Chapter I

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Granite Slab looked up at the full moon through the broken roof of the Castle of the Two Sisters, and the Nightmare's unseeing eye looked back. All ponykind had put its trust in the princesses, and the princesses had failed. Few saw it that way, of course, which is why all but a hoofful of his former followers had ran into the woods―presumably to be ripped apart by the manticores or shown by the cockatrices and basilisks one of the many fates that are worse than death―when his scout had returned with the grim news.

Celestia knew what he was trying to do. Her Royal Guards were coming. If they caught up with him, the price for his actions would almost certainly be death. Whether or not they knew who the real perpetrator was, they'd likely kill them all. No witnesses. The Royal Guard was like that in those days.

Granite spat on the cracked stone floor. He wasn't going to allow it. As far as he was concerned, the Night Guard died the day he stepped down, the day his proud bat ponies were assimilated into the ranks of the Day Guard and the amalgam dubbed the Royal Guard.

It wouldn't last.

The new captain, a pegasus pony named Valiant Stand, was a coward and a fool, all the more so for his stalwart loyalty to the false princess.

Granite had taken a measure of pleasure in leaving misleading clues for his inept counterpart, but the time for games had passed. With the help of an elderly zebra who had sought refuge in Equestria from the genocide in his homeland, found none, and taken up residence in the Everfree Forest, they had found all the information they needed.

Looters had been scouring the abandoned castle for months. It was only a matter of time before they found something they shouldn't.

Granite stepped back into the main chamber, where his fellow earth ponies accented the chalk hexagram that covered the floor with intricate glyphs drawn to the precise specifications of the unicorn spellcrafters he'd managed to sway to his cause. The unicorn ponies had impressed upon him that there was no margin for error in this kind of invocation, and though he believed them, the fact remained that they were running out of time. His sensitive bat pony ears had picked up on the hooffalls of a full battalion of troops―because Celestia's loyal soldiers certainly had nothing better to do―not long after his scout had returned. It was getting louder.

He stood, still as a statue, and watched for several minutes. With each second that ticked by in his mind's eye, each grain of sand that trickled irrevocably into the past, his muscles grew more tense.

Finally, the earth ponies vacated the outer rings, and the unicorns turned to him with what he assumed were expectant eyes―despite his excellent night vision, their dark robes did a commendable job of obscuring their faces.

His son, a bat pony by the name of Jasper, approached him and removed his hood to reveal a fanged grin.

His expression softening, if only slightly, Granite asked, "We are ready, aren't we?"

"Yes," was all the response he got.

Granite nodded and stepped forward, Jasper taking his place by his side. "Right," he began. "..." he continued. "I had a whole speech prepared, you know. Very eloquent. This is a momentous occasion, all right, definitely speech worthy. Trouble is, the Royal Guard, by my estimate―" He cocked his ear in the direction of the bridge connecting the castle's isle to the rest of the forest. "―is about twenty minutes away. We'll be lucky if if we finish the ritual before they're breathing down our necks. When we do, Jasper will take the child somewhere safe, somewhere she can grow into the savior ponykind needs her to be. As soon as he's out the door, I want this whole place consumed in spellfire. No evidence of what we did here today is to survive for those mange-ridden lapdogs to find.

"It is my personal intention to die here tonight, to go down with the ship, so to speak, lest Valiant should get it into his head to hold me for interrogation. I would ask that those of you with the wherewithal to do the same do so. If so much as one of you cracks―and I wouldn't blame you, because I've seen what they do―all our hard work could be undone before it's even had a chance to take effect. Now, that being said, your lives are your own; you can spend the rest of them running from the Royal Guard if you so choose, but for the good of Equestria, for the good of your fellow ponies, consider what I've said."

Seeing that that simply wouldn't do, he sighed, took a deep breath, and bellowed, "Tonight, my ponies, marks the twilight of the era of the princesses, of false order, and of having our fates decided for us! Tonight, we decide, and tomorrow morning... Tomorrow morning will mark the dawn of a new era, an era of freedom, where the only order to which we'll submit will be the natural order that's governed the whole of the universe since its conception! My only regret... is that I won't be there to see it."

He realized after the fact that his speech really didn't make any sense, that unlike his original, it touched only tangentially on the principles on which he'd founded the group, but that didn't seem to matter. From the way his followers cheered, including the bat ponies and pegasus ponies who were circling overhead and almost certainly couldn't hear him over the howling winds, they were listening more to the passion in his voice than his actual words. That was fine. It got the intended effect.

As soon as the twelve unicorn ponies finished stomping their hooves, they set about casting the spell. The six most accomplished in the field of Theoretical Thaumaturgy focused their attention on the glyphs while the other six cleared their minds and funneled their magic into the lines of the hexagram and the concentric circles surrounding it. This latter group had to take care not to expend all its magic, for it would be responsible for invoking the spellfire that would consume all trace of the deed.

Everypony had a part to play.

The air swirled and crackled with magical energy, and the wild magic of the Everfree Forest responded in kind, battering the land-bound cultists with a torrential downpour and forcing the airborne ones out of the sky with hurricane-force winds. Flashes of lightning split the earth and stone, but there was no telling them apart from the streaks of raw magic that loosed themselves from the unicorns' control and connected with the crumbling walls in showers of dust and cobbles. Still the unicorns persisted.

It was like no spell they'd ever cast. It was almost as if the spell wanted to be cast.

Time was understandably dilated for the parties involved, but the whole invocation was over in less than a minute. When the magic dispersed―save what had condensed into the form of a patchwork abomination that vaguely resembled a filly but was otherwise unlike anything anypony present had ever seen―the storm subsided.

While the others, Granite included, looked on in dumbstruck silence, Jasper, knowing the filly-like thing was to be his responsibility, knelt and swept her up into his foreleg.

The creature―Eris, he had decided to call her―looked back at him with scarlet eyes that bore a level of comprehension wholly unfit for a newborn. She shivered and buried her rain-dampened head in his chest.

Holding her close with one enrobed foreleg, Jasper rose, exchanged a brief glance with Granite, and cantered out of the room without a word.

That was the last they saw of each other.

Upon crossing the wooden bridge and entering the forest proper, Jasper heard the metallic marching of the Royal Guard and made a dash for the underbrush. They'd see him for sure if he tried to make his escape then and there, so he waited, watching.

He saw the black smoke billowing into the night before he saw the fire, before he heard the screaming voices, many of which he recognized. Not one pony attempted to flee. They all stood beside Granite in his mad enterprise until the bitter end.

Eris reached toward the fire with her hoof which wasn't a hoof. She gave him a pleading look and saw the raging fire reflected in his eyes. She saw the tears that he himself refused to acknowledge, and though she snuggled against him, she remained silent. There would be time for tears later.

On top of the screams of the cultists were the shouts of the pegasus ponies among the Royal Guard, who tried to herd the defiant clouds into a rainstorm over the castle. They failed. Not even the princess could control the Everfree Forest. Not since the Nightmare.

Much closer, Jasper could hear the sounds of the forest's depraved denizens. They hungered, but for some reason, they gave him and his charge a wide berth.

Though the unicorns who cast it had long since been immolated, the spellfire continued to feed off their magical reserves until there was nothing left with which for it to sustain itself. At that point, a group of ponies broke off the main body of the Royal Guard, crossed the bridge in single file, and searched what remained of the ruins.

Valiant Stand wasn't among them.

Jasper could have escaped then, but he felt he had a duty to the deceased to see what, if anything, had survived for the Royal Guard to find. The keen eyes that ran in his interracial family aided in that endeavor.

When the ponies returned, all they carried between them was the charred leather binding of the book that had been so inspirational to the cultists' cause. Before the pages had been reduced to blackened stubs, they had detailed the origins and antics of the primal race of not-quite-equines that had ruled Equestria before ponies and harmony, the race that had all but disappeared―all, that is, except two, one who was immortalized in stone, and one who had just been conceived.

***

Inkie sat on her bed and gazed out the open window. The barren expanse of the rock farm stretched into the distance, where it dropped into the inky blackness of Galloping Gorge. She liked to think that there were monsters down there―basilisks as ancient as the stones, or perhaps a brood of flightless proto-dragons that had lost their sight through generations of inbreeding―and that a young mare with adventure in her heart might find her fortune among the treasures accumulated from those who'd come before. She might be turned to stone, but then, a stallion clad in armor polished to a mirror finish might come, and upon slaying the basilisk, catch a glimpse of the most beautiful mare he'd ever seen, lift his visor, and revive her with his kiss. It'd be awhile before the feeling returned to her legs, but he'd carry her out, leaving all the basilisk's earthly treasures behind.

She knew it was a silly thought, but when all you had were rocks, silly thoughts were a blessing. The image of a pink filly with a party hat sticking out of her impossibly tangled mane and a grin to light up the world stole across her mind's eye. She rested her chin on the windowsill and sighed. She wondered where Pinkie was now.

She'd spent enough hours watching the gray sky―Father didn't believe in weather control―to tell from its tone that the sun was in decline. There was still daylight left, not that it mattered. Father hadn't given her a lot of work for the day, and she'd finished early. She often finished early, but she'd usually try to abscond with Blinkie rather than let him pile on more menial tasks for the two of them. She had a feeling he wouldn't do that today, and it set her on edge. That he'd been kind to her lately hadn't escaped her.

It hadn't escaped Blinkie either. Nothing escaped Blinkie.

Inkie would have liked to lie with her in the grass and the shade of the trees that dotted the outskirts and talk until the stars came out to greet them, as the two often did, but she hadn't seen her all day. She'd entertained the idea of going out to look for her in the forest, but the forest, she knew, was Blinkie's escape from the world. She'd always been curious what was out there, but she'd feel like she was intruding if she went without Blinkie's permission. She'd have to ask Blinkie to take her with her one day, before she left.

Since the night before, she'd been going over what she wanted to say. She hadn't told anyone yet. Not even Blinkie. Though she knew Blinkie probably knew, as it'd been on her mind for a long time, the unspoken words still left a sour taste in her mouth. That she'd barely had a drink of water since breakfast might have been another factor. On any other day, she'd have passed the hours of manual labor with thoughts of what the future might bring for her―and if she came with her, her sister―but not today. Today was too important.

Today was the day she broke the news to the one pony who might try to stop her.

It wasn't that Father was abusive; on the contrary, he'd never lain a hoof on her, her sister, or her mother. That might have been preferable. It would have shown that he cared.

When Inkie was young, before her sisters had been born, she'd worked hard to win his love, but as she got older, she came to realize that he didn't care about the work they did. They worked the fields because they needed to make a living, but there was no joy in it, not even for him. Not anymore.

Pinkie had promised to change that, but then she'd disappeared. There was no explanation. There wasn't even a goodbye.

That was when Inkie had started to wonder about life beyond the rock farm.

Years later, here she was, a grown mare, and she still only knew the rest of Equestria from the faded pictures in the atlas Mother had bought for her in Vanhoover. There was such a lot of world, and though much of it had already been settled, there were still frontiers out there. For her first year or two abroad, all Equestria would be her frontier. There was so much to which to look forward, but she still had to take the first step.

She didn't see the first drops of rain; she felt them. She shut the window, got up from her bed, extinguished the lamp, and let her hooves carry her out into the hallway and down the stairs. The words had deserted her. She'd figured they would, and maybe that was for the best. They were the wrong words. Brooding was her way, but experience had taught her that the right words would come when she needed them.

She opened the door to the living room.

Father was already there. He sat in his chair by the window, the curtains drawn back, and favored her with a smile. "Inkie! Come sit with me, won't you?"

That wasn't what Inkie was expecting. She sidled over to the chair across from him and sat down. She tried to remember how she'd planned to broach the subject.

Shifting uncomfortably, all his enthusiasm apparently exhausted, Father said, "Inkie, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you."

What was the subject that needed broaching again? Ah, right... "Actually, Father, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you too. It's about..." Here Inkie made a sweeping gesture to encompass the living room, the farmhouse, and presumably, all that lay beyond. "...this."

Father raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. When she didn't continue, he went on, "Well, as it so happens, 'this' is exactly what I wanted to discuss. May I continue?"

"Oh, good..."

"May I continue?"

"Please."

Father nodded and went on, "This feels like the time for a big important speech, but you know I'm no good with words."

Inkie nodded, caught herself, and shrunk.

A pained expression flashing over his face, Father started to say something, thought better of it, and shifted his gaze out the window. The rain was coming down in full force, and the ground that wasn't solid rock had turned to mud. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm getting old, Inkie. The rock farm demands a lot from ponies, even rock-hard earth ponies like us. I don't know how much more my body can take. I'll work until the day I collapse, but I don't know when that day might be. It may be tomorrow, or I may live to be twenty-seven. I don't know. My father was twenty-three when he gave me this speech, and not without messing himself up first. I don't want it to come to that."

Inkie had a good idea where this was going. Her heart sank like a boulder.

Father took off his hat, confirming her suspicion.

Inkie couldn't let him say what he was about to say. If he did, she wouldn't be able to deny him. She hated him with every fiber of her being, but he was still her father. She was loyal to the idea of family if not to him personally.

Father looked back at her and opened his mouth to speak.

Inkie cut him off, "No."

"You don't know what I was about to ask."

"Yes, I do, and I can't do it."

"Inkie," Father began.

"No!" Inkie shouted. Her body shaking, she got up from her chair and stalked toward the center of the room. "You can't make me, all right? I'll run away. Blinkie will come with me. You'll never see any of us ever again. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Father got up to follow her but stopped short. He craned his neck to catch her eyes, but she avoided his gaze. "Inkie, what are you saying?"

Inkie turned to face him, tears in her eyes and anger twisting her features. "I'm saying I don't want to spend the rest of my life on this Celestia-forsaken expanse of rock. Why do you think it is that nothing ever grows here?"

"There are plenty of places where plants don't grow," Father tried to respond. "More to the point, rocks grow here. There's no other place in Equestria where that happens."

Inkie was barely listening at that point, much less paying attention to her surroundings. Had she been, she still wouldn't have noticed Blinkie slipping into the room, just like she hadn't noticed Blinkie watching from the kitchen entryway for the past few minutes. "I wouldn't know that, though, would I? You've never let me see the outside world, but you know what? We're grown mares now. We can make our own decisions, and we've decided to leave and never come back, just like Pinkie did."

Father hadn't anticipated that, and he didn't know how to respond. Mother was the one who knew how to console distraught ponies. He thought about giving Inkie a hug, but at that moment, Blinkie caught his eye and shook her head. She was an enigma even to him, but he knew she and Inkie were the only two ponies who really understood each other. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor and waited.

"Well, don't you have anything to say?" Inkie asked incredulously.

"Inkie," Blinkie said softly and walked toward her.

Looking bewildered, Inkie turned to face her. She knew Blinkie had a habit of coming and going without anypony noticing, but she also knew Blinkie avoided conflict like the plague. Seeing her here was like seeing a shell-shocked pegasus pony wandering unarmed and unarmored through a war zone.

Blinkie stopped before her and looked into her eyes. Mortars exploded all around.

Inkie tried to hold her gaze, tried not to let go of the anger that had been bubbling up inside her ever since Pinkie's disappearance, but it was for naught. She fell back on her haunches and sobbed into her hooves.

Blinkie wrapped one foreleg around Inkie's shoulders and cradled Inkie's head against her chest with the other.

Inkie was the older sister. She was supposed to be the strong one, but she wasn't. She could have beaten her father in a fight even in his prime, but her heart was as fragile as an egg―an egg that had already been broken once.

Father returned to his chair and stared out the window. The rain had lightened up a bit, but twilight was settling over the sky. There was no making out anything more than a hundred feet away, and the light from the oil lamp stopped much shorter than that. It cast strange shadows over his features. Contrary to her belief, he understood. He'd had the same reaction when his father had asked him to take up the mantle, or as it was, the hat. That rebellious spirit was the true mark of a member of the Pie family. They all exemplified it in their own way, even the ones who were born under different roofs.

Blinkie whispered something to Inkie, and Inkie's sobbing subsided.

Father tried to ignore them, but he could feel Blinkie's eyes on the back of his head. He turned, and the lamps scattered around the rest of the room chased the shadows from his face. He asked, "What?"

"You were about to say something," Blinkie stated.

Father had been about to say something, in fact, but he'd been angry. It wasn't the sort of thing you said when you weren't angry, even if it was true, even if it was something you should have said a long time ago. There was a tradition among the Pie family of keeping secrets from one another; it came with the territory. The territory was two hundred years old, though, and in retrospect, he realized how much simpler things would have been had he just told his family the whole story.

He hadn't even told Pinkie. If anypony had a right to know, it was her, but the truth was that he didn't know the whole story―it had gotten lost in translation from generation to generation. But he had to try. He decided to start with the part he knew best. "Pinkie didn't leave of her own free will."

"What?" Inkie asked, looking up. "What do you mean?" All the anger was gone from her face. The fur on her cheeks was still wet, but her eyes weren't.

Father admitted, "I sent her away."

"What?" Inkie asked, her voice raised.

Blinkie touched Inkie's shoulder.

"Father, why?" Inkie asked in her normal voice. "Why would you do that to her, to us... to yourself?"

Father continued with a faraway look in his eye, "She didn't want to go―I didn't want her to go―but she couldn't stay here. I tried to explain it to her. I don't think she ever really understood."

