> Finding Yourself
>  by ScarletRibbon
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> 1 - A Princess and Her Priorities
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Ominous, dark grey clouds hung low in the sky above the edge of the Everfree Forest, where three young fillies stood at the treeline on the ground below, arguing about their planned course of action.

"I really think we should get an adult," Sweetie Belle insisted, glaring at her friend.

Apple Bloom stared back intensely. "Sweetie Belle, Ah've gone to Zecora's place plenty of times, all by myself. We don't need no adult.

“There’s no reason we have to go in there alone,” Sweetie Belle insisted. “And look at the weather! There’s a storm coming in. It’s gonna be really dark before we get back.”

Sweetie Belle looked over at her other friend, Scootaloo, who sat off to the side, choosing not to get involved.

"I don't know why you always try to argue with Apple Bloom,” Scootaloo said. “She’s just as stubborn as her sister."

Probably the earth pony farmer in her, Sweetie Belle thought to herself, huffing with frustration.

Apple Bloom wasn’t done. “Look at us, Sweetie Belle! We're the Cutie Mark Crusaders! If we can't do something together that Ah already do alone, what good are we?"

Sweetie Belle and her two best friends had been discussing this adventure into the Everfree Forest for a week now, and while Sweetie Belle was steadfast in her belief that it was a bad idea, she'd often crumbled to peer pressure.

Of course, she rationalized, it wouldn't be the first time they went into the Everfree Forest alone.

In truth, they weren't supposed to be in the forest at all. Sweetie's older sister, Rarity, was going to be livid when she found out, but that was assuming they would be caught, and Rarity was too busy to check in on her.

"Besides," Apple Bloom continued, "how are we supposed to get herbalism Marks without Zecora's help?"

"I don’t know!” Sweetie Belle yelled in exasperation. “I just don't see why we can't find an adult! What about you, Apple Bloom!? Why are you so stuck on going in there alone?"

Apple Bloom stomped one of her forehooves. "Because we're the Cutie Mark Crusaders! That's what we do!"

“Argh!”

Apple Bloom’s frequent jumps in logic were grating on Sweetie's nerves.

Scootaloo shook her head and sighed. "Look, let's just do this, alright, Sweetie Belle? The longer we sit here, the darker it’s going to get. We’ll be alright."

With both of her friends now firmly set against her, Sweetie Belle's will finally cracked. "☼Fine!☼” her voice cracked too, “but don't say I didn't warn you when something goes wrong!"

The issue more or less settled, the three of them started into the Everfree Forest. Despite the gray skies providing a foreboding atmosphere, everything seemed the same as it usually did. The trio of fillies - Apple Bloom especially - were familiar with the route, and they could be back before supper if they didn’t waste time.

Sweetie Belle eyed their surroundings as they walked. Even though it was all familiar, the gnarled trees, dead grass, and occasional patches of poison joke left her with a sense of unease. The filly wondered how much of her unsettled feeling was just the dimmer-than-usual light. Now that she was so focused on her surroundings, there weren’t any signs of the usual forest life, either. In fact, it was almost completely quiet, with the only sounds coming from the hooves of the trio as they plodded along and the slight rustle of wind amongst the branches above.

That, of course, was not always a bad thing. Nothing in the forest was completely harmless, and Sweetie Belle knew quite well about the dangers some of the native creatures could pose. Still, the absence of it all was disconcerting. Was this normal right before a storm?

Apple Bloom pressed forward ahead quickly, following the path that wove around twisted trees, bramble bushes, and the occasional small pond. Scootaloo had fallen in behind her as Sweetie Belle pulled up the rear, hesitant to keep rushing ahead without caution. They continued on for several minutes, eventually working their way to where the trail was surrounded with thick bramble bushes.

Apple Bloom stopped and turned, shattering the unusual silence with a frustrated cry. "Come on, girls. Can’t you walk any faster? We're never going to make it to Zecora's place if you don’t hurry up." The outburst startled a few small critters that scampered away.

Sweetie Belle breathed a sigh of relief at the sudden presence of the woodland creatures and picked up her pace. After a few quick steps, she caught up to Scootaloo, but as she passed her friend, all of her newfound confidence came crashing back down. Scootaloo was barely walking, her eyes darting back and forth, ears swiveling as she listened intently.

"Scootaloo, are you okay?" Sweetie asked.

"Quiet! Didn't you hear that?" Scootaloo's voice trembled.

Apple Bloom stomped back to them impatiently. "Hear what?" she asked, not bothering to lower her voice.

"Something big is moving around in the brambles." Scootaloo’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Sweetie Belle stopped to listen. The bramble bushes on either side of the path here were not particularly dense, but they went fairly deep. A modestly large creature wouldn’t have any difficulty moving through them, though not without making a fair amount of noise. Pegasi generally had superior hearing to the other pony races, a trait that allowed them to continue communicating during flight even in high winds and loud storms, so it wasn't uncommon for Scootaloo to hear things first.

For several moments the trio stood there listening, but the silence was interrupted only by a soft breeze rattling branches.

"It's just wind," Apple Bloom replied, dismissively. "Come on, let's go!” 

She rounded again, continuing down the trail, but Scootaloo remained where she was, unmoving. Sweetie Belle looked between her two friends, uncertain of what to do next when a sudden movement behind them caught her eye. She turned and caught the tail end of something disappearing out of sight.

They were being followed.

Scampering backwards, Sweetie Belle let loose a shrill cry of alarm, her outburst setting Scootaloo off into a full gallop toward Apple Bloom.

The bushes behind the trio exploded in front of Sweetie Belle as a howl pierced the air. Her eyes went wide.

It was a timberwolf!

Sweetie Belle wheeled about with a shriek and bolted as fast as she could, her friends already galloping well ahead of her. The screaming of fillies, howling of timberwolves, and shattering of branches filled the air around them as several more timberwolves could be heard crashing through the overgrowth on either side of the path.

Sweetie Belle focused on her friends ahead of her as her hooves pounded frantically. The violent snapping of twigs and brush could be heard right on her tail as the timberwolf paid no heed to the bushes on either side of the path, crashing through them to cut corners -- and losing ground in the effort.

A light rain started to fall. Though it wasn't yet enough to impede progress, Sweetie knew that the rain could turn the surrounding terrain into a death trap; timberwolves’ clawed feet were much better prepared for muddy terrain than hooves.

The pathway disappeared as the trail opened up to a well-maintained grassy field. They were getting closer to Zecora's hut, and closer to the safety of her exotic plants that kept the Everfree’s wildlife at bay, but the timberwolf was still right on her heels.

As the bushes receded behind her, Sweetie Belle stole a glance backward just in time to see four more timberwolves crash out into the open. With no more of the low bushes to slow them down, all five of the beasts were rapidly closing the gap. Crying in terror, Sweetie Belle pushed herself even harder.

In her panic and without the path to guide her, Sweetie Belle couldn’t recall exactly which direction led to Zecora’s. She looked ahead to Apple Bloom, trusting her friend had been here enough times to know for sure, but her eyes shot open in alarm as another timberwolf cut in from the side in front of her two friends. Apple Bloom shrieked with an un-ladylike expletive as she veered to the side, steering the trio away from the wolf and into some denser trees.

The three blazed a new trail now. The branches now whipped past at unnervingly low heights; one caught Apple Bloom's pink bow, ripping it out of her mane along with several strands of her cherry red hair. The filly cursed and staggered, but shrugged it off and continued to run as Sweetie Belle quickly ducked to avoid catching the same branch with her horn.

Their unexpected new route seemed to have taken the timberwolves by surprise. The low branches and numerous trees slowed their pursuit, allowing the fillies to gain some much-needed distance. The rain was falling heavier now, and an ominous rumble of thunder could be heard rolling through the sky. Dark clouds above combined with the dense trees and heavy rain were starting to impact visibility as the terrain became more treacherous. Sweetie Belle couldn’t make out their pursuers anymore, and could barely see past the two fillies she was blindly following.

Suddenly, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo dropped out of sight, screaming in terror as they fell. Sweetie Belle tried to stop herself, but the rain had already turned the loose dirt into a slick mud. She slid to a precarious halt just at the edge of a sharp drop as her friends’ shrieks were punctuated by two wet thumps. Peering over the edge, Sweetie Belle could make out the form of Scootaloo frantically trying to shake Apple Bloom back to her senses, both of them covered in mud.

She scanned the immediate surroundings. Her two friends were in a large, round depression. The dirt walls, at least twenty feet high, went all the way around the depression in a wide circle, broken only by a cave mouth that yawned darkly into the earth on the far side. The pit was completely devoid of trees blocking the limited daylight, yet there was no grass, bushes or any other forms of life inside, save for the two fillies.

Unsure of what to do, Sweetie Belle lingered on the edge of the pit. Her friends below needed her help. There wasn’t anything she could see that she could use to get them out. Even though the timberwolves had lost a fair amount of ground, their howling was rapidly closing in. She needed to figure out something, fast.

An answer came swiftly, as one of the timberwolves crashed through the trees behind her. Forced to make a decision, Sweetie Belle jumped. She tumbled in the air, finding herself briefly staring at the dark clouds above before a dark figure passed into her vision. The timberwolf had careened uncontrollably over the edge behind her. Both of them screamed.

Sweetie Belle immediately tucked herself into the crash position that she’d seen pegasi use to reduce injuries, hitting the ground and rolling violently to her side. While the maneuver saved her from significant injury, the timberwolf crashed down directly on top of her, and Sweetie Belle slammed roughly into the ground under its weight.

The timberwolf flailed about in a panic, struggling to find leverage with a terrified unicorn underneath of it. Shrieking in horror, Sweetie Belle pushed the confused creature off of her with all of her legs, and rolled back to her hooves, each scampering in opposite directions.

Glancing quickly around, she made a hasty evaluation of her situation. Scootaloo was still screaming for Apple Bloom to wake up, and the timberwolf had sprang away toward the cliff wall with a whine. She watched in confusion as the timberwolf attempted to scramble up the side of the cliff. When its claws were unable to find purchase, the timberwolf fell back to the ground, only to right itself and immediately renew the attempt. This exercise was repeated futilely, as the creature seemed to completely ignore her and her friends.

That ruled out climbing out; timberwolves were supreme climbers.

On the cliff above, other timberwolves arrived and were circling the edge, intently watching their stranded companion. Their whining and howling faded into the cold, damp air as they darted back and forth, seemingly unconcerned with their previous prey. Sweetie Belle looked on for several seconds of the timberwolves’ act in stark confusion before carefully walking over to her other friends, cautiously turning away from the panicked woodland creatures.

The rains were passing from heavy to torrential now. As Sweetie Belle reached Apple Bloom, she noticed with alarm that the water was not being absorbed into the ground, but instead was slowly filling the pit. Suddenly conscious of the flooding, she looked around once more, noticing countless streams and rivulets cascading down the walls of the pit, causing a slow but evident rise of water.

When she looked down again, the water had already come up above her hooves. Apple Bloom would drown if they couldn’t wake her; something needed to be done, fast. Sweetie galloped over to the cave mouth and took several steps inside, willing her horn to shine brightly.

The cave interior sloped upward, passing well above the mouth of the cave and out of sight. There was no time to deliberate; it would have to do. She hoped the water level wouldn’t rise far enough to drown them anyway.

"Scootaloo!” She galloped back over to her friends, where Scootaloo was still desperately trying to rouse the fallen filly. “Scootaloo, that cave! We need to get her out of the water. We'll be safe in there, I think."

The orange pegasus looked where her friend was pointing and nodded. “... Okay. Let’s go!”

The two fillies struggled to lift their friend, but with a bit of effort and a lot of adrenaline, they managed to slowly lift, pull, push, and drag their unconscious friend to the cave entrance. The water level had reached their knees when they finally managed to get Apple Bloom inside the cave and a safe distance up the slope. Task complete, they collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily and completely exhausted.

Sweetie Belle’s chest heaved up and down, panting for breath as she looked outside the cave. From where she lay, she could see the timberwolf that had fallen into the depression with them panicking in the rising water. She watched as the water level reached its barrel, and it half-swam, half-sloshed over to the cave entrance. As soon as it reached dry ground, it darted past the three fillies, tail between its legs, and whimpering like an injured puppy.

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo stared at the creature that now simply eyed them cautiously. After a tense initial moment, it seemed as though an unspoken truce had been made between the three. In fact, as time passed and the water level continued to rise, the timberwolf seemed to be more concerned with keeping as close to the entrance as possible without going into the water, as if it was afraid of what lay deeper within the throaty blackness of the cavern beyond.


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Several Days Earlier
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After years of shelving books, my practiced sorting method was sharp and efficient. A tempest of books whirled about me rapidly, held aloft in a magical storm of my own creation. Books flew from their shelves into the maelstrom, and then another wave of books from the spinning hazard replaced them. 

Yes, it was that time of the month where I shelve the new arrivals.

My young dragon assistant, Spike, worked behind me with a practiced ease, replacing labels on bookshelves to properly reflect the new contents. I glanced quickly across the previous shelves, double-checking that I had put everything in the right order. Art, Economics, Fiction, History, Music, everything seemed to be in the right place. Organization was important, and organization of knowledge, doubly so.

A light tapping sound behind me distracted me from my task. The literary twister died immediately, scattering books violently around the room as my concentration fell. Spike ducked to avoid one of the stray projectiles, continuing to work where I left off without pause or instruction. I turned to face the white unicorn standing at the library door, her hoof raised to her face in shock.

"Oh, hello Rarity." I smiled at my friend. "You know you don't need to knock, the door is standing wide open."

Rarity gaped at what I assumed to be the cluttered mess scattered across the central floor of the library. Admittedly, under the circumstances, it was worse than usual. But she regained her composure quickly, placing her hoof back on the ground.

"Oh no, Princess. It would be impolite of me to simply barge in uninvited!"

... Here we go again.

Becoming a proper princess hadn't been on my list of things to do with my life. Life, unfortunately, had other things set on my agenda, and now I have wings and a title. Now that the position had been thrust upon me, I had no choice but to live with it.

Well... I suppose I might have had a choice. I mean, I didn’t really try to challenge it, so I guess I’ll never really know. Still, I decided if I was going to be a Princess, I was going to do things my own way. Which is why I still live here, in a library and around the 'common' ponies. Not in a castle, surrounded by a bunch of snooty, elitist nobles.

After being born into a middle-upper-class family, being a Princess certainly had its perks, but the excessive formality was nothing but a nuisance. I hated being addressed by my title - especially when it was coming from one of my friends. Unfortunately, sometimes Rarity's obsession with the cultural elite of Canterlot made it almost impossible for us to have a normal conversation. Reminders happened with frustrating frequency.

"Rarity, you know I don't want to be called that. And this is a public place, remember? You can enter any time you wish."

"Oh, certainly, Twilight,” she replied. “But regardless of your feelings on the matter, I will at least greet you with the respect your position deserves. And it just wouldn’t be proper to barge in on a Princess unannounced."

A sigh escaped my lips despite my best efforts to stifle it. That was just how it always was with Rarity now. I hoped she would give up on it soon. Of course, if Rarity ever noticed my frustration, she had never let on.

"Now, I don't mean to intrude, darling, but may I have a moment of your time?"

"Absolutely." I gestured to the books strewn about the room. "I was just shelving some new arrivals and reorganizing the library." I grimaced as I looked around at the disorganized mass of literature. This was the library, but right now it looked like a tornado had hit a used bookstore.

"Do you need a book? If you do, it might take me a moment to find it."

Rarity shook her head, her luxurious purple locks bouncing elegantly. I have no idea how much time she spends on her mane every day, and I'm not sure I want to know.

"Oh, no, no, no,” she replied, “I'm just here to ask you a special favor, you see, but first I think I would like to just have a bit of conversation. It has been quite a while since last we simply talked." Rarity stepped further inside the library, levitating a small pouch from her saddlebags. "I've also brought over a new tea that I found today in Canterlot. It's simply marvelous! I'm sure you'll love it!"

And without any further invitation, Rarity trotted off toward the kitchen to start water boiling. I watched her go without a word, her perfectly curled tail bouncing with each step. As she disappeared, I turned to see Spike standing right behind me, a small stack of books in his arms. His eyes were downcast, looking hurt.

"She didn't even acknowledge me," he mumbled.

I shook my head, knowing his little heart swelled for Rarity, even if she didn't return his affections. His feelings weren't exactly a secret to anyone who paid attention, even though I don't think he realized anypony knew it.

"I think she's just stressed out, Spike. I'm sure she doesn't mean anything by it."

"I hope so.” He turned and went back to work on the bookshelves, brooding silently.

Rarity was right; it had been a while since we'd last had a proper conversation. We’d barely spoken in the last few weeks even in passing. For almost a month now she had barricaded herself into the Carousel Boutique, making time only for her customers.

I stopped by at one point to get a dress mended for a formal meeting in Canterlot, but even then she had briefly rambled on about her little sister’s lack of magical prowess. Before I even had a chance to talk about it, Rarity rushed me out the door, mended dress in hoof, and the door closed with a firm click. I know she didn't mean to offend, but it was a bit off-putting.

"How is the tea coming along?" I called toward the kitchen.

"Darling, are you worried about my ability to make tea? I'm not Sweetie Belle, you know."

A small chuckle escaped my lips. There was one kind of magic her sister was proficient in: She could burn water. Literally. I knew it wasn't the 'normal' kind of unicorn magic, but that didn't rule out the possibility that it was actual, genuine magic. After all, ponies like Pinkie Pie, with powers outside of their species usual talents - often called 'supernatural' abilities - were hardly unique. Supernatural powers were usually subtle, though. Completely unlike Pinkie Pie. Of course, Rarity refused to accept this as a supernatural ability, insisting instead that it was Sweetie's perfectly natural ineptitude in the kitchen. Supernatural or not, I found myself wondering if such a power had practical use.

Rarity returned, levitating a metal tray with three white teacups and a teapot. A wispy vapor trailed from the spout as she walked, and my olfactory senses were bathed in a wonderful aroma. I suddenly found myself anticipating the tea just as much as the conversation. One thing she'd said before was still on my mind, so I figured it was a good a place as any to start.

"So, you picked up this tea in Canterlot? Why were you in Canterlot today?" I asked.

Gently setting the tray down, Rarity's face lit up with excitement as she poured tea into each cup.

"Well, you see, that's what I'm here to talk to you about! I'm sure you've noticed that I have been rather... indisposed lately." I nodded. "It must have been, oh, about five weeks ago now. Your sister-in-law, Princess Cadance, contracted me to make over one hundred ensembles! I was flabbergasted. And, might I add, completely flattered. When I asked her what they were for, she said they were for her anniversary celebration in Canterlot! The wedding anniversary of a Princess? What better chance would there be to get my line of work recognized by the Canterlot elite?!"

Again, Rarity's obsession with the Canterlot nobles. Having grown up around them, it was hard for me to share her enthusiasm.

