Relinquish the Sun

by Error732

First published 21st of March, 2014

During Luna's banishment, Celestia alone must answer an ultimatum from the dragons and a plea from the changelings.

The two great dragon clans have united and summoned Celestia to their lair, demanding that Celestia give up her hold on the Sun and Moon. Celestia and her advisors must now decide between surrendering Celestia's greatest gift to Equestria and a war with some of the most powerful and ancient beings in existence.

Meanwhile, the changeling queen confronts Celestia in Canterlot Castle, pleading for the enfranchisement of her kin. Can Celestia trust the changelings, or is there too much to lose with an existential threat on the horizon?

Chapter I

The clink of Celestia's golden horseshoes echoed against the cave walls. Damp, stale air entered her nostrils with every breath. This far from the surface, her horn provided the only illumination.

The air ahead shifted. Something the light could not yet reach emerged from the deeper tunnels. As Celestia approached, her horn revealed a figure covered in purple-grey scales. Its clawed feet nestled neatly among the rocks of the cavern floor, and the curves of its folded wings rose almost to the ceiling. A pair of red eyes gleamed down at the approaching alicorn, and at last the figure spoke.

"Princess Celestia," reverberated a serpentine voice. "We are glad you've come." Though the dragon had only whispered these words, the profundity of his voice had given it the sound of a dull quake.

"Thank you for having me," said the princess, levelly. She dipped her head very slightly in recognition. "I consider this visit a rare honor. It is not often that dragons make diplomatic requests of Equestria."

"Not often by pony standards," creaked the dragon, "but it is not without precedent. Welcome, Your Highness." He said these last words playfully, as if he found the title quaint. "I am Fucang. The rest of us who will meet you are right this way." He turned his massive body with ease, though the ground shook with each of his strides. He led the way deeper into the mountain's interior, and Celestia followed, the clink of her hooves now drowned out by the motion of the dragon ahead of her.

Celestia had to canter to keep pace with her host, but she did so without breaking her royal composure. She had agreed to arrive here unescorted, much to the chagrin of her advisors. The invitation was a test; a weaker-willed ruler might have insisted on an entourage for her security, but this would be foolishness—what security was there against a council of dragons? Her entire guard could charge a dragon for her (and for their sovereign, they surely would) without so much as scratching its hide. But the dragons had not called her here to fight, and she would need a different kind of bravery today.

The walls diverged as they proceeded, and the floor angled downward. Celestia followed her host through twists and turns, carefully etching each one into her mind. She brightened the light of her horn, but still the darkness pressed in on them, as if they were deep in the stomach of some continent-sized creature. There was little life down here, save for the occasional insect or spiderweb, but even they seemed cowed at the passing presence of a dragon.

At last, they reached a chamber that did not echo as though empty. The air here was hot and humid, and from just beyond Celestia's sight came the sound of powerful bodies shifting their weight. At the center of the cavern, or at least at the center of Celestia's bubble of visibility, waited a green dragon. It was more slender than Fucang in frame, but its height and angular features made it just as imposing. Its tail flicked idly beside its hunched frame, and its slitted eyes followed Celestia hungrily.

Fucang stopped, exchanged a long glance with his fellow, then took his position beside him. There was a long silence as a crowd of serpentine eyes inspected her.

"I apologize, Princess," said the green dragon, in a low hiss, "for not being a more hospitable host. We dragons are so accustomed to the darkness, it did not occur to us that pony eyesight would not function here."

Her smile made Celestia doubt the veracity of his claim, but nonetheless she accepted her words with a solemn nod.

"But of course your clever magics have solved that problem nicely. Ponies, and you especially, have always been quite resourceful with magic." Her grin widened, showing off a few dagger-long teeth.

Beneath her stolid exterior, Celestia felt this dragon wearing at her patience already. She seemed a bit like a cat playing with a cornered mouse; though, Celestia thought to herself, that probably wasn't the role she wanted to assign herself in this exchange.

"Thank you for your kind words," Celestia projected into the darkness. "Equestria prides itself on the cultivation of magic to improve the world."

From one of the half-lit silhouettes came a snort of derision. Perhaps it had been muffled by dragon standards.

"Magic to improve the world! How perfectly relevant to our meeting," came an excited reply. "But I am getting ahead of myself. Forgive my rudeness. You may call me Zhuyin; Fucang and I will be representing draconian interests today."

Ever unflinching, Celestia said, "A pleasure to meet you, Zhuyin."

Zhuyin did not acknowledge the pleasantry, as if the pleasure of meeting her were too obvious to state. "You are of course Celestia, the sole remaining Princess of Equestria. We were all very upset to hear of your sister's fate, of course."

Celestia's breath halted invisibly, but she willed her lungs back to their normal business. "Yes," she said. She selected her words carefully and deliberately. "But it has been nearly a millennium since, and Equestria continues without her."

Zhuyin's grin faded at Celestia's nonreaction. "Well," she said, glancing over to Fucang, whose inattention betrayed his boredom, "I suppose we'd better get to business, then."

"Yes, please," boomed Fucang, returning to the conversation. "We did not summon the princess for idle chatter."

Zhuyin narrowed her eyes at his remark, but whatever she was thinking remained unsaid.

Celestia waited.

Fucang inhaled deeply and said, "Equestria must relinquish the Sun."

Despite her discipline, Celestia allowed her surprise to escape. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Sun!" rasped Zhuyin. "The Moon, too. Equestria—you—must release them. We are tired of your artificial cycles, your scheduled seasons. It is not for ponies to arbitrate the dawn and dusk."

Celestia spoke, but her response dissolved under the volume of Zhuyin's vehemence. "It is an outrage, an insult to our grandeur that ponies should have sole control of our light, our darkness, and even our weather. Even our yearly migrations align to your seasons. Dragons should not have to suffer the whims of—"

Fucang cut her off with a voice that made the cave floor tremble. "We have summoned you here to discuss, as representatives of our kinds, a more equitable arrangement with regard to the day and night. Equestria has exercised unilateral control of these resources for too long. We therefore demand that you release your hold on the Sun and Moon."

"I have raised and lowered the Sun and Moon for almost a millennium," stated Celestia, after a moment's consideration. "And before that, my sister and I shared the task. Never in all that time have you summoned me to discuss this matter or any other. Why now?"

Deep laughter resounded in the cavern, from both Fucang and Zhuyin, as well as their fellows behind them. When at last their terrifying mirth left them, Fucang spoke.

"You forget that we dragons live a very, very long time. You speak as though we have endured your rule for generations, and I'm sure we have in pony terms. But even you, Celestia, are a newborn to our senses. If a colony of termites were to infect a tree in its hundredth year of life, your words would be as if one of them had said, 'Surely our presence is of no inconvenience to this tree, as we cannot a remember a time when it did not house us.'" The spectating dragons guffawed once more at this, though not as brazenly as before. "But you are right, in a way. We have taken longer than we ought have to assert ourselves. Our internal schism . . . busied us with other matters."

Celestia's interest was piqued. "Forgive me, but we in Equestria are not familiar with your politics—"

"Of course you aren't," interrupted Zhuyin. "Why should ponies concern themselves with the affairs of dragons?" She stared at Celestia as she said this, but it was clear from her irritated tone that the question was meant for Fucang.

"Suffice it to say," continued Fucang, "that the two dragon clans have feuded for longer than you could measure or understand. Until now, that is. Zhuyin and I, leaders of our respective lines, have put an end to the divide. Our lines have reunited—"

The two dragons' tails briefly flicked against each other.

"—and we must prepare for the first uncontested heir in generations."

Zhuyin scoffed. "So, little termite, will you grant our request, or will we have to negotiate?" It was clear that whatever she really meant by "negotiate" would be far less pleasant for Celestia and therefore Zhuyin's preference.

"I am sorry," said Celestia, ignoring her new nickname, "but that is impossible. The Sun and Moon would fall to chaos without my magic, threatening all of Equestria."

"Again, you forget your youth," hissed Zhuyin. "For such ephemeral creatures, you ponies are quite slow. We remember a time before your kind ever existed, much less meddled with the sky."

Fucang added, "Besides, 'chaos' is at best a histrionic description. The patterns of the world were different before ponies, but there were patterns nonetheless. We dragons studied their progression, appreciated their subtleties, and we would do so again. We only wish to return the sky to its natural state."

Celestia admitted to herself that, however untenable their proposal or unpleasant their manner, the dragons had much to offer. The most complete histories in Equestria couldn't compete with the knowledge of these wyrms, whose memories extended on an apparently cosmological scale.

"Even so," said Celestia, "Equestria's ponies rely on the night and day, however artificial. It would disrupt everything from the growth of our crops to the timing of our trains were I to abandon my duties."

Zhuyin snarled, but Fucang answered. "Of course, Princess, I'm sure you have much to consider before you can acquiesce to our request. We are sure that you value continued relations with us, and we know you would not wish to risk souring our rapport. And we are not unreasonable. We will give you a month's time to consider—we will be counting the days! I'm sure such a span must seem a very long time to a creature like yourself, long enough by far for you to arrange the proper preparations for a return to a more organic sky.

"In the meantime, I'm afraid we've kept you too long already. I'm sure you'll want to discuss what we've said here with your fellow ponies. Shall I escort you out, or do you think you can find your own way with your clever little magic?"

Celestia spread her wings as the glow of her horn intensified. "I appreciate the offer, but I can escort myself. Thank you for your hospitality." With a few great flaps of her wings, she ascended until she was eye-level with her hosts. Magical power surged within her, and she teleported back to the mouth of the cave in a flash of white.

Before the spell whisked her away, the last image she saw was that of dozens of dragons, illuminated as if by a flashbulb, surrounding and studying her like wolves about an injured foal.

Chapter II

Celestia emerged into the sunlight outside the cave and breathed deep. Above her hung a clear blue sky, held up by the peaks of the northern mountains, themselves blanketed in trees and carved by snaking tributaries. The forest nearest her bristled with the songs of birds and buzzing of insects. The air was fresh with the scent of late summer leaves.

The familiar sound of shuffling hooves and clinking armor greeted her. Ahead, her royal guards, tied to her golden chariot, stood at attention, each of them clad in the bronze barding that was their uniform. Normally, only four ponies would tend to the task, but, given the nature of today's journey, her guards had insisted on including eight. The bars that connected on either side of her guards' bardings (which conveniently doubled as harnesses for the task) had been hastily extended with further rods riveted to the original form, somewhat detracting from the aesthetics of the vehicle. Celestia hardly minded; the contraption was ever a ceremonial one, as she could just as easily fly herself home with her own wings. Or teleport, for that matter, though that took considerable effort. Then again, if she was willing to spare herself the effort of magical transport, perhaps it was not so great a leap to spare herself the effort of beating her wings.

Despite their stiff postures and formation, the guards had not succeeded in completely hiding their nervousness, at least not from Celestia. Most of them managed to keep their eyes forward, their legs solid, and their breathing steady. But as she approached her seat, she caught one or two gazing back at the mouth of the cave, fighting the shakes in their knees, or inhaling just a little too deeply. She couldn't blame them.

In stark contrast to her faltering guards was the young pegasus already seated in the chariot, whom she noticed with a smile. A pale blue pony with a dark blue mane, Inkstain smiled back at her, already unrolling a scroll and a quill not unlike the ones her cutie mark depicted. Her relaxed posture and bright expression indicated she was happy but unsurprised to see her liege return. In typical fashion, Inkstain had trusted Celestia beyond any instinct; she had accepted Celestia's promise to return safely without a moment's doubt.

Celestia found Inkstain's faith in her both endearing and burdening; she cared deeply for her assistant, and therefore felt compelled to meet the fantastic, often naive expectations Inkstain placed upon her. It was for this reason that she had initially selected Inkstain to assist her, despite the plethora of scribes with more experience or education who offered their services. Not that Inkstain was unqualified, her performance proved that she was. Inkstain was a companion who questioned Celestia not to interrogate or protest but to inquire and learn.

"Welcome back," said Inkstain, beaming. "How was it?"

Celestia stopped to consider the question as she set hoof in the chariot. "It was . . . informative. The dragons are fascinating creatures."

Inkstain merely waited expectantly for the princess to continue. As soon as Celestia was seated, the guards took off, and the ground fell away beneath them.

"I've never seen so many dragons in one place before, at least not outside of their migrations. Dragons are usually solitary creatures, jealously guarding their hoards under mountains separated by many miles. But, given their long lifespans, perhaps seeing one another once a migration seems much more frequent to them than it does to us."

"So what did they want?" said Inkstain, raising her voice above the wind of flight.

Celestia recounted her visit and the demands placed upon her. Inkstain seemed fascinated by the longevity of dragons, and interrupted several times to ask if this or that really existed or happened before Celestia was born. In their time together, Celestia had indulged many of Inkstain's questions about her age, but the notion of a creature yet more ancient provoked a torrent of new questions. Celestia accommodated Inkstain with as much detail as she could on what the dragons looked like, how they sounded, and what she made of them.

At the mention of the dragon's demands, Inkstain went wide-eyed. "You're not going to do it, are you? Give up the Sun and Moon?"

"I will have to discuss it with the council," replied Celestia, with a sigh, "but I think they will agree . . . eventually . . . that I should not."

Inkstain snickered at Celestia's tone. Her council of advisors was notorious for its squabbles, and Inkstain had taken minutes at enough of their meetings to know Celestia's frustration. While Celestia could make unilateral decisions, she had always maintained the council as a demonstration of accountability and to track the pulse of Equestria. They would, no doubt, have many words and little to say on this matter and any other.

"But what if they didn't? Would you give it up? The sunrise, I mean?"

"I think . . ." Celestia began hesitantly. "No, I would not."

Inkstain's expression urged her to continue.

"Do you remember the story of my sister?"

Inkstain nodded. "You banished her to the Moon when she tried to take over Equestria."

"Yes," said Celestia mournfully, "and it has been nearly a thousand years since. I have spent much of this near-millennium grieving for the loss of my sister. Do you have family in Canterlot, Inkstain?"

"Yes," said Inkstain, thoughtfully, "I have family in lots of places."

"Since the day Luna tried to seize power, I have had no family in Equestria." Inkstain began to offer condolences, but Celestia cut her off. "But my sister is not gone forever. On the thousandth year of her exile, at the Summer Sun Festival, she will return."

"But won't she still . . ." Inkstain struggled for polite words. "Won't she still be . . ."

