Spectrum

by Sledge115

Act III ~ Chapter Twenty-Eight ~ The Age of Crystal

Spectrum

The Team

Sledge115

VoxAdam

RoyalPsycho

TB3

TheIdiot

DoctorFluffy

Kizuna Tallis

ProudToBe

With Special Thanks To:

EileenSaysHi

Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Age of Crystal

* * * * *

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
— Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night

Friends, allow me an observation.

Crystal is key not just to Equestria’s great leap forward, but to the construction of something beyond metal frameworks or ingenious devices. That vital foundation of civilisation, the thread we unknowingly refer to when speaking of what binds a society together;

Correspondence.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Aren’t I delivering this speech eight years too late? Surely, it’d have been timelier of me to ramble on about correspondence, exchanges, back-and-forth, what have you, on the day I stood atop a podium like this one to declare the Manehattan-Griffonstone railway line officially open. What has it got to do with a building? A real big building, admittedly, not to mention a glittering one– yet still just a building, isn’t that right?

But you see, correspondence isn’t simply about travel. Since time immemorial, the passing of a message, from one soul to another, is as significant whether they stand a thousand miles apart or merely on two different sides of a wall. With the Crossing to Earth, we’ve seen how such measurements are, truly, relative. What made this crossing possible, if not crystal?

In their mythology, the Minotaurs tell of the great artisan, Asterion, who sought to build a house that could encompass the world. What he had forgotten, we’re told, was to include people in it. Certain creatures are made to thrive alone, but we as a people are social creatures. It is true of all herds in our Family… And I beg you, speak not of free mustangs.

Once, we knew the mythical Thirteenth Family as those who walked alone. We now know this to be their truth as well– in society, each person’s needs are fed by the skills of a great many others, as if our lives were woven together. However, as has been said by wiser people than I, those very connections that make society strong, can also make it vulnerable…

In the ten years since Victory at The Crystal Realm, we have covered our world in cable– in crystal. On this day, the Tower behind me stands as testimony to both, as it does to our Co-Harmony Sphere. A feat of cable-engineering so fine, no single tear could unravel it all. Of crystal walls which, if you choose, become not walls but windows onto the world, all from the comfort of your living space. Our two-way mirrors for our Wellness Centres on Earth.

With this Tower like a city unto itself, I pave the way to make Asterion’s dream one day come true.

— Chief Engineer Krème-Brulée, at the inauguration of Victory Tower in Manehattan, retroactively considered a prototype for Equestrian arcologies on Colonised Earth

~ A Council Chamber, Location Unknown ~
— The aftermath of the Battle of Boston, fifteen days prior to the Expedition’s departure

“Greetings, everyone. It has been a while.”

Delivered in the Prince’s customary bass rumble, these words were addressed to a gathering which ought to have numbered six, the speaker included. But rare was the day now when such a fortuitous occasion came about. On the best of days, they were no more than four. The last time a whole five of them had gathered together was years past. Perhaps not by a great many years, yet each year since had felt elongated with the weight of decades, for that meeting had ended in great acrimony.

Today, they were three.

If there was some small comfort to be had, it lay in the knowledge that the sixth one, who customarily presided this Council, was absent in body alone; by her own choice, by consensus with all of the others who’d sat by her, back when they were a united entity.

Sat in the throne-like crystal chair marked by his tribal glyph, in the interlude separating his greeting words from today’s business, Prince Abraxas the Candid could only do as he always did before these gatherings: hope that his vaunted frankness did not show in his face, for it would have betrayed his sorrow to see they were so few.

“The Starry-Eyed One has sent us a sign,” Abraxas said, the customary words used to open a meeting of the Council. “What knowledge have we which may hasten our ability to decipher it?”

Of the two others present, both sat at their usual seats, opposite his own across a great crystalline table. In sharp contrast to himself, they enjoyed the benefit of sitting side-by-side. Even on good days, the seating arrangements left Abraxas with two empty chairs for neighbours. To his right was what they commonly thought of as the presiding chair, for all that the Council’s chamber had been designed with abstract notions of equality in mind, in the tradition of round tables everywhere. To his left, the chair once occupied by a comrade gone rogue, a friend…

The council member who sat directly opposite Abraxas was first to speak.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to answer that, Candid,” said she, ruffling one of her wings in a visible show of annoyance. “It seems that every time we meet like this, I can do less and less to help you. But if we can start by working out why this isn’t my mark floating above the Map, that’ll be something.”

Countess Precipita, the Caring, gave a sharp nod towards the pair of symbols in levitation over the table. It was with a questioning air that her gaze then wandered towards the stately cyan unicorn by her side, whose own eyes were fixated upon the holographic display.

One of the symbols perfectly matched said unicorn’s mark, a glittering teal-blue seashell. And yet the symbol engaged in a mid-air dance with her mark’s counterpart unknown to any of them. They all recognised the beige-and-gold compass-rose of A.K. Yearling, the greatest clue hidden in plain sight that the famed author’s work was at least semi-autobiographical, whenever she’d recount the adventures of the explorer Daring Do.

That same compass-rose mark was engraved on one of the three empty chairs, the last one, beside Caring and Cheerful.

Never had it felt like a greater irony for this to be the mark of the one they’d named ‘Constant’, in a perhaps misguided effort at alliteration, when the name Daring was strong enough as it was. Courageous, perhaps, but her fidelity did not extend to steadfast council attendance.

“What do you make of it?” Precipita asked the cyan unicorn. “That’s an unusual pairing for the Map to make.”

She looked critically at the location above which circled the symbols.

“You, I can understand why the Starry-Eyed One would call on you. But Miss Yearling… Canterlot is the last place I’d imagine she ought to set hoof in.”

Indeed, the distinct holographic shapes of Mount Canterhorn and the great metropolis built into its rock, the heart of the Solar Empire, were those topped by the glittering teal-blue seashell and the beige-and-gold compass rose over the Map Table.

Unspoken beneath Precipita’s query was the added question of why the Map should pair Cheerful and Constant, when previously it was Precipita the Caring who’d so often worked with the latter, she who had originally inducted Miss Yearling into their Council.

An answer was not immediately forthcoming. Instead, Diamond Waves the Cheerful, whose once-fitting codename was these days oft belied by the sadness of her bearing, steepled her forehooves in contemplation of this new mystery.

“It must be related to the Grand Galloping Gala,” said the Duchess of Monacolt. “That’s only a week away. What else could be happening in Canterlot which calls out to me, if not the biggest party of the year? If the rumours from Earth are true, the Empire must be putting out all the bread-and-circuses it can as a distraction.”

Abraxas frowned, feeling a slight flush of heat in his fire-wreathed mane. “If that’s the case, it would’ve been wonderful for Miss Yearling to be with us today,” he noted, not without sourness. “The Starry-Eyed One must’ve been counting on her presence, for any of this to make sense. Until we hear from either Miss Yearling or her, we’ll remain in the dark about Earth.”

Her forehooves still steepled, Diamond Waves gave a little sigh.

“Alas. I fear the loss of the Watchmare is one blow we may not recover from.”

Hearing her friend so despondent, Precipita slid in her chair, allowing a majestic golden wing to brush against Diamond Waves’ withers.

“Come now, Duchess,” said Precipita, forgoing codenames in favour of affectionate formality. “Last we heard, the Watchmare had succeeded in contacting our prospective allies on Earth. Even if it came at the cost of her life, we must assume the Starry-Eyed One told it true, and she got word to the Human Scion.”

While Precipita spoke comfort to Diamond Waves, Prince Abraxas got up from his chair. He needed to think, and sitting still had never come easily to him. Royalty though he was, Abraxas was foremost a zebra of the plains, born to feel the rush of the savannah beneath his hooves. This same boundless wellspring of fiery energy had served him well, in the years of his famed hunt for the dread Grootslang.

Lacking a straight line to pursue within the chamber’s confines, the tried-and-true method of pacing in a circle would suit him just fine. It helped that the concentric layout of the chamber, centred as it was around the Map Table, lent itself perfectly to such an exercise.

Whilst undeniably large, the Council’s chamber was smaller than a layperson might expect, yet nothing about its design was left to chance. Along the single domed wall, thirty-three alcoves had been carved out of the crystal surface, each separated by a ten-degree angle from the other. The one exception to this rule, the remaining thirty degrees of those three-hundred-and-sixty which form a circle, consisted of the arched doorway, closed at all times to outsiders.

Each of the alcoves was occupied by a different item, placed upon a marble pedestal. While a few were bigger than the others, every one was an infamous artefact of great magical potential. Many of the pedestals displayed the actual artefact, the original item. But many more were merely decorated with a holographic representation, lightly shimmering to denote its artifice. On the pedestals was marked the nature and last recorded location of the item in question.

Abraxas felt his lips form a wry smile, as he beheld the shimmering forms of several artefacts. A flower, a shield, a mask. Classics, these were. Followed by a blindfold. And a shovel, of all things. Yes, before there was the Council of Stonecarvers, there had been the Pillars of Old Equestria.

The statue of Clover the Clever, over the arched doorway, was testament to this heritage. First the disciple of Archmage Starswirl, then of the Starry-Eyed One. The first true Stonecarver. And a Gardener of the Tree of Harmony.

Abraxas’ eyes skimmed the inscriptions at the base of the various pedestals. The locations of all these artefacts were known, or suspected, by the Council. Some decentralisation, however, was the standing policy. Although a gamble not without its own risks, in their centuries of existence, the Starry-Eyed One had judged it safer to keep the objects of power dispersed across the world, not concentrated into one spot ripe for the plucking.

Including her Amulet.

In the event this Council should fail in its role of guardianship, better the consequences be an isolated disaster, rather than the full-scale calamity of losing all they held dear.

Of course, the rise of the Solar Empire had edged them towards just such a calamity.

“Candid,” spoke Diamond Waves. Evidently, she had recovered her composure. “Pray forgive me if I sound in a hurry. But we must keep this meeting short. Precipita may regret she can only do so much, yet one in my position cannot be sure they’re being watched.”

Abraxas stopped in his pacing, with some surprise. “Even in Monacolt?” he asked. “I’d have thought, given your independence from the Co-Harmony Sphere, that the Solar Empire would find it harder to spy on you.”

“I worry Monacolt’s independence grows ever more theoretical,” said Diamond Waves. “We have neither the reclusiveness of Cirrostrata, nor the experience of struggle for autonomy like Farasi.”

Precipita looked at her with concern. “I understand what you’re saying, and yet I don’t want to believe it. Surely, the friendship you shared must still mean something to Celestia.”

“It would have, when she was Princess Celestia,” Diamond Waves said bleakly. “Every Summer, I keep hoping that maybe this time, she’ll come visit again. She never does. And did I tell you? I haven’t missed a single Grand Galloping Gala, when Autumn rolls around. It’s been years since Celestia showed her face at one of those.”

Abraxas and Precipita knew well why Celestia, once the Princess of the Sun, now something profoundly different, had stepped away from public life, unless the duty could not be shirked. Why she no longer attended Galas, or even an event like the Running of the Leaves; why she barely made an appearance at the Equestria Games any more, and had completely dropped the weekly ceremony of raising the Sun before an admiring audience.

Had even, according to Miss Yearling, given up her secret yet fulfilling career as a writer…

Rumours trickled down, even amongst the uninformed public who’d noticed the discrepancy of Celestia’s change in policy, once she’d declared war and decreed the Conversion of Mankind. That their formerly benign pony princess must be possessed, for only such a source could explain the about-face in her personality, instituting the regime that ruled Equestria and over half of this world, before expanding into a different world. Equus was rife with malign powers. Absence of evidence was a major hurdle, yet in this case, decidedly not evidence of absence.

If any were qualified to know, it was the Starry-Eyed One and her Stonecarvers. But they were also aware of the true, core reason that lay behind an immortal’s madness was – grief. A motive devastating in how fundamentally mortal it was.

Precipita gave a sigh. “Duchess, don’t blame yourself,” she said, touching Diamond Waves’ elbow. “We all share guilt, for being too blind to act until it was too late.” It was in a bitter tone that her words were forced out of her throat. “The Caring… Hah! Caring, that’s what I’m meant to be, yet I didn’t speak up when I ought have. We should’ve let the Watchmare meet her sister… No, both of her sisters. After what happened. Before… before any of this went down.”

“At this point,” Diamond Waves said sadly, “we might as well come out, and admit the Cunning was right, all along…”

“Don’t let the Starry-Eyed One hear you,” Abraxas cautioned her.

“What else do you suggest we do?” Diamond Waves turned on him. “Do you hear yourselves? No wonder Miss Yearling didn’t show up. We talk, and we do nothing. Because that’s all we do now. All our avenues have been cut off by the Empire, one by one. Contacting the Human Scion was our last resort.”

Even though it was unbecoming of the Cheerful to speak thusly, Abraxas’ own sense of candor meant he could not deny she was, in far too many ways, correct.

Six. Was that not the most magical number on Equus, the number six? Seven, sometimes. Regardless, when six were not properly united, there could be no Harmony. But the ponies who bore the Elements of Harmony for Equestria each lay under the thrall of whatever unholy power had ensnared Celestia. Retrieving those precious stones would be a difficult task in itself, and fruitless, if they did not have the people with which to complete the set…

At one time, there had been a glimmer of hope, when the Bearer of Generosity had absconded. If nothing else, her defection would have denied the Solar Empire a valuable asset. But before they could bring her into their fold, Rarity had been recaptured, after it had appeared she’d be safe under the watch of the Elder of Dragons.

Equestria’s Tree of Harmony was jealously guarded by the Solar Empire, and there were no other Trees they could turn to anymore. Once again, Abraxas had failed as a guardian, when the Tree in Farasi came to be sealed off by an Imperial expeditionary force. So had the Tree in Caninina. Worse, Abyssinia and Ornithia remained under the yoke of the Storm King. And worst of all, the Tree Atop The World was destroyed, along with the rest of Adlaborn.

As for the Tree in Cunabula – the Stonecarvers’ rival order had held out longer than most, but facing the dual threat of the Solar Empire and the Storm King, the Knights of Harmony too had eventually yielded, beaten down by a war on two fronts.

Cursed be Ryuppon, which had no Tree, to be one of the few independent nations left standing. Always in the middle between Solar Empire and Storm King, always profiting.

“But who’s left,” Precipita asked, “whom we could talk to openly?”

“I suggest again that we try approaching Darkhoof,” said Abraxas. “He’s long been a good friend to Equestria, what Equestria truly stands for. The Tauren Islands can still provide the haven we’ve been seeking.”

Precipita shook her head. “Maybe at one time. Not now. Darkhoof’s suffered too much tragedy of his own already. We’ve got too many mistakes on our conscience as it is, Abraxas– the last thing we need is to give the Empire an excuse to break their non-aggression pact with the Isles, and spread their Changeling Purges to the Cyan Hive.”

“That’s what you say every time,” Abraxas told her crossly. “But when all other means fail, what else can be done, except to take a risk?”

“Taking a ‘risk’ is what the Cunning tried,” Precipita answered back. “We all know that didn’t work out so well, did it? At any rate, how can the Minotaurs help? Short of challenging Celestia to single combat and hoping she accepts, somehow, I don’t see how Darkhoof could begin to tackle this problem.”

A dainty, lady-like cough cut across whatever retort Abraxas had prepared. Before either he or Precipita had looked around, they knew it came from Diamond Waves.

“You’re both dancing around the issue,” said Diamond Waves. “Fond as I am of Darkhoof, I doubt a Minotaur would be a welcome presence in Canterlot these days. And let me remind you that I haven’t got much time. Yes, I wish Miss Yearling were among us… But still, we have the means to contact her… Well, at least you do, Precipita. Your husband hasn’t let us down yet.”

“No…” Precipita agreed slowly. “You’re going somewhere with this, Cheerful?”

Diamond Waves nodded. “I am,” she said. “And I like it as little as you do. But, after picking up what I could off Monacolt’s grapevine, I believe more’s been going on with Earth than the papers are reporting. Talks of sighting Nightmare Moon… It sounds far-fetched, pure propaganda. Which makes me think there may be a seed of truth to it.” The ghost of her usual personality flickered into view, as she gave a crooked smile. “A craaazy tale blown out of proportion, to cover a craaazy truth.”

Despite the spark of levity, Abraxas dreaded what she’d say next. “You’re right. I don’t like where this is going.”

Her reply came not in words, but in a gesture. Letting her horn shine with its cyan-blue aura, Diamond Waves reached into her null-space, still accessible to her in this place as an inducted member of the Stonecarvers’ Council, to pull out what resembled nothing so much as a calling-card. A calling-card marked by runic alphabet.

“If we are to take a risk,” said Diamond, “we must start by consulting our estranged brethren. Check out whether he’s already sought to send us a message… To inform us about Earth. And then finally, we might get to the bottom of why the Map says I should go to Canterlot.”

This would not be the first time, in fact, that they had risked this. A move which involved them going behind the Starry-Eyed One’s back. And there had been other messages in the past. That was not their issue with it. What troubled them was the form the messengers took.

“This is a bad idea,” Abraxas whispered. “The Cunning’s done enough damage already.”

To say so made his heart tighten, when he thought of his old friend, but he said it anyway, because it was true.

Precipita’s face was a mask of indecision. Whatever she’d let slip earlier, of this fear of her own obsolescence, her hesitancy only accentuated it twofold.

“I… I don’t think we should be making this decision by ourselves,” Precipita told Diamond Waves. “It doesn’t seem right. If Miss Yearling were here…”

“Except she isn’t,” said Diamond Waves. Her tone was gentler than toward Abraxas, yet retained a note of frustration. “And the fact we’re even going over this counts as a decision. You regret we didn’t act, yet you’re averse to risk-taking. How else can we act, when the time for caution has passed?” She looked Abraxas in the eye. “Well, Candid? You’re our tie-breaker. What’s more, if Yearling were here, we all know how she’d vote, don’t we?”

Once more, Abraxas had to quietly acknowledge she fit the title of ‘Candid’ better than he, today.

The choice seemed obvious. Even so, he did not voice it right away. The mantle of responsibility, conferred upon him by the Starry-Eyed One in her absence, was a heavy load to bear. Such a breach of her trust in him, whether the reasons be good or not, could never sit well with his sense of integrity.

Abraxas inclined his head. “Alright…” He met eyes with Precipita’s. “I’m sorry, Caring. But the Cheerful is right. Think of it as our chance to find out what’s become of the Watchmare.”

She showed no joy at his decision, yet the full meaning behind his words brought acceptance.

“What was it Galatea said? ‘Apathy is death’.” Precipita sighed, her great golden wings drooping. “Very well, Diamond. Hit it. Before I lose my nerve.”

He ached with sympathy for her. The same compassion which gave her a push to overcome her timidity was also the source of her over-cautiousness. Because she understood how every action has consequences. And yet, had it been her mark floating over the Map, she’d have answered the call without delay, every time.

“Oh– I’ll hit it, alright.” Diamond smiled, just a little, as she held up the card. “And don’t worry, I’m perfectly sure the old boy didn’t get it mixed up with a squirt-flower or smoke-bomb, this time.”

Abraxas considered chuckling, for her sake, but opted against it. It would not have been sincere.

Needing no further prompting, Diamond Waves made her horn glow. By no means the sole means by which to activate the card, yet the one most resonant, calling from unicorn to unicorn. It shone its brightest, the vivid cyan reflected a hundred times in the walls of jagged crystal, a perfect match for the colours of its spellcaster.

“~Headmaster, oh Headmaster, have you left us a note…~” Diamond chanted softly. “~If so, let us open the envelope, and see what you wrote.~”

In many such scenarios, it is commonly said that at first, nothing happened.

This proved not the case for Abraxas and his fellow Stonecarvers. No sooner had the intonations of Diamond Waves’ chant died down, did the effect become apparent, in sharp relief, undeniable to their senses.

Between the doorway’s arches, a figure manifested, initially a dark silhouette, until its features gradually swam into focus. An earthpony, a stallion, clad in armour the colour of obsidian, albeit unlikely to be true obsidian, judging by the onyx breastplate and helm of a simple soldier.

They had expected this, yet still they stole uneasy glances with one another. Into this chamber, they had allowed entry for a creature crafted by forbidden arts. A shadow-walker.

