows shooting up. “Candlelight. Cozy little room here. Only you and that principal here tonight. Odd.”

Twilight squinted at him, her mind racing to the outfit and the recipe. “Odd? What do you mean?” she said, trying her best to sound innocent.

“Is he nice?” he asked. “Quite handsome. Since I’m back in Canterlot, maybe I should start keeping an eye on him.” She studied him suspiciously. “Especially since you’re here. After hours. Alone.” He grinned. “Well, not alone, since he’s here.”

Her face lit up in a heat. “Yo-you aren’t seriously implying—“ She threw her head back in a haughty tilt. “I am just here trying to make sure our supply of Goldlight is well maintained for tomorrow. He and I—it’s not like—stop snickering, Shining Armor!”

He held a hoof to his mouth, letting his laughter subside. “Speaking of which, you wouldn’t have heard anyone breaking into that new Flim Flam warehouse, would you? We got reports of a suspicious pony running this way. We’re checking the area.”

She blinked. “New warehouse?” she asked. Her life consisted around avoiding anything Flim Flam related—she was a teacher and nothing more. Only her love of books was more well known. “In Canterlot? I don’t know. Me and Loyal have been down here for a while—Shining Armor, stop giving me that look or I’ll tell mom and dad! Then you’ll really want to leave Canterlot again!”

“Tell mom and dad?” He fluttered his eyelashes. “Wouldn’t that be an interesting thing to tell them? I’ll bet they’d love to hear all about how I found you tonight. A definite interest for them, I’d say.”

Twilight squawked an outburst before going even more red. “Get out of here!” She pushed against him, shoving him toward the stairs. “You haven’t lost your touch at being super annoying!” He then moved on his own and she fell away from him, almost losing her balance.

“Alright, alright. Twily, I’ve got to get back to the lieutenant. I’ll make sure to see mom and dad. Don’t stay out too late now. Wouldn’t want the kids to show up to something unexpected in the morning,” he shouted down from the broom closet. His laughing could be heard in the entry hall, and eventually silence permeated the air.

She waited for Loyal instead of going up to check to see if they had gone. Minutes passed. The young principal eventually bustled down the stairs with a candle in his magical grasp. “That was lucky, Twilight! Did you know that guard? When he came down, I was worried—”

“That was my brother,” she said, and a sigh parted her lips.

“Brother! Was he suspicious?”

“No. But we better call it a night. The recipe can wait.” She put a hoof on Loyal’s shoulder, giving him a smile. He was handsome, but the dumbfounded look on his face was more common than she liked. Leaving him, she took the front entrance instead of the kitchen exit, though she looked both ways down the street. Shining Armor and the other guard were gone, and she wasn’t sure which direction. But she didn’t plan to head home. Not yet.

Seeing her brother stirred memories. Ancient memories. “A white alicorn,” her heart whispered, and Twilight stared up at the glowing castle. Her mind brought her up the roads to the marble walls. Guards were around, but she passed by them with only a few teleports. They wouldn’t appreciate someone stalking around the grounds this late into the sleeping hour—even if she was friends with the princess.

And they didn’t need to know that she often came here, teleporting up story after story. Up to a balcony overlooking Canterlot. It didn’t really matter which one. She’d stood on them all, side by side with her teacher. A lesson here, a special moment there. She could even see now, standing on one such balcony, the warehouse she’d stolen from. “Funny how we all changed. A good little student then, now what am I?”

She crossed her forelegs over the railing and just stood. Some parts of the city never stopped glowing, even at such late hours. And the Everglow Shield was ever present in its dim lilac glow. But in a calm way, the sleeping hours were better than working. Ponies didn’t chatter on this late, and the cries and calls in the market had ceased a while ago.

It was so silent that the swish swish of a frilly dress was audible long before it ever came close to the balcony’s doorway. But Twilight didn’t care who it was. If they knew who she was, they wouldn’t turn her away, and that was only if they asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know anypony was out here,” the mare in the dress called.

If it wasn’t the princess, it was a guest. And a guest wouldn’t know if Twilight was meant to be there or not. “They never do,” Twilight murmured to herself. “It’s fine,” she replied to the mare without looking at who she was.

“Do you mind if I join you? I need some fresh air,” the mare asked, though she didn’t wait for Twilight to tell her no. The mare crept up beside Twilight, resting one of their forelegs on the railing. “Who are you?” she asked.

With a quick look, Twilight saw that the white unicorn was in a deep purple dress that didn’t touch the ground. The skirt was two tone, and all together looked decently made. Not that she cared much about the fashion of nobles. “Twilight,” was all she replied before turning back to the city.

“I’m Rarity,” the white mare replied. “Are you guest of Princess Cadance too? Come for the upcoming gala? It’s a wonderful thing, is it not? Princess Cadance reintroducing a gala. The world does need some excitement again.”

“Mhm,” Twilight replied as she debated jumping over the railing.

“Did you ever get to go to the Grand Galloping Gala back when—“ the mare paused.

The sudden stop irked Twilight. If the mare was going to bother her, the least she could do was finish her sentence. With a quick glance, she caught the mare staring at Twilight’s rump. “What are you—“ Twilight went hot in the face, the memory of Shining mocking her with Loyal still fresh in her mind. Now this mare was staring at her?

“Oh!” The mare snapped out of it. “I’m sorry. Your cutie mark. You said your name was Twilight. Are you the Twilight Sparkle?”

“How do you know who I am just by my cutie mark?” Twilight almost growled. What was this mare’s name? Rarity?