"'Nightmare Moon?'" said Celestia, sparing Inkstain the puzzle of tact. "Yes, I expect so. But I have had almost a thousand years to plan for her return. Don't worry; when the day comes, I will be sure that Equestria is ready."

Inkstain took a moment to ponder her words. "But why does that matter? I mean, why does it matter to the business with the dragons?"

"Because," said Celestia, gazing down at the passing landscape, "if I accept their deal and abandon my labors, I'll never perform the Summer Sun Festival again, and my sister will never return to me."

The two of them sat in silence for a long time, listening only to the howl of the passing air and the furious wingbeats of the guards ahead of them.

Said Inkstain, "I'm sure the council will agree to oppose the dragons."

Chapter III

"We have to surrender. We can't risk the threat to Equestria."

The words echoed through Canterlot Castle's circular conference room, bouncing off the marble columns and silver-framed mirrors, against tapestries embroidered with depictions of Equestria's history, and into the ears of dozens of ponies seated at the table which dominated the room, Celestia among them. After over an hour of discussion, the moods of those gathered were polarized between anger and boredom, with those in the former camp fighting to be heard and those in the latter struggling to listen. Celestia, charged with moderating the debate, managed to maintain her patience, but a part of her had found the dragons more pleasant company.

The speaker himself, Boutonniere, sat at the center of an entourage of other Canterlot gentry, each of them wearing some combination of fine silks, feathered hats, ruffled collars, and disdainful expression. Boutonniere himself, a white unicorn with neatly coiffed maroon mane, wore a three-piece suit, complete with a red necktie and a black jacket whose tails ended just past his cutie mark, a single red rose.

"Surrender? You're acting like they've already declared war," snapped Jet Stream, from the center of the Cloudsdale delegation. "We shouldn't be lying down just because the dragons want something we have. If they want something of ours, they'll have to fight for it. And we have to be ready to fight back. In a month's time, we can gather a force of ponies that no dragon would cross." Jet Stream, whose appearance alone might have offended Boutonniere and his ilk, went the extra distance with his harsh tone. With short-shorn black mane, grey wings and coat (interrupted only by a white cyclone on each flank), Jet Stream advertised his contempt for Canterlot's stuffed shirts every time he leaned back into his chair with crossed forelegs, exchanged dismissive glances with his fellow pegasi, or rolled his eyes as Boutonniere began to speak.

Boutonniere snorted, "You'll pardon me if I'm not willing to gamble the safety of Canterlot on the wings of your militia, but we simply have too much to lose. We must be willing to negotiate."

"'Negotiate?' The dragons are asking for Princess Celestia, leader of all Equestria, to give up her most important duty. That's not even appeasement; that's idiocy! Respectfully, your highness—"

Jet Stream nodded briefly at Celestia, still silent.

"—if you give them what they want, you'll become their puppet. They're testing us! They want to see how far we'll bend over backward to please them. And that's why we can't do it; it's a display of dominance. When the lion roars at you, you've got to roar back. If you turn tail and run, you'll just be dinner.

"Now, I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Equestria needs a standing aerial task force. With your permission—"

"Oh, enough with your pet project," Boutonniere shouted over him. "No force can guarantee the capital against a dragon threat. If Canterlot is attacked, we could lose thousands of years of Equestrian history in the blink of an eye. The libraries, artifacts, and culture here cannot be transported, and this is the first place the dragons would strike. That's to say nothing of the ponies that live here, though perhaps Jet Stream is unused to the idea of permanent residence, since he is accustomed to his hometown merely floating away when the need arises."

A new fury entered Jet Stream's eyes, and a clamor rose up from his company. "You pompous, overbred coward! How dare you—"

"That will be enough," interrupted Celestia, silencing one half of the room and waking the other. "I think we all understand your opinions on the issue at hand; we don't need your opinions of each other."

The feuding delegates exchanged curt glances, then bowed their heads in deference to Celestia.

Returning to a softer tone, Celestia continued, "I'd like to hear any other thoughts the council has, if there are any."

A slim earth pony volunteered, "I have a few, if I may." Rye Smile, the brown coated, grey maned mare, spoke in a subdued but clear monotone. Though her cutie marked matched the first half of her name, her face seldom matched the second, remaining blank through most of her speeches. "Our crops won't grow if we don't have night and day. If we abandon the cycle that the Princess provides us, most of them—our apples, our wheat, our oats—will die. Even if some of them do survive, there won't be enough to feed everypony. Neither Cloudsdale or Canterlot can survive without a food supply. Equestria's farmlands, from Ponyville to Salt Lick City, might survive, but its metropolises certainly won't."

A solemn mood quieted the room.

Boutonniere scowled, "That's a very colorful bit of fortune telling, but you're forgetting the disaster that would come from a dragon attack! I've commissioned research from the Canterlot libraries, and . . ."

He went on at length about the known interactions with dragons, until he was interrupted by one of Jet Stream's crew, at which point the debate decayed into a back and forth on threat assessment.

Celestia's eyes strayed from the speakers to a tapestry across the room from her. The broad, rectangular textile depicted Celestia banishing Luna—no, Nightmare Moon—and ushering in the daylight over Equestria. The castle was filled with similar artwork, all celebrating the imprisonment of her sister. As she recalled, this particular piece had been gifted to her some hundred years prior, to honor her commitment to her ponies. Every artist in Equestria seemed to think she wished to celebrate tragedy, that the worst thing she'd ever done to her sister was the best thing she'd ever done for Equestria.

The debate crawled onward at the suggestion of stockpiling food. Celestia's thoughts left it behind. She considered the life she'd be accepting if she obeyed the dragons' demands. She'd be giving up on her sister, probably forever. Equestria would not mourn Luna; they already celebrated her exile every Nightmare Night. And why wouldn't they? Nightmare Moon was one of the greatest threats to Equestria of her time, and her return would renew that threat. The Princess of Equestria should agree with her people's sentiments, however much Celestia did not.

To the kingdom, the loss of Luna would go unnoticed, anyway. The broken days and nights would almost certainly take priority of their concerns. The hours would lack definition without scheduled dawn and dusk. There would be no easy way to schedule the seasons, no Winter Wrap Up . . .

"We'd have to cancel the Summer Sun Festival," she said aloud. The words had left her without asking permission; a moment's inattention had been all they'd needed to get away. The council's bickering halted, and Celestia suddenly realized the volume with which she'd spoken.

"Yes, Your Highness," said Boutonniere, faltering. "But . . . surely the food supply in Canterlot does not depend on the festival?" Puzzled glances met her from all directions.

Celestia reasserted her hold on herself. "I have much to consider from our discussion today," she said, authoritatively. "We will reconvene at a later time. Thank you all for coming."

And, at her words, the meeting was closed. The diplomats filed out, paying their respects as the exited. Celestia remained for a moment to admire her sister's image, then followed her guard out.

Chapter IV

Inkstain met Celestia as she exited the room, ready with a saddle bag full of scrolls, all bearing the seal of Equestria's highest office and demanding her attention. Celestia wanted little more than to retire to her chambers until the dusk ritual, but the demands of royalty would have to take precedence.

Predictably, the first order of business Inkstain wanted to discuss was the outcome of the council meeting, which Celestia gently summarized as "unsettled." Inkstain offered her condolences, but Celestia stopped her.

"There is too much at stake for Equestria to make rash decisions," said Celestia. "However I feel about it, I need to do what's best for the kingdom."

The pair ambled through the broad, ornate hallways of the castle, preceded and followed by pairs of unicorn guards. They tread on white and purple checkered tile, etched with geometric designs so fine and precise that only a magnifying glass could reveal their true craftmanship. The plane of figures would have been invisible but for the way they iridesced under the light of the torches that lined the walls. Gold-framed archways began the paths out to smaller corridors, and between them tapestries hung nearly floor to altitudinous ceiling.

The castle's vastness made its occupants seem sparse, though in truth there were countless officials and staff buzzing by at any given moment. Diplomats and representatives trotted in and out of guest quarters and meetings; butlers and maids darted from room to room, sweeping or carrying plates of food, and guards marched from one end of the castle to another. The only commonality between them is that they all bowed to Celestia as they passed.

Celestia and Inkstain rounded a corner into the corridor leading to Celestia's chambers. There were many other doorways in this hallway, but only one bore a copy of Celestia's cutie mark. As usual, a pair of guards attended either side of the double doors; though, upon seeing Celestia, one of them had a most unusual reaction.

The white pegasus dropped his spear, startling both his comrade by the door and the four guards still escorting Celestia. The motion had been thoroughly deliberate; he expressed no shock or surprise at Celestia's arrival or at the loss of his weapon. Rather, he locked eyes with the princess and strode forward. The other guards looked to each other for an explanation but found none.

The stallion began to change. The effect was subtle, at first, an anomaly in his appearance that crept inward from the tips of his wings. A green aura encompassed them as they flattened and became sheer. Where they met his—its—body, the transformation spread, and its armor and white coat receded as new features replaced them. Blue-green plates appeared at its midsection, and elsewhere his skin took on a smooth, black sheen. The pony's body morphed and grew as large as Celestia while its mane and tail elongated and turned blue. A horn grew from the creature's head, large and slightly upward-curving. The face below morphed as well; its snout retreated, and its pupils contracted into tall ovals bordered by emerald green. Curved white fangs pushed out of its mouth.

The transformation completed. Before them stood a creature that could generously be called an insectoid approximation of an alicorn. But they all knew a better name for it.

"A changeling!" shouted a guard. In an instant, weapons were drawn and horns were readied. The guards scowled at the infiltrator. Inkstain gasped.

The creature locked eyes with Celestia, "Please, your highness, forgive my intrusion, but I must speak with you. My name is Cocoon, queen of the changelings, and I only wish to talk."

The guards, unmoved by the request, encircled her. She kept her eyes on Celestia. "Princess Celestia, I am formally requesting to begin diplomatic discussion with Equestria. Please hear me out!"

The words startled Celestia. A changeling queen, petitioning diplomacy? Unheard of. It was Equestrian law to kill changelings on sight. Her guard knew this, and even now they inched closer to their captive. She noticed Inkstain, shaking as the scene unfolded, then met Cocoon's eyes.

"Stop," she ordered.

The ranking guard began, "But, your majesty—"

"I know the law is clear about changelings," said Celestia, "but it is also clear about diplomats. I cannot reject a nation's request for negotiation . . . not when issued by its leadership."

The guards halted their advance but remained poised.

"We will take her to a cell in the lowest level. Clear the way ahead of any onlookers, so that we keep her out of sight. No one is to know of her presence but us. You are all excused from your other duties; your only priority is to secure her." She turned her attention to the changeling. "'Queen Cocoon,' if you really wish to speak with me, you will be silent until we arrive. Any action you take against my instructions will endanger your life."

Cocoon nodded, already silent.

At once, the guards executed her orders with rigid determination. Two of them galloped off to redirect castle traffic while the remaining three prodded Cocoon forward. Celestia did not know how effective they would be should their captive turn on them; she was not an easy threat to gauge. Changeling power varied with how recently they'd fed; the more victims they'd taken, the more potent their magic. Perhaps this one was cunning enough that she had revealed her disguise only after sating herself. Perhaps this was a masquerade borne out of hunger and desperation. Whatever the doppelganger's plans, Celestia trusted only her own magic to thwart them.

Inkstain followed beside her, her breath shallow and uneven. The pegasus shook with fear as she watched the changeling ahead of her. Glancing down at her, Celestia allowed herself to take her focus from Cocoon for an instant to lean down and whisper, "Don't worry; I won't let her hurt anypony." Unfortunately, from her persistently trembling gait, it seemed Inkstain did not seem to take any comfort in her words.

The convoy progressed through the castle's ornate halls, down a spiraling staircase, and deep into the snaking tunnels below the royal residence. No polish or luster survived at this depth, only claustrophobic stone corridors lined with cobwebs. The passages became coarser as they went on, no longer made of meticulously cut stone but of natural rock crudely chiseled into shape. Torches rested in alcoves carved into the walls, but not all of them were lit; as they walked on, they saw more and more of them that had surrendered to the consuming darkness.

At last, they passed through a doorway into a chamber containing a single cell of iron bars. Without invitation, Cocoon stepped inside, and the guards clinked the door shut behind her. One of them locked the door with a silver key. Celestia lowered her horn at the cell and concentrated; a swirl of magical energy spilled forth and clung to the bars. Like a wick does oil, the bars absorbed the energy until only an icy blue sheen remained on their surface.

"That spell," said Celestia, addressing Cocoon, "will prevent any magical tampering with this cell. Only I can remove the enchantment, and I will not do so if you try to circumvent it."

"I understand," said Cocoon. Her voice was calm and resigned, as if she were a servant performing her duty.

Celestia spoke now to Inkstain and the guards. "You may wait outside."

The guards assented and departed; Inkstain did as well, but far less automatically, as if her legs resisted every stride. The door closed behind her, and the two monarchs were alone.

Celestia let the silence echo. When Cocoon did not speak first, she took the initiative. "Are there more of you in the castle?"

Cocoon's face remained blank. "Yes."

"Where?"

"For their safety, I don't know the exact locations of all of my fellow changelings, but I do know there are many of us in Canterlot. It's the only city in the area large enough for them to blend in; villages and hamlets have too few ponies for them to live unnoticed. It's likely that at least some of them have assumed identities working here. I would guess they are posing as servants or guards; it's difficult to impersonate officials and emissaries. Too much scrutiny, too little privacy."

Celestia had not expected such bluntness, but her distrust held fast. "What are your plans? What orders have you given them?"

Cocoon folded her legs under her and sat on the rocky floor. Her head tilted to the side at Celestia's question. "Plans? Orders? We're not a military force, Princess."

Celestia countered, "You've invaded Equestria's capital."

"We've taken refuge in Equestria's capital," corrected Cocoon, as if she were pointing out a grammatical mistake.

Celestia pounded a hoof into the ground. "Refugees don't impersonate royal guards."

Cocoon studied Celestia, scanning her face as if she were trying to find a breadcrumb on a sandy beach. "I asked to speak to you because my kin and I seek a place to live."

The princess collected herself. Cocoon's passivity had resisted all accusations and threats. A more polite line of questions might be wiser, at least for now. "If the changelings have no lands, then how are you their queen?"

"The title is more biological than political. But if it makes the contradiction more interesting for you, if my people ever do acquire a homeland, I'll call it an empire rather than a queendom. You don't call Equestria a 'princessdom,' do you?" Cocoon's sarcasm was slight, her voice more whimsical than scarring.