Diamond Waves took charge. “As I thought. Here is our messenger.” She gave the figure a hard stare. “Speak, walker, echo that you are. What news do you bring of the Cunn– of the Headmaster, of Earth?”

Upon the shadow-walker’s face, its features indistinct, there registered no surprise at having been summoned, nor interrogated thus. It took no time to gather its surroundings, and showed no sign of curiosity or recognition at those who’d called upon it. Such would have been hard to read in its eyes, it is true, the milky white of the blind.

Yet blindness was not the walker’s affliction. It saw them, just as it heard.

“Greetings, fellows of the Headmaster,” the walker whispered. “A message has awaited delivery. His orders were that you be informed of where he’d gone. He shall return soon, and preparations must be made.”

Abraxas felt taken aback by this last phrase. “Preparations?” he said, frowning. “Does he think we are to be at his beck and call? When he’s the one who split with us, who acts against the Starry-Eyed One’s wishes at every turn!”

“I know nothing of such things,” the walker said blankly. “Any more than I know about a Starry-Eyed One. Only that the Headmaster recently departed. You asked for news of Earth. It is in Boston’s wake that the Headmaster chose to make a Crossing.”

Those words made Abraxas’ breath catch in his throat.

“A Crossing…” said Abraxas. “From one world to another? This is just what I feared. Oh, how much longer does Spell Nexus plan to keep tampering like this…”

“Hold on a moment,” said Diamond Waves. “Walker. You speak of Boston. We know this is where the Human Scion was last seen. Where the Watchmare sought to make contact with him. What can you tell us now? Does the Watchmare live, or has she perished? And the Human Scion… Where has he gone, and did the Headmaster follow?”

“Yes.”

That answer, as simple as it was opaque, surprised them all.

“What do you mean, ‘yes’?” Abraxas demanded. “Do you mean the Watchmare is alive, or not? Or that the Human Scion is here, in Equestria?”

“That isn’t what I asked,” Diamond Waves mouthed to him. “I wished to know if the Human Scion had gone somewhere.”

The shadow-walker replied to both. “The Watchmare is alive and not alive,” spoke the figure. “And the Scion is in Equestria, where the Headmaster followed, but not here.”

Precipita groaned. “Not this…” she said, massaging her temples. “This cryptic double-talk. I thought I knew what I’d signed on for, when I got inducted into a secret council, but this is getting frankly ridiculous.”

But Abraxas had been pondering. “Maybe not, Caring. Maybe we just need to dig deeper.” He fixed his gaze upon the shadow-walker. “Be more specific, please. What happened in Boston, two days ago, to the Watchmare and Human Scion? And what prompted the– the Headmaster to make a Crossing? Speak plainly, walker.”

“As you wish,” said the shadow-walker. “The Headmaster himself does not have all the answers. This is why he departed, last night, to seek his own. During their encounter, Watchmare and Scion each were ambushed, two days ago– one of them in Equestria, one on Earth. But whilst the Watchmare perished, the Scion was whisked away.”

“Away, where?” Abraxas said, unable to contain his impatience, even if pressing was redundant. “And how did the Headmaster find out about this?”

Strangely, the shadow-walker seemed to know just how to respond to that.

“Because the Headmaster knew the Watchmare had perished,” the shadow-walker spoke. “By keeping an ear open, listening for the echoes of those who fell in combat around her. And heard her speak again, through the mouth of the Oracle, just as she had to the Scion.”

“But that’s not…”

“Possible? Perhaps. But ask any soul present, and their answer would be the same. The Watchmare spoke, much as she had in life…” It paused. “From beyond the Mirror, an other Watchmare, an other Equestria. To where the Scion crossed, and the Headmaster followed.”

Neither of the three at the table felt ready to respond in the face of this news.

‘From beyond the Mirror…’

Diamond Waves was the one who found her voice. “A refraction in the Mirror… Harmony have mercy upon us all. This could break our world for good.”

Abraxas, too, fought to keep a tremor at bay. At long last, pieces were beginning to fall to place within his mind, in light of these revelations. What he could not decide was whether the emerging picture brought him comfort, or deepened the pit of dread.

“Tell us, walker. Is this the explanation behind Nightmare Moon? That the manifestation on Earth was no Nightmare? Princess Luna brought forth, sound in body and mind, not from her prison of stone, but out of a different shard of reality?”

“Mirror’s shard remains embedded within the Oracle’s skull,” the shadow-walker declared. “And with it, a window towards the here and then, the there and now. What may seem a dream to one is a waking world to the other– Who else may find their way back up a path not taken, if not the Princess of Dreams?”

They knew then that they’d get little else in the way of plain speaking from their messenger. Already, in the short time it had stood within this chamber, the shadow-walker’s hold upon its form was beginning to loosen, strands of darkness fraying at the edges of its incorporeal figure. Just as its form would dissipate, so too would its mimicry of a rational mind. When rationality fades away, the mind reverts to a realm of the esoteric, of dreams and divine inspiration.

“It’ll have to do,” Abraxas sighed. “Thank you, walker… At least now we know more about what happened in Boston. The Scion’s vanishing, the Watchmare’s death, followed by her reappearance, and Princess Luna… If all these have to do with the Oracle’s shard in her skull– then we can trace the fault all the way back to Headmaster Nexus.”

“Wait. I have a question,” Precipita said softly. “Walker, who were you in life?”

The walker fell silent, as a messenger ought not to be. Perhaps there was a twitch, here and there, of something that stirred beneath, yearning to be heard. The moment faded amidst whispers, as it spoke once more.

“A soldier of the Empire. One whose purpose is better served here,” the walker answered. “Would that be all?”

None spoke, at first. A slow nod ensued. Questions danced at the tip of their tongues, yet they remained mum.

“Then my purpose is served.”

With that, the walker went, its shadowy essence dissolving upon itself in the manner that smoke turns to steam, as though it gave itself up to unseen forces which pulled at its edges all this time, calling it back to where it rightly belonged.

“Harmony have mercy,” Diamond Waves said again. She did not clarify whether she spoke for the walker’s soul, or for the worlds.

Either way, the nod Abraxas gave was one of whole-hearted agreement. Concordantly, his gesture was directed to return attention towards the Map, above which the marks of Diamond Waves and Miss Yearling still pursued their circular dance.

“We have some answers,” Abraxas said. “And a clue, at least, to where we should look next. Diamond, I still don’t know why the Map chose this pairing, when your designated partner isn’t even here. But there is one person, in all of Canterlot, who could tell you more than we learnt from the walker. It shall be… Yes, it shall be risky. Yet she will attend the Gala, and she will speak to you.”

Diamond Waves did not point out that he’d forgone her codename. “You mean Generosity’s Bearer,” she murmured. “The Widow Blueblood.”

“That’s right,” said Abraxas. “Go and meet Rarity. Pry whatever you can from her. It’s time that we finally make good on an old promise.”

The Duchess of Monacolt inclined her head without a word, and a shimmer enveloped her figure, before leaving an empty seat behind, dispelling the illusion she had ever been there. In point of fact, none of them were, bodily.

“And this… breaking of the worlds? What is to be done?” Precipita asked quietly. “Candid, if you’re correct in your theory, the Starry-Eyed One’s work to retrieve the shard has failed.”

“One more failure on a road littered with failures,” Abraxas said, not withholding his bluntness. “But we can be sure about one thing. If the Headmaster crossed over to investigate this refraction, the Starry-Eyed One most certainly did. She won’t give up on healing the Oracle.”

“Understood,” said Precipita. “We shall speak again.”

The Countess of Cirrostrata, too, was enveloped by the shimmer. A minute later, Abraxas was left alone in the chamber. Contemplative, he observed the now-vacant Map Table, of which the inner light had dimmed. Even the marks that had revolved above it were gone.

There was only one window in the chamber, its shape not unlike a half-formed pyramid’s, emulating the Medallion of Scorpan. The symbol of his Order, topped by the Watchmare’s Eye. He wondered where the future lay, now the past had returned to haunt them, in more ways than one, with this manifestation on Earth. He said nothing, as he let the shimmer take him as well. And then the chamber was silent.

The Stonecarvers could only, as ever, put their faith in the Starry-Eyed One, their Architect.

~ Metazoa International Hub, Equestrian Solar Empire ~ Fifteenth Day of The Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~
— Fourteen days prior to the Expedition’s departure

As the curtains fall upon one stage, they are about to rise on another.

For one pony of Equestria, the stage was their lifeblood, their raison d’être. All ponies of Equestria were gifted with a special talent, a mark in plain view, which some theorised to be an earthly representation of the soul. Yet not all saw it as what defined their whole self. That a pony be marked did not make them immutably branded.

But then, this performer was not most ponies.

One could not become Great and Powerful, be it mainly in one’s own eyes, without whole-heartedly embracing what one had to offer the world. Of course, what truly mattered was that the world should offer back twice the worth in admiration, in validation.

Here in this moment, before the raising of the curtain, the performer stood within what certain parties might have dubbed ‘liminal space’, a world between worlds. How appropriate.

Trixie Lulamoon had known there were different worlds, and the narrow space dividing them, long before any talk of doorways to alien Earth. For her, life was divided very simply, into these two worlds. One where she was the Great and Powerful, and one where she was plain Trixie, a baby-blue mare who’d flunked Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns.

She had sought to live as long as possible in only one of those worlds. Yet even in the old days, back in more innocent times, there would come that moment. That interval where she stood only a hair’s breadth from the audience, still as unseen by them as they were to her, and felt herself standing right on the threshold from one world to the other.

An audience experiences the same sensation. Deep down, all but the most gullible know that performance is illusion. Nevertheless, once the curtain rises, such doubts are to be swept away. For this is what draws in audience and performer alike, this world of a reality that is not reality, but something better. This is, truly, what is magical.

And she was readying for a magic show, as always.

“The start of yet another delightful week,” muttered the mare.

Thirty seconds to go. Per habit, Trixie patted herself over, as if to reassure herself that she’d got into costume ages ago and this was how she’d appear to the audience. Even though it would be a bit late to change now, if it did turn out she had forgotten anything.

Royal blue suit, white vest, check. She was wearing that frilled necklace, too, the jabot – and boy, had it taken her a long time to remember what it was called. Same as her old costume, the colours were designed to complement her natural shades. Although she no longer used a robe, her suit’s coat-tails trailed stylishly behind her, in alignment with her actual tail. Possibly the most prized item of Trixie’s outfit, however, was her top hat. Tipping it back slightly, she felt comforted to feel it rest safely atop her head. She would need it to greet the public, after all. This was the greatest difference from her prior magician’s attire, and she was proud of it.

How good to know she still had her pride.

The thought had scarcely concluded, when the curtain rose upon the stage, and all expectant eyes were upon her. And as came to her naturally, once that happened, she was not the Trixie who’d uttered blasphemous doubt in a hidden space, but Trixie the performer – now placing her craft in service of a world where all was a scintillating illusion, a reality better than reality.

“Welcome, welcome! Open your ears, good folk, and let Trixie tell you a tale…”

It was a story she could recite in her sleep, in the Common Tongue, in Oleandrite, in Intisari, in Low Ryupponese, or in Equish with an Upper Canterlot accent as she did now, even as she went through the motions with fanciful sparks and flourish. For she was as familiar with it as a good number of ponies were, through all the years it was proudly presented to them.

A story of a people, seeking a place to call home, from across Equus. Neither equine nor avian, the hippogriffs dwelled in the mountains and the seas.

Then came Mount Aris, and the dream of Hippogriffia that followed, and soon the land flourished, for the hippogriffs found their home, united at last under one banner. All had been well, or so the story went.

“But alas!” Trixie exclaimed. The scene changed again. Another land, another people, a flurry of black and white enriched by shades of purple and blue. “A crisis did come forth! For the Storm King’s eyes were upon Farasi shores, and all the wealth of the Ezebrantsi…”

A pause, for effect. The hippogriffs’ eyes were turned to the distant land, across the sea, where the Storm King, that marauder and ancient warlord, had come at last. Not to their sanctuary, but to another’s home.

Down came the Princess of All Equestria, from the clouds, bearing a message with her.

“Would you join us, spoke the Princess, in our quest to free the people of Farasi?” Trixie recited, for here she felt it was prudent to play it safe, lest there be watchful eyes.

The Hippogriff Queen nodded. And off they went, hippogriffs and ponykind, sisters-in-arms, in the march against the Storm King.

A flick of the horn, and in came the pyrotechnics. Fireworks burst forth, the sparkling performance vibrant in its multi-coloured light. There came the Storm King, tall and mighty, haughty and cruel, standing taller than even the Princess and Queen.

But his efforts were for naught, as Equestria and Hippogriffia triumphed, a victory shared, and their flags flown over Farasi’s liberated people, grateful for the aid given.

“When all was said and done, their bellies full and laughter and joy in the air, the Princess of All Equestria and Queen of Hippogriffia gave their vows– for their alliance will last, and victory shall follow forevermore!”

With one last twirl of her horn, and the deepest, humblest bow she could muster, the lights fell upon Trixie, the sigil of the Sun and the seal of Mount Aris behind her, together as one.

The crowd went wild.

“Now…” Trixie began, struggling here to hide how unenthused she felt, as she slowly recited the closing lines. “Now for a word, from our most generous of sponsors.”

Nothing more, nothing less than she could allow herself to say.

But a few might have just barely noticed the twitch off in the corner of her mouth, as she bowed out and allowed the screen above the stage to present her sponsor.

A figure appeared, positioned to face the viewers, much like a newsreader of Earth.

“Greetings to you, friends.”

Already Trixie was tuning out what followed from that warm greeting, the usual endless list of reports and statistics and official statements.

On the air, every hour, on the hour. Radio may be the favoured means of broadcasting public information across the Pan-Equine Co-Harmony Sphere, yet when the authorities wanted a friendly face to go with the words, here were the screens they used. These were not like the digital or cathodic screens of Earth, with pictures regurgitated from the guts of a complex mechanism stored within. Despite the propaganda benefits of sending curated imagery directly into people’s homes, the Solar Empire still held a cultural disinclination towards television. Instead, like everywhere else in the Equestrian homeland, what showed up was beamed from a crystal pillar, onto the expanse of a flat canvas.

The figure onscreen was a mare in the colours of the sea – ironic, given that she was no hippogriff. Eyes of opal and a coat of aquamarine blended tastefully with her lightly-styled indigo mane. It was a reassuring face, a soothing face. Graceful, yet approachable. A face one might easily pass on the street and be glad to strike conversation with. Much like the sea, seen from a bedroom window, there hung around her the aura of a distance that can never quite be crossed, while inviting one to close the gap.

Naturally, the Solar Empire had chosen her as their citizens’ window onto the world.

“... And finally, in the world of sports,” said Lady Coloratura, “A long-held hope was fulfilled today, when it was announced that the Crystal Realm shall play host city to next year’s Equestria Games. Experts have declared this a ‘symbolic’ milestone, cementing the Realm’s position in Equestria since the Reclamation fifteen years ago, and a final step in healing a great national trauma.”

Trixie held back a snort. Equestria did a lot of things faster than humans, including setting up their biggest sporting events. But on this one, they’d fallen behind the curve. It had taken post-war Germany less than ten years to celebrate its Miracle of Berne at football.

Not that there was a Berne anymore, or a Switzerland. Or much of a Germany. The Imperial colonisation policy of preserving key infrastructure hadn’t yet been fully implemented when the Barrier started expanding out of the Alps.

She couldn’t help but think wistfully of those mountains, the place of her first mission, long ago, to retrieve the contents of Ambassador Heartstrings’ secret bank vault.

The images of the Crystal Realm’s stadium which had been playing onscreen vanished, to be replaced anew by Coloratura directly facing the audience.

“And now, our lead story.”

If Coloratura disbelieved what she had to say, there was no sign of it, only dulcet tones.

“Special report today from the Ministry of Terran Affairs,” said Coloratura. “We have a new and unexpected development, concerning the state of insurgency on Earth. I should like to precede this report with a statement by the Ministry, who assure me the situation has been placed under control. Nevertheless, once you hear what I am about to say, my advice to you is this– friends, be vigilant. For in spite of our precautions, the Nightmare may walk among us once more.”

Upon hearing that last statement, Trixie felt her bubble of disinterest burst. Suddenly, she found herself staring at the screen with the same intensity as everyone else.

There were a few gasps from the crowd, ranging from surprised to even horrified at the news, so unlike the usual stream of good cheer. But Coloratura was unperturbed, speaking as one who understands the news to be grave, yet stands above it, a rock in the sea.

“Do not be alarmed,” Coloratura spoke. “And let your hearts be at ease, those amongst you who care for our Princess of The Night. I am informed Princess Luna remains out of harm’s way, still in her state of remission as of these last few years. As always, we wish her a safe and speedy recovery.”

She was a good actor. Trixie’s initial stupefaction had subsided, and beholding this from a professional perspective, she could tell that this was a master at work. Such fine delivery, such careful choice of words. These may as well have been spoken by Celestia herself – better, even, coming as they did from a mortal’s mouth.

“But the true nature of this dark manifestation, we have yet to determine.” Coloratura paused. “Nevertheless, you may be glad to hear a viable theory, issued by none other than Her Majesty, Queen Celestia. So grievous a mockery of her beloved sister’s image, it is suspected, may be the work of the following individual. Some of you may recognise him.”

Here, Coloratura’s own image was briefly replaced by a ‘Wanted’ poster, which upon sighting, only led Trixie’s unease to grow.

Trixie recognised the wanted individual, alright.

“We remind you that Spell Nexus, former Headmaster of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns,” intoned Coloratura, now back in view, “is a practitioner of the necromantic arts, and other forbidden magicks. In light of this, the Nightmare’s manifestation may be attributed to a form of Nyx or shadow-walker, unseen since the Canterlot Siege of Shadows, nearly seventy-five years ago. I needn’t remind you that such arts are poisonous to Harmony, and thus Equestria. Remember– honesty is vigilance. If you have anything to report, friends, notify the proper authorities.”

Coloratura’s gaze bore into Trixie’s.

“And with that, I thank you. Praise be the Sun, for we are of Harmony, always.”

Her face disappeared from the screen. No sooner had she gone did mutters spread in the crowd.

‘Well,’ thought Trixie. ‘I should go pick up a comic later today…’

* * * * *

As luck would have it, in the grand central station the old Hall of Unity had been repurposed as, there was no shortage of the businesses found lining ports and harbours throughout the world.

The majority of these were duty-free, naturally, the better to enhance the appeal to customers. And their wares consisted of the expected range of inexpensive, yet just-slightly-overpriced goods for the hurried traveller – bottled perfume, a cardboard cup of coffee, a sandwich in greasy wrapping. With them were books which more properly belonged stuffed onto the back shelves of a main-street library, but here stood on display in neat rows that listed their bestseller rankings from one to ten, an easy read for a lengthy voyage.

It was true, Trixie reflected, that success will turn a person, or culture, a little more capitalistic. Still, as a licensed entertainer, she enjoyed a discount.

“Afternoon, Heather,” she greeted the pegasus behind the counter. “How’s business?”

The mare, sunk deep into reading one of her own wares, barely glanced up from the page. Obscured as her eyes were by a poofy golden mane, she may not have moved them at all.

“Can’t complain, Lulamoon,” Heather replied, for politeness’ sake if nothing else. “This year’s boom gonna outstrip last year’s, I shouldn’t wonder. You got your audience, I got mine.”

“Uh-huh. Well, if you’re really lucky, traffic will get clogged up from here to Canterlot,” Trixie said, forcing a smile. “Give people something to read on the road, right?”

“Sure, sure,” replied the distracted vendor. “And when do you plan on hitting the road? Slim pickings, I know, but if you don’t get out there soon, you won’t even see the city walls, from where you’re parked.”

Although the remark was apt, Trixie did not enjoy the reminder that the Canterlot authorities would never give her license to perform inside the capital during the Gala.

“Trixie goes where the wind takes her, and the starlight guides her,” Trixie said grandly, slipping into her old third-person affectation with ease. “And always shines bright enough to be seen from the city walls, no matter how far!”

“Yeah, okay. Was there anything you wanted?”

Trixie gathered her wits. “Actually, I wanted to know if any… special deliveries had come in. Before I set out.” She tapped the counter. “It is a long road, and I’d like something to read.”

