• Published 31st Aug 2018
  • 20,312 Views, 8,842 Comments

SAPR - Scipio Smith



Sunset, Jaune, Pyrrha and Ruby are Team SAPR, and together they fight to defeat the malice of Salem, uncover the truth about Ruby's past and fill the emptiness within their souls.

  • ...
96
 8,842
 20,312

PreviousChapters Next
News from Equestria (New)

News From Equestria

“Sir, Lulamoon and Glimmer are outside.”

General Ironwood closed the folder on the paperwork he’d been reading. “Thank you, Yeoman; send them in.”

The door into Ironwood’s office aboard the Valiant slid open with a hydraulic hiss as Trixie Lulamoon and Starlight Glimmer walked in. Both wore their Atlesian whites, rather than their more colourful — at least in Lulamoon’s case — field gear. Trixie looked uncertain; Glimmer looked stoic. They both stopped a couple of feet from his desk and came to attention, saluting him.

“Cadet Leader Lulamoon and Cadet Glimmer reporting, sir,” Trixie declared.

Ironwood got up, returning their salute. “At ease,” he said softly.

As they obeyed him, spreading their legs while clasping their hands behind their backs, Ironwood observed the pair of them. Lulamoon was one of his most flamboyant students and one who divided opinions amongst the faculty: some were charmed by her mannerisms; others thought her a pretentious peacock. For himself, Ironwood had to admit that, on a personal level, she was not exactly what he looked for in a student or a soldier, but at the same time, he wouldn’t try to deny that she was innovative, quick-thinking, and brave. He didn’t regret making her a team leader — if her particular brand of charisma wasn’t for everyone, then she nevertheless had a force of personality that made her able to move people — since under her leadership, Team TTSS was one of the best-performing teams in their year. There was a reason he had trusted them to be part of Belladonna’s exposure to Atlas and its students; he hadn’t chosen to throw them together at random.

It had turned out, thank the gods, to be unnecessary, but Ironwood sometimes wondered if Lulamoon would have been a better choice to assume the mantle of the Winter Maiden than Starlight Glimmer; not his first choice — that would have been Dash — but a better choice than they had lighted on in the end. Someone who wasn’t cowed by responsibility, someone who revelled in the idea of their own specialness, someone who could think outside the box.

Of course, those weren’t the qualities that Ozpin looked for in a Maiden, and ultimately, it was Ozpin’s choice, even when it came to the Winter Maiden.

That brought Ironwood’s attention, and his consideration, to Starlight Glimmer. On paper, she was the more impressive of the two: prodigiously talented, a crack shot and an expert in close combat, excellent grades in all her classes. Strong, intelligent … and totally unready for the responsibility that they had sought to thrust upon her. In fairness, Ironwood had missed it too — he had submitted Starlight’s name for Ozpin’s consideration — and so had all of her professors. None of them had predicted that she would have a mental breakdown in response to their offer of the Maiden’s power.

And yet, he felt as though he should have known; he should have understood her better, should have been able to say what kind of person she was, judge whether she was truly ready or not.

Should have seen through the façade of good grades and expert performance to what was there — or not there — underneath.

They hadn’t spoken much since. Starlight’s confidence in him had been shaken — he could hardly blame her for that — and she wanted as little to do with him as possible; Ironwood could understand that, and he wasn’t minded to impose himself upon her against her will. He trusted that she wouldn’t go spreading what she knew to all and sundry, and that was enough; if she wanted to be nothing more than a learner, with no relationship with him beyond headmaster and student, who was he to argue with that?

Especially since she was a very good student, even moreso this second time around under Lulamoon’s leadership. No one had any complaints about her conduct or performance, so he had been willing to let things lie.

Until now.

Ironwood sat down. “Three nights ago, the two of you went AWOL in the company of a Beacon student, Sunset Shimmer,” he said.

“Permission to speak, sir,” Trixie said.

“Granted, Lulamoon.”

“We were supporting Sunset Shimmer on a mission, sir,” Trixie pointed out. “I’m not sure that really counts as AWOL.”

“Did you have orders to undertake this mission?” Ironwood asked.

Trixie licked her lips. “No, sir.”

“Then you were absent without leave,” Ironwood declared. He didn’t tell them who had informed him that they were absent — it had been Tempest Shadow, their teammate — for obvious reasons; he didn’t think these two were likely to retaliate, but there was a strict policy of anonymity in these cases. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“We did save a village, sir,” Trixie said, a little reproachfully.