"Why are you here?"

This was the question Cocoon had been waiting for. She rose to her hooves and approached the bars, giving Celestia as clear a view of her face as the dim cell would allow.

"I want my kin to finally have a home. I humbly request that Equestria allow changelings to live peacefully and openly within its borders, free of the burdens of disguise and mistrust."

"Impossible. Changelings feed on the love of ponies, rot our culture from the inside out."

"I'm not asking permission for the changelings to live in Equestrian lands. We already do. Yet your ponies are not loveless, and your culture had not rotted. Whatever your preconceptions of us, the only crime we're guilty of is a struggle to survive. Changelings are condemned for borrowing the faces of others, but when they show their own, they're put to death."

Celestia drew a deep breath and returned Cocoon's glare. "Changelings specialize in deceit, especially of ponies. Your physiology and magic revolves around impersonating and tricking ponies. Only minutes ago, you used that very same trickery to bypass my guards. You admit to the existence of forces throughout Canterlot. And now you ask for, what—"

"Citizenship," offered Cocoon.

"—permission to settle Equestrian lands. That would be a tremendous risk for Equestria, with stakes as high as the survival of ponies everywhere, and odds dictated entirely by your trustworthiness."

"I know the burden of protecting one's kin," said Cocoon, "and it is all that concerns me." Celestia let the moment linger, inspecting her words for their weight.

"I'm sorry," lied Celestia. "but, even if I decide to trust you, I can't grant your request myself. I will discuss our exchange with the council and return when we have reached a decision."

Disappointment turned Cocoon's face away from Celestia's. She ambled back to the far side of her cell and lay down. "Very well, Princess. I will wait."

Chapter V

A still-shaking Inkstain rejoined Celestia on her way out of the castle depths. The guards returned to their posts in Cocoon's chamber, and Celestia and Inkstain quietly made their way to Celestia's private chambers.

These chambers, numerous and large enough for a family or two, had much the same aesthetics as the rest of the castle, save for a few notable details. The ceilings did not hang so absurdly high as in the rest of the castle. The furniture was ever-so-slightly larger than in the rest of the castle, to accommodate an alicorn's size (making for a slightly comical effect when Inkstain, slightly undersized, sat on one of the many couches). Most importantly, the walls were devoid of any retelling in cloth, paint, or sculpture, of the loss of her sister.

Inkstain broke the silence as soon as the door closed behind them. "What happened? What did you talk about?"

Celestia recounted their conversation as she sat on her bed, luxuriating in of her brief moments of respite. She placed particular emphasis on the spell she had cast to secure their guest.

"So what are you going to do?" asked Inkstain.

"For now, nothing," sighed Celestia.

"But you'll discuss it with the council next time they meet, right?"

"I'm not sure."

"Why not?"

"Because the council, and even more so, the ponies they represent, may not be in a good position to hear about Cocoon. Beyond that, they may not need to." The words were difficult to extract, but necessary, like pulling out splinters. "Equestria's leaders are already in an uproar over the threat of war with the dragons, divided over whether to surrender, fight, or negotiate. The addition of an internal, hidden threat like a possible Changeling invasion . . . it would cause a mass panic, mistrust, stallion-hunts for an invisible enemy."

"But we don't know they're our enemies," offered Inkstain. "What if Cocoon is telling the truth?"

"What if she's not? And even if she is, even if I believed her every word, we'll have a tough time convincing anypony to calm down about it. Rumor spreads more quickly than fact; even if I personally declared changelings the allies of Equestria, it wouldn't be long before somepony claimed that I'd been impersonated by one of them.

"All of that comes before we even consider what we do know about changelings: they feed on the love of others. And in the midst of crisis, love between ponies is one thing we can't afford to lose."

Inkstain swallowed her disappointment in the behaviour of ponies. "What will you do with Cocoon, then?"

"She'll remain in her cell. If she's lying, those bars will protect Equestria from her; if she's not, they'll protect her from Equestria. Until the dragon question is answered, it's the best place for her to be."

The finality of her words invited no reply. Inkstain had calmed since Cocoon's arrival and interrogation, but her somber expression weighed on Celestia's heart. Inkstain's precociousness and disarming affection had made it easy for Celestia to forget how young she was; yet, her present sadness reminded Celestia that youth should not be burdened with the hard decisions of rule, even if she was a confidant of the princess.

Celestia rose from her bed and walked over to Inkstain, then nuzzled her. It was a consolation, an apology, and a thanks in as few words as Celestia could muster. Inkstain reciprocated warmly.

"I think the rest of the day's business can wait until tomorrow, given the circumstances. Rest, my little pony. I'll see you in the morning." Inkstain nodded appreciatively, tears in her eyes, and departed.

The room became very empty, all of a sudden. The loudest sound was Celestia's thoughts, which turned now to the dusk ritual. Celestia trudged to her private balcony on heavy hooves.

While Canterlot bustled below her, the Sun simmered overhead, ready to be relieved. She reared up, outstretched her wings, and concentrated. Her hooves left the ground, not from the motion of her wings but from the magic radiating from her horn. She beckoned the Sun to sleep, and, as it recognized her will, it sank in the sky, beneath the mountaintops and out of sight. As its last rays blinked away, the stars awoke, freckles of light looking down at her kingdom from every angle.

She pulled on a yet unseen actress. The Moon accepted her invitation, peeked out from behind the Earth, and climbed higher until it occupied the Sun's former pedestal. The grey circle bore signs of its great age, its face pock-marked and rough. Craters disturbed its once smooth terrain. And somewhere, alone on its vast and distant surface, her sister awaited her return.

Her task complete, Celestia descended to her balcony. Her eyes lingered on the Moon.

"Luna," she said aloud, "I missed you a lot today." The authority and wisdom that colored her public voice were gone; the voice she used now was fragile and soft. A sister's voice.

She spoke to her sister about the dragons, about the council, about Cocoon, even the minutae of the castle's daily affairs. When she ran out of things to say, she returned to an earlier topic and stretched its details further. The spaces in conversation that her sister would have occupied Celestia filled with words, as if she was interrupting Luna, preventing her from getting a word in edgewise.

"I know it's been a while," she said, after she had retold her day in as many ways as she could, "but if the dragons get their way, this could be one of the last conversations we have for a long time."

When Luna did not answer, Celestia lay down on the marble outcropping.

"I know I have another big day tomorrow, but I'd really prefer to stay up with you tonight. I know how you always wanted more ponies to appreciate the night."

Celestia remained, staring upward. She knew, with a part of her heart that would admit no questions, that Luna was doing the same.

Chapter VI

"While I appreciate your contributions, Boutonniere," interrupted the Princess, "I have made my decision. Equestria cannot surrender the night and day. They are essential to our way of life."

A clopping of hooves from some of those present indicated their approval. Boutonniere's face turned almost as red as his mane as he stifled his anger. Jet Stream noticed this and guffawed, clopping his hooves even harder in celebration.

"Boutonniere, I must also inform you that I will not approve your request for a standing army; Equestria is not a nation of war."

His jovial manner ceased, suddenly, and the corners of Jet Stream's mouth upturned an infinitesimal degree.

"I will send our reply immediately following this meeting. Is there any other business on the agenda?"

None was offered. All present dispersed, first from their seats, then from the castle, and eventually from Canterlot.

Equestria received its leaders anxiously. Word had spread of the dragons looming in the northern caves. Few who repeated these words knew their exact number or size; none knew their intentions. Uncertainty prompted speculation. Speculation prompted rumor. Rumor haunted the minds of ponies across Equestria.

The mayor of Baltimare had published an official, if useless, plan of action in case of dragon attack. Trottingham's night watchmen had jumped at unfamiliar shadows. In Fillydelphia, unscrupulous vendors had begun selling charms made of milkweed they claimed repelled dragons. Parents in Appleloosa tended to crying fillies and foals whose nightmares of scales and flame had awoken them, then returned to their beds for nightmares of their own. Cloudsdale implemented a general curfew on its youth, who complained in only the most cursory fashion.

And, today, their leaders returned to tell them that the dragons would not get their way, at least not yet.

For the first several days, the tension prompted myriad responses. There was a rush on shops and markets as ponies stockpiled apples and bread. Some well-to-do families in Canterlot decided to take unscheduled vacations to griffon lands. Tavern patrons in Las Pegasus maxed out their tabs on mugs of cider while complaining that Celestia made the wrong decision, but, when questioned, couldn't say what the right one would have been.

But the Sun and Moon continued to rise and set. The days accumulated into weeks without a single incident of fire raining down from the sky. Ponies discovered they might be around long enough to still need steady income. Merchants re-opened their shops and refilled their shelves. More recent and more interesting distractions appeared in the newspapers, and readers let their attention drift. They began to feel silly for their earlier panic; hadn't they learned by now not to believe everything they read in the papers?

At home, families gorged themselves to keep their overstock from rotting. Public trash cans in Fillydelphia began to fill with milkweed. Canterlot's upper crust slowly filtered back to its hometown. A pair of Las Pegasus tavern patrons momentarily ran out of stories to exchange and fell silent, until at last one of them remembered one: "A unicorn, a pegasus, and an earth pony walk into a barn . . ."

Chapter VII

Fucang lifted his head at the sound of an approaching fellow. He had not truly been asleep; he had awoken some time earlier in anticipation of the end of his turn with the egg.

He shifted his considerable weight off of his unhatched spawn as he rose to his feet. Purple and spotted, the egg was miniscule by dragon standards, not even as large as a pony. That any dragon, much less the future sovereign, could emerge from so small an object baffled even Fucang. Even his long memory could not recall emerging from his own egg, though he knew that he had. It was fortunate, he mused, that childhood comprised such a small fraction of a dragon's lifetime. Such fragility did not suit his kind.

Any lesser creature would have described the nest chamber as pitch black, but an elder wyrm's keen eyes could spot the faintest glow tumbling in from the shallower tunnels. The room was only a little wider than the two tunnels that led in and out of it, ideal for retaining the warmth needed for young. Fucang and his child rested atop a modest hoard; precious metals and gems of every color carpeted the rocky floor. Both parents had contributed from their personal stashes so that the heir's first meal would fit its title.

The rumble of footsteps grew louder, thundered from somewhere just around the bend. There were only two acceptable reasons someone would dare approach this room, thought Fucang. Either it was Zhuyin, here to incubate the egg, or it was Zhuyin, here with news of the ponies. Any other creature, for any other reason, and he would rip them to shreds.

A shadow parted the light and grew as its own approached. To Fucang's disappointment, Zhuyin emerged, grinning broadly.

She hissed long and growled deep, then followed these with guttural sounds that only the most venerable dragons would recognize. Fucang, however, recognized the elder tongue easily, at it had been handed down to him with the rest of the legacy of the egg twins.

The deadline has passed, she informed him, and the ponies still defy us. It is time I taught Celestia a lesson.

She turned to leave, but Fucang roared in protest. No, it is time for you to guard our child. I will go. I am sure you would not want to forfeit your place in our young's life.

A hostile moment passed before Zhuyin assented and took her place in the nest.

Fucang stomped up the tunnel, ascending into the light. He passed through the maze of twisting passages, steadily ascending toward the surface. When he came to the communal chambers, he gave only a brief acknowledgement to his fellow dragons as they bowed their heads in respect.

As he emerged into the open, he stretched his wings and rolled his neck back. His pupils narrowed in the daylight, and his nostrils flared at the aroma of mountain air. With a few great wingbeats, he pummeled the area below him with gale-force winds and took to the sky.

It was not long to his destination. Just south of the mountains, past dense forest and open fields, a pony village festered in the last of the sunlight. Few of the hoofed vermin stood in the open at this hour; most had hidden themselves away in their feeble wooden structures. He circled back for a moment, just far enough away to be indistinguishable.

The Sun fell to the horizon and vanished, and the Moon rose to take its place. Celestia was busy. It was time he was, too.

He banked toward the village and descended, building up momentum like a mountain falling from the sky. With a twitch of his patagium, he veered toward the largest building below. As he neared his target, he pulled his hindlegs forward and extended his claws.

The ponies of Salt Lick City still out and about glanced up at a strange shadow growing in the sky.

As the fire swelled in his belly, Fucang recalled that he had planned to leave as many survivors as possible, so that Celestia could hear their stories. "Possible," he mused, was a very flexible word.

The ground shook under Salt Lick City, and the boom of splintering wood drowned out screams.

Chapter VIII

There were six of them, haggard and trembling, standing in the council chamber: three earth ponies, a unicorn, and two pegasus fillies.

They had arrived only minutes ago, in a flying carriage guarded by a royal convoy. As soon as word had reached the capital, Celestia had ordered the survivors of the Salt Lick City Massacre brought before the council to tell their stories.

The council, too, had raced to its chamber, somber and dutiful. The loss of an entire village, however remote, wounded all of Equestria. The guards had lowered the standards to half mast, then doubled their guards on all dignitaries and restricted areas. In the streets, the markets had closed, much to the protests of stockpiling citizens. Schools across the kingdom had gone on unscheduled holiday, and townships held vigils for the victims.

Equestria had been violently woken from its dream.

Citizens looked to Canterlot, keystone of Equestria, for support. Equestria looked to the council for leadership. And the council looked to the survivors for information.

"Ponies of Salt Lick City," began Princess Celestia. The survivors began to kneel, but Celestia would not have it. "You owe me no gestures or tributes. I am indebted to you. I have failed you. As your sovereign, my first duty is to your welfare. The citizens of Salt Lick City have shown only unwavering loyalty, and I have repaid them with negligence that cost them their lives." Celestia knelt to her guests, who stood uncomfortably as the rest of those present did the same. She rose after a moment of silence, and continued, "I cannot ask you to pardon my failure, but I swear I will do everything in my power to prevent such tragedy from happening again."

Some of the other leaders throughout the room shouted their agreement, though most retained a stony silence. The Salt Lick City ponies huddled together, the fillies crowding beside the unicorn while the earth ponies gave appreciative nods.

Celestia ordered that the survivors be given room, board, and whatever else they desired for the duration of their stay. She knew that her orders would disappoint some of the less tactful council members, eager to interview the survivors for details of the attack, but she could force no further trials on them. As soon as the survivors had left, the council members reclaimed their seats, and Celestia opened the floor to discussion.