Still without glancing up, Heather flicked a white wing towards the back of the store.

“No special deliveries. But if you insist, we have got a surplus I didn’t chuck out yet. Take your pick. And then get out of my hair, please.”

An unconventional place for a dead-drop. But a surprisingly useful one.

Mere minutes later, Trixie was exiting the Enchanted Comics outlet of Metazoa International, a rolled-up Daring Do comic tucked into her suit’s pocket. She kept a steady pace, a brisk trot, projecting confidence. As a performer, it was only natural she draw attention. The trick was not to attract the unwanted sort. Nor did she look at the comic again until she got home.

Now as in years past, home for Trixie Lulamoon was her traveling cart, that truest of friends. This meant taking a walk that led her through Metazoa International and beyond, as she stepped out into the open air and onto the bridge connecting the Hall to its Watchtower, long converted into a multi-storey parking lot.

Crossing the bridge, Trixie passed by the many faces which comprised the citizenship of the Pan-Equine Co-Harmony Sphere, heading to and fro. Ponies of all three tribes and offshoots, both from Equestria and other pony nations. Horses and zebras, too, still a strange sight to see mingle with relative concordance. And the odd griffon. Only two kinds were conspicuous by their absence – the thestrals, and Newfoals.

Here on the homeworld, Newfoals were by and large kept out of sight, out of mind, occupying the fringes of society and the front-line of conflicts with the Storm King. Of numbers that counted the thousands of thousands, Trixie doubted there was so many as a hundred Newfoals living in Canterlot itself. Equestria and the Great Continent were to be kept pure.

Once inside her cart, Trixie continued to disregard the comic, putting it to one side, next to this morning’s mail. As she fetched her seaweed-oil stove, to cook a simple late lunch, Trixie told herself she would go through the mail pile in no particular order.

Even if that wasn’t true.

She took her time cooking a quesadilla. Making a meal so heavily influenced by an Earth recipe was toeing the line, yet she hardly cared. In-between jobs, little acts of rebellion such as these kept one going. When it was done, Trixie seated herself, checking her pile of mail while she munched on a slice of cheese-filled tortilla.

Bills, bills, junk mail in blatant disregard of the ‘no ads’ sign on her mail-locker back at the Hall. Leaflets and newsletters, including one asking her if she fancied a place to live in the upcoming Green Desert Project. Aside from the comic, only two letters interested her.

One was a muted orange envelope, marked ‘Roxanne Sunflower Spectacle’. The other was a plain, officious white.

Trixie opened up her mother’s letter first.

Hi Beatrix,

I hope you’re doing well and you’ll get this soon on your travels. Thank you for the bits you sent, they’ve been a great help. Good thing that some folks out there still got a taste for sunflower oil! Maybe someday, I’ll be asking Her Majesty’s Government for a hoof-up, but not today. Plenty of people out there who need it more. While things are going pretty well here in Fillydelphia, I’ve heard at least two mares in my book-club making plans to move for the Colonies next year.

How about you, honey? You make any plans for Hearthswarming yet? I get it, your job keeps you real busy these days, and it’s a shame you couldn’t make it home last year. I’m sorry you lost the Saddle Mareabia gig, I know how much you enjoyed that. But it’s what I like telling ponies about my brilliant girl– she always lands on her hooves.

And if you don’t mind your silly old Mom asking, if you do turn up, should I know if I ought to set a table for three? Because you always did like surprises, and the loveliest surprise would be if you could bring along a new special somepony. I was happy when you said you’re still on good terms with Hoo’far, he was a right gentlestallion, that one. You deserve the best, you know, even if you may not always think you do.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Lots of love,
~Mom

When Trixie set down the letter, the usual mix of emotions was writhing through her system. The tone of what she’d read had been nothing but nice and supportive, yet it was a struggle not to let her lip wobble. She even sensed a tear in the corner of her eye. Such was always how she tended to feel, when she thought of her mother.

For Trixie, who’d grown up within the Equestrian Model, her childhood had been one of living the reality that, even in the world’s most reputed welfare state, there are many people who still need to carefully scrimp and save in order to get by. One such person was her mother, left to raise a child on her own. Working tirelessly, faithfully, without a murmur of complaint.

Not even when her daughter got into scraps with the neighbourhood kids. Or after her daughter got admitted to Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, only to drop out shamefully. Or after a certain stunt with the Alicorn Amulet had nabbed her daughter a five-year sentence to Erebus. True, that last one got shorn down for good behaviour, then a general armistice, but still…

‘What would Mom say, if she knew what her daughter was involved in now.’

She’d tried telling herself this was different. That for once, what she did was for selfless motives. Nothing less than putting a stop to the xenocide of mankind. And possibly bringing about the liberation of Equestria. If this meant the worst consequences should she fail, so be it.

Except that wasn’t entirely true, either, was it? Because Trixie had a far more personal reason to oppose the Solar Empire. As embodied by the unopened white letter.

‘I’ll… I’ll look at that later.’

Still, she could not keep her eyes from wandering. As usual when she retreated inside her cart, Trixie had removed most of her magician’s attire, left upon hangers by the door. Including her top hat, which she stared at, long enough for the last of her quesadilla to go cold.

She wished she’d met her father. Her life was a rollercoaster of notoriety and fame, and yet never had a washed-up old Las Pegasus magician known he had a daughter. Even though her mother had told her about her father at a very young age.

Not wanting to dwell on it, Trixie decided this was as good a time as any, if she was ever going to look at the comic. With that in mind, she tossed aside the crumpled orange envelope.

‘Snail-mail. How quaint,’ thought the disgruntled Trixie. ‘You gotta wonder, what’s the point of living in a cyberpunk dystopia, without cyberspace.’

A reflection pertinent to the comic she now held in both hooves.

EC were renowned for their special properties. Laced with a variant of the spell popularly called ‘Haycartes’ Method’, the comic enabled readers to actually get into the book, becoming a part of the story. As often, magic had allowed ponies to achieve what technology was decades away from offering humans. In this case, the VR experience.

But no world wide web, no blogosphere, and no metaverse. The Solar Empire was always careful to learn from human precedents. And the conclusion they’d drawn after studying pre-war human society for three years, judging by their subsequent policies, was that it is safer for a totalitarian state to keep its Internet equivalent from ever reaching an Eternal September.

Much to the chagrin of any ponies who might have enjoyed a career as an influencer.

Tracing a forehoof across the paper, Trixie inspected the comic’s title. Daring Do & The Abyss of Despair. An adaptation, no doubt, perhaps a re-issue, given that she recognised the name from one of the novels.

‘Okay, explorer,’ she thought, studying the figure on the cover, who was paddling a raft down violently swirling rapids towards a dark gorge. ‘Show me what you got.’

She opened the comic right on the last page. As expected, that page was blank, save for rows of tiny black dots and dashes in the bottom-right corner. Thirty-six rows, to be precise. A cipher for Latin letters and Arabic numerals.

Now here came the tricky part. Concentrating, Trixie tapped the blank white page, rhythmically, her forehoof using Morse code to spell out a password of her own devising – the key to the hidden level of this interactive comic.

Welcome to Jumanji.

* * * * *

Even in Equestria, on the first couple of go-rounds, the experience of passing through a portal of bright white light is liable to shake someone up. Thanks to crystal-tech, teleportation had only recently expanded in its availability, incrementally at that, going from the domain of extremely powerful horn-bearers to merely a complex and expensive traffic shortcut at select locations. It wasn’t exactly a common mode of travel.

The Blue Spy, not being a technical-minded sort, had never quite grasped the difference between plain old ‘portation and the interdimensional portals. Equestria’s citizens were told only eight stable portals to Earth existed in the world, and nothing in the Spy’s work for the PHL had uncovered information to suggest otherwise.

‘But,’ the Spy thought impishly, ‘what do the letters PHL stand for these days? Ponies For Human Life? Ponies For Human Liberty? Pony-Human League?’

The beauty of initials lies in their multiple possible meanings. And the Spy was well-acquainted with personal versatility.

Before even taking in their surroundings, a pair of violet eyes, most characteristically for their owner’s priorities, saw fit to behold a baby-blue forehoof.

The colour was unchanged, the fur’s texture was unchanged, but there were subtle differences in the proportions. Stockier around the hock and knee, with an unshorn quality to the fetlock which wasn’t present in its owner’s default appearance. For good measure, the same forehoof went to tap the owner’s snout, and found it pleasingly square.

‘Now that’s more like it.’

In spite of the fact that entering these comics was usually a prelude to difficult business for the Blue Spy, it was hard not to breathe a sigh of indulgence for just one moment, the violet eyes closing as short-lived bliss washed over.

When he re-opened his eyes, Tristan Lulamoon was feeling grateful that, though he may carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, the world had given him this much. To be Tristan.

Suitably assured of his current masculinity, Tristan assessed his surroundings.

They were no more or less than what he might have expected, based on the cover of the comic. A boiler-plate jungle landscape for pulp tales, all dense green foliage interspersed with bioluminescent flora, hanging vines, and massive trees with thick barks, their canopy nearly blotting out the sky except for patches through which the sunlight fell at evocative angles. The earth underhoof felt peaty and humid.

Which was hardly surprising, seeing as that is just what it was. A fuzzy, sketchy quality permeated the landscape, thanks to a limited and simplified palette of colours, with few shades in-between, providing the reminder that this was the inside of a comic-book. No leaves were ever so green, no tree-bark ever so brown in the real world.

But Tristan was real. The realest thing in here.

“Doctor Bravestone,” said a voice. “Welcome to Jumanji.”

In defiance of cliché, the voice came not from behind, but in front of Tristan. The speaker was simply well-hidden. Having danced this dance many times, Tristan was unperturbed to see a pony pegasus push her way out of the foliage. This pegasus’s look was famous the world over. The iconic explorer’s hat and jacket, the loamy-toned orange coat, the dashing mane patterned like a rainbow of black-and-grey.

For all intents and purpose, here stood the beloved hero of adventure novels, Daring Do.

Tristan cleared his throat. “Thank you. Feels good to be back,” he said, before uttering the third of the code-phrases. “Still, Zathura is the better movie.”

To Tristan, and everyone else in the PHL, one of life’s great mysteries was how his handler could have captured Daring’s features so convincingly.

Professional Daring Do impersonators such as Teddie Safari or Chestnut Magnifico might have been capable of it, were this the real world. But even they needed to dye their coat and manes. Illusion was Tristan’s great talent, yet all he knew about it suggested such a level of detail ought not be possible, within the comic-space.

This space was not cyberspace, much as he fancied thinking of it that way. If the interactive comic worked like a video-game, then it was an arcade game or cartridge-based. Multiplayer was only possible with people sitting right next to you, rather than the long-distance ‘online’ world that had become the norm on Earth.

In the early days, Tristan had theorised that ‘Daring’ was a recording, a construct. Her ability to engage him in conversation cast this into doubt. A construct who was able to respond so fluidly would be superior to any human-made chatbox, and so far as he was aware, this was one area where Earth technology and Equestrian magic were roughly on par with each other.

He did know of a spell for long-distance communication through avatars. An enchantment typically used on lifelike portraits, or music-box ballerinas. It was a fiendishly complex spell, such that only someone steeped in magical skill could ever have called it ‘simple’. For a pegasus to cast it would mean she was using a rare and valuable scroll or the services of a powerful wizard, of which few were unregistered by the Solar Empire. And given how it required enchanting a facsimile of the speaker to work, the spell was practically useless for concealing one’s identity.

“Agree to disagree,” Daring said, dutifully. She took off her hat. “Now we got that out of the way, we need to talk shop.”

Something about her tone implied ‘Daring’ knew exactly what sort of thoughts had been going through Tristan’s mind. He willed himself to keep a poker face. Which made sense, really. So incisive a perception was a desirable trait in a handler for a clandestine organisation.

As for the hat removal, this was probably formality. Nonetheless, had Tristan hazarded a guess, it was just as likely to show she wasn’t, as a matter of fact, hiding a horn underneath.

“What do I need to know?” Tristan said. “When I saw Coloratura on the news, I reckoned it was ten-to-one I’d be hearing from you today.”

“Ah, then you already know about Boston,” Daring said gravely. “That’s good.”

“Boston?” Trixie shook her head. “No, Coloratura didn’t say anything about Boston. Just spouted off the same old waffle. Said the Empire have things under control, because of course they do. Whatever it was, though, it’s got them freaked out. Sounds like they realise they can’t cover this one up completely. Something to do with Nightmare Moon. Is that true?”

Momentarily, Daring let the silence hang. “Yes, it’s true. To a degree. But you’re not giving the Empire enough credit. By focusing the story on… this alleged Nightmare Moon, they’re drawing the attention away from what really matters to them.”

“And what’s that?”

“All in good time, Tristan,” Daring said. “First, I must brief you on your mission.”

Tristan couldn’t help sighing. “Need-to-know, right?” he said, giving his brow a hoof-pinch. That word seemed to come up a lot in this business. “Okay, I get it. So what do you want?”

“This comes all the way from Command,” Daring told her, pretending to inspect a clump of bioluminescent flora on a nearby tree-bark. “Mister Gladmane himself, with input from Miss Amethyst Star. That’s how serious this is. I felt you should know that.”

“Gladmane and Amethyst?”

Tristan whistled. He hadn’t done a job this big since the PHL’s infancy and Ambassador Heartstrings’ bank vault. Or the illegal broadcast of the Reykjavik video, though the authorities had been quick to dismiss Queen Celestia’s petrification of Princess Luna as fake news. Or that investigation into Doctor Catseye’s assassination, which the PHL and other dissident groups each denied responsibility for, regardless of official statements.

Jobs of this scale were too big to fly solo. A team would have to be assembled.

“That’s right,” said Daring. “I see you’ve guessed it. I need the Great and Powerful Trixie to go out on tour.”

“This had better be good…” said Tristan.

The other mare smiled. “The best. Tell me, how does a heist sound to you?”

“... What sort of a heist?”

“A stone statue.”

Tristan gasped. “A statue? We’re… we’re freeing Princess Luna at last?”

Daring’s smile lost a little of its lustre. “I wish I could tell you we were. Sorry, no. We still can’t get around the problem of finding the right statue…”

“Oh,” said Tristan. “Then… whose statue are we talking about? What could be bigger than Princess Luna?”

“Who do you think?” Daring said, no longer smiling, but solemn. “One who was turned to stone by the Elements of Harmony, not once but twice before.”

He had think of it for but a second. “Wait… You don’t mean Discord?”

Daring nodded. “The very same.”

“How’s that possible?” Tristan said, feeling his coat’s hairs stand on end, more real than anything in this artificial environment. “Every single bit of information we could gather about Discord led back to one conclusion. H-he’s dead. The Empire broke his statue and they’ve used the pieces to power their Earth-portals ever since.”

“Apparently not,” Daring said. Her eyes were dark, and unreadable. “Apparently, there’s a piece to this puzzle we weren’t aware of– but that’s not what’s important. What’s important is, wherever they got it from, the Empire have managed to acquire a brand-new Discord statue.”

Tristan was silent as he digested the full implications of this.

They were too large for him. Over the course of this war, one silver lining for the PHL was that the Solar Empire couldn’t draw upon the full power of Discord at their disposal. The vast majority was poured into maintaining the interdimensional connection, necessary for ferrying troops and supplies across Earth.

In fact, it was only thanks to the theft of one of the eight Discord pieces that the PHL had their own portals at all, held together by spit, duct-tape and a far-too-limited supply of crystals, including crudely-synthesised ones. A theft the Blue Spy had not been involved in. It was before the Spy’s time. If memory served, this was the work of an Imperial defector, but the full details were never provided, down to what had become of that defector. Only that the Discord piece came from the devastated Dragonlands, somehow.

But if the Solar Empire now had twice that power to draw from…

“Damn,” Tristan said. The word felt inadequate. “And they haven’t broken it yet?”

“That, Tristan, is the right question,” Daring said. “So far, we have no reason to think so. However, I’m sure I needn’t draw you a picture of what’ll happen when they do. This statue remaining unbroken is our best chance to nip it in the bud– before they spread Discord’s pieces again.”

“I hear you loud and clear.”

Tristan lifted his head as high as he could.

“I’m guessing this must be the part where you say ‘Your mission, should you choose to accept it.’”

Daring didn’t smile, but her gaze did briefly lighten. “Like you have a choice?” she said. “Although, if you’re telling me you know someone who’s better-suited for this…”

“I beg your pardon?” Tristan said, clutching a forehoof to his chest. “Perish the thought, Miss Do! The Great and Powerful Trix– Tristan would like to meet that someone, whoever they are!”

Pride was still everything to Tristan Lulamoon. Especially professional pride. And the mare opposite him knew.

“Very well,” said Daring. “Listen closely. In a day, maybe two days’ time, you’ll get a letter. That letter shall be an invitation to the Holy City of Farsina, down in Saddle Mareabia. There, you will meet with an old sponsor of yours. Officially, you’ll be putting on a show for the Grand Galloping Gala. This is where you’ll stay, until further notice– but in the meantime, you’ll be collecting information, and associates. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Tristan swallowed, but nodded. “Crystal,” he said. “But… these associates, as you call them. They won’t be doing this for free, you know.”

“Leave that to me,” Daring told him. “By the time you’ll arrive in Farsina, it should all be taken care of.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“No trouble. And now, if you have any further questions, here’s your chance. Ask away.”

There were a hundred different questions Tristan would have liked to ask. What the deal was with ‘Nightmare Moon’ on Earth, for instance. Where Captain Alexander Reiner had vanished to, in the wake of the ambush at the JFK portal-station. The fate of the Reindeer in Adlaborn. Whether Ambassador Lyra was really dead, or whether she’d come back and save them all, as a few believers claimed she would. If Bonbon Sugarbean had indeed become an Oracle, related to the previous question. Or the true identity of the mare opposite him.

Above all, why had Princess Celestia gone from who she was to tyrannical Queen.

“... Spell Nexus.”

“Sorry?”

As a first for Daring, she actually looked taken aback, even a bit wide-eyed.

In this comic-space world, Tristan still wore the same suit he’d worn onstage as Trixie. Reflexively, his hoof reached for his pocket, from which he pulled out an item. Or rather, a totem. A memento from Erebus. An old, faded die with ‘equal’ signs scratched on it.

“Nexus,” said Trista, turning the die over in his forehoof. “Coloratura mentioned his name. The Empire are blaming him for… well, Nightmare Moon. You don’t suppose there’s anything to it?”

Daring took a little longer to answer than she should.

“I really couldn’t say, Tristan.” Daring gave him an inquisitive, probing stare. “When was the last time you had any dealings with Spell Nexus?”

“Ages.”

Whatever else, Tristan wasn’t about to give a straight answer regarding Starlight’s godfather.

“Last I heard, he’d gone North, to bargain with his… our ‘patron’, was his name for it. ‘Course, that was way before Adlaborn closed its borders, or so the Empire says they did.”

“Yes…” Daring stroked her chin, plainly talking to herself. “The Father of Monsters… Not a ‘patron’ the Order would approve of…”

“Say what?”

“Nothing,” said Daring. “Tristan– If that’ll be all, I’ve got pressing business to attend to.”

He sighed, dissatisfied, yet comprehending.

“Fair enough,” Tristan said, as he pocketed the dice. “Well… Shall we?”

“Gladly,” Daring said, managing another smile. She held out a forehoof. “What do we say now?”

Tristan touched her forehoof with his. They would speak a mantra, rather than a code-phrase.

This was not strictly a necessity. But it was a ritual which many in the PHL, and amongst their human supporters, had adopted, to remind themselves of the true scope of what they fought for.

A mantra which only echoed more and more as the Barrier neared Boston.

“‘When DC falls,’” recited Tristan, “‘It will be the same as any day on Earth for these last five-and-half years.’”

“‘Somewhere on the other side of the world,’” Daring recited back, both solemn and smiling, “‘someone else is fighting for humans' right to live, and most are as human as you are.’”

“‘Or a friend of humanity– All humanity.’”

“Stand on Zanzibar.”

“Yeah. Stand on Zanzibar.”

~ Hollow One, North Atlantic ~ November 18th, 2024 CE ~
— Fourteen days prior to the Expedition’s departure

“Chief Engineer,” saluted the Base Commander. “Earth welcomes you.”