"It's quite a wonderful opportunity, really," she continued, suddenly much more subdued. "At first, I was completely overwhelmed by the scope of this contract. As you probably know, their anniversary is just under three months away. The first thing I needed was to come up with designs. The Princess didn't give me any theme to work with, so I’ve had free reign to design to my heart's content. I spent the last four weeks working on them, and just finalized them yesterday."

Shaking her head, Rarity chuckled softly. "It wasn't easy. I suppose I could have taken the amateurish - and admittedly, less costly - route and simply made a single concept, modifying one design in different ways to suit each individual. But that just wouldn't be me!" She drew herself up straight, raising her chin and bringing her hoof to her chest. "I am, after all, a designer," she put her hoof down, "not just a tailor. And as such, I would much rather impress my clients by going the extra mile."

I ran the numbers in my head and came up with conclusions that were rather concerning. Over one hundred designs in four weeks. That was roughly four designs a day, and now she had three months to actually put them together.

"Do you really think you can get it all finished and fitted in just three months?"

She nodded. "I'll have to put in some extra hours, but the payment and exposure is well worth the effort,” she said. Then, she frowned. "I have also considered asking Fluttershy for assistance. She has a fair amount of expertise on the subject."

That was an understatement. Fluttershy certainly had the knowledge. I strongly suspected that, despite Rarity's prowess as a designer, Fluttershy might actually be the better tailor of the two. But even so, Fluttershy had her animal hospital to run. Then again, knowing Fluttershy, she'd probably run herself ragged trying to handle both; that mare needed to learn how to say 'no’.

So, Rarity at least had a plan for the labor, but something else was bugging me.

"Okay, but do you even have that much fabric on hand?"

Rarity laughed nervously.

"Well... you see, that's why I'm here tonight. I need some special-order fabric delivered. A lot of it, to tell you the truth. It's already been ordered, but it's scheduled to arrive at the Boutique while I’ll be in the Crystal Empire taking measurements for guests. I’m not entirely sure when I’ll be back, and, as you know, I can't trust Sweetie Belle with my materials on such a valuable contract. So I was wondering... Could I perhaps have the shipment delivered here instead? Then, when I return, I can just pick it up here."

"Well, I don't mind having it dropped off here, but I'm not sure where I would put it." I frowned, trying to think of a place we could store a bunch of fabric. Most of the available space was books, books, and more books. My downstairs laboratory was even worse.

"You know, the library isn't really that big," I concluded.

Spike, who had been listening in silence, looked up from his now-empty teacup.

"Gee, Twilight. I don't think finding space is that big a deal. We have that storage closet upstairs that isn't being used. I mean, sure, there's a bunch of old junk in there, but we can clean it out. It's been gathering dust ever since we moved in here, and you keep putting off doing anything about it."

I grimaced, recalling just how much clutter was in the old closet.

Calling it a closet was technically inaccurate; the Golden Oak Library was, at one time, the Golden Oak Inn, and the second floor of the library was where some of the guest rooms had been. This particular room, visible from the ground floor, had been transformed into a place to store all manner of odds and ends. So Spike and I simply thought of it as a storage closet. Oh, and it was completely full.

Spike was right; I'd been ignoring it. It contained a scattered mess of things that belonged to the former librarian, who passed away shortly before my arrival in Ponyville. That space would be more than sufficient. 

"Thanks, Spike,” I mumbled, feeling slightly foalish. “I guess I never thought of that. Probably because we never use it." Of course I hadn't used it. The thought of going through a dead pony's stuff made me feel uneasy.

Rarity beamed and hugged me forcefully.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I knew I could count on you, Twilight. You are always so helpful to everypony who needs it." She released me, and then leaned down and pecked Spike on the cheek. "And thank you for coming up with such a fine solution."

I was sure that Spike might pass out on the spot. Rarity stood up straight again, trotting up the stairs and peering into the storage closet.

"It's perfect!" she exclaimed. "Though... it is a bit cluttered,” she added, taking a moment to size up the mess. “Well, I just so happen to have some free time tonight. Why don't we clean out this closet together?"


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An alicorn, a unicorn, and a dragon working in tandem proved to make short work of the mess. Scrapbooks of old newspaper clippings, trophies from various academic events, boxes upon boxes of various odds and ends - many things that may have had some sentimental value to the old librarian, but not to anypony else. When he had passed, there was no next-of-kin; all of his possessions had been tucked away here, undisturbed for years. I didn't have many personal belongings in the first place and hadn't ever needed the space, so I let them be. For over a year.

Now that we had dug through it, it was all just as Spike declared it: junk. Rarity, of course, had objected to Spike's terminology. As she saw it, this 'junk' had been valuable enough to somepony at some point that they wanted to keep it, so it should be treated with respect.

I must say, I really don’t understand being sentimental over trivial belongings.

At Rarity's insistence, we salvaged what few things might still be useful to other ponies - a few quilts and other knickknacks - and boxed them up to be taken to the orphanage in Canterlot. We put the rest in a cart and hauled it off to the dump. Rarity was aghast, but couldn't come up with anything better to be done with it, since it truly was junk.

Only two things were left when we finished.

The first was a gorgeous full-length mirror. The mahogany frame was carved with intricately patterned curls of gold filament. Each curl was accentuated by a smaller silver filament along the inside edge. At the very top, there was a small hemisphere carved out of the frame. Something had probably been mounted there, as the gold and silver curls wrapped around it like a vortex. Rarity declared her love for the mirror the moment she laid eyes on it, claiming it perfectly suited her fitting room, so we left it there until a better opportunity to move it came up.

The other remaining object was an enigma. It was a clear sphere in one of the boxes. It wouldn’t have caught anypony’s eye if Spike had been sorting through the box, but when I lifted it telekinetically, it glowed; not the normal purple glow like when I lift things with my magic, but an almost otherworldly glow, pulsating in different hues. I hadn't seen anything like it before, and I needed to know what it was. After all, anything that could interact with magic was potentially dangerous, and I wasn't about to just throw away a threat to public safety.

In hindsight, the safety I should have considered was my own.


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Two terrified fillies and a distraught timberwolf watched as the water level slowly rose. It was a matter of minutes now before the entrance would be completely submerged, snuffing out the last of the light from outside. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle were huddled over the still-unconscious Apple Bloom, whom they had dragged several feet further up the tunnel. The timberwolf had given up on whining and instead huddled against cave wall, trying to keep as close to the water and as far from the fillies as it could.

Scootaloo, exhausted from the efforts of hauling Apple Bloom to safety, found herself growing immensely tired as the adrenaline finally passed. Still, she dared not sleep with a predator so close by, even if it didn't seem to be hostile at the moment. She laid on the ground, watching the rising water with concern.

"Sweetie Belle?” she asked, her voice rasping. “Now that we’re in here, how were you planning on getting out?"

"I didn't really think about that,” Sweetie said, choking back a sob. “But what choice did we have...?" A rumbling of thunder above reverberated loudly through the cave as Sweetie Belle trailed off into a strained cry.

Scootaloo sighed. Sweetie Belle was right; they hadn't had time to consider other options, and the water had flooded in swiftly. They’d initially hoped that the cave came out on the surface somewhere, but after going further into the tunnel, it sloped sharply downward. 

They might find another way out before they starved to death. Probably. Still, that concern was secondary to getting Apple Bloom to wake up. It didn’t matter what they wanted to do if their friend couldn’t come with them.

What would Rainbow Dash do? Scootaloo pondered.

That was a pointless line of thought. Rainbow Dash wouldn’t have been cornered by falling into a big hole. Scootaloo kicked a hoof in frustration. She glanced over at Apple Bloom with a sinking feeling in her chest as she pondered the real possibility of having to abandon her friend.

Apple Bloom seemed to be resting easier now than when they had first dragged her inside. Her still form was breathing softly as Scootaloo watched. A large lump on Apple Bloom’s head from where she’d struck the ground testified to the severity of her injury. Scootaloo poked at the lump softly, realizing she had been lucky; even though she wasn’t capable of flying, without her wings she probably would have ended up exactly like her friend. And Sweetie Belle wouldn’t have been able to move either of them on her own.

The earth pony groaned in agony at Scootaloo’s repeated poking, her eyes fluttering open briefly. Sweetie Belle gasped and the light from her horn was briefly extinguished. When the light returned, Apple Bloom had lifted her head.

"Scoots?” she moaned softly. “Sweetie Belle...? Where are we?" Apple Bloom slowly sat up, her eyes unfocused in the dim light.

"We’re in a cave," Scootaloo replied bluntly.

“We didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Sweetie Belle added. Neither filly cared to re-live the terror leading up to their current situation.

Looking about, Apple Bloom noticed the timberwolf cowering at the water's edge. Her eyes shot open in alarm as she tensed up.

"How is a timberwolves’ den safe?!" she whispered harshly.

"I'm pretty sure this isn't their den, AB,” Scootaloo said. “I mean, look at him! He's even more terrified than we are."

The creature only whined, staring at the water like it was debating an attempt to swim out.

"Ah guess you're right," Apple Bloom agreed hesitantly. "But how are we s'pposed ta get home now?"

A clap of thunder rattled their ears. Even though the water had completely covered the entrance, it continued to climb relentlessly. The trio moved further up the slope, putting more distance between themselves and the timberwolf.

Sweetie Belle's voice broke the silence. "I can't keep this light up forever, you know. It might be a good idea to go deeper and see if we can find a safer place." The glow from Sweetie Belle's horn, now the only source of light they had, barely illuminated the cave around them.

Scootaloo didn't like caves and she didn’t like the dark. The idea of exploring even deeper into an unknown cave in the middle of the Everfree Forest was not appealing. Still, without Sweetie Belle's light and with the water encroaching on their position tirelessly, she couldn't help but agree.

"Yeah, we should probably look around. You lead the way, you're the one with the light."

Apple Bloom nodded in agreement.

The timberwolf whined louder, barking a few times as the trio started going deeper into the cave, but remained where it was. The sharp sound echoed off the cave walls and rang in each of the girls’ ears.

"How far do you suppose this goes?" Sweetie Belle asked, trembling.

"Ah don't have any idea," Apple Bloom replied. "But Ah hope at least one of us gets a Cutie Mark after all this."

Scootaloo pondered the events of the day as they slowly walked deeper into the cave. What if Apple Bloom was right? What if this adventure was going to be what finally earned her a Cutie Mark? At that moment, she was fairly certain she never wanted to see a cave again. The idea of getting a spelunking Mark left a bad taste in her mouth.

Several minutes later, the fillies came to a wide chamber with stalagmites jutting up from the ground while stalactites above menaced near them, like giant teeth. As they moved through them, shadows cast from Sweetie Belle’s light danced around the room when the rock formations intervened, and Scootaloo’s heart jumped with fear as each new shadow caused a momentary panic.

Slowly, the three fillies worked their way around the stone spikes, trying to find any other exit to the colossal chamber. As usual, Apple Bloom had impatiently taken point again, but suddenly the earth pony stopped and raised a hoof, pointing around a nearby stalagmite.

"Lights," she whispered. Scootaloo’s heart swelled with hope.

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle took a few cautious steps closer to Apple Bloom to see her new discovery. There, along another wall of the chamber, Scootaloo could make out several bright points of light of varying color. Each light was stationary, but she could tell some of them were obscured by dark objects of some kind, too.

As the trio inched closer, the shadows blocking the various lights started to take clearer forms.

After her eyes adjusted, Scootaloo could make out ponies standing in a semi-circle, each one facing the center in total silence. "They’re ponies," she whispered, unsure of what to make of the strange sight.

"They're not moving," Sweetie Belle whispered back.

She was right; they didn’t budge at all. Scootaloo wasn’t certain they were even breathing.

All three fillies remained still and silent, waiting to see if the ponies were going to do something. Suddenly, a loud, explosive noise came blasting down the corridor they had come from. The entire cavern trembled and shook, the strange sound reverberating ominously. The trio jumped with a start, crying out in terror and fleeing toward the hopefully safe shelter of the other ponies.

As they approached, it became clear that these were not ponies, but statues. Each one was made of an unpolished, jet black stone of some kind and each was carved into a pose set with determination. Scootaloo counted twelve in all, four of each of the pony races, and each was decorated with numerous golden accessories. Their golden regalia was uniformly inlaid with polished gems, of which each statue featured a different color.

The gems themselves were the source of the strange light, radiating their respective colors around the room. Each statue was facing a black pedestal that sat low to the ground, perhaps two hooves high and polished to a shine, but otherwise unremarkable. It bore no inscriptions, nor any sign of purpose, but simply being near it left Scootaloo with a strange sense of peace. All three of the fillies stopped amongst the colored lights, feeling an odd sense of tranquility. The loud boom that had startled them was forgotten.

Scootaloo stopped in front of one of the unicorn statues and examined the metalwork. The statue's accessories, like the other unicorn statues, consisted of necklace with a gem and a crown with a large gem set into it. The front of the crown contained a golden sleeve for the horn, with tiny gemstones worked into a spiraling fashion down the length of the horn. Each of the gems bore a jade green glow.

"Hey, Sweetie Belle, don't you think Rarity would want to see this?” she asked.

"Yeah..." Sweetie Belle breathed, eyes wide with wonder as she examined the jewelry on one of the pegasus statues. The wings of the statue were wrapped in a loose golden mesh, with a glowing sapphire blue trim along the leading edge. Gem dust seemed to be magically woven into the mesh along the largest of the primary feathers as well, giving the wings a strikingly beautiful outline and a shimmering glow. It also wore a necklace identical to the unicorns.

Over by an earth pony statue, Apple Bloom was doing the same. In addition to the necklace, the earth pony statues wore golden leggings with gems set into each of the knees, and a spiraling golden trim that went all the way down to the hoof. A narrow band of color ran down the front below the knee, casting a forward light in the darkness. But it was the necklace that had caught Apple Bloom’s attention. 

"Girls, don't these necklaces remind you of something?” She pointed to the statue's neck with her hoof, where a ruby red gem sat in the middle of a golden-wrought neck piece. “This one looks a little like one've the Elements of Harmony."


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I spent two days studying the strange trinket we’d found, poring through my collection of books about magical artifacts, and trying to divine anything at all about the orb's nature. Nothing surfaced. With my books on artifacts exhausted, I was just settling in to perform some more direct experiments and observations when a sharp knocking on the door distracted me.

For a brief moment, I jerked my head up and stared toward the door, confused. The library was open and the door was unlocked. I trotted over to the door, opening it with my magic. Beyond the door was a familiar gray pegasus with a pale yellow mane. The mare was smiling, her left eye focused on me, while the other drifted, unfocused, somewhere above the doorway. A fairly sizable cart was hitched to her, stacked nearly twice my height with boxes bearing the Strings and Things company emblem.

I eyed the boxes with mild annoyance. Not only had I completely forgotten about the shipment, but the delivery was nearly three times what I had initially expected. Fortunately there was still - probably - enough room in the closet, despite the setback.

"Hello there, Ditzy," I said to the mare. "Judging from the boxes you're hauling today, I'm guessing Rarity directed you my way?" It wasn't really a guess, of course.

"I'm sorry, Princess Twilight Sparkle." 

I tried to hide my agitation; the only true Princesses were Celestia and Luna. And sometimes Cadance, though her being my sister-in-law made that hard to reconcile at times.

"I just always try to follow instructions as best I can," Ditzy continued. She seemed to notice my irritable expression. "... Do you want me to return them to Canterlot? You don't seem too happy about this..."

Her head drooped. This had the slightly unsettling effect of having her right eye - originally pointed off into the sky - come down to focus on me, as the left eye that had been looking straight at me lost focus and seemed to be studying the floor. I was used to dealing with this eccentricity by now - after all, I’d known her ever since I moved in - but it still caused me mild discomfort. Ditzy pawed at the ground with her hoof nervously.

I forced a smile. 

"Please, just call me Twilight. And no, you don't need to return to Canterlot, it will be fine to drop Rarity's …” The eyes were throwing me off again. “uh... her stuff... here." I paused, levitating a quill over. "Do I need to sign for this?"

Ditzy shook her head and looked up again.

"Nope, not this time!" Ditzy cheered up suddenly, bounding happily through the door, cart and all. “I mean, really. Who makes a Princess sign for a delivery? The courts aren’t going to side against her. Because Princesses run the courts.”

She wasn’t technically incorrect - the highest courts were run by Celestia and Luna, but the local municipal court was run by Lady Justice, not the local Princess. I would know, since I’m not doing it.

"Where do you want me to put it all at?” Ditzy asked, interrupting my internal thoughts. “I have to keep the cart. You just get the boxes. I can't let you have that cart, or my boss will be angry with me. So just boxes." She paused, turning to look at her cargo.

"There's a lot of boxes," she intoned in deadpan.

The storage closet was on the second floor. I didn't trust Ditzy to fly up to the second floor with the entire load in tow. Especially after a previous incident which led to my hospitalization, I didn't trust her with anything unless she was on the ground. I levitated some of the boxes with my telekinesis.

"I will handle it, thank you."

I smiled at Ditzy as I floated the boxes, several at a time, up the stairs and into the storage closet, finishing the job in just a few minutes.

"And that's that," I declared, eager to get back to my research. "I'm really busy with something right now, and would like to get back to it. I'm also quite certain you have more work to get done, right? Is there anything else I need to do for you before you go?"

Ditzy cast her gaze (gazes?) about the library and nodded sagely, as if she had found some deep insight into the way the world works just from the way the books were shelved - a task Spike ended up finishing without my assistance.

"No, Princess. That will be all,” she concluded. And with that declaration, she wheeled the cart around, took flight, and bolted out the door. The cart caught in the doorway, and with a loud crack, the harness pulled taut, slamming Ditzy into the ground just outside. I winced, feeling a sympathetic pain. I had crashed plenty of times just learning the basics of flight; that kind of impact hurts.

"Are you okay?" I asked, walking over to her. Ditzy shook her head a few times and pulled herself slowly to her hooves. I stepped closer and rested my wing across her shoulders. "Does it hurt?"

Ditzy looked up at me, her legs wobbling slightly. Her chin was badly scraped from the impact against the hard-packed dirt outside. Both of her eyes briefly focused together, and in that moment I could see that tears were welling up. I wanted nothing more than to just hug her, but it didn't take long before one eye drifted away again and she blinked her tears away. Ditzy sniffled once, standing up straight again.

"No, I... I think I'm okay. I'm kinda used to this sort of thing." She craned her head back, readjusting her harness and checking to make sure it was secure and unbroken before limping over to the cart to check its condition. I immediately zeroed in on her limp.

"Your leg is hurt, isn't it?" I knelt down to examine the appendage. I was no doctor, but it was swelling pretty badly. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

Ditzy drew herself up straight and thrust her chest out proudly. "I'll be fine. I don't need my legs to fly!"