"Why couldn't she stay here?" Blinkie asked.

"Because―"

A rapping on the old wooden door cut him off and brought him back to reality.

Everypony fell silent and looked to the door, unsure if the noise had been real. The Pie family didn't get callers. The nearest settlement was Vanhoover, and everypony there, especially the pegasus ponies, knew to steer clear of the rock farm. If somepony was at the door, he or she must have come a very long way.

After a minute, the rapping came again. There was no question this time. Donning his hat, Father got up and said, "You'd better go clean yourself up."

Inkie knew he was talking to her, and she didn't protest. She hated crying in front of other ponies, even if it was just Blinkie, and the evidence was still all over her face. She followed him into the hallway and turned toward the bathroom beneath the stairs.

Father waited to hear the running water before opening the front door.

A unicorn stallion whose sky-blue fur was matted against his lean body stood in the entryway with his foreleg raised. He lowered it, offered a winning smile, and said, "Ah, you must be Igneous Rock. My name is Skyline, and I was wondering if you might―"

"No."

"Sorry?" Skyline asked, his smile faltering.

"We don't want any," Father said, by way of explanation, and shut the door in his face. He walked back to the living room, where Mother and Blinkie were sitting by the coffee table. Why they had a coffee table when none of them drank coffee was anyone's guess.

Mother, who must have slipped in through the back door, looked up expectantly and asked, "Who was at the door?"

"Some unicorn pony," Father said without interest and sat down across from them.

Mother got up and answered the door herself.

Skyline was still there. "Good evening, Ma'am. Cloudy Quartz, is it?"

"Yes. You're Skyline, are you?"

"I am!" Skyline said, his smile returning. "I apologize if your husband got the wrong impression. I'm not here to sell you anything."

"Why are you here, then?"

"Can we talk inside? It is pouring, you know."

Mother acquiesced and returned to the living room. Over her shoulder, she said, "Be sure to get all the mud off your hooves."

A moment later, Skyline followed. Mother gestured to the chair adjacent to Father's, and he accepted graciously.

Father studied him as a cat would study a mouse that had casually brushed past it on its way to steal a piece of cheese. A cat whose stomach was growling.

Blinkie studied him with a purer sort of curiosity. Sunflower-colored eyes, she noted, and a chalk-white mane that's probably wavy and disheveled when it's not plastered to his neck. Cutie mark of a lopsided, encircled hexagram, like amateur invokers use to channel magic beyond their capabilities, but without the six runes that indicate its purpose. Definitely a scholar. Probably not the most accomplished in his field, but unafraid of getting his hooves dirty, literally or figuratively. Father won't like him, she concluded, but Inkie might.

Skyline barely registered Blinkie's presence. Instead, he turned to address Father, "Since you don't strike me as somepony who likes to waste time―"

"Are you calling me impatient?"

Skyline grinned. "When you put it that way, it sounds like a bad thing."

Father was unimpressed.

"Right," Skyline said. "I'll just jump right in, then. I work in the Department of Theoretical Thaumaturgy at Canterlot Academy. I teach, mostly, but there is some time for research. I recently came across a sample of slate with a vein-like inclusion that glowed in the presence of strong magical fields such as those a unicorn pony can channel. The inclusion was otherwise completely indistinguishable from the surrounding rock. It had even adopted the same molecular structure! Until I isolated it, that is. I tried a magic-based extraction and recrystallization, but it soaked up everything I threw at it. In the end, I had to resort to conventional means, but the end result was unprecedented.

"In the days before the unification under Celestia and Luna, when in-fighting among ponies was rampant, traitorous unicorn ponies found a way to distill the ambient magical field into crystals of pure magic that could be inscribed with runes with purposes ranging from giving earth ponies skin as tough as quartz to turning pegasus ponies into invisible assassins. There were even rumors of an enchantment that let ponies breathe underwater and the discovery of a race of sea ponies that had long since adapted to life on the ocean floor. That latter rumor has since been debunked.

"This amazing technology was lost when Discord was banished from the world, but the crystal I isolated in my laboratory had the exact same properties, the difference being that it arose naturally. The slate in question came from your rock farm. Something about this place, probably something deep underground, is so potently magical that it's literally crystallizing out of the earth! If you'll step outside with me, I'll show you. It permeates the ground and even the foundation of your farmhouse like a giant mycelium!"

Father had heard enough. "That won't be necessary."

"You'll help me, then?" Skyline asked. "What you've got here could revolutionize the field of enchantment magic, and in lending me your assistance, you could be part of that revolution! Your family name, an earth pony name, could be known across Equestria and immortalized in the pages of magic history!"

"Skyline, I'd like you to leave," Father said, visibly shaken. He got up to lead him to the door. "We're honest earth ponies, and whatever it is you think you've found, I can tell you it's nothing more than good old earth pony magic."

Though Skyline got up to follow him, he protested, "Igneous, listen to me. We both know that's not true. I know earth pony magic. I've seen it, but this is something different. Earth pony magic coaxes life forth from the soil, yes, but it can't create life where there isn't any. Do you not see it? The stones themselves are alive!"

"You're hiding something, aren't you, Father?" Inkie asked. She was leaning against the wall adjacent to the living room, and judging from the lack of steam wafting out from the bathroom, she'd been there awhile. Her mane was still damp, but her pale eyes burned. They were the color of potassium salt on a gas flame. She shifted her gaze to Skyline, and her expression changed. Remembering a scene in a Fetlock Holmes story that went something like this, she smiled and slipped into character. "Skyline, is it?"

"Who are you?" Skyline asked.

"He was just leaving," Father said and shut the door. He mightn't be opposed to a stallion looking at his daughter―if she found a husband without having to leave the rock farm, she might find that she didn't need the outside world―but Skyline would definitely be too much trouble. Even if he told him all he knew, he knew Skyline wouldn't be satisfied. He'd want to see it with his own eyes, and then he'd want to share it with his peers in Canterlot, right under Celestia's nose. He didn't know what he was hiding, but he knew that some things were better left buried. That's what he'd always told himself, anyway.

Inkie shifted her weight back onto her four hooves and braced herself for the shouting match, but there wasn't one.

Father pushed past her and shut himself in his and Mother's bedroom.

Inkie called after him, "You can't just walk away from this, you know!"

Mother slipped past her, gave her a look, and followed Father. She locked the door behind her, and after a moment, muffled voices reverberated through the silvering wood. It didn't sound like an argument. Somehow, that was worse.

"Come on, let's go to bed," Blinkie said, and Inkie followed her up the stairs.

***

Blinkie gazed up through the open window at the moonlit clouds that passed overhead. She was watching for the Two Sisters and the Sea Pony, two obscure constellations that wouldn't be visible just a few miles west amid the light pollution over Vanhoover. She could only catch bits and pieces at a time, so she reconstructed them in her head. The draft blew her ash-gray mane back over her grayish-purple neck.

Inkie lay at the opposite end of the bed, her pillow propped against the headboard. She was telling a story, but she wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. She was noticing how the moonlight complemented her younger sister's natural beauty. Blinkie had assured her that she was attractive in a different way―"athletic" was the word she'd used―but she had a hard time believing it. She could believe that her strong back and powerful hind legs would be attractive to another earth pony, but she wasn't attracted to earth ponies. They were too rough, too forward, too... grounded.

Blinkie had the slender build of a pegasus pony, and her eyes... Bronze was a rare eye color among ponies, and like the lines in the obelisk that made up her cutie mark, they seemed to glow with an inner light. When they looked intently into yours, you got the impression that the deepest truths of your soul were laid bare before them. They never looked unkind. At worst, they looked disappointed. At that moment, those curious, soul-piercing eyes were turned on Inkie. "Then what happened?"

Realizing she'd lapsed into silence, Inkie shook her head and resumed her story without missing another beat. "He was about to tell me he wanted me to be his heir!"

"You are his heir, Inkie. We both are." It wasn't the first time Blinkie had caught her looking at her. Inkie was, in fact, the only pony who noticed when Blinkie entered a room. It was comforting. She was the kind of pony who wouldn't be sure of her own existence if there was nopony to remind her. Inkie kept her grounded like that.

Inkie rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant."

Blinkie nodded and returned to gazing out the window, but this time, she was looking at the ground. "That was when I slipped in, when you started raising your voice."

"Sorry," Inkie said, cringing and shifting on the bed.

Blinkie shook her head. "Don't apologize. You... Your heart was in the right place. Anyway, that's not what concerns me. What concerns me is what he didn't tell us."

"About Pinkie?" Inkie asked. "Yeah, that's been bothering me too."

Blinkie gave her a look.

Inkie rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, I know you can tell. You don't need to remind me how much cleverer you are than me."

"Hey," Blinkie said, sounding hurt, "it's not my fault you're so easy to read."

Inkie grinned and kicked Blinkie's flank with her hind leg.

Blinkie smiled a little, but the expression soon faded. Her eyes became distant, as they often did when she was remembering something―or as Inkie liked to think of it, gazing into another plane of existence. She was still looking out the window, though, so she could very well have been looking at something.

Inkie took the opportunity to nestle into the top blanket and lose herself in her thoughts. Happy thoughts. Thoughts of a certain stallion, the first she'd met who wasn't her father. Though they'd met only briefly, Skyline had definitely made an impression. He was smart and handsome, a bit scrawny, but most of all, ambitious―rebellious, even. He was nothing like her father. He was like her. Had he approached her with his proposal instead, she'd have lent him whatever help she could, not least because she was curious herself.

She imagined Blinkie was doubly so. Ever since Pinkie had got her that anthology of Fetlock Holmes stories, Blinkie had been unable to resist a good mystery.

Skyline might have even taken them back to Canterlot with him to present their findings to his superiors at the academy. Oh well.

As if reading her mind―though not quite, because she wouldn't have had to ask―Blinkie asked, "What did you think of Skyline?"

Inkie told her what she'd just been thinking.

"Why don't you go ask him? He's still poking around out there."

"What?" Inkie asked, rolling onto her stomach and shuffling toward the window.

Blinkie moved over to make room for her and pointed her hoof toward the shadow of a craggy formation, one of several that had reared up from the surrounding earth over the course of the past few weeks. There hadn't been time to knock them all down.

"I can't see anything," Inkie said.

"He's there," Blinkie assured her.

Inkie knew Blinkie's ability to see in the dark was uncanny, owing to the bat pony ancestry Father insisted they didn't have. She left her place at Blinkie's side and headed toward the door. When she looked back to see that Blinkie hadn't moved, she asked, "Hey, aren't you coming?"

"I'll be along," Blinkie said, her eyes never leaving the window.

Inkie shrugged and left the room. Looking down the flight of generations-old wooden stairs that lay before her, though, she faltered. The noise had never bothered her before, but then, she'd never had reason to sneak out in the middle of the night before. If she did find Skyline out there in the dark, circumstances would demand that she confront him, but part of her still wanted to help him. She'd known he wouldn't be deterred so easily; she just didn't think he'd resort to trespassing. If he presented a good enough case, she told herself, she'd agree not to tell her father, provided he agreed to take her with him.

With the utmost care, wishing all the while that she had Blinkie's feline grace, she crept down the stairs. She let out a sigh upon reaching the bottom.

A mumbling, grumbling noise came from her parents' bedroom.

Inkie froze, her breath catching in her throat. When nothing happened after several seconds, she hurried toward the front door and let herself out.

Now that she was in the clear, her thoughts returned to Skyline. She stood on the doorstep and perked up her ears. There were no crickets. The wind whistled past her ears and blew strands of her slate-gray mane into her eyes.

For awhile, that was the only sound, but then a nearly imperceptible noise like a pebble being kicked across the ground came from the southern field. Her heart leaped. Forcing the grin from her face in favor of a determined scowl, she set off in that direction. She paid no mind to the squelching her hooves made when she lifted them from the muddy ground; now that she was out of her parents' earshot, she wanted to be heard.

Feeling a drop of rain on her back, she raised her head to the sky and saw that more dense clouds had rolled in from the west.

Another drop fell in her eye, making her stop and shake her head. When she opened her eyes, she saw Skyline backing out of the shadow of a monolith. She might have taken the opportunity to get a better look at him, but the encroaching darkness reminded her of her mission. She took a second to get back into character and yelled, "Hey!"

Skyline looked around wildly in the direction of the voice before taking off in the opposite direction. He clearly hadn't spotted her.

Inkie took off after him.

Skyline was athletic for a unicorn pony, but he never stood a chance. Seeing her running beside him, about to say something, he tried to break off to the right.

Inkie lunged at him, and they tumbled to the muddy ground. She recovered first, pinned him on his back, and snarled, "Start talking. Now."

"What are you―"

"Group hug!" a familiar, feminine voice squealed seconds before a blur of pink fur bowled Inkie and Skyline over. When they came to a stop a few paces away, they found themselves locked in a three-way embrace with another earth pony, a young mare. Her magenta mane was caked with mud, but she didn't seem to care. From the moment her brilliant cerulean eyes met Inkie's, there could be no doubt as to her identity.

Inkie would know those eyes anywhere. Even in the pitch darkness, they held a sparkle that was midway between the pinnacle of genius and the abyssal depths of madness, yet her mind refused to believe what her eyes could clearly see. She asked, "Pinkie?"

Pinkie cocked her head and grinned. "Of course, silly filly. Who'd you think I was?"

Inkie couldn't think. It wasn't that her mind had gone blank, as it often did. Rather, it was that so many thoughts were rushing through her head that she couldn't latch onto any. Her mouth worked of its own accord, "Pinkie, what―"

Skyline cleared his throat.

"Oh, right," Pinkie said. She released her grip on her captives.

Skyline recovered first. He drew himself up to his full height and ignited his horn with a crackling chartreuse corona. The magic he drew from the ambient field burned like a flare and veiled his eyes in shadows. "Now," he said, his voice low. "You're going to tell me how you knew to find me here."

Her unexpected reunion with her sister momentarily forgotten, Inkie cautiously rose to her hooves, never taking her eyes off him. All her muscles tensed, ready to lunge at him the second he tried to direct all the magic he was accumulating.

A moment later, Pinkie rolled onto her hooves and pulled them under herself. She shook herself off like a dog, starting with her head and making her way back to her hind quarters, blinked, and looked from Inkie to Skyline. Whereas a moment ago, they were staring each other down, testing each other to see who would break first, both were now looking at her incredulously. She said, "What?"

They didn't respond.

Peering closer, she saw the droplets of mud all over their faces. Realization dawned on her―at least, she thought it did. Without a second thought, she walked over to Skyline, rummaged through his saddlebag for a clean, dry cloth, and wiped the mud off. "There," she said, looking satisfied. "The rain will wash away the rest."

Inkie and Skyline looked back at each other, but the tension was gone―Pinkie had thoroughly short-circuited it.

Skyline let the light fade from his horn, and the moonlight returned to his eyes.

Inkie let a small smirk creep across her lips.

Skyline giggled.

The sound was so ridiculously out of place that Inkie couldn't help breaking out into boisterous laughter, and he soon followed her example.

Pinkie, meanwhile, looked from one mad pony to the other and back again, hopelessly puzzled. "What? What's so funny?"

Inkie gave Pinkie a hug, but she only laughed harder. She laughed so hard she cried. Then she wasn't laughing anymore. She sobbed and clung to Pinkie like a life preserver among the ocean of her tears.

Pinkie returned the embrace and eased them to the ground. She cooed, "Hey, hey, it's all right. Come on, don't cry. You're gonna make me cry."

She offered Skyline a smile and said, "Maybe you should give us a moment."

Skyline, who had stopped laughing, acquiesced.

Pinkie held her sister, never once thinking of letting go. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but she paid it no mind. "I missed you, Inkie."

Inkie slackened her grip such that she could meet Pinkie's eyes. Though her sobs had subsided, her eyes were still misty, and she wanted―needed―to see. When she'd managed to wipe the tears away, she finally got a good look at the pony sitting across from her.

Pinkie had changed in the years since Inkie had last seen her. She had been a filly then, but now her body had filled out, in terms of both her general proportions and those particular curves that made stallions' hearts beat faster; she'd let her mane and tail grow long and embraced their tendency toward impossible curliness; and though her eyes showed that she had seen things more beautiful and terrible than most ponies ever did, they still bore the filly-like wonder Inkie had first seen in them the last time they'd seen each other: at the party where Pinkie had gotten her cutie mark.

"I thought I'd never see you again." Inkie said.

Pinkie nuzzled Inkie's nose, a small smile gracing her lips, and said, "I know, but I'm here now. That's what matters."

Inkie mustered a smile and hugged her again. She had so many questions, but she wasn't about to ask any of them. Pinkie had come back, and at that moment, in the shadow of the rock farm, the rain, and each other's embrace, that was all that mattered.

When the moment passed, Pinkie asked, "Where's Blinkie, anyway?"

Inkie pulled away to look back up at her bedroom window, but it was shut and the lamp had been snuffed out. "I don't know. She said she'd be along."

"Hi, Pinkie," Blinkie said, barely audible over the persistent patter of the rain.

"Blinkie!" Pinkie cried, turning toward the voice. She saw Blinkie standing a respectful distance behind them and rushed over to meet her.

Blinkie tensed.

Pinkie hugged her instinctively but quickly let go, looking abashed. "Sorry," she said. "It's been awhile. I forgot."