Stepping across the portal-station’s border, Awesome Fire took a moment to gather his wits, hoping it wouldn’t show that he kept a feeling of wooziness in check. Even here, at the heart of Hollow One, there permeated a sound of creaking, the melody of every metal structure exposed to the wild weather of the seas. Yet this was not what bothered him. During his naval career, he had always felt perfectly sure-hoofed, whether on deck or over thin air. However, he never did enjoy crossing over from one world to another.

What popular fiction rarely portrayed about any form of instantaneous transportation was just how disorientating it was. There was a reason why ‘portation was a closely regulated technique, generally discouraged for subjects under or past a certain age. It could be a nasty shock, just finding yourself standing opposite of where you’d been a second ago. Over longer distances, the change in factors such as temperature, atmospheric pressure and air quality required careful calibration, lest it prove overwhelming.

And that was not to mention the scent of ozone, which always accompanied ‘portation. While it was fortunately quick to dissipate, even a mage as mighty as Queen Celestia got into the habit of overlaying their ‘portation with more fragrant scents, like that of roses, out of courtesy for the noses of any other people around.

The portal-network between Equus and Earth was not, technically speaking, teleportation. But the same nausea-inducing factors still applied.

Having let his engineer’s mind clinically run down these facts, Awesome felt he’d sufficiently recovered to speak with proper dignity.

“At ease, Commander Shomari,” Awesome told him. “Let me see what the damage is.”

A trifle blunt and to the point, certainly, yet there was no time to waste on pleasantries. Since making his announcement before the Council, he’d been itching to get back to business. This had only been the day before. Already it felt like years ago.

He sensed his hooves and lips twitch. And although maybe it was a trick of the light, he could have sworn he spotted a spark off his snout. But he didn’t blink. Half a lifetime spent navigating his way towards the upper echelons of Canterlot society had taught him how to keep his emotions in check – outwardly, at any rate. The plain fact was, whenever Awesome Fire got excited about something, be it due to anger or whatever, he felt fit to burst into flames.

The impatience had gnawed at him all through the night and on his way here. Stuck aboard a Guild sky-boat departing Canterlot, Awesome had almost yearned for teleportation as his means of travel. But, tedious as it was, going through the way-station at Rambling Rock Ridge was an understandable precaution. For all of its might, the Solar Empire was not so overconfident as to place the hub of either its teleportation- or portal-networks within the capital itself. Who knew what mischief a foe might cause with a single well-placed bomb, especially one of the atomic city-busters created by humanity?

Awesome Fire had to smirk, as the irony of that last thought wasn’t lost on him. No question of it, the eagerness over why he’d come here was fast displacing his physical discomfort. Meanwhile, unaware of all that was going on inside the Chief Engineer’s head, Commander Shomari gave him a respectful nod and invited him to follow.

Hollow One’s portal-station chamber was the same as any Imperial portal-station’s, designed for utility rather than aesthetics, one vast circular space topped by a domed roof, centered around the all-important platform bearing the world-gate. The Empire’s ubiquitous crystal surfacing was absent here, with gun-metal grey taking its place. From behind protective glass, technicians observed the interaction between Chief Engineer and Base Commander, kept in the dark as to where a meeting between their superiors might take the course of the war.

That said, once they’d passed the sliding-doors leading into the base proper, duly flanked by two Imperial Guards, Awesome felt a nervous twinge. He was tall for a pony, a tall unicorn from Canterlot, but Hollow One was primarily staffed by Saddle Mareabians, who were taller still.

“If I may, sir,” Shomari’s gruff voice cut in, startling him. “While I understand your visit’s purpose, I would still like to know why you went to the trouble of coming in person. You were asking what the damage is. But you must know that even if she took a few hits, the damage sustained by The Great Equestrian is nothing beyond our ability to fix.”

Awesome glanced sideways at the Base Commander. When a zebra was in a position of authority over Saddle Mareabians, one had to wonder if more than a few strings hadn’t got pulled in the name of affirmative action. Still, based on what he’d cared to pick up from the grapevine, Shomari ran a tight ship, yet was respected by the people under his command, all races alike.

“Oh, I promise you, Shomari,” Awesome replied, “Far be it from me to doubt your staff’s ability to patch up our Great Babe– Ah, you didn’t know?” he said with a smile, upon seeing the other’s raised eyebrow. “That’s what old Krème-Brulée used to call her. His Great Babe. And so she was. Yes, you may see his name up on a plaque in front of lots of modern buildings… But vehicles, aah, now those are where my old mentor’s heart lay.”

“An honourable sentiment,” Shomari acknowledged. “Winds may sweep away sand and stone, in the passing of time, but always they carry the nomad towards new places– and there’s no shame in making his journey just a little easier.”

“Hm. Interesting you’d say that, when you’re in charge of a naval base, not a vessel.”

The Base Commander glanced at his base’s staff, going about their duties. “Sea-faring was long a trade favoured by horses, rather than zebras,” he said simply. “And while it is a feat to have built this equine-made island out in the ocean, I see it for what it is, a stepping-stone on our people’s path towards the lands beyond these waters.”

Sure enough, The Great Equestrian would be undergoing repairs at the repurposed Halifax Shipyard in Nova Scotia, recently claimed by the Solar Empire for their planned push into the North American heartland. A narrow success it had been, preventing the humans from enacting the typical scorched-earth policy upon those shipyards.

“Indeed,” said Awesome. “But here’s the deal. I’m not interested in just fixing the ship. No, to honour my mentor’s legacy… I believe I may have found a way to enhance it.”

“Is that so?” said Shomari. “Then, what might be the nature of this… enhancement?”

“Now, now. That’d be telling,” Awesome said. “All you need to know, my dear fellow, is that once we’ve got the paperwork sorted out, I shall be placing Platform 5 under direct supervision by the Guild of Engineers. Your shipyards over in Halifax will make repairs according to procedure, but leave a… shall we say, an open space on the ship, to fit in a new piece of my design.”

Shomari frowned. “That is most irregular, sir,” he said, in a voice which suggested he was not merely questioning the orthodoxy of this action. “If you’re planning to overhaul The Great Equestrian, why here? Why not take her back to Equestria?”

The spectre of impatience prodded at Awesome’s brain, yet he did his best to keep it down.

“Believe me,” said the Chief Engineer. “Very little gives me as much pleasure in this life as taking things apart and putting them back together. But we’re working on a deadline here. I’m not going to waste time on shipping The Great Equestrian piece-by-piece back to homeworld, not for one, tiny adjustment– even if that adjustment’s going to make all the difference. I trust you caught the news from Boston?”

They had reached the middle of the walkway, where it broke off to form a smaller, square platform. An elevator tier, in a facility which reached up to fifteen storeys, not counting the mandatory height above the water-line. Close by, having saluted, one of the Guards stepped forward to open the elevator doors.

Noticing that Shomari had paused to reply, Awesome took a look up, quietly marveling at the Pan-Equine engineering on display. They were merely on the fifth storey, and this area of the facility was not divided into floors. Other than a number of walkways, there was a virtually unblocked view to the translucent crystal ceiling, far above.

He could see it was raining. Seen from below, water turned the ceiling into a mass of rivulets and ripples. Of course. Until the day came when Earth had been wholly converted, the weather would remain wild, particularly on this side of the Barrier. Awesome thought back, wryly, to the many tense debates the Guild of Engineers had held regarding that specific problem. In the end, taking into account how much of the national economy was getting sunk into repurposing human infrastructure and the Newfoal population influx, permanent weather control had been deemed too cost-ineffective, a concern for a later date.

Which, as not many liked to admit, might take at least another twenty years.

But the sight of rain also reminded Awesome of other days, and here he felt his insides begin to tighten uneasily. A more carefree time, a joyride aboard Celestia’s flagship, in the company of best friends, such as Shieldwall and Boiler Plate and old Blue–

“I read the papers this morning,” Shomari said cautiously, speaking as one who knows that the truth is defined by the State. “Nightmare Moon, wasn’t it?”

It was a relief the Base Commander had chosen now to interrupt Awesome’s thoughts.

Collecting himself, he replied, “That’s the official line. No-one’s really sure. After all, Her Majesty has assured us that last she checked, her fallen sister was in safe custody.”

“But if that’s true… Is this really the safest place for repairs, so close to Boston?”

Awesome bit back irritation, stepping into the elevator. “It’s only a danger if the humans know what we’re up to. And while they may have eyes in the sky, I have faith that our counter-measures are more than capable of blocking their sight. Or am I to assume you haven’t kept up with the latest innovations?”

“No-no,” Shomari said hurriedly, even as he stepped after him. “Of course not. Forgive me, sir.”

In spite of Awesome’s confident words, he had to concede the Base Commander’s point. While the newest scramblers may work wonders against satellites, those damned human-made devices which had been spinning around the Earth like mosquitoes for seventy years, they could not conceal what was visible to the naked eye – or a drone sweep. Speaking of insects.

Still. Even nowadays, Awesome found it hard to forget how excited he’d been, when he’d first heard about this world’s technological breakthroughs in travelling to space. If only Equestria had granted him the budget years ago, they might have got a few satellites of their own up by now. Both on Equus for civilian purposes, and on Earth for military applications. The possibilities were endless.

The elevator went upwards. And Awesome Fire, who was still lamenting their lack of sending objects into space, began to feel woozy again.

It had nothing to do with the elevator’s creaking, swaying motions, nor his head for heights. One couldn’t spend months aboard an airship like he’d done in his youth, not without building up an immunity to such discomforts. The problem was the same as ever. He did not like crossing over, in either direction, and Earth made him feel faint. And having left active field duty behind a long time ago, he lacked the frontliners’ practice in adapting to the thaumically-poor environment of this wretched planet.

All Equestrians had that problem, when they visited Earth. Except, apparently, alicorns.

Hoping Shomari wouldn’t notice, Awesome discreetly patted his jacket’s pocket. He relaxed upon feeling the little bag of crystal snuff inside. Like all ponies of the higher brass, ever since the Crystal Realm had brought about a new age, Awesome wasn’t above using a stronger stimulant than coffee to enhance his abilities. This was practically a necessity on Earth, cut off from the innately magical background of their homeworld.

He would use the pick-me-up once out of Shomari’s sight.

The elevator passed through the crystalline ceiling and into a glass shaft, moving up along the inner wall of Platform 1 and towards its destination, the Base Commander’s office, which jutted from the platform to overlook the whole of Hollow One. Peering through the rain-speckled glass, Awesome noted that business seemed to go on as usual. Technicians rushed to and fro, attending to sky-boats covered by tarps as protection from the rain. Lookouts kept watch at their stations, ready to man anti-aircraft and anti-missile cannons at any moment, though the shield-dome which covered the base should repel any bombardment.

On the one hoof, this gave him satisfaction to see. Everything was in place to limit humanity’s chances of getting payback for Operation Maelstrom and all those aircraft carriers the US Navy had lost on Conversion Day. On the other, he could barely hold down contempt at the peons’ unawareness of history in the making.

A chime of the elevator-bell announced they had arrived.

Shomari opened the door, stepping out to usher him in. “Have a seat, sir,” he said, motioning to one of several empty chairs in front of his desk, which faced away from a wall-to-wall window that provided a view very similar to what Awesome had just seen. “And consider Hollow One entirely at your service. In your message, you said you wished to meet with Mister al-Husan?”

“Yes…” Awesome said, brushing past him. He sat down, took a look around, and frowned. “So where is he? I’d expected to see him here. He knew I was coming.”

At that, Shomari swiftly went to the desk, pressing a button on its intercom. “I can promise you it isn’t like Mister al-Husan to slack off,” he said, waiting for the intercom’s bulb to turn from green to red. “As a matter of fact, I imagine he’s out there right now, still working over the ship.”

Awesome clucked his tongue impatiently. “Bits and bobs, Commander, tinker-toys! Please inform Mister al-Husan he’ll be doing a lot more good with his work, if he could just step in here five minutes and hear what I’ve got to say.”

The light turned green on the intercom. “Get me al-Husan,” Shomari spoke into the microphone. “The Chief Engineer is waiting for him.” With that done, turning back to Awesome, he addressed him in the most deferential tone he’d used till now. “While we wait, can I interest you in a drink, Chief? We haven’t got much in stock, yet I keep one or two of the finest brands on the side, in case of special occasions.”

“That’d be welcome,” said Awesome. It would provide him with a more socially-acceptable means to suppress the wooziness, just to name one upside. “I’m partial to any fine vintage, Commander. Though I suppose a sip of Chateau Equitales Unicornia would be too much to ask?”

“You may be surprised,” smiled Shomari, heading for the drinks cabinet.

With Shomari’s back turned, Awesome let his horn glow in silence, rapidly and discreetly pulling out a pinch of the crystal snuff to dab his snout. He breathed in twice, and waited for the powder to take effect.

Grateful to be free of the zebra’s persistent questioning, if only for a short spell, Awesome nonetheless decided he didn’t want to sit around as he waited. Getting out of his chair, he took stock of the office. Fittingly for a military base, the room was utilitarian, functional, with few amenities as might be found in the colonial arcologies. A different space from, say, the Warden of Europe’s quarters at Hajnowka – no fancy fireplaces or carpets.

The item which came closest to passing for adornment rested on the desk, under a glass bell-jar. A sample of the crystal flower, encased in amber to prevent its rapid wilt and decay.

However, for all of that, there were a couple of similarities, common to the workplaces of all officials of the Pan-Equine Co-Harmony Sphere. Much like his own office back in Canterlot, Awesome recognised the portrait of Queen Celestia hanging over the drinks cabinet, a requirement for every important room in the Solar Empire. What pleased Awesome to see was the vast holographic map of Earth, spanning the whole of the starboard wall. Updated daily, maps like this featured in war-rooms, yet also in the superior officers’ work-spaces, a regular reminder of just how the Solar Empire systematically tightened its grasp over Earth.

“Here we are,” said Shomari, setting down three glasses on his desk, into which he began to expertly pour a substance like liquid gold, with the aroma of pine. “Wasn’t Chateau Equitales what you’d asked for, Mister Fire?”

Awesome nodded, granting him a small smile, yet he took the glass wordlessly. Alcohol might help combat his brain-fog, at least in small doses. But with time left to kill, the intellectual exercise of purveying the world map would not go amiss.

Unmistakable, changing subtly over the course of years, was the radius of the pink line that marked the Barrier.

Enveloping a quarter of the planet’s total surface and half of its landmass, what used to show up on maps as a perfect circle had, once the event horizon crossed Greenland and Scandinavia to enter the Arctic regions, turned into something closer to the shape of a bell-curve. A two-dimensional map like this no longer even showed where the Barrier ended in the North, having long penetrated the Russian heartland to the East. To the West, the line reached far enough into North America to consume Hudson Bay. Its Southernmost point currently lay a little under the Equator, eating up half the Democratic Republic of the Congo and edging onto the border of Angola.

He took a sip of his drink, contemplative. Five years of this, with another twenty to go. Was it his imagination, or were the colours on the map scintillating…

Like all such maps, the landmasses were coloured in a range of colours denoting human activity. The standard red-orange-green spectrum, extending from heaviest to lightest. Naturally, many territories outside of the Barrier’s radius were marked in deepest shade of angry red, Africa and Asia being the worst offenders. But whereas at one time, those areas within the Barrier would have been synonymous with a green as pure as freshly-mown grass, this had ceased to be the case merely a year into the war.

Scowling, Awesome shot a glance at the crystal-flower sample, encased in its jar of amber.

They would not be here if it weren’t for the Apostate, the Great Betrayer. Lyra Heartstrings, formerly their Ambassador to Earth. He noted the irony of how, on the night she’d been captured, Heartstrings was at work on one of many projects her PHL had devised to be a thorn in the Solar Empire’s side – the super-ship known as Thunderchild. Because Heartstrings was not the only one who’d read H.G. Wells’ War of The Worlds.

Ever the engineer, Awesome too had seen fit to take a peek into humanity’s classic works of science-fiction. What might be outdated today had once served as someone’s inspiration. Before human culture was deemed taboo by the Solar Empire, he’d found a lot to learn from it. Word was, Archmage Twilight had shown interest in the works of H.G. Wells and Jules Verne, with their charmingly whimsical hypotheses about building a rocket to the Moon.

Celestia had the wisdom to pre-empt the mistakes of Wells’ Martians, even as she’d employed a tactic similar to theirs in other regards. The first three years of tentative peace between Equestria and Earth, above all, had served to ensure that Equestrians would be properly inoculated against the diseases of the human world.

… Then there was the crystal flower. A different kind of inoculation. Their terraforming seed, their proverbial coat of lacquer to spread magic’s essence where none had been, so the Barrier wouldn’t be too indiscriminate in how it erased humanity’s legacy. A functioning Empire needed to selectively preserve the infrastructure of its conquered territories, after all.

With a further sip, Awesome took another look at the map. It stood out starkly now.

At the heart of Europe, the land was a wholesome, healthy, vibrant green. But move further towards the edges, and blotches of orange started to appear. In Türkiye, Ukraine, and Russia. Isolated dots scattered throughout Spain, Portugal, and Greece, and all of Scandinavia.

Meanwhile, while much of North Africa might show up in pleasing green – a deceptive colour, hardly representative of the harsh desert landscape – Egypt, Israel, and Syria clung to orange, even after the Solar Empire had caught up on its delay in erasing the Great Pyramids and the Dome of the Rock. A move which, instead of breaking the locals’ spirits, had galvanised them to fight harder. He’d heard the rumours these people were down to wielding sticks and stones, yet they fought on. Against the Solar Empire, and between themselves.

Most infuriating of all were Nigeria, Kenya and both Congos, so dark an orange it verged on blood-red.

And outside of the Barrier, there were still zones marked by the nuclear radiation symbol, including the entire former Democratic Republic of Korea. To this day, the Chief Engineer wasn’t sure it was true a mass-Conversion sneak attack had succeeded in the region, or whether this had only been an excuse for China and Russia to pre-emptively wipe out twenty-five million hungry mouths from the face of the Earth. Certainly, Equestria had never managed to set up a Wellness Centre inside the notorious hermit kingdom…

Finishing his drink, Awesome tore his eyes away from the map, slamming his glass on the desk, which drew a startled glance from Shomari.

“Sir, are you alright?”

Awesome ignored him, instead giving the crystal flower a thunderous look.

Exposed to Earth, the flower normally blossomed and wilted in the space of a day. All thanks to the Archmage’s design, careful to limit humans’ chances of seizing a fresh specimen, lest they reproduce it. Early tests on live subjects had demonstrated that a method so crude as a thaumon-seeded bunker, or just a full-body suit, whilst one-use only, could protect a human from the Barrier’s effects upon their flesh. A risk deemed acceptable, based on the theory that humanity possessed none of the expertise to reproduce the crystal flower and its seed en masse.

Yet here they were, with swathes of human resistance subsisting within the Barrier.

He gave the map a last glance, shaking his head. Damn Heartstrings. Who’d have thought that against the forces of the Solar Empire and its allies, a mere nine-thousand Equestrians gone rogue could have caused so much trouble – not counting the other Equuistes who rallied to their treacherous cause, be it out of political conviction or as mercenaries. By all rights, they should have met the same fate as most dissenters and malcontents throughout history. Scattered cells, lacking centralised leadership, easy pickings for a superior military.

Instead, the vast majority of these troublemakers had been brought under one banner by Lyra Heartstrings. Sure, Russia and China may have press-ganged a few as stooges, but compared to the PHL, those divisions were cheap knock-offs, out of the race before they even got started.

The elevator-bell’s chime was heard again, and Awesome composed himself, surreptitiously brushing a speck off his jacket. He couldn’t be sure if it was dust, or a stray bit of snuff. What mattered was that he looked the picture of a Chief Engineer in a subordinate’s presence.

As Base Commander, Shomari took care of the greetings.

“Mister al-Husan. Come in.”

Even before he glanced back, Awesome knew the Saddle Mareabian stallion in question would be carefully concealing some distaste at being plain ‘mister’, though one would have thought he’d be used to it by now. Guild members working for the military did have a rank and title, on paper, but it was commonplace for a superior to call them by the ‘mister’ appellation.