I shook my head, unable to argue with her logic, but still concerned.

"Okay," I replied hesitantly. "Be careful then... and fly safe!"

Ditzy spread her wings, made sure the cart was clear of the doorway this time, and took flight once again. As soon as Ditzy disappeared from sight, I shook my head. 

"That's why ponies call you Derpy, you know," I whispered. Turning around, I retreated back into the library.

"Spike!" I called.

"I'm right here," Spike called back from the kitchen.

"Can you relay a message to Nurse Redheart for me? Ditzy's leg could use some attention after that crash."

"No problem!" Spike immediately bounced out the door. I had to admire his helpful nature. He truly was my number one assistant.

The remainder of my evening was consumed experimenting with the orb. It would sit, inert, looking like a clear glass sphere most of the time. Then, any time I used magic on it, it would simply absorb the spell, with a colored ribbon of light flashing outward from it briefly. I discovered that it also absorbed energy from other magical objects it came into contact with. Some of them would work again after being separated from it. Others would stop working permanently, like my clock, which now was going to have to be replaced. I wasn’t able to find a consistent pattern for this, and I wasn’t about to risk breaking too many things to figure it out.

As the evening went on, I compared my results against things I found in my books. It was nearly nightfall when I found an entry - more of a footnote really - in Ancient Arcane Artifacts, that finally lined up with what I was observing. The note described an object that could absorb magical energies, giving off a prismatic glow. Unfortunately, to my frustration, the book hadn't gone into any detail whatsoever. No information on how it actually worked, what it did with the magical energy absorbed, or what the device was even called. The only thing of use was the name of its creator: Andromeda. That name was vaguely familiar.

A History of Magical Development gave me the reminder I needed. As it turns out, Andromeda was a powerful unicorn mage who redefined how unicorns used teleportation. He also was one of Celestia's first appointed Royal Court Mages, and spent a large portion of his life on attempts to create a stable portal that anypony could use to travel across Equestria in the blink of an eye. Though I couldn’t find exactly what happened, Andromeda's research had either been halted or failed to bear fruit, since no such spell or device was ever completed that I was aware of.

Immediately after reading about Andromeda, I resolved to go to Canterlot. Everything involving official magical research should be tracked in the Canterlot Royal Archives; if he really was a Royal Court Mage, Celestia should have a record of all of his research somewhere.

Perhaps I would also ask the Princess directly.
> 2 - Letters to Mother
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

*B-R-R-R-R-RING*

The sound of the telephone ringing woke me from my blissful slumber, and like any other interruption to my precious sleep, I was confident I wasn't going to like whatever it was. Phone calls were particularly egregious offenders. If it was an emergency, I probably wouldn't get back to bed. If it wasn't, then I was woken up for no reason. No, nobody ever likes a phone call at... whatever time it was in the morning.

*B-R-R-R-R-RING*

I forced myself to roll over, sparing a moment to glare contemptuously at the red numbers of my alarm clock. It sat there in silence, dutifully informing me that it was 4:38 in the morning on a Sunday. With a sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, where my slippers faithfully waited each night for my feet to stuff them in the morning. I kicked at them in a practiced fashion, slipping them on as naturally as if they were an extension of my body, and shuffled across the carpet like a zombie.

*B-R-R-R-R-RING*

The squeal of hinges resounded through the house as the door to my bedroom opened and I stepped out into the chilly hallway, fumbling blindly to click on the hall light. White walls flooded my vision as my hand found the switch, stinging my retinas. I staggered toward the kitchen, fighting the urge to ignore the phone entirely and return to my peaceful slumber. As I reached the offending device, I silently hoped it wasn't an emergency. At least that way, I could get some catharsis out of yelling at someone for calling the wrong number in the middle of the night.

*B-R-R-R-R-RING*

The phone noisily announced itself again as I reached for it - an old rotary phone that was a relic of my mother's past. Despite everyone in the household having a personal cell phone, we stayed with this ancient device, and I hated it. Mother was so insistent on keeping it, however, that it wasn’t worth the time disputing it with her. I lifted the receiver to my ear, cutting it off before it had a chance to ring again and hopefully preventing anyone else from waking up.

"Hello?" I spoke into the phone groggily.

"Jillian?" a deep, familiar baritone voice asked, breaking slightly.

Lance Wescott was an old family friend who worked on my grandparents’ farm back east. It would be properly morning there, and if he hadn't sounded distressed I might have yelled at him for not respecting time zone differences. As for Jillian, she's my mother. Everyone always thinks I sound like my mother. And like anyone else who has that experience, I loathed the reminder.

"No, this is Rebecca," I replied. I heard him breathing heavily into the phone for a moment, choking back a sob. "Are you okay?" I added, giving him some time to recollect himself.

As he tried to continue, a hand rested on my shoulder. Behind me, my four-minutes-younger identical twin, Sarah, was looking at me questioningly. It was obvious she wanted to ask who was calling. I didn't want Lance to think I wasn't paying attention while he was clearly distressed, so I forced a smile and raised a hand to stall her.

Sarah balanced on the balls of her feet and rocked back and forth impatiently as I waited for Lance to speak. Her nightgown, a thin, sky blue piece, made her look slightly ghostly as it swayed against the silhouette of the hall light behind her. To be honest, even though we were identical twins, I was jealous of her looks. There was a natural beauty to her, even without any makeup and her hair completely mussed, that I never felt I could match.

After a few false starts, Lance finally managed to speak something intelligible. "Rebecca, I need you to get your dad, please." I mouthed the instruction to my sister, who nodded. As Sarah walked away, a thousand possibilities started storming through my head, but the one that wouldn't go away was the thought that one of my grandparents had died.

"Okay. Sarah is going to get mom and dad,” I replied, “Lance, what's wrong? What happened?" I was hoping against hope that my fears wouldn't be confirmed, but Lance was having a hard time speaking. For a few moments, only silence passed between us, interrupted occasionally by his choked sobbing. Each time he cried out, my anxiety grew.

"The farmhouse,” he finally managed to say. “I woke up early this morning, and it was on fire."

"What do you mean, ‘on fire’?"

I felt like an idiot the moment the words left my lips. My thoughts were racing; I didn't know how to respond, but that momentous display of intelligence was all I had mustered. Fire burns things, Rebecca, I chastised myself. Something that is on fire is typically burning, and burning buildings are bad. Burning homes, doubly so. Especially burning homes that belonged to family.

"...Please, just give the phone to your dad." I glanced toward my parents' room and saw my father rolling toward me in his wheelchair, with Sarah following patiently behind him. My mother followed a few steps behind Sarah, fussing with her own cell phone. Father rolled up and stopped next to me, putting his hand out.

"Okay, here's dad," I mumbled into the receiver.


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I could have slept, and under normal circumstances, running on no sleep could have led to a wonderfully peaceful time sleeping. Unfortunately, my mortal fear of flying wasn't helping; I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to.

In my efforts to not completely panic, I distracted myself by trying to read a book. It was a fantasy novel about a land where everyone had a magical talent, and a main character who didn't know what his talent was. A friend had recommended it to me, and while I wasn't normally one to read, the book had proven interesting enough. Unfortunately, while it was great for occupying my breaks at work, it wasn't sufficient to distract me from the reason I was on the plane in the first place.

As my father had relayed to us, my grandparents were in critical condition in the hospital, and the outlook wasn't good. They weren’t likely to survive, and we had immediately boarded the next available flight in hopes that we would arrive before their passing. Sitting on the plane, I realized I hadn't seen my grandparents in six years. Memories came flooding back to me, and before I knew it, my vision had clouded and the pages of my book were just a blur of black streaks on paper. Then, tears began to fall.

...Do you want to hear a story, Becca?

You sometimes hear people talk about their loved ones that had passed, and how they have forgotten what a loved one's voice sounds like after they have been gone for a while. Even though we hadn’t spoken in six years, that certainly wasn't the case for me; it sometimes seemed like all I could remember about grandfather was his voice... and now I was afraid I wouldn't hear it again.

Before settling down with my grandmother to run the family farm she inherited, my grandfather had had a sense of wanderlust. He had travelled the world, and loved telling stories about his experiences. Many of my memories of him were of sitting around the living room - my sister and I - enraptured as he was regaling us with tales of his travels. 

An older me could recognize that many of the stories were embellished, but they were just plausible enough that most of them were probably rooted in truth. His stories didn’t just brighten my day; they also made my grandfather shine with excitement. I remembered his smile, crooked teeth and all, whenever Sarah or I agreed to listen to one of his tales. As he told them, his eyes, blue as the sky, lit up with energy that far exceeded his years. It seemed like he would relive each memory as he told it, time and time again; story after story about India, Saudi Arabia, Australia, Japan, South Africa, Germany. Sometimes it seemed like there weren't any countries he hadn't been to. And his hands, wrinkled like raisins, pantomimed animatedly as he spoke of these adventures...

... I also remember those hands writing letters. Every Sunday after supper, he would excuse himself and go out to a small shed in the backyard, where he would cloister himself for an hour. Inside the shed was a desk, where he would sit and write a letter to his deceased mother. When the letter was done, he would put it into a large safe, and then quietly return to the house. It was his personal alone time, and we weren't supposed to disrupt it.

When I was around ten years old, I went out to the shed. I don't recall if I was being a bratty kid, or if I had a legitimate reason to bother him, but as I opened the door to the shed I saw him putting a letter away. I do recall that the combination lock on the safe was fascinating to me, because I'd never seen a combination lock in real life before. The only locks I was familiar with were every-day locks: typical locks you would see on the front door of your home, or whatever cars did when you locked them. I thought it was neat to finally see something I had only seen on film and in cartoons.

Grandfather wasn't bothered by my interruption, welcoming me with open arms. At my interrogation, he explained how the lock worked, and showed me how to open the safe. After I had opened and closed it several times in wonderment, I asked him why he put his letters to his mother in there.

I never had a chance to say goodbye to my mother. Even though I loved her so much, the last time I ever saw her we got into a fight. I said some cruel, hurtful things to her. Things no one should ever say to their mother. Things that I can never take back anymore. I lock my letters to my mother away with her ashes, to remind myself that, sometimes, the things we say cannot be taken back. Now that I have been doing this for so many years, I’ve also realized something else. The amount of time we have to say things to others is limited. I now know just how much I wanted to say to her that never had a chance to be said. So, now, I write it for her. And, somewhere up in heaven, I know she can read it.

Those words stuck with me. Now, I wasn’t a religious person, and I didn’t believe his mother would be somewhere up in the sky, reading his last memoirs, but I did understand what grandfather meant. And from that day, I'd sworn to never say hurtful things to anyone I loved.

My grandfather had inspired me to be a better person. Of course, I wasn't perfect. Twins are just expected to get along, but we really didn't. In fact, I said spiteful things to my sister all the time. In recent years, it had only gotten worse. It’s not that I hated her… but just thinking about it made me feel guilty all over again. He certainly wouldn't approve of the way we’d been treating each other recently.

Just last week, she brought me a dress to try on to see if it would look good on her. Being identical twins, it was something we had routinely done over the years. Only this time, she had made a point of poking my belly. My cheeks burned with anger as I recalled what she said.

“Nope, it makes me look fat. I should return it.”

I wasn’t particularly sensitive about my weight, but I was heavier than her, if only slightly. I got mad and tore the dress off - literally - screaming back at her about how it only made her look fat because she was. Then she made a big deal about how she wasn’t fat, and how much she’d paid for the dress I had just ruined. I wouldn’t have any of it because I felt she was being a jerk... and then mom got involved, and I had to pay her back, and… What if that had been one of our last interactions? I would feel terrible. And just like grandfather, I wouldn’t be able to take it back.

And now what was the last thing I had said to my grandparents? Now that I was thinking about it, I couldn't even recall. Everything from years ago was such a blur. Tears came pouring down again as the realization struck home: I probably would not be able to say goodbye to them.

Pulling my knees tightly to my chest, I quietly cried for the rest of the flight, not really caring if I was disturbing other passengers.


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Zecora stood outside her hut, looking up to the dark clouds with a grim expression. A strange silence had settled upon the normally feral creatures of the forest. The storm brewing above was extraordinary, and the increasing winds carried whispers of ill omens that nearly every creature could feel. The zebra shaman sniffed the damp air, listening intently for any foreign sounds.

A foul smell betrayed the presence of timberwolves on the prowl somewhere upwind, toward Ponyville. Timberwolf hunts were unpleasantly common in the Everfree Forest, and the creatures were ignorant of the collateral damage they often caused in their wake. Their rampages often destroyed her cultivars, though fortunately they respected the Blade Ferns and Rotcaps that surrounded her hut, and the beasts kept their distance.

With a concerned ear kept to the forest, Zecora trotted softly over to a cultivated patch of herbs, plucked one with her teeth, and retreated quickly into her hut. Her cauldron bubbled softly as her soft hoofsteps clicked on the wooden floor. Dropping the newly plucked herb into the blend, Zecora stirred vigorously with a wooden ladle as rain started drumming against the roof of her hut. After a short time, the bubbling of the brew stilled and the surface glowed with a soft green hue.

Humming a tune, Zecora removed the ladle, spooning some of the new compound into a nearby wooden bowl. After poring over her myriad collection of natural ingredients, bottled alchemical concoctions, and other assorted jars of substances best left alone, she pulled down a large jar filled with firegrass, an orange moss that warmed slightly when wet and made an excellent base for medical poultices. She gently shook some out into the bowl and absent-mindedly mashed all of the contents with her hoof, grinding the moss and mixture together into a thick, gooey substance.

A distant howling from outside shook Zecora's attention away from her alchemy. The timberwolves were chasing something. And whatever it was, it was approaching rapidly. Curious, Zecora stepped outside her hut again to listen. As the commotion neared, something else could be heard amongst the sharp howls: A voice. At least one; it was hard to tell amongst the timberwolves’ cry.

Zecora perked her ears, trying to identify the creature. Few denizens of the Forest were capable of speech, and not all were friendly. After a few moments, an obscenity shouted in a familiar drawl cut through the air.

Oh no, no, no, Zecora thought to herself. She knew that voice: the eternally curious Apple filly.  

Why must that foolish child be here now?

No time could be spared if an entire pack of timberwolves were hunting a single filly, but fighting off timberwolves required preparation. Darting inside, Zecora grabbed a firebrand ointment and quickly doused herself in it, grabbing a second bottle for a possible emergency. Other bottles flew from shelves into Zecora's saddlebags as she hastily grabbed everything she might possibly need. She quickly scraped her new creation into an empty vessel and threw it into her bag as well, and then bolted out the door at a full gallop.

The rain was already starting to soften the earth beneath her hooves, but her sturdy horseshoes - given to her as a gift from Applejack - gave extra purchase upon the firmer earth below the muck, propelling her as fast as she could go. She only hoped it would be fast enough.

The shrieking and howling shifted, heading deeper into the forest as Zecora galloped through concealed pathways that few knew about. Time was of the essence. Gnarled trees whipped past her on all sides, and she pressed on, leaping over patches of poison joke, dodging blade ferns, and evading other dangerous terrain skillfully. Her speed, mobility, and superior knowledge of the land allowed her to close the distance between herself and the wolves, but she was fighting against a late start, and that was going to be difficult to compensate for.

A few minutes later, a shrill howl pierced the air, an utterance timberwolves used to signal others to their location … and usually meant that prey had been cornered. Zecora felt her skin crawl as she realized what lay in that direction: Gwydion’s End.


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When the plane touched down it felt like 8 PM, which was probably fitting since I didn't usually wake up until 8 AM and I'd been up for twelve hours already. Life has a strange sense of humor, sometimes; due to the magic of time zones, it actually was 8 PM anyway. But while I may have dodged a bullet with jet lag, I was completely exhausted from lack of sleep and stress, and I was ready to crash.

As it turns out, 'sleep deprived' is not the best condition to be flying in a plane, and ruminating on the information that my grandparents were both in critical condition at the hospital the whole way meant I hit the ground not just tired, but in a somber, foul mood. There are only so many variations on the question of human mortality one can ponder before spiraling into despair, and as the plane pulled into the terminal I was ready to lash out at almost anyone.

Lance met us at the baggage claim, a grim look on his tear-streaked face. His cropped brown hair was unkempt and he looked even more tired than I felt. Immediately upon seeing us, he sat down in the nearest chair and beckoned father over. Not a word was said between them; Lance's eyes told us everything. My grandparents were gone. The two shared a comforting embrace, each silently grieving over the loss.

Mom softly rubbed dad's shoulders and an awkward silence descended as my father’s sobs caused the usual airport commotion to disperse quickly. Then, as the reality of the situation dawned on Sarah, she started bawling, too. I’d already vented all the tears I could before we landed, so I just stood there, an empty feeling welling up inside of me.


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I gasped as the corner of my grandparents' property came into view. The smell of fire permeated the air, and a massive, blackened wooden frame, barely standing above the fields of corn, marked my grandparent's former home; a testament to the blazing inferno that had consumed everything.

Lance had dropped mom and dad off to see my grandparents at the morgue. I didn't want to tarnish my memories by seeing their burnt bodies, and Sarah had begged Lance to take her to the farm instead. Mom and dad had agreed, so arrangements were made to meet at a local hotel later in the night. With limited options, I went ahead and joined Sarah.

As Lance's car rumbled over the gravel road, I could see that the center portion of the house had collapsed, though some of the interior walls were still partially standing.

"Oh my god..." Sarah whispered beside me.

In a rare moment of agreement between us sisters, I simply nodded silently. The charred remains of our childhood stood silently among the grass - grass that had once been a yard we played in. Lance steered the car slowly down the dirt driveway and stopped next to what had once been the front door.

A cool, evening air greeted me as I stepped out of the car. Before me was a lifeless skeleton of wood and metal, twisted and broken. All I could do was stare in awe of the destructive power of flame; the majesty of a three-story house reduced to nothing more than a shell of its former glory. Sarah started crying again as we stood there. Lance embraced her, offering his shoulder, and the two walked away slowly.

Excusing myself, I wandered away in a stunned silence, leaving the two behind. I slowly walked around the house, peering between broken walls, looking for anything I knew. I shook my head in disbelief; no matter where I looked, I couldn't find any recognizable signs from my youth in the burnt out husk of the house.

When I came around behind the house, I saw the shed. The wind must have been blowing away from it during the fire, because it didn't appear to have been affected by the blaze at all. Against the backdrop of the setting sun, it looked every bit like some sort of lonely shack on a prairie.  It was somber, yet beautiful in its own fashion. I couldn't say I was feeling happy to see it, but that vision set off something in me; I felt a sense of purpose, something I needed to do.

The door to the shed was flimsier than I remembered as I opened it and stepped inside. Stumbling around blindly, it took me several seconds before I finally found the overhead chain and clicked on the light. There, along the right wall, was grandfather's writing desk, a stained mahogany piece that was showing its age. The stain was worn and faded, especially on the surface where my grandfather had often written, and scars and scuffs from general use marred the otherwise stellar craftsmanship. I pulled out the chair and sat down, grabbing paper and pen from the drawer my grandfather had always kept it in. And I began writing.