"No, it's all right," Blinkie said, and after a moment, she gave her a brief hug. She didn't look uncomfortable with her sister's affection, just embarrassed, as if someone had just told a rather personal story about her at some kind of get-together. Smiling softly, she added, "Just this once, I'll let you get away with it."

"We'd better catch up with Skyline," Pinkie said. "I told him I'd be his guide, and what kind of guide would I be if I let him get lost?"

Blinkie waited for Inkie to join her, and together, they followed Pinkie into the darkness. They lagged a short distance behind, perhaps intending to talk among themselves, but neither seemed inclined to speak.

Inkie was accustomed to the periods of silence that punctuated her interactions with Blinkie, but this silence was different. She said, "You're not telling me how well I handled the situation with Skyline back there. You were watching, weren't you?"

"I was," Blinkie confirmed. She didn't look at her. "Perhaps I will, later, but perhaps now isn't the best time."

Inkie couldn't argue with that.

"I don't think he'll hold it against you, though. Pinkie must have warned him what would happen if Father caught him trespassing. He was lucky it was just us."

Inkie relaxed. For all that Blinkie made her feel like an open book, she appreciated not having to ask the questions that were really on her mind. They walked the rest of the way in silence, but the silence didn't feel quite so awkward.

The fact remained that the hour was approaching midnight and they were following Pinkie, their long-lost sister with whom they'd just reunited after having been separated for the whole of their adult lives, down the narrow path into the depths of Galloping Gorge. It felt surreal, but Inkie was too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to appreciate it. Her hooves carried her on as if in a dream, but she knew everything around her was real.

The wet stone should have posed a problem, but it didn't. The fading moonlight, on the other hoof, did. By the time they got to the bottom, they were surrounded by such pitch blackness that even Blinkie had trouble seeing. Were it not for the ground beneath their hooves, the sensation of being suspended in a void would be complete.

Far overhead, so far that Inkie had to crane her neck to see it, the sky looked like a tear in the fabric of reality, viewed from the outside, where there was no reality.

"Come on, he's this way!" Pinkie called from somewhere up ahead.

Inkie followed her voice. She had lost track of Blinkie, but she knew she didn't have to worry about her. Turning a corner she hadn't realized was there, she saw the others.

Skyline sat on his haunches and studied the cliff face.

Illuminated by the light of his horn, Pinkie and Blinkie stood beside him.

Inkie joined them, but they paid her no mind―they were captivated by the chartreuse glow of the veins that snaked up the cliff face and along the ground from the point where the two met like the rays of a stylized, alien sun. All the while, raindrops splashed against the ancient rocks, to whom time was measured in terms of their erosion. Not so long ago, there had been a time when they hadn't measured it at all.

Chapter II

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In the beginning, it was just the two off them―the father and the daughter, living together in their world beneath the world. They were safe there, and through the daughter's powerful magic, they had everything they could want. Everything, that is, except anypony with whom to share it. The daughter could conjure up any inanimate thing the father described, as well as most plants and some animals, but when she tried to create ponies, something about them always came out wrong.

Those imperfections, the father would later realize, were deliberate. He'd noticed it in her inanimate works, such as how the plants grew not toward the sun but in whichever direction they pleased, how the water sought to flow upward to collect in mountain pools rather than downward to rejoin the sea, and how the clouds, during certain times of day, hung low enough as to form stepping stones into the sky. Such deviations were the result of his failing to explain why something was a certain way and her deciding that that something would be so much better another way. And while they brought them no end of amusement, there was no good way to describe ponies.

In the end, they decided―at least for the time being―that they didn't need anypony else. They weren't, after all, going to stay down there forever. The daughter had a great destiny to fulfill. The father just had to keep her safe until she was mature enough to face the world without fear of the consequences.

Unfortunately, at least for the father, that time came sooner than they desired. The time he spent in such close proximity to the daughter and the way she interacted with magic was changing him. Though the years hadn't been unkind and he looked more or less the same as he always had, his magical essence had been fundamentally altered. In many ways, it had been strengthened, but if the change progressed much further, it wouldn't be long before his body started to change too, taking on characteristics of the daughter's. That wasn't undesired, necessarily, but at the time, it could only cause trouble.

The daughter, for her part, still hadn't grown into her abilities enough to fully separate herself from the pony way of doing magic―the only way the father knew to teach her―and allow her world to take on a life of it's own, much less to free the magic of the world above from its shackles. She had to stay behind.

The father promised to visit as soon as his magic stabilized, took to his leathery wings, and disappeared into the sun.

The daughter waved. He had assured her that she hadn't done anything wrong, that she was actually doing exactly what she was conceived to do, but the fact remained that he was leaving because of her. If her destiny involved driving away the ponies she loved, she didn't know if it was a destiny she wanted to fulfill. Instead, she practiced magic the pony way and turned her mad world into an idyllic grove untouched by ponies and full of beautiful trees, crystalline pools, and wild animals.

Months passed, but the father did return. He looked considerably older, as if many years had gone by in the world outside. He brought another pony with him, a mare.

The daughter had eluded them for hours, hiding among the treetops, out of suspicion for the newcomer, but as she watched, she saw how the father trusted her and how she marveled at the world the daughter had created. She approached them.

The mare was appalled at the daughter's grotesque appearance, but the father managed to calm her. Given time, she would become more comfortable with the idea that the father's next of kin wasn't a pony. Though the pony mind is easily snapped, given time to adjust, its elasticity knows no bounds.

As the evening progressed, the daughter learned of all that had happened in the years that had, in fact, gone by.

The father, in his loneliness, had sought a wife in the pioneer town of Vanhoover. Most ponies could sense, on some subconscious level, the otherworldly air that hung around him and were repulsed by it, but there was one, a kindred spirit, who was intrigued. They returned to the plot of barren land he had allegedly bought with the intent of turning it into a prosperous farm. The mare had protested that no plant would ever grow there, but the father had assured her that the land would provide, and it did. Their crops were not grains and vegetables but mineral veins and precious gems not found anywhere else in Equestria.

They spent many days working their hooves to the bone in the fields and many nights sleeping together under the stars, but in time, they had enough money to have a farmhouse built. At the daughter's request, the father described it in detail.

The daughter offered to let them spend the night and promised that the predators that stalked through the woods wouldn't come near.

The father and the mare accepted the welcome break from their arduous work and ended up staying several more days. When the time came for them to part ways, they parted on the best possible terms.

When they returned to the world above, however, they found that the seasons had changed. They had promised to visit again, and they fully intended to do so, but they knew that in the future, they couldn't stay more than a few hours.

The next time they came to visit, they brought a foal. They met the daughter in the same clearing they had before, but this time, there was a cottage there. The inside resembled the description the father had given of the farmhouse, while the outside had been adapted to fit in with the forest. As intended, they left after a few hours, but not before the daughter could notice that the foal's magical essence was altered in the same way as the father's, albeit to a lesser degree. She neglected to mention it, not knowing how they would respond, and suggested that they return when the foal was old enough to remember her.

Thus, a tradition was born. New members of the family―the Pie family, as they had taken to calling themselves per the daughter's suggestion, in reference to the first meal they had shared in the daughter's cottage―would be taken to see the daughter when they came of age as a way of initiating them into the mystery of the rock farm. There were exceptions, but the general trend was that each generation bore a little less of her mark.

The elders of the Pie family never forgot that the rock farm existed to keep a secret, but in time, they forgot why that secret existed. The father had started a prosperous family, and since he no longer felt that Equestria had betrayed him, he failed to instill that feeling in the generations that followed. In time, the visits grew less frequent.

Though it hadn't felt like more than a year, the daughter knew in her heart that decades had passed since she'd last seen the ponies she called family. The ones whose names and faces she knew were probably dead. She longed to leave her world behind, for better or for worse, but she remembered the father's warning. All she knew of the world above was what he had told her, and the last thing he'd told her was that she wasn't ready. Trusting that her family would come to get her when the time was right, she kept the portal open.

Many more generations came and went without ever knowing she was there, but one day, she sensed a lone child of the Pie family blundering into her realm.

***

"All that work, all that planning and coordination... all for this, a dead end," Skyline said. He got up and walked away, taking the only light source―his horn―with him. "You two had best get back before your parents find out you left. Pinkie, I'm leaving. You can come if you like, or you can stay here. It doesn't make much difference, because our work together is done. I'm sorry I wasted your time."

Inkie and Blinkie exchanged glances.

When Skyline didn't hear Pinkie following him, he cast a curious look over his shoulder.

"Just like that, you're giving up?" Pinkie asked.

Skyline turned to face her fully. "Of course I'm not giving up! This is the most important project I've ever undertaken. I'm just realizing that there are better ways of going about it than sneaking around your estranged family's farm in the dark, and furthermore, that I'd rather like to get out of the rain."

"Hey!" Pinkie said. She took several menacing steps toward him, that the could better see each other's eyes. "Don't call my family estranged!"

"Pinkie, do you even know what 'estranged' means?"

"That's not important."

Inkie watched the exchange with as much amusement as she could manage, given that her future hanged in the balance.

Blinkie was more interested in the cliff face.

Not wanting to interrupt but deducing from the way Skyline opened and closed his mouth that he wasn't making any headway in formulating a response, she noted, "The trail doesn't end here."

"What?" Inkie asked, her hope returning. "How do you know?

Blinkie looked at her cutie mark in the green light, as if to make sure it was still there, and looked at her. Her expression wasn't sarcastic; she was genuinely perplexed.

"Yeah, never mind," Inkie mumbled. She kept her head down as she moved past her toward the cliff face, that the others might not see her embarrassment. Pressing her ear up against the rock, she tapped it with her hoof.

Meanwhile, Skyline had given up on arguing with Pinkie. Knowing nothing of Inkie or Blinkie's talents, he started to say, "Inkie, what―"

Pinkie shushed him. She didn't know either, having left before either of her sisters got their cutie marks, but she was a lot quicker on the uptake.

Without apparent warning, Inkie spun around on the spot and bucked the cliff face with all her might. A deafening crack echoed through the gorge, and the rock shuddered for a fraction of a second before exploding inward, expelling a miasma of dust, stale air, and screeching, bewildered bats with eyes that trailed a green glow.

Her cutie mark was a broken geode full of purple crystals.

She looked back at the others. Blinkie was gazing off in the direction the bats had fled, Pinkie was grinning, and Skyline was staring at her, open-mouthed. Her chest swelled with satisfaction, but she affected perfect casualness when she said, "Oh, look at that: I seem to have solved both your problems."

She stepped through the opening she'd made into the darkness before letting a gleeful grin spread across her face. She thought she'd be embarrassed about showing her strength in front of a stallion, but instead, it made her feel, well, strong. She knew she was stronger than him, and if it made him uncomfortable, if it was something she'd have to keep under wraps, he wasn't the stallion for her.

Blinkie followed her straight away, as did Pinkie.

Skyline followed last, and his horn illuminated a passage into another world. Down there, the mysterious veins that were spread so thinly above ground had had centuries to grow uninhibited. They covered every visible surface and merged around the outcrops of pure crystal that sprouted out of the floor, walls, and ceiling and glowed like ghostly lanterns as Skyline passed by. He'd lead the party this far, but finding the thickest thread, the one that would lead them to the proverbial ball of yarn, was next to impossible when they were all so thoroughly interlaced.

Blinkie didn't see it that way. She wandered away from the group and looked up at one of the crystals that hung from the ceiling. Her head tilted ever so slightly, and her hooves carried her forward as her eyes traced one of the veins down the wall and over the ground. It didn't follow a linear path, and it was nothing like the minerals she knew―it was more like the root of a weed―but she found that the same skills applied.

"What's she doing?" Skyline asked nopony in particular.

"She's doing what she does best," Inkie answered. "Follow her."

Skyline followed Blinkie, and Inkie and Pinkie followed him. Nopony spoke, not even Pinkie. They were too overcome with the beauty and magnitude of their discovery.

Blinkie favored Skyline with a grateful smile before returning her attention to the vein she'd singled out from the other, seemingly indistinguishable ones. She followed it like a tether that pulled her deeper into the darkness, through countless twists, turns, and forks, up and down many slopes, and into several obstructions, at which points she was forced to backtrack―sometimes a fair distance―before picking up the trail again.

As the hour wore on, Pinkie, quite without realizing it, gave in to her basest instinct and engaged Inkie and Skyline in conversation.

They welcomed the diversion.

Blinkie didn't join in, but neither did she mind. She was self-conscious about ponies watching her work.

Finally, she found the source, and it wasn't at all what she'd expected. She didn't know what she'd expected, exactly, but it certainly wasn't a great big hole in the floor, big enough for a pony to fall through, that filled the tunnel with light so bright that she had to squint. She approached it cautiously and peered over the precipice. Far below, a great forest stretched out as far as the eye could see.

Skyline was the first to join her. He dimmed his horn, ostensibly because it wasn't needed. In reality, he did so because the air around the hole was so thick with ambient magic that it would be entirely too easy to be overwhelmed. By comparison, the ground had completely transmuted into crystal. It glowed even without his magic. For his part, he had expected to find something like this. He couldn't have known that it would be a portal into another world, and he couldn't imagine the kind of magic it would take to maintain such a thing long enough for the excess to bleed out and crystallize―he didn't even know portals worked that way―but he'd known well enough that whatever was hidden beneath the rock farm, it wasn't supposed to be there. When Inkie and Pinkie joined them, forming a half circle around the portal, he asked, "What do we do now?"

Pinkie scrunched up her face in concentration. Then something dawned on her, an idea, or perhaps a memory, and she exclaimed, "Oh, I know!"

The others looked at her expectantly.

"Wait here," Pinkie said. Before anypony could ask what she was about to do, she took a few steps back, ran forward, and dived into the hole in the ground. As she plummeted to her death, she squealed, "Weee!"

"Dear Celestia," Skyline said in disbelief. Diving in after her, he called out over the howling wind, "Hang on, Pinkie!"

"They're both insane," Inkie muttered.

Blinkie watched, fascinated.

Meanwhile, Pinkie was starting to feel a bit disconcerted by how quickly the canopy was coming up to meet her. It would break her fall, she knew, but it would probably break a few other things too. She didn't understand why it wasn't working.

Skyline channeled the ambient magic through his horn and into a levitation spell, but the magic was even stronger than he'd expected. His skull felt like it'd been split in two. His magic fizzled, and a cry wrenched itself from deep in his throat.

Pinkie hadn't realized he'd jumped in too, but when she heard his cry, unbridled determination took over. Urging muscles and ligaments she didn't have to spring into action, she growled, "Come on, wings!"

Miraculously, impossibly, a pair of beautiful white pegasus wings sprouted from her back and began flapping as naturally as if she'd been born with them. She pulled out of her dive seconds before she would have shot through the canopy, spun upward, and intercepted Skyline. She'd never had to carry another pony before; she could barely keep the two of them aloft. Seeing a small clearing, she half flew, half fell toward it.

She had the presence of mind to tuck her wings in and roll when she hit the grass. The impact jumbled her senses. The world tilted at such an angle that she feared falling off, but the smell of the wet soil brought her back. She pulled her front hooves under her, looked around, and called, "Skyline!"

When the world reoriented itself, she saw him lying in a heap a short distance away and ran toward him. He was still breathing, and none of his limbs were twisted at awkward angles. Bending down, she cradled his head and asked, "Are you all right, Skyline?"

Skyline opened his eyes. He ached in places he didn't know he had, and his vision was blurry and full of black spots, but what he could see were the deep violet eyes of a pegasus pony mare. She had a golden mane, and her fur was as pure and white as the clouds. She seemed concerned, but he couldn't imagine why. He knew he must be dead, and normally, that was the kind of thing that would bother him, but just then, he couldn't think of a single thing that he would change.

Brushing her cheek with his hoof, he said, "My dear valkyrie, if this is the afterlife, my only regret is that I didn't meet my match in battle sooner. You've come to take me to Valhalla, I assume, but perhaps you'd stay with me awhile, just until the feeling returns to my legs. Would you do that for me, my love?"

Pinkie wore a playful smirk he couldn't see, took his hoof in hers, and whispered, "If only I could, my Skyline, but there are others I must save lest their spirits be forced to wander the earth, reliving their last battles until the end of the world. But fret not, for I promise we'll be together again soon."

She kissed his forehead before turning away, spreading her wings, and taking off into the bright blue sky.

"Farewell, my valkyrie," Skyline said. He thought he saw her pause in her flight to cast a glance back over her shoulder. He couldn't be certain, but he waved anyway before laying his head back down and closing his eyes.

Pinkie flew back up toward the hole in the sky and hovered unsteadily just beneath it. From a distance, one could imagine that it was the sun, locked in an unending eclipse. By night, the glow of the crystals would give quite a different effect. She looked forward to seeing it again. Locking eyes with Inkie, she called up to her, "Hop on!"

"Can't you fly any closer?" Inkie asked.

"Sorry, I really can't," Pinkie answered. "The magic is already weak this close to the portal, and I'd rather not try skydiving again. I'll catch you if you miss."

"Oh, that's encouraging."

"I'll do it," Blinkie said. She stepped up to the edge, took a deep breath, and jumped. There was a queer moment of not-quite-weightlessness, a taste of free fall, but then she landed awkwardly on Pinkie's back. She reoriented herself, her hooves around Pinkie's neck and her muzzle by Pinkie's ear.