Ironwood clasped his hands together. “Is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Trixie said.

“It is, sir,” Starlight added.

Ironwood paused for a moment. “Why did you not ask permission before you left? Or report your whereabouts at any time?”

“Communications were being jammed around the village in question, sir,” Starlight said. She did not look at him, her face was pointed straight ahead and her gaze directed out of the window and across Vale spread out before her.

“And before that?” Ironwood demanded. “Before you left on this ‘mission’?”

“We … did what we thought was right, sir,” Trixie said.

“And what made you think this was the correct course of action?” Ironwood asked.

“Because … because if we had not gone with her, Sunset Shimmer would have gone on the mission alone, sir,” Trixie said. “And that wouldn’t have been good for Sunset, or for the village of Arcadia Lake.”

“Our intervention was crucial, sir,” Starlight added.

“Hmm,” Ironwood said. “I expect the details will be in your report which you will submit to me posthaste, isn’t that right, Lulamoon?”

“Yes, sir!” Trixie yelped.

Ironwood was silent for a little while. “Why was Miss Shimmer going on a mission alone?”

Ozpin hadn’t given him an answer on that, and while it wasn’t unheard of for Oz to keep secrets from him, that didn’t stop it from being irritating when he did, especially when it was a matter like this. Ironwood didn’t understand it — didn’t understand why Ozpin had sent Miss Shimmer out by herself and didn’t understand why he couldn’t share the good reason that he had for doing it.

Starlight and Trixie glanced at one another.

“You might have to ask her that, sir,” Starlight answered.

“I’m asking the two of you,” Ironwood informed them.

“Appreciate that, sir, but we couldn’t say why Sunset was assigned this mission,” Starlight said.

“I see,” Ironwood muttered. He leaned forwards, resting his elbows upon his desk.

“I appreciate that you acted with good intentions,” he said, “and I accept that you did some good with your actions. However, that does not change the fact that you had no orders to absent yourselves, you had not requested or been given leave, and you did not inform your superiors as to your whereabouts. Discipline is not an optional extra, obedience to orders and authority are not optional extras; they are the foundation of our strength. To remind you of that, having just spent three nights AWOL, you will spend the next three nights on sentry duty around the grounds of this school.” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you say to that?”

“Thank you, sir,” Trixie said.

Ironwood nodded. “Dismissed.”

Trixie came to attention, but Starlight said, “Permission to remain, sir, and speak to you privately.”

Ironwood looked at her, surprised by her request. He considered it for a moment. “Granted. Lulamoon.”

“Sir!” Trixie said, with only a glance at Starlight as she turned on her heel and marched towards the door. It opened before her with a hiss, and then it hissed again as it closed after her.

Starlight remained stood at ease, only now, she was looking at Ironwood.

Looking but not saying anything.

Ironwood let the silence linger for a moment. After what he had done, she was entitled to take this at her own pace.

Starlight looked at him, breathing in and out but saying nothing, swaying ever so slightly as she stood at ease. “Sir,” she began, after a little delay, “about the work that Rainbow Dash and the others are doing for you—”

“What do you mean, Glimmer?”

“Sir, if I may, I’m not an idiot,” Starlight replied. “I know that you sent Team Rosepetal into Mountain Glenn as part of classified activities. What I want to know — what I would like to know, sir — is does this have anything to do with the Winter Maiden?”

Ironwood was silent for a moment. “Why do you ask?”

“I suppose I’m hoping that you’re not involved in multiple secret conspiracies, sir,” Starlight said.

The corners of Ironwood’s lips twitched momentarily. “Have you spoken to Dash or the others about this?”

Starlight hesitated, but said, “I asked Twilight if the term ‘Winter Maiden’ meant anything to her. She denied it, and I think she was telling the truth.”

“And yet you’re also asking me,” Ironwood pointed out.

“Information can be compartmentalised, sir,” Starlight said.

“Yes,” Ironwood agreed. “Yes, it can.” He paused. “There are … connections, which you don’t need to know, just as Dash, Twilight, and the others have no need to know about the Winter Maiden, at least not at this time.

“I see,” Starlight murmured. “Thank you for being honest with me, sir.”

“Was there anything else, Glimmer?”