To Great Grandmother Williams,

Hello. This is your great granddaughter, Rebecca. I know you don’t really know me, but I’m pretty sure grandfather must have mentioned me to you at least a few times. I know I never got a chance to meet you, but I wish I had. Grandfather spoke of you fondly, and you sound like you were an amazing woman.

It's Sunday today, and because it’s Sunday, I know you're probably expecting a letter from grandfather. 

But you won’t get one this week. Tonight, I'm writing in his place. I don't know what things are like for you in the great hereafter, or how all that stuff works. Maybe you already know?  But just in case you don't, I feel like I should tell you. Grandfather has gone to join you on the other side. And I know he loved you a lot. So, I hope that whatever happens when we pass on, you two are seeing each other again now.

I stopped to wipe tears from my eyes, my grandparents passing feeling more and more real with each word I wrote.

We all really miss grandfather, in the same way that I'm sure he missed you. He was well-loved, and I'm grateful that you brought him into this world so that I could meet him. I guess I wouldn't be around if it weren't for you, too. So, thank you for that!

Anyway, I don't really know what else to write. I just knew I couldn't leave you hanging, waiting for a letter that would never come. I wish I could have talked to you, even just once.

With all my heart,

Your Great Granddaughter,

Rebecca Williams

As the pen dropped, I was feeling a strangely bittersweet happiness. I didn’t believe in an afterlife, but just writing those words down had given me a sense of completeness. It wasn't quite closure, but somehow it felt right. More right than anything else that had happened to me in a long time.

I walked over to the safe. It was a large, dark grey safe, laden with a large plate that had Dedicated To the Memory of Bernice Williams engraved upon it. A smaller plate beneath, reading 3/16/1906-1/12/1973, sat just above the combination lock. Unless grandfather had moved the jar, some of her ashes should be inside. In more than one way, my great grandmother was laid to rest here. As that fact settled over me, I felt very self-conscious of both what I had just done and what I was about to do.


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The cave, known to its guardians only as Gwydion’s End, was held as a sacred ground, one that Zecora’s tribe had been tasked to watch over for over a thousand years. Generations later, even her tribal elders were not certain exactly what the cave contained, or even if their ancestors ever knew. Some said it contained a relic of Nightmare Moon’s rebellion, one that should never be disturbed. Others believed it was a portal to Tartarus. Still others claimed it was the tomb of Celestia and Luna’s parents, a ground so sacred only the Sisters themselves dared to tread upon it.

All Zecora knew for sure was that whatever was inside contained a power so incredible that even the alien magic of the Everfree grew still around it. And, absent the forest’s magic, even the fearsome creatures of the Everfree kept their distance.

Zecora skidded to a halt as the ledge over Gwydion’s End raced up to meet her. The downpour of rain had rendered the entire area slick with mud. As she had feared, an entire pack of timberwolves were pacing around the edge, howling and whining to one another as Zecora arrived. Their prey must have fallen in.

Before she had a chance to approach any further, one of the timberwolves turned to her and growled, drawing the attention of the rest of the pack. Four of the roughly dozen timberwolves turned away from the flooded depression and circled around Zecora instead, sizing up their new prey. Zecora's eyes narrowed and she dug her hooves into the mud, preparing to fight off the beasts.

"I am protected by the seeds of flame,” she uttered menacingly to the wolves that were now pacing around her in a circle. “You would be wise to heed my claim.”

As she expected, the timberwolves were undeterred. One lunged at her from the rear, only to be met with a zebra’s hind hoof crashing into its face, shattering the beast on contact. The pieces of the timberwolf scattered about on the ground, burying themselves into the mud as Zecora firmed up her footing again. Acknowledging a new threat, three more split away from the pack to focus on their new prey.

Two more of the timberwolves tried their luck, attacking from both sides simultaneously. Zecora whipped to the side as she reared up, boxing the wolf on her left with a front hoof, deflecting its attack. The other sank a fang into her flank, forcing her to a cry out in pain. A brilliant blue flame erupted from the wound, immolating the timberwolf as the firebrand ointment ignited. The timberwolf she’d knocked away scrambled to retreat as the flames engulfing its companion licked at its face.

In mere moments, blazing husks of wood collapsed into the mud with a hiss, the spirit of the timberwolf already snuffed out. Steam billowed out violently from the burning corpse on impact, and continued to hiss angrily as each raindrop struck home. At the sight of magical fire, the entire timberwolf pack scattered, barking and whining to each other as they fled.

Zecora's flank was in agonizing pain as she craned her neck around to examine her wound. The fangs of the creature had punctured deep in the middle of the spiraling pattern of her Sigil. Though the flame had already cauterized the flesh, the burning did nothing to help the pain.  Digging through her satchel, she pulled out the vial containing her newest mixture and applied some to the injury. Dampened by the rain, the water in her fur activated the firegrass immediately, providing a soothing warmth that numbed the pain. Unfortunately, the cauterized flesh would prevent the healing herbs of the poultice from helping, so it could only serve as a numbing agent for now.

Satisfied that the timberwolves were gone, Zecora approached the flooded basin with trepidation. Peering over the ledge, Zecora's eyes went wide in fear. There was no sign of anypony in the water; had Apple Bloom fallen in? Zecora wasn't sure if the filly could swim, but even if she had drowned in the rising waters, her lifeless body should still float. Yet the pit was lifeless, and always was, so there shouldn't have been any branches for a body to snag on below the water, either.

Had the foalish child gone into Gwydion’s End to avoid the wolves? It was the only answer Zecora could fathom.

Zebras, like ponies, were not the greatest underwater swimmers. There wasn't any way she could possibly swim to the entrance without drowning; the water would have to be removed somehow. She rummaged through her pack again, pulling out a large vial of black oil with a heavy cork. Walking over to the burning timberwolf corpse, she set the cork ablaze with the firebrand’s magical blue flames.

The cork hissed and spat with energies of its own as it ignited violently. Satisfied that it was properly lit, Zecora heaved the bottle as far as she could into the water. The magical flame of the firebrand mixing with the alchemical properties of the enchanted cork caused the water to bubble violently as it sank deeper and deeper into the flooded pit. As each bubble popped on the surface, multi-colored flames belched into the air, providing an eye-pleasing pyrotechnic display to any onlookers.

This wasn’t a firework show, however, and Zecora wasn't watching for entertainment. She took shelter behind a nearby tree and covered her ears. Blasting oil was exceedingly dangerous and normally reserved for industrial excavation, but it had alchemical uses as well.

Half a minute after the ignition of the cork, a massive explosion erupted from the pit. Water blasted into the sky in every direction, ablaze with both magical and alchemical residues. Most of the fluid burned into vapor rapidly, but some of it splashed against nearby trees, setting the surrounding forest aflame. Zecora shook her head, hoping the heavy rain would keep the fires to a minimum, but she didn't have time to worry about the consequences of that right now. The consequences from a reckless filly in Gwydion’s End could be far worse.

She trotted over to the pit, where the lingering heat from the explosion was intense.  She was sure it was only made bearable by the firebrand ointment. What water remained in the pit was rapidly boiling away, and the cave entrance was easily visible now. Still, burning flames covered the entire surface of the remaining water, and the dangerous drop wasn't terribly inviting. The firebrand could protect her from the flames, but the fall would be another issue entirely. Nothing in her pack would be helpful here; in her haste to leave quickly, she had not managed to grab any cloudfall tinctures.

Carefully lowering herself down over the ledge, Zecora dropped to the ground below, rolling in the muddy water. The landing was rough and sent a shock through her rear hooves that might have hurt immensely if the local numbing sensation from her flank’s firegrass salve hadn't dulled her senses. Sinking to her knees, she steeled her resolve and started her slog toward the cave entrance.


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I knelt down and turned the knob around a few times. The numbers flew around the dial as I quivered nervously. Finally, carefully, I stopped it on the position that read '1'. I turned the dial around the other way, making sure to do a full rotation, stopping at '12'.

Right 1, Left 12, Right 73. The memory from my childhood was so vivid that I could remember the combination clearly. I looked again at the engraved plating. January 12, 1973. I smiled as I put the two together, something that had completely eluded me as a child. My grandfather's intimate thoughts, the thousands of letters to his mother he had written were kept within, sealed with the day she had died. And now I was going to 'send' my own letter.

Why was I doing this?

A chill ran down my spine as I completed the final rotation to '73'. This was the moment of truth. This was the moment where my grandfather’s memoirs would be laid bare. I reached for the handle and pulled gently down on it. With a soft click, the heavy door swung open. I let go of a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

The safe contained a single shelf, bisecting the interior into two equal halves. The bottom of the safe contained a mess of what appeared to be legal documents, a significant amount cash, and jewelry - things you would expect to find in a safe.

But on the shelf, in the back right corner, was a small urn; undoubtedly my grandmother’s ashes. Surrounding that urn were countless letters, rubber-banded together in groups. Another stack of loose letters sat against the rubber-banded collections, looking decidedly less aged. The remainder of the shelf was covered with about two dozen letters letters laid flat, with various coins and tchotchkes sitting on them like paperweights.

I swallowed hard as I carefully set the letter I had written alongside the newer-looking unbound letters. It felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders as the paper left my fingers, but now a terrible curiosity was rearing its ugly head.

What were these letters with things apparently attached? I picked up one of the letters, one with a small coin on it. Grabbing the coin, I brought it to my face and examined it closely. I didn’t recognize it and couldn’t even identify the language of its country of origin, but the coin had seen better days. Like my grandfather, it was well-travelled. I picked up the letter it had been sitting on.

Dearest Mother,

I found myself hearing my grandfather's voice again as I read his writing.

I Pray every day that the life beyond our Mortal Coil is treating you well. I found a coin this week when I was cleaning the attic. Do you remember when I went to Rhodesia? Apparently, this Six pence Coin came home with me. I still remember the day I came back to America and You came to pick me up when I got off the Boat. I was so excited to be Home. Do You remember that too?

Waiting for the Day I see you again,

with Love,

Charles Williams

The letter was strangely subdued. It lacked the energy and long-windedness my grandfather was known for when he told his stories. A sudden sense of guilt washed over me; this wasn't a part of my grandfather's life I should be privy to. As I wiped away tears in my eyes, I set the letter back where it was, and carefully placed the coin back on top of it.

I was about to close the safe when a soft glow caught my eye. It was a small orb in the back corner, about the size of a tennis ball, sitting atop another letter. A glowing sphere, swirling with all the colors of the rainbow, tantalizing my eyes. The whirlpool of colors held my attention for quite a while, and the longer I gazed upon it, the more I was struck with desire. I’m not sure how long I stared, but eventually, I knew: I had to touch it.

Carefully, I reached in and pressed my hand to it. It was cool to the touch, with a glassy smooth texture. I rubbed slowly across the surface with my palm, wondering what on Earth this strange, mysterious artifact might be. Was it some vessel for a long dormant spirit? I entertained the thought briefly.

”WHO SUMMONS ME?” a Djinni would thunder.

“It was me, Rebecca!” I would exclaim.

“I AM GRATEFUL, CHILD REBECCA, THAT YOU HAVE RELEASED ME FROM MY PRISON. FOR THIS FAVOR YOU HAVE BESTOWED UPON ME, I SHALL GRANT YOU THREE WISHES.”

Okay, so I didn’t really believe in magical lamps and wish-granting cosmic beings. By the time you hit the age of nineteen, you usually don’t believe in magic anymore… but a bit of a fantasy here and there never hurt anyone.

Picking the orb up gently, I peered into it. A colorful ribbon of light danced around slowly inside of it, refracting off the glass surface and casting scattered swirls of color across the walls of the shed. I paused, rapt with awe. It certainly hadn’t been doing that when I first opened the safe. A sense of peace and serenity washed over me.

Prior to that moment I hadn't realized just how tense I was. As I gazed upon the colorful maelstrom, my stress just melted away. I don’t know how long I was entranced by it, but with a deep sigh, I decided I needed to put it away. Not in the safe. No, it couldn’t stay here.

Searching around in the shed, it didn't take long to find a small metal toolbox just large enough for it to fit. I dumped the contents of the toolbox on the desk and put the strange orb inside. Then, to prevent it from rattling around or getting damaged, I wadded up some of the paper from the desk drawer and jammed as much of it into the toolbox as I could.

That should do.

Sarah and Lance were nowhere in sight as I stepped out of the shed. I walked around to the front of the house, where I found the car still sitting unattended. They had probably taken a walk in the fields to clear their heads. Sarah had always loved to do that, and Lance may have gone with her.

My duffel bag, full of all the clothes I had packed, was sitting in the back seat of the car, undisturbed. With both of them gone, this was my chance. I grabbed the bag and started to run back toward the shed, tearing around the side of the house and aiming straight for the shed.

"What’s up, Beck? Why the rush?"

... And there it is. I hated that nickname, and Sarah knew it. I stopped mid-stride and turned to see Lance and Sarah sitting on an overturned wooden bin nearby. They had probably been watching me ever since I left the shed, and I’d somehow missed them. Now I needed an excuse, and quick!

"... Uh..."

Great job, I thought to myself, I'm sure they're completely convinced. I glanced down at the duffel bag, where a pair of blue jeans was visible through a small tear in the side. "There's an old sewing kit in the shed," I lied. "I'm gonna stitch up the tear in my duffel bag." If I'd sounded as fake as I felt right then, my lie wasn't going to go very far.

"Whatever," Sarah replied dismissively, turning back to a small sketchbook in her hands, her pen dancing away. A moment of realization struck me. Even though I was trying to be sneaky, they had no reason to think I was being sneaky, so I didn't need to actually be sneaky! 

… Why was I being sneaky about this in the first place? Was it because I was stealing? The thought nagged at my consciousness as I strode into the shed once more and set about tucking the toolbox carefully amongst my clothes.

When I was done, I closed up the safe and spun the dial one last time. A heavy sigh escaped from my lips. What was I doing? Stealing not just from my dead grandfather, but also his dead mother? My great-grandmother? It knew it was wrong; I did. But somehow I felt that I was supposed to have it. That I had to have it. And I couldn’t fight that.

… I just didn’t know why.
> 3 - A Princess and Her Princess
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I left for Canterlot first thing in the morning, arriving at the castle just before noon. After a bit of inquiry with Raven, Princess Celestia’s secretary, I learned the Princess was busy entertaining diplomats from Saddle Arabia and wouldn’t have time to see me before continuing on to the afternoon’s open court session. Not wanting to waste any time, I left a message with Raven and continued on toward the Canterlot Royal Archive.

Progress was slow, and not because I couldn’t find what I was looking for. Finding books on Andromeda was trivial. The problem was that most of them weren’t useful, since large portions of the texts were blacked out. This practice was common amongst older texts in the Archive after the Princess set standards about forbidden magic. Normally, I could understand that. After all, Princess Celestia wouldn’t have ordered something censored if it wasn’t dangerous. Now it was just an obstacle to my research.

“Princess Twilight?”

I jerked my head up from the book I was searching. Raven was standing to the side with a stern expression.

“Yes?”

“Princess Celestia has agreed to meet you as soon as her afternoon court adjourns. Please don’t keep her waiting.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Raven. That will be all.” I tried to go back to my research, but I was so excited I couldn’t focus on my reading.

It wasn’t just that I was going to talk to the Princess. I was one of the few ponies for whom that was basically routine. But I was about to have a chance to talk to the Princess, who had met Andromeda first-hand a thousand years ago! How often would I get a chance to speak to a primary source about information that was several generations old?

Princess Celestia met me in the Canterlot Gardens - one of her preferred places to relax and one of our common retreats for personal discussion. Her favorite part of the Gardens was private and secluded, which was perfect for those rare opportunities to speak with her one-on-one. When we got there, she settled down in the grass - not far from where Discord’s statue had once stood - and lifted a wing, inviting me to sit and lean up against her. I happily obliged, cuddling against her side and tucking underwing, just as I had when I was still a foal and she was still my teacher.

It was nice to snuggle up against her, with her wing draped over me, as we had done many times in the past. Princess Celestia wasn’t my mother, but in some ways she was more a mother to me than my actual mother was. I mean, she was there for every major milestone of my life, starting with earning my Cutie Mark. After all, getting a Cutie Mark is one of the most defining moments for a foal, marking a significant life transition, and my real parents didn’t even get a chance to see most of it... though they still have traumatic memories of the event. In hindsight, I suppose that was my own fault, but it created a rift in our relationship.

But even beyond that, living with the Princess in the castle made it hard to share life’s momentous occasions with my parents. It wasn’t that my parents didn’t try to be part of my life; I saw them regularly, but I didn’t live with them. It’s hard to be a parent-in-absentia and while they were gone Celestia was always right there. Apart from my brother, then just a recruit in the Royal Guard, Celestia was the only pony I trusted in the entire castle, so when big things were happening in my life, there was only two ponies I would call upon. And as a filly, there were some things I couldn’t go to my brother for.

But the Princess?

The Princess was there when I lost my favorite pet. She was there to guide me when I suffered through my first estrus. She was there when I mastered my first teleportation spell. When my first serious date went poorly, she was the one who comforted me. She was the one who paid his medical bills when a young recruit from the Royal Guard beat the stuffing out of him. And she was the one who pardoned my brother for assaulting a civilian.

Princess Celestia always had my best interests at heart.

”What was it you wanted to speak with me about, Twilight?”

I was disappointed when she finally broke the silence; for a few minutes, I had lost myself in blissful memories. The sudden snap back to reality was unpleasant. I blushed slightly, embarrassed that I’d forgotten why I was there.

“I was wondering if you could help me with some research. I recently found a strange magical device; a small orb that I believe was created by Royal Court Mage Andromeda.”

Princess Celestia tensed up and remained silent for a several moments before replying.

“Andromeda,” she spoke wistfully, “now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.” She stopped, her voice hitching slightly. Her beautiful, loving eyes became strangely distant, and I thought I could see them misting up. I wasn’t sure how to respond, or even if I should. I waited in silence.

Coming back to the present, she looked toward the pedestal Discord had once stood on. With a pained chuckle, she returned her focus to me and I could see tears streaming down her face.

”He was a good pony, always concerned for those around him. Always trying to make Equestria a better place.” Her gaze shifted toward the pedestal again, as she continued in a whisper. “I only wish he still was.”

Celestia shook and shuddered as she sobbed softly. Her choked cries, a lost and forlorn sound, rent my heart asunder. The guilt falling on my shoulders took my breath away as I tried not to start crying myself. I had not intended to open old wounds or cause her suffering, and yet I had. I wanted to mourn alongside her. To apologize. To do… something. Anything.