As Blinkie was much lighter than Skyline and she'd been ready, Pinkie had no trouble staying aloft this time. To Inkie, she said, "I'll be back for you in just a minute."

Inkie had to assume that Pinkie didn't realize she'd been gone for over an hour last time. Before she could say anything, Pinkie had flown away. Another hour passed before she heard Pinkie's voice again, and when she did, she was so eager to leave the cave that when the time came to jump, she didn't even hesitate. She was heavier than her sister, but Pinkie had gotten the hang of ferrying ponies to the ground. Getting everypony back up when it was time to leave would be another matter. With any luck, they'd have help.

When they landed, Skyline was still unconscious. Inkie went to check on him, and Pinkie lay in the grass and stretched and folded her wings experimentally. She knew there was something pegasus ponies did to ease the soreness after really taxing flights; she just wasn't quite sure what it was. She'd have to ask Rainbow when she returned to Ponyville, if only to satisfy her curiosity.

Blinkie lay down beside her. She said, "That was impressive."

"Huh?" Pinkie asked. Then she saw Blinkie. "Oh, yeah... Just a trick I picked up the first time I came here. The trouble is getting back up."

"May I?" Blinkie asked.

"Oh, of course. Just, um, be gentle... Not that I have to tell you that." Pinkie offered one of her wings for her to inspect.

Blinkie unfolded it to its full length. Her touch as light as the breeze, she ran her hoof along its leading edge. She felt the smooth muscle and the stringy ligaments that attached to the hollow bones and concluded that Pinkie's angelic wings were as real as the body from which they grew. A body, she couldn't help noticing, which was now as lean and aerodynamic as hers. It was definitely Pinkie's, but rather, it was what Pinkie's would be were she a star athlete instead of a pastry chef.

Her eyes lingered on Pinkie's cutie mark, which was purple instead of yellow and blue but kept the same pattern of three stylized balloons. She wondered if it had the same meaning, and indeed, how Pinkie might have discovered her talent had she been born a pegasus pony instead of an earth pony. She was staring, but as there was nothing but curiosity in her large bronze eyes, Pinkie didn't mind.

"How did you do it?" Blinkie asked, shifting her eyes back to Pinkie's wings. She took to realigning the feathers that had gotten messed up in the crash.

Pinkie looked around.

Inkie was still busy with Skyline.

Pinkie trusted them, but the secret wasn't hers to tell. She'd offer some explanation if asked, but she preferred not to be. Blinkie was an exception. She could tell Blinkie anything. "Maybe I can tell you more later―I think Skyline is coming around―but for now, let's just say that Granny taught me."

Blinkie's eyes widened, if that was possible. Her hooves fell away from Pinkie's wing, and her eyes searched Pinkie's―for what, Pinkie wasn't sure. "Is this where you used to disappear for days on end?"

Pinkie gave an abashed smile. "It felt like a few hours from here."

Blinkie, for her part, had never doubted Pinkie's stories. She'd known enough to know that there were things she didn't know, and anyway, she was pretty sure that if Pinkie knew how to lie, she'd never felt the need. "But how did you get in? The passage was sealed, and without magic, we wouldn't have even known it was there."

Pinkie looked thoughtful. "It wasn't always sealed, but as for why I left home and went into Galloping Gorge... I don't remember. I might have been running away, or something might have drawn me here. But I bet Granny remembers! We'll have to pay her a visit before we leave. That way I can introduce you. I told her I'd bring you and Inkie next time I came to visit, but I never did. She's probably wondering what happened to me."

"I have a feeling Skyline's search will take us right to her door."

"Yeah, I'm getting that too."

"You know the way, don't you? Should we just tell him?"

Pinkie shook her head. "It's not my secret to tell." She smiled. "Anyway, I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. He came here for adventure and discovery, and he's found it. Or he will once he wakes up. Why take that away from him?"

A gurgling noise signaled that Skyline was coming around, and one flash of light in Blinkie's peripheral vision later, Pinkie was her normal earth pony self again. The drawn-out transformation had its dramatic appeal, but it wasn't necessary.

Skyline rose unsteadily to his hooves and surveyed the surrounding forest. He nearly tipped over when he lifted a hoof to his forehead to peer up through the canopy at the hole in the sky. Mumbling something about ambient magical fields, dimensional bubbles, and the proper time and place for a solar eclipse, he dragged his hoof through the dirt to form what could generously be called a circle.

Only Inkie, who stood and watched from a respectful distance, was close enough to hear what he actually said, but she looked no less confused than Blinkie or Pinkie. Unlike them, however, she decided to play along. She craned her neck to catch his eyes and asked, "What's all this, Skyline?"

Skyline looked up as if seeing her for the first time. He must have liked what he saw, because he smiled. "Focusing hexagram, my dear. When I cast a spell, I picture something like this in my head, and all the magic accumulates in my skull. Trying to cast anything more involved than levitation that way gives me a headache, though, so I do this. The hexagram stores the magic and gives it purpose. All I have to do is channel it from the ambient field which, in this little pocket of reality, is exceptionally potent. If I knew the spell, I could probably just teleport us all right where we need to go."

Another circle and six intersecting lines later, the focusing hexagram began to look like itself. The six glyphs between the outer two concentric circles were crude and inscrutable to the other ponies, but he looked pleased.

Inkie latched onto the only part of his explanation that made sense. "You know where we need to go, then?"

Skyline grinned. "Not yet, but this―" He gestured to the hexagram. "―is going to tell me. It's a tracking spell that I modified to seek out the greatest source of magical energy in the area. Should point us right to it."

"Isn't that dangerous, modifying a spell like that?"

"Not really. Well, sometimes, but I'm an expert. This is what theoretical thaumaturgy is all about. Now hush. I need to focus. Ha! Get it? Focus?"

Inkie stared at him.

"Oh, never mind." Skyline took a deep breath and channeled magic into the lines in the dirt. They glowed like the crystalline veins that had guided them through the caverns above. Several seconds passed. He stopped channeling, and the light faded.

As he scuffed the lines with his hoof to hide his work, Inkie stated, "Nothing happened."

Skyline looked up. "What, were you expecting a light show? Maybe a magical familiar to lead us through the forest with its otherworldly howling? That's a neat idea, actually, but it'd be a waste of magic―familiars take a lot to maintain. Utility spells aren't showy. Point is, I know what direction we need to go now."

He consulted his compass briefly and waltzed off into the forest.

Inkie glanced back at Pinkie and Blinkie before following him.

Pinkie followed at a more leisurely pace, knowing that the unfamiliar terrain would slow Skyline down before long.

Blinkie walked beside her and said, "I remember reading a story like this. There weren't any pocket dimensions or earth ponies turning into pegasus ponies, but there was a self-taught unicorn pony who claimed proficiency in the most advanced spells―spatial displacement, time manipulation, and so on, but when he went to apply to Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, they turned him away without a second thought."

"Because he couldn't even lift a tea cup without using a hexagram," Pinkie said, smiling. "I remember that one too. Fetlock Holmes, right?"

Blinkie smiled back. "That's right. He was the villain, albeit one of the more sympathetic ones. He never wanted to hurt anypony; he just wanted recognition."

They walked on in silence for awhile. Blinkie was comfortable with silence, but she knew how much Pinkie liked to talk. She asked, "What's wrong?"

Pinkie cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"You're being unusually quiet. Either something's on your mind or you've forgotten how to work your voice box, and I know it's not the second one."

Pinkie smiled with her lips, but her eyes bore none of their usual mirth. It was unsettling. She stopped walking. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"No, but there's no need; I'll never tell."

"I've already said too much."

"About Granny?"

Pinkie nodded. Then she sighed, sat down, and stared at the ground. "She was really afraid of other ponies finding her down here. She said they wouldn't understand, so she made me promise not to tell anypony about this place or about her, family being an exception. I can't imagine why―it's wonderful here, and so is she―but that's not the point. I made a promise, and I think I broke it when I led Skyline here."

"I don't think you did."

Pinkie raised her head. "Oh? How's that?"

"Skyline would have found this place whether you agreed to help him or not. He was perfectly willing to ignore Father, after all. If anything, he led you here. At least this way, when the two do inevitably meet, you'll be there to act as a mediator."

"That's a good way to look at it," Pinkie said. She smiled, and it was genuine. "Thank you, Blinkie."

This was the part where she'd hug her, but she held back. It wasn't a good time. Inkie and Skyline were out of earshot, and though night was falling, they were still within sight. Instead, she said, "We'd better catch up with the others. Night comes on fast here, and even if your eyes are as good as I remember, we don't want to be walking in the dark."

She cantered down the path, slow enough that Blinkie could easily catch up but fast enough that she had a chance of catching up herself.

Blinkie sighed and took off after her. She'd thought it was a perfect time, but there would be another. She saw no reason why the time they spent apart meant they couldn't be as close as they once were, but that didn't mean there wasn't one. It worried her.

***

"If you keep pacing like that, you'll wear a hole in the floor," Mother said. The disapproving look she gave him would have looked comical were she wearing her reading glasses―the ones with the half-moon lenses and the beaded gold chain.

Father stopped in front of the door and looked at Mother, who sat at the edge of the four-poster bed that was one of the only two furnishings in the bedroom. The other was the squat dresser where he kept his collar and tie and where she kept her shawl and glasses. There was a hook on the door for his hat, and she normally kept her opal brooch, the one he made her as a wedding gift, on the windowsill beside the bed. At present, it was in the dresser drawer with their other garments. A solitary oil lamp provided the only light in the room.

He asked, "And what if I do?"

"You'll fall through and probably break something, possibly your neck," Mother said reasonably. "Then I'll rip the canopy off the bed and hang myself with it, because I'll sooner die than run home to my parents to tell them I made a mistake in marrying you."

"Don't say that."

Mother rose. "What would you rather have me say?"

Father stared.

Mother walked to the window and drew back the curtains. Darkness swallowed the rock farm, and rain attacked the ancient panes, just as it had two months ago, the night a strange unicorn pony had come to the farm. In the morning, she had gotten up early to make a breakfast fit for a family. That was the day she would have stepped out of Father's shadow and attempted to mediate the conflicts that he was so determined to ignore, but when she'd gone upstairs to wake Inkie and Blinkie, she'd found Inkie's door ajar. There had been no sign of her daughters. She asked, "Where do you think they are now?"

Father started pacing again.

Mother turned away from the window. "Igneous, I asked you a question."

Father glared. "Did I ever tell you how I dealt with all the questions I had―about this place, about my role in it―that didn't have answers? I stopped asking them. I don't know where they are, but I know there's no sense thinking about it. They're gone. They're not coming back, but they can take care of themselves."

"You know, in times like this, most husbands would be comforting their wives."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not most husbands. I'm just the one you married, but I'm sorry you're regretting that decision. If it's any comfort, they're probably better off."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." Father lay on the edge of the bed. "Anyway, you'd be surprised how often this happens. My brother ran away. So did my aunt. Half the ponies you see in those frames in the hallway didn't stick around. They weren't cut out for this life."

Mother didn't say anything. She wasn't cut out for this life. Her daughters certainly weren't. She didn't think anypony was. They did it because they had to, but the explanation for why they had to never stacked up to her. The three boulders that made up her cutie mark represented a talent for discernment―they weren't identical―and she could see the gaps where information was conspicuously absent. It was a wonder to her that nopony else had seen that the Pie family was hiding something. Nopony except that unicorn pony, Skyline. "Is that why you sent Pinkie away?"

"Not this again," Father grumbled.

"Tell me."

"No."

Mother walked over to him. "Then tell me the real reason."

Father, who had never read a novel or seen a play and thus had no concept of cliches, said, "She knew too much."

"What did she know?"

After a pause, Father admitted, "I don't know."

"You're not lying, are you?" Mother asked. "You really don't know."

"Don't you think I know better than to lie to you?" Father snapped. "The best I can do is not tell you anything, but there's nothing I know that you don't."

Mother climbed onto the opposite side of the bed and lay across from him. "Igneous, you shouldn't have to. You don't have to."

Father went on unabated, "My father was the one who told me, and he didn't know either. It's been generations since anypony in this Celestia-forsaken family has known what it is we're supposed to be protecting." He laughed harshly. "I guess that's the best way to keep a secret, isn't it? If nopony knows, nopony can tell."

"Is any secret worth keeping when it forces you to hurt the ponies you love? Isn't the point of keeping secrets to protect them?"

Father finally met her eyes, but his eyes weren't the eyes she knew. There was a glint in them that hadn't been there since he'd resigned himself to a life chained to the rock farm. He was Prometheus, only there was no vulture picking at his entrails; he had yet to give any such gift as fire to ponies; and his imprisonment was self-imposed. He asked, "Do you think this is an argument? Because it's not. I absolutely agree with you. Did I ever tell you my big dream? I wanted to be a sailor. I wanted to establish trade routes with Zebrica to our east and Imperial Griffia on the far side of the known world."

He got up and walked around, not exactly pacing, but not going anywhere either. "And don't tell me it's not too late to do all those things. All I know how to sell is rocks, and I certainly can't make an international business out of that. For one thing, there'd be nopony to run the farm, and for another, there'd be no better way to draw more prying eyes from Canterlot. Celestia herself might even get involved. Trade taxes or some such nonsense. I don't know. It doesn't matter."

He let out a sudden, maniacal laugh. Then he saw Mother's expression, and by way of explanation, he said, "It doesn't matter!"

Moving with an energy Mother hadn't seen since the night Pinkie got her cutie mark, he fastened his tie and collar around his neck, plucked his hat off the door with his teeth, and flipped it onto his head. Seeing that Mother hadn't joined him by the door, he said, "Inkie and Blinkie are gone, and with them, so is any hope of keeping the rock farm going. The Pie family dies with us, but that doesn't mean we have to die here. There's a fortune in the Vanhoover bank that we couldn't spend before. We can even sell the farm. It doesn't matter if anypony finds what's buried here, whatever it may be, because we'll be long gone by the time they do. Are you coming or what?"

Mother tried to keep up, automatically getting up to put on her shawl and glasses and tie her loose green-gray mane into a bun. She wasn't going to let him out of her sight until she was done talking, but neither was she going to go anywhere unless she was properly dressed. "What about your ancestors?"

"Buck my ancestors!" Father laughed and stamped the floorboards with his hoof. "You hear that, you stuck-up bastards? I don't care about your secret anymore. You can bloody well find some other family to keep it for you."

Mother knew he had a dual personality, but it'd been so long since she'd seen this side of him that she'd wondered if he still had it. Idly, she wondered if Pinkie was the same way. Nopony could be that elated or that depressed all the time. Her experience in business had taught her that there had to be a balance, and she felt ponies were no different.

Finally ready, she turned to him and asked, "Where are we going?"

"Vanhoover. I think it's time we met your parents, and after that, we'll withdraw our savings and charter a ship far away from here. Better yet, we could hire a band of privateers and steal one. Ah, but first, I have a special treat for us."

"What's that?"

"We're going to see what all the fuss is about."

"How?"

Father went to search the bottom drawer of the dresser for his saddlebags. "It's a long shot, but Pinkie told me about a passage like an abandoned mineshaft in the depths of Galloping Gorge. She said it goes under the rock farm and connects to a great big forest where 'Granny Pie' lives."

"Her imaginary friend? You mean she was real?"

Father unhooked his pickaxe and a length of rope from the wall and stuffed them in his saddlebags. "Beats me. I went down there once, but I didn't see any mineshaft. Just sheer cliffs as far as the eye could see. Who knows? Maybe it was sealed off. Maybe that's where she went after I sent her away. Maybe Inkie and Blinkie joined her. If so, they wouldn't feel like they'd been gone more than a few days, just like when Pinkie used to disappear. She said time flows differently there."

Mother, who had intercepted letters from Pinkie to Inkie and Blinkie and hid them so Father wouldn't try to destroy them, the return address being in a town called Ponyville, chided him, "Don't play with my hopes like that."

"I'm not saying we'll find them. I'm not even saying that's where they went, but I have a feeling we should at least take a look before we go. I haven't thought about that place in a long time, but it feels like something's drawing me there. If I'm wrong, call me crazy, but you'll be calling Pinkie crazy too."

"Pinkie was crazy."

"She was the good kind of crazy. Now we'd better go before the rain comes back."

Between her husband's mood swing and the conversation that had preceded it, Mother hadn't noticed that the rain had stopped. "I'll meet you outside."

Father left.

Mother closed the curtain, knelt beside the bed, and pulled up a loose floorboard. Beneath it was a lockbox, which she took out and opened. Within it sat a stack of yellowing envelopes bound in twine, all of them addressed to Inkie and Blinkie. She took it out, set it on the bed, snuffed out the oil lamp, and picked up the envelopes. After a moment's thought, she took the lamp with her, along with a book of matches, and walked out the door. Outside, she slipped the envelopes into Father's saddlebag.

"What are those?" Father asked.

"Nothing," Mother said. "Let's go."

Chapter III

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By night, the glow of the crystals through the hole in the sky gave the impression of a green, alien moon. None of the four ponies paid it much mind, least of all Pinkie; she was the only one who saw Blinkie disappear into the treeline. Curiosity, and something else, urged her to follow her, leaving Inkie and Skyline alone by the fire.