Rarity looked abashed. “I’ve made a rather big mistake, haven’t I? Please don’t tell Princess Cadance I’ve told you—she wants me to make a dress for you as well. For the gala. It was supposed to be a surprise, but apparently you were going to accompany her.”

“Cadance said that?” Twilight’s anger left her like a paper bag blown by wind. “I didn’t think—I mean, we’re friends, but I—“

“Friends with the princess?” Rarity went starry-eyed. “I am so envious! A simple dress maker like me, here in Canterlot, getting to make dresses for such important ponies!”

“I’m not important,” Twilight said, though she knew it wouldn’t be taken for anything other than modesty.

Rarity scooted closer, her face wide with a smile of white teeth. “How is it you know Princess Cadance? Are you close?”

“Yes, though I was closer with the last princess.” As soon as she said the words, she wanted to suck them back in and smash her face straight into the nearest wall.

Just as she had known it would, the mare blew up in a whirlwind of questions and glee. “You know Princess Celestia? You’re the pupil, aren’t you!? I’ve heard of you, and now the things Princess Cadance was saying make sense! And now here I am, invading your privacy in the middle of the night!” The mare suddenly went quiet, much to Twilight’s surprise. She even stepped a few steps away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get excited, I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

Twilight stared in shock. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she replied, now truly modest. This mare was certainly not from Canterlot. No noble stock would've apologized to the lost pupil—except maybe if they were within earshot of Princess Cadance.

There was silence for a moment. “If you want, I’ll go,” Rarity eventually said.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not actually staying in the castle. I just needed some space—not to say having one pony here is uncomfortable or anything,” Twilight replied, and quickly shut her mouth before she embarrassed herself.

And there was more silence before Rarity once again broke it. “If you don’t mind, can I ask the question? I’m sure you get it asked a lot already, so it’s alright if you say no.”

“What question?” Twilight’s brows furrowed at the thought. “Oh.” They fell apart before her mouth became tight. “That question.” She held her tongue for a moment. “No. I don’t know where Celestia went.”

“Right, right.” Rarity too held her tongue.

This time Twilight broke the silence. “If I did, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” She motioned from left to right across the sky. No sun, no moon, and no stars. Just pitch black. Of course, she didn’t look for long. Her eyes trained back to the city.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you get that asked a lot. I understand the princess does too. But where do you think she went? I always thought she grew tired of being in Equestria and returned to the sun, taking the moon and stars with her as she traveled the cosmos,” Rarity described. Twilight shot a look at the mare that made the white fur turn bright red with embarrassment. “Just a filly thought, I know!”

“I have no idea where she could have gone, or why the sun and moon and stars are gone with her. I hope wherever she is that she’s safe. And that she knows we miss her.”

Rarity gave a nod. Twilight could see the white mare in her peripheral vision staring out past the city, but she didn’t want to look out there. She kept her own eyes trained down at the school, or her parents, or even the warehouse she had been just a little while ago. It didn’t matter what she looked at, she knew the question was coming.

“What do you think it’s like out there?” Rarity asked, the worst question anypony could ask.

Twilight shuddered. The thought curdled her stomach. Most ponies had no idea what was beyond the Everglow Shields. They didn’t want to, or they couldn’t take the knowledge. But most of the time, ponies couldn’t see. They’d see the void, the pitch black darkness that surrounded the Everglow Shield, and assumed the world was still out there. Still waiting to be reclaimed. After all, the train tracks that ran to Manehattan or Ponyville, which were surrounded by their own tube-like shielding, proved the world still existed.

But Twilight knew the truth. She looked, once, with her night vision. The sight had sent her vomiting. Now, Rarity, this random dressmaker had asked the question she knew the answer to. Her eyes unsteadily raised from the city, past it, and past the city’s shielding. Out into the darkness, she could see it clearly. She could see where the land, their world, Equestria, stopped. And where the emptiness started.

---

Rainbow Dash glanced down at her watch, barely believing the time. “Really? Already?” She looked up at Applejack. “I’m still full of energy, too. I’m gonna have trouble sleeping tonight!”

"If you're lookin' for more work—" Applejack closed the back of the wagon before turning to face Rainbow Dash "—then you can pull the cart to the barn. Doing that by yourself should wear you out 'fore bed." The earth pony looked sweaty in the glow of Goldlight, but Rainbow Dash wasn't hot at all.

"If I do that, your lazy brother will have done nothing all day!" she remarked, throwing her hooves into the air. With a knowing look, she grinned at Applejack, and then eyed the corner of the cart.

Applejack rested on one of the rear wheels, throwing a look over her shoulder. "You got a real point there, Dash."

The red stallion raised his head, a rope dangling between his teeth. He pulled hard, tightening the harness on his back, and then let go. "Eenope," was all he said. With an ease in his stride, he and the cart began moving, forcing Applejack to jump back from the wheel. The mare grunted, and Rainbow Dash thought she saw a sly little smile on the stallion's face.

When they were alone, Rainbow Dash said, "Well, if we're stopping, I'll just practice some of my sweet speed tricks before bed." She planned to rush up and meet the top of the Everglow Shield. Before she could, Applejack asked a question. "Dinner?" Rainbow Dash repeated. "It has been a while since you invited me over."

"That sounds like you've been expectin' it," Applejack replied, a suspicious eyebrow raising as she spoke. "Almost as if payin' you wasn't enough."

Rainbow Dash felt her face grow hot. "I am pretty awesome at my job—it's the least you could do," she doubled down.