In all the years I spent as Celestia’s student, I had seen her cry only a few times before. When my friends and I gained the power of the Elements of Harmony, saving her sister from the clutches of Nightmare Moon, she had cried tears of joy.  When a flood in a small village had claimed the lives of several families, she had mourned their loss openly, weeping in the streets and causing a media circus. But these weren’t the same as those tears - these tears were personal and raw.

Now I wanted to do something for her - to say something to her - but I didn’t know how to respond. How does one provide comfort for a millennium-old hurt? She had several lifetimes with which to suffer the pains of her memory. Instead the Celestia remained there in her grief, all of her usual poise and grace gone. All I could do was lay there awkwardly as she mourned a loss I didn’t know and couldn’t understand. So I sat, silently suffering alongside her and unsure how to continue my inquiry; or even if I should.

Eventually she spoke.

“Andromeda was my greatest friend,” she said, “and an impeccable mage. His research saved me. His research saved Equestria. Twice.”

“Then, why?” I asked. “If his research saved you, and saved Equestria - why are all the details censored?”

A sad smile crossed her face. “Just because a tool can be used for good, Twilight, does not mean that it should be used. Some things are far too dangerous...” She trailed off for a moment.

“The orb you found is probably a Spatial Key. Andromeda designed them to open portals between two places, enabling ponies to travel instantly between them without needing to master difficult teleportation spells. He made several prototypes before finalizing the design. Most of them were destroyed, but because he tested them all over Equestria, some were never found.”

“Destroyed?” I asked. “Why?”

“They didn’t work as planned. I’m not actually sure of the specific details myself, but they were used to end a war.”

“A war?”

“A war. Before I explain, can you name the sixteen schools of magic? Educate me.”

Magic was my specialty - my Cutie Mark. It was a part of my own identity. Why was the Princess testing me with such a rudimentary question? I wasn’t sure. Princess Celestia often tested me when she wanted to teach me something, usually because the subjects are related somehow.

“There are fifteen schools of magic in four Arts,” I answered, hesitantly. “Not sixteen.” The Princess simply watched me with an expectant look.

“The first four schools - Fire, Air, Earth, and Water - make up the Elemental Arts,” I continued. “They are low level magics, easily learned but difficult to master, acting as the rudimentary basis for most innate magics found in Equestria.

“The next four schools are Kinesis, Conjuration, Transmutation and Restoration; the Physical Arts. These higher levels magics are innately found in far fewer species than the Elemental Arts, and are significantly harder to learn, but also the easiest to master through education and practice.”

The Princess nodded. “Very good. Exactly as I taught you. Please, continue.” Her praise was almost patronizing in nature, like complimenting someone for basic arithmetic, but I reveled in it all the same. After all, She was my Princess.

“The next three schools make up the Spiritual Arts: Enchantment, Divination, and Chaos. These dangerous and complicated magics are never found in nature, and practiced only by the most powerful of magicians.

“The Dimensional Arts - Space, Time, Dream, and Light - are the pinnacle of magical achievement, so difficult and exclusive that they are often called ‘Alicorn magic’, since few outside of Alicorn blood are even capable of using them.”

Princess Celestia clopped her hooves together with a smile. “Very good.” She put her hooves down. “And incorrect.”

“What?” I sputtered. There was no way I was incorrect on this. This was elementary magical study that any educated mage would know. And I was supposed to be the expert on the subject.

“There is a sixteenth school of magic,” the Princess continued. “One that has been removed from the educational curriculum for hundreds of years.”

I gaped at her, torn between accusing her of lying and wanting an explanation.

“Tell me, why do you think it is that the Spiritual Arts only contain three schools of magic while the others contain four?”

I pondered the question for a moment. I had never considered the possibility that there was a fourth Spiritual school of magic. ‘Four’ was a common number found in magical studies and worked into magical development in many ways. For example, no spell could use more than four schools - the energy needed was incalculable. A fourth school in the Spiritual arts wasn’t out of the question at all!

But Celestia was asking ‘why’. There was one thing that Spiritual Arts had in common, that much I knew: they could fundamentally alter the universe. Enchantment could change a pony’s feeling about something - I had run afoul of it myself with the Want-It-Need-It spell, and Princess Cadance was a walking manifestation of it. Divination could actually alter timelines on a small scale - the final explanation I found for Pinkie Sense, though how Pinkie became attuned to such high level magic, I’ll never understand. And Chaos? Well, Discord was a great example of the dangers of Chaos magic. What would a Spiritual Art change that would be so dangerous as to be wiped from history?

“I’m guessing it was dangerous?” I offered.

“It was,” Celestia nodded. “But removing education from the equation doesn’t prevent ponies from accidentally discovering magic that utilizes it. Tell me - what schools of magic are involved when Rainbow Dash performs her Sonic Rainboom?”

Another strange shift in subject. I had never stopped to consider what magic Rainbow Dash used. The Sonic Rainboom was an impressive marvel, using an immense amount of Air magic that served as a baseline. The iconic expanding rainbow was going to be formed by a burst of Water magic. Probably.

“Air and Water?” I suggested.

Celestia delivered me a flat stare. “Do you really think a Sonic Rainboom would be rare simply through two Elemental schools of magic, one of which is an innate part of pegasus existence, and the other that is practiced almost universally by their race?”

I faltered. Celestia was right - if that was all it took, more than half of pegasi should be capable.

“Um...” I pondered for a moment.

The rainbow itself would need water to refract the light, wouldn’t it? But that would require a source of that light right in the center in order to have a circle of light, and creating light was basic Conjuration. Pegasi were notoriously bad at Physical Arts, which would explain the rarity.

“Conjuration.” Final answer. That made sense, right?

Celestia shook her head. “Rainbow Dash uses three schools of magic, but Conjuration isn’t one of them. The reason a Sonic Rainboom is so rare to see is because it uses Light magic, not Water, to bend the visible spectrum in the shockwave.”

“Light?! That’s...” I wasn’t sure how to respond. Rainbow Dash could use a Dimensional magic? Even I struggled with basic Light spells, and I was an alicorn.

“And using Light magic, she doesn’t need to use Water.” The Princess interrupted my sputtering. “In fact, a Sonic Rainboom is created with Air, Light, and Inspiration.”

Huh? Inspiration wasn’t a …

“Wait, that’s the last school of magic? Inspiration?” That might explain why the Sonic Rainboom had such a lasting impact on so many ponies. That didn’t sound dangerous.

“I recognized it immediately,” the Princess continued, “but I forbade all of my scholars from studying the effect until she was older, for fear that they would discover it. They thought I was being sensitive to research on foals. By the time Rainbow Dash was older, they had largely forgotten about it.”

It made a strange amount of sense, but it didn’t explain everything. “How is Inspiration magic so dangerous?” I asked.

“You already know that Enchantment changes how a pony responds to something. It changes how you feel, but the feelings are transient. When an enchantment fades, you can assess your behavior, recognize what was true and what was false. That’s why Cadence can’t just turn Equestria into a giant bastion of loving ponies who always get along.”

Tears again, I noted as I let her words sink in. She was getting mad this time, worked up in a way I hadn’t seen since Chrysalis’ deception was revealed.

“But Inspiration? Inspiration changes what you believe, Twilight! It is slow, insidious, and subtle. Inspiration alters a pony’s soul. And when all is said and done, you can’t know what was real and what was just a manipulation!” Celestia yelled.

The Princess was shaking in anger. If she hadn’t already been laying down, I wasn’t sure if she could stand. And then, the shaking stopped, followed by a loud sob.

“Andromeda was the most noble pony I knew. I loved him, Twilight. I loved him with all my heart.”

I did my best to embrace her as she bared her heart and soul before me.

“I still do,” Celestia whispered, dissolving into tears again.

It all made a bit more sense now.

“Sister!” a voice cried out from above, distracting us both.

With a sniffle, Princess Celestia looked up toward the sky. Princess Luna was flying rather recklessly toward us, desperation written across her face. The younger Princess dropped down with a decidedly ungraceful landing, wasting no time in closing the distance to her sister. Luna’s breath came out in short gasps, as if she’d been flying desperately for a long time.

Her wild and frantic demeanor was not lost on either of us, sobering the mood quickly. Princess Celestia was the first to speak.

“Luna? Aren’t you supposed to be in Manehattan? What brings you back here?”

I was almost jealous of how quickly she was able to put her emotions in check. It also meant she chose to show me her vulnerable side, something that few other ponies would ever see. I smiled through my budding tears, realizing that I was just as important to her as she was to me.

“Sister, I’m sorry to interrupt your private time with Twilight.” I nearly choked on my own tongue. “We have a problem, and We need to depart right away.” Luna’s tone indicated this wasn’t up for discussion.

Princess Celestia stood up abruptly, and because I’d been leaning heavily on her, I had to flap my wings in an effort to not fall over. It didn’t work. I tumbled to the ground and ended up feeling like an idiot, but neither of the Princesses paid any heed.

“What happened?” Celestia asked.

“Negotiations in Manehatten were on hold for a few hours,” Luna replied, “so I decided to do some Dreamwalking to check on the ponies who work at night.”

“Go on.”

“While looking about, I came across a dreamer who was suffering from a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories, as if she was knocked unconscious unexpectedly. I didn’t want to risk walking the Dreamscape of a pony who wasn’t actually dreaming, but I unraveled her thoughts to hopefully let her rest easy.”

“Wait, you can do that?” I blurted out, interrupting. A white wing nudged me into silence as Princess Celestia gestured for her sister to continue.

“As her thoughts unravelled, I saw some of her memories among the strings. In one of them was an image that I’m sure was the entrance to Gwydion’s End! I briefly considered delving into her consciousness to verify what she had seen, but I didn’t want to take the risk of her waking.”

I’d heard enough about that phenomenon from Princess Luna before. Proper dreams were malleable and insubstantive, allowing her to enter and leave at will even if the dreamer awoke. Dreams that came from causes other than REM sleep - like daydreams or the idle thoughts of a comatose patient - were risky. If they awoke while Princess Luna was dreamwalking, she would be trapped in their consciousness until they resumed a dreamlike state again.

Princess Celestia closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “So, one of the guardians of Gwydion’s End has awakened?”

“No, sister. It was a filly.”

Princess Celestia went stiff. “A filly?” she asked in a low voice. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Would I have flown here directly on my own if I wasn’t?” Luna replied. “What should we do now? Merlin is no longer with us to re-create the seal, and no pony has ever been able to cast the spell.”

Princess Celestia shook her head. “We hope the filly doesn’t do anything rash.”

“What’s Gwydion’s End?” I asked, confused.

Celestia heaved a heavy sigh. “A place where the past is dead and buried. And I fear it won’t remain that way for long. Do you have the Spatial Key with you?”

I nodded. “In my saddlebags, back in the Archive.”

“Then hopefully it is one of the later prototypes.”

“She found a Key?” Luna blurted.

Princess Celestia nodded. “I’d hoped we never again open the portal, but we need to be prepared. Twilight, I want you to figure out how to activate the Key. If Gwydion’s End is disturbed, the fate of Equestria might depend on it.”

“Where do I begin?” I asked, uncertain I was prepared for this.

“Many of the prototypes used a mirror to act as the portal,” Princess Luna said. “Just be careful. All we need to know is if we can make it work. If a portal opens, close it immediately, and report back to Us. Don’t tell anypony what you are doing. Not even Spike.”

I nodded hesitantly, still unsure of what exactly was going on as both sisters immediately took flight in the direction of the Everfree Forest. I took off after them, shouting more questions, but my inexperience with flight left me unable to keep pace. Before I’d even cleared the castle grounds, they were already past the city gates. I knew it was hopeless to try to keep up, so I returned to the Archives to retrieve my saddlebags, and then took flight for Ponyville. Princess Celestia seemed to think this portal was important, so my best course of action would be to do what I do best: experiment.

The Princesses were only visible as specks on the horizon as I crested the city walls, and I screamed in frustrated realization as I started a sharp descent from the mountainside.

I had made my Princess cry.


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From the light of the blazing inferno outside, Zecora was able to make out a timberwolf just inside the cavernous entrance of Gwydion’s End. In stark contrast to their usual demeanor, the terrified timberwolf paced against the cavern wall, yipping and whimpering at nothing. 

The usually dangerous animal hardly seemed to be a threat now, but that only concerned Zecora even more. It was possible that it had simply gone bonkers in response to the massive eruption of water and flame just outside and needed some time to calm itself. But what if that wasn’t what set it off? What was truly kept secret in this cavern? The darkness beyond gave no answers.

The darkness also reminded Zecora that she hadn’t brought a light. 

There was no shortage of fire in the large hole behind her, but Zecora would need something she could carry safely and would burn long enough to survive the trip if she was going to make any progress. The complete lack of vegetation in the pit left no suitable wood for the occasion. Zecora eyed the timberwolf. She did not savor the idea of killing the beast in this wretched state. Perhaps a more diplomatic approach would suffice?

She approached the creature carefully, addressing it in a soft tone. "I’ll need some wood for ample light, to save a filly from her plight. If you help me gain some sight, I’ll save you both before the night."

Zecora watched the timberwolf calmly, uncertain if her words were understood. The beast looked at her warily, then back across the burning water, up into the dark cavern, and back to Zecora. It raised a leg slowly, and with a sudden spasm, a long piece of wood dropped from its chest. 

Zecora bowed deeply to the wolf before picking up the wood in her teeth. She waded into the water, approached some of the alchemical flame, and set the stick alight. Immediately, the timberwolf's whimpering was renewed, and Zecora's eyes widened in shock. It could still feel the flame. With a newfound respect for the frightened and now pained creature, Zecora waded back out of the water, trotting cautiously into the cavern beyond. Instead of remaining at the entrance alone the timberwolf followed her, softly crying in pain.


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The clouds below me were taking on a dark shade of gray as I approached Ponyville, and the wind was beginning to whip about unpleasantly. I wasn't used to flying nearly as much as I was walking. Though I knew I was approaching home, I didn't have much confidence in my ability to judge my exact location. Thanks to their innate Air magic, pegasi nearly always knew where they were, even with clouds obscuring their vision. Unfortunately, I wasn’t familiar with how to channel that magic with my new wings. Theory and practice are wildly different when practice involves instincts you haven’t developed.

But even with practice, the Ponyville weather team was struggling as I approach. They had completely lost control of a storm that was blowing in from the Everfree. I could see several of them zipping about, frantically trying to corral the uncooperative storm front. It would be raining hard below the clouds, but I needed to make sure I didn't fly past my home so I grudgingly began a slow descent.

As I dropped below the clouds, true to my expectations, the rain was coming down in sheets; a rain far heavier than any other I could recall in recent memory. In the distance, I could barely see the outline of Golden Oak Library. It was much further away than I had thought. It wasn't worth ascending again, but I still had a fair distance to cover.

Rain pelted me, soaking my coat and weighing me down, and a strong wind buffeted my wings as I flew over the outskirts of town. The strength and stamina of a pony who spends their entire life exercising her wings simply dwarfed that of a pony who’d only had wings for a few weeks, and I was tiring. With a not-so-graceful stumble, I touched my hooves to the ground, folded my wings, and proceeded at a trot along the muddy roads of Ponyville. It wasn't ideal, but at least I could finally relax my wings. The ground was much more natural to me anyway.

What is Gwydion’s End? I wondered as I continued down the windy streets. Clearly Princess Celestia felt it was important enough to abort my private meeting with her, so it had to be something significant, but I’d never heard of it. I mentally added Gwydion’s End to my growing checklist of things to research.

As I trotted along, I noticed the sign on the door of Sugarcube Corner read 'Closed', and all the window shutters were secured. It was unusual for the Corner to close during regular business hours, even in the midst of a full-blown crisis. Curious, I stopped and rapped on the door. To my left, one of the shutters pushed open, slamming against the side of the building with a sharp crack as the wind took hold.

Carrot Cake, the proprietor of Sugarcube Corner, stuck his head out the window and looked at me, shouting over the wind and rain.

"I'm sorry, Princess, but we're closed and Pinkie Pie is out at her family's farm. Can I help you?"

Out on her family's farm? That was news to me. Still, it wasn't unusual for Pinkie to visit her family on short notice.

"No, that's alright," I yelled back. "I was just wondering why you've closed up early tonight!"

"This storm has been going for over six hours! All this rain started some floods down river," Carrot turned away from me and looked down toward the river as he responded, making it difficult for me to hear him. "River Light was forced to abandon the dam, and the wind knocked out the lines to the generator about an hour ago. There's no power in town right now, so if you really need it, you'll have to talk to her and see if the two of you can get the generator up and running again."

River Light was the unicorn in charge of maintaining the large hydroelectric dam that powered Ponyville. Reconnecting the lines would be incredibly unsafe in a storm, and I wasn’t familiar with how to fix it by myself. I wasn't terribly concerned with the lack of power, since almost anything I needed could be emulated with a spell. Normally I’d go help out for the sake of the rest of the town, but at the moment I had a portal to open.

Carrot turned back to face me, his voice clearer again. "I hope the pegasi can get this under control soon. Cup is struggling to keep the twins calm with all the thunder overhead." A flash of lightning and rolling thunder punctuated his lament.

A horrified expression crossed his face as the thunder faded. "But if you would like to get out of the rain, you're welcome to come inside!" he quickly added.

I smiled at him and shook my head. "No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I have things I need to get done tonight. I should be getting back to the library." I nodded politely to Carrot Cake and turned to leave.

"Okay. Good evening, Princess." The window shutter closed up again.

I stepped back into the street, looking around. It was only then that I realized I was entirely alone in the pouring rain. The normally bright and busy town square was dark, muddy, and deserted. I was so preoccupied with getting home that I had been oblivious to my surroundings. Now I could see, all the houses and businesses were just like Sugarcube Corner: windows either dark or shuttered, and doors closed tight. No sign of ponies anywhere except the occasional weather pegasus overhead struggling to fight back against the storm. The effect was wholly depressing. With a shake of my head, I resumed walking toward the library, pondering what I had learned in Canterlot.

From the Archive, I’d learned that Andromeda may have rivaled the Princesses with his innate magical talents. He was the first unicorn ever to devise a teleportation spell that could take a pony further than their own line of sight, and he was responsible for creating a Teleportation spell simple enough that almost any studied unicorn could use it.

Line-of-sight teleportation was the simplest of Space magic. Of course, Space magic itself was a Dimensional Art, so it was already hugely difficult - if not impossible - for most unicorns. But when Andromeda found a way to break the line-of-sight barrier, it was a huge discovery with major implications, especially in military application. His new spell combined Space magic with Kinesis to create a completely different method of teleportation. The new spell required significantly less Space magic, and with Kinesis being a unicorn’s strongest native school, studious unicorns were able to leverage the spell without too much difficulty.

Unfortunately, as with any Dimensional Art, it was a very tiring process for the caster and required huge amounts of magical energy. Still, as Andromeda continued refining the spell, he noticed a feeling of disorientation during the process, and over time it became clear that teleportation wasn't quite as instantaneous as everypony had believed.