She found her by a stream, watching the false moonlight dance along the rushing water. Moss and algae clung to the rocks where other plants refused to grow.

"Hey, Pinkie," Blinkie said, without looking up.

"Hey," Pinkie said, with rather less enthusiasm than usual. This was one of those rare occasions when her irrepressibly cheerful demeanor gave way to something else, when the happy, smiling face she always wore felt out of place. That's not to say that it wasn't genuine―nopony had a more genuine smile than Pinkie―but rather that everypony, even Pinkie, had regrets.

She lay beside Blinkie and watched the stream. Until then, they had pretended to be all right for the sake of their companions, but it was an act. How could it be anything else when so many things were still left unsaid?

After awhile, Blinkie looked to her, and when Pinkie looked back, she said, "I missed you, Pinkie."

There were no tears in Blinkie's eyes. There was no subtle nuance to her seemingly blank expression to betray the depth of feeling that stood behind her simple statement. There didn't need to be.

Tears welling in her eyes, Pinkie embraced her. She cried openly. If you had to cry, she thought, it was the only way.

Blinkie returned the embrace in a way that seemed to say, "It's good to see you again too." In words, she asked, "Why didn't you write?"

"I did," Pinkie said.

Blinkie deduced that their parents must have intercepted the letters―knowing Pinkie, there would have been a multitude―but said nothing. Nothing needed to be said. Words would only detract from the moment. Instead, she closed her eyes, moved her forelegs up from Pinkie's back to Pinkie's neck, and hummed. It was a tune they both knew. Mother had hummed it many times while rocking one or the other back to sleep after a nightmare.

Meanwhile, Inkie and Skyline were taking advantage of their alone time. Inkie dodged telling her story the same way Blinkie would, but Skyline's was enough for the both of them. They talked about their special talents, and by extension, their hopes for the future. What they found was not so dissimilar as a scholar and a rock farmer might expect.

The warmth Pinkie and Blinkie shared warded off the cold, but the wind was persistent. Blinkie had stopped humming, because Pinkie had stopped crying, but neither of them felt like returning to camp just yet.

Pinkie nuzzled Blinkie's cheek and asked, "How have things been? You know, since I... left. I hope it hasn't been too rough."

Blinkie told her in brief. It wasn't a very good story, and she knew it. There was conflict, yes, but no mystery, no suspense. Just rocks, really. To change the subject, she asked, "To what have you been up all this time?"

Pinkie giggled. Her sister would always lapse into grammatical correctness when she was really thinking about what she was saying. It was one of the things that made her her. She was glad it was one of the things that hadn't changed. With a heart much lighter than it'd been before, she told her about her job at Sugarcube Corner with Mr. and Mrs. Cake; the incredible friends she'd made in Twilight, Rainbow, and the others; and all the adventures they'd undertaken together. Every single one.

Pinkie had casual acquaintances as far as the Crystal Empire, but there were only a hoofful of ponies who counted her among their friends. That hoofful of ponies meant more to her than family. Unlike family, they chose her.

Through it all, Blinkie never lost interest. This was, in fact, for what she'd been waiting. If Pinkie was comfortable enough to babble incessantly to her, she knew they were still friends. Admittedly, Pinkie did that around a lot of ponies. The difference was that Pinkie knew Blinkie was actually listening.

***

Sunlight filtered through the trees. Blinkie blearily raised her head and yawned. When she opened her eyes, she was back at camp. The sound of rushing water over mossy rocks was a distant memory. The crisp morning air nipped at her coat, but something warm and furry pressed against her side and kept it at bay. Looking down, she saw Pinkie laying next to her in the grass, as ponies often did in the days of the herds. Her face was so serene, so content. The last thing Blinkie wanted to do was disturb her, but something wasn't right.

She scanned the clearing.

Inkie must have gotten up early and went in search of food. Despite Blinkie's efforts, she still had a murky understanding of what was and wasn't safe to eat. Belladonna berries were easily identified―and really quite pretty―but plenty of other poisonous plants looked just like edible ones.

Skyline slept alone, but the grass beside him bore the outline of a mare.

Blinkie smiled. They made a cute couple, all the cuter for their insistence on denying their mutual interest. They weren't fooling anypony, least of all each other.

A hint of movement among the trees caught her eyes. Movement in itself wasn't too unusual. It was a forest, after all, and despite its best efforts, the wildlife hadn't escaped her notice. At one point when she'd strayed away from the main group, she'd caught a group of squirrels playing some kind of improvised card game with leaves and acorns. One of them wore a green sun visor and smoked a rolled-up leaf.

This movement was different. It didn't want to be heard, but the absence of sound was as conspicuous as the snap of a twig or the crunch of leaves would have been.

Blinkie had never seen a wolf. All she saw now was a tuft of grayish fur and the slow, deliberate movement of a paw, but certain things were ingrained in the brains of all prey animals. The smell was one of them. It smelled of wrongness.

Then she saw its eyes―too small, too close, and with an intensity entirely too much like her own―but they didn't see her. They saw Skyline.

Blinkie cried, "Skyline!"

Skyline awoke.

The wolf leaped.

Skyline's body took over before his mind could register what was happening. It scrambled to its hooves and tried to run. It didn't get far.

The wolf clamped its jaws around his hind leg, pulling him to the ground with the unmistakable snap of bone being bent in ways nature never intended.

Skyline screamed. Black spots filled his vision.

The wolf pinned him to the ground with sinewy legs and black claws. Its eyes zeroed in on his neck.

Skyline shut his eyes.

Blinkie watched, muscles frozen.

Pinkie lunged and bowled the wolf over onto its back. It tried to snap at her, and she pummeled its face with her forelegs.

Skyline tried to crawl away, dragging his hind legs limply behind him.

Inkie arrived on the scene and dropped the questionable edibles she'd collected.

Pinkie caught the wolf's throat with a lucky hit.

The wolf wheezed and slashed blindly at her chest. The tearing, the sting, and the sight of her blood distracted her, and it threw her aside, grabbed Skyline's broken, bloodied leg, and tried to drag him off.

Inkie roared and charged.

The wolf looked up in time to see her swivel on the spot and plant her hooves in its side with enough force to crack a boulder. It howled, releasing its grip on Skyline, and made a break for the treeline. It trailed blood and gasped for air.

Just like that, it was over.

Inkie rushed to Pinkie's side and said, "Pinkie, are you all right? How bad is it?"

Pinkie pulled herself to her hooves with Inkie's help. Hobbling toward Skyline, she said, "I'll be all right, but he needs your help."

Skyline struggled to remain conscious. "Inkie... that you?"

"Rest, Skyline," Inkie said. Her voice shook. "We'll get you taken care of."

Pinkie rifled through Skyline's saddlebags. "Compass? No. Sample jars? No. Rope? Hm, maybe. Aha! Here―"

She tossed something to Inkie.

It was a first aid kit. Inkie asked, "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Pinkie joined her by Skyline's side and looked at the wound. Skyline's lower leg was bent where there wasn't supposed to be a joint, and a half-circle of bloody punctures marked where the wolf's fangs had been. The bone speared through his skin, and the surrounding fur was stained maroon. They could see the pink, spongy marrow.

"I think we're supposed to set the bone so it doesn't heal like that," she said. Ten minutes of tense, amateurish fumbling later, they managed, miraculously, to set the bone and stem the bleeding without making things considerably worse.

"We'll need some kind of splint too," Inkie said and looked at her. "Right?"

Pinkie nodded, but she didn't move. There was a certain forlornness in her eyes that told Inkie to leave her alone.

Inkie looked around for a green branch of a suitable thickness and noticed something for the first time. "Hey, where's Blinkie?"

"I'm here."

Inkie looked to the far end of the clearing, where Blinkie leaned against a tree. There was blood in her fur. She got the feeling it wasn't hers, but she wasn't about to ask questions. Blinkie was safe. That was all she needed to know.

Pinkie looked over. The blood didn't bother her―there was blood on all of them, mostly Skyline's―but the look in Blinkie's eyes did. She approached Blinkie, who met her halfway, hugged her tightly, and eased her to the ground. Her forelegs around her, she asked, "Blinkie, what did you do?"

Blinkie met her eyes and said, "I ended his suffering."

Pinkie stared, but she didn't falter. Her sister had taken a life. She never would have believed it had she not heard it from Blinkie herself. Self-defense was one thing, but the wolf had retreated, hadn't it? Granny wouldn't have allowed it to die, would she? Then again, why would she have allowed it to attack them? Pinkie had walked these forests as a filly countless times, and no harm had ever come to her. It made no sense.

Inkie finished splinting Skyline's leg, turned to Blinkie, and asked, "Whose side are you on, that you would run off and help the wolf that just attacked us?"

Pinkie turned and asked harshly, "What kind of question is that? Can't you see she's traumatized?"

"We're all traumatized! We've just been attacked!"

Pinkie turned back to Blinkie and asked, "Why did you do it, Blinkie?"

"He asked me to," Blinkie said. To the blank looks she got, she explained what she knew, which wasn't much. The wolf was uncannily intelligent, even civilized―all the animals were. It hadn't attack out of desperation. It had attacked because it could sense that Skyline didn't belong there, and had she not followed it, it would have slowly suffocated as its lungs filled with blood where its mangled ribcage had punctured them.

She didn't explain that the truly traumatizing part wasn't the act of snapping its neck or the light fading from its eyes but the lack of emotional impact doing so had on her, nor did she explain her real reason for following it. She hadn't wanted answers. She'd wanted to make it pay for laying its paw on Pinkie.

Uncomfortable with all the attention, she asked, "How's your chest?"

"It'll be fine," Pinkie said, smiling for her benefit. She looked down and touched the gashes with her hoof, which came away with minimal blood. Pretending not to wince, she said, "See? Already clotting."

Blinkie was about to ask about Skyline when Inkie hoisted him onto her back and said, "Whether or not any of us belongs here, it doesn't matter now. We've got to get back to the surface so he can get proper medical attention."

Pinkie shook her head. "The closest town is Vanhoover. We'll never make it in time. Anyway, I'm pretty sure flying you guys back up is beyond me. A real pegasus pony could do it, but my wings just aren't that strong."

Exasperated, Inkie asked, "What are we supposed to do, then?"

"Granny will know what to do, won't she?" Blinkie asked.

Inkie was about to state that Pinkie's imaginary friend couldn't help them now, but she caught herself. She wasn't a stupid mare, and it wasn't hard to put two and two together. She said nothing. The day had just begun, but she was already too tired to argue.

Pinkie nodded, but to herself, she had to admit that after all she'd just seen, she didn't know what to think.

"Come on," she said. "It's this way."

Inkie followed with Skyline draped over her back.

Blinkie held up the rear, barely paying attention to where they were going. Uncovering the mystery of the rock farm didn't seem so enticing anymore. In her mind's eye, she replayed the wolf's last moments over and over again.

As they walked with their backs to the portal, only Granny was aware of the two tiny figures that scaled down from it on an improbable length of rope.

***

Pinkie raised her hoof to knock on the door to the cottage, but she hesitated. Granny was the pony who'd gotten the least explanation when she'd disappeared all those years ago; she had no idea what kind of reception they would receive. Then she remembered Skyline and realized how silly such considerations were, given the scope of the situation. Besides, this was Granny she was talking about.

She rapped on the door with her hoof.

There was no response.

She considered knocking again.

There was a noise from within, and a moment later, an older mare answered the door. Her fur was caramel and her mane was white. Her scarlet eyes, wrinkled from a lifetime of mirth, gleamed when they saw Pinkie standing on her doorstep. She said, "Pinkie!"

Pinkie couldn't help herself. Those eyes, the eyes that had taught her what it was to laugh, washed away all her doubts and worries. She threw her forelegs around the mare's neck and cried, "Granny!"

Granny returned the embrace with forelegs and wings. "Pinkie, my dear, it's so good to see you again... and I see you've brought your sisters."

Releasing Pinkie and looking to the other two ponies in turn, she said, "You must be Inkie and Blinkie."

Blinkie smiled politely, and Inkie nodded.

Granny returned her gaze to Pinkie, and in a low voice, asked, "But who's the unicorn pony, a fiance? He doesn't bear my mark, and between you and me, he seems a bit... off."

Pinkie giggled despite herself. "He's nopony's fiance, Granny, at least not yet." She cast a mischievous glance back at Inkie, who blushed and avoided her eyes. Then she grew serious. "But he's injured, Granny. He needs your help."

Granny grew serious too, or at least as serious as was possible for one whose face looked liable to break out into a grin at any moment. "You'd better come inside."

She lead the way, and the others followed.

Inkie caught a glimpse of Granny's cutie mark. It was a symbol she knew well: a pair of white masks connected by a black ribbon. One was comedy; the other was tragedy.

"You've changed the layout," Pinkie observed. For one thing, what had appeared to be a one-room cottage with a conjoined cooking, eating, and sleeping area from the outside turned out to be a sprawling mansion. At that point in their journey, nopony was particularly surprised that it was bigger on the inside. The walls were lined with windows without clear counterparts on the outside, and there was a hallway that bore pictures from previous visits by members of the Pie family, the most recent of which showed Granny and a younger Pinkie making faces at the camera.

"I have," Granny confirmed. "Many times, in fact. There's only so much you can do with the geography, the flora and the fauna, before you have to turn your attention to interior decorating. I've changed the layout quite a few times since you were last here, but when I sensed your presence, I tried to rearrange it close to how you might remember it."

Atop a long, narrow table sat a range of potted plants with cards indicating such things as the date of their conception, the real-world species they were supposed to mimic, and any innovations Granny had attempted.

Pinkie knew from previous experience that they resided within stasis fields that, if disturbed, would collapse and cause the years without sunlight, water, or nutrients to catch up with them. It was an interesting effect, but not one you wanted to see twice. Though the plants were a tiny fraction of what made up Granny's world, they showed a clear progression from the outlandish to the mundane as Granny had decided to try her hoof at realism, at least in the sense that dogs sitting around a smoky bar was more realistic than a ship with butterfly wings. Granny had paintings of both hanging elsewhere in the house.

Pinkie felt a sudden wave of nostalgia. The adventures they'd shared had been better than any storybook. A.K. Yearling's brief dealing with sea ponies as sirens didn't hold a candle―or as it were, a strand of bioluminescent seaweed―to the undersea world she and Granny had gotten roped into saving from a kraken that had crawled forth from the abyssal depths. From what Granny had told her, her world used to be even crazier in its earliest incarnations. She had to wonder if the artistic shift was deliberate or if Granny had somehow lost touch with her muse over the years.

"Now, tell me," Granny said, turning to face Pinkie. "Why have you brought a stranger to my door? This is a dangerous place for outsiders. I'm offering my hospitality because I understand he's your friend, but as you saw, the wildlife is not so discerning."

Pinkie shifted uncomfortably, as if she was a filly again and her grandmother was scolding her. "I didn't bring him here so much as he brought me here. He was going to find his way here one way or another. See, he was looking into this type of crystal he discovered that's perfect for holding enchantments but only comes from the rock farm. I know I promised not to reveal your secret, but―"

Granny sighed and hugged her, and Pinkie relaxed. "There's no need to be defensive. I know your heart was in the right place. It had to be said, that's all, but how I decide to deal with his questions when he comes around is another matter."

She addressed Inkie, "Be a dear and set him down on the coffee table."

Inkie did so, stepped back, and watched her carefully, not sure what to expect.

There was a collective intake of breath as Granny removed the splint and undid the bandage, not least because of the putrid odor that was released into the air. The bleeding had stopped, but other viscous fluids accompanied a range of disconcerting hues.

Pinkie and Blinkie had to avert their eyes.

Inkie didn't dare.

"Oh, deary me," Granny said to herself. To the others, she said, "Perhaps you'd better go have a look around or something. Make yourselves comfortable, just don't touch the plants, and whatever you do, do it somewhere else. I can't work with all you ponies watching me. It makes me very self-conscious."

Pinkie led Blinkie away under the pretense of showing her around.

Inkie stayed.

Granny didn't seem to mind.

Inkie asked, "Is he going to be all right?"

Granny said, "Hm? Oh, yes, he'll be right as rain after a good night's rest. Once I'm through with him, anyway. How long have you two known each other?"

"Not long."

"Time is relative, dear. I'm a thousand years old, but in here, it's felt more like forty."

"A few days, I guess."

"But you care about him a lot, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

Inkie had to admit that she hadn't given it much thought.

Granny had surmised as much. "Well, you'll have time enough to think about it while you're waiting for him to wake up. You're a tough mare, but carrying him all the way here was no small feat. It's important to know why your loyalties lie where they do. The rules your family lives by would have me turn him away, but I care more about an injured pony on my doorstep than any stupid tradition."

She gave Inkie an appraising look. "Since you're a member of the Pie family, I'll let you in on a little secret: I know a bit of magic. It's not the magic of a pegasus pony, nor that of an earth pony or a unicorn pony, but it might be just what our friend here needs."

Inkie watched intently.

Granny focused on the wound, and though there was no light show at all―unicorn ponies really were the showoffs of the magical world―the infection foamed and dissolved, the discoloration dissipated, the leg twitched a bit as the bone properly set itself, and the broken skin and muscle began to mend itself before their eyes. Sky-blue fur grew from the newborn follicles, and not a trace was left of the former injury.

"Healing magic," Inkie breathed. "I'd heard that only the princesses could do that."