No surprise that a zebra officer would happily refrain from using honorifics to address a horse, however, least of all a member of the illustrious al-Husan family.

“Platform Engineer al-Husan, reporting for duty,” the horse said formally, standing at attention, with a slight yet noticeable emphasis on his job title.

Awesome sidled to the front of the desk. “At ease, Platform Engineer,” he said, gesturing graciously towards the third glass of champagne. “And have a drink.”

The crystal snuff was kicking in, making him aware of every movement, and he felt in complete control of his body language. Just as well, really. Height aside, horses discomforted him. In more ways than one, especially seen up-close, with their long faces that made it hard to read their expressions at the best of times. And this was a born aristocrat.

For his part, Awesome felt sure his face betrayed nothing, only poise and an air of aloof dignity. He had a knack for it, better than his old friend, Prince B–

No, no. Focus. He had his body under control. He could do the same with his mind.

“Chief Engineer,” said Master Aynunnaim-ben-Qabil of House al-Husan, stoically accepting the glass from Shomari. “Apologies, I was kept busy. We didn’t expect you’d make it here so soon.”

“That’s quite alright, Aynuk,” Awesome said amiably, noting with satisfaction the small twitch of the horse’s ear, which bespoke surprise at hearing himself addressed so familiarly. He understood the power of given names, albeit likely for different reasons than the noble-born. “We live, as the Kirin say, in interesting times. I called you up here because I’d like to enlist your help in redefining those times.”

The Conversion serum. Platforms out in the ocean. Dreams of satellites. The crystal flower. All of these had shaped Equestria’s campaign on Earth, and in turn shaped their new Earth. But Awesome Fire’s feverish, details-orientated mind would not be satisfied with those alone. He knew the idea he brought to the table would reset the board like never before. And when it did, it would be, what was the word?

‘Awesome.’

~ Mumit Desert, Outskirts of The Holy City of Farsina, Saddle Mareabia ~ Fifteenth Day of The Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~

Throughout the ages, the poets have claimed there is no time of day like the sunset.

Whichever landscape the last light touches, so it is said, shall be enhanced, at this magical time like no other. This claim has been made of mountaintops, where white snows turn the colour of the rose, to those calm seas which create an illusion where daylight’s orb appears unbroken, across the horizon. But these are places to which, despite their own hazards, many would ascribe a natural beauty. Sunset can bring out such beauty even in the harshest, most barren of landscapes. Any soul who has witnessed the sunset of the desert can attest to this.

Perched upon the jutting, sand-blown pillar of a lost civilisation, the great roc which observed the setting Sun wondered why this was so, even though it was a long time since he had felt that beauty for himself. Sharp bird’s eyes, blinking from the light, yet razor-sharp in their focus, took in the view, with a clinical gaze.

Despite appearances, here was no dumb beast. Merely an artisan who wore the guise of one. True, the risk inherent in wearing these guises, as known by all such artisans, lay in adopting a beast’s habits and mannerisms over time. But this emotional imperviousness to the sunset had nothing to do with animal incuriosity.

The artisan remembered a time, a score-and-three years ago now, spent in a sunless place. A penance, well-merited, for a transgression committed in pushing the boundaries of his arts. Endless days spent wishing, with only the slightest ill will towards the Princess of the Sun, for the day he may look upon her Sun’s light again, and his family.

And that day had come, just as promised. But when it had, out he stepped into a changed world, what seemed a colder world. The Crystal Realm had been reclaimed, yet as the crystal spread from that oasis of the North, he felt not its warmth, but a chill which reached even so far as here, the sunburnt deserts of his home.

Through the eyes of roc, Qabil al-Husan, son of Alhurala, stared toward the Sun, and wondered where her joy had gone. Upon the dunes, the familiar colours of gold, scarlet and pink mingled, with a pinch of navy blue on the horizon to the East. He saw no beauty in them.

Finding no reason to stare further, the roc guardedly swivelled his head around. A last inspection of the ruins he called his ‘hidden estate’, although ‘lair’ may have been a better term.

Outwardly, there was nothing of note, besides a few broken pillars like his perch. Remains from before there was a Saddle Mareabia, when the Thracian Empire had extended across half of the Great Continent, the Equestrian Princesses’ most formidable rival as they strove to bring hundreds of disparate little equine kingdoms under one banner.

Before Equestria. Before the Pan-Equine Co-Harmony Sphere.

But of course, this unnotable appearance was precisely as intended. The casual onlooker, and there are not many of those in the desert, would have written it off as some ancient outpost, a temporary shelter at best. If they could make it across the shifting sands. Whereupon any who ventured further would have spotted, to their dismay, what looked like the signs of a roc’s lair – the shedded, shrivelled yet undeniably massive feathers, the bleached white bones of its prey.

All a bit of trickery, admittedly, designed to scare off the foolhardy traveller. Despite himself, Qabil saw some humour in this similarity with a certain stage-magician he knew. Yet his family’s claim on this place went back many generations. For what was of interest about these ruins, due to a geological peculiarity, was that the mound and surrounding quicksands concealed a great pocket of air, large enough to house a Thracian villa. As if the sands had swallowed a whole building, yet retained a space to breathe.

It still served well, as a hideout. He could only lament his overconfidence, all those years ago, when he’d chosen to place the Liber Grogar in his estate’s private library, rather than here.

The sands closest to the roc’s perch undulated, as a shape moved below. He saw a serpentine head pop out, looking in both directions, then up at him.

Not a giant sandworm. As far as he knew, those were myths. Nor was it a Grootslang. No, a Basilisk. One more acquaintance from his time in the sunless place, and possibly a friend. Or at least a trusted custodian of the hideout.

Unable to speak in this form, Qabil communicated with her non-verbally. A flap of his left wing, two flaps of his right wing, two nods and a blink.

‘All clear. And thank you. I shall return in a week.’

Madame Lustra nodded back, before sinking back beneath the sands.

Meanwhile, Qabil turned his gaze towards home, half-wishing that he were not headed there.

* * * * *

Like so many places along the Great Continent, the face of Farsina, Holy City and the seat of House al-Husan, had undergone a change in the wake of the Crystal War – a conflict which had not reached this far down South, yet its aftermath was felt. From a bird’s-eye view, the city lights formed constellations, abrupt and intrusive against the black expanse of a desert at night. Artificial blaze, though dull in colour, powerful enough to blot the light of true stars above. Even the desert in this skyline’s immediate vicinity was artificial, a curated scenery, fine-combed to please the eye of sightseers, no longer the dunes trekked by pilgrims of old.

Qabil flew low. Adulation pleased him, but he had no wish to be a tourist attraction. Fortunately, the estate covered a massive stretch of land on Farsina’s border. He would not be passing by any crystalline skyscrapers, their balconies crammed with revellers, on his way.

Time in Erebus, at least, had not robbed him of his dignity. No matter the shape he wore, the Malikah’s Court Sorcerer wasn’t a beast to be gawked at, whether behind bars or out in the wild.

The landing upon his own balcony, adjacent to his office, afforded one particular luxury. Privacy. Built as it was to accommodate someone of his bloodline’s talents, there was also the space for a giant bird of prey to spread its bulk.

He wasted no time. Reversion began the moment he touched down, with the massive grey wings receding towards the sockets, their plumage dissipating into motes of dust and the limbs knitting back together. Beak and talons undulated, their consistency changing, so that they would reform into the muzzle and hocks of a stallion.

With the diminishment in size also came, gradually, the loss of standing upright. Feeling his hooves take shape, he allowed himself to lean forward, so that they might gently clatter upon the marble floor, their owner resuming a quadrupedal stance.

Feeling his horn emerge from his forehead, in conjunction with his tail at his flank, Qabil focused to let it shine bright. Here was arguably the trickiest part, pulling his garments from the null-space he’d stored them in. Most equines, particularly commoners, may not have fussed overmuch about clothing, but he was a Saddle Mareabian aristocrat.

Mere moments later, the roc was gone. In its place stood an elegant stallion, finely dressed in a turban and robes the light greens and off-yellows of the family coat-of-arms, his golden coat matched by a trim mane and goatee, with a stripe of grey to it.

Qabil paused, the time it took to crane his neck and stretch his spine. At fifty years of age, he remained in good health and had always been remarkably limber, yet he was beginning to feel the signs of strain upon his back. Nowadays, this transformation demanded new effort of him, when once it was smooth as butter.

By the doors leading from the balcony to his office, a young mare was waiting for him, wearing caparisons of similar colours. She also wore an unsurprised, immobile expression.

“Hadia,” Qabil greeted her.

“Father.” Hadia bowed her head slightly, yet her face did not move at all. “Miss Yugame wishes to talk to you. She says it’s important. I’ve arranged the necessaries.”

Qabil knew that his own face, now fully equine again, must have almost entirely stayed in place, but for just an instant, he felt a twitch of the eye.

“Follow me, please,” Hadia said, turning gracefully, formally, and mechanically.

A part of him didn’t want to follow after her. But her lack of awe at his transformation was not what ate at him. She was his daughter, and what might have struck fear in other people was merely part of her world. Had always been.

The instinct of many is to run from a roc. At one time, Hadia’s instinct would have been the precise opposite. A little girl running towards him, be he great roc, serpent or horse, for her father was home.

It wasn’t simply that she was a grown mare now. He’d wanted to believe this was all it was. At least he could have come to terms with that.

But it was not.

He followed her. The sight of this office had grown very familiar to him, over those five-and-twenty years since his late father had stepped down as Court Sorcerer. Already it had been a haunt of his childhood, while he was being groomed for the role. Such a place was less fantastical than many might suppose – no exotic animals stuffed in jars, no arcane tomes placed upon a lectern lit by an eerie glow. This was, after all, an office first and foremost, practical and tidy as its user cared to keep it.

Still, to a bookish child, shelves filled with scrolls and dossiers few others may read are magical in their own right. Qabil had sought to impart this devotion, and nurture the requisite skills, within both of his horn-bearing heirs.

He should not have thought about that. Qabil felt the dark cloud on his brow grow heavier for it. To this day, he wondered whether it had been a mistake, to give in to Amira’s wishes in naming Hadia as his successor. When he looked at the mare before him, that frigidly dutiful being…

And yet, what else could be done, after his eldest son had turned his back on duty.

Hadia did not lead him far. Separating it from the corridor and the estate beyond, his office opened onto an antechamber, considerably smaller, yet with a varnished wooden desk and chairs for those made to wait. At the desk, unusually for this hour, Qabil’s secretary was seated. Instead of working on the stacks of papers crowding the in- and out-boxes, Kana appeared to have taken a break, leaning back as she leafed through a manga.

The Kirin doe glanced as the two horses entered. “Hi there, boss,” she said, with a cheer he knew was affected. “Sorry to bother you, but your schedule’s clear this evening. I thought we might want to discuss plans for this week.”

“Plans?” Qabil said, raising an eyebrow. “What plans, Miss Yugame?”

“Why, the festivities, of course,” Kana said, laying down her manga. “Grand Galloping Gala will be upon us before we know it. Your lady-wife got her invitation weeks ago. Isn’t it time you decided if you’ll be going as her plus-one?”

While not as expensive as Qabil or Hadia’s accoutrement, Kana wore finery too, a black blazer and cravat. As she finished speaking, the Kirin’s horns shone, TK reaching into one pocket to pull out something. Qabil’s mouth went dry. Kana’s uncharacteristic use of ‘I’, rather than a Kirin’s stuffy ‘this one’ in reference to herself, if it preceded what he thought, could only mean one thing.

His fears were confirmed when Kana brought out her totem. A blunted dart with a torn fletch, from when she’d won that contest on games night. She placed the fletch on the table, as though it were the most nonchalant gesture in the world, but her eyes said otherwise.

Old Erebus prison-mates were getting called up.

“I see,” Qabil replied, not missing a beat. “Well, that may be tricky. It always is, you know.” He glanced at Hadia, who had remained – what else – impassive throughout. But he noticed that her gaze did not quite meet his. “What do you think, daughter?”

“I believe you have a choice on whether to go or not for this, Father,” Hadia said tonelessly. “The most important decisions were already made by Equestria.”

Given Kana’s slight wince, Qabil felt sure he hadn’t imagined a subtle emphasis Hadia had put on the words ‘for this’.

“Alright. Thank you,” Qabil said, suddenly feeling angry. “You may go. I shall discuss this further with Miss Yugame.”

Hadia gave him a bow and left.

“I’m sorry,” Kana said, as the doors closed behind Hadia. All false cheer was gone from her voice. “I forget sometimes how hard this is for you.”

“It’s no matter,” Qabil said without looking at her. “Word from our little blue friend, I assume?”

He felt confident no spies could overhear. The Solar Empire may have ears everywhere, including in his estate, yet not for nothing was he Court Sorcerer. If he could not sound-proof his most private chambers, then he deserved for Celestia to arrest him again.

Nonetheless, just as a precaution, from within his robes, Qabil brought out his totem too. This was a scratched red poker token. Despite his disdain for Farsina’s turn from holy to a city of vice, Qabil would have admitted to finding a guilty pleasure in the game. In a different life, where he was the one who’d moved to Ryuppon rather than Kana to his country, he may have been what in the plutocratic lands of Earth or the Storm King was known as a ‘high-roller’.

“Not directly,” said Kana, pulling up her manga. “She’ll be involved, yes, but… I suppose it’s best if I just let you hear it from the, uh, horse’s mouth.”

Qabil then saw just which manga she’d been reading.

“Please tell me it isn’t true.”

“I’m afraid it is,” Kana said gloomily.

* * * * *

Unlike Kana, Master Qabil would not stoop himself to enter Daring Do’s comic-book world. He was fortunate that he had other means at hoof. Perhaps it meant additional effort, but by concentrating the power of his horn, he’d managed to summon the image of Daring out of the comic’s pages, creating a holographic apparition that walked upon his floor.

The mare was remarkably life-like, with no trace that she was an artistic representation plucked from a manga, other than a hint of excess curve around her eyes. Quietly, Qabil marveled at how talented a spellcaster she must have in her own corner, to so perfectly emulate Daring Do.

Sensing his ego vacillate, Qabil also told himself that if she was here, it was because she still needed a thing only one in his position could provide. The brokering of knowledge.

Having given him the rundown about Miss Lulamoon’s upcoming visit, Daring finally paused.

“To see Miss Lulamoon will be a pleasure, I’m sure,” Qabil said. “With my supervision, I’ll be glad to give her access to my family’s library. But what is it that I can do for you, Miss Do? You mentioned a loan.”

“It’s like this, you see,” Daring said. “I’ve got a… contact, whom I plan to meet by the shore.”

Qabil frowned at her choice of words. In their parlance, ‘by the shore’ could only mean one place, less glamorous or glitzy than Farsina, but closer in atmosphere to the prison he’d met Kana and Miss Lulamoon at years ago, something he never cared to be reminded of.

Klugetown.

“And this contact needs money,” continued Daring. “Money I haven’t got. I have many things that could tempt you, Master Qabil– rare valuables, the most arcane additions for your collection. But none of these would be a suitable currency for my contact. Hence I propose a trade-off.”

“What a shame,” Qabil said dryly. “How much money are we talking about?”

Daring was blunt. “Ten thousand bits.”

To Qabil, this was basically pocket change. He could have lost this amount gambling, and neither Amira nor his other wives would have thought less of him. Even so, it was a matter of principle.

“I hope this is worth it, Miss Do. You’re asking me for quite an investment.”

Daring gave him a stare which said she knew just how small the investment was.

“What I’m offering you is worth about five times that amount of money,” Daring said coolly. “And this is only half of what I’m asking from you. When you get your payment, I’m sure you’ll agree it more than covers the remaining half.”

“Which isn’t monetary, I may presume.”

“Indeed not,” Daring said, pacing across the room. “Your Kirin assistant explained to me that you were on the fence about attending this year’s Grand Galloping Gala. I’m here to say you should.”

Qabil narrowed his eyes.

“I’d have to talk to Amira about that. It’s been years, yet my political standing with Equestria remains a thorny issue, as you’re no doubt aware.”

“Please, sir, don’t pretend you couldn’t sweet-talk the Vicereine every time,” Daring told him. “But I urge you to get your hoof in the door fast, because until your payment arrives, time’s going to be running short.”

“Very well,” Qabil conceded. “I’m intrigued. But how do you propose to secure this… payment?”

“You can send Miss Yugame to the shore,” Daring said. “It’s what you do on occasion, isn’t it? Listen, here are my instructions. This Saturday, just before noon, have Kana wait at a comic-book stand in the Ivory Lady’s Bazaar. She knows the one. I shall be sending an envoy. Make sure Kana comes with the right vehicle at the ready– she’ll be making this trip.”

“‘To the shore’, you mean.”

“Correct. She’ll recognise my envoy when they whisper three words to her. ‘Stand on Zanzibar’. After that, they should leave together, and not tarry.”

“This all sounds acceptable, Miss Do,” Qabil said. “But I have got one condition. I’d feel happier if I sent Kana with back-up of my choosing.”

The explorer mare momentarily seemed predisposed to argue, yet she merely inclined her head.

“As you wish,” said Daring. “I look forward to seeing Miss Yugame in around five days.”

~ Gallopoli, Equestrian Solar Empire ~ Seventeenth Day of The Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~
— Twelve days prior to the Expedition’s departure

The coastal city glowed like a totem-prole in idle mode.

Pegasi and hippogriffs weaved between the mid-sized towers that pierced a woollen blanket of cloud cover which nestled over the city. Concurrently, small commercial aerostats puttered along only just above street level, while storefronts gleamed with more goods than anyone could possibly dream of affording in their entirety.

Sculptures occupied every square, of Princess Luna, of the Bearers of Harmony, of idealised incarnations of equine figures. A mural of a smiling Queen Celestia adorned near the entire height of one building, gazing down upon all of her works. The poster’s colours shifted. It was a magical working of some kind – either a projection, or the colours could move autonomously. This was the Solar Empire, and new marvels such as those were revealed daily. Oranges, yellows, blues, and greens bloomed, to reveal a stylised, strangely blocky portrait of Rainbow Dash, wearing the Wonderbolt flight-suit. She was saluting. ‘Your Duty To Ensure Loyalty’, the poster proclaimed, in loud lettering.

And in the middle of it all trotted a blue unicorn mare, clad in unremarkable, rough-hewn clothes that looked like they’d sucked up a factory’s worth of grime. That was not quite right, of course – the process of staining the clothes had been anything but organic, but close enough.

Trixie hated it, all of it. She looked to the face of a statue that stood guard in a bustling square. A brass statue, fighting a losing battle against the verdigris that turned it a necrotic blue-green. It had been dedicated to the memory of the brave pony so-and-so, and how they had so courageously died to make all of this possible.

She was momentarily caught off-guard by the white light and ‘click’ of a snapshot being taken. Turning, Trixie saw what had done that.

A floating surveillance sphere, its trademark pink standing out against the urban environment. Noticing her look at it, the little black screen on the sphere briefly converted to a smiley emoji, followed by the words ‘Have A Nice Day’, before the thing floated away, to bother someone else.

She shook her head and moved on. Foals played in the streets among market stalls, selling goods. Roasted foods, drinks, books, gifts of all kinds. ‘Exotic Goods From The Colonies!’ declared one hoof-painted sign. It wasn’t likely that they had obtained goods from the frost-bitten, hard-scrabble settlements in what was once Europe, ones which starved, were resettled, and starved again as the Empire made a mad dash to beat a world without magically-controlled weather into submission.

As it happened, Trixie had come here looking for a bite. At the actual sight of it, the recollections this conjured up left her with only one phrase in mind.

‘I hate you.’

For all the advancements, for all the talk, this was no different from what Equestria condemned in humanity. All of this had been paid with a generous bounty of blood.

But here Trixie was, back on the road, after her promised-for invitation to Saddle Mareabia had reached the Hall of Unity the day before. The business of vacating her own ‘stall’ at the stage while keeping a lot in reserve for future use had been tedious, yet rapidly resolved. There were benefits to being freelance, and Equestria was still mercifully less do-or-die in the distinction between contract and self-employment.

Trixie thought of the white letter. The other one she had received, the day Coloratura made her ‘report’ about the situation on Earth.