Using a tracking talisman, he noticed that during a teleport there was a very brief period of time where the unicorn did not exist in Equestria, but instead tunneled through a dimensional space he called ‘the Aether'. The further the teleportation went, the longer this tunnelling time lasted. Andromeda became infatuated with the Aether, and set about developing a method of teleporting in a way that he could use his magic in the middle of his own teleportation and investigate the nature of that space.

With some time and considerable planning, he eventually designed a device that would open and sustain an aetheric tunnel; effectively a pair of linked portals that could teleport a pony - or anything else - between them. Thanks to Celestia, I was pretty sure that I now had a name for that device - and likely possessed one.

The concept of an aetheric tunnel itself wasn't new to me; I had observed the effect of traveling through one firsthand many times, and it was one of the first concepts taught in Celestia’s School For Gifted Unicorns’ Teleportation 101 course, though I had never really invested much thought into it before.

Unfortunately, much of the text surrounding Andromeda’s research was censored. Thanks to the censorship, none of the books I found detailed exactly how these Keys were linked, how the Key itself worked, or any in-depth details on how they were made. The only thing I could be sure of was that, even though they had apparently worked, these teleportation portals should be in widespread use today. And they weren’t.

It didn't take long before I rounded a corner and the library came into view, the branches of the great tree whipping around violently in the wind. I breathed a sigh of relief seeing that none of them had snapped off under the stress. Pushing open the door, I stepped inside and quickly closed it behind me.

Finally indoors, I fluffed my wings sharply and shook my body in an attempt to evict the moisture in my coat. As I came to a still and allowed my eyes to adjust to the dark interior, I noticed a faint light coming from somewhere upstairs. The power was out, so it wasn't a lamp. Spike could create light by setting something on fire, I supposed, but he wasn't that irresponsible. It didn't seem like candlelight, either. In fact, it was purple, not entirely unlike the glow of my own magical signature.

"Spike?" I called up the stairs. 

No answer. Was he out? I guess that would prevent me from having to find something for him to do.

Curious, I fired up a simple light spell, illuminating my surroundings. When I reached the second floor, I could see the other light was coming from the storage closet. Had Rarity special-ordered glowing fabric? Glowing clothing just seemed like a terrible idea, and I couldn't imagine Rarity, of all ponies, utilizing such a garish design decision. Particularly in purple.

Pulling the door open and peering into the closet, I noticed the light was coming from somewhere in the back and it was brighter than I expected. I stepped inside, but there was little room to maneuver with all boxes of fabric. I began methodically lifting the boxes up over my head, and setting them in a stack just outside the door.

With enough of the boxes out of the way, I was able to see the source of the light: the mirror. More specifically, the thin coils of metal encircling the mirror's frame were radiating a brilliant amethyst glow, pulsating with a low tempo. As I stood there marvelling, the light offered a good look at my reflection. My mane was still soaking wet, hanging down off my neck in a most unflattering way, and my tail was similarly limp and lifeless. The color of the glow accentuated my lavender coat, making my outline look almost ghostly against the dim wall of boxes behind me. The overall effect was hauntingly beautiful in its own way.

I needed a towel, I decided.

Nosing through my saddlebag for something to dry off with, I pulled the Spatial Key out, intending to get started as soon as I’d dried myself off. As my magic touched it, a snaking tendril of magical energy anchored to my horn, and I felt my own magic being stolen away by the Key.

I instinctively released my kinetic grasp on the Key, but it simply hovered there, buoyed in magic I was no longer willfully continuing to channel. I could still move it about with the spell, but I was completely unable to drop it. A cold fear choked out any other emotions I might have had; was my magic being absorbed, or even stolen? It felt like part of me was being violated, somehow.

Blue arcs of electricity flashed across the surface of the mirror, steadily growing more and more violent, and a strange wind whipped about me.

If a portal opens, close it immediately.

Luna’s command echoed ominously in my head.

Hindsight is a wonderfully terrible thing. Like when you jump into a river in the middle of the summer without checking the water temperature, and then you feel like you’re freezing to death. 

But it’s too late to do anything about it.

Or like the moment you realize the ancient magical mirror you’re staring at appears to be actually doing something, and you had just discovered it was deemed dangerous enough to censor from the public.

And it might be too late to do anything about it.


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"Whaddya' think girls? Would it look good on me?"

Scootaloo looked over to see what Apple Bloom was gesturing toward. It was just another one of the necklaces, though the color did match her mane almost perfectly.

Apple Bloom, she thought to herself. Wearing jewelry?

Scootaloo burst out laughing. "I don't think jewelry suits you, no matter what it is!"

The earth pony frowned. "Well, it's not like it suits you, either!"

"Well, sure, but I can’t wear jewelry. It just gets in the way. Besides, you’re the one ‘oohing’ and ‘awwing’ over it.

"Ah am not!"

"Are too!"

“Am not!”

Sweetie Belle cut in. "Girls!"

"What?" Scootaloo asked, feigning innocence. "We all know it's true."

Apple Bloom glared at Scootaloo and stamped her hoof. "No, it ain't! You were just as excited about this stuff as Ah was! Ah saw you lookin at those fancy wing gloves!"

"Oh, yeah?" Apple Bloom was right, but Scootaloo couldn’t admit that now. Suddenly, she had an idea. "How about a contest?” she said, pointing at the wing covers of a nearby pegasus statue. “I'll bet it looks better on me than it does on you!"

"But that doesn't even make sense", Sweetie Belle countered. “Apple Bloom doesn’t have wings!”

“Sure it does,” Apple Bloom chimed in. “Scootaloo wears the wings, Ah’ll try and put on some of these here earth pony stockings.” She kicked softly at one of the indicated pieces for emphasis.

Sweetie Belle blanched, but quickly recovered. "You’re not even wearing the same thing. How are you supposed to decide which one looks better?"

"You do,” Scootaloo and Apple Bloom responded in perfect unison. 

"But it needs ta be official!" Apple Bloom added. "Why don'cha put on one of those fancy crown thingies while ya do the judgin'? That way it'll look all official-like."

"Great idea!" Scootaloo jumped up on top of a nearby unicorn statue, buzzing her wings slightly to keep her balance as she pulled the crown off. Meanwhile, Apple Bloom worked at unclasping the golden stockings from an earth pony statue.

"I don't know about this..." Sweetie Belle said, hesitantly.

Scootaloo fluttered over to Sweetie Belle, setting the crown on the unicorn’s head. "Nonsense. What's the worst that could happen?" Adjusting the crown so that the small sleeve lined up with Sweetie’s horn, Scootaloo pressed it down into place, even though the whole thing was much too large for the young unicorn.

Immediately, the entire chamber went dark. Scootaloo heard a quiet shriek from Apple Bloom's direction as a low rumble shook the chamber.

"Scootaloo! Sweetie Belle?” Apple Bloom’s voice cut through the ominous sound. “I think this statue just moved! Maybe this isn't such a good idea!"

"Sweetie Belle? Can we get some light in here?" Scootaloo pleaded.

Suddenly, a blinding light illuminated the entire cavern. Scootaloo staggered backward, averting her gaze. She blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness.
 
"Sweetie Belle! Sweetie Belle?! No! No, no, no." Apple Bloom's voice rang out shrilly from somewhere behind Scootaloo, sounding panicked.

As the cavern came back into focus, she could make out a tall unicorn stallion in front of her, shaking his head. The light from his horn was fading, clearly the source of the intense illumination just moments before. He seemed disoriented.

She stared. There were no other ponies with them when they came inside. The stallion's eyes snapped open, interrupting her thoughts before they could even begin. 

"What?" the stallion uttered in a low baritone.

It was little more than a whisper, barely audible over Apple Bloom's cries. The stallion spun around, casting about wildly, his pupils dilating in recognition.

"No. No, I shouldn't be here!” He stopped, staring just past Scootaloo. “And why are there foals here?"

Scootaloo followed his gaze, turning around slowly. Behind her, next to Apple Bloom, a small, jet black statue of a unicorn stood, wearing only a crown.

Sweetie Belle!

Suddenly, everything else didn't matter. Sweetie Belle was a statue! Apple Bloom was sobbing and trying desperately to remove the crown, but it seemed to be stuck.

"This is bad." A mare's voice Scootaloo didn't recognize came from somewhere nearby. "The seal is breaking."

Scootaloo felt herself spun around roughly by a magical grip, coming face-to-face with the stallion.

"Why did she put on the crown?" he demanded. His muzzle pressed into Scootaloo’s nose harshly, and the simple question carried so much authority that Scootaloo shrank back, terrified.  

"Who would be so reckless as to break the seal!"

As Scootaloo cowered under the imposing presence of the stallion, a realization jumped out at her. He was no ordinary stallion. His face didn’t make it obvious, but his side did. He had the striped coat of a zebra... but still a unicorn’s horn.

Something inside Scootaloo told her she should run; to flee from this strange stallion and run as far as she could, but her legs were paralyzed and fear was sapping her ability to reason. Unable to do anything else, she spoke in a whisper.

"I did it,” she confessed.

"What?!”

“I put the crown on her head,” she whimpered.

“You stupid child! Do you have any idea what you have done?!” The stallion roared back in her face, spittle showering over her. “Answer me, child! Why did you do such a foalish thing?!" 

His voice boomed at a volume Scootaloo didn't think to be possible. She dropped to the ground and covered her head with her hooves, afraid of what might come next.

Why had she done it? Scootaloo couldn't even remember anymore. Terror had taken total control of her mental faculties and no answer would come to her lips. Instead, she lay there, shaking uncontrollably, only dimly aware that she was losing bladder control. The stallion took a step toward her, but was interrupted mid-stride with a soft grunt and a thump.

The stallion uttered a curse as he lurched to the side. Apple Bloom set her hooves back to the ground and then turned to face the stallion.

"Just who d'ya think you are, picking on a filly? Huh?!" The small earth pony was furious. "Ah buck apple trees bigger than you!"

The stallion wheeled around to face her, his horn ablaze with magical energies that lit the cavern up as if it were mid-day.

"They're foals, Xin," the mare's voice spoke again, finally giving a name to the angry stallion. "They must not have known any better."

In the bright light of Xin’s horn, Scootaloo was able to make out a red earth pony mare this time. She wore one of the necklaces, but her leggings were missing.

"That doesn't matter now.” Xin replied. “All our efforts are wasted, and these children ruined it!" He spat the word with disgust.

"CEASE THIS FOALISHNESS, ALL OF YOU!" A more familiar voice cut through the darkness. “Foals they may be, but you act like one too.”

Both of the mysterious ponies stopped and turned to face Zecora, who traipsed slowly between the statues, speaking in her usual cryptic rhyme.

“But come, let us speak,” she continued. “About me. About them. About you.”

Scootaloo breathed a sigh of relief at the presence of a trustworthy adult, but then scampered backwards as the timberwolf limped in behind Zecora, growling in warning.

The strange stallion ignored the wooden creature, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"These children have doomed us all, Caretaker. There is nothing to discuss at this time.” Scootaloo could feel the despair in his voice. “The seal has been broken, and its power is weakening even as we speak.”

Scootaloo shrunk back, the guilty feeling in her chest re-asserting itself. Everything was her fault.

“I must get to the Queen and warn her of this at once.” Xin beckoned toward the earth pony mare. “Come, Lydian,” he said. “We depart immediately."

He turned and trotted briskly toward the passage back to the surface. Lydian didn’t move.

"Xin?" she asked, timidly. He didn't answer. “Xin, stop this. This isn’t right.”

"We have precious little time and my power is weakened,” he replied, continuing onward. “What do you want me to do?"

...What would Rainbow Dash do?

Scootaloo drew herself up straight. Rainbow Dash would put him in his place, and she wouldn’t back down. That’s what Rainbow Dash would do.

She bolted after Xin like lightning, darting in front of the stallion. There, she planted herself in front of his hooves with every step he took, impeding his progress. The stallion's eyes narrowed as he stared down at her with disdain.

"Get out of the way, child!" he commanded, pressing forward despite the impediment. "I must see to the Queen!"

"We're not leaving her behind!” Scootaloo growled at him. She continued to place herself underfoot and stared defiantly back at him whenever she had a clear line of sight.

The stallion stopped abruptly. "What we do is no concern of mine. I am going to see the Queen. I should just be arresting the lot of you, but I don't have the time for such a luxury."

When he tried to resume walking, Apple Bloom joined in on Scootaloo's blockade, stopping the stallion's progress entirely. Finally reaching the end of his patience, Xin lifted them both with his magic, and tossed them roughly to the side.

"XIN!" Lydian scolded, quickly trotting forward herself and sitting directly in the path where the fillies had stood. "They are children! Cease this at once."

“Yes, they are children! Children who have doomed us all!” Xin roared. “Queen Celestia must alerted at once!"

The cavern echoed ominously with Zecora’s cackling laughter, giving pause even to the furious stallion.

“It’s a Queen that you are after?” she grinned at the stallion. “You’ll soon be distressed! Your Celestia is no Queen, She is a Princess. Your Equestria has changed, and your knowledge is weak!” She thrust her hoof at the stallion threateningly. “The Princesses rule now; to them all you should speak!”
 
The stallion paused, stepping back from Zecora. A look of confusion spread across his face.

"I … I am sorry, Caretaker. I am confused. Did you say Princesses? Plural? What has happened to Celestia?"

“Hah!” Zecora’s reply was almost jovial. "Indeed, you have been absent. Your education now due; your ancient beliefs simply no longer true. No Caretaker am I, that tradition is gone. Yes, now in Equestria, She still rules the Dawn.”

Zecora waved a forehoof toward the ceiling in grandiose fashion.

“But no longer alone does she reign over all, and fair Luna now reigns when the nighttime doth fall. But that’s only two Princesses, and two more there are still. Four Princesses total to impose their will! One in the North, who reigns over Love, and the other brings Friendship you aren’t worthy of!

“And yet you pretend to know more than you do, abandoning these children for troubling you. If you could but know just who these three foals are, you’d carry them out from here, and carry them far!”

She raised a hoof and gestured to Apple Bloom and Scootaloo.

"These fillies three, whom you now chastise? Friends of the princesses, all. No lies.”

Zecora pushed her snout into the taller stallion’s muzzle in a mockery of what he had done to Scootaloo.

“So now, let me ask you, are you set on this path? Do you want to be facing four princesses’ wrath?"

The stallion stared cross-eyed at Zecora, confusion spreading across his features. With a heavy sigh, he turned around.

“You are correct, Caretaker,” he confessed. “Indeed, it seems there is much I do not know. But the seal is decaying rapidly, and when it weakens enough that Gwydion is freed, I can assure you that my compatriots will be the first victims of his wrath."

He returned to Sweetie Belle, lifting the statue onto his back with a quick spell. "This foalish child will be likely be destroyed with them if she is left here, but I cannot do anything for her. For her sake, I hope your Princesses can."

“Oh, thank ya, Mr. Xin!” Apple Bloom latched onto his leg. His glare forced her to disengage, falling backwards into Scootaloo. The two fillies embraced, sharing a moment of relief.

"I will carry her," the stallion continued. "Come. Princess or Queen, it does not matter now. This matter must still go straight to Celestia."

Scootaloo and Apple Bloom gingerly followed the irate stallion as he stormed up the tunnel. Lydian fell in beside them while Zecora pulled up the rear with her timberwolf companion. Lydian started talking as they walked, her cheerful tone strongly at odds with the mood.

"Well, now that all the unpleasantness is gone, I must say I am surprised to see you here, Zebra. I thought your kind was long driven from Equestria. But if you are not to be addressed as Caretaker, may I ask for your name?"

"Zecora is mine,” she replied. ”These fillies two? Apple Bloom, Scootaloo. Upon the one misfortune fell, she is christened Sweetie Belle."

"Oh, pleased to meet you!” the mare continued, unfazed. “I’m Lydian Mode, though most ponies just call me Lydian!” She paused for a moment before adding, “I hope this isn’t rude of me, Zecora, but I find your speech strangely melodic. It’s nice!"

"Much has happened between your kind and mine," Zecora responded. "There is much to know, but it will take some time."

The stallion snorted derisively. "Time, however, is one thing that is fleeting," he added. "As Lydian has said, I am Xin. I would be curious to know more about this story, Zecora. However, it shall wait until another day."


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Quickly, Twilight, think of something, I prodded myself.

The mirror’s surface was beginning to distort and shift, the crackling lightning upon the surface dancing erratically as the Spatial Key continued to drain magic from my horn. My curiosity about the mirror-portal was gone, replaced entirely with fear. I really just wanted it to stop whatever it was doing; I needed to get away, do more research, maybe talk to Princess Celestia and figure out what I should do about the mirror. But first it needed to be disabled somehow. And fast.

The Key was still drawing magic from my horn, using magic seemed unwise if I could avoid it. In any case, I already knew that spells were unlikely to do much, as the Key had a habit of absorbing them, and the last thing I wanted to do was empower it. With the clearly magical filament along the mirror’s edge, I couldn’t be sure that the mirror wasn’t enchanted with a spell-absorbing matrix either.

It was clear that the Key and the Mirror were interacting in some fashion, so I decided I needed to separate the two before things got worse. That task seemed simple enough. Turning to leave, I ran nose-first into a wall of boxes. In the process of clearing space to get back to the mirror, I had successfully barricaded myself in.

If the portal fully opens, this wall could hopefully contain anything that came through the portal until I find a way to contact the Princesses, I reasoned. No problem; the first step to teleportation was to visualize where you wanted to go. Fortunately, my mental image of the main floor of the library was nearly perfect, as I spent a large portion of my time there.

A clear image formed in my mind, as familiar to me as nearly anything in Equestria, and I began casting the spell. As I channeled the energy to make the jump, an intense pain shot through my horn and I nearly blacked out. Losing all motor control for a moment, I collapsed to the ground, and the base of my horn burned with agonizing pain.

The spell was lost. The Key, suddenly no longer suspended, clattered to the floor and rolled away. The tendril of magical energy running between it and the base of my horn was still there, leaving a tingling sensation in my skull where they met, and I felt it absorbing even more of my magical energies.

A humming noise started emanating from the mirror, goading me into action. I needed to get away, but now I wasn't sure how. Under the circumstances, I could only think of two ways out -- through the door, or through the mirror - assuming the portal actually worked. I certainly didn't dare try my magic again while something was feeding off of it, and I wasn't about to brave the dangers of the mirror. Steeling myself against a pounding headache, I forced myself to stand.

The very wall of boxes that could have provided a barricade now prevented my own egress. They needed to be out of my way as quickly as possible. I tried to lean my entire body weight into one of the boxes, but it only slid about half of a foot. To my ever-increasing horror, I suddenly remembered that the storage closet was in a hallway. This stack of boxes was now pushed up against the wall across from the door. I would have to pull them away. Unfortunately, hooves aren't really designed for pulling on heavy, cube-shaped objects. That’s what magic is for.