Jet Stream jumped at the chance to speak. "It would dishonor the lost if we didn't learn something from their sacrifice. I don't know about you all, but I've learned this: we need military force. The dragons did this to show us they mean business. We need to strike back and show them we mean the same!" His posturing provoked a chorus of shouts, both of approval and dissent. "We know where to find them. We know who their leaders are. What more could we ask for in planning an assault?"

"We also know what they want," yelled Boutonniere above the crowd, "so why not give it to them? All an assault will accomplish is the deaths of more ponies. I don't doubt the valiance of Equestria's fighting ponies, but consider that a single dragon leveled an entire town in minutes. As a warning! It's not a war we can win!"

"They were civilians!" shouted a pegasus in Jet Stream's entourage. "They were taken by surprise," offered another. "Let's do the same to the lizards!"

"If we surrender, we will likely starve," announced Rye Smile, coolly, "and if we fight, we will likely die doing so. Our choice, then, is between the risk of dying slowly and the risk of dying quickly. We have never before waged war on the dragons nor lived without the dawn and dusk rituals; we have no way to judge one against the other. None of us except perhaps the Princess, herself." She turned her attention to Princess Celestia, and others followed.

"Equestria is not an empire. We have never waged war on our neighbors simply because we didn't get our way. My first goal as representative of Equestria is to ensure peace in our lands with words, not with swords.

"But, as I have said, I failed today. And I must fail again, because there is nothing the dragons want that we can give them. And when they next come to take it, we will have no peaceful option.

"Jet Stream. I hereby authorize your initiative for a standing airborne military task force. Project Wonderbolts can begin immediately under your supervision.

"Boutonniere. Equestria will need to raise capitol as quickly as possible for the defense of its borders. I want you to organize the sale of royal bonds. We will discuss the details at a later time.

"Rye Smile. Canterlot's hinterland is vast, and we will need all of it to feed our troops. I'm charging you with the organization of the supply trains for our military efforts. You may consult with Jet Stream for details.

"No offensive action is to be taken until I give the word. For now, no pony leaves Equestrian lands. We are reinforcing; we are defending. May this be the last war we ever wage."

The declaration of war extended its influence into every segment of society. Miners in Galloping Gorge worked long into the night to meet their climbing ore quotas. They piled the rocks they tore from the earth high in train cars, now guarded by royal decree. They passed joined heaps of grain and carrots en route to the cities, where public stockpiles gave quarter to the foodstuffs and Equestria's foundries smelted and forged the ore under heat and hammer. Smithies shaped much of it into armor and weapons, but a great deal, too, became railroad spikes, plows, axles, nails, shovels, and all manner of other goods in renewed demand. Equestria gorged itself on industry, the only plausible hope against the size, strength, and fire of dragons.

Enlistment offices spread like scattered seeds, and in every city they grew long lines of able-bodied ponies. Stallions and mares of every shape and shade volunteered, committed to the notion that, when next the dragons came, they would be ready. The Salt Lick City Massacre could not happen again.

The Wonderbolt project received all the priority Jet Stream could have wanted, and, to his credit, the nascent academy produced some of the fastest, most courageous flyers Equestria had ever seen. That the first graduates had appeared in only a few weeks led many to suspect that the project had begun somewhat before it was authorized, but, under the shadow of wartime, no pony complained. For their first mission, the Wonderbolts were tasked with ongoing reconnaissance; they flew in shifts over the northern mountains at high altitudes, watching and waiting.

Deep underground, Zhuyin grinned with anticipation.

Chapter IX

Inkstain heaped another saddlebag's worth of scrolls onto the pile. There were easily thousands of them coming in each day, delivered from every settlement in Equestria. Progress reports on defense preparations, requests for royal aid, military deployments, resource estimates, and letters from concerned subjects littered the floor beside Celestia's throne. Inkstain redirected the bulk of them to the relevant administrative departments, but she could not legally open any missive bound with the royal seal outside of the princess's presence. There were, unfortunately, few limits on who could employ such a seal or for what, so Celestia herself had to look on as Inkstain picked through them.

"The mayor of Dodge Junction has enclosed several letters from concerned citizens. The first of them concerns . . ." Inkstain trailed off as she skimmed the lengthy scrawls. ". . . the rising price of apples, the difficulty of conducting a winter-wrap up should the war persist until then, and the concern that this pony's neighbor may be working for the dragons."

Celestia looked up from her own reading long enough to say, "Assure them that we will consider their concerns as we plan future defensive measures." Inkstain filed the letter into the largest of several sorted bins, where one of the court's many scribes plucked it up to begin drafting a reply.

The throne room's normally regal atmosphere had faded with the wartime directives. Though the room was still colossal, it was filled with not only letters but with ponies, all but bumping into one another as they set about their many tasks. Rows of scribes scratched away with ink and quill at form letters on the Princess's behalf, at copying and summarizing incoming reports. Pages hustled in and out, sending completed letters off and bringing unopened ones in. Guards, in greater numbers than they'd ever been, patrolled the room and checked any incoming papers or packages before they could be brought to the Princess's presence, and, in the process, created a tiresome bottleneck for the pages. Alongside the growing line of messengers was a constant stream of servants who refilled empty inkwells, swept up papers blotched with discarded first drafts, and fussed over the occasional blot on the royal carpets.

Celestia herself read at a meticulous pace; any letter that reached her demanded careful study, confidentiality, or both. Fortunately, there were relatively few of these, and she presently had finished the last of them.

The mountain of incoming dispatches stood high, despite all diligence. "I'm sorry, Inkstain, but I don't think we'll be done for quite some time. Perhaps another hour here before we continue with the day's agenda."

Inkstain rolled up the scroll in her hooves and replied, "We don't have the time to spare, actually. You're overdue to speak with . . . our guest."

Celestia's stomach shivered inside her. A part of her had hoped that the priorities of war would override her obligations to Cocoon, but a sterner, more dutiful part injected guilt into her veins. She owed Cocoon her company. However unpleasant the conversation would be, it must be had.

"Remain here, and see to what correspondence you can. I'll go to see our guest alone."

Inkstain started at the suggestion. "It's my responsibility to aid you in all things! I should go with you," she exclaimed in a nervous whisper.

"I'll be perfectly fine by myself. There's no need to repeat the trauma of your last experience with her," Celestia whispered back.

But Inkstain was unmollified. "I'll be fine, really! Please, I don't want you to go alone. I'll worry more if I'm not there."

"But I will worry more if you are. And we have plenty of work to keep you busy," said Celestia, returning to a normal volume as she gestured at the endless parchments beside them. "I promise I'll be back soon."

As she rose from her throne, the clamor of paper and quill halted. All present bowed as their monarch exited, save for the two guards assigned to her person, who escorted her out.

Cocoon lay in the far corner of her cell, blanketed in shadow. As Celestia entered and dismissed the guards, Cocoon staggered to her feet and approached the bars. "Princess Celestia! I thought I might see you today."

Cocoon's appearance did not support her attempt at cheerfulness. She sauntered toward Celestia on legs unsteady from idleness. Her mane was unkempt, her tail ragged, and her chitin dull. Most noticeable of all, holes pocked her body from head to hoof, as if somepony had drilled straight through her in places. Grotesque openings as wide as apples pierced her legs, wings, and even horn. Ghastly though her appearance was, Cocoon herself paid them little attention until she saw Celestia's eyes.

"I apologize for my appearance," she sighed with unsubtle irony, "but the food you've provided me doesn't quite nourish. I guess your prison chef doesn't put love into his cooking." She cackled as she motioned to a bucket of stale oats.

"Your condition is unfortunate," said Celestia, "but ethical concerns prevent me from supplying you with your normal diet."

Cocoon rolled her eyes. "Of course they do. I just know you discussed the matter extensively with each and every member of your council, and you've just come running down here to apologize for the food service."

"The council—"

"Knows nothing of me, I'm sure. You don't trust them to not trust me. I'm a well-kept secret."

After their last conversation, Celestia had expected a more polite exchange. Then again, she wasn't sure how polite she herself would be after prolonged captivity and starvation. She began anew, "The council is busy with other, urgent matters."

Cocoon leaned forward, and the smile vanished from her face. "The war with the dragons."

"Yes."

"You're planning to fight them; you shouldn't. Let me help you."

Celestia puzzled over this apparent attempt at humor. "I didn't think changelings were gifted dragonslayers. What could you do that Equestria can't?"

Cocoon scoffed. "Plenty. Though not from behind these bars. I'd take care of the problem alone, but I'm not exactly in peak form these days." She held up a foreleg and eyed Celestia through a hole in her hoof. "Anyway, I'd have you along. I assume you'd want to supervise."

"Supervise what?"

"A mission to save Equestria." Cocoon wore a smug grin. Her face advertised that, whatever her plans were, she wouldn't be divulging them from this side of the bars.

"Why would you help me?"

"The dragons are as much a threat to us as they are to you. My kin wish to join Equestria, remember?"

Celestia decided to be frank. "I don't trust that you do."

"Why not?"

Celestia's next words bore all the weight of an executioner's axe. "Because you feed on love."

"Doesn't everypony?" asked Cocoon, dismissively.

"Ponies do not impersonate one another to feed off of the affections of loved ones."

Cocoon smoldered behind the bars. "If Changelings were not killed on sight in your lands, perhaps they wouldn't either. And what is a changeling really 'stealing' by entering Canterlot with the face of a pony from Appleloosa?"

"An identity. A name and reputation."

"Not if no one recognizes the borrowed face. We make own our identities. Our appearances are ancillary."

"Even if that were true, your presence weakens all unfortunate enough to love your borrowed forms. You're parasites of the most important emotion that ponies can share."

Celestia's words brought out a genuine anger in Cocoon. "What are you saying, then?" she shouted. "That we're morally obligated not to exist? That we should all drown ourselves for your convenience? We didn't choose our natures. Should we die for them?"

Her voice rang against the stone walls. Celestia waited for the last echo to subside.

"Perhaps," she muttered. She regretted the word immediately; it connoted less compassion than she would have liked. Internally, she strived to justify what she was about to say, but no line of reasoning could convincingly cover her dissonance. "I have to leave you here. Equestria will never accept changelings while the dragons persist."

Cocoon sunk to the floor. She said, in a low voice, "I didn't come here to vilify you. I came here to save my sons and daughters, to lead them home. Everything I knew of you gave me hope that you could see reason. That you could see our suffering. But you won't even accept my help, much less our worth."

Celestia didn't answer as she left the room.

Chapter X

Fell Swoop flapped his wings leisurely over the northern mountains. His low altitude presented him with a scenic view of the countryside, and the angular summits provided gentle updrafts as he passed them. If he had not known he was Equestria's first line of defense, he'd have thought he was on vacation.

His training had been intensive. He'd competed in races by wing and by hoof, executed complicated maneuvers in formation, and memorized military protocol to the point of instinct. He'd passed fitness exams, psychological analyses, and background checks. He'd earned his flightsuit and goggles through grueling workouts and by outcompeting hundreds of other applicants. By comparison, his peaceful flyover mission seemed almost a waste of preparation.

Unless, of course, he spotted a dragon. But, he mused, the chances were no larger than his one out of the six other pegasi assigned to this patrol. In the meantime, he had an almost relaxing job. He wondered if his attitude had been predicted by his psychological profile. Maybe they needed calm ponies in the service.

While he admired his own mental merits, Fell Swoop did a half barrel roll over the next updraft and stared upward. He wrapped himself up in solitude and felt a moment's pity for the ponies who had to spend their days working for food rations, while he and his comrades received mess hall meals optimized for fitness training by Cloudsdale nutritionists. He wondered what his mother had made for dinner back home.

Intense pain interrupted his whimsy. A column of flame erupted to his right, engulfing the tip of his wing. He smelled burning feathers.

Before his mind had given the order, his wings had retracted and turned him over, and Fell Swoop found himself in near-freefall, gaining speed toward the source of the inferno. A few hundred feet below him, a colossus covered in green scales and hovering on house-sized wings grinned up at him. It opened its maw, and another bolt of flame erupted toward him.

Fell Swoop's wings flexed, and his vertical descent suddenly veered horizontally. He felt fire lick at his tail, and he beat his wings furiously to put the flames farther behind him. But, instead of shooting forth like a comet, he banked right and lost altitude. He glanced at his wing; the plumage had burnt away at its farthest point, exposing seared flesh beneath. The image caused the pain to catch up with him, and he tore his eyes away to avoid shock.

A deafening roar overtook him and echoed off the mountaintops, rocking the air like an earthquake rocks the ground. Fell Swoop clenched his teeth and flapped harder. His burnt wing screamed in protest, but he steeled himself and brought in his good wing to compensate for his asymmetry. He couldn't make his top speed this way, but at least he could fly straight.

But where to go? He might be able to lose the dragon with some fancy maneuvers; any creature that massive couldn't pull a one-eighty as fast as he could. Then again, his bad wing might lose him the edge, and he didn't know that doubling back wouldn't run him into another dragon. He could try landing in the forest and taking cover; on hoof, his wing wouldn't give him any trouble. Then again, a single breath from his pursuer could reduce the forest and anypony in it to cinders.

He would have to complete the mission he'd been assigned. If he could make it to the nearest defense outpost, he could not only alert Equestria's military but take cover behind them. That meant a direct line on his current southward heading, with only his speed to save him.

Another blaze shot past him, narrowly missing his flank. He craned his head back and saw the dragon fly straight through its own wall of flame, its eyes focused directly on him.

Fell Swoop flapped harder. He straightened his forelegs in front of his face, streamlining his body. As he picked up speed, the whoosh of passing air drowned out all sounds but the hammering of his heart and the crackle of flame behind him. He glanced backward sporadically, trying to predict the dragon's next breath and dodging out of its wake. Adrenaline alerted every muscle in his body, and he managed to weave away from the brunt of the attacks. His reflexes did not always steer him clear, however, and several times he cried out as the fire charred an errant leg or flank. Despite the agony, or perhaps because of it, his wings continued pulling him forward at breakneck speed.

The highest mountains fell away beneath him, replaced by smaller and smaller ripples in the earth until at last he was over open plains. In the distance, he could just make out a dot on the landscape that he knew to be the first of many outposts. He pulled his wings in closer and traded altitude for speed, hurtling down toward friendly forces with the help of gravity's firm hands.

The dragon followed, but its girth caught more wind resistance than Fell Swoop's battered body ever could. Fell Swoop put precious inches between them, then feet, until an entire train length separated them. Ahead, the outpost grew details; he could just make out the square wall surrounding the camp and the watch towers at its corners. If he could reach any of them only a few seconds before the wyrm behind him, he might give them a chance to prepare.