"You might say they stole the idea from me. Not me, personally, of course, but those of my kind. Unless I'm the last of my kind, I suppose. I'd take credit then, but that would be awfully depressing."

"What are you?"

Granny smiled the smile of somepony who delights in the kind of answer that raises even more questions, "Let's just say that I'm what ponies were before ponies were ponies."

Chapter IV

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Pinkie stood in the study, where sketches of Granny's creations lined the walls. Some were strictly anatomical. Others showed the creatures in their natural habitats. Her eyes wandered from one to the other to the next. There was a smile on her face.

Granny entered the room and closed the door behind her. She didn't so much as glance at her sketches. To her, they were a reminder of her failure as a sculptor to create true life. The best she'd ever managed were magical constructs―mockeries of life.

Pinkie said, in reference to one of the older sketches, "I always liked the spin you put on things. Why did you stop?"

Granny crossed the room and stood beside her. "I could never quite get the effect I wanted, so I thought I'd try my hoof at going the opposite direction. It hasn't worked out much better. Still feels like there's something I'm just not doing right."

In her defense, it wasn't her fault. She'd learned to use magic from a pony, and ponies had very particular ideas about how to use magic. It was fine for their purposes, but when it came to things like creating life, it was like trying to paint with a brush without bristles. At best, you'd get something like modern art. At worst, you'd get frustrated and poke a hole in the canvas. Her canvas was her pocket dimension. She'd painted over it many times, but she couldn't paint over the hole in the sky.

"It's funny," she began.

Pinkie smiled up at her. "What is?"

Granny wasn't smiling. "You've always been an inquisitive pony, even before you got your cutie mark. That's what brought you here, yet you never asked me any of the questions an inquisitive pony would ask. Isn't there enough about me to make you suspicious?"

Pinkie drifted into reminiscence. Her first party, the one where she'd gotten her cutie mark, had always held a special place in her heart. When she'd related the story to the Cutie Mark Crusaders, she'd left out the part about the after party, which had taken place beneath the rock farm, in Granny's cottage. She'd been there before, of course, but that was the most memorable occasion.

It was the most memorable for Granny too. It had been her first party, but it had also been the last time she'd had cause to celebrate.

Realizing she was expected to say something, Pinkie said, "Well, I could tell you didn't quite know whether to trust me, but I never thought you were dangerous. You've always been nice to me, even when you didn't have to be, like when I killed your plant. I figured you'd tell me your story in your own time, but I always knew you weren't my real grandmother. I mean, it's not possible, right? There was never a pegasus pony in our family."

"No," Granny conceded, "but there was a bat pony."

"When?"

"It's a long story. Forty years. Or a thousand, depending on your vantage point."

"Twilight once said that time was relative. At the time, I'd wondered, 'Whose relative?' I'd heard of Father Time, but in order to be a father, he had to have had a son or daughter. There was Starswirl the Bearded, but he was a unicorn pony, not an anthropomorphic―" Pinkie caught herself. "What do you think?"

"I always thought it was a fickle thing," Granny said. "Certainly not the sort of thing you'd want to base your life on."

She turned and gestured to the lounge and coffee table that still sat in the middle of the room from the last time she and Pinkie had gotten philosophical. The fact that Pinkie had been a filly at the time didn't escape her; she willed another lounge into existence with a puff of magic. Refreshments followed. "Shall we talk about it over tea and scones?"

Pinkie grinned. "With blueberries?"

"Of course."

Pinkie climbed onto the lounge opposite Granny and lay on her side, her torso propped up against the armrest. It had always struck her as a funny pose for a pony, but Granny swore by it. it was very historical. Certain frescoes recovered from Rompeii proved as much. Taking in the sight of the spread, she said, "Ooh, you brought out the china!"

She munched happily on a scone, and Granny told her about the cult that had formed in the aftermath of Luna's fall. The leader had been the former captain of Luna's Night Guard, Granite Slab. He'd had a son named Jasper. Jasper had had fangs.

Before Granny reached the end, Pinkie declared, "You're a draconequus, aren't you?"

Granny fell silent.

"Sorry. You were building up to that, weren't you? It's pretty obvious, though, isn't it? I always thought Discord was one of a kind, but that wouldn't make much sense. He had to come from somewhere."

Granny made a mental note to ask about Discord. She'd heard about his past exploits from Jasper, but she imagined a lot could have changed in a thousand years. "Yes, you're correct. I was born a draconequus. Jasper used to tell me about a time before recorded history, when the draconequuses ruled Equestria―that was our idea of a bedtime story. The cult wanted to see that time come again."

Pinkie was quiet for awhile. Her way was to take in stride the bizarre happenings that made up her everyday life and process them later, when time permitted, but just then, there was no immediate danger, no need to think quickly and ask questions later. Most ponies would be alarmed by the revelation that they were sharing tea with the antithesis of their existence or that their earliest ancestors had sought to unmake the world. Most ponies were a bit prejudiced, she thought. It came with the herd mentality.

Granny sipped her tea and waited. She didn't lift the cup with her hooves; there wasn't much point anymore.

Pinkie came to a conclusion. "You don't look like a draconequus."

Granny laughed. "I can look like anything I want, dear."

"Show me what you really look like."

Granny set down her tea cup.

Pinkie took a sip from hers.

Granny's torso stretched out until it was long and serpentine―not unlike Discord's, but more noodle-y and made up of a different assortment of creatures. She had a salamander's arm and a dragonfly's wing, among other things, and no horns. Her mismatched feet touched the ground, but the rest of her considered gravity something that happened to other ponies. Her mane stayed white, but it was younger and healthier and fell in front of one eye. Her other eye was bright and alert. The wrinkles disappeared from her face. Her snout became slightly more canine than equine, but her fangs were only visible when she spoke, her voice playful and full of mischief, "You can call me Eris if you like."

Pinkie was grinning again. "I bet it feels good to be in your own skin."

"It does," Eris said, turning over her webbed hand.

Pinkie pressed on, "You're very pretty for a draconequus. You shouldn't feel like you have to hide. Skyline and I are going to Canterlot after we're done here. You should come too. I bet Princess Celestia and Princess Luna would like to meet you. If I tell them you're my friend, they'll have to hear you out. That'll be your chance to prove that you're not trying to be the next Discord. I bet they won't even remember that bit about our great grandparents setting their old castle on fire. Plus, I can't wait to see the look on their face when I tell them I'm technically part of a doomsday cult!"

Eris gave her a funny look and asked, "Just how much has Equestria changed while I've been cooped up here?"

Pinkie told her about how Discord had escaped, how she and her friends had returned him to his stone prison, and how he'd later been given another chance and agreed to become a contributing member of pony society, though what exactly Celestia had meant about having use for his magic wasn't clear. She went on to tell her about the other Element bearers and all the adventures they'd shared, including the numerous times the world had nearly met its end at the hooves or not-hooves of some supreme villain or other.

Eris listened to the words she'd waited two centuries to hear. If what Pinkie said was true, the world beyond the rock farm was finally ready for her return.

***

Inkie had decided to wait by the bedside, that she might be the first thing Skyline saw upon waking up. That had lasted about twenty minutes before she got bored and went off to find Blinkie, but during those twenty or so minutes, Granny's words had returned to her, "It's important to know why your loyalties lie where they do."

Her loyalty to her sisters was paramount, not because they were family but because they had earned it time and time again. Her loyalty to Father, such as it was, was nothing more than a vague sense of social obligation that deserved no further consideration. She thought of Mother a bit like a caged bird―she could do so much more if she had room to spread her wings―but she couldn't sympathize with anypony who let herself be made a prisoner. As far as she could tell, that was their relationship.

Of course, Granny had been talking about Skyline.

That night in the woods when Pinkie had left Inkie alone with Skyline, he had seen in her a kindred spirit. He'd asked why somepony with such fire in her heart would settle for a farmer's life, and she'd told him. He'd sworn to take her with him to Canterlot, whether she wanted to go or not, that she might find a life befitting a pony of her talents. She'd pointed out that her talents mostly pertained to rocks, and he'd told her about archeology.

She liked Skyline. She knew they could be friends, and if there was no other mare in his life, perhaps they could be lovers. She blushed, never having thought such thoughts about another pony. The images that shifted before her mind's eye became increasingly intimate until she had to put a stop to them.

She had to be honest with herself, and the honest truth was that she wasn't loyal to the pony so much as the idea he represented: freedom.

That was when she realized she wasn't the kind of pony who waited by another pony's bedside and left.

She found Blinkie walking down a long hallway with a window at the end. It overlooked the forest as if the cottage sat atop a great hill. There was a staircase on one side. On the other was a kitchen. The similarity to the Pie family farmhouse was so striking she couldn't help suspecting that it was deliberate.

Blinkie was looking at the pictures.

Inkie got the feeling that the pictures were looking back. One of them waved to her. Hesitantly, she waved back.

Blinkie didn't look to acknowledge Inkie's presence, but she said, "Our oldest ancestors are captured here. Not literally, mind you. I've never heard of interactive photography, but however it's done, that's all this is. Look at their faces, though."

Inkie looked. "They look happy."

Blinkie looked at her. She was smiling. "Now think back to the pictures we have hanging in the farmhouse. Their faces run the gamut from stern to constipated."

"The foals always just look uncomfortable," Inkie added.

"It's almost as if this is where they were meant to be and the world above was the fantasy. It's tragic that they forgot about this place."

"Huh?" Inkie asked. "How can you tell?"

Blinkie walked down the hall.

Inkie followed. The pictures became farther apart as they went, and there was a great expanse of unadorned wall before they came to the final picture. It showed Granny and Pinkie as her alter ego, Surprise. They were making faces at the camera.

She walked back to the other end, never taking her eyes off the animate pictures. She had noticed something else, a particular pony that appeared to be in every one of them from the first to the last. It was hard to tell, because that pony possessed a different body in each frame. She always had the same eyes, though. Scarlet eyes.

"You've noticed it too," Blinkie said. "Whatever Granny is, she's not a pony. Not by any definition with which we're familiar."

"She can do magic," Inkie said. "She healed Skyline like it was nothing."

Blinkie had managed to lose herself in her curiosity, but Inkie's words brought to mind the train of thought she'd been avoiding.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she'd created this whole world," she said without passion.

It wasn't often that Blinkie said things with passion, but Inkie could tell the difference, if only vaguely. She sought to change the subject, but nothing came to mind. On a whim, she walked up the stairs, turned left, and opened the door. A room not unlike hers greeted her. She leaped atop the bed and nestled into the blanket.

Blinkie appeared by the door.

Inkie called, "Well, come on!"

Blinkie climbed up beside her without energy.

Inkie frowned. She shifted closer to her and asked, "Hey, what's eating you?"

Blinkie gave her a sad little smile, the sort that would have made Pinkie throw her legs around her were she present. "I was hiding it pretty well until you mentioned Skyline's leg."

"It's the wolf, isn't it?"

Blinkie nodded.

That was something Inkie could understand. She hugged her. "Blinkie, you're not a murderer. I've known you since you were a filly who would tiptoe around the kitchen in order to avoid stepping on the ants."

"The rest of you didn't even see them until you asked me what I was doing."

Inkie grinned. "Mother threw an absolute fit, remember?"

"I do," Blinkie said and smiled. Then it faded.

Inkie released her. "Look, I nearly killed that wolf myself, and if I had, I wouldn't have felt a shred of remorse, much less doubt. It was self-defense. In your case, it was mercy. Those are exceptions. Anyway, you don't want to be a murderer, do you?"

"I don't."

"Then that's the end of it," Inkie said resolutely.

"I suppose that's the best way to look at it," Blinkie said. That her sister was making the effort to cheer her up was, in itself, enough to raise her spirits, but in truth, she couldn't drop the matter so easily. She knew it wasn't so simple. For the time being, though, she would put it out of her mind, for her sister's benefit.

Inkie sought to change the subject. In fact, there was something that had been eating her too. "What will you do when this adventure is over? We can't go home after this."

"Pinkie doesn't seem inclined to leave us behind."

"I know, but we can't just stay with her at Sugarcube Corner. Even if Mr. and Mrs. Cake would let us. We have to live our own lives, wherever they take us."

Blinkie gazed out the window. "You're sure we can't go back? Not even to tell Mother and Father what we found?"

"Positive."

At length, Blinkie sighed. "I wish I'd taken my book with me."

Inkie tried to understand. She knew the book was important to her, but it was just a book. "You can get another. First book shop we come across, I'll get you another. It'll be a new one, with stories you've never read before."

Blinkie looked back at her and smiled. "I'd like that very much, but it's not the book. It's the memories. Pinkie and I used to stay up long after you and the others went to bed and read to each other. One time, we didn't go to bed until the break of dawn. Father was annoyed to find us still up, but we didn't care."

Inkie took her hoof in hers and said, "We can make new memories."

Blinkie had tears in her eyes. She hugged her.

***

Skyline awoke in a strange bed in a strange house. Out the window was a strange scene. Admittedly, it wasn't the first time it had happened, but he usually had some vague sense of where he'd been the night before, whether he'd been attempting a spell well beyond his abilities or merely out on the town with his colleagues. His memories would return in time, but at that moment, all he remembered was falling asleep with a rather pretty mare named Inkie curled up against his side after the two had spent the night talking about... something. No spirits had been involved, but the room seemed to think differently.

He tried to get out of bed, and he'd have dismissed it all as a fever dream had a sharp pain not shot up his hind leg. Then he remembered the wolf. He remembered looking back to see a bloodied lump of leg bone, his leg bone, stabbing through his rent flesh like a snapped twig. That was about when his vision had gone black. He still had no idea how long he'd been out, but the pain was nothing like it had been. The school of healing magic was in its infancy, and broken bones could take months to mend by themselves.

He wondered if he'd been in a coma. It certainly felt that way, what with the sedative spell Granny had cast on him still wearing off.

There was a fresh roll of gauze on the bedside table and a note. Somepony called Granny―his caretaker, presumably―had written it. His vision danced, but he managed to piece together the words, "Your leg is fine. Inkie thought you'd appreciate the gesture, though. Go find her when you come around."

He pulled himself back onto the bed, unwrapped his leg, and gawked at what he saw. He ran his foreleg through the fur. There wasn't even a scar.

A familiar voice in the next room drew his attention away.

He couldn't make out the words, but the irrepressibly bubbly tone was unmistakably Pinkie's. He got back up and swayed toward the door. Very carefully, he grasped the handle with his magic and twisted it. Across the hall was another door. He knocked. His voice raspy from disuse, he asked, "Is that you, Pinkie?"

Without waiting for an answer, he tried the handle. It was unlocked. He heard a muffled gasp, saw a flash from under the door, and felt a surge of magic that hit him like a wave. His vision returned, such as it was, and revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Granny smiled at him with scarlet eyes. "Ah, you're awake. Come join us, won't you?"

Skyline entered the study, and Pinkie moved over to make room. He took note of the sketches and the shelves of ancient books that lined the walls, but he was more interested in the pegasus pony who sat across from him. Her eyes had sparked a memory he couldn't quite place, and her magical aura wasn't a pegasus pony's. It was like Pinkie's, or rather, the fraction of Pinkie's that wasn't an earth pony's. Something else had caught his eye too. He wasn't sure if it would be impolite to mention it, but he couldn't help himself. "Pardon me, madam, but has one of your wings always been that of a dragonfly?"

Pinkie looked mortified.

"I don't mean to be rude!" Skyline said. "I've never seen anything like it, is all."

Granny thought up an explanation based on how the intense, localized magical field could have unusual effects on ponies who spent enough time in it. It wouldn't have been a lie, exactly. It was why Pinkie could do things normally reserved for cartoon characters; it was why Jasper had had to leave; and it was why she could distinguish his descendents from ordinary ponies without prior knowledge of their identities.

Like Skyline, she could sense magical fields and auras. She could tell exactly where Inkie and Blinkie were, and she could tell that two more members of the Pie family were making their way through the forest as if being reeled toward her on an invisible thread.

She exchanged glances with Pinkie and made her decision. Wordlessly, she shifted back into her true form.

Skyline had busied himself with a scone, not knowing what else to do to stem the awkwardness. He dropped it on the carpet.

Granny finished her transformation and gave him a look that was mischievous and vaguely predatory, like a cat with a full belly who'd happened across a mouse and wanted to see what it would do next.

Skyline said, "Oh."

Eris had pretty eyes, he had to admit. They looked out of place on a pony, but to another draconequus, they would probably be stunning. He said as much, and to his amazement, she blushed.

Pinkie giggled, relieved.

Eris knew Skyline was still a bit dazed, but she had to admire his audacity. It was a bold mouse that flirted with a cat. It was intriguing.

"You know," Skyline said, "I really should have seen this coming."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean I'm surprised I didn't connect all the dots sooner. I've known your magic all my life, but it took me coming face to face with, well, you, for me to realize its source. In Vanhoover, my house was built with stones from the rock farm. It was an old house, built to withstand the ravages of the sea. The magic was weaker then, but when I closed my eyes to go to sleep, I saw the glowing green spiderwebs in the walls.

"We had all kinds in Vanhoover, even a family of bat ponies, but it was like no magic I'd encountered before. I encountered it again in the sample I used in my post-graduate studies in Canterlot, and again when I went to Ponyville to meet Pinkie, the only living pony to have left the rock farm. Inkie and Blinkie have it too, in a sort of diminished form. It's the same magic that follows Discord around like a fog, confusing the senses with glimpses into the infinite realm of what-ifs and could-have-beens.