But the boxes are cardboard, I reasoned, and the fabric inside should give. That meant a possibility I could buck the boxes until they fell apart. I suddenly wished I’d spent more time bucking trees with Applejack instead of cheating with my magic.

The humming sound from the mirror was starting to rise in pitch and the tingling in my head was intensifying. I wasn't sure how much time I would have before something really bad happened, so I threw myself into the task with gusto. Turning away from the boxes, I thrust my legs backward powerfully, hoping the flimsy cardboard would cave under the impact. Unfortunately, the boxes were more solid than I thought, and my hind legs forced the rest of my body forward, toppling my center of gravity over my front legs as I slammed face-first into the ground.

Today was miserable. I’d tormented Celestia, suffered through a long flight in lousy weather, and now I was trapped in a room with an out-of-control and probably dangerous spell. And now I’d smashed my face into the floor. Tears streamed down my face as I looked up at the mirror helplessly.

Through my tears, I noticed that the Key was beginning to levitate on its own again, drifting toward the socket at the top of the mirror. The mirror’s surface looked like it was actually boiling now. The glowing wire around the mirror was no longer radiating purple, but instead a brilliant white so bright that I had to shield my eyes from it when the pulses hit their brightest.

"Celestia... please..." I whispered weakly, calling out for the one pony that had always been there for me. I didn't know what else to do.

The Key locked into place, and suddenly there was a deafening roar as the surface of the mirror distorted inward, bending wildly and contorting into impossible shapes. The magical stream between my horn and the orb intensified.

I was sure it was trying to use my energy to finish opening the portal now, and I couldn't do anything to stop it as pain ravaged my most sensitive organ.

"... save me!" I screamed.

Even though I was screaming at the top of my lungs, I couldn't even hear my own voice over the roar of the gathering energies. I closed my eyes and broke down into sobs. Whimpering in pain and hoping that everything would be over soon, I laid down and curled into a fetal position, awaiting my fate.

It was then that a series of three waves hit me, punctuating the end of my life like the dots in an ellipsis.

The first wave was heat blasting from the mirror - an intense heat that enveloped me completely. I genuinely thought I was on fire; my entire body was in agony. At that point, I'm fairly certain I actually screamed in terror, but the second wave hit immediately afterward.

That wave was nothing but a cacophony of sound. It was just jumbled noise, louder than anything I’d ever heard, like it was bypassing my ears and going straight to my brain. I wasn’t sure if it came from the mirror or the orb, but I could no longer hear anything but the senseless noise. I was dimly aware that I had screamed all the air from my lungs, and with all of the pain I was in, it was a struggle even to inhale again.

Before I got managed to even take a breath, a wave of kinetic force blasted into me. I hit the wall roughly and I felt a terrible wrenching sensation in my horn, unlike anything I'd felt before. And then I felt nothing at all.
> 4 - Truth or Dare
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

*RING*

The sound of my cell phone ringing woke me from my slumber, and I was confident I wasn't going to like whatever it was. If it was an emergency, I was going to break down screaming. If it wasn't, someone was waking me up for no reason. No, nobody ever likes a phone call at ... whatever time it was in the morning.

*RING*

I forced myself to roll out of bed, sparing a moment to glare contemptuously at the red numbers of my alarm clock. It sat in silence, dutifully informing me that it was 9:38 in the morning on a Saturday, and I was late waking up on my first day back to work.

*RING*

The realization struck me like lightning as I scrambled to grab my phone, muttering curses under my breath. My finger glided across the surface, answering without even bothering to check who was on the other end.

"Hello?" I spoke frantically. "This is Rebecca."

"Hey, you coming?” The reply was calm and familiar. I hadn’t worked in weeks, and I’d forgotten to turn my morning alarm back on. Now my carpool sat out at the curb, waiting.

"Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Chris. I slept in," I replied. "Give me a few minutes to get dressed. I'll be right out."

I had already picked out what I was going to wear the night before, so it didn’t take me long to get dressed and rush out to meet Chris at the curb.

"Hey," Chris mumbled as he shifted the car into drive. The car lurched forward. "I'm sorry for your loss."

I nodded silently. It had been three weeks now since my grandparents died and I was tired of others' condolences, but there was no reason to lash out at Chris for it. He was just being polite.

There was a wrench in my morning routine, however, and my stomach was complaining.

“I know we’re running late, but can we hit a drive thru so I can grab a bite?” I asked.

Chris checked his watch. “My first client doesn’t meet until 11 o’clock, so we should be okay. Sure.”

A few minutes later, I had a breakfast sandwich and a carton of orange juice. I nibbled lightly on the sandwich as I stared out the window, watching the buildings of main street drift past with relative disinterest.

“You okay?” he asked. “I know you have a lot going on, but you seem a bit out of it.”

"It feels like a waste of life," I blurted.

"Huh?"

"It’s just … Riding in a car. After my grandparents died, my family took an impromptu vacation. Mom and Dad just wanted to forget everything after the fire, so we rented a car and drove all the way across the country to get home instead of flying back.”

I snorted, remembering the disaster that our vacation had become. "I have savings, y'know? I really considered just flying home, because I didn't want to be around my family. And then they were all so depressing the entire way home. It feels like the whole trip was a waste of my time.”

"Why play solo when you can join a party?”

“What?” I turned to look at Chris, whose eyes were glued to the road ahead.

“I mean, being at home alone sucks, right? You went with them to be around others, even if it wasn’t the others you wanted to be with, yeah?"

"Pretty much," I muttered.

In hindsight, I felt bad that I'd seriously considered that flight home. Living with my parents and having a decent paying job had allowed me to set aside more than enough to pay for the next year of my night classes at the local community college, so I could have survived on my own for a couple of weeks. I could have been back to work sooner, too - I burned all of my paid vacation time in the first week, so it would have mitigated my financial losses. 

But that was all just selfish thinking. My family would have been upset if I’d left on my own, and it wasn’t right for me to put them in that position.

Chris was also right on the mark: I hated feeling alone. Right now, more than ever. Being alone was just a painful reminder of how unimportant I was to the world around me. Rebecca Williams would never amount to anyone. She would never be remembered after she was gone.

After all, my grandfather was an amazing man who accomplished amazing things, at least in my eyes. But even doing those amazing things didn't matter because they didn't impact the world. That was something I knew in my mind, beyond any shadow of doubt. But in my heart, I didn't want it to be.

When Sarah and I passed on, would anyone remember my grandfather's adventures? Certainly no one would remember my contributions to society. I was just another face in the crowd.

A mile marker along the highway caught my eye as it whizzed past. How many people’s memories had died with them, forgotten and left behind, just as that mile marker was passed by every day without any further thought? I laughed bitterly as I realized I didn’t even remember the mile number.

"... So, how was the vacation?" Chris interrupted my meandering thoughts.

“Restaurants, hotels, national parks, landmarks, a couple caves, a zoo and an aquarium." I sighed heavily. "All in all, it sucked. My sister and I fought a lot, because she thought I was being mopey. My mother got on my case because I was latching onto grandfather and wasn't 'upset enough' about grandma. She couldn’t accept that I was just that much closer to my grandfather. And the whole time, my father wouldn't even talk to anyone. It was a lousy waste of time."

"But you weren't alone,” Chris pointed out.

"Right." 

I stared at the floorboards.

The trip had been miserable. Oddly, the best part of my trip was when I was alone. Those were the times I would carefully dig that sphere of colors out my bag and just hold it. And every time, tranquil feelings washed over me. It was a short-lived relief, at best; the feelings of peace faded off when I inevitably had to hide the orb away before someone saw it, but it was enough to help me stay sane. And that’s more than I could say for anything else at the time. There was definitely something special about that bauble.

My impromptu vacation was depressing. I needed to change the subject.

"Have you ever lost someone, Chris?"

I kicked myself mentally. Replacing one depressing topic with another was stupid.

"Can't say that I have," he replied.

"It was weird. I know it sounds obvious, but the whole world just moved on. Like my grandparents never existed. It’s stupid, but it felt..." I struggled to express my feelings on the issue, searching for a word that fit. "It felt alien, having this overwhelming feeling of emptiness and no one knew about it. I kept thinking to myself, ‘how am I supposed to move on with my 'normal' life knowing I will never see them again?’"

“Just live your life,” Chris replied. “Don’t fret about the things you can’t change, and fix the things you can. Stop letting life simply happen to you, y’know? Push life in the direction you want to go.”


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My job as an administrative assistant in a small sales office was quite lucrative, given my age and relative inexperience, and things at the office had apparently gone quite smoothly in my absence. Chris was ultimately late for his team meeting, but still managed to make contact with his first client on time. Unfortunately, his client held him through lunch hours, and I was pulled into a one-on-one meeting of my own to go over some things that occurred in my absence, so Chris and I didn’t really get any chance to talk until it was time to head home for the day.

It wasn’t until we were back on the highway heading back home that Chris dropped a bomb on me.

"You know, I would have come over to keep you company if you'd asked."

"W-What?" I sputtered, confused. It wasn’t the first time Chris would fail to make context clear. It probably wouldn’t be the last.

"If you had taken the plane home. I would have come over. Y’know, so you wouldn't have to be alone."

"Oh."

Silence passed between us as I tried to figure out his motive. The opportunity for it had already come and gone - or rather, hadn't even happened in the first place - so I couldn't fathom why he was telling me this now. Was he flirting with me in some fashion? I was pretty sure I hadn’t done anything to lead him on, and he never struck me as interested before. There had to be something more.

"Why?" I asked, with a slight bit more bite than I intended.

Chris was silent for a little while longer, no doubt because of the tone of my reply. As I waited, somewhat impatiently, for a response, I realized I had no idea what I wanted his answer to be.

“Because I understand,” he eventually replied. “Kinda. I mean, I haven’t lost anyone close to me, but I do understand being alone. I don’t live with my family - I’m not even close to them. I turned eighteen, moved out without hesitation, and I haven’t looked back.

“But after high school, all my friends moved away to go to different colleges. Now my only real contact with them is through the internet. Sure, we talk every day, but communication through the internet feels different. Artificial. It’s no replacement for real human interaction.”

I nodded in understanding.

Chris and I had carpooled for almost six months, and he talked a lot, but I only just then realized how little I really knew about his personal relationships. Had I really ever thought of him even as a friend?

He was just a coworker who happened to have a conveniently overlapping commute, but even though we had about an hour every day in the car, we never really bonded much. He usually led the conversation, and all he typically talked about were his hobbies, games, politics, and whatever was big on the news. I was content to just let him ramble most days, and I’d never felt it necessary to pry into his home life.

“What do you do when you get home, then?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Putz around on the internet. Lots of video games and late-night streaming TV marathons. The usual stuff I never shut up about.”

“Huh.” I didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t any better than what I did some evenings, particularly since binge-watching movies was one of my go-to pastimes.

Assuming it really was entirely platonic, would I have taken him up on his offer to stay with me? The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like it couldn’t hurt. But could I have trusted him to keep it platonic?

I was still thinking about it as we pulled up next to my house.

“See you Tuesday?” he asked, as I climbed out of the car.

“Yeah.”

I strode up to the house in front of me. I was finally home, but it didn’t feel like home at all.

The large, white two-story house that I’d lived in for most of my teenage life now seemed as temporary as the hotel rooms we’d stayed in during our vacation. The sky blue trim framed the door invitingly, just as it always had, but something was off about the whole thing.

As I stood there wondering what was wrong with my house, the haunting images of my grandparents burnt out home left me feeling uneasy. The house hadn't changed at all: my perspective had, and now the last thing I wanted to do was spend a night alone with my thoughts.

Stop letting life simply happen to you. Chris’ words echoed inside my head.

“Everything okay?” He called out the window.

The status quo wasn’t going to change itself. It would be a token gesture at best, but things needed to change if they were going to improve.

I walked back to his car.

“No. It’s not okay,” I replied as I approached the window. “My parents are out of town tonight. And my sister is off at a friend’s place tonight. I told you I don’t want to be alone, so ... did you mean what you said? That you would stay with me so I won’t have to be?”

Chris’ gazed into my eyes, and I shivered. It felt like he was reading my thoughts, but I stared back, trying hard not to avert my eyes as I always did.

“Okay.”

The car shuddered to a stop there by the curb.


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Outside the cave, illuminated by the blazing forest surrounding them, Zecora was finally able to see Xin in decent light. Burly muscles and broad shoulders betrayed his otherwise unicorn-like appearance. He was clearly a fighter, but his use of magic indicated a softer, more subdued power within as well.

Zecora looked on curiously as Xin carefully levitated the children up out of the pit and into Lydian’s waiting hooves, marvelling at his kinetic control. She was no unicorn herself, but the basics of magic were not lost on her; moving heavy objects with gentle precision took a lot of effort and skill.

Zebra half-breeds - zebroids - were extremely rare, often born with hideous mutations and defects that prevented them from surviving long outside the womb, much less reaching maturity - and that was just those that survived to birth at all. It wasn’t surprising that Zebrican law forbade sexual relations between zebras and ponies - punishable even by death. While not entirely illegal in Equestria, it was still a massive taboo.

In short, Zecora had never met a zebroid before. And he was both frightening and fascinating.

Xin turned his attention to her, catching her intent stare. She held his gaze, resisting the impulse to look away.

“Is there something wrong, Caretaker?” he asked.

“The colt who does not listen, he cannot be taught. I told you once already: Caretaker I am not.”

“My apologies, Mistress Zecora.”

Zecora shook her head as she felt his magic wrap around her, lifting her up to Lydian’s hooves above. The statue of Sweetie Belle was next, followed closely by the timberwolf. Zecora retrieved the branch it had given to her, placing it at her hooves.

“Thank you, young pup. I wish you well. Go to your kind, and away from this hell.”

The timberwolf whined softly, laying down on the branch. After a strange, wooden clicking sound, it stood again. The branch was nowhere to be seen, and the creature bolted away into the woods.

“Strange creature,” Lydian mused. “What is it?”

“You’ve never seen’a Timberwolf before, Miss Lydian?” Apple Bloom asked.

“I’m sorry to say I haven’t, little one,” Lydian replied with a smile.

“Wooow…” breathed Scootaloo. “You mean you’ve been in the Everfree since before the Timberwolves lived here?”

“Yes.” Lydian peered over the side down at Xin. “Are you ready?” she called.

“I am,” came his voice.

She looked around briefly before trotting over to one of the burning trees right above the cave entrance. She placed a hoof against the tree trunk and closed her eyes, chanting in an ancient tongue Zecora couldn’t place. A green wave of power erupted from her hoof, running up and down the trunk of the tree.

The effects of her magic were immediate and powerful. Zecora watched in awe as the tree began to grow and repair itself with astonishing alacrity. Where the tree was ablaze, the fire was unceremoniously extinguished. Burnt bark was restored. The trunk itself was visibly growing, and the canopy of the tree branched outward rapidly, as if it was aging at incredible speed, and was soon covering the entire area around Gwydion’s End. The root system of the tree also spread out, cracking the ground with long tendrils of wood that splayed out from the tree, searching for sustenance. Several large roots broke through the sheer cliff face of the pit, and spilled forth from the cave entrance itself, blocking the path.

“Excellent thinking,” came Xin’s voice from right behind Zecora. “That should slow Gwydion down, if only for a moment.”

Zecora jumped at the sudden voice behind her and whirled around defensively. How had he gotten out?

Xin chuckled softly and lifted the small statue with his magic again. “How do we get to the Princess, Mistress?”

Zecora turned toward her hut, and Ponyville beyond, and looked at the sky above, darkening even beyond the smoke hanging low over the blazing forest. They wouldn’t be able to make it before nightfall, and there was no way they would be able to protect two helpless fillies against the terrors that lurked in the Everfree’s night. Her hut would be the only safe shelter, but Zecora was certain that Xin would not be easily persuaded to stop.

Still, the fastest path to Ponyville ran quite close to her hut at this distance.

“The forest at night brings inevitable doom,” Zecora warned. “It will not help a soul if we’re fit for a tomb.” Xin chuckled, but said nothing as Zecora continued. “Come now, move quickly, I will lead the way. Don’t tarry or wait, lest we run out of day.”


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I stood in the doorway, looking around my living room, with absolutely zero planning in advance.

“So,” I started, uncertain of where to begin. “Anything in particular that you want to do?”

“Eat food?”

“Believe me, you don’t want me to cook,” I confessed. Cooking wasn’t my strong suit. “Do you want to order a pizza?”

“I’m pretty sure I can make my way around your kitchen,” Chris replied.

He proceeded to do exactly that, pulling out several things and setting about it as if it was his most natural place in the world. Before I could even come up with any other plan for the evening, I was holding a toasted pastrami sandwich on rye in my hands.

Well, on a plate in my hands. I stared at the sandwich in confusion until Chris tapped on my shoulder. I looked up.

“It’s a sandwich,” he said, pointing at it. “Masterfully crafted in your own kitchen.”

He grinned at me. It was a silly grin, one that seemed to shout “cheer up, Rebecca”.

“I know what a sandwich is,” I replied, sticking out my tongue.

“Also, you should probably consider going to the store for more cooking materials. You’re out of chicken and milk, and this is the last of the bread.”

He took a bite out of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. “Damn, this is good, though. I probably gained a level crafting these.” Chris sat down at the table and gestured to another seat.

“Uh-huh …” I muttered as I sat down, suddenly feeling like a guest in my own home. I wasn’t hungry, but the sandwich smelled delicious, so I took a bite. It tasted even better than it smelled. I took another. Then a third.

Okay, maybe I was hungry and didn’t know it.

“So,” I said between bites, “what do you normally do when you hang out?”

Chris looked up from his own sandwich. “With people in general? Or with girls?”

My brain froze. Where do I go with this? Would it be leading him on to say ‘with girls’?

“Just with people,” I decided.

“Well, my buddies and I usually just all play on our computers and talk at each other. Which is kinda like talking to each other, except that we don’t know if anyone is paying anyone else any attention.”

What’s the point in spending time at someone else’s house just to ignore each other? I shook my head. “So, you just play video games together?”

Chris shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Okay then, what do you do when you’re not playing video games together?”

“We play video games alone.” He smiled wide, as if this was the most obvious answer in the world.

“Alone?” I asked, confused. “With friends?”

Chris laughed. “What I mean is that we aren’t playing the same game most of the time.”

I was completely lost trying to follow his insane logic. Why would anyone go to someone’s house - as a guest - to play games that no one else is playing and summarily ignore everyone else?

“WHY?!” I blurted.

“Because it’s better than being alone.”

“That only explains why you visit, not why you do nothing together,” I pointed out.