His wing throbbed, and his vision blurred from pain. He had pushed his body to its limits, and his last reserves of energy left him through his open wounds. Images and sounds crept into his mind as his sight failed. His drill sergeant's whistle. His neighborhood in Cloudsdale . The barrettes in his little sister's hair. His mother's apple pie.

Turbulence shook him back to the present. He felt himself slipping into a tumble, and his wings shot out to catch him. The nearest watchtower was only a hundred feet away at most; a pair of guards stood idly atop it. He drew breath to yell, but his voice vanished into the headwind.

He needed to land. He bade his wings to slow him down, but they mustered all the stiffness of jelly. He'd made it to the outpost; they'd know what to do. The world was dim, and he needed rest. He closed his eyes.

A pegasus slammed into the north tower of outpost seven. The alarm was raised only seconds before a dragon did the same.

Chapter XI

The council listened in silence as Rye Smile read a litany of readiness reports from towns across the kingdom. Not a single pony objected to the tedium nor interrupted it; since Celestia's declaration, council meetings had taken on an entirely new tone. Celestia had given them all a direct hoof in the protection of the kingdom against an existential threat and allowed no pony to detract from the efficiency of their exchanges by bickering over speaking rights or ulterior motives.

"In summary, our supply trains have prioritized populations centers and areas nearest the enemy. We are marginally ahead of the demand stemming from new enlistments." Rye Smile bowed her head, then sat down.

"Thank you, Rye Smile," answered Celestia. "I now open the floor to—"

The castle floor shook beneath their feet. A distant rumble sounded. Several members of the council got to their hooves.

The door flew open, and a pair of guards galloped into the room. The first bowed his head low to the council and began an apology, but the second cut him off, "Your Highness, we must get all of you to safety. A dragon is attacking Canterlot!"

As if emphasizing his words, the ground shook again. The council members exchanged looks of disbelief. Faint screams crept in at the edge of audibility.

"All of you should take refuge in the undertunnels," barked Jet Stream. "I will remain above ground to coordinate city forces. Princess, as our highest priority, your safety is paramount." He addressed the recently arrived guards as well as those stationed inside the chamber. "Take the Princess and the other council members to safety."

"No," overruled Celestia, "take only the council. The city will need my help." When several present objected, Celestia raised her voice, "Guards, I order you to escort the council to the catacombs. Jet Stream, you may remain if you wish, but you will not tell any pony to engage the dragon. Do you understand?"

Jet Stream bit his lip, then stood at attention and saluted. Celestia acknowledged his acquiescence with a nod, and he gave hushed orders to his fellows, who began leading the way to the tunnels.

As the delegates filed out, they gave Celestia abbreviated bows, all of them dumbstruck by her decision (even Rye Smile seemed puzzled). Celestia had to remind herself that most of Equestria was too young to remember her last experience with mortal danger as more than legend. They had never seen their princess fly into harm's way, veteran though she was.

Then again, even in her more adventuresome days, she had not usually faced danger alone.

Her horn sparkled with power, and space bent about her. In an instant, she was no longer watching concerned faces shuffle out of a castle chamber but standing atop a castle parapet, looking outward.

Canterlot was burning. Fires raged in every neighborhood, and screams and smoke floated up from above them. Whole blocks had been leveled, and rubble blocked the streets. From her vantage point, the castle appeared strangely unharmed.

Pandemonium plagued the streets. The city's first responders hurried from street to street, loading injured ponies into stretchers and herding the rest out of damaged areas. Fillies cried out for their parents and parents for their young. A crowd was gathering at the castle gates, pushing for entry.

Above it all, two enormous, leathery wings sailed over the carnage, ferrying the monster that had wrought it. Celestia recognized Zhuyin, gliding low and pouring down flames, then ascending with a few great wingbeats. At the zenith of her flightpath, Zhuyin's silhouette eclipsed the sun, casting a draconian shadow over Celestia. Her serpentine body jackknifed, and she sped downward at the crowd of ponies at the castle gates.

Celestia leapt from her marble perch and raced to beat her there. A shriek welled up as somepony noticed their death fast approaching, and the throng of ponies began to scatter. Unfortunately for those closest to the gates, the crowd's periphery blocked them from fleeing until it had dispersed. Zhuyin fell faster and faster, and the cries below grew shriller with desperation. Dozens of ponies cowered, trapped by their neighbors as Zhuyin arrived.

But the end did not come. Zhuyin's descent halted on impact with a translucent purple barrier. The magical force field had caught her a hundred feet in the air and struggled to resist her momentum until, only a few feet above ground, it and Zhuyin stopped. Just below, Celestia levitated as she projected the barrier between her subjects and their attacker.

Most of the crowd took this opportunity to flee. A handful, however, either due to injury or awe, remained, staring upward at their sovereign.

A deep cackle erupted from Zhuyin's belly. "Princess Celestia! You are at home. And here I thought you'd gone missing." As she said this, she slammed her tail down on the barrier for emphasis. Each impact sent a wave of pain through Celestia; she felt as though every joint in her body was being hyperextended.

"Leave my kingdom in peace!" shouted Celestia, as if yelling could conceal her strain. Beside her, her subjects watched the barrier move slowly closer to them under Zhuyin's casual assault.

Zhuyin drew her claws against the barrier, resounding with a dull shriek. She examined her claws afterward, then began again. "This is how you try to save your subjects," she hissed, "when you know there is a better way!"

Celestia could spare no effort to speak. Sweat beaded on her face, and the ponies below ducked away from the encroaching barrier.

"Tell me, Princess, how do your subjects feel about your decision to refuse us?" She slammed her tail toward the cowering ponies. "Do you think they prefer things this way? Do you think they want to see the day when we come in force and raze your precious cities to the ground?"

Gathering all her strength, Celestia forced out the words, "Leave my ponies alone. Your conflict is with me."

Zhuyin inhaled deeply, then released a torrent of flame. Celestia's barrier contracted to a dome just large enough for its occupants as the flames poured over it. For an excruciating moment, they could see nothing but fire in all directions, heating their semispherical sanctuary like bread in an oven. When the fire subsided at last, the area outside their bubble had charred as black as bitumen, and Zhuyin's face hung only a few feet above them.

"Relinquish the Sun, Princess. You cannot protect them all. Not from me." With one last roar, Zhuyin leapt into the sky and flew away, vanishing quickly into the horizon.

Zhuyin had cut a wound all the way to the heart of Equestria. Every city and settlement she had passed on her way to Equestria bore the scorch marks of her visit. But, as deadly as many of these fly-by attacks had been, none compared to the damage to Canterlot. Here, where Zhuyin had landed, buildings had toppled in every direction. There was no one neighborhood or quarter to focus on, but a competing array of disaster areas where Zhuyin had indulged her hatred for ponies.

Overwhelmed rescue teams provided as much food, water, and medical treatment as they could, while the displaced were ushered into temporary housing within the castle walls. Firefighters extinguished the lingering flames, then led the search for the trapped and injured. Those lucky enough to have survived with homes intact searched for their neighbors who were not.

Celestia's heart stumbled when she realized she had not seen Inkstain since before the attack; she almost collapsed with relief when she found her, huddled away in the catacombs. She had been lucky enough to have been one of first ones to reach them, which made the city's tattered state all the more shocking to her when she resurfaced. Inkstain's despair was an echo of Celestia's own.

After several hours of vigilance for Zhuyin's return, Canterlot was deemed secure enough for the council to reconvene. Jet Stream did not attend; he had excused himself to direct the relief effort. None questioned his absence, though some wondered to themselves if he was also avoiding the council; Equestria's failure to repel the dragon sooner no doubt weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Celestia envied his atonement. She had failed her ponies again, led them to a place darker than her nightmares.

For her part, Rye Smile agreed. "The decision to go to war was a mistake. We should agree to the dragon's terms before any more Equestrians die."

Had anypony else said them, Rye Smile's words would have sounded like an attempt to pass blame, but from her, they were merely a statement of known fact. A mistake had brought destruction to Equestria; she had been generous to leave unsaid whose mistake it was.

Even Boutonniere seemed unhappy to have been right; his vulnerable tone and sunken face showed more melancholy than she had ever seen in him. "We should send a delegation to the dragons. Offer them our unconditional surrender."

The council held its breath. Celestia nodded, "I will handle the matter myself."

She felt as though she had just removed her crown and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket. After today, perhaps she ought to.

The rest of the meeting was spent coordinating relief efforts. Celestia contributed little other than her royal agreement to aid proposals. At this moment, she was the least qualified member of the council, the only one who had risked and lost a yet unmeasured plethora of ponies out of a selfish desire to see her sister again. Worse, though she recognized with painful clarity that she needed to comply with the dragons, she still wished from the depths of her heart not to do it. Even now, she caught herself entertaining improbable fantasies, trying to construct some narrative, however implausible, in which she could have both her sister and her kingdom. Irate with her own childishness, she forced her eyes onto the tapestry depicting her sister's banishment. Even she could have both, she told herself, Luna and Equestria wouldn't exactly get along.

After the meeting adjourned, Inkstain joined Celestia en route to her chambers.

"You're not really going to do it, are you?" she asked. "You have a spell or something that can protect us?"

Celestia acknowledged the guards at the entrance to her rooms, then entered with Inkstain at her side. As soon as the doors shut, Celestia addressed her.

"You know better than that, Inkstain."

"No, I don't," she insisted.

Celestia wanted to offer a warmer tone, but at present she had no warmth left in her. "I accepted you as my assistant for your trust. Though you have often questioned me, you have always believed in me. I see now that that I have abused that trust."

Inkstain's face fell. "Princess, I—"

"I have become proud, blind, and stupid. I've allowed myself to indulge my own feelings over the needs of my subjects, and now many of them will never have the chance to hear my apology." With a faint glow of her horn, she opened the doors to her balcony. "Look," she said, motioning toward the scarred city, "at the price Equestria paid for my stubbornness."

"No!" protested Inkstain, taking offense, "you're the wisest, most powerful pony in Equestria!"

"That only makes me more culpable for my mistakes. And for all my power, I was unable to repel Zhuyin."

"Then maybe we just need allies!" exclaimed the diminutive pegasus. "The dragons can't possibly win a war against the entire world, can they? What if we asked for help?"

"From whom, Inkstain? The Griffon Kingdom? The Minotaur Nation? There are many friends to Equestria, but there are none foolish or desperate enough to join a war against dragons, especially not after today."

Inkstain's expression gathered like an oncoming storm. She drew breath as if to speak but found no words. She turned away from her liege and confidant, then stomped to the door. On her way out, she muttered, "Then maybe we need some new friends."

Celestia stared in silence for a minute, half-expecting Inkstain to re-enter. When she didn't, Celestia consoled herself that it was probably for the best. She had to prepare.

The dragons would be expecting her; she needed to visit them. Before that, she would need to scribe her official message. Before that, she would need to regain her discipline and commit her heart to the task. Before that, she would need to say goodbye.

She stood on her balcony, gazed down at the torn city, then skyward. The dragons were patient creatures. They would forgive one last sunset.

She entered her familiar trance, and the Sun replied in turn. It sank below the horizon, making room for the rising Moon and brightening stars. Neither Moon nor Sun nor stars suspected that this would be their last dance.

Luna's prison took its place above Equestria, and Celestia collapsed on her balcony. For the first time in hundreds of years, Celestia struggled to begin.

"Today is hard to talk about, little sister. Equestria suffered for my mistakes. Maybe you can see it from out there."

She wrenched the words out like porcupine quills, bracing herself as she gave voice to her mistakes. She recited the litany of incoming casualty statistics, the estimates of the depths of her error.

"It was one of the darkest days in Equestrian history, but the part that hurts me most has nothing to do with the kingdom: I'm never going to see you again. I have to give you up to keep all of this from happening again."

Celestia wiped tears from her eyes. Luna was silent.

"I'm sorry, Luna. I tried to do right by my ponies and my sister, and I've failed you both. You'll be trapped up there, maybe forever, our subjects will live in a world ruled by dragons, and I . . . I will be alone. Equestria will never trust me again, nor should you. They should put me in the dungeon with Cocoon . . ."

Celestia trailed off. An idea had planted itself in her head. A fragile seed, struggling to germinate in the surrounding turmoil.

". . . I don't trust her. Even if I did, no one else would."

Luna's silence continued.

"I don't know what she has planned. It may not work. And I can't give her what she wants."

The little seed, fertilized with the ashes of failure, began to germinate. Hope crept in, despite Celestia's best efforts to rebuke it. She was out of alternatives.

She rose to her hooves. "I have to go. I love you, sister. And I will see you again."

She hurried back into her chambers and toward the hall, then caught herself before she exited. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it with a minimum of witnesses. She would teleport down.

In a flash of light and a blink of an eye later, she was in the catacombs, standing in front of the door to Cocoon's cell chamber. The two guards beside it started, but relented when they recognized the princess.

"You're dismissed, thank you. Please return to your normal duties." They each raised a hoof in salute, then marched off toward the exit, surely wondering why now, after so long, Celestia would finally dismiss them from this post.

Celestia, meanwhile, entered Cocoon's chamber. The queen of the changelings stirred at her approach. Celestia spoke first.

"Queen Cocoon."

"Princess Celestia," returned the changeling, stretching her legs and wings.

"The last time we spoke, you implied you had a plan to defeat the dragons."

"I did."

"Was it true?"

"Of course!" Cocoon said this as if she had never told a lie in her life, and Celestia had threatened to mar her perfect record. "And, yes, it will work."

"Tell me your plan," ordered Celestia.

"Your directness is refreshing," said Cocoon, "but I take my freedom as a condition."

Celestia pointed her horn at the bars of Cocoon's cell, and energy funneled into it. The aura that had clung to them dissipated, and the cell door swung open. Cocoon's eyes widened, and she took a tentative step out.

Chapter XII

Celestia was accustomed to being the center of attention, but walking out of the castle with Cocoon in tow overturned any comfort she had developed with the spotlight. Everywhere they went, servants bowed, delegates greeted her, and guards shifted to attention. If she had had a speck of dirt on her hoof, somepony would have noticed it, yet no one even looked twice at the queen of the changelings, walking just behind her.