Quite possibly this letter had been doctored, too, but she felt sure it had not. Monitored, yes. Perhaps not censored, per se, yet written under a tacit agreement that certain things are best left unsaid. She could live with that, so long as the words rang true.

My dear Trixie,

Hope this letter finds you well. I miss you, and I miss your visits. As I’ve said before, please don’t worry about me. You know I can look after myself, even or especially in a place like this. You’re the one I worry about, when I don’t hear from you for too long.

Been a rough year all around, same as ever. Still, I’ve been given permission to use the workshop in my spare time. You should get your present in time for the holidays.

I’ve kept count; this year will make it the twelfth Hearthswarming doll I’ll have sown without you. Feels strange, doesn’t it? Just like we take our traditions with us, wherever we go. Or the people.

You may have no fireplace to hang your doll over, if you’re in your cart. It gets pretty cold here too. I’m sure you remember what that was like. But I’ll be thinking of you when I put my doll with the others, and that’ll keep me warm.

Yours with love, always,
~Starlight

P.S.
They’ll want to check first I’m not using the doll to smuggle anything out or whatever. It’s okay, every year we go through this, and every year it works out. I got the headcount to prove it.

And the envelope had been marked with ‘SWALK’.

Well, not exactly. Trixie was thinking of Latin characters when she thought of it that way, rather than the alphabet she had grown up with. But this was its closest equivalent, in the language of her homeland. Certain images had buried themselves into her brain, from when she’d undergone the experience of learning about mankind’s violent history, which was a make-or-break point for Equusites.

One certitude was that, if it was lost, this war would indeed be ‘the war to end all wars’ for the human race. Only future history would tell if sinners like herself made the right call in giving them a chance.

Sometimes, the best chance we get is the one we give each other.

~ Free City of Klugetown ~ Twentieth Day of the Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~
— Nine days prior to the Expedition’s departure

Klugetown was, and always would be, a horrible hole, a stain on the map, and of all of the places that Yugame Kana had the displeasure of visiting, probably the worst. Already her precious Stormchamber-brand car had been forced to soil its wheels with the town’s muck, and she couldn’t imagine just how horrible it would be when the time came to open the door and let whatever foul smells lingered in the air into her vehicle.

‘Oh, I can’t believe I agreed to this,’ Kana thought as her lip curled up in cringe. She could see gaggles of wretches and assorted scum of every tribe eyeing her car and its occupants. The car was probably the cleanest, most valuable thing any of them had ever seen in their lives.

On the plus side, this wasn’t like twenty years ago, where showing up in so shiny a vehicle would have been an invitation to get mobbed on sight. Token though the Co-Harmony Sphere’s presence was here, the hippogriff and griffon patrols had brought a relative level of law and order compared to what was before. All Kana and her companions needed to do was make sure they didn’t get roped into an awkward situation with those same patrols.

They had driven carefully.

“How much further is this rendez-vous you mentioned?” Kana asked, turning to Sharp-Ears, who was sitting at the back, on the seat behind hers.

“Right up the street,” Sharp-Ears said, in her usual quiet voice. “You see it? Over there, squashed between the building that looks like a salt-shaker and the one shaped like a top hat.

At the front, seated next to her, Lustra spoke up. “Gotta squint,” the elderly Basilisk said lazily. “But it’s there. Hard to make out, I know. That’s the idea.”

Kana was sure she detected a con artist’s smugness in Lustra’s tone, the air of someone explaining about how to divert the audience’s attention. Not that Lustra seemed to be paying her much attention, snout glued to the window and not turning back.

“Okay, stop,” Lustra said a few seconds later, as they drew up to the indicated place. “This is where I get off.”

“‘I’?” Kana scoffed, even as she slowed her car down. “As if, Lustra. Do you really think any of us would let you go in on your own? Please. Next to Erebus, how bad can this be?”

This did get Lustra to turn, and much to her satisfaction, Kana saw actual surprise on the Basilisk’s face. That the effect was accentuated by the bulbous eyes of a snake actually helped to make it worth it.

Behind them, Sharp-Ears shifted, the little electric-yellow pegasus showing discomfort.

“You’re not kidding?” Lustra said after a moment. “Places like these… can get kind of rough.”

“What’s your point?” Kana replied, laying her forehooves to rest upon the wheel. “Actually, I’m feeling touched. I didn’t know you cared so much.”

The comment earned her a cough from Lustra. “What I care about is keeping this simple and getting us out in one piece,” said the Basilisk, gesturing at the dashboard with her tail. “How am I meant to do that if your shiny vehicle gets strip-mined by every lowlife to crawl this town?”

Kana snorted. “You really believe these scum would be able to lay a single digit on this beauty?” With a flourish, she swept her forehoof to encompass the entirety of her pride and joy. “This one has ways of keeping her private property secure.”

“Ah. Lightning, am I correct?” Lustra smirked. “Good thing we’re in a desert and there aren’t any ice-palaces for you to melt– though I’d bet a few Cloud Gremlins hang around this town.”

“I told you never to mention that!” Kana snapped. Two decades on, and this little mishap from her past still rankled. It had cost her a position as the Mikado’s student, plus her family honour, plus her career in Kyorito. That and it got her sent to Erebus.

Her eyes narrowed, as she noticed they were coming up to the building shaped vaguely like a giant salt-shaker. Biting back a curse, Kana pulled on the brakes. To the credit of her car’s fantastic design, there was only a slight jolt as they ground to a sudden yet gentle stop, and a not particularly intrusive hiss from the hydraulic suspension to compensate.

“So this is it?” Kana looked out at the building. Viewed up close, it was apparent that if it did look like a salt-shaker, it was one where the glass had been badly shaped and slumped before cooling. The wood was put together rather shoddily and heavily patched, leaving the wall with a pock-marked texture.

“You’ll want to stay in here,” Lustra said as she went to the car door.

“I thought we already went over this,” Kana snipped. She slammed a hoof down on a button. With an ominously audible click, Lustra’s door locked and a barely visible barrier surrounded the air an inch outside of it. She wasn’t going anywhere without Kana’s say-so.

Lustra groaned, the sound worryingly animalistic. Kana’s eye twitched as she felt an upsetting fluttering in her stomach. She focused instead on glaring back at Lustra, who’d spun around and was trying to pierce Kana with a hard stare. The butterflies only got worse, but staying true to her resolve, she tried to ignore them, along with the way Lustra was looming forward, bringing her face a little closer.

“Listen.” Lustra’s voice was firm as she looked Kana in the eye. “We can’t mess around here. This place is dangerous, and I don’t just mean in the ‘people are mean’ sort of way. This isn’t prison with its rules, or guards waiting to break things up. This is Klugetown, where everyone is only out for themselves, looking for a way to get one over everyone else.”

“For the record, I’m quite familiar with these kinds of people.” Sharp-Ears poked her head in from the back seat, getting in between the two and thankfully letting Kana concentrate again.

“I know.” Lustra sounded calmer as well. “That’s why you are allowed to accompany me into this establishment.”

“What!” Kana shrieked, causing Lustra to pull back with a wince. “She gets to go with you, but I have to stay in the car? No! No! This will not do. I won’t allow it!”

With the flick of another switch on the dashboard, Kana opened her door. It rose with a smooth metal hiss, but Kana did not wait to storm out. She barely heard her companions hurry after her, feeling so indignant that she didn’t even notice the mud she was traipsing in until she stopped at the entrance.

“Ugh,” she groaned. “This town, I swear.”

Shaking her head, Kana let her bifurcated horn shine in an effort to remove the mud. No need to let down one’s decorum, even if the establishment was disreputable. Job done, although stains remained, she straightened her gaze and stepped forward.

But she’d got distracted, so she failed to spot the dark shadow which had fallen across her, and nearly walked into the towering figure guarding the entrance.

“Hey, watch it, lady,” growled the figure, in rough, accented Common. “Where do you think you’re going, Fancy Car?”

Halting dead in her tracks, Kana quickly took stock of who’d spoken to her this way. It was one of the many ominous creatures who took up residence in Klugetown. In this case, the best way she could describe it was simply a heavyset biped with a bull’s head. Which may have been funny, weren’t it that as choices went for a bouncer, it was spot-on to pick a Minotaur.

Twenty years ago, if Kana was honest with herself, this might have got her to fall back in shock. Right back into the mud. But a stint in Equestria’s prison for magical offenders, plus friendship with a Basilisk, had a way of affecting your outlook.

Kana didn’t blink, although it galled her to speak Common.

“I have got a meeting…” Kana said coolly, the all-purpose excuse in Ryupponese culture for telling someone they weren’t worth your time. “My associates tell me this establishment plays host to those discussing business. So if you don’t mind, I’d wish to test that for myself, and then maybe I shall give you a decent write-up and recommendation.”

“You should, as the humans might say, get an app on Yelp,” Sharp-Ears quipped, sidling up to her.

“What?” Kana said blankly. “No, never mind. Will you please just tell this ruffian I’ve got a right to be here, unless you’re telling me I don’t fit the dress code.”

“Dress code ain’t the problem, doe-eyes,” the Minotaur bouncer said. His arms had been folded, in the manner of unfriendly bouncers everywhere, but now he gestured his thumb at something behind him. “What I wanna know is who you’re planning on playing cheerleader for.”

“Um, what?” Kana said, for the second time in a row.

“Your champion,” the bouncer hissed impatiently. “This ain’t a public playground. Either you can cough up to keep the club afloat, or you can go back to driving the race-track with that chrome hunk of yours.”

She saw what he’d been pointing at. There was a counter within the entrance, a heavily grated counter which seemed as if it had been wrapped in a wire-mesh of iron, leaving any silhouette from whoever was manning it barely distinguishable. But more to the point, two different posters had been set above the counter, and between them, a chalkboard with rows of numbers upon it.

Honed by the Court of Kyorito, her mind didn’t take long to recognise the numbers as odds.

“He means you gotta place a bet,” Lustra supplied helpfully, and Kana saw her smirking at the corners of her serpentine mouth. “On who you think’s got the better chance of beating the other guy to mulch. Or they don’t let you in.” She paused just a moment. “Still feel up to that?”

Kana’s face scrunched up in disgust. Gambling was not a hobby of hers. She had not been trained to be a stock-broker or investor. She was a courtier, an executive and, if necessary, an accountant. All of her expertise was in a more stable kind of numbers. The last time in her life where she had taken a truly big gamble, it had landed her in a cell in Erebus and derailed her entire life. Kana turned and saw Lustra still giving her that smug, expectant smirk.

“Very well,” Kana sighed. Then she turned to the bouncer, raised her head high, took on her most authoritative tone of voice and readopted her favorite term of self-reference. “This one shall place her bet.” She shot Lustra her own smirk as she saw her pleased expression falter and give way to surprise.

“What’s with the funny way a’ talking?” the bouncer snarked as he went over to the counter.

“It’s no business of yours,” Kana snapped back.

Ignoring her, the bouncer leaned over the counter and hollered into the space behind it. “Oi! Worm! We got two more bets to make. Get over here.”

The bouncer pulled back, and Kana waited for whoever was the clerk for this desk to appear. Funnily enough, there had been no silhouette because no-one was there. Sharp-Ears and Lustra joined her, just as expectant. They waited for several seconds, seeing nothing until they heard a wheezing noise, before a short, squat figure trotted out of the dark alcove behind the counter. It was a hedgehog, a particularly pudgy and rotund example of their species.

“Right, right, no sweat, Baz, I’m here, I’m here! Hey,” gasped the hedgehog, Worm, as he clumsily hauled himself onto a stool that let him actually sit up behind the counter. “Place… oh, ‘kay now… place your bets.”

Kana raised an eyebrow as Worm slapped the counter and then, still trying to catch his breath, waved idly at the scoreboards that hung on the wall above his alcove.

On the left-hand side of the scoreboard was a poster depicting a stout yet well-built griffon, who was flexing muscular forelimbs in a power stance over her head. And beneath the griffon’s powerful chest was the name ‘Gava’, written in broad, metal-coloured letters. On the other side was a cervid figure, covered almost entirely in cheaply-made kusari-gusoku. The only exception was their head, which had a leering helmet and face-mask on it.

It could only be a Kirin, one who leaned on foreign expectations of their heritage to make a spectacle of themselves. It disgusted Kana. And the name ‘Ronin’ that was printed at the top of the poster, directly above the Kirin rearing up in their own strike pose, just served to reinforce Kana’s opinions.

“This one will place her bet on Gava,” Kana said evenly, a frown on her face. She placed several bobs down on the counter and walked off.

Then she remembered that her car was still parked outside. Turning quickly, she found that it was thankfully unmolested, but how long that could last was impossible to say. With a lash of her horn, Kana locked all of the doors and activated the security system. An electric blue sheen of magical aura covered the car in an instant and sank into the skin of the chrome plating.

‘Oooooooh… I really, really hope someone just tries to steal my beauty,’ Kana thought, a sadistic grin splitting her face as she pictured Klugetown’s scum daring to try and touch, let alone steal her precious car.

“Kana, are you done yet?” Sharp-Ears called, none too loudly. “We’re done over here.”

Kana turned and quickly walked into the building.

* * * * *

In the event, the actual match was not the bloodsport Kana might have feared, perhaps on some level anticipated it was.

Wading through the fray of pig-people, walking sharks, cephalopods, half-naked mole-rats, scruffy-looking griffons, upright cats and dogs and tortoises, and all the other denizens of this wretched hive, Kana and Lustra were guided by Sharp-Ears to their seats, which must have been kept free for them until they arrived. This made Kana wonder just what the point was of her needing to ‘pay’ for her entry, really, but in fairness, she was from Ryuppon. She understood the profit motive demanded constant feeding.

What struck Kana was, for all the noisiness and eagerness of the crowd, how peculiarly civilised the whole event felt. No shoving, no jostling. No growls or bared teeth exchanged between members of the audience. Coming in here, they’d passed a cloakroom where knives and other weapons had to be given up. Bouncers such as the Minotaur at the front door must have impressed on the patrons that fighting was to stay in the pit, or they’d be out on their ear – if they were lucky to keep the ear.

Yes, the arena was a pit, Kana could see that. But a fairly shallow one, the sands which composed its floor showing signs of regular sweeping. There weren’t even any iron bars surrounding it.

Kana had her egotistical side, yet she was not vain. Nevertheless, in the drabness of greys, muck browns and sickly-greens commonplace to Klugetown, she could pride herself on her beige coat, chocolate-brown mane and maroon-and-red-striped horns.

“Here we are, guys,” said Sharp-Ears, with a demure gesture and smile.

Hard to believe the electric-yellow mare was once in the military. As Kana surveyed their seats, she was met with a surprise. Their immediate neighbour was also a pony. A pegasus too. But not, contrary to what she’d expected, Daring Do.

Beside her, Lustra spotted the pallid, yet well-built pegasus. “Why, hello there, son,” she said, smiling in a way that was actually almost grandmotherly. “And how are you, Featherweight?”

‘Feather-weight?’ Kana thought to herself.

Belying his name, this pegasus looked to be edging middleweight in muscle and sinew. At least. Which made it pretty comical that his head was such a baby-face, complete with a tiny blue-and-white cap atop a mop of brown hair.

He stared at the Basilisk shyly, and she chuckled.

“Colt of few words, isn’t he?” Lustra noted indulgently to Kana and Sharp-Ears. “But they grow up so fast, that’s always the way.”

Her chuckling must have rippled along her tail, because it knocked against a big grey gerbil, who rewarded her with a subdued yet sharp hiss.

“You may be a bit too– um, grown yourself, Madame Lustra,” Sharp-Ears said hesitantly.

Lustra sighed. “Of course. Sorry about that,” she told the gerbil. “Pardon me, folks, I forget myself. If you’ll just give me a minute…”

A subtle glow flowed across Lustra’s outline, her innate Basilisk magic in motion.

While their giant-serpent friend worked on shrinking herself down to fit more comfortably, Kana turned back to Sharp-Ears, now at Featherweight’s side.

“Where is… our contact?”

“That would be me.”

Timed in a way that must have been deliberate, Kana finally saw the pony she’d come to meet. From above, surely flouting a number of rules against flying within the establishment, there fluttered the famed adventurer, right before Kana’s bewildered eyes, to a seat in an audience who paid her no notice.

Daring Do, straight off the page. And not simply a projection. By all appearances, flesh-and-blood.

To add a cherry on the cake, Daring looked right past Kana.

“And I see you brought your own company, Miss Yugame,” said Daring. “Master Qabil’s doing, I’ll be bound? Fancy finding you here, Lustra.”

“Wait a minute,” said Kana, turning back to Lustra. “She knows you?”

Lustra, shrunk down to only double a pony’s head height, responded stiffly. “Passing acquaintance, more like. We ran across each other maybe once, twice.”

“I hear the whole ‘temple-guardian’ gig didn’t work out for you,” Daring said, tipping her hat. “Mind you, that’s only natural, when you’re pulling a con to fleece amateur treasure-hunters and other would-be-adventurers.”

“Hey,” Lustra growled, “treasure’s only worth what people say it is.” She noticed a snack-seller marching in the rows below. “Look at that guy. Ten bits, could buy one of his dirty little jars. But take one, bury it in the sand for a thousand years… It becomes priceless, something people hunt for and hurt each other for. Like the Idol of Boreas.”

Something about the remark got Daring to wince.

“Yeah,” Daring said slowly. “But it’s not like you’d wait a thousand years. Is it? I just hope growing old in Erebus didn’t feel half as long.”

“Don’t. I’ve only once petrified someone, Do,” Lustra told her, in a quiet voice. “Please don’t tempt me now. It’s been years since I saw my husband or children.”

“Point taken. I’m sorry.”

The two took their seats, at opposite ends. Kana was left sitting between Sharp-Ears and Daring, behind whom the mute hulk, Featherweight, kept his watch.

“Glad we got that sorted,” Kana snarked. “Now can we please get to business?”

“One more thing,” Daring said, holding up a forehoof. “You placed your bet, right?”

“On Gava, yes. What’s that got to do with anything?”

Daring shrugged. “Nothing much, really,” she said, as the crowd rippled with excitement, for the contestants were entering. “Just that if you lost, I’m willing to pay you back, with the money which I hope you’ve brought for me.”

“It’s safe in my null-space,” Kana whispered, surprised by the mare’s generosity. Her eyes were drawn to the pit.

Participation in this match was obviously not set up according to Equestrian weight classes. On the other hoof, neither was this match enforcing the gender-binary categories of Kana’s homeland. By all appearances, this was no less than a free-for-all. Kana thought Gava, the griffon, while not quite so bulky, resembled a sumo wrestler more than a traditional brawler, even in her worn armour and tattered cloak. Meanwhile, ‘Ronin’ was all that the poster promised him to be. A dark, towering figure, whose intimidation factor was negated, she felt, by the tawdry bootlegged Ryupponese armour.

But she paid only limited attention to the action. Her rendez-vous was what truly counted here.

“Good,” Daring whispered. “Well, I suggest we just sit back and enjoy the show.”

Kana groaned, yet obtemperated. “Why are you so invested in this cockfight, anyway?”

Briefly, Daring hesitated, before gesturing a wing towards the griffon. “Take a closer look, Miss Yugame. Don’t you recognise her?”

Peering, Kana gave the stout griffon proper consideration this time. The grey feathers were familiar somehow. And the cloak – the cloak leapt out at her, those scarlet colours she knew from that famed griffon mercenary band, the Redcloaks.

“Oh, my,” Kana murmured. “‘Gava’. You’re not saying that she’s…”

“The Pretender Grizelda’s kid, yes.” Daring sighed. “And I’m the reason she’s here, rather than in Griffonstone waiting to inherit her mother’s throne… Or her mother being on the throne.”

Kana glanced at Daring’s other companions, the two pegasi, hefty and slight. She heard Lustra whisper into her ear.

“And if I’m not wrong…” the Basilisk whispered. “Those two used to be Trailblazers.”

“A pair of Imperial turncoats, and a truant royal…” Kana said slowly, tilting her head inquisitively. “Interesting company you keep, Miss Do.”