“Sir,” Starlight said. “Rainbow, Twilight, even Blake … these kids trust you; you know that, right?”

Ironwood held her gaze. “There is nothing that I’m more aware of,” he said. “Dismissed.”

Starlight stamped her foot onto the ground as she came to attention. “Thank you, sir.”


First Councillor Aspen Emerald stood in the conference room in his official residence; the large glass doors into the garden offered a pleasant view of the flowerbeds, the rosebushes, and the lawn in which Bramble was presently playing, climbing around on the little metal jungle gym that Aspen had put up there when he moved in. Aspen watched him for a moment out of the glass doors, climbing higher and higher, before he returned his attention to the business at hand.

The interior of the conference room was dominated by a large table of dark, varnished wood, with space and chairs to seat twenty people around it, but at present, the only person in the room beside himself was General Blackthorn. The General had his peaked cap tucked underneath his arm, exposing the baldness between his antlers.

They had taken to meeting every week, to go over issues with Vale’s defences — or, Aspen hoped, how improvements to said defences were progressing.

Progress might not be as swift as he liked, but no one would be able to accuse him of not knowing exactly what was going on.

Provided that he managed to keep his focus.

Aspen tugged at his tie with one hand. “Excuse me, General; you were saying?”

Blackthorn cleared his throat. “I was saying, Mister Councillor, that the Warrior’s engine troubles have been resolved satisfactorily, and she can join Terror in the skies over Vale.”

“Excellent,” Aspen said. “What about expediting the refit on Royal Sovereign? Or the repairs on Defender?”

“Overtime has been offered at the docks,” Blackthorn said. “Time and a half on weekends.”

“Take it up to double time,” Aspen instructed him.

“Are you sure, Mister Councillor?”

“I’ll find the money for it somewhere,” Aspen replied. “Nobody works weekends for time and a half.”

“I’ll bow to your expertise,” Blackthorn muttered. “If there is sufficient take-up, it may be possible to get Defender out in a few weeks, but Royal Sovereign is impossible.”

“Absolutely impossible?”

“Unless you want her up in the air with parts missing, Mister Councillor,” Blackthorn said.

“It may come to that,” Aspen muttered. “But hopefully not. I’ve received an update from the Mistralians; apparently, they’re making good progress getting their two battleships ready to sail. They hope to be able to deliver them before the Vytal Festival.”

“Indeed, Mister Councillor,” Blackthorn said.

Aspen frowned. “Do you have something to say, General?”

“May I say it candidly, Mister Councillor?”

“If you wish.”

“I think you’ve been sold a pup with those airships,” Blackthorn said. “Even if they were first-rate vessels when they were laid down, the designs would be obsolete by now, and that would apply even if they’ve been kept in good condition, which they clearly haven’t been. Old ships dragged out of mothballs? Vale would have been better off spending the money on new warships.”

“And how long would it take to build a new, first-class warship?” Aspen asked.

Blackthorn considered it. “The Atlesians can lay down a cruiser in a year,” he said.

“And the Alexandria yards?” Aspen pressed.

“Including design … three years,” Blackthorn admitted. “Perhaps as many as five.”

Aspen nodded. “We do not have a year, General; we certainly don’t have three to five. There will be elections not long after the Vytal Festival is over—”

“Some might say you’re putting party over kingdom, Mister Councillor,” Blackthorn murmured.

Aspen clasped his hands behind his back. “I didn’t appoint you to this command, Blackthorn, so that you could judge me. We are the natural party of government, and it is in the best interests of this kingdom that we should remain in government. I will not allow that ruddy-faced oaf into the First Councillor’s office because I was too slow to address the people’s concerns on defence.

“You may be right about those Mistralian ships. They may be worthless junk from a military perspective, but by the gods, they’ll look grand from the ground when people look up and see them in the skies above the city. They will feel safe. They will feel secure. And as the grimm are attracted to negative emotions, then does it not follow that anything that decreases said emotions is of some military benefit?”

Blackthorn nodded. “You may have a point, Mister Councillor.”

“You will get your modern ships in time,” Aspen said. “I guarantee it. In fact, you may start putting out the tenders for designs — we must have our own designs, optimised for our own needs, not Atlesian knockoffs — right now.”