Cocoon had disguised herself as a royal guard, not dissimilar from the form she had assumed when Celestia first met her (or, at least, when she first knowingly met her). To all those spectating, Cocoon merely appeared to be another pegasus, doing his job. No one questioned his presence.

Celestia, on the other hand, had to have some official reason to be roaming the halls of Canterlot castle, as few if any of her actions were unscheduled. As she made her way to the main corridor, Jet Stream approached her, back from his most recent mission.

"Your Highness," he greeted.

"Perhaps not for much longer, I'm afraid," said Celestia.

Jet Stream looked down at the floor. Several seconds passed before he answered, "I am sorry to have missed the council meeting. I read the minutes; are you on your way to offer Equestria's surrender?"

Celestia nodded. "I am sorry, Jet Stream. Of all of us, I know you were most opposed."

He shook his head. "No, I am sorry. I could not be the general Equestria needed. Perhaps, if I had been more skilled, we could have resisted."

"No," insisted Celestia, guarding her guilt possessively, "you were a fine leader. Without your efforts, the attack could have been worse, and the recovery could not have begun so quickly."

Jet Stream did not lift his gaze. "You are kind, Princess. I would follow you for another thousand years, if I could."

Celestia, unprepared for such a compliment, searched for better words but only found, "Thank you. For everything."

He bowed, and Celestia and Cocoon continued their route out of the castle. Celestia continued to worry that Cocoon's image was somehow incomplete; perhaps she had accidentally copied a face somepony would recognize as his own, or maybe she'd neglected to transform some spot on her flank, advertising her true identity to the world with an anomalous bump of chitin.

But no pony stopped them. They arrived at the main doors, which, after some ceremony, were opened by a standing team of guards. The two of them stepped outside, and it felt to Celestia like crossing the finish line of a hundred mile race.

They took to the air. Celestia spread her wings, wide as sheets, and Cocoon spread those of her current form. In moments, the two of them were high above the city, heading north.

Once they had reached a steady altitude, well out of earshot of any pony below, Cocoon smiled and remarked, "You hide your nervousness well, but you needn't have worried; I'm no amateur at what I do. I'm glad you experienced that, though; perhaps you'll understand now how heavy the hoof is that holds us changelings down."

Celestia had not suspected her anxiety was so transparent; the reactions of the castle's ponies had given no indication. She wondered if Cocoon could really read her so effortlessly, then, on reflection, decided she wouldn't be here if she could.

"We'll be on a northward course for quite a while. When we get closer, I'll lead us down," offered Celestia.

"No need," replied Cocoon. "I know the way." Already, the pair had put Canterlot some distance behind them, and Cocoon took this moment to revert to her natural form. A wave of light swept across the surface of her body, leaving behind her familiar insectoid shell and diaphanous wings.

Celestia's concern must have shown on her face, because Cocoon chided, "Don't worry so much. It's dark, and we're high enough up to be invisible. Besides, you didn't really expect me to fly all these miles on such tiny wings?" She had a point. Alien as they were to pony anatomy, her transparent wings were considerably larger than those of most pegasi.

For a long time, they flew in silence. By the light of Luna's prison, they could just make out the features of the landscape and the cities and settlements that dotted it. Because their path reversed the one Zhuyin had taken to Canterlot, few of the towns they passed were untouched. Scorched earth and wood dotted the hearts of every village; some bore the ashes of walls of fire, cut through homes and businesses, or sometimes open fields.

Of course Cocoon knew the way. Zhuyin had marked it for them.

After several hours of flying through the encompassing darkness, they began to make out shadows interrupting the stars ahead. The umbrages crept higher as they advanced, until the dim moonlight revealed them as monoliths of earth. The mountains swept far to the east and west, marking the border of Equestrian lands.

Celestia called out to Cocoon, "The entrance is at the base of that mountain." She pointed her hoof at a particularly high summit. "I'll lead the way there."

Cocoon had other plans. "The mouth of the cave would make for a daring entrance, but I have a better idea." Her wings beat fast enough to make a faint buzz, and she zoomed forward. She motioned for Celestia to follow as she diverted. Celestia, unnerved by the change in plans, picked up speed and followed. Cocoon led her through the adjacent valley to the far side of the mountain, then descended. She followed some invisible path full of zigs and zags, deliberate yet cryptic. Cocoon's eyes scanned the crags and crevices of the mountainside, and from these she divined the proper direction. At last, she settled on a particular patch of forest, and the two of them threaded a small opening in the treetops before landing on steeply inclined ground.

From there, they continued on hoof, Cocoon leading the way with careful strides. They meandered past a creek, over a small hill, then stopped and turned around. Celestia didn't spot it until Cocoon had already started toward it. There was a small opening in this side of the hill, camouflaged by darkness and foliage. Even if Celestia had known it existed, she never would have found it on her own.

Cocoon smiled at Celestia's astonishment. "The rear entrance, Your Highness. We'll be much safer this way; the dragons couldn't even fit a toe in these tunnels."

"How did you know this was here?" asked the princess.

"I was hatched in these caves."

Cocoon motioned for Celestia to follow as she stepped into the darkness. Celestia hesitated at the mouth of the foreboding tunnel, but she had to agree; it was probably safer than the front door.

The entrance was large enough for most ponies, but it was snug for Cocoon and Celestia. Celestia had to fold her wings tightly against her back to squeeze through, and even then she had only a few inches of clearance. She ducked her head and bent low, wary of protruding rocks and roots hanging along the walls and ceiling. It smelled wet and fungal in here, and the moonlight vanished behind them as they advanced. As her eyes adjusted, Celestia could see the floor in only vague shapes and shadows, but her hooves could feel the vivid squish of moss and mushrooms with every other step.

Celestia illuminated her horn, flooding the tunnel with light to help her footing. Cocoon stopped dead in front of her and hissed, "Not so bright! You'll give us away. Besides, you'll want your nightvision when we reach the nest."

Celestia brought the glow of her horn down to that of a dim candle, embarrassed by her ineptitude. As the arbiter of night and day—and royalty, besides—she was accustomed to wide open spaces and light at her command. While her last visit to these caves had been unsettling, at least she had had the freedom to spread her wings.

Cocoon, meanwhile, seemed at ease. Her slitted eyes had no trouble probing the darkness, and her paper-thin wings clung to her back like a film of water. If anything, she seemed comforted by her surroundings. She was, after all, revisiting her childhood home.

"The dragons weren't here back then," whispered Celestia's guide, "but I have a pretty good idea of where they'd keep their hatchery. It's the deepest chamber large enough for them."

"What if the tunnels have changed since you were bor—hatched?" Celestia struggled to funnel all her anxiety into quiet sentences. "There could have been a cave-in, or an earthquake."

Cocoon replied, unperturbed, "Unlikely. It wasn't all that long ago; we changelings don't enjoy the longevity that ponies do. I am no exception."

As she squeezed through a narrow neck of tunnel, Celestia pondered how different her life would have been if it had been even a few centuries shorter. Cocoon did not seem so young. How long did she have left?

Celestia pushed the conversation past mortality. "It's a convenient coincidence that you know these tunnels so intimately. Otherwise, you'd still be in Canterlot, and I'd be surrendering the kingdom right now."

"I wouldn't call that last part a coincidence," said Cocoon. "If I hadn't been hatched here, or the dragons hadn't made camp here, I never would have revealed myself in the first place." She froze in place for a moment, and a draft of air wafted up from somewhere ahead. "Stay close. The tunnels branch out here. You wouldn't want to get lost and emerge in the wrong chamber."

Celestia squirmed forward, her legs and back aching from the strain of her awkward gait. Cocoon started off again, veering left. Where she'd stood, the tunnel forked. The two paths were identical in lighting, subterrain, and stench; the only meaningful difference to Celestia was that Cocoon had taken the left path. She followed.

The tunnel turned sharply downward, demanding a cautious pace from Celestia. Twice she lost her balance on a misplaced hoof, slipping on a loose pebble and sending it clattering forward. Cocoon had moved far enough ahead of her now that Celestia could only hear her the muted echo of her hoofsteps. After a couple dozen more careful steps, the tunnel forked again; Celestia followed the patter of Cocoon's hooves to the right and renewed her pace on the more level ground. Again, the tunnel forked, and she navigated by ear. A twist in direction, a sudden angle up or down, and another fork, and another. Soon, Celestia had lost track of how many junctions she had passed, and Cocoon's lead had grown. She found herself frozen in place at a four-way intersection of blind passages, unable to discern the direction of Cocoon's distant steps.

An unsettling thought crept into her mind. Perhaps Cocoon had meant to lose her. She could return to Equestria alone, posing as the Princess herself, with none to question her. She could take revenge on the kingdom that had imprisoned her, placing her fellow changelings in seats of power, dismantling Equestria from the inside out. Or she could simply renew the war against the dragons, dooming countless ponies to further massacre. Or, perhaps, she would just alert the dragons to her presence and encourage them to breath fire deep into the lesser tunnels.

The darkness grew more profound. The ceiling pressed down on her; the walls tightened their grip. She tried to think of a plan, but her thoughts circled back to claustrophobic panic.

"Hey," came a voice, shaking Celestia out of her hysteria. Cocoon stood in the tunnel to her left, an annoyed look on her face. "Stop lagging behind."

Celestia would have jumped with fright if the ceiling had permitted it. It took her an embarrassingly long time to reply, "Sorry. It's very cramped down here."

Cocoon sighed. "For the most powerful pony in Equestria, you sure are helpless. I'll slow down, but we don't have forever." She backed up, found a spot just wide enough to turn around in, and continued forward. Celestia caught her breath and pressed on after her.

She chided herself for being so paranoid. Cocoon had been nothing but trustworthy so far; any suspicions Celestia had were hypocritical. If anything, Cocoon should have been wary of her.

The farther Cocoon led her into the tunnels, the more methodical she became in her movements. She slowed her pace, not just for Celestia, but to avoid dislodging rocks or banging a hoof too firmly on in the resonant tunnels. As they came to one of the intersections of several tunnels, where the ceiling mercifully lifted enough for them to stand upright, Cocoon stopped.

"Listen."

Cocoon stared down one of the passages, and Celestia's eyes followed her gaze. She could see nothing, but her ears picked out a sound just barely audible. It was quiet, slow, and rhythmic. Her whole body tensed as she recognized the sound of a dragon breathing.

"It's sleeping," said Cocoon, in a hush. "Keep your light as low as you can manage. If it wakes up, end the spell, because it will see it for sure. Also, whatever you do, don't wake it up."

Celestia did as she was told, and the tunnels faded with the light. The two of them slinked on in lockstep. Celestia mimicked Cocoon's stride as if she were following her hoofprints in snow, every step in the exact same place. She inhaled and exhaled as silently as she could manage, so the only competition to the sound of the dragon's breath was her own racing heartbeat.

Placing one hoof at a time, they rounded the final turn. The tunnel opened up, and they emerged into a vast chasm. Its boundaries were too large and too dark for Celestia to see its size, but the acoustics betrayed its scale; she could hear the sound of the dragon's breath ricochet off of distant surfaces. With her horn was as dim as she could manage while finding her feet, she could just make out the outline of the sleeping wyrm. The long, serpentine silhouette curled atop the soft glitter of gold and the colorful flicker of a variety of gems. From this distance, they could not yet spot their objective.

Cocoon nodded her head at Celestia, and they ventured out from the tunnel opening like mice into a kitchen. They split ways, Cocoon heading to the dragon's tail and Celestia to its head. If they were lucky, they'd find their target before meeting in the middle.

Celestia held her breath as she stepped onto the mattress of riches under the dragon, cowed by the prospect of displacing enough coins or jewels to trigger an avalanche. She and Cocoon had had to rule out the strategies of flying or levitating, as the noise and wind of flight or the glow of magic would likely awaken the dragon from its slumber. She touched one hoof down on a pile of gold and shifted her weight tentatively onto it. A single coin fell an few inches before resting amidst its fellows. She advanced another hoof.

Though she traveled a distance that she might have walked in seconds under normal circumstances, many minutes passed before she came close enough to inspect the area nearest the creature. Cocoon, immersed in the darkness at the far side of the chamber, no longer kept her company. She essayed to push all thoughts from her mind, as if they, too, might awaken her host. Finally, she arrived beside the dragon's head, and she saw its face clearly for the first time.

Zhuyin lay beside her, her face almost as vicious as when waking. Her breath, a fierce gale that stank of smoke and sulfur, swept over Celestia with every exhalation. Celestia's thoughts returned to their last encounter, and she stifled a gasp. She fought her body's panic while she stood frozen in place. Her instincts conflicted within her, vying to flee, to scream, or to begin some hopeless attempt at vengeance. She had a purpose here, she told herself, and it did not involve suicide by dragon. She forced calm upon herself, and searched for the egg.

Her obligation to be thorough kept her by Zhuyin's head for many minutes but at last relented, and she trekked with painful trepidation along her neck. Each stride she made was barely the length of one of Zhuyin's scales, and with each one she ducked low to be sure the egg was not wedged under a particular stretch of dragon. She wondered if Cocoon was having better luck with the tail.

The neck widened and merged with a massive midsection, and Celestia detoured downhill to follow the perimeter of Zhuyin's forelegs, one slunk over the other as she lay on her side. If climbing the hoard had been difficult, descending was nearly impossible; the precious terrain threatened to fall away from her at the slightest mistake.

She passed the joints at the middle of the mammoth appendages and gradually distinguished clawed feet below. She recognized the curved black razors that had nearly punctured her magic back in Canterlot, each easily large enough to cleave her in two. Celestia had to marvel that any creature could hold so potent a weapon at all times, even in sleep. She stared at the lethal instruments and the scales from which they protruded.

There was something under them. A spotted purple something, too large, dull, and round to be any familiar gem, rested just inside the curl of Zhuyin's left forefoot. Celestia resisted the urge to gallop toward it and gingerly progressed closer. Still a dozen feet away, she was sure of what she was seeing. The unhatched heir of dragons, encapsulated in an egg only the size of a watermelon, lay in its mother's grasp.

Celestia scanned the darkness for any sign of Cocoon. Wherever she was, she was too distant for Celestia to see, much less signal. She would have to approach it alone.

She ventured closer to Zhuyin's claws than she imagined any surviving pony had. She progressed only inches at a time, her eyes flicking between the unstable mounds of gold below and the captivating egg ahead. It was only a few feet more.