Applejack's serious glare went on for what seemed like minutes before it all broke into laughter. "That better be coincidence, Granny said the exact same thing. I ain't known you to eavesdrop either."

"You might want to check in with Apple Bloom for that," Rainbow said with a shrug. "But sure, I'll be there."

"Good. I'll have a little talk with her and once it's ready she can come get you." Applejack turned toward the Apple farmhouse that sat in the distance. "I'm sure she'll want to see you perform a few tricks—so don't show off too long. Granny might make you both eat it cold if you're late." She laughed as she walked away.

Rainbow Dash waved a hoof. "I won't be late!" she yelled before dashing into the air. There wasn't much room between the farmland and shield to practice the moves she used to, but the routines still felt good to do. And if she wanted to, she could go further toward Ponyville where the Everglow Shield was higher.

The Apple's farmland stretched a good deal towards Ponyville too. The fields were lit up with Goldlight bulbs, though they'd be turned off soon for the sleeping hours. The orchard where the Apple family grew their main produce had already gone dark. Applejack had explained something about how the trees still knew the seasons, even if winter never came to Ponyville. But that didn't really matter to Rainbow Dash. She was just the hired help, not needing to know more.

Performing tricks wasn't her plan, though. Rainbow Dash landed with hooves against the magical shield, flapping her wings to keep steady while upside-down. She watched as Applejack went home, into the farmhouse that she shared with her siblings and grandmother. When the door shut, Dash bolted as quietly to the barn as she could, piercing the second floor window with a loop and twirl. She landed with grace on the upstairs loft, a few bags of carrots and hay bales still scattered around. Creeping to the edge in the rough thatch, Rainbow Dash tried to not make a sound.

She didn't want to lose the element of surprise. The red stallion was unsaddling the harness, having already backed in their cart. One of the doors to the barn had fallen back shut, leaving the Goldlight outside to pierce the single opening. He hadn't plugged in the socket for the barn's bulbs either, most likely believing he could do everything in the dark. And Rainbow Dash knew he could—the dark made it better to sneak anyway.

When he released himself and prepared to walk out of the barn, Rainbow Dash struck. A full speed bolt straight onto his back. She tumbled on top of him for a moment as they both slid toward the doorway. He grunted, gasping for air—she must've knocked the wind out of him. "Ra-Rainbow," he said, breathlessly.

"That's for leaving so quickly," she told him as she stood up. He didn't move for a moment, and so she took the opportunity to look down at him. "What's the matter? Do I take your breath away?"

He sucked in air, and then groaned. "Eeyup," he said with the little bit of breath he could muster, a smile cutting his big cheeks in half.

"You don't need to breathe anyway." As she looked at him, his face upside-down, she then bent down and kissed him. He didn't seem shocked this time—maybe he was finally growing used to it. "I suppose this is closer to my place," she said once she broke away. "I'd just prefer to not be seen hauling it away, and the barn makes that harder."

As if he'd never been hit at all, the stallion jumped to his hooves and rushed to the cart. In a swift motion, he pulled out a barrel and brought it over to Dash. "I-I could bring it over for you, if you wanted me to," he said with the softest of voices.

Rainbow Dash tried to hold a straight face, but her brows shot up in surprise. "You want to come over to my place, huh? I was wondering when you were going to start coming out of your shell for me." She then took the barrel from him, and felt the lightness of its contents. "But because you decided to run off, I had to stick around with Applejack. She invited me to dinner tonight—so I think we'll be seeing each other a lot tonight. Especially if your granny has us sing those corny old songs again." As she talked, Dash lifted the lid off to examine the contents. "Mac—is this the one?" It was only half full on the apples, just like last time, and barely any vegetables or hay.

"Uh, eeyup," he stuttered. "We-we're not growin' the amount we're needin'. And so it's harder to fudge the amounts. I'm tryin' my best to get you extra but—"

Rainbow Dash cut him off with a hoof over his lips. "Mac, Mac. Hush. It's okay." She then wrapped her other hoof around the back of his neck, pulling the stallion close. "Tell you what—if another one of these is lost tomorrow night, then you might just need to come find it yourself. And you might just need to search my place." She grinned, and she could almost see him get redder, if that were possible. He gave a nod, and she sealed it with another kiss.

"Big Mac!" a sudden voice yelled, and they quickly broke their kiss apart. "Big Mac! Hurry up! I need help with supper!" It was Applejack, yelling from their home. "Don't make me send Apple Bloom out for you."

"You better go. I'll see you soon." Rainbow Dash slapped him on the back and he rushed off home. She waited for a moment, letting the smile slip from her face as she glanced at the lesser barrel. She thought for a moment of trading it with another one of the more full barrels, but time was against her. "Granny Smith and her hospitality," Rainbow cursed.

When the coast was clear, she hefted it onto her back and rushed outside, around the back of the barn. She couldn't see if anyone was out—not that they should be since this was the Apple family farm. But carrying the barrel on her back still filled her with paranoia. When she reached her home—a converted tree house that Applejack's younger sister, Apple Bloom used to use—she set the barrel down. After grabbing the rope ties from one of the tree's limbs, she hoisted it around the barrel and carried it up into the air. Most ponies didn't look up, and the Apple's were no exception. What was even up anymore, other than the Everglow Shield?

She did manage to not go completely into the Everglow's glimmering purple light as she passed through the darkened orchard. This was the path she normally took—around the outskirts, along the shield's wall where it connected to earth. She followed the little golden rods that stuck up and trailed the shield like a wall's baseboard. It stretched all the way around Ponyville and the Apple's farm, and the train station had its own—though it connected to Ponyville's. But that was the opposite direction.