~ Canterlot, Equestrian Solar Empire ~ Twentieth Day of the Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~

With the Grand Galloping Gala coming soon, the upper echelons of Equestria and its allies’ respective societies still found reason to gather early, convening in a place barely five paces away from where everyone would meet on the morrow, for the greatest party of the year. This particular corner of the Canterlot Palace Gardens, situated just outside the windows looking onto the ballroom, traditional location of the Canterlot Garden Party. In recent years, the eve before the Gala had become an occasion to gather in support of the cause for Earth. This year, the key group was an all-equine branch of the PER, who stood for what they described as the ‘Promotion of The Newfoal’.

From her seat in the front row, Rarity quietly listened as one of the last speakers said their piece. To her right sat Gallus, he who’d been so courteous as to escort her this evening, whilst to her left was Coloratura, a steadfast companion for important appearances.

Proper lady though she was, the recent days had been trying, and Rarity’s mind could not stay focused on the speech. Thus, her attention wandered. Out of the corner of her eye, despite Gallus’ attempt at discretion, Rarity spotted him anxiously brush a speck of dust off the brand-new red-and-white dress uniform she’d outfitted him with, that very afternoon.

She smiled softly. On the cusp of forty, having known grief and regret, still she remained a romantic at heart. The Captain of the House Guard’s courtship of the Princess of the Hippogriffs was a story she knew well, herself a commoner who’d wooed royalty.

Up on the stage, the plum-coloured earthpony finished her discourse.

“Which is why,” said Berry Punch, “though we’ve seen the strains it places on the welfare state, I truly believe our Earth operations will herald a better, brighter tomorrow for all equinekind. We have tested the natural limitations of the Equestrian Model. Whichever party holds a majority in Parliament next year, whatever new coalitions form out of compromise with our allies, the Third Way will see us through. And at the end, it shall be a New Way, for all.”

While polite applause sounded through the garden, in front of her strode a different mare, the picture of aristocratic white unicorn beauty, and an old acquaintance of Rarity’s.

“Thank you, Miss Punch. And now, to conclude,” said Fleur de Lis, “I should like to bring in our guest speaker for this evening. One I’m sure needs no introduction, he’s here to tell us all how becoming Newfoal was a blessing, washing away a lifetime’s worth of bile, providing a new lease on their sense of self. May I present–”

But Fleur didn’t get to finish, as the guest speaker strutted onstage.

For all that Newfoals were meant to be polite and docile, Rarity could have sworn this one nearly pushed Fleur out the way, conducting himself with the swagger he’d been famous for on Earth, that air of a self-assurance which could declare that black is white, and sound as if he believed it.

“Thank you, thank you! Great to be here, people,” said the Newfoal. “And I should like to start off by telling you all about hooves. We got big hooves, small hooves…”

The mere sight of the guest speaker put a bitter taste in her mouth. Proof that the cosmos must have a nasty sense of humour, this Newfoal was of the rare breed who’d retained distinctive features from their human appearance. As a man, he’d prided himself on honesty. Yet the false earthpony creature Rarity saw, no matter the bizarrely-cut blond mane and orange coat, did not belong in a league with her friend Applejack.

Rarity remembered the Changelings’ invasion of the Royal Wedding. She’d studied the PHL propaganda videos of hordes of Newfoals descending, zombie-like, upon seats of government in the Purple Mist, chanting their saviour’s name. Something about this stallion made her skin crawl. Despite the bluster, the buffoonery, it was as if his words held their own dark magic, capable of inciting similar acts of fanaticism.

As the Newfoal rambled on, Rarity leaned to whisper in Coloratura’s ear.

“Darling, I don’t think I can stand much more of this. Think anypony will mind if we leave early?”

Coloratura, although surprised, glanced around and nodded. Rarity relaxed, and both stood up. They had bonded over the troubles they’d shared in dealing with pushy managers, in their previous careers. Both mares knew about getting out of unwanted obligations.

But as they headed for a quiet area of the gardens, they beheld a startling sight.

A finely-dressed pegasus mare had arrived, evidently late for the gathering. And a little white blur had seen fit to swing towards her, hooves grasped around the hanging leaves of a sturdy weeping willow before he let go, only for her to catch him in her aura.

“Auntie Dia!” the colt squealed with delight.

“Elusive!” Rarity cried out. “What are you doing?”

“It’s perfectly alright, Rarity,” smiled the cyan-blue unicorn, setting down Elusive, who now rushed towards Coloratura’s embrace. “I know youthful spirits.”

A gardener came running up, flustered.

“I am so sorry, Lady Rarity,” Scarlet Petal panted. “H-he got away from me.”

“Don’t you worry, Scarlet, it’s not your fault,” Rarity sighed. “He’s a real pirate, that boy… Just like his father.” Nevertheless, she let a small smile show. “And call me Rarity.”

Rarity ruffled her son’s mane, that punkish blend of blond and violet. Still the greatest memento she had of her dearly departed husband, after he’d fallen as he rescued her from the dragons.

Her attention then turned to the newcomer. A gracious mare, with whom she shared fond memories of one Summer in Monacolt, together with a younger Gallus and Silverstream, wielding a sword to fight off an invasion of giant crabs. The Summer of Royal Waves.

“Hello, Diamond Waves. What can I do for you?”

~ Free City of Klugetown ~ Twentieth Day of the Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~

Daring Do slammed the little chest full of money on the desk.

“Here,” Daring told the club’s owner. “It’s all in here. Every last coin. Count it if you like.”

The owner, an elegant Abyssinian feline with a dark complexion, who wore a stylish red longcoat bearing gold doubloons, merely picked the chest without opening.

“I’m sure that will not be necessary,” Mister Dapperpaws smiled, holding the chest to himself as he reclined in a comfy chair. He glanced at the Minotaur bouncer close by Daring, whose bulk blocked the door from his office. “What do you say, Baz? Miss Daring understands what it’d mean for her, if just one coin were to be missing.”

The Minotaur gave Daring a hard stare and spoke not a word.

“And now we’re done with the pleasantries–”

“Oh, yes, of course.” From his red longcoat, Mister Dapperpaws drew out a small scroll, and extending his claws, promptly shredded it in one swipe. “Done. Consider this contract annulled.” He gazed pleasantly at Daring. “We shall all miss Ronin. He was one of my best combatants. Really, though, you surprise me, Miss Daring. There’s a lot of money to be made, if you’d allow your freelance griffon girl to sign an honest contract.”

“No, thanks,” said Daring, heading for the door. “I’ve seen where that leads.”

She brushed by the Minotaur bouncer, who stood aside and even opened the door for her, but never stopped glaring darkly all the while.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Dapperpaws called after her. “Hope to do it again soon!”

As she walked away, Daring felt a leaden weight on her heart.

She may have done a few good deeds this day, including but not limited to securing protection for the child of a leading figure in the resistance against the Solar Empire. Yet unless she was much mistaken, here she’d found Basil, the son of Darkhoof, and he was beyond her help.

Back in the club proper, Daring reached a winding flight of stairs. After checking to see she wasn’t being followed, she made her way up, to the guest quarters above the club. As establishments went, this was not the Manefair Hotel, what with the peeling green wallpaper or the worm-ridden, uneven wooden floors, across which crawled tiny things Daring didn’t want to know the name of.

Still, it did its job.

Daring knocked on a bedroom door with a missing number. Some scuffling was heard inside, and then, at the peephole, Daring noticed an eye looking at her. An eagle eye, sharp and piercing. The lock turned, and Gava wordlessly let her in.

Entering the dingy room, which the boarded windows put into a state of constant semi-darkness, Daring found her group waiting, like she’d instructed them to.

“All taken care of,” Daring stated, while Gava closed the door. She looked at Ronin. “You’re now a free stag.”

Ronin dipped his head in thanks. The masked fighter was as silent as Featherweight, with whom he stood in the space by a cracked mirror.

Sharp-Ears was sitting on the bed. Rather bravely, in Daring’s opinion, given its spotty state. “So, that’s it, then?” she said quietly. “What about the others?”

“On their way back to Farsina,” Daring said. “And not a moment too soon, if you ask me. They got what they came here for.”

“I… I’m surprised you didn’t ask them to stay,” said Sharp-Ears, glancing at Ronin. “Say ‘hello’ to a few more people.”

“It’d only have complicated things,” Daring said tersely. “I paid off that contract for a reason.”

At the door, Gava scoffed. “Hah! You betcha,” she exclaimed, pumping one arm. “He wasn’t gonna pay it off by himself any time soon, after the walloping I gave him!”

“Compose yourself, Gava,” Daring told her ward. “I did this to get you a new bodyguard.”

Gava’s mouth fell open, and even Ronin appeared surprised. “Wha-? Are you kidding? Why’d I need a bodyguard whose butt I’ve kicked once already?”

Daring went to drape a wing over her shoulder. “It’s not just about you, dearest. We all know you’re a great fighter. But we need to give you every bit of extra protection we can get. I’ll be going away soon… And I don’t know when I’ll come back from this one.”

She turned to Ronin.

“Sharp-Ears and Featherweight know where to go,” Daring said. “We have means to travel many places– even cross worlds, that the Empire has no knowledge of. Stay by the Princess… But if your path should take you to Earth, you may yet be reunited with your kind, and that way perhaps you’ll finish washing away your sins… Ronno.”

He did not respond, but Daring saw Sharp-Ears cast him a pained glance.

Daring understood too well. By her own unwitting complicity, as well, had she contributed to the rise of the Solar Empire. When she had retrieved the Idol of Boreas, they’d thought she’d done the right thing, she and her fellow Stonecarvers. Until Equestria placed the Idol in the claws of a puppet-king in Griffonstone.

She was still brooding after the rest had left.

It displeased her to deal with Qabil al-Husan. A collector of pernicious artefacts. In her experience, most nobles were cut from the same cloth as gangsters like that Mister Dapperpaws – they’d simply got a fresh dye-job. She hadn’t batted an eye when’d she learned from Prismia the Architect, an eternity ago, that her Order had manoeuvered for Qabil to fall afoul of Princess Celestia’s sting operation with the Liber Grogar.

If only this book and its Inspiration Manifestation hadn’t later found a way to ensnare users like Rarity, or Shieldwall… Or Spell Nexus and Trixie Lulamoon, as if to compound the Alicorn Amulet.

Speaking of books. Pensively, Daring picked a saddle-bag which had been left on the bed, and emptied its contents onto the covers.

“Nebula,” Daring said softly.

From the wall in darkness, an equine shape melted into a view. She was a thestral, her marmalade eyes glowing in the gloom, her left wing missing and replaced by metal.

Daring glanced her way, then at the bedspread. Before her lay spread her many books, all written under the name of A.K. Yearling. And an open copy of The Great Hall of Asterion, by Sunny Skies. On the front page, written in fancy red-and-gold ink, the words ‘For my daughter.’

“Nebula. The time is near.”

~ Holy City of Farsina, Saddle Mareabia ~ Twentieth Day of The Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~

Before a great gate set in a sandstone wall, an old cart drew up, by dusk’s light.

During her early years as a travelling performer, Trixie Lulamoon had long dreamt of Saddle Mareabia, that faraway land of scholars hidden beneath a veil of wind and sand and masked by the scent of perfume and spices. Perhaps it was for the best, though, that she’d only been to visit it sporadically of late. The wonders of the North, long-sealed away, had reached Saddle Mareabia like so many other places, and flourished in the desert sand.

Old stories spoke of dwellings fashioned to withstand the harsh conditions of the primordial Mumit Desert, surrounding the oases scattered throughout the hot expanse. Now, aided by pegasi stormclouds and crystalline technology, Saddle Mareabia’s spiritual heart had expanded, stretching as far as Trixie’s eyes could see. Yet the beauty of its culture was not lost. It endured, from woven carpets hanging from sandstone balconies to calligraphy written into the crystalline walls of towers reaching far into the sky.

A devilish thought crept into her mind. In the years past, she’d have her phone out by now, basking in the attention of all those who’d taken sweet, precious time to follow the Great and Powerful Trixie’s latest exploits. Or, as they called her over there, GPTrix.

A wonder that she’d snagged said username from Twitch to Instagram, but then again, a pony once had exotic privileges on Earth.

Once.

Aware that she stood in the presence of privilege greater than she’d ever know, Trixie pressed the button on an intercom by the gate.

A voice of indeterminate gender buzzed on the other end, speaking Common. “Yes? Who is it?”

Prepared, Trixie held up her invitation to the intercom’s glass eye. “Trixie Lulamoon, entertainer on the road and all-round showmare,” she said, with her practiced stage smile. “It’s for Gala Evening. I’ve got my invitation right here.”

The voice gave no answer, yet Trixie felt the glass eye scrutinise her, with no outward display of cheeky affability like the surveillance sphere back in Gallopoli.

At last, the voice spoke, sounding reluctant. “Wait here, Miss Lulamoon. Someone shall be out to meet you presently.”

That was all.

While Trixie struggled to stay patient, shuffling in place as she waited, she knew they’d have to keep their word. Though first, estate security would want to check her over, and her cart.

They’d find everything safe and above-board. Even if they inspected her null-space, there’d be nothing incriminating to uncover. Her spy-kit and knives were safely tucked away in a stash back in Gallopoli. And what security couldn’t know was that any replacements she might need, she could easily obtain from the master of this house.

Trixie still thought it strange that, fourteen years since her release from Erebus – two shorn for good behaviour, the remaining three annulled when Princess Celestia granted an amnesty in the wake of the Crystal War – there had been no more than five or six occasions on which she’d visited this estate. Of course, she understood why. She may call herself ‘great and powerful’, but Trixie knew performers were not typically guests of honour for a prestigious aristocratic family, let alone a Court Sorcerer. In any case, Saddle Mareabia was never wholly welcoming to people of her ‘particular orientations’, as they would call it here.

A shame, too, considering Trixie had formed a fanbase in the exotic desert country. But these were from amongst the common crowd – although, with a fond little smile, Trixie still recalled one handsome fellow in particular, a lot closer to her age than Qabil al-Husan. One of several trysts since she’d said ‘until we meet again’ to Starlight. She may have been tempted to stick with Hoo’far, if she hadn’t met her true love.

Alas, that Celestia’s general amnesty had made an exception.

* * * * *

The business with security was time-consuming, yet it too eventually came to an end.

Trixie was directed toward a secluded space in the estate’s gardens, reserved for mercantile itinerants like herself. Even at this twilight hour, she could tell the palm trees would offer shade in the Sun, but also shield her from view of the bedroom or living-room windows. Before she left the security-station, one of the guards, who each wore dark glasses despite Saddle Marebians’ resilience to sunlight and the manner with which it clashed with their traditional attire to boot, gave her a stern warning not to wander the premises.

In hindsight, maybe Trixie didn’t regret how little she’d visited Qabil’s estate.

She’d never really liked his family. The only ones to greet her with anything but remote formality were children. Apparently, even the children of a true sorcerer could still be wowed by the razzle-dazzle of a good show. Yet children grow up. And as they grew, so too had they grown into the constrictions of their rank. So, over time, with no sign Qabil would be having any more kids, she had visited less and less. Meanwhile, the world changed – until finally, where else did she wind up, if not once again a renegade to her country.

But when Trixie pulled up in what could be called a parking lot, minus the asphalt but full of flattened red sand like a tennis court’s, she saw the comparison was not so far off the mark. Another vehicle lay at wait in the trees’ shade, considerably more modern than hers, its design closer to Earth’s aesthetics than anything from Equestria.

Upon seeing who reclined against the car, standing ostentatiously on their hind-hooves, Trixie could not say she was surprised.

“Don’t tell me. You trekked all along the desert road in that thing?” Kana Yugame mock-whistled. “You’re braver than I thought.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Scoff if you must, Kana. Of course I took the train. Okay, so loading up a cart costs a pretty coin, but it’s still cheaper than having to stop for water every ten miles. Besides, how do you keep the sand off that precious chrome-plate?”

Kana patted her car’s bonnet. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

“For a given value of pretty. Always the same song and dance, though.”

Kana tilted her head. In Trixie’s opinion, Kirin had a knack for this. “How so?”

“Come and behold, our great city in the desert!” Trixie exclaimed, eye glancing left and right. “Our jewel, our pride, grand and sacred, where pilgrims pay their respects to the coin and their lord above!

It was only half-truth, and perhaps a little exaggerated. Yet Trixie thought of skyscrapers looming over holy cities in the desert, chains of islands built for the privileged, all the Meccas for both devout and wealthy.

She wondered if there was anything left of it, cities built on shifting sands and black gold, and the blood and sweat of many who’d never reside there. It’d been a struggle to convince people to leave, even as the Barrier approached.

Now it was Kana’s turn to roll her eyes. “Right. I forgot. You never did go to that human city, what’s-its-name, Dubai.”

“Hey, I live-streamed that stunt on Fast & Furious 7. Close enough.”

“A year after everyone else,” Kana said, going back on four hooves, just the time it took to go and open her car’s boot. “And you’ve got to be careful what you say, Lulamoon. Maybe we’re not in Equestria, but it doesn’t pay to advertise too much enthusiasm for human stuff.”

“Oh, really,” said Trixie. “Since when does a Kirin not advertise?”

“Very funny.”

Yet Kana didn’t sound too irked, which raised Trixie’s curiosity. “You’re in a good mood.”

Kana smiled impishly. “I won big at betting today.” She slammed the boot shut, returning with a package in her blood-red aura. “So. Know what to do?”

Trixie accepted the package, nodding. “Yes. You wait as long as it takes. Hunker down in my cart, even if it isn’t as neat and shiny as your car– just like old times, hmm?”

Kana, it seemed, couldn’t stymie a blush, and Trixie didn’t bother to hold down a little grin. Oh, yes, the Kirin doe might act catty towards her, but Hoo’far was far from Trixie’s only fling since leaving prison. And a right blazing tomcat she was too, in the way of so many people repressed by formality. Very Kirin.

But there was only one who mattered, Trixie reflected, feeling her grin fade. Only Starlight.

* * * * *

Shortly after, a glass eye stared into a Kirin doe’s, tracing a green laser-beam top to bottom.

The Kirin was careful not to blink. She had gone through these procedures dozens of times, maybe hundreds. Here was one of the ways in which the Solar Empire and their Co-Harmony Sphere had liberally taken inspiration from humanity. Scanners such as this, disembodied mechanical guardians at the entrance of any places worth guarding. The modern-day Sphinx who had only one riddle to ask;

‘Prove you are who you say.’

The green laser-beam winked out of existence. And a voice, of the same indeterminate gender as that which greeted visitors at the gates, spoke.

“Welcome, Miss Yugame.”

Her package clutched to her side, held in the red aura of the Kirin she was impersonating, the Blue Spy relaxed as the double-doors before her slid open. Taking a step forward, Trixie penetrated the innermost quarters of the al-Husan family’s estate, a world apart even from the Court Sorcerer’s office.

The stallion in question had been expecting her, seated on a plush couch by a coffee-table. Despite the summary creature comforts, this was no living-room. Although it was wide, Trixie knew this crystal-plated corridor was the sole passage through thick walls, practically bank-quality in their reinforcement. Air-vents aside, no other access existed, and real air-vents tend to be smaller than in the movies. A Breezie couldn’t have snuck in.

Qabil arose. “Miss Yugame,” he smiled. “How was your journey?”

The Blue Spy proferred the package. Simultaneously, reaching into her null-space, she revealed her totem. The old dice etched with equal signs.

“Splendid,” Qabil said, giving a nod, but otherwise no hint he’d spotted the totem. “By the way, I was never told just what you were seeking information on. I’m taking a gamble here, and now that we’re actually present, I’d enjoy an explanation.”

Always the formal aristocrat. Sometimes, Trixie had to remind herself that she’d known him for the better part of twenty years.

On the plus side, Trixie felt she could open up to him about what she needed. That said, she still cast a surreptitious glance around the corridor. There was no knowing who or what might be listening in a sorcerer’s house, and she wasn’t sure who she could trust amongst the household.

“Good to see you too, Qabil.”

“Likewise, Miss. It should be worth repeating that I don’t normally let people see what I’m about to show you. And we are cutting it short– I’ll be attending the Gala in Canterlot tomorrow. So. What can I do for you?”

Trixie a deep breath. “Discord. I’m looking for information on Discord.”

Qabil’s usual charming smile remained, yet he raised an eyebrow. “You mean the Discord?”

“Yes,” Trixie said. “The history, the physiology… Anything. He isn’t exactly the sort of thing you can look up in a public library, savvy?”