Blackthorn’s eyebrows rose. “Can it be costed? We’re already exceeding the year’s military budget by quite considerable—”

“Thanks to Novo’s careful stewardship of the economy, and the record growth that we’ve been enjoying thanks to good conservative policies, the tax burden has remained at record lows,” Aspen said, turning away from Blackthorn for a moment to watch his son swinging from the bars out in the garden beyond. “Income tax at fifteen percent, National Insurance at a mere eight percent … yes, we will raise the National Insurance by one and a half percent and earmark the rise for increased defence spending. After all, defence spending is an insurance against the possibility of another attack like the one we experienced, and who would begrudge the kingdom a few extra lien to ensure that something like the Breach never happens again?”

“Someone will, I’m sure,” Blackthorn said dryly. “But I’m sure we can find ways to spend the money. The Home Guard needs to be properly equipped, and many of our regular units could do with modernising their gear as well as their training.”

“How is recruitment for the Home Guard?” Aspen asked.

“Booming, according to the latest figures I have,” Blackthorn said. “Across the kingdom, hundreds of thousands of people are volunteering; gods know how we’re going to arm them all.”

“We can ask for patience on that front,” Aspen said. “For now, it’s enough that people feel as though they’re doing something, contributing, making a difference. People need to feel as though the kingdom is moving in the right direction. In a safer direction. That is why I want you to start planning some forays against the grimm.”

“'Forays'?” Blackthorn repeated.

“We need to prove that our forces are just as capable as the Atlesians of going up against the creatures of grimm,” Aspen explained. “So find some grimm and go kill them.”

Blackthorn frowned slightly. “Since the Breach, there haven’t been any large concentrations of grimm—”

“Small ones will be even better; the victories will be easy, and we can trumpet them loudly all the same,” Aspen said. “The practical effect is irrelevant; the point is to give the impression of competence.”

“I will start looking at some options, Mister Councillor.”

“Inform me before you make any movements,” Aspen instructed him. “Have you heard anything from Colonel Sky Beak?”

“Nothing of note,” Blackthorn said. “Although there was one odd thing that happened very recently.”

“Go on.”

“Two of Ironwood’s students disappeared for a few nights, without leave,” Blackthorn said. “Apparently, they were in the company of one of Ozpin’s students. It’s probably nothing, but it is a little irregular.”

Aspen’s mouth tightened. “You wouldn’t happen to know the name of the Beacon student, would you?”

“Ironwood’s two are Trixie Lulamoon and Starlight Glimmer,” Blackthorn said. “Something of a pair of rising stars, apparently, they fought at the Breach—”

“And the Beacon student?” Aspen demanded.

Blackthorn hesitated for a moment. “Sunset Shimmer, one of the heroes of the Breach.”

'One of the heroes of the Breach.' The architect of the Breach, the cause of all our misery and misfortune. Oh, how it galled at him to hear her called a hero; oh, how he wanted to wring her neck with his bare hands.

And she had set out not alone, but in company; in company with a pair of Atlas students. Were Ozpin and Ironwood conspiring to make a fool of him? How much had Sunset Shimmer told them?

“As you say,” Aspen said, through gritted teeth. “It’s probably nothing. Thank you, General, that will be all.”

“Mister Councillor,” Blackthorn said, as he replaced the cap on top of his head and turned to walk down the long table, towards the doors that led out into the rest of the official residence.

Aspen turned away and looked out into the garden. He did not see the general leave, but he heard the door click shut behind him. His eyes were focussed upon Bramble, watching him play, watching the smile upon his face, watching him swing and climb and slide down the blue plastic slide.

Bramble saw him watching, and waved to him with a big, bright smile upon his face.

Aspen forced himself to smile back, and to wave back also.

The smile faded from his face as Bramble ran back to start climbing the bars again.

Sunset Shimmer, someone he admired, someone he played as, had been willing to let him die. And now it fell to Aspen to undo the damage she had done.

He would make Vale safe, but in the meantime, if he could make Vale believe that it was safe, then maybe they could get through this.

The door into the conference room was opened by Woolly, his principal private secretary. “Uh, Professor Ozpin here to see you, First Councillor.”

Aspen turned towards the door. “Send him in, Woolly.”

“Are you sure, First Councillor?” Woolly asked.

“Send him in, Woolly,” Aspen repeated, more firmly this time.

“Of course, First Councillor,” Woolly replied, before ducking out of the room.