Further on the way she went, away from the Apple farm, toward Ponyville, there was a small gap between. No one went here, no one wanted to end up here.

Shoddy tents and scraggy fire pits, this was nothing if not the worst part of the Ponyville zone. It was where those rejected by society went—or more accurately, cursed by society. But it was where Rainbow Dash brought the barrel, to the center of a camp on the edge, where even those cursed didn't want to be near. Dash knew the reason—most of those here were ponies, but the ones she came to see weren't.

"There she is!" one of the feathered vagrants hollered. "Rainbow Stash herself!"

The griffons all gathered around as Rainbow Dash undid the rope. They cheered and joked, grinning their beaks in delight at the barrel's presence. "Can't stay long fellas, where's Gilda? She here?"

"Where else would I go?"

The biggest tent—and perhaps the patchiest and ugliest—had a flap open up. A brown griffon with white face sauntered out, still wearing the flannel shirt she'd stolen from some boutique in Ponyville. "You sure took your sweet time. You said you'd be by yesterday," Gilda scolded, her face stoic as she trotted past a fire barrel. Her tail whipped as she walked.

"Better late than never," Dash replied. "It's something about winter or whatever. Plants know their stuff. I try not to listen to all that farm lingo."

"Really?" Gilda asked, but her voice made it clear she didn't really want to know. With her golden claws, she lifted up the lid and peered into the darkness of the barrel's contents. "Late and less. Maybe you don't listen to me either. When I said we needed more than last time, I meant more than last time!" As to prove her point, she slammed the barrel over, and the contents didn't even spill out onto the ground.

"I just told you. They aren't making enough. It happens every year or something. I don't know. Ration it out—I'm trying to make sure I get more tomorrow," Dash replied, trying her best to not grow angry.

Gilda clamped her claw around Dash's mouth. "I'm getting tired of the excuses, Dash. If you're late tomorrow, we might just have to come up there and borrow some ourselves."

Rainbow Dash slapped the claw away. "I'm the one doing all the work, Gilda!" She threw her hooves to the group of griffons growing around them. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be getting nothing in the first place. I'm trying my best—and I ration my own food, so you can do that too!"

"You're only there because of me!" Gilda bellowed, her beak inches from Rainbow Dash's eyes. "Or have you forgotten what I did for you? Already ready to leave your pal out in the cold while you sit on a happy little farm?" As if she needed to reiterate a point, she began unbuttoning her shirt.

"Gilda, you don't—"

"Look, Dash!" Gilda cut her off. Rainbow Dash didn't want to look, but the large griffon grabbed her jaw and made her. "Don't you forget it this time!" she remarked, and Dash couldn't look away. The missing feathers on her shoulder—the mark of skin after branding. In the shape of a circle with a line through it—feathers, fur, hair, it didn't grow back at that spot. Not once the Lifter's Mark was placed on the offender's shoulder. "Maybe we should let the guard know what's going on, then you can join us out here. Double what you planned tomorrow, and no less."

"Double!?" she gulped, but Gilda's eyes narrowed. "I-I'll try, for you." Rainbow Dash was let go, and she quickly leapt back away from the griffons. "I'll have more tomorrow. I haven't forgotten. I'll make sure of it," she told them in a voice so shallow. She didn't want to be reminded of the past anymore, but she owed Gilda more than anyone in whatever was left of the world.

"Good. We'll be waiting. Now go back to your happy little farm. We wouldn't want them—" Gilda stopped short, still buttoning back up her shirt. "Well, what do we have here?"

Looking up at Gilda, Dash then followed the griffon's gaze to behind Dash. In the darkness, barely seen by the flames of the encampment, she could see a little filly. "Rainbow Dash? Is this where you go?" asked a voice Dash recognized.

"Apple Bloom? What are you doing here?" Rainbow Dash asked, almost rushing to the filly, but a couple griffons gripped her shoulders. She looked back at them, struggling, before turning her eyes back to the filly. Gilda was already there at the filly, tugging on the big pink bow.

"One of the Apples, Dash?" Gilda asked, and did not need an answer. "Come on in, little gal. Our fires are warm." She pulled the obviously anxious filly further into the light. "Any friend of Rainbow Dash is a friend to all of us here. Isn't that right, Dash? We're friends, after all."

Rainbow Dash felt her stomach tighten, and her knees tried to buckle. "Gilda, just let her go. Apple Bloom! Go home. I'll be back at the farm soon."

"What's the rush, Stash?" one of the griffons that held her asked.

Gilda led the filly to the fire. "See? Nice and warm. Wouldn't want you to get cold, a little filly like you." She raised a claw to the fire as if examining it for the first time. "It's a rare tool out here, but I bet it's pretty common where you live, isn't it?" Apple Bloom started to answer, but Gilda cut her off. "It's a powerful tool, too. Strong enough to leave a mark on you." Gilda then sat down, keeping a claw planted on Apple Bloom's shoulder.

"Gilda! Let her go home now! Or else our deal is off, forever!" Rainbow Dash yelled with as much strength she could muster.

"Oh, Dash. Wouldn't it be something to keep her here, though?" Gilda asked Rainbow Dash before turning to Apple Bloom. "Do you know what a ransom is, little girl?" She said it with such a sickening sweet smile.

"Is it like handsome?" Apple Bloom asked, the look of worry crossing her face.