He made no reply, not right away. Instead, with a thoughtful air, Qabil gingerly unwrapped the package containing his payment.

An original manuscript of Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell To Arms.

“Come with me,” Qabil said, beckoning.

Like everything else on the al-Husan estate, the doors to the library were ornate, somewhat over-designed and dripping with self-aggrandising symbols that advertised the al-Husan family. A panel showed they were voice-activated.

Qabil prepared to speak, but Trixie got in front of him.

“Wait? Can I try something?”

He looked at her, bemused, but shrugged. “You are my guest.”

She cleared her throat. “Open, sesame.”

Nothing happened. Qabil stared at her. “Was that supposed to accomplish anything?”

Trixie felt herself blush in Kana’s skin. “Sorry. Worth a shot.”

Qabil shook his head and leaned forward, whispering words Trixie could not hear. And the elaborate doors opened like any other doors. But the moment they did, Trixie was shocked.

The overly elaborate and archaic aesthetic vanished completely as polished walls, shining, pulsating lines of crystalline wire, and a tall, glassy pillar that took up the centre greeted them. It was like Trixie had stepped into an Imperial research facility, dominated by crystal machinery that seemed to grow out of the floor, into the floor and over the roof. Spiderwebs of crystal wire crossed the room back and forth, over the bookcases that broke up the metallic walls, over the roof, and over plinths that stood empty but for glass cases that must have once held displays. All growing over and into one another.

It was blinding.

“Alright,” said Trixie. “Let’s get to work.”

~ West Isle of Scaly, Dragonlands ~ Twentieth Day of the Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~

It was all coming together.

Awesome Fire ran his eyes over the readouts and allowed himself to smirk a little as each gauge moved exactly where he wanted it to. After so many years of hard work, he was about to complete his magnum opus.

“Thaumic conduction is proceeding within predicted limits,” a technician announced from his workstation. Awesome had been leaning over him for ten minutes, watching him as he worked, waiting for something to go out of place. He had dismissed so many unsatisfying test crewmembers in the last week, and he stood by each removal.

“Yes,” Awesome replied with a sneer. “And the couplings?”

“Engineering’s on alert for undue stress or wear in the equipment,” the technician replied nervously.

“Carry on.” Awesome waved the technician away dismissively. He needed the ponies for this operation, but Awesome Fire wished he could just take the helm and make sure, personally, that everything moved properly. He had designed this vessel, he knew it better than anyone.

Instead, he wandered over to the central viewing port. A vast panel of enchanted glass allowed the entire bridge to see directly in front of them. It was necessary as, despite Awesome Fire’s brilliance, his work was still restricted to line-of-sight.

“Thaumic batteries are charged,” another technician announced.

“Firing angle is set.”

The bridge crew checked off the preparations.

“Capacitor reserves prepared for feedback.”

“Frame is prepped for discharge.”

“Ready to fire.”

“On my mark,” Awesome declared. He peered through the viewing port at the mountain that lay miles away. He was ready to see a gaping hole torn straight out of it. “Fire!”

A switch was flipped, and the entire frame juddered. Then the great beam of pinkish light shot forward from underneath them. It arced into the air, crackling with energy along its length, curved down and ahead, following the ground until finally, after seconds that felt like hours in Awesome’s eyes, the beam struck.

Awesome Fire was sure that he would have been blinded, if it weren’t for the enchantments in the glass screen. Even then, the intense glare the beam produced forced him to turn away and wince as his eyes burned.

The blast hit them.

Awesome was almost knocked off his hooves as a wave of air struck the carriage with the force of a thousand cannonballs. Alarms sounded, ponies cried out in fear, but all was drowned out as the deafening noise of the explosion arrived a second later. Awesome actually fell over as he tried to cover his ears. He was forced to open his eyes again and, where he lay, prone on the floor, he saw just what he had done.

The entire mountain had exploded. Great chunks of rock were sent flying in every direction, and more still were being torn from the ground. A dust plume had already reached up into the sky, where it was still expanding, whilst a ring of fire at its base grew higher and wider, scouring the earth that was already tearing itself up from where it lay.

Awesome watched, awestruck, as the blast kept on going. For a second he was a small colt again, enraptured as a pair of elder dragons fought one another, flames blaring out in furious gouts that consumed the hills around the battling giants. In his entire life, he had never managed to recapture that vision of power and indescribable, destructive beauty, but this – this made him feel like that colt, the day he’d gained his cutie mark.

The bridge was still rocking, but Awesome barely noticed. He just watched the great chunks of earth rise up higher and higher, then break up and join the immense plume now piercing the lowest clouds and showing no sign of weakening.

“Sir.” Awesome barely heard the voice addressing him, so focused on the growing explosion, but it still persisted. “Sir.”

“What?” Awesome snapped.

The nervous earthpony ensign cringed back in the face of Awesome’s anger. Awesome took a moment of satisfaction at having spooked the pony. He hadn’t wanted to miss even a second of the majesty unfolding in front of him, and this distraction had already cost time.

“Engineering has reported damage to the couplings and the capacitor bank. They say it’s urgent.”

“What do you mean, damage?” Awesome bellowed, forcing the ensign to shrink back further.

“They… there wasn’t enough time. They said they have to talk to you. They’re… they’re on the horn now.”

With a furious snarl, Awesome tromped over to the large speaking tube that led to the engineering deck. He got another glimpse of the explosion and could already tell that it had yet to peak. The beam was feeding into it still, like a psychedelic lance violently popping a boil in excruciating slow-motion.

“Report!” Awesome shouted down the tube.

“Sir?” Aynuk al-Husan answered. “We’re experiencing dangerous rupture to the capacitor banks. Thaumic overcharging has passed the accepted safety levels and the couplings are stressing. The magic we’re channeling is going to tear the entire battery apart. We have to shut it down now.”

“Shut it down?” Awesome said very slowly, dripping with disbelief. He couldn’t believe he had heard it.

“Yes, sir,” said Aynuk. “If we don't, the entire battery will overload.”

There, Awesome Fire’s caution warred with his ego. He couldn’t believe the engine he had personally designed and built was proving unsuitable for the task it was supposed to perform. The very idea was unacceptable. All the same, the possibility of his work being destroyed terrified him. If the Sepulchre was irreparably damaged, his greatest achievement would be ruined and he’d be forced to answer to the Queen. That would be his death sentence.

A long-lost face flashed in his mind, that of a blond-maned, white unicorn stallion. One moment, the face was flesh, wearing a cocky, self-important grin. A second later, it was solid stone, a terrified shriek frozen onto its features.

‘That was the price you paid,’ spoke a treacherous, yet ashamed voice in the back of his mind. And ‘Is that going to be for nothing?’ another added.

“Shut it down,” Awesome commanded. “Shut it all down now.”

Soon, a different alarm sounded and gauges all over the bridge dropped. Turning back to the viewing port, Awesome watched, forlorn, as the beam was cut off. With that the explosion immediately began to decline. Odd colours shone through the dust and debris as it finally started to settle.

Rock rained down on the plain like shots from a million catapults, dozens of them striking the dockyard and shaking the Sepulchre’s frame. Alarms sounded again, spooking Awesome as countless threats to his work fell down to the ground. None of this mattered, however, as he only had eyes for the ebbing crest wave of the largest explosion he had ever seen.

Awesome never noticed the minutes pass by as the dust settled. A dense, dirty brown cloud lingered for even longer before it too dispersed, revealing what had once been the mountain.

There was now nothing but a jagged, broken, asymmetrical crater – a massive gouge in the landscape that stretched in every direction for miles. Awesome’s eyes widened as the dust cleared to show what was inside of the crater.

A great smear of purple surrounded the gouge. Bubbling, viscous, unidentifiable ooze was flowing from the gouge, occasionally rising upwards and over the rim’s lip in impossible rivulets. Great trees of candy-cane burst from the ground, only to turn rubbery as they touched the mutagenic waters. The waters closest to the gouge were even stranger, turning every colour of the rainbow, then inverting before steaming in the heat left after the strike. As it evaporated, the fluid formed great pinkish clouds that began to rain chocolate-milk back onto the ground, or to the side or, in some cases, up into the sky.

Awesome’s face fell. “That is not going to be acceptable,” he mumbled to himself. Out of all of the setbacks, this uncontrolled, backwash spellcasting was going to be the worst. Thankfully, this was not beyond fixing.

It would just take a lot of work. But if he must brute-force some of the process, so be it.

He sighed. No rest for the wicked. Especially not this week.

“Alright. That’s enough for today,” Awesome told the nervous ensign, who’d been hovering in mute fear all the while. “Ready my shuttle. We set course for Canterlot this evening.”

~ Canterlot, Equestrian Solar Empire ~ Twentieth Day of the Month of Ocyrhoe, Year 19 of the Era Imperator ~

The night of the Grand Galloping Gala was not yet come.

Closing time for Saturday evening had come. Evening at Canterlot had retained a certain type of rote for Wallflower Blush. She couldn’t quite discern what kind, though, for she’d grown accustomed to routines from her youth to her looming middle-age, from schoolwork to hours upon hours of writing notes and keeping track of finances with her parents’ retirement.

Perhaps it was that insurmountable gap that remained even through wars and other upheavals, made manifest when the growing elite class gave her sly, judgemental looks. Earthponies were still an uncommon sight in Canterlot’s streets. Only this time, it simply was because there were a lot more new faces, only some of whom were equine.

She didn’t mind them. They never gave her the same cold shoulder. All were the same under Celestia’s Sun, they were told, day by day.

And for that, Wallflower found that Gala Nights were quite welcome. Most years, at least. Stifling though the decorum may be, they were a reliable stream of income, especially with these wartime years dragging on, while Canterlot grew taller with crystalline skyscrapers, shadowing the little shop she called home.

Some entertainment was to be had when it came to those visitors that paid her little shop a visit, their various quirks on display, from haughty members of the gentry with their posh, exaggerated accents, to humble and rough commoners with their plain mannerisms, to foreign customers who seemed unfamiliar with it all.

It did take her a while to pin down which sort the mare who came knocking at her door was, not very long after the Sun had gone down.

“We’re closing,” said Wallflower, without looking up from her notes. Not that they would listen, but nor did she mind much. A late customer could have a hefty order in mind.

Right on cue, the door opened, with the accompanying bell-chimes. The customer wore a cloak with a hood. This was uncommon, yet not altogether unusual. A wandering scholar, perhaps. That said, the mare’s natural dark coat, covered in this fashion, helped to make her features all the less distinct.

“I shan’t be long,” said the customer, humming along to the bells.

Her pace implied otherwise, and Wallflower suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Once they’d finished their cursorial gaze over the flowers, the customer looked at her with a gaze that was cold despite its marmalade colours, and a smile that didn’t quite reach these eyes.

“Have you got allium? I find they compliment my collection quite nicely.”

Wallflower thought of it for a moment. “As it does. ‘Fraid we don’t get much in the way of allium these days.”

“I doubt it,” the customer countered. “I hear there’s been a good harvest.”

There’s a misstep, Wallflower mused. But none too worrying, or so she hoped.

“None that I’ve heard,” Wallflower replied, shrugging. “These are difficult times. Wishing someone good fortune, then?”

It had taken her some time to adjust, yet Wallflower liked to think she’d grown to understand some of it, at the very least. All the theatrics and charades. Perhaps the key had been to make it interesting to her, and she thanked her good fortunes that the customer’s ilk and her own had much fondness for the language of flowers.

“Hoping for some myself, in all honesty,” answered the customer.

Wallflower gestured to the rows of flowerpots already presented. “Then perhaps another in bloom would interest you, ma’am.”

The customer laughed mirthlessly. “I’ll have to see if they’re to my tastes.”

“As you do,” Wallflower answered, tipping her hat. “I’ve managed, so far.”

“The Gala’s always been lovely for your business, I imagine.”

“You know it.”

“Wonderful,” said the customer, glancing around yet again, shaking her head. “Perhaps, hm, I might enquire if you’ve got monkshood as well.”

“A deadly foe close by,” Wallflower recited under her breath. A little too close for comfort. She glanced at the wall bordering her neighbour’s residence. “No, I haven’t got any, my apologies. It’s been quiet on that end recently. Who are you meeting with?”

“Ah, an old friend,” said the customer. “I do enjoy a tease.”

“I see,” Wallflower answered. “Perhaps another might entice you. I have a shipment coming. Gala-priority. I could allow you a peek, ma’am. See if any of them draw your eye.”

“Do tell,” answered the customer, a cool edge to her voice. She looked left, and right, then back at Wallflower. “I’m on a tight schedule, I’m afraid. Gala, you say. Surely not the same as last year’s?”

“Of course not. This year’s Spring brought quite the nice variety.”

The customer’s eyes twinkled, her expression cooled. “Hm, I would like to see them, yes. Only when they’ve presented themselves.”

“We do not know for certain when,” Wallflower added. “But you’ll know it when you see it.”

Under the hood, the customer’s ears twitched. And although only the outline was visible, Wallflower knew those were the tufted ears of a bat – of a thestral.

“Would it be too late,” Nebula ventured, “to suggest a few others?”

“It’s not up to me,” Wallflower said with finality. She looked out the window, where the Sun’s rays had long faded away. “I’m sorry, but we’re closing now. Would that be all?”

“For today.” Nebula paused, a tranquil smile gracing her lips. “But perhaps, kind shopkeeper, you will allow me to offer you some in return. For good fortunes.”

It had not sounded like a request. It was a statement.

Nebula stepped aside, allowing the companion she’d left outside the shop to cross the doorway.

Yet Wallflower’s words died in her throat then, as her eyes fell upon the few strands of mane upon the mare’s head. A fiery red that clashed greatly with the bright blue eyes staring out at her from beneath their own cloak.

“Hey, Wallflower. It’s been a while.”

Author's Note:

Art by dstears
Sledge115: Hello there!

Well, here we are, after two long years. In all honestly, things still haven’t exactly been smooth sailing, on my end at least, which is all that I’ll share for now. But all in all, I’m happy with how this one turned out – though this time around I was only really closely involved with a scene or two, Trixie’s introduction and Wallflower’s shop.

Speaking of whom - Trixie! Or Tristan! Whichever applies at that particular moment! His debut has been something we’ve been aching to do for quite some time, and given her, dare we say, iconic appearance in the original story, we do hope he’s made an impression here, as Trixie tends to do, heh heh.
 
Otherwise, I’d been occupied with other matters (and as the fanart you see up there implies, Genshin Impact is one of them. Also, new avatar, woo! Thanks, Grace) and works this year, including two contest fics – one of whom, Velvet Quill & Sunny Skies, is entirely canon to Spectrum, as per tradition . There’s also that SCP-8000 contest entry, The Wild Witch of Gravesfield, and an as-yet-unfinished Bluey fic, but that’s a story for another day.

Fret not, though. We’re still working on the story, as always, and there are still secrets left to be uncovered as Act Three comes to a close with the next chapter Here’s to the future.

And… well, as a final note, today happens to mark two years since the Invasion of Ukraine begun. As fate would have it, this chapter of ours, exploring the ramifications of a global conflict, is published on the same date. This was wholly unintentional, yet perhaps it would be for the best, all the same, as a commemoration of some sorts.

May Ukraine know peace and victory soon.

~Sledge

VoxAdam: In 2013, the year I discovered Friendship is Magic, I was also getting into Deus Ex. You can tell, can’t you?

So, that bit of introductory levity aside – I’m not going to mince words. This chapter took a long time to write, and it’s one of the hardest I’ve had to write on Spectrum, in the near-decade that I’ve been writing for this story in one shape or another. Sledge and I were already talking about it being a work-in-progress when he published our ‘How Not to Write Princess Celestia’ riff on the OG Spectrum, back in the Summer of 2022.

In all fairness, this was never going to be one of the simpler chapters, what with having to pull the multiple duties of providing our first full look at the world of the Solar Empire, and introducing a new cast of arc-based characters, and following on from threads set up in earlier chapters on Earth or Sunny Equus, and building up to a clearly-defined payoff for Act Three. But it was further complicated by the departure, on mutually cordial terms, of teammates RoyalPsycho and TheIdiot from the Spectrum Crew, whose characters and ideas were always planned to play a role in the arc’s storyline.

Well, this, compounded by the legally-mandated rewrites imposed by JedR…

I actually found myself taking an unplanned break from Spectrum for a whole year, going from February 2022 to February 2023, the longest time I’ve gone on this story without properly writing for it. This isn’t to say I ever completely distanced myself. I continued my work as editor/proofreader for Sledge’s short stories to get published during the intervening period, and behind-the-scenes chats never ceased.

Truth be told, one reason the chapter immediately prior to this one, ‘Twilight, Alone’, came about was in order to supply a buffer, while I figured out how to proceed. Sledge may say he didn’t contribute much directly to ‘The Age of Crystal’, but the previous chapter ls all him.

And in fact. I’d like to credit Sledge for his part in giving me back my inspiration on this one. Trixie’s little show, telling the tale of the Storm King and hippogriffs in this world – which you may find slightly changed from what you remember of the 2017 Movie – proved to be the first whole new scene written in moths, paving the way for what followed.

What you see here is a product of my efforts over the last few months, rediscovering ‘The Age of Crystal’ in November 2023 and going on from there.

I feel as if there is a lot more I could say, or ought to say. Two years covers a lot of ground. Instead, I’ll content myself with hoping you enjoyed the chapter, and give my thanks to RoyalPsycho for the use of his characters, to whom I’ve striven the hardest to do justice. 

Awesome Fire’s test-firing of his super-weapon, not to mention the super-weapon itself, have been a cornerstone of Royal’s plans for Spectrum ever since the story’s debut in 2017. As for Qabil and Kana and Lustra and Ronin, these are characters who either first appeared or were planned to appear in my Inmates of Erebus; this unfinished piece isn’t formally canon to Spectrum and should be regarded more as a proof-of-concept nowadays, but there are fond memories attached to it, of five years spent messing about with RPs on GoogleDocs.

In certain respects, Daring Do and her companions fill in a role that’d have originally been played by TheIdiot’s characters, notably Headmaster Spell Nexus. Who still exists in this story, never fear. It just wasn’t his time.

Lastly, it’s been a long time there, too, but for those who’ve been reading the extended Spectrumverse from the beginning… Yep, Nebula is the same thestral from DoctorFluffy’s Light Despondent, last seen battling a Newfoal with the seeming ability to raise the dead. The choice to bring her back here, into the main story, is not coincidence.

With no date set yet for any chapters after this one, I’m nonetheless happy we could say, with conviction, that Spectrum still had its dance to share today.

Cheers,
~Vox

#StandOnZanzibar

Comments

[MatTheBook]

Didn't expect this.

[Sledge115]

11832888
i.ytimg.com/vi/Y3eHq9kGxdA/sddefault.jpg

[Sugar Spoon]

Hot damn! This is a pleasant surprise.

[Starcat5]

It LIVES! Muahahahaha!

But seriously, I only say that because I haven't been checking the comments section and simply waiting for an update. The author has clearly been active here the entire time.

[taelonso]

well this has left me with a metric ton to read and i will be starting with the side stories then working my way to this one

[SPANIARD KIWI]

Holy kiwi, it's alive! Huzzah!

[Sugar Spoon]

11832978
He's her pet in the comics.

[Thranx]

Woah! It's alive! Huzzah! My day has been made.

[Admiral Q Ponyform]

So the queen is hiding a bit of the truth.

And is that sunset?

[Tokai]

11848106

Gay or bi, I'm happy with it uwu

[VoxAdam]

However, 11848349, one confirmed straight character in Spectrum is Princess Cadance, of all people - being Princess of Love, she's the ultimate ally, looking beyond her personal preferences.

[MrHeliuminium]

No one has done any fanart of this? I've tried to search in Derpibooru, but nothing has appeared.

[Sledge115]

11876986

I don't know if this would count, as it's for a side story, but my friend skysayl drew fanart of Galatea, which I've adopted as the cover for The First Second of Eternity

cdn-img.fimfiction.net/story/haej-1613196832-465350-full

[MrHeliuminium]

11877105
Very nice! is it uploaded in derpi, or just here?

[Sledge115]

11877197
Oh, just here, skysayl has zero intention of being involved with the fandom apart from helping me out here and there, heh.