A moment later, Professor Ozpin walked in.

“First Councillor,” he said, bowing his head for a moment.

“Professor,” Aspen said. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

“Indeed, First Councillor?” Ozpin asked, in an irritatingly genial tone. “What a fortunate coincidence.”

The door closed behind the headmaster, who took a few steps into the conference room, although some distance yet remained between the two of them.

It was a distance that Aspen was very happy to leave in place.

“Miss Shimmer returned to Beacon last night,” Ozpin said. “Having survived your attempt to dispose of her.”

Aspen inhaled through his nose. “So you are aware of our arrangement.”

“I am,” Ozpin said coldly. “And it is only because Miss Shimmer did not wish it that I have not paid you a visit to discuss it before now.”

“You disapprove?”

“Very much so, yes,” Ozpin murmured.

“Are you aware of what she did?” Aspen demanded.

Ozpin nodded slightly. “Miss Shimmer confessed that to me also.”

“And yet it is me that you disapprove of, and my actions?” Aspen asked. “Me, when all I do is—”

“Seek to send a girl to her death.”

“I seek justice,” Aspen declared. “Justice that will not visit her any other way.”

Ozpin was quiet for a moment. “You know the truth. You could arrest her for it, if you wish.”

Aspen snorted. “That would drag the whole affair out into the open, as you know. And as you know, Vale cannot afford the alarm that would be caused by finding out that one of its defenders, one of its celebrated defenders, recognised for her actions in the Breach, was in fact willing to throw the entire city away. I offer her a hero’s death and a chance at atonement.”

Ozpin frowned. “Forgive me, First Councillor,” he said, “but I have seen too much death to find anything heroic in it.”

“On that, if nothing else, we can agree,” Aspen muttered, with a glance out of the window. “How … how can you tolerate this? How can you tolerate her, knowing what she did? I do not like you, Professor, and I have not been shy in saying so, but I did not in my wildest dreams think that you would…” He turned away, rubbing at his jaw with one hand. “Is this what you’re teaching up at that damn school of yours?”

“No,” Ozpin said firmly.

“Then why?”

“Because I have lived a long time,” Ozpin replied. “And if my life has taught me anything, it is that forgiveness is always preferable to judgement.”

Aspen’s lip curled into a sneer. “So no one should ever be forced to take responsibility for their actions?”

“With respect, First Councillor, you are the one who decided to cover up Miss Shimmer’s actions, before I did,” Ozpin pointed out. “What you have asked of her is not taking responsibility for anything. And it ends now.”

Aspen looked at him. “Don’t you think you might be overstepping your bounds, Ozpin?”

“Miss Shimmer is my student,” Ozpin said calmly. “I understand my bounds perfectly.”

“You’re choosing to shield a—”

“I am shielding someone who made a mistake,” Ozpin said, cutting him. “And I am choosing to shield the Kingdom of Vale from the consequences of yours.”

“Meaning?” Aspen demanded.

“Meaning that Miss Shimmer did not go alone to Arcadia Lake,” Ozpin said.

Aspen snorted. “Of that, I was made aware already. Did you and Ironwood arrange that together?”

“No, General Ironwood was not informed of the decision of Miss Lulamoon and Miss Glimmer to accompany Miss Shimmer,” Ozpin replied. “Nor was he pleased when he found out. You should thank me that I didn’t point him in your direction when he came to me with questions.”

Aspen ignored that. “Then why—”

“Friendship,” Ozpin said. “Loyalty. The bonds that enable our huntsmen and huntresses to stand together and to triumph. As they did at Arcadia Lake. As Miss Shimmer would not have done had she ventured there alone. What did you really expect a single first-year student to accomplish by herself?”

Aspen was silent for a moment. “With … contact lost, I thought that she would find a dead village,” he admitted.

“Instead, she found a live one,” Ozpin informed him. “One which was defended by the efforts of Miss Lulamoon, and Miss Glimmer, in ways that Miss Shimmer alone could not have achieved. Six people are dead because of Miss Shimmer’s mistake, but a village full of Valish citizens are alive today because your mistake was averted by the virtue of Miss Glimmer and Miss Lulamoon.”

Aspen was silent for a while. He turned away from the window, turned away from Bramble playing in the garden. He leaned upon the large wooden table, placing his hands upon it, bowing his head as far as it would go before his antlers touched his arms.