"Stop it, Gilda, or we're through being friends! I won't let you do anything to her!" Rainbow Dash growled, and struggled free from the griffons around her. She did not charge forward, however. Not with Apple Bloom so close to Gilda.

Gilda stared at Rainbow Dash for a moment with an almost sad expression. Rainbow Dash had never known Gilda to have such a look. "Fine, fine," she finally said, and patted the filly. "Run on home little apple." Rainbow watched as Apple Bloom looked at the griffons, then at her, before taking off into the darkness in the direction of home.

With a sigh of relief, Rainbow Dash bowed her head. "Thanks. For a second there I thought you were going to—" The sound of Gilda snapping her claws cut Rainbow off. Three griffons grappled her, grabbing Dash by her shoulders, neck, and wings. "Gilda! What are you doing?"

But Gilda wasn't looking back at Rainbow Dash. She sat in front of the fire, her arms now crossed, staring into the flames. "Looks like our friendship has taken us as far as its going to go. I should pay you back, make you suffer like I have." She put one of her claws over the shoulder that held the mark. "But I know you wouldn't really learn a lesson—and to be honest, I don't want to see you out here." Standing, Gilda then took a few steps toward her tent. When she reached the flaps, she called back to the griffons surrounding Rainbow Dash. "Break her wings."

---

The sign slapped against the window, now indicating the store was closed in big red letters. Some of the other shops down Canterlot’s main road had already locked up. Pinkie Pie could still see their last customers trailing off with their baked goods in paper bags. She could also see herself in the reflection of the glass—cold blue eyes staring back at her with a sharp glare. A voice called and she turned away to answer. “I can do it, don’t you worry!” she yelled in reply.

“Thank you, Pinkie!” It was Mr. Cake. She was still surprised that he hadn’t opted into closing the store early. His wife grew more incapable of helping as the weeks progressed, the pregnancy was taking its toll. But Pinkie made herself more and more available as time went on. She knew she would even be running the store once the baby was born, if only for a short while.

After locking the front entrance, she made her way to the kitchen and took the bag of trash to the backdoor. It was the last thing to do and then she could head to bed. Upon opening the door, she was reminded again that this wasn’t like Ponyville. Sure, she still worked—and lived—with the Cakes, but this was Canterlot. Buildings sat so close together like books on a shelf. The alleyway she stepped into wasn’t even enough for three ponies to walk side by side, if two, and certainly not Mrs. Cake and another pony—not with how big she’d grown.

The thought of somepony growing up in such conditions confused Pinkie. It was so foreign to how she’d grown, on a rock farm, in the open space, with the sun still high and the moon still blue. When stars sat overhead at the sleeping hours, and not the purple glow of that protective shield. What was it even protecting them from?

She hadn’t realized it but she had just been standing there, staring up at the Everglow Shield. It wasn’t until a trashcan being knocked over that she felt the fool for such reminiscing. Setting the trash bag down, she then stepped into the darkness of the alley. “Hello?” she called, hoping for no answer. The can that had fallen had to be theirs—the other shops all kept theirs by their doors. She regretted not fighting Mr. Cake on keeping their can closer, and regretted calling out even more.

Reaching up above the doorway, Pinkie knew there was a cord to turn on the Goldlight bulb but she didn’t want to take her eyes off the trashcan. Then her heart shot into her throat as she saw movement, only for panic to subside. “Oh! Well, hi there little guy!” It was nothing but a raccoon—one of the rare, few animals inside the domes. “Are you hungry? Trash is no place for you!” More confident, she looked up and pulled on the cord. With the light on, Pinkie stiffened. The raccoon wasn’t alone.

Behind the knocked over can laid a shaking, cowering yellow pegasus with pink hair trailing down the sides of her cheeks. She had her hooves covering her head, perhaps hoping the darkness and the trashcan had hid her well. “Excuse me?” Pinkie called, unsure of what to do. “Are you—are you alright? Do you need help?”

The yellow pegasus didn’t move. Pinkie looked down both ways of the alley before leaving the steps of the bake shop. The raccoon didn’t move, only stared in horror as she came close. “I’m not going to hurt you or yell,” Pinkie said, still staring down at the pony. She could see the rib cage through the fur—the poor mare must’ve been starving for a while. But the way the pony had her hooves up, Pinkie could see both shoulders. It was always keen to look and see if the Lifter’s Mark was on a shoulder before you helped, otherwise you might end up with the same mark. But this mare was without, and she hadn’t resorted to stealing either. Unless you count stealing from trash—which the authorities might, but Pinkie didn’t.

“Hey, you hungry? You’re not going to find anything in there. My boss is pregnant, we don’t throw out a thing,” Pinkie explained, hoping a joke might ease the pegasus.

It did work, for the most part. The pony didn’t stop shaking, but she did remove her hooves from her head, and she even looked up at Pinkie. “My name is Pinkie Pie. What’s yours?” The pony shuddered and looked away, and that’s when Pinkie noticed the raccoon hadn’t run off from her presence. “And what’s your friend’s name?”

The yellow mare finally answered that question. “C-Cherub. I-I’m Flu-Fluttersh-shy.”

Pinkie placed her hoof down for Cherub. “What a fitting name! Look at how cute you are,” she replied, and Cherub allowed a few scratches before it turned into gentle pats. “I’m Pinkie Pie. If you two are hungry, I was about to make myself dinner. I’d be delighted to have some guests join me.”

The two looked at each other, and Fluttershy sat up almost instantly. The prospect of food was obvious for such a malnourished pony, yet Cherub didn’t look the same. If the two had been together for a while, Fluttershy must be incredibly kind. “Come on,” Pinke said as she invited them in.