"It's the same magic that composes the cottage and the forest and the sky. This entire world is just an elaborate construct of draconequus magic, a bubble of reality that's been bent in on itself and stretched thin like the skin of a balloon. That's where the veins are coming from, isn't it? There's so much magic here that it's crystallizing out."

Eris was grinning.

Skyline found the fangs a little unsettling, but Pinkie recognized the brightness in her expression that rendered it a harmless display of something approaching affection.

The scene changed, and they were in the living room. Inkie and Blinkie were there too. Disorientation turned to terror as their eyes fell on Eris.

"Please, don't be alarmed," Eris said. "Skyline, would you mind telling them what you just told me? I think they'll be more comfortable hearing it from you."

"You'd better sit down," Skyline said.

Inkie and Blinkie joined Pinkie on the couch. Skyline and Eris sat across from them, their backs to the door, with the coffee table between them.

In brief, Skyline told the story as best he understood it.

Eris didn't bother with refreshments; she doubted anypony was in the mood. When he finished, she expanded on his explanation with the things only she knew, the things Jasper had taught her. What Equestrians viewed as draconequus magic was nothing of the sort. It was merely magic in its natural form, the way it had been before the age of ponies. It was wild; it was alive; and while it wasn't sentient in any way they understood, it chafed at the way ponies wielded it like an extension of their will.

It had a will of its own, and it remembered a time when it was free. It had always taken the caster's intentions into consideration, but it tended to find a happy medium rather than acting exactly as intended. The draconequuses were one such happy medium. Because they understood magic and its desire to be free, they could use it to its full potential rather than the vastly diminished form that passed for unicorn magic. Ponies could learn to use magic the same way―many of their most innovative spellcrafters had done so―but not without it affecting their bodies and their minds.

Before the draconequuses became ponies, Equestria was a world of chaos. You could go to bed one night and wake up the next day not just in a different bed but in a different dimension. To them, it was paradise. History doesn't say why they changed, but it was their decision. It's possible that their unchecked magical manipulation threatened to make matter itself unstable, as all matter in their universe was composed of magic the same as all matter in ours is composed of energy. It's also possible that they just got bored.

Celestia and Luna were the figureheads of the movement toward a calmer, safer, more harmonious world at the price of magic, as they are to this day.

Discord was the one who fought them every step of the way. He had warned them that to give up magic was to subject themselves to mortality, but they hadn't appreciated their immortality the way he had. Indeed, many draconequuses found death of natural causes appealing. The only reason Celestia and Luna had retained their immortality after the change was to ensure that he couldn't just turn the world back after they passed away.

There was a time after the transition and Discord's imprisonment when Celestia and Luna were absent from pony society for reasons unknown. Ponies were divided among five distinct races to force them to work together, but two of them still broke away from the whole. The bat ponies felt a certain kinship with Luna and came back when she did, but the sea ponies faded into obscurity. New alicorns started cropping up after Luna's disappearance, and Celestia had been very interested in finding out why.

Information about the state of the world before ponies, which had been forgotten by the time of Luna's fall, came to light when Celestia fled to the mountains in her grief and looters happened across the princesses' private library. From that information, a cult had formed with the intention of bringing about a new age of chaos.

The cult had a leader, but it needed a real one, a born draconequus who could wield magic without the fetters imposed on ponies. Since the only known draconequus was in Celestia's back yard and presumed dead, they found a way to make their own in what would come to be known as the Everfree Forest. Ponies had given it a wide berth since the confrontation, and the magic had gone feral.

When Pinkie pointed out that the rock farm had only existed for two centuries, Eris explained that she and Jasper had spent the intermittent eight in the asylum she had created for them. Due to the way time dilated in the presence of intense magical fields, it had felt closer to thirty. During that time, Jasper hadn't aged; he had absorbed enough of her magic that he would have been immortal had he stayed, but to do so would have necessitated his turning into a full draconequus.

Jasper had lived well beyond the age of a normal pony, and like most normal ponies, he hadn't found it to his liking. He didn't want what his father wanted; he wanted nothing more than to settle down somewhere, marry an earth pony, and watch his foals grow. The magic in his bloodline was still strong in those days, and his foals also turned out to be much longer lived than normal earth ponies. It was one of the things, along with their command of strange magics, that had contributed to their tendency not to stray far from the rock farm.

In closing, Eris gave her assurance that unlike Discord, she had no intention of changing the world against its inhabitants' will. From what Pinkie had told her, the world had changed a lot in the past two hundred years. Luna had made a full recovery, and Celestia no longer ruled alone with an ironshod hoof.

If Celestia and Luna saw fit to allow it, she would teach magic, real magic, to those who wished to learn. That would be the extent of her meddling.

Pinkie, Inkie, and Blinkie were stunned into silence, but none of them regarded her with fear. It would take the latter two awhile to come to grips with the fact that she was family, but given time, they would accept her as such.

Meanwhile, Skyline had rallied enough to make a proposal to Eris not unlike the one he had made to Mother and Father.

Before Eris could answer, there was a knock on the door. Getting up to answer it, she said, "It seems the last guests have arrived."

She opened the door.

Mother and Father stood on the step.

Beyond them, the sun was turning into the moon, and countless sets of yellow eyes glowed amid the trees. They had eluded Mother and Father, but Eris saw them. She knew they had trailed them all the way there, and she knew why.

Father cursed.

Mother looked up into Eris's eyes. A pony could get lost in those eyes and never find her way back to reality, but she saw things most ponies didn't. In those eyes, she saw madness. Her consciousness backpedaled into her skull.

Father caught her.

Eris tilted her head. "That's an interesting way to make a first impression."

Father found his voice, but he wasn't sure what to do with it. He decided the polite thing to do would be to introduce himself. "My name is Igneous Rock. I'm the patriarch of the Pie family and father to Pinkie, Blinkie, and Inkie. This mare is my wife, Cloudy Quartz. I believe we have some things to discuss."

Eris regarded him curiously. Pinkie had told her what had happened. She twisted her neck around, an unpleasant, snake-like motion, and looked to her for approval.

Pinkie nodded.

Eris looked back and said, "Yes, we do, but first, I believe you have something to say to your daughter."

She stepped aside to reveal Pinkie looking very uncomfortable despite having her sisters on either side of her for support.

Father said, "Yes, I do."

Chapter V

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Blinkie wandered through the swathe of marshland that represented Hayseed Swamp. It was as if the entire region had been condensed into twenty or so acres of land. There were ferns that went up to her chest, and she kept her head down to avoid the vines that hung from the twisted, gloomy trees. Dragonflies danced with will-o'-the-wisps. Bullfrogs sat like kings atop mossy boulders and croaked a cappella in time with the belches of the fire-breathing salamanders. It was beautiful, in its way, but the shadows that moved beneath the lily pads seemed to be following her.

There was a dirt path with lecterns, for lack of a better term, and informational plaques about the local flora and fauna, but visitors were encouraged to diverge from it. She would have done so anyway.

The others had cut across to the White Tail Woods biome, where they waited for Celestia to join them.

She looked at her pamphlet. She had wanted to see the San Palomino Desert biome, but to do that, she had to pass through Hayseed Swamp and the Badlands. It promised an unsurpassed view of Western Equestria, including such sights as Appleloosa, the Castle of the Two Sisters in the Everfree Forest, Ponyville, and through the mists of Cloudsdale, Galloping Gorge and the rock farm.

She'd always known that the world was bigger than the farm, and she'd wanted to see it for herself while there was still time.

She passed into the Badlands, and the heat and the blazing sun greeted her like a wall. Her eyes ached as she tried to take in the new scene. A blasted wasteland of orange crags stretched out as far as her eyes could see, which wasn't far. Distant objects were hazy at best. At worst, they swayed as if the landscape itself was drunk. There was no water. The only shadows came from the birds of prey circling far overhead. She couldn't imagine what this biome contributed to the whole.

Even San Palomino Desert was more savanna than desert, with hallucinating toads and foxes and meerkats. She really wanted to see the meerkats. They sounded fascinating. If she strained her eyes, she could make out snakes, lizards, and other reptiles basking in the sun. Unlike her, they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

However far it extended, she knew she'd collapse before she made it to the other side. The project took advantage of a new development in magical theory made possible through collaboration with Discord. It allowed for localized spatial anomalies, such as making the botanical gardens much, much bigger on the inside. They promised to be a real tourist attraction once they were open to the public.

The hard part was apparently bringing in the wildlife. The elemental ice creatures that haunted the winds of the Frozen North, for instance, were an indispensable part of the topmost biome's ecosystem, somehow, but they had a tendency to disintegrate if they strayed too far from their habitat.

She took another look at her pamphlet. The glossy paper was almost impossible to read with the glaring sun reflecting off it, but she could just make out the name of the biome central to the honeycomb pattern: Hollow Shades.

It wasn't where she'd set out to go, but she had to admit, it sounded enticing. For one thing, it was a lot closer. For another, the promise of shade was right there in the name. Were she able to read the rest of the description, which spoke of tree frogs, fireflies, muted streams, and a canopy that warded off the day, she'd have realized that she'd feel more at home there than she ever had on the rock farm.

It was just as well, though; she found out soon enough.

Cool air washed over her as soon as she stepped into the shadow of the forest. She breathed a sigh of relief. In the distance, the sound of rushing water promised to quench her thirst. Making her way toward it, she read the rest of the description. When she finished, she found herself smiling. When she reached the stream, she lay on the grassy bank, closed her eyes, and dipped her head. The water kissed her muzzle.

Though she heard nothing and saw nothing―her eyes were still closed, and the water blocked out all noise but the sporadic chirping of the tree frogs―she became aware of a presence in the forest. It wasn't malevolent, but it was watching her. Studying her. That would be enough to make anypony feel uncomfortable. It made Blinkie feel naked.

She opened her eyes.

Wide cyan eyes looked back at her from across the river, apparently as surprised by her as she was by them.

Blinkie saw the image she was supposed to see, of a beautiful mare with midnight blue fur and a mane like a nebula. It was the image her retinas transmitted to her brain, but beneath it, she caught glimpses of another image. This other image had fur as black as the interstellar vacuum and pupils like a bat pony's.

Luna blinked.

Blinkie relaxed, if only slightly. The trance was broken, but she was still in the presence of the immortal princess of the night, whom she now knew to have been a draconequus in a past life. She barely knew how to act in the company of normal ponies; royalty was right out. Yet the mare before her was familiar―more so than she should have been.

Luna seemed to be in a similar predicament. Her wings ruffled, and she didn't seem to know what to do with her hooves. She felt she should be able to dispense with the usual formalities and speak casually of what had caught her attention about the mare, but the thinly veiled disapproval of generations of unicorn nobles was ingrained into her subconscious.

The water and the silence stretched out between them. Even the tree frogs had ceased their chirping.

Blinkie realized what was so familiar about the mare, not counting the obvious. She smiled. It wasn't much of a smile, but it was enough. She pulled her forelegs under her, adopting a position rather like a house cat, and said, "I've seen you in my dreams."

Intrigued, Luna half-stepped, half-glided across the stream and sat beside her. She could be more sure of herself now; it didn't happen often, but it was always awkward when she was more familiar with a pony than the pony was with her.

She was about to respond when Blinkie spoke again, "The pamphlet said the Canterlot Botanical Gardens was a collaboration between you and Discord."

"It's funny that you should mention that, considering where we are," Luna said. She told her how she'd spent the first year after her return getting acquainted with the new Equestria. In cognito, of course. She'd only revealed her true identity in the bat pony town in the treetops of Hollow Shades, where she'd known she'd be remembered kindly. She'd felt their yellow eyes upon her every night for a thousand years.

She'd heard them plead with the stars to aid in her escape.

"Our apologies, Blinkie," she said. "We've been known to digress." She was pleasantly surprised to find that Blinkie was listening with genuine interest.

It was as unusual for her as being noticed was for Blinkie. Normal ponies were afraid of her, and the nobles that flocked to her whenever she left the castle would feign interest in even the most banal things she had to say.

Meanwhile, the tree frogs had resumed their former conversations.

Luna continued her story. When she'd returned to Canterlot and entered the study that had been laid out for her, she'd had an idea.

The idea had been to take seven of the most iconic biomes in Equestria, excluding the Everfree Forest, and turn them into a conglomerate ecosystem that doubled as a park. Ponies who didn't have the chance to travel outside the city would be able to go there for a breath of fresh air. She had proposed the idea to her sister as a testament to the unity of Equestria and the power of harmony, but really, her thought process had been that if she had to live on a mountainside, she wanted to liven the place up a bit.

The idea hadn't actually come to fruition until Discord's reformation. Collaborating with him had presented her with a unique opportunity both to get to know the mind of her old nemesis and to help him make a meaningful contribution to pony society.

As she listened, Blinkie took the opportunity to get a better look at her.

Luna had looked imposing while she stood over her, and indeed, she had a much larger frame than any normal pony. That air had been lost when she sat down, though. She was much smaller than her sister, and unlike her sister, who attended to the cohesion of the whole, she sought to know each and every one of her little ponies personally. Celestia protected them from external threats; Luna protected them from internal ones.

Few were conscious of her presence in their dreams. They were the ones who knew their unconscious minds, to the extent that such knowledge was possible. They were often the ones who most needed her help, and she was happy to give it.

The conversation would have to come back around to that, though. She let her eyes wander around the forest while she waited for Blinkie to process all her exposition. The trees were so wide and so tall as to make even her feel small in their midst. Each one could house a small family without detriment to the tree itself.

Far above them, sunlight did pierce the canopy, but it did so in small patches that could be traced all the way back to their source by the way they illuminated the pollen that hung in the air. The beautiful silk webs crafted by the giant spiders that lived among the branches positively glittered when the light struck them. It lent an air of enchantment to what would otherwise just be a rather gloomy forest.

The spiders fed on the birds that weren't smart enough to avoid the webs or strong enough to tear themselves free. It was a grisly thing, but it was true to the realities of Hollow Shades, where even the ponies were carnivorous. Discord had insisted on it.

She got up and began walking along the length of the stream. She didn't look back; she knew Blinkie had gotten up to follow her. She took Blinkie's taking an interest in the mushrooms they passed as her cue to continue. She asked, "If we might ask, what compelled you to break away from your group, and what drew you to the Hollow Shades biome?"

She'd assumed the answer would have to do with Blinkie's lineage, which she could see in Blinkie's eyes―bronze wasn't such a rare eye color among bat ponies.

Blinkie explained how she'd happened across it by chance, how she'd really been meaning to get to the San Palomino Desert biome, and she explained why. Remembering the first part of the question, she simply said that she'd wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

Luna needed no elaboration.

The wolf, in its last moments before Blinkie had taken its head in her hooves and gave it a sharp twist, had haunted her dreams every night since.

Luna stopped walking, and when Blinkie turned to face her, she draped her downy wing around her and looked into her eyes.

The words weren't spoken, but the message was clear.

Blinkie looked up to meet her eyes and blushed. She could feel the warmth of Luna's breath on her face, and the featherlight caress of Luna's wing sent sparks up her spine. From some neglected recess of her mind, a voice screamed at her to lean in and kiss her, but she knew that wasn't Luna's intent.

Luna had wanted to get her full attention, and she had succeeded.

No pony who knew what those eyes had seen could look away. They had seen the primordial chaos, the birth of ponykind, and everything that had followed. So had Celestia's and Discord's, but no other eyes had stood alone beneath the night sky and attempted to fathom the vast emptiness between the stars. No other eyes had beheld the secrets that lay beyond the edge of the universe. The madness was gone, though, and what remained was a mind that knew no equal anywhere in Equestria.

And Blinkie knew.

When the princess of the night spoke, she addressed a mortal filly, "Blinkie, you must understand that killing takes many forms, not all of them evil. Indeed, no act is intrinsically good or evil. You understood that when you took that wolf's life into your own hooves. It was only later that you began to doubt yourself, but you know as well as I do that you would never commit such an act without just cause.

"The ability to kill without remorse, when necessary, is a dark but powerful gift. Those who wield it don't work in the light of day, but they have a key role to play in defending Equestria from threats both from within and from without. My Night Guard has saved as many lives through strategic assassinations as my sister's Day Guard ever has through open conflict, but nopony but my sister and I know of their deeds."

The princess of the night closed her eyes, and when she opened them, they were no longer as cold and infinite as outer space. They were old, yes, but they were also young and friendly and playful again. They were Luna's.

She continued, "Or, if you prefer a less dangerous lifestyle, you could study at Canterlot Academy to be a psychoanalyst. If you dedicated yourself to that path, I believe you could help such lost causes as Discord and perhaps even Sombra. It takes one who's seen the darkness to guide others out of it. The choice is yours. Your options aren't limited to those I've presented, but it's something to think about."

Blinkie had noticed the change in Luna's demeanor. She'd felt paralyzed, but the message had definitely been received.

Joining the Night Guard wasn't anything she'd have considered doing, but now she couldn't help entertaining the possibility. With her natural talents, which she now suspected were partly the touch of draconequus magic, she could be an assassin without equal. What skills she didn't already have she could easily learn.