He was silent because there was little to say. Or rather, what there was to say was not particularly what he wished to say. He had seen that contact with Arcadia Lake had been re-established last night, a small detail mentioned in the daily bulletin from the Department of the Interior. There had been no details about Sunset Shimmer, of course, whether she was alive or dead.

It seemed she was alive, and yet, without the help of those two Atlesians, she would have been dead.

And so would everyone living in Arcadia Lake.

Aspen closed his eyes. He didn’t know how many people exactly lived in Arcadia Lake; more than six, he was sure.

He didn’t want to admit that Ozpin was right, but … the man was right, infuriatingly; it was one thing to wish Sunset Shimmer dead, but it was quite another to endanger the people of Vale by making their only shield such a weak reed.

They deserved better from their council.

“I did not seek this office,” he murmured.

“The best never do, First Councillor,” Ozpin said softly.

Aspen snorted. “But I am not the best, am I?”

“It is very early days at present.”

“Oh, for God’s sake stop,” Aspen snapped. “Do you have any idea how damn condescending you sound?” He straightened up, tugging at his jacket to iron out the folds. “Or was condescension your intent?”

“It was not,” Ozpin said. “I apologise if it appeared that way.”

Again, Aspen paused. The words had to be dragged out of his throat with pliers, it felt like. “You are right,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I hate to admit it — as much as I hate you — but you are right. In seeking to avenge lives, I forgot that there are other lives at stake.”

“In my experience,” Ozpin said. “For a huntsman, there is no such thing as a mission where lives are not at stake; sometimes, that is very direct, a village in jeopardy. At other times, information not relayed back may cost lives through lack of preparedness, a creature that is not killed at a certain point will do more damage if left alive. There is no task that you could set Miss Shimmer that would have no side effects if she failed to complete it.”

“And what of the task you set for her?” Aspen demanded. “What of your sending her to Mountain Glenn?”

“Had I known the scale of the threat posed by the White Fang in Mountain Glenn in advance, I would of course have made different choices,” Ozpin said. “I would, of course, have sent a different reconnaissance force. But if I had known the scale of the White Fang threat in advance, there would have scarcely been any need to reconnoitre in the first place. The real mistake made by Teams Sapphire and Rosepetal was not withdrawing immediately once they had detected the scale of the enemy presence. They forgot that their mission was to bring back information, not stop the enemy single-handed.”

“You don’t think there should be consequences for what happened?”

“Have you not already decided that there should not be?” Ozpin asked.

“You know what I mean,” Aspen growled.

“Miss Shimmer will make up for her error, in the days and weeks and years to come,” Ozpin said, with that infuriating calm of his. “But by living and serving in a sensible manner.”

“You still trust her to be a huntress?”

“It will no doubt seem strange to you, but I trust her now more than I did before.”

“You’re right; that does sound strange to me,” Aspen replied. “And a little bit suspect, if I’m being honest.”

It seemed almost as if Ozpin would smile, although he did not actually do so. “I could say it is as simple as having witnessed her contrition, but truth to tell, it is more than that. Miss Shimmer has been … blooded now; she knows what is at stake, she knows the consequence of failure. I find that easier to trust than someone who may still believe that this is all a great and glorious game.”

Aspen hesitated. “I accept your point,” he said quietly. “There will be no more extraordinary missions for Sunset Shimmer. And so … what? We go on, pretending nothing is amiss, fooling the people?”

“Is it not the point of politics to fool the people?” Ozpin asked. “To convince them that nothing is amiss?”

“A very cynical approach to politics,” Aspen said. “I imagine you don’t vote; no doubt you believe all politicians are the same.”

“I don’t vote, no,” Ozpin conceded. “Because it is my job to work with whomever might be on the Council at any given time, and I believe I can do that best by not having preferences.”

“Very public spirited.”

“In answer to your question, First Councillor, yes, we go on,” Ozpin said. “You go on trying to remove me from my post, but leave my students out of it.”

Aspen let out a slightly bitter chuckle. “Very well. Tell Sunset Shimmer that she has nothing more to fear from my wrath … for now.” His expression hardened. “Now get out of my office, and out of my sight.”

Ozpin nodded. “It has been a pleasure to speak with you, First Councillor.”


Evenfall Gleaming. She still lives? I would never have believed it.