She couldn’t help but feel more and more sorry for them as she listened to Fluttershy’s tale over dinner. The poor mare had gulped down three bowls of broth before Pinkie could finish her first. With the food finished, Fluttershy opened up. “Coming from Cloudsdale? That must’ve been rough,” Pinkie said, wondering what had happened to the cloudy city. She remembered that the pegasi had abandoned it, the darkness overpowering their world. The Everglow Shields couldn’t surround it before the world became uninhabitable. It was like that for most places.

“I’m not sure where my parents and brother are,” Fluttershy said, her voice cracked as she spoke.

“You’ve just been out here all this time? No job?” Pinkie asked.

Fluttershy shook her head. “All I’m ever good with is animals. And it’s not—they’re not really—there’s not many—”

Fluttershy continued talking about her life for many hours, and Pinkie didn’t stop her. It was tragic, yet so interesting. Something new to the mundane. And not so different from Pinkie’s journey, aside from finding the Cakes. She didn’t realize how late it got until Mrs. Cake came down to the kitchen. The big mare almost bellowed at the sight of a raccoon in a bakery’s kitchen.

But Pinkie saw a use in Fluttershy. She convinced Mr. and Mrs. Cake to hire Fluttershy, freeing up the two Cakes to worry about the upcoming birth. Pinkie even offered Fluttershy to move in with her—it wasn’t much different than being back on the rock farm, sharing a single space with her sisters. And Cherub was allowed to stay so long as he remained upstairs during working hours. The prissy nobles of Canterlot would riot at the thought of a raccoon being anywhere near food.

Weeks passed. Fluttershy slowly got the hang of baking and managing the cash register. There weren’t any big orders to fulfill, and so there was little to worry over. Fluttershy grew healthier looking too. She’d needed to wear an apron for a while as her ribs shocked customers, but now they no longer stared at her gaunt face. It wasn’t often that she managed the cash register though. Her shyness often took over, and Pinkie would keep her in the back baking. It wasn’t a bad trade off either. Fluttershy had a brilliant idea to make cookies in the shapes of animals, and foals loved that sort of thing.

Business was surprisingly booming. Revenue was up, and Fluttershy hadn’t even accepted payment. “Food and shelter is payment enough right now, especially with a baby on the way,” she would say every time it was brought up.

And when the baby was truly on the way, responsibility fell on Pinkie in a way she hadn’t expected to happen so suddenly. “I’m getting her to the hospital, Pinkie,” Mr. Cake had said. “I need you to take what’s in the safe to the bank tomorrow. You’ll have to take your wage out before you do, but I trust you can handle that. The code is—”

Just like that, she was in charge. They trusted her with their money, their business, and their home. She didn’t want to fail them, yet she knew she would. She didn't hesitate. With the Cakes gone, she opened the safe and pulled out the large bag of bits, dragging it to her room. Fluttershy and Cherub were there, reading and cuddling as they had grown accustom to doing during sleeping hours. “What is that?” Fluttershy asked, and Cherub got up to come help Pinkie pull it in.

“Listen Fluttershy, you can’t keep saying you won’t accept payment.” Pinkie undid the strap and scooped several hooffuls of coins out. “I’m giving you three hundred bits, and you won’t turn it down or else I’ll make you clean the entire kitchen. I don’t want to hear anything but ‘I accept’ or ‘thank you, Pinkie Pie’, you got it?”

“Pinkie, I—thank you. Three hundred bits? That’s—I mean, that’s—”

“It’s about what I’ve made this year,” Pinkie interrupted. “You’ve worked so hard. Learning new skills, not giving up. I don’t even have to do most of my work anymore because I know you’ll already have it started. This isn’t just about earning your wage, this is a thank you gift to you. I don’t think we would’ve managed without you.” Fluttershy jumped from her bed and ran to hug Pinkie. Cherub squeezed in too, and they all got teary-eyed. They all had grown so close, so quickly.

A few days passed after that, but the tears had not settled for Pinkie. She’d ordered Fluttershy to go get more ingredients, knowing the Cakes would return while she was gone. Once they were home, Pinkie cried into their shoulders, apologizing profusely. She told them she had tried to figure out what had happened, that she could only point a hoof at the pony she invited in, and that there was no other explanation. “She must’ve been listening when you gave me the combination. It’s all my fault,” Pinkie told them, crying over the new twins they’d brought home.

They were disappointed. For the Cakes, thousands of bits had been stolen. And the one to blame was obvious—the bottom feeder living off their kindness. When Fluttershy returned with the ingredients, the guards were already there, waiting to make an arrest. Fluttershy cried out, wondering why she was being arrested, and what she had done wrong.

One of the guards, a white stallion, had come down the steps right as Fluttershy was put in cuffs. “This is all we’ve found. She must’ve moved the rest into her own account, sent it somewhere, or spent it,” he said, tossing the bag of bits on the counter. Mr. Cake opened the bag and counted out the contents.

Pinkie knew the amount and wasn’t surprised. “Three hundred bits,” Mr. Cake sighed. “There were thousands.”

“It wasn’t me!” Fluttershy bellowed, and Cherub tried his best to chew off the cuffs.

The newborn twins started crying, and Mrs. Cake took them upstairs. “Let’s get her out of here,” the white stallion said, and the guards pulled Fluttershy out the back. Pinkie watched them go, and Cherub stayed behind for a moment, a look of anger and resentment in his eyes, before he darted out after the pegasus.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Cake. I was the one who invited her in. It’s all my fault,” Pinkie cried, resting her head on the ground.