Or she could treat those who did what was necessary but weren't able to rationalize it the way she could. She would have to reach them on their own terms, which would mean experiencing things from their perspective. That could be a fascinating journey in itself.

Before she could even try to answer, she heard her name echoing through the trees up ahead in high-pitched, drawn-out tones.

Luna heard it too; she retracted her wing and looked down the path just as a pink, pony-shaped blur bounced into view.

It turned out to be Pinkie, who said, "Come on, come on! It's starting!"

***

Celestia strode through the castle and asked each guard and servant mare she saw if he or she had seen Discord, who had a peculiar knack for showing up when she least wanted him around but being nowhere to be found when she was actually looking for him. She knew beyond any doubt that it was intentional.

She'd had to wrap up her business in court early. The nobles hadn't been pleased, and she hadn't had the patience to deal with their egoistic indignation. She had a feeling she'd be hearing about it later, but that was the least of her worries. An hour ago, her guards had informed her that an Element bearer had arrived at the city gates leading an unknown draconequus, a unicorn pony, and three, maybe four earth ponies―the witnesses' accounts had conflicted on that point―and requested an audience.

She hadn't wanted to cause a panic, so she'd instructed one guard to escort them to the botanical gardens and the other to wake her sister and have her keep an eye on them.

The bits and pieces she'd picked up from her staff had lead her to the bathhouse. She flung the door open, and steam billowed out.

It cleared to reveal Discord lounging in a great big tub and whistling a show tune that didn't originate in their universe. The shower head wasn't connected to any of the plumbing, but nopony had had the courtesy to tell it. It filled the tub to the point of overflowing with pink, sudsy water. He wore a hairnet with holes for his mismatched horns, and because there were certain conventions, a rubber duck bobbed beside him.

He was aware of those conventions, but as he saw that they didn't seem to serve much purpose, he'd given the duck a helmet, a toy harpoon gun, and a mortal enemy in a plastic whale that would breach and dive, breach and dive, without apparent intelligence, all around the tub. Because nothing was worse than being bested by someone too idiotic to realize there was a competition.

Giving him another chance had been Luna's idea. Celestia still held that he was beyond redemption, not for anything he had done, per se, but for the very fact of his nature. Many a psychologist had had to undergo therapy himself after trying to help him reenvision his purpose in the world. The lucky ones were able to return to their practices.

"Discord," Celestia said. "I require your assistance." She hoped she hadn't made it sound urgent. It was urgent, but letting him know that was the surest way to make sure she'd be there until sundown, when she'd have to rest.

He'd done it before; it was infuriating.

Discord offered an exaggerated yawn and deigned to open his eyes. "And what, pray tell, is so urgent that you felt the need to interrupt my hourly bath? "

Damn it all.

Celestia lit her horn. There was a flash, and the tub and the water disappeared.

Discord fell on his rump, assuming he had one―his body was more reptile than mammal. He frowned and crossed his arms. The rubber duck hung in the air. He snapped his fingers, and it too disappeared. "Well?"

Celestia sighed. She would have preferred not to let him in on the matter until they'd gotten past the hordes of excitable ponies that stood between them and the botanical gardens, but she didn't have a choice. "Pinkie arrived at the city gates an hour ago. There was a draconequus with her."

Discord stood and cast aside his hairnet. It turned into steam before it hit the ground.

"Impossible," he said. "I haven't left the castle all day. I have alibis. Just ask your network of informants. I know you have one."

"Another draconequus," Celestia elaborated.

Discord waved his paw. "This is your idea of a practical joke, is it?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Discord shrugged and walked by her, out the door, and down the long hall. He allowed himself a smug little grin as she was forced to follow. "How should I know? You're always so contemptibly serious. I know you have a sense of humor, Celestia. Why don't you ever share it with me? I think a little levity would do wonders for our relationship."

"I think you have more than enough levity for the both of us," Celestia said. She stopped, though he kept walking. "If you have more pressing business, that's fine. I thought you might like to meet her, though. I understand she's rather young and attractive."

Discord stopped and half-turned to cast a suspicious look over his shoulder, but there was curiosity hiding beneath the surface. "Younger than us? That seems unlikely."

Celestia smiled the smile of the victor who took no pleasure in her conquest. "Do you remember the draconequus cult?"

Though Discord had been encased in stone at the time, he must have been involved somehow. The cult had stolen a history book; it wouldn't have had spells in it.

He said he didn't remember, but Celestia did.

She remembered staying up well into the night until the captain of her guard, Valiant Stand, had returned for debriefing, badly burned. His state had reinforced her belief that the whole thing had been a trap to draw her out while she was weak with grief. Then he'd told her what had happened, how the cultists had apparently decided they'd rather die by their own hooves than be taken into custody and destroyed all their work in a magical fire that would not go out. He'd told her how he'd tried, and failed, to save them. Even as the fire peeled the skin from his body, Granite had refused to be saved.

It had hurt to think that her ponies were so fearful of her wrath. To be fair, she didn't know what she'd have done had they been tried and found guilty. They had sought to strike at her when she was weakest, when she was the only thing holding Equestria together. That was unforgivable, but after enough time had passed without her hearing anything more of the cultists, she'd assumed they'd all died in the fire and dropped the matter.

Only now it seemed at least one pony had escaped the blaze and the search parties.

A thousand years later, in one of the White Tail Woods biome's idyllic glades, that pony's descendents stood before her and Discord.

Mother and Father stood off to the side; Inkie stood with the draconequus, born of the Everfree Forest's wild magic, who was meant to usurp her and bring about a new age of chaos in Equestria; and Pinkie and Skyline filled Celestia in on all they'd learned.

Eris didn't look like a usurper. She looked rather uncomfortable about the whole thing and eager to wash her hands of it.

Though Father refused to look at Celestia, he looked too old, and Mother looked too tired, to be a revolutionary.

Luna and Blinkie entered the glade and went to stand with their respective groups.

Blinkie had heard it all before, and since she had little interest in taking part in the discussion that would ensue, she let her eyes wander.

The trees were nothing like the giants of Hollow Shades or the primordial-looking things that apparently populated San Palomino Desert, but their normalcy had its own appeal. It spoke of a place where ponies could feel safe. One or two had an audience of white mushrooms around its base. Mice scurried between her hooves, too preoccupied to worry about being trampled; a hare watched the group from within its burrow; and fat songbirds flew overhead, tweet-tweeting merrily. The interplay of sunlight and shade, clouds and clear sky, was perfect. By night, there would probably be a chorus of crickets. Lovers would probably come here to lay in the grass and gaze at the stars. It was that kind of forest.

A butterfly with pastel blue-and-yellow wings lead her eyes back to the group just as Celestia seemed to come to a conclusion.

Celestia began by addressing Eris, "It seems to me that without your magic, the rock farm's newly discovered resource will be depleted within the decade."

She shifted her gaze to Skyline. "You will, of course, receive credit for the discovery, along with all that that usually entails. Be proud; the extent of your contribution to the advancement of modern magic has yet to be defined. Should you or your colleagues discover a way to create these crystals without the aid of a draconequus, you will go down in history as the pony who revived the field of enchantment magic."

Discord took notice. Ponies who were interested in that kind of immortality could often be tempted with the more literal sort. Most of his past experiments had gone insane, but that hadn't stopped him from trying.

Then Skyline ruined it when he bowed and said, "Thank you, Your Highness, but I could never have done it without the help of my companions, Pinkie, Inkie, and Blinkie."

He looked back to see Inkie smiling at him, and his heart soared.

Discord deflated.

Celestia nodded her approval.

Discord whispered something in her ear.

Celestia thought it over, then turned to Mother and Father. "As the only ponies in physical condition to do the work are adamant that they want no more part in it, I would be willing to buy the land, employ the Miner's Guild to do the work, and once it's done, develop the land into something else, that its past might be forgotten."

Mother, her business senses screaming, whispered to Father, "With that kind of money, we could buy a home and carve out a new life. Isn't that what you wanted?"

It was, but Father was dubious. Deigning to meet Celestia's eyes and seeing in them nothing but compassion, as if she actually knew what he'd sacrificed, actually knew the toll it had taken on him and his family, he spoke, "Our acceptance is contingent on one condition: our past is not to be forgotten. Let what happened there be known to anypony who cares to listen, and let them draw their own conclusions."

"If that is what you wish," Celestia said.

"It is," Father said.

Luna looked at him curiously, as if to ask what he sought to prove. She said nothing to that effect, however. Instead, she said, "We have nothing but sympathy for you and the weight your connection to the draconequus cult has forced your family to bear, though we understand why your daughters might not see it that way. We promise to be reasonable, but our discussion of the details will have to wait."

"Indeed, there remains a more pressing concern," Celestia said, addressing the new draconequus, whose name she still hadn't learned.

"Eris," the draconequus supplied. Her scarlet eyes flickered to Discord, challenging him to make something of it.

Discord raised a bushy eyebrow but said nothing. The name had been taken by some mythic figure or other in some long-forgotten pony pantheon, he knew, but he conceded that it was rather suitable. Discord and Eris, he found himself thinking. The first and last of their kind. He grinned. There would be so much to show her. How much she could get away with, for starters. She didn't look like she'd be too inclined to listen, but he knew that was a front. No draconequus who ever lived lacked a taste for mischief. It came with being immortal; you had to do something to pass the millennia.

Luna could see what he was thinking, but she didn't see it as a bad thing. Eris did have a lot of value, not least in giving him someone with whom he could talk as an equal. "Had you arrived on our doorstep a year ago, we wouldn't have been inclined to be so lenient, but as Discord himself has taken steps toward becoming a contributing member of Equestrian society, and by his very nature, has a lot to offer us, so too may you. If you so choose, we'll welcome you into our home. If you refuse, however, neither Celestia nor I can guarantee your safety anywhere within Equestria's borders."

The air grew cold, but only Blinkie knew why. She'd noted the particular choice of words and been reminded that Luna commanded a legion of covert operatives. If Eris refused, she would likely find herself the victim of a tragic accident, probably involving a bad heart and the lingering smell of almonds. Immortal meant undying; it didn't mean unkillable. If it came to that, she had a feeling Discord wouldn't be so cooperative anymore.

The birds huddled in the trees.

Inkie caught the shift in Blinkie's demeanor and adopted surer footing. Her loyalty lay with her family, and she'd come to consider Eris family. If it came to that, she had no qualms about bucking a goddess. That bravado would serve her well in her next adventure.

Celestia had a hard time figuring out what Luna was playing at. She knew how Discord would respond to such an ultimatum, and she also knew there would be Tartarus to pay if they dangled the prospect of companionship in front of him just to take it away. The Elements of Harmony might not be enough to stop him. She chanced a glance in his direction.

Discord stood with a casual, impassive air, but his eyes were alert. The claws of his eagle's talon were poised to snap, ready to teleport himself and Eris somewhere far away.

It didn't come to that.

Eris acquiesced, defying Celestia's every expectation of draconequus nature.

The birds rejoiced, and everypony breathed a sigh of relief. Everypony but Luna, who knew Eris was nothing like the draconequuses of old. She was something new. It could be that she was born from pony minds or that she was raised by pony hearts; it could be her longstanding relationship with Pinkie.

Whatever it was, Luna looked forward to finding out.

"Splendid!" Discord said, clapping his hands. He strode across the unspoken line that had divided the two groups, put his lion's arm around Eris, and lead her away.

Eris tensed, but she didn't resist. The inclination was there to lay her head against his shoulder, like they were already an old married couple, but she refrained. There'd be time enough for that later. She spared a glance back at Pinkie.

Pinkie's smile seemed to say, "We'll be fine; you two have fun."

Eris smiled back.

Discord's resonant voice trailed off into the woods, "Maybe you can help us. Eris, was it? Beautiful name, by the way. Mythic. I've been thinking: what this place really needs is a little slice of the Everfree Forest. We'll spare no details. Timber wolves, poison joke, maybe even a cockatrice or two. I should think you're something of an expert, having been..."

Celestia watched them go. She thanked Pinkie for bringing the matter to her attention and informed her that her friends would be arriving by train shortly. Then she and Luna walked off with Mother and Father to discuss their terms.

Skyline excused himself to deal with some university business but promised he'd be back in no time, leaving Pinkie, Inkie, and Blinkie alone in the glade.

For awhile, none of them said anything. Then one of them cracked a grin, and the others followed. They all started talking at once.

***

Inkie accompanied her sisters to the entrance to the botanical gardens, where they parted ways. Blinkie left with Luna, who had rejoined them as they passed through Hollow Shades, and Pinkie left with her friends, who were waiting for her by the entrance and eager to hear where she'd been the past few months.

Pinkie had pledged to write to her every day, or at least every week, and Blinkie had pledged to keep in touch no matter where her new life took her.

Inkie had pledged all the same, and she was happy for her sisters. They were going places. The trouble was that she wasn't. She had no idea where she'd go from there. She knew she wanted nothing to do with her parents, and while she'd have loved to run away with Skyline, for all her romanticism, she knew better than to let that be her only option lest she find that he didn't feel the same after all.

She looked out at the bustling streets of outer-city Canterlot and wrinkled her nose. She certainly wouldn't be finding her fortune there.

Pinkie had offered her a place to stay while she figured things out. It wasn't too late to catch up with her and take her up on that. It might not be so bad. There was a certain appeal to the idea of walking the earth, doing odd jobs, always keeping her ears perked lest she miss the next call to adventure.

She began walking, if only for the feel of the thing. She came upon a mother, her crying foal, and the creature that had set it off: a white-coated, bipedal canine with apelike arms, ruby eyes, and a heavily embroidered three-piece suit. He towered over the pair and gestured emphatically as he tried to explain how he wasn't to blame. There was a lot of prejudice against non-unicorn ponies in Canterlot, probably a lot more against non-ponies. He could have been an ambassador, or perhaps a traveling merchant. Perhaps he needed protection. That was a ridiculous thought, she realized, and walked on.

It still went to show that she wouldn't be waiting very long, given that the earth she'd be walking was Equestrian soil. She had just finished the thought when she caught sight of Skyline trotting toward her, weaving between carts and ignoring the irate ponies he cut off. He had a triumphant grin on his face and a paper in his mouth.

He'd clearly ripped it off a bulletin board somewhere. He said something unintelligible and glanced meaningfully at the paper.

Inkie gave him a look, looked around for a place to sit, and found herself standing in front of a doughnut shop. She lead him inside, and he spat the paper on a table by the window. She ignored the pony behind the counter as she skimmed the paper, picking out what seemed to be the most important bits.

Skyline ordered doughnuts and coffee for two.

The pony behind the counter―a barrel-chested stallion with tan fur, a shaggy brown mane, and a cutie mark of a frosted doughnut like the one in the shop's logo―hoof-picked doughnuts from the rack and operated the espresso machine with his magic.

The paper was a flier, a recruitment call for ponies of all races with a wide range of skills sets for an expedition into Zebrica, where some ruins had been unearthed. The academy was covering all expenses, and the pay was respectable for what it was. Inquiries were directed to the office of somepony or other in the Department of Magic History. It sounded perfect. Then she got to the part about a relevant degree being mandatory.

Skyline waved his hoof and said, "That's just the academy's meddling. I know the pony spearheading the expedition. He's a scholar in non-unicorn magical traditions. I collaborated with him on my thesis. Point is, I could practically guarantee spots for the both of us. If you're interested, I mean."

The stallion, whom Skyline had addressed as Pony Joe, brought them their food and drinks, and Skyline thanked him.

"What's this?" Inkie asked. Before her sat one of Pony Joe's signature lattes, a favorite of college ponies all over Canterlot. It had sprinkles on it.

"It's coffee," Skyline said. He took a sip from his. "If you've never had coffee, I'm deeply sorry for your misfortune."

Inkie hadn't, in fact. Her parents hadn't approved of coffee. It was hot, almost too hot, but Pony Joe had had the courtesy to give her one of the stripey straws he usually reserved for milkshakes. She might not have liked coffee had she tried it somewhere else, but nopony disliked Pony Joe's coffee. She didn't see what the fuss was about at first, but the effect crept up on her over the next few minutes. Before she knew it, her cup was half empty.

"Weren't you going to get Granny―Eris, I mean―to help you with some project that was going to revolutionize the field of enchantment magic?" she asked. She didn't feel hungry, but she got the sense that that wasn't the point of a doughnut.

Skyline answered, drawing her eyes back up to his, "Yeah, that was the plan. I still haven't gotten an answer from her. I've always preferred field work anyway. It's the thrill of the discovery. You can get that in a lab, but it's not the same. There's gotta be something more. My colleagues will research that crystal stuff inside and out, I'm sure of it, but the zebras are the ones who invented enchantment magic. Their methods were a bit... different, but the core practice was the same. What I'm saying is that I'd much rather do this with you, and why are you looking at me like that?"

Inkie leaned across the table and kissed him. His lips tasted like frosting. It made up for the coffee breath. Her heart thundered in her chest and her ears, but she could still hear the chorus of "ooh's" from the other college ponies.

She didn't care.

Pony Joe smiled to himself as he wiped a milkshake glass.

Then the moment was over as swiftly as it had begun. Inkie sat back on her bar stool and realized she was blushing.

So was Skyline. Breathless, he asked, "Shall I take that as a 'yes,' then?"

Another Slice of Pie

by The Fool

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V