I didn’t believe it myself, but while I suppose it’s possible that she was lying, I don’t see what reason she would have to do so. And she had the Dark Regalia, which, again, I suppose she could have taken from the real Evenfall’s body, but again, I don’t see why she would pretend to be somepony that she wasn’t. It isn’t even as though Evenfall is particularly well known outside of students of history.

I had no idea that dark magic could extend your life like that.

There is a great deal about dark magic that is unknown; however, given the risks of studying it, I am prepared to accept a certain degree of ignorance if it means keeping my little ponies from falling into harm. Certainly, it is not a subject that I would like either of my students to delve into.

Sunset glanced over her shoulder, towards her bed, where the Dark Regalia lay in her pack. I will not use them save in direst need. I will not use them, and I’m certainly not going to study how they work.

Don’t worry, Princess, I’m not going to go down that road. I know what I need, and it isn’t that. What I need — what I needed, at least — was to see that trying to do everything on my own was irresponsible, not only for myself but for those that I was trying to save. Without Starlight and Trixie, Evenfall would have made it back to Equestria, and while I’m sure you could have stopped her, Twilight

I’m glad that we didn’t have to. I’d ask you to thank the others for me, but of course you can’t.

I’ve thanked them on my own behalf, so hopefully, that will do.

One thing puzzles me about this, I must confess: what were you doing setting off on this mission alone in the first place, without the support of your friends and teammates? From what you’ve told me, I understood that it was the policy of your school to send whole teams out on these dangerous excursions.

Sunset felt her mouth begin to go dry. She could have answered that question if she and Twilight had been speaking alone — in fact, Twilight could probably guess at the answer already — but Princess Celestia did not know about Sunset’s choice in the tunnel and could not know about it; she could no more know about it than Sunset’s friends could know about it. It would … it would destroy what they had managed to rebuild if she knew how far that Sunset had fallen.

She rubbed the space between her eyebrows as she sought for an excuse. I fear I have not been entirely myself since the battle. I thought that if I left my friends behind, I could protect them, keep them safe from harm by keeping them far from harm. I was a fool.

I will not deny that, Sunset, but I will say that I am glad that you have learned the lesson so swiftly; it takes others far longer.

It helps that I’m not learning it for the first time.

That too is nothing to be ashamed of. Some lessons need a little repetition to sink in, and utter change in an instant is often impossible, much as we would like it to be otherwise. You have survived, and you have time to learn and grow a little longer before you become set in your ways. But please, for my sake, do not backslide again; the fact that you are accompanied by the friends whom you make seem so skilled, and with whom you seem to have such close bonds, is one of the few things that calms my heart when I think of you embroiled in such desperate battles. Please, Little Sunbeam, for my sake, keep them close.

I have already promised my own teammates thus, how can I do any less for you? I promise, Princess; you have my word as your former student, and as an Equestrian gentlemare. I will not be parted from them on the battlefield again. At least, not without insuperable need.

That is not quite so comprehensive a promise as I would have liked.

No, but some things happen that cannot be avoided or escaped; I would not make myself an oath-breaker by accident.

I suppose that would be too much to ask of you. The promise you have given is enough, and I am glad that you are feeling more yourself after what happened to you. I only regret that you will be sent on more such expeditions by Professor Ozpin.

That may be so, but I will bear it better now that I have a better opinion of Professor Ozpin than once I did.

Really?

He is a better man that I gave him credit for. More compassionate than I took him for. I think that you might like him, Princess Celestia, if you could speak to him.

Perhaps I would, and perhaps I will some day.

He is aware of Equestria, although I fear he does not have the best opinion of us as a people and a land.

Why not?

Because we have given Remnant people like Evenfall Gleaming; can you really blame him?

When you put it like that, not really.

Starswirl was my mentor, and I will always remember him fondly for his teachings, his wisdom; I will always be grateful for guiding me on the path that led me to rule Equestria and for preparing to rule, I think, well and do good for all my little ponies. And yet at the same time, just as I am not above criticism, just as I have made mistakes, so Starswirl is not exempt from censure. It seems that he thought too little of Remnant and of those who dwelled there, that he was careless with it, loosing Equestria’s problems upon it without a care for how those already living in Remnant would receive them.

The fact that Professor Ozpin is annoyed does not make Starswirl wholly wrong, no matter how justified Professor Ozpin’s annoyance might be in turn.