“No, no, Pinkie,” Mr. Cake soothed. He picked her up by her shoulders. “It’s not your fault that you were kind. Some ponies just aren’t right in the head, that’s all. She did good work, and business was booming. We’ll get plenty of customers still, and we’ve still got her ideas.” He then pulled the sack of three hundred closer. “It’s not like we’re hurting for money. We’ll survive. But I want you to take this.”

“I couldn’t—not after everything—”

“I won’t hear that. I’m not going to punish you for the good that’s in your heart.” Mr. Cake shoved the bag into her hooves. “If you still feel bad, I won’t mind it if you take diaper duty for awhile,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m not looking forward to that.”

Pinkie held the coins in both hooves, tears still in her eyes. She gave a nod. “Whatever you need, I’ll be there. I’ll work twice as much if I have to.”

“I don’t think anything I can say will stop you, unfortunately,” he replied with a tired smile. The sound of a crying baby rang out from above. “Take the night off, Pinkie. Right now we’ve got other things to focus on.”

She nodded and watched him trot up the stairs. When he was gone, she crept up to her room. The empty bed next to hers would have to go, or she could push them together for a bigger one. That debate had been on her mind for the last couple days. She hadn’t decided. If she did choose to do so, she'd have to replace the mattress—the guards had undone a few seams looking for the supposed stolen bits.

They wouldn’t have found it. Not on that side of the room.

After closing and locking her door, she went to the closet and pulled several clothes down. The wall behind, inside the closet, was brick and mortar. Unmovable to the naked eye. Yet they weren’t made of the same stone as the rest of the wall. She’d been around rocks for too long to not know how to create a false brick. She moved them aside with ease, opening to a cubbyhole the size of a filly.

There wasn’t much room here anymore. Stolen jewelry sat in one corner. Letters of correspondences sat in another. In the middle sat sacks and sacks of bits—though none was larger than the one freshly removed from the Cakes’ safe. She added the three hundred back to it before tying it closed.

Before she sealed back the fake wall, she noticed the open letter she’d forgotten to close. Taking it out, Pinkie decided that she would need to respond sooner now that they’d gotten plenty of bits. “Where had they gone?” she quietly asked herself as she reread. She tried to imagine it in Limestone’s voice, but it’d been so long since she’d seen her sister. Maud’s voice was easier to remember. She pined to see them again.

When she got to the end of the letter, she couldn’t help but smile. “We’ll be free one day. We’ll break the shields like the rocks back on the farm,” she mouthed Limestone’s words. “Unite the Lifters.”

Pinkie stopped, and frowned to herself. She thought of Fluttershy, and how she soon would be marked. “Sending another your way, girls. Maybe she’ll hate me. But they’re all going to hate us for what happens.”

---

“What an incredibly dark world,” the mustached Discord dryly said. “Both figuratively and literally. I wonder what happened? I'm not so sure I want to imagine Sunset Shimmer fixing that world. To be honest, I'm not sure I want to think about that world ever again.”

“I am glad I interfered, I would not have wanted to see her here,” the formal Discord replied. “Truly, my mistake, but a mistake turned blessing. A shame, though. I would have been interested in seeing how it could have been fixed. We will never know.” The mustached Discord nodded, and both cupped their hands over their respective chins.

Daydream Shimmer sat lounging on a cloth beach chair, though she hadn't seen the beach in a long while. It was comfortable to sit in and relax, and to read over the journal she'd kept. Of course, the only light in their darkness came from the televisions—and they complained whenever she created a lamp or light. But she had read and reread the journal several times already. It'd been a while since she went and saw Sunset Shimmer, yet the memory was still fond in her mind—that nice little picnic. Reading Sunset's previous thoughts filled the emptiness her presence lacked.

But Daydream was growing tired of watching the two Discords watch Sunset. At first, she thought them creepy. Then, she found herself doing it too. It wasn't hard to remove the thought that she was Sunset Shimmer too, she hadn't been Sunset Shimmer in a long, long time. And watching another version of herself—well, it was interesting! How would she do things differently? It was often a question she would ask the other Sunset Shimmers. She met and talked with them—the ones from the worlds that Sunset had passed through, chasing after Princess Twilight. In a way, she gained more magic, more power from meeting herself.

The strength was almost indescribable. It was like a connection that tapped the very source of magic through alternate worlds. It wasn't that she had a lot of magic—it was as though she was all the magic of her world. And connecting with these other Sunset Shimmers brokered a stream of magic she could pull from of that world. She knew better than anyone what that sort of power meant in the wrong hands. Meeting more of herself—it meant a greater strength. Strength she could use to stop someone like her from destroying an entire world. A shield against a storm.

And these two knuckleheads were getting in her way of meeting more of herself. Neither of them truly understood what more they could do. It must've been the reason they interfered in the first place—not thinking of repercussions, or the changes they could actually make if they tried. But if they could see the worlds Sunset Shimmer had meant to go, that meant she could go there too. That meant more Sunsets she could meet.

Not only that—if these universes were broken into by Starlight Glimmer's spell, did that mean Sunset's world could also be from another pony's time altering spell? How far did it go back? And just how many Sunset Shimmers did that mean she could meet? How many worlds could be tapped into?