Her hoof slipped. A coin tumbled down the side of the hoard, skittering across its surface before clanging into a silver goblet below. The chalice resounded at the collision, then toppled over, dislodging coins that scattered coins that scattered coins. The tintinnabulation grew in volume until it at last settled on the cave floor.

Zhuyin stirred.

Celestia leapt from her place on the pile, abandoning the egg and swooping into the darkness. Behind her, the dormant limbs and claws came to life. Celestia extinguished the light of her horn just as she bumped into a stalagmite twice her height. She scurried behind it. Zhuyin's roar shook the cavern, shaking rocks loose from the ceiling and further disrupting the riches beneath her. Celestia shrank behind her rocky cover, and she heard the unforgettable eruption of flame pouring from Zhuyin's maw.

The fire briefly illuminated the entrance to the tunnel through which Celestia and Cocoon had entered. It was too far for Celestia to flee unnoticed.

The ground shook. Zhuyin was walking.

"It takes a very stupid creature to enter a dragon's lair," boomed Zhuyin, in what was for her a subdued tone. "But a truly imbecilic one to wake her. What could it be, I wonder? A rat? No, I believe I heard something larger . . ."

Celestia huddled low. Zhuyin's earth-shaking steps were traversing the cavern. Celestia could see no sign of Cocoon, who had probably fled when Zhuyin awoke. Celestia could hardly blame her. The plan had failed, and there was no reason for both of them to die.

Celestia's mind raced through a catalog of spells as the inevitable approached. She didn't think she could teleport out from this depth, especially given that she didn't recall the path she'd taken in. She knew from experience her best defenses would likely fail her against Zhuyin's strength. She would have to try something desperate, an attack of some kind. She lamented that she would be lucky to displace a single scale on Zhuyin's hide.

A sudden crash echoed through the chamber. Though loud by pony standards, it was too quiet to be Zhuyin's doing. Something—Celestia guessed who—had disturbed the treasure pile. Zhuyin turned about, and her steps receded. Celestia peered out from her hiding spot and confirmed it. Zhuyin was spewing fire, illuminating the cave as she hunted for the source of the noise. The cavern had grown very hot from these repeated blasts, and Celestia realized that, even if Zhuyin never found her, she might very well cook in this heat. She would have to act now.

Under the momentary cover of Zhuyin's turned back and the muffling cacophony of continuous flame, Celestia spread her wings and leapt into the air. She darted over to the hoard, directly over the egg, then banked sharply as she plucked it up with the magic of her horn. She held it fast with one leg and beat her wings one last time, then brought them in and bolted toward the crawlway at breakneck speed.

When she was halfway there, the firelight behind her flickered. Zhuyin had ended her inferno, for now, and was turning, slowly about. Celestia was nearing the exit, and she pulled her wings to her sides. Zhuyin's pupils contracted, adjusting to the renewed darkness. Her uncanny draconian vision sharpened just in time to catch the faintest flicker of light, but not quite quickly enough to spot the alicorn scurrying to safety.

A new sound caught Zhuyin's attention, something far larger and noisier than her present prey. From the main tunnels, Fucang descended, snarling with scorn.

"What has happened?" he demanded in the elder tongue.

Zhuyin hesitated, as she scanned the room once more. "Nothing," she replied. "Some slithering cave creature awoke me."

Fucang thundered back with contempt, "I don't care about your sleep." He uttered a curse older than the equine race. He pushed Zhuyin aside and inspected the room himself. "Where is the egg?"

Zhuyin's eyes widened, then turned to the empty divot in the hoard where their offspring had once been. She ran her claws through the riches, sweeping aside a hill of wealth, but found nothing.

She returned her attention to Fucang, seeds of blame in his eyes.

Chapter XIII

Celestia could barely contain her relief when Cocoon rounded the corner of a tunnel ahead.

"Do you have it?" she whispered, urgently. Celestia held out their prize with a genuine smile. Cocoon grinned back. "Excellent, let's—"

The walls and floor shook, tossing them painfully into the stone around them. The roars of a pair of dragons swallowed all other sound, shaking Celestia and Cocoon to their stomachs.

They hurried up the shaft.

Celestia had little trouble keeping up with Cocoon this time, either because of the adrenaline pumping through her veins or because neither of them were at all concerned with stealth this time around. The enraged vocalizations of the dragons below drowned out any sound they made in their shuffle to the surface, and, even if they hadn't, Celestia could hear nothing but a sustained ringing in both ears. She focused only on following Cocoon to the surface, her view of her guide only mildly obscured by the egg, which she levitated just ahead of her.

The moonlight fell gently as ever, but it was almost blinding to the emerging pair after their lengthy stay underground. For her part, Celestia didn't mind at all. She squinted up at her sister and smiled, a smile that only a sister could see past.

"We should head back," said Celestia at a refreshing volume. "They'll be searching for this." She set the egg at her hooves.

Cocoon shook her head. "No, we'll be too easy to spot in the air. We should get away from this mountain, but we should hoof it for now. The trees will give us cover until we're far enough out to risk flight."

Celestia agreed, and they set off down the mountainside, crisscrossing past streams, fallen trees, and impassable undergrowth. Celestia's size became an asset again, as she stepped over the rocks and logs in their way. She took the lead for a stretch, triumph in her step, until she realized that Cocoon was lagging behind. She looked back and waited for her to catch up.

Cocoon was panting with exertion. The light reflected off of one of the many holes in Cocoon's starved body, and Celestia realized how much effort it must have been for Cocoon to come this far. She wondered if perhaps their hike was less to evade the dragons and more to rest Cocoon's wings. She said nothing, but continued at a more leisurely pace.

"Thank you," said Celestia.

"Don't thank me yet," dismissed Cocoon. "We're not done until we get that back to Canterlot."

"I meant, thank you for saving my life. If you hadn't distracted Zhuyin at the right moment, I wouldn't be here."

Cocoon smirked. "Just be sure to mention that to your council when we get back."

"I will," said Celestia. The topic of their return should have been a happy one, but instead it loomed over her like an oncoming storm. She pushed it from her mind. "How did you get out without being seen? I never flew faster in my life, and I only just made it to the tunnel in time."

"Easy," said Cocoon. "There was another tunnel on the other side of the cave."

Celestia surprised herself by chuckling at the simplicity of Cocoon's explanation. Cocoon, charmed by the same sudden levity, joined her, and they smiled broadly at one another.

When she had calmed herself, Cocoon motioned to the egg. "Come on. Let's get that back to Canterlot." Her wings became a blur of motion, and she took off. Celestia followed with a graceful flap of feathers.

Under the mountain, Fucang unclenched his jaw. A colossal column of scales tumbled out and shattered the cave floor with its impact. Scarlet liquid dripped from Fucang's razor-sharp teeth and pooled on the the floor by the neck of the body at his feet. Fucang himself bled rivers from a tear in his wing and deep rends in his side. The fluid trickled down the incline of the irregular cavern floor, around stalagmites and past scattered gems.

The egg was lost, he knew; if it had not been destroyed by whatever creature had stolen it, it would likely never hatch without its parents. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he taken vengeance on its irresponsible mother and with the sight of her viscera beneath him. The fire had gone out of her belly; her eons of existence had finally come to an end.

The alliance had died with her, he knew. The other dragons in the upper chambers, if they did not already feel the ground lurch under the impact of the fight, hear the roars of the eldest dragons of the clans, or smell the blood soaking his scales, would soon resume the war. Fucang did not know who would replace Zhuyin as head of her clan—he imagined there would be a battle for that, too—but he knew that whatever wyrm took her place would have no interest in another attempt at reunification. Nor would he, for that matter.

A deep, draconian shout flooded the caves. Fucang replied with his own and began running up the tunnel to join his brethren. In such a small space, there were bound to be many more casualties, perhaps he among them. He wondered who, if anyone, would head the clans in the eons to come. He stomped upward, and all thoughts of the termite called Celestia left his mind.

Chapter XIV

Celestia and Cocoon materialized in the princess's chambers in a flash of light. Inkstain, who had been delivering yet another bag of correspondence to the royal chambers, cried out in surprise as the pair popped into existence not two feet in front of her. The princess and queen, who had teleported to this chamber in the hopes of going undetected, cried out in turn. It was not until a moment later that Celestia recognized her confidant and managed to form words.

"Inkstain! Thank goodness it's only you."

Her assistant glanced back and forth between Celestia and Cocoon. "Princess, what—"

"It's okay. I need you to stay here for a while. Just until we return."

Inkstain looked quizzically at her sovereign. Her eyes wandered to the egg, and comprehension solidified in her expression. "That's . . ."

". . . nothing," finished Cocoon. "You never saw it. Just wait here."

Celestia nodded agreement and was relieved to see that Inkstain accepted the changeling's words without panic. Inkstain even held her tongue when Cocoon resumed her guise of a royal guard.

"Don't worry," reassured Celestia. "Everything's going to get better."

Before leaving, the two egg-nappers wrapped the egg in a a towel. Cocoon held it, as it would draw too much attention for the princess to carry anything when her escort could do so for her. They rummaged through one of Celestia's many closets for a saddlebag to fit Cocoon's present form, placed the egg inside, and headed out.

Mercifully, the castle was mostly dormant at this time of night. What ponies they ran into were too busy sweeping the halls or scrubbing the windows to do more than bow to their princess's presence; they certainly did not interrupt themselves or their monarch to ask what her guard was carrying. Even so, Celestia and Cocoon avoided the most trafficked corridors when possible, arriving at last at the entrance to the secluded caves below.

After their recent adventure, the tunnels beneath Canterlot seemed absolutely luxurious. Little wonder, thought Celestia, that Cocoon was so unintimidated by her confines. Her birthplace made the catacombs seem inviting; they had all the niceties of lighting, room to lift one's head, and a general absence of dragons.

Until now, that was. Celestia and Cocoon brought the egg to the very same cell where Cocoon had rotted for so long. Cocoon removed her saddlebag and placed it gingerly on the floor inside the cell. She opened the bag, revealing the egg nestled within its towel. Cocoon backed away, and Celestia began casting a spell.

A faint radiance encompassed the room in a soft red hue. The cold stone walls warmed, and the air surrounding the egg heated to a cozy temperature.

"I'm no mother dragon," said Celestia, "but I'm guessing that's about right. I don't know how much body heat dragons give off, and I don't think they'd tell me if I asked."

Cocoon shrugged. "It's close enough. Dragons are pretty tough; I bet their young are, too. If the incubation is off by a few degrees, is it really going to make a difference?"

Celestia considered. "I don't know. Even if the egg doesn't die, it might suffer some abnormality."

"What, like it'll be hatched without wings? You worry too much. Besides, we have other things to do, remember?"

Celestia nodded, and they left the dragon heir to its own devices.

They returned to Celestia's chambers and retrieved Inkstain, whom Celestia sent off to retrieve the council members. She was careful to instruct her to tell them nothing but to meet in the throne room, where their princess would await.

As Inkstain galloped off, Cocoon made to leave, as well. "I will meet you there. I have fellows of my own to summon."

"I thought you didn't know the locations of your fellows?" said Celestia, recalling their first meeting.

"Not of all of them. But each of the ones I know knows a few more, and so on. Don't worry; they wouldn't miss this for the world."

Still masquerading as a guard, Cocoon, too, galloped off. Celestia had nothing left to do but go to her throne room and prepare.

The room was empty at this time of night, save for a pair of night shift guards. They greeted her with deep bows, and she acknowledged them and ascended the throne. The climb felt longer than normal, her hooves heavier on each stair. She arrived atop the lonely summit. Her own status repulsed her. She did not deserve it.

The triumph of retrieving the egg had overwhelmed her, but her heart was not free to celebrate. In a few minutes, she would have to finalize a plan that had brewed in her brain and corroded her heart. When she had first thought of it, it seemed the right thing to do.

The council members filed in in spurts, bearing a variety of attitudes to their early morning awakening. None looked well-rested, but while Boutonniere's grogginess indicated a truncated night, Jet Stream's exhaustion stretched deep, adding years to his face. Rye Smile led her entourage with impressive discipline, bowing to the princess and taking a place by the throne as if service preceded any petty bodily demands for sleep.

Jet Stream shook the bleariness from his eyes and spoke. "Princess Celestia! You're back from the dragons! Did they make any further demands? Did they accept Equestria's surrender?"

Rye Smile did not wait for an answer. "Word has come in that injured dragons have been spotted leaving the northern caves in different directions. It appears they've been dispersing."

"What?" Jet Stream exclaimed, incredulous and embarrassed that he had missed news from the front. He stammered to his liege, "What happened?"

At that moment, Cocoon, still disguised as a guard, entered the room, trailed by a hodgepodge of ponies of every size, shape, and color. The council members' attention shifted to the apparent parade of unrecognized, uninvited guests. A unicorn filly, her mane filthy with the dust of Canterlot streets. A pair of elderly, lame-legged earth ponies assisted in by a young, well-dressed stallion. A few more guards, some uniformed servants, and an array of ponies whose occupations and origins were not obvious. The council members, unanimously puzzled, took a cue from Celestia's unsurprised expression that these strangers were welcome, though that did not stop them from whispering amongst themselves.

When this crowd of unknowns had at last assembled, Inkstain walked in, trotted over to Celestia's side, and sat. Everyone was accounted for.

"Thank you for coming, everypony," she said, settling the whispers with her authoritative voice. "I know it is an unusual hour, but I am sure none of you would want to wait for these announcements."

The crowd tensed. The council members braced themselves for news of another attack.

"The dragon threat is over. I will continue to raise and lower the Sun and Moon for the good of all Equestrians."

Cheers erupted from the gallimaufry of guests. In equal part, council members gasped and murmured incredulity.

"The heir which once united the dragon clans is lost to them, and their alliance has crumbled." More cheers interrupted her. Celestia felt her insides fold over themselves at the sound of changeling's supporting her.

"But this development is not solely my doing. Equestria owes its renewed security to the efforts of a yet unrecognized friend." The council members buzzed with speculation. Many had connected the dots between Celestia's words and their unexplained guests, but none could fathom what connection there could be between an apparent random sampling of ponies and the end of the dragon war.

Celestia beckoned for one of the guards to move to the front of the room. "Mares and gentlecolts, I present to you Queen Cocoon of the changelings."

The council let out a collective gasp as Cocoon returned to her native form. A column of light surrounded her as her silhouette grew to Celestia's height and her insectoid features reformed.

Boutonniere cried out, "A changeling!" as if Celestia had not just announced Cocoon's species. Council members stepped back warily, terrified by Cocoon's chitinous skin and outstretched diaphanous wings. Even Rye Smile seemed unsettled by her presence.