The fact that Professor Ozpin’s annoyance is justified pretty much makes Starswirl wrong by definition, doesn’t it?

You think you can only be justifiably upset with someone who’s in the wrong?

I suppose not, but I still don’t fully take your meaning.

I mean that it was rough on Remnant to drop, for example, Evenfall upon them the way that Starswirl did, but we weren’t there; we can’t know what he was up against. Actually, no, that’s a lie; I do know what he was up against, and she would have beaten Trixie, Starlight, and Ditzy if Trixie hadn’t figured out how to turn the rules of the living nightmare against her at the last minute and fight her on terrain she couldn’t match. In a straight contest of her magic, amplified by the Dark Regalia, against their strength, she would have won. Maybe she would have beaten Starswirl too, if it isn’t too disrespectful to say so; after all, she had crafted the Dark Regalia to increase her power; what if she increased it beyond his own? What if he had no choice but to banish her to Remnant because she was winning?

That’s a fair point, I suppose, and between thinking that Starswirl was flawed and thinking that he was callous, I suppose flawed is the better option.

You can still be a fan of a flawed person. I have fans now, apparently, and I’m about as flawed as you can get.

Really? You have fans?

No need to be so surprised about it!

Sorry.

It’s fine. I was a little surprised myself, but apparently, the First Councillor’s son admires me. Apparently, there aren’t too many faunus huntsman to look up to.

And how does it make you feel, to be a role model?

Sunset sucked on the back of her pen as she considered her response. Before, it would have puffed my ego. Now, it feels a burden that I neither deserve nor am equal to. Beyond that, I also feel the need to earn his respect. No, perhaps 'earn' is not the right word; 'justify' might be a better choice of words. I feel the need to model in my actions what he already believes me to be.

That is precisely what it means to be admired.

Come now, Princess, you cannot feel unworthy of the love your ponies bear you.

Celestia: And why not? Why should I be immune from such doubts?

Because She blinked rapidly, scarcely comprehending what she had read on the page. you’re Princess Celestia; you, of all ponies in Equestria, are well worthy of all good things that are said of you and more. You are worthy to be praised and raised and applauded and placed upon a pedestal, if any are.

From what you have told me the same might be said of your friend Pyrrha, but how does she feel about that?

Sunset kept on blinking. You have always felt thus?

Always.

You never let on to me.

It was not your burden to bear, especially not at so young an age. And yet now, I think it might help you to know that that fear will never leave you: the fear that you are not, that you cannot be, all that they think you are. All that they need you to be. And yet, that same fear will also inspire you and drive you to be better, so that you may live up to their expectations, and that is no bad thing at all.

Now your expectations too are laid upon me.

I’m sorry, Sunset, I didn’t mean to burden you further.

It is not a burden, far from it. It is a blessing. If I can make you proud, if the only things that I accomplish in this world are to see my friends safely through these wars and make you proud, I will count myself well blessed.

Oh, Little Sunbeam, you have already made me proud.

Say it not, for I am undeserving, Sunset thought, feeling a knot in her stomach at the praise she had not earned. Then I must act in a manner worthy of your pride.

What will you do if Evenfall returns?

Without the Dark Regalia, I fear her less; with my friends by my side, I have no doubt we can overcome her.

Nice to hear some confidence returning. I have good news, by the way: I’ve managed to work out how to open the portal and let your friends come through to Equestria.

'By the way'? That’s not a ‘by the way’; why didn’t you say something earlier?

You were talking.

Well you should have interrupted me then. How did you do it?

It was actually Pinkie who worked out how.

Pinkie Pie?

That’s right.

Pinkie Pie worked out how to solve the issue of opening a magical portal at will across worlds.

Please don’t say it like that.

I’m sorry, but really?

Once she pointed out that an at-will conduit already exists between Equestrian and Remnant in the form of these two journals, it was quite easy to extrapolate.

Twilight paused, and Sunset felt as though she were being given a chance to try and get the answer for herself. She thought for a moment. Are you going to use the magic from the book to power the portal?

The magic is interspatial.

Yes, I suppose it is. Thank you, Twilight; this will mean a lot to Penny. I hope it will mean something to Blake, too.

You’re welcome.

Now, if you will both excuse me, I need to call and tell them about it.

PreviousChapters Next