"If those two could find another world—a prime universe—where Starlight and Twilight fought in the past, then that's another multitude of Sunsets I could meet," she muttered to herself. The two Discords didn't appear to be too pleased with the world they found. It did look awfully disturbing. She needed a way to explain to them what she wanted them to find. "But how? They're so corny they might not want to find something so serious."

For a moment, Daydream watched as the Discords flipped through worlds on the television. "Wait—corny?" She blinked, and in a quick jolt, stood from her seat and pranced over to the two. "If you find imagining boring, why not play a more active role?"

The mustached Discord glanced back at her. "We're not going to these worlds ourselves," he said with a sneer. This one was the more serious of the two, yet he refused to lend a helping hand.

"I'm not talking about you two—I'm not even talking about me. I know you two don't care what I do. But I came up with a thought that might get us both something we want," she told them. The mustached Discord held an expressionless face, but the formal turned in an instant, gaping with glee. "Do you two like corn?" she asked, and the other Discord's glee turned into confusion. "You two are looking through other worlds like you're peeling kernels off a corncob. That or you switch back to the cob—Sunset Shimmer—and watch her go through boring school life."

"Where are you going with this?" the mustached asked—now he was definitely interested.

"Well, if there's kernels, then there's cobs, then there's stalks. Why not look at a different cob, on the same stalk, to see if two Discords didn't interfere. Or better yet—one where Sunset Shimmer never got sucked into Starlight's spell."

The two looked at each other, and for a moment she thought they'd burst out laughing. "Tune in to a different—cob, as you put it—and watch another set of worlds? It'd be the same thing we're doing now. There's no difference."

Daydream gave a nod. "Sure. That's true—but let's say you decided to play that active role I was mentioning. Push someone into the past that wasn't meant to be there. Don't send yourself, or me. Don't even send a Sunset Shimmer, since her purpose will just repeat. Where's the fun in that? But why not change the instrument from a guitar to a piano? The song will play differently. You get your entertainment, I get more Sunsets to communicate with."

"And what if the Discord from that world refuses? Or does not like the fact that we are helping ponies? We are not in the habit of making enemies of ourselves. There are Discords out there who—well, that certainly do not know a Fluttershy, for a lighter way to put it," the formal Discord explained.

"Right, but you two have something that Discord lacks." Pointing a thumb at herself, she grinned. “Your shield. Isn't that why you haven't kicked me out of here?”

"Yes, but it is impossible," the formal Discord snorted, and almost turned back to the televisions.

The mustached tilted his head slightly before raising a finger and shaking it at the other Discord. “Not impossible. Improbable. We could find a cob, one that mirrors Sunset's original.”

"And if whoever you send failed to make it through to the end, just find another cob and start again," Daydream added. "More entertainment, right?"

The two stared at each other for a long while, not saying anything. She thought they were having some sort of silent conversation with their eyes, or perhaps they communicated in a way she was not included in. Eventually, they snapped from the wordless discussion and looked right at her. “Daydream Shimmer, that is absolutely brilliant!” the formal Discord shouted, hugging her. He was always a bit more clingy with her—she guessed that was because he and Sunset had grown close during their time together.

“That is quite the resounding plan.” The mustached Discord tapped his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. “We should hold a meeting of chaos for that idea. Not just cobs and stalks—beyond them. So far out, and so much chaos to gather in one place! Not all of us would agree to this little perusing of entertainment. However! It does beg the question.”

“What question?” she asked, unsure of what it could be.

The two Discords gazed through her, staring at something beyond. “Who could we send?”

Author's Note:

Quite the terrifying world, eh? It's a shame Sunset Shimmer never went there, or perhaps it's a good thing. Her little heart might not have taken so many additional worlds. But it does present a new opportunity. Who could handle dealing with these worlds aside from her? If you would be obliged, I have a Google Form (requires a Google/YouTube account) that is available to be filled out. It's some technical questions and inquiries about a sequel.

I will leave this form open for three months, closing it on August 31st (of 2021). At that point, this little note will be deleted, and I shall begin the process of writing a sequel. I believe that will be enough time for me to collect the information I desire.

Questionnaire has completed! Thanks to those who participated!

This additional chapter concludes Sunset Shimmer's journey for good. However, her story is not over. If you would like to follow my canonical continuation of this world's Sunset Shimmer, feel free to check out The Alicorn Problem, which will have its own sequels, where she will take part.

For everything else, thank you for reading this story, and thank you for taking part in the creative process.

Comments

[Secundum]

Huh, I didn't realise that The Alicorn problem was a continuation of this.

[Shalifi]

there's a story out there. The King who would be Man. Where Discord is Q from Star Trek. Both voiced by the same person of course. Very nice story. Very touching. This for some reason reminded me of that. If anyone is curious and cant read the whole thing id recommend the last chapter or the last scene or two. One of my favorites.

[Kichi]

Maybe send other villains?

Like Cozy Glow or Sombra and see how they handle universes like that

Or Human Twilight or Human Sunset

Maybe the Cutie Mark Crusaders?

Human or Pony Celestia?

Starlight?

Moon Dancer?

Screwball?

Starswirl and his Merry Band?

Spike the brave and glorious?

Cadence?

The young six?

Ember?

Thorax?

Daring Do?

A OC?

Mary Sue?

[Starcat5]

10833458
It is? Huh. Adding that story to my Read Later pile, and bumping this story closer to the top.

[bjorn2345]

what

[Csquared08]

What a sequel hook. What a dark and bleary world.

“I do.” The mustached snapped his fingers together

You accidentally a word

A storefront that had bulbs coursing with the glowing unnatural liquid were seen as well-to-do

*was