Somepony shouted for the guards, but Celestia belayed the order. "Please, calm yourselves. I asked Queen Cocoon here, as well as our other guests."

All equine eyes turned to the few dozen "ponies" gathered next to the council. If Celestia's words had not given them away, their actions had. All were bowing their heads to Cocoon, even as the council members retreated to a safe distance. Cocoon walked to the head of the crowd, and they, too, returned to their native forms. An array of colors flashed as the changelings revealed themselves.

The changelings resembled their queen, though scaled down to the size of most ponies. They lacked the holes which riddled Cocoon's body, and none of them had their queen's mane. Instead, they all had black, chitinous scalps, interrupted only by their curved horns and long, skinny ears. Their faces varied in proportion, but looked strikingly uniform to the ponies present. Every changeling had blue eyes, lacking any sign of pupils, and a pair of fangs protruding from their closed mouths.

Celestia had had some time to acclimate to Cocoon's appearance, but it was hard to deny her first impression of the changelings now: they looked like monsters.

Panic was taking root in the ponies, now, some of them even making threats toward their guests. The other changelings stood their ground, bared their teeth, and hissed back at their harassers. The less courageous ponies had backed all the way to the far side of the room, making strides toward the door. Shouts filled the sonorous hall. Cocoon stood silently by her kin, waiting for Celestia's next words.

Celestia reared up and shouted, "Silence!" She punctuated her call with a spell that momentarily blinded both crowds with a flash of light. "I remind you all that I have invited the changelings here so that we may all calmly discuss their presence in Equestria. Queen Cocoon has made a formal diplomatic request for changeling citizenship under the Equestrian crown." She raised her voice as objections once again grew in volume. "They have been living in Equestria in secret for some time, and they wish the freedom to do so openly."

Boutonniere was uncowed by Celestia's display. "Princess, the law rightly states that changelings are to be exterminated on sight. They pose too great a threat to those around them." Somepony echoed his sentiments with a shout of, "Kill the bugs!" The cry echoed from pony to pony.

Celestia intervened again. "No! There will be no executions. All of us, all of you, owe a great debt to Cocoon. She led our visit to the dragon lair, risked life and limb to end the threat to our kingdom, and saved my life." She emphasized this last point in the hopes of shocking the council, but the faces below her remained skeptical at best.

"Princess," said Rye Smile with her typical resolution, "all of that is consistent with the dangerous nature of changelings. They are parasites on society; they would go to any lengths to ensure Equestria's safety so that they can continue to feed on our love."

Cocoon remained quiet, her eyes on Celestia. Her countenance implied a sharp disdain for the council members, as if they were being presumptuous to assume that their love was even worth her time.

"Even if you believe that, Cocoon is still a hero to Equestria, whatever her reasons. Equestria owes better than execution to its heroes and their kin."

For all her fervency, the attention of her subjects was pulled to the fangs and blue eyes of their guests. Only Inkstain focused on Celestia herself, and her expression mirrored Celestia's growing frustration. Jet Stream, at least, was not crying for blood; he held the same subdued look as he had when Celestia had seen him before leaving the castle. He stared at the changelings, but they provoked no outward display of emotion from him.

"Your Highness, the ponies of Equestria will never accept this. We will never accept this," he said, gesturing toward the rest of the council. "The changelings cannot remain in Equestria."

For a moment, Celestia thought she felt the ground tremble beneath her, but she realized it was only her legs. She inhaled deeply, lowered her eyes, and replied.

"I know."

Cocoon's eyes widened, and her kin ignored the now quieting ponies long enough to glare up at Celestia. Before anypony had a chance to think they'd misheard the princess, she cast a spell in the direction of the changeling throng. A transparent purple dome materialized around the gathered shape-shifters, and, as many of them immediately discovered, prevented all travel in or out of its boundary.

Cocoon kicked her hooves against the barrier, then screamed at Celestia in disbelief. "Princess, what are you doing?!" Her voice was alien to Celestia, in a panicked register that she had never heard from the normally aloof queen.

"I am sorry, Queen Cocoon," said Celestia. She tried to make her words feel genuine, but they tasted like bitter ash as they left her mouth. She stepped down from her royal pedestal and met Cocoon at the edge of the barrier. "But I cannot ignore the will of my advisors or my subjects. But I promise you safe exile; Equestria must banish the changelings but not threaten you."

Cocoon brought her face as close to Celestia's as the barrier would allow. "You hide behind the will of your advisors, but you wear the crown. You asked for my help, you promised us citizenship, and you betrayed us."

Celestia had to fight the urge to turn away. She owed Cocoon many things she would never repay; at least she could give her an explanation. "My heart implores me to release you and to unilaterally declare your citizenship. But my heart also led Equestria into an unwinnable war, laid down the lives of my subjects so that it could cling to a failing hope. I rule Equestria, and you're right; I could order whatever fate for you my heart wished. For that very reason, I must must rule with my mind instead. Perhaps, one day . . ."

"No!" came a shout from behind Celestia. Inkstain approached her sovereign, absent of any sign of deference. "You followed your heart out of Equestria's darkest hour. Whether your thoughts were of your subjects or your sister, you made the right choice. If you hadn't fought back, the dragons would own Equestria. The Sun wouldn't rise."

"Inkstain, this is not your place—"

"All the ponies that Zhuyin killed would have been proud to know that you fought on—and won! You followed your heart, yes, but you followed it out of a no-win scenario. And now you want to pretend you made the wrong choice—"

"Inkstain, enough!" yelled Celestia.

But Inkstain was undeterred. "You told me you enjoyed my trust but needed my criticism. Well, here it is: you are punishing the innocent for your mistakes and for the prejudices of ponies."

The ferocity of her words stunned the council, who had never seen anypony dare address the princess so rudely. Celestia herself, who had always known Inkstain to be deferential and loyal to a fault, could scarcely recognize Inkstain with so much anger in her voice.

Celestia tried to inject calm into her tone. "Inkstain, I know you're upset. I am, too. But as you get older you will understand that—"

The princess's words fell short. A column of light encompassed Inkstain. Ribbons of a soft purple glow clung to her body and spread over her, leaving behind a new anatomy. Celestia knew what was happening before it finished, but she could not bring herself to believe it until Inkstain, or whatever had once been Inkstain, spoke.

"I will never be as old as you, Princess. Perhaps that's for the best." The changeling's voice was deeper than it had been as Inkstain, and at this moment more wrenching than any Celestia had ever heard.

Her mind raced backward in time, examining all her moments with Inkstain anew. Every moment that they had shared had felt real, too real to accept the truth standing in front of her. She grasped for possibilities that could explain away this betrayal; perhaps her friend and confidant had been replaced at some point, and the changeling in front of her was an impostor.

Celestia looked to Cocoon, as if the queen had any reason to comfort her. Cocoon said without pleasure or relief, "Princess Celestia, my daughter and heir, Princess Chrysalis."

The resemblance was hard to miss. Unlike her captured fellows, Chrysalis had her mother's aqua-banded midsection, green irises slitted by narrow black pupils, and an iridescent blue mane. She was smaller than her mother, and she lacked the holes that Cocoon had acquired in captivity.

Chrysalis approached the barrier's edge and regarded Celestia. "Let me in," she said. "Let me be with my kind." Celestia hesitated, but Chrysalis reminded her, "I am a changeling and an exile. Treat me as such."

Celestia concentrated, and a small, circular hole appeared in the side of the dome. Chrysalis stepped in, and Celestia resealed the hemisphere.

Celestia whispered the question that weighed upon her. "Was there ever a real Inkstain?"

Chrysalis snorted and turned her back. As she walked into the crowd of her extended family, she answered, "Was there ever a real Celestia?"

Chapter XV

A convoy of airborne carriages left Canterlot just after dawn.

Inside their barred windows huddled black figures bound in magic-nullifying manacles, enchanted by the Princess herself. Armored pegasus escorts surrounded the transports and passed the long hours of flight sneaking glimpses of their prisoners, speculating to one another about how long they'd been present in Canterlot and how the princess had captured them. Surely their discovery so close to the end of the war was no coincidence; was it possible that they had had some hoof in the dragon attacks? If so, Celestia had shown unmatched mercy by commuting their executions. The guards could not hear what words passed between their captives, if any, but they knew there were no thanks offered to the princess for sparing their wretched lives. Vermin did not show gratitude.

Back at home, Canterlot celebrated the end of the dragon wars. Word had circulated that wounded dragons were fleeing the northern caves and dispersing and that the very same wyrm that had scorched the length of Equestria had been found dead deep in their lair. No pony could confirm exactly how the deed had been done or by whom, but many offered toasts to Celestia's name, as she was known to have visited the cave just prior to the news. Few understood the magic their princess wielded, but surely only the pony who commanded night and day could have triumphed against an entire den of dragons.

Before long, artisans across Equestria would begin new tapestries of their princess defeating Zhuyin with a single mighty spell.

Canterlot castle opened its gates to all citizens. The princess hosted a gathering celebrating Equestria's bright future and commemorating those who would never see it. The royal kitchens overflowed with food and drink to service the multitude. The richest and poorest of Canterlot mingled in dance and song as they at long last succumbed to joy. The evening's festivities paused only when Celestia herself arrived to put the Sun to bed and lift up the Moon to light the night. She acknowledged the crowd with her thanks for their continuing support, then ordered the party resumed at renewed intensity.

Celestia did not, however, join the crowd. Instead, she quietly excused herself and trudged down one of the still private castle hallways. She had made it only a few steps before a voice called out to her from behind.

"Your Highness," said Jet Stream, "may I have a word?"

Had any other pony asked the same, Celestia might have refused, but she sensed that Jet Stream was one of the few ponies she could trust right now not to shower her with praise.

"Of course," she replied, facing him as he approached.

"I apologize for disturbing you, but Your Highness has been . . . scarce, lately."

"There's no need to apologize," she assured him. "I have been very busy."

Jet Stream was wearing the uniform and decorations which marked him as General of the Wonderbolts, but his face reflected none of the pride they exuded. "Princess, I want to ask you about your last encounter with the dragons."

"If you're looking for new anti-dragon tactics, I'm sorry I have none to offer."

"Nothing like that, Princess. It's only that, just before the changelings revealed themselves at the council meeting, you mentioned that the heir to the dragons was 'lost to them.' What did you mean by that?"

An internal debate held Celestia's tongue for a moment. "Come with me, General."

She led him down the byzantine tunnels to the lower catacombs, treading what was for her a familiar path. Jet Stream, who had seldom ventured into the tunnels and never this far, marveled at how much of the castle he, one of Equestria's highest ranked leaders, had never seen.

Celestia stopped in front of a closed door. "Before I open this door, Jet Stream, I must have your word that you will not speak of what you see here."

"You have it," he replied. Celestia opened the portal and ushered him inside.

The warmth emanating from the center of the room chased a chill down Jet Stream's spine. He could not see what the field of heat surrounded until the princess illuminated the room with her horn.

"You stole the egg?" he exclaimed, his voice fraught with alarm. "But won't the dragons come looking for it?"

"They don't know we have it. Cocoon and I stole it without ever being seen."

Her words did little to calm him. "But you exiled Cocoon. What if she tells the dragons what you've done? Or where to find their heir?"

"She won't," said Celestia. "The changelings fear a united dragon clan as much as we do. And, as Rye Smile pointed out, the last thing they want is the end of Equestria. They need the Sun and Moon as much as we need them, in fact because we need them. Changelings wouldn't survive in a world without ponies."

"But they'll have to live without us, now. They'll be hundreds of miles from here by the time they're released."

Celestia winced at an uncomfortable thought, but recovered after a moment's thought. "They are a determined race. I have no doubt that they'll be back."

Jet Stream was unsure from her tone if she had meant that as a comfort or a caution. He returned to his original thought. "Why keep the egg at all, though? Why not smash it now and prevent the heir from ever reuniting dragonkind?"

"Whatever the actions of its parents, the creature in that egg has done nothing wrong. I hope, one day, it will hatch, and come to value the friendship of ponies."

"I admit, Princess, I find it hard to imagine you raising a baby dragon in Canterlot Castle."

"I do, too. I will likely entrust another with the task, somepony with whom it can learn friendship without the distractions of royal duties. But that is a distant task; I don't expect the egg to hatch for many years."

The princess exited the chamber, and Jet Stream tore himself away from the egg and followed. Only the clop of their hoofsteps interrupted the silence for the duration of the walk out of the catacombs. Jet Stream took note of every door they passed and tried to envision what other secrets might rest behind them. Perhaps only the princess knew.

When they emerged into the decorated hallways of the castle's first floor, the princess addressed him once more. "I must excuse myself to retire for the night. Please enjoy the festivities, General."

"Of course, Your Highness. I will." In truth, he was certain he wouldn't.

The princess turned to leave, then stopped herself. "One more thing, Jet Stream."

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Has there been any news from the investigation?"

"No, Highness. None of the changeling's assumed identities were native to Canterlot. So far, it's possible that they were invented, not stolen."

"I see," she replied, her focus distant. Her eyes returned to him. "Good, then. Thank you for keeping me informed. Good night."

"Good night, Your Highness."

Jet Stream meandered back to the crowd and through it. He passed ponies as they danced with cider in hoof and shouted toasts to whatever came to mind. He saw more smiles in one place than he had since the dragons had first requested dialogue. He felt strange not to have a smile of his own.

After all, he'd gotten everything he wanted. Equestria was safe from internal and external threats. He'd finally received permission and resources to build his dream project, the Wonderbolt Academy, whose first graduates had been instrumental in the reconnaissance and relief efforts. He should have been jovial, ecstatic even, but a shadow hung over him all the same.

The war was over, but he didn't feel like anypony had won. His efforts had not spared the kingdom of casualties; when the party was over, Equestria would return to the long process of mourning and reconstruction. The changelings, banished as they were, would have to struggle for survival. The dragons might never reunite, certainly not on any equine timescale.

The pins on his collar and chest felt heavy. He politely declined a mug of cider and pushed through the crowds to the castle gates. He would fly back to Cloudsdale in the morning, he decided, but, for now, he would find an open room somewhere far away from the clamor. He took one last look up at Canterlot Castle and set off.

Viewing from below as he did, he could not see the lonely alicorn draped across her balcony, laying beside her crown and whispering confessions in the moonlight's embrace.