Chris laughed. “That’s true, very true. We don’t mind doing it that way, but sometimes we’ll do other things. Board games, card games, the occasional movie.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d played board games with anyone but my father. My sister had quit playing them as soon as she was able to get out of the house on her own, and my mother was never interested in the first place. This was a golden opportunity!

“Well, my family has quite a collection of board games,” I declared. “My father can’t get out much, so we play a lot.” I stood up from the table. “Do you have a preference?”

“Umm, not really - as long as it’s something we can play together.” Chris smiled. 

I’d never realized how cute his smile was before. He just waltzed into my house, made me a delicious - if not simple - meal, and now he was smiling at me. And it’s cute. Oh god, was I falling for him? Was he trying to flirt? Was I misreading the situation?

“So I’m good for whatever you want to play,” Chris continued. “As long as I already know it or it’s easy to learn.” 

I can think of a few things.

And that was the moment I realized my mind was firmly in the gutter. Yep, this was not going as planned. 

Focus, Rebecca!

I shook my head, trying to clear it of the perverse thoughts creeping in on the edges, and walked to the garage. All of the board games were tucked away in there. Some were modern games, others were classics, but as I glanced over the collection, my eyes landed on the oldest game there.

I ran my fingers along the wooden box for my father’s Chess set. I had a lot of memories wrapped up in this box. I joined the Chess club in middle school and played with my dad a lot back then. I wasn’t particularly good, but I wasn’t terrible either.

“How about Chess?” I called back.

“Hmm … sure, that’s fine,” Chris replied. “Do you mind if we play with a house rule, though?”

I’ve never even heard of house rules for chess, I thought to myself as I walked the box back to the table. Chris wasn’t there anymore, but it didn’t take me long to catch him in the kitchen again, putting away the plates.

“I didn’t know there was such a thing,” I commented idly as I started setting up the board. “What sort of house rules?”

“Nothing major,” he replied. “It’s just how my friends and I play.”

When he sat down again, a solid thump came from the table next to me. I glanced over to see a mostly-full bottle of my father’s bourbon and two shot glasses. I didn’t really care if he drank my father’s liquor - I’d rather my father not drink it. Dad was prone to, for lack of a better word, excess. But there were two shot glasses, and…

“You do recall I’m only nineteen, right?”

I had tried alcohol before, but after seeing my father drink himself into a stupor on several occasions, it didn’t have much appeal.

Chris shrugged. “This is a private residence, doesn’t matter how old you are. But hey, if you don’t want to drink, we don’t have to.”

“So, how does the bourbon play into your house rules?” I asked, uncertain I wanted to know the answer.

“You take a shot any time you lose a capital piece.”

“Capital piece?” I asked, feeling a bit slow.

“Anything that isn’t a pawn.”

That was a stupid idea. I didn’t know Chris that well outside of work-related activities, and being alone with us both drunk seemed like a dangerous formula.

… Adventure, right?

No. That wasn’t an adventure I was going to risk right now.
 
I shook my head. “Sorry, I’d rather just play.”

“Not a problem.” He pushed the bottle and shot glasses off to the side. “I’m ready when you are!”


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White.

Everything around Sweetie Belle was pure white.

She wasn’t even sure how long she had been surrounded by the blinding whiteness, or how she’d arrived there. And she certainly had no idea where she was.

“Hello?” she called out. Her voice echoed back to her from some distant point. “Is anypony there?”

Silence.

Confused, she slowly walked forward, craning her head in all directions, trying to find any relief from the blinding brightness of her environment. In fact, the only disruption was from her own coat whenever her body came into view; its normally pristine white appearing dirty and grey against her surroundings.

“Apple Bloom?” she cried out. “Scootaloo? Where are you?”

No response.

What had happened, anyway? Sweetie Belle tried to remember how she got where she was, but her memory was scattered and incoherent. Something about the Everfree Forest and… a pack of timberwolves?

“I can’t remember!” she screamed with frustration.

Her walking wasn’t getting her any further than her memory. Sweetie Belle sat on her haunches, uncertain of what to do. Nothing seemed to have any meaning here; nothing she did affected her surroundings, nothing could hear her, and there was nothing to interact with.

Defeated, Sweetie Belle laid down and began to sob.

“Hush now, child. Everything is okay.”

The strangely soothing and distinctly female voice had come from everywhere around her at once, startling Sweetie Belle back to her hooves.

“Hello?” Sweetie called back timidly, wiping away her tears. “Is somepony there?”

A golden shimmer of light coalesced into the vague shape of a pony in front of her. The form was indistinct, and Sweetie couldn’t tell if it had a horn or wings.

“Indeed, I am here, child. You can call me Guidance,” the strange figure replied.

“Guidance?,” Sweetie Belle asked. “Like a guidance counselor?”

“One and the same. After all, I have come here to guide you.”

“Guide me?” Sweetie asked, confused. “Where is there to ever go? There’s nothing here.” 

“All in due time, child. Tell me, what do you remember?”

Sweetie Belle sat back down and tried to recount events as best she could.

“My friends and I… we were running through the Everfree. From timberwolves. And then… I don’t remember much, but there was a cave. And we… went in the cave? And…”

Sweetie Belle struggled with her fragmented memories, but couldn’t find anything else to share.

“And then your friends were captured,” Guidance replied.

“Captured?”

“Yes, captured. Hold still and let me show you exactly what is happening to them now.”

Guidance’s golden figure gesticulated strangely toward Sweetie Belle, and the blinding whiteness around her faded into a dark scene. A faint orange glow invaded Sweetie Belle’s peripheral vision, but she found herself unable to turn her head to look at the source; she could only stare straight ahead.

A zebra and an earth pony were walking ahead of her. The two appeared to be talking to each other, though whatever vision Guidance had chosen to show her was entirely silent. Occasionally one or the other would glance off to the side, listening or speaking to an unseen third speaker.

The silence of the scene was broken by Guidance’ soothing voice. “Those are the ponies that have captured your friends.”

Suddenly, a burst of color exploded from the sky above, and a lightning bolt that would have made Rainbow Dash green with envy struck the ground. When the blinding flash cleared her vision, a white pegasus stallion with a wild, yellow mane stood defiantly in front of the pair, exchanging some words with the two subjects in front of her.

“That is Star Hunter, a dear friend of ours,” Guidance explained. “He was sent from the Equestrian Aerial Defense Division to rescue your friends.”

Sweetie Belle looked closer at Star Hunter. He wore what appeared to be solid gold wing blades, laced with some form of opaline gems that glowed brilliantly. A gorgeous necklace rested against his chest, similarly inlaid with a much larger opaline gem of some kind. The accesories seemed oddly familiar to her, but she couldn’t put her hoof on exactly why.

“Aerial Defense Division?” Sweetie Belle wondered aloud. She’d never heard of them, but her military knowledge wasn’t very strong. She would have to ask Twilight or Rainbow Dash about it later. The orange glow in her peripheral vision faded as her view of the confrontation suddenly dropped and shifted slightly to the side, removing the earth pony from her vision, which was now focused entirely on Star Hunter and the zebra, instead.

Sweetie Belle looked on with morbid fascination as, after a prolonged exchange of silent words, the zebra attacked Star Hunter. Star Hunter and the zebra fought intensely for a few moments, the zebra taking on a traditional earth pony combat stance, and the pegasus using low aerial maneuvers. The two darted in and out of her vision several times, before Star Hunter’s wing landed a wicked slice across the zebra’s side, spilling a massive amount of blood. Sweetie clenched her eyes shut, trying to shut out the gruesome sight, but even with her eyes closed the vision persisted.

She suddenly realized, much to her confusion, that the zebra had a horn like a unicorn. A brilliant orange came off his horn and a massive fireball coalesced from the air around him and flew at Star Hunter. Star Hunter dove out of the way and the fireball exploded against a tree just beyond where he had been flying, engulfing the tree in flame.

“Why does that zebra have a horn!?” Sweetie yelled, somewhat excitedly.

“That is Xin, the Zebrican God-King,” Guidance replied, unfazed by Sweetie Belle’s outburst. “Imagine a unicorn in an uneducated society of earth ponies that has no exposure to unicorn magic. Wouldn’t you think that pony to be a god?”

“I guess so?” Sweetie Belle knew basically nothing about zebras outside of Zecora. In fact, she hadn’t even heard of zebras prior to meeting Zecora, so she really had no basis to evaluate Guidance’s claims.
 
The earth pony that had originally appeared with the zebra suddenly charged into her vision again, wading into the fray as God-King Xin and Star Hunter continued to fight. All three of them were soon caked with the blood that was spraying from Xin’s injury. After a brief struggle, the earth pony finally managed to strike a sharp blow against the opaline amulet Star Hunter wore, and Star Hunter vanished into a smoky puff, leaving his wingblades and necklace to clatter to the ground. Sweetie Belle’s vision faded back to white.

“You see Xin’s strength, yes? Even with such injury, he fights without stopping, and his magic is powerful.”

Sweetie Belle nodded dumbly, unsure of why Guidance had shown her such a grisly vision.

“You can see he has already enslaved one earth pony on his quest to kill the princesses.”

“Kill … the princesses?” Sweetie Belle gasped.

“Yes. And he’s using your friends as leverage to get close to them. Observe.”

The vision returned, picking up somewhere around the same point it left off. The earth pony was standing over Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, who were both clearly distraught, tears streaming down their faces. 

“Why are they there!?” Sweetie Belle cried out, feeling like she would cry along with them, but unable to produce any tears.

“Because they are friends of the princesses, are they not?”

“Only Princess Twilight,” she replied, weakly.

Sweetie Belle watched with trepidation as the earth pony leaned down over her friends and forced them each to eat… something. Almost immediately, they both fell to the ground and lay there, motionless. Then, she picked them up and rested them each on her back before trotting out of the scene.

For the next several minutes, the vision only showed the aftermath of the scuffle. 

“Sweetie Belle, child. Your friends need help. And we believe we can help them, if you can help us. And in doing so, you can save this ‘Princess Twilight’ from Xin’s treachery.”

The vision faded back into white. Sweetie Belle shook her head in disbelief as the golden pony silhouette in front of her faded back into view, prostrating itself before her.

“Will you help us?” Guidance asked. “Will you help rescue your friends and save Equestria?”


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“Best of five?” Chris offered, extending his hand.

There was no way I would lose a third time. The first two were just flukes. I was rusty!

“Deal.”

“Alright. Before we get started, where’s your bathroom?”

I directed him down the hall as I set up the pieces for another round. The bottle of bourbon caught my eye. One thing I had noticed was that in both games, I managed to take all of Chris’ pawns, while I still had a few left over.

If we played by his house rules, nothing would work in my favor. But what if I made house rules of my own? All I would need to do is take extra care to protect my pawns and focus on taking his, wait for the alcohol to set in, and then win. It would be a cheap victory, but I needed three wins in a row now.

Adventure, right?

I shook my head. Not quite the same as my grandfather, but getting out of my comfort zone was the first step, wasn’t it?

I jumped up and ran to the kitchen, grabbing eight of my father’s black shot glasses and a handful of clear ones. Going back to the table, I removed the pawns from the board and poured a shot into each glass, setting each one in place of a pawn.

“Have you looked outside?” Chris mumbled as he stepped back into the living room.

“Outside?” I glanced out the window to see rain pouring down by the truckload. “Oh, wow. That’s a lot of rain.”

“Yeah, it is,” Chris replied, stopping in the middle of the living room to gaze out at the downpour. “I checked the weather on my phone and it’s not supposed to let up for a few hours. Good chance of thunder and lightning, too.”

“Awesome, I love thunderstorms!” 

Chris stared at his feet, and I was pretty sure he was thinking about something. Something unpleasant. It put a slight damper on my excitement.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He looked back up. “I have to drive home eventually, but I have really shitty tires. Rain this heavy just makes it risky. Y’know, hydroplaning and stuff. If it gets too bad, I might be stuck here later than I’d planned until traffic thins out.”

It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t considered how long he should stay, or even how long I wanted him to stay. Even as I pondered it, I wasn’t actually sure what I wanted.

“Just how late were you planning on staying?” I asked curiously.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Until you kicked me out, or I just decided to leave, I guess. What did you have in mind?”

Without any plan in place, I realized my invitation to stay without a deadline might have been completely misconstrued. I could feel the burning of redness in my cheeks as the implication sunk in.

“Well, at least a couple more hours, right?” I gestured to the rain outside. “If you need the rain to let up, you can at least stay that long.”

“And if it doesn’t let up?”

“Well, the couch pulls out into a bed. If you have to stay the night, you can sleep there.” That should solve the dilemma, right?

Chris just looked at me and shook his head. “I’ll probably just leave around midnight if it comes to that.”

His words cut deeper than I expected and my heart sank, surprising even myself. He promised to stay with me, right…? Did I really expect him to stay the night?

What was wrong with me?

I needed to change the subject and buy myself time to think more. “More Chess?”

He smiled again, but raised an eyebrow as he sat down, eyeing the new pawns I’d placed on the board.

I gestured to the Chess board. “House rules. Are you ready to lose?”

He smiled. “Pretty sure of yourself, there, Rebecca.”

And I was. Until the first shot. My throat burned fiercely as the bourbon went down, and I nearly choked. It was then that I realized my mistake - alcohol doesn’t hit you instantly, and Chris wasn’t a small guy. He already had taken three shots, being just as reckless with his pawns as he had in the first two games, but he still looked completely unfazed.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I rasped, gasping for breath. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t drink much, do you? You should be careful.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I lied. Was I that obvious?

If I had to guess, Chris was probably two hundred pounds - not that my estimates were likely to be accurate, I didn’t know much about a guy’s physiology - but that would still be a good seventy pounds heavier than me. And stupid female bodies and their body fat ratios meant that he was going to have an easier time of it anyway. I wasn’t sure how much it would take to affect him, but I was going to have to be doubly cautious with my pawns.

By the time I took my second shot, Chris had taken five and was starting to visibly loosen up. And the second shot went down a bit better than the first.

Maybe my plan might work after all!

The third shot came too soon, though, and Chris hadn’t yet taken another.

Finally, everything came together perfectly. “Checkmate!” I yelled out with a flourish. The table shook as I jumped up excitedly, knocking over one of the pawns and spilling bourbon across the board. I stared in horror at the alcohol that was ruining my father’s Chess set.

Chris was faster on the uptake, grabbing a roll of paper towels from the kitchen and wiping up the mess as best he could.

Jumping up had been a bad idea, and now I was feeling a bit woozy, and I was struggling to keep myself upright. Thunder had rolled in while we played, and as I tried to steady myself, a crack of lightning overhead shook the entire house. Chris and I both stopped entirely as the roar of thunder rattled everything around us.

“That was awesome!” Chris yelled with a whoop. Apparently, his disdain for the weather had disappeared, or the alcohol had really lowered his inhibitions a bit. Then he gestured to the board.

“If we’re going to to play round four, we’re playing without house rules.”

That’s not fair, I thought to myself, shaking my head. “Yes! House rules! I win with house rules!”

Before Chris could respond, the room went completely dark and the refrigerator stopped humming from the kitchen. Startled, I fell backwards onto the chair under me, but in my unsteady state I tumbled to the side and hit the floor rather hard.

“Ow, fuck,” I cursed as I tried to pick myself off the floor.

“Are you okay?” I heard Chris from above me. I looked up, but he’d turned on the flashlight app on his cellphone and was blinding me with it. I turned away and shielded my eyes with my arm.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just get that out of my eyes.” I pulled myself up using the chair as a support, vaguely aware that I shouldn’t need a chair just to stand up.

“You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Nonsense. I can drink more!” I could prove it, too. I grabbed one of the still full shot glasses and immediately downed it, choking slightly as it burned down into my stomach.

Chris dropped his phone-turned-flashlight on the table and scrambled to get the rest of the shots out of my reach.

“Hey, now! You can’t do that! What are you doing?” I yelled.

“Cutting you off.”

I stumbled around the table slowly, feebly attempting to stop him. “Why? I was totally ready to take all eight shots if you took all my pawns, but I wasn’t about to let you wi~n.”

“Look, Rebecca, halfway through that game, I got to thinking. Eight shots is a lot of alcohol for a skinny girl like you. I lost on purpose so you wouldn’t take any more.”

I stopped. At least, I tried to, instead windmilling forward and falling on top of Chris. We both went crashing to the floor, knocking the table over as we went down. The shot glasses, Chess set, and what was left of the bourbon tumbled down with us. The sound of glass shattering filled my ears as bourbon splattered across my clothes. I knew I should care, but in my intoxicated state, I didn’t.

Chris lay there, silent and unmoving.

… Actually, laying on Chris was surprisingly comfortable. I laid my head down on his chest and wrapped my arms around him, closing my eyes. With my ear pressed against him, I could hear his heart pounding. It was… nice.

“You think I’m skinny?” I asked, incredulously. I knew I wasn’t obese, but I’d always felt fat because of my sister.

“You are skinny,” he repeated. “Now, would you get off of me?”

Despite his request, Chris wasn’t making any effort to forcefully move me. “There’s broken glass on the floor, and the bourbon’s soaking into my clothes,” he complained.

He thinks I’m skinny, I thought, ignoring his pleas. A warm feeling of relief washed over me, and tears squeezed out of my eyes as I lay there, rising and falling with his breathing.

“Chris?” I mumbled into his chest, wanting to confirm something. “Truth or dare?”

“What? Rebecca, we need to clean up.” Chris finally began trying to shove me off of him, but I held on tighter.

“Truth or dare?” I repeated, ignoring his objection.

Chris stopped struggling and went silent. We laid there for a little bit, serenaded by a distant rumbling and the pitter-patter of the rainstorm.

“Truth, I guess,” he finally replied.

I’d always felt inferior to my sister in the looks department. Right now, more than ever, an intoxicated me needed the reassurance. I wanted to hear him say it. I needed it.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” I hugged him a bit harder as I waited for a reply.

“Rebecca, you’re one of the most attractive girls I’ve ever spent time with. Of course you’re pretty.”

I choked back a joyful sob. “Does that mean you like me?”

Rain and a distant peal of thunder filled the silence as I waited for his reply.

“I don’t really have an answer for that,” he said slowly. “I think you’re physically attractive, but even after all this time, I don’t actually know much about you.”

That was strange; how could he not know about me? We’d known each other for quite a while!

“You know plenty about me, Chris. We’ve been carpooling for six months.”

“And that was six months of talking about … what? My hobbies. My politics. My life. I love to talk about me! But you? You haven’t talked much about you. At least, not before your grandparents …” he trailed off and I felt him tense up.

Silence passed between us. Rain pelted the window relentlessly as we both lay on the floor, Chris soaking in spilled bourbon, and me listening to his heart beat. I had never been more confused in my life as I tried to sort out the bizarre feelings that were stirring inside of me. The more I thought about it, in my alcohol-fueled stupid, the more I realized I wanted Chris. Not just as a friend, but as something more.

“Rebecca?”

I jumped a little bit as his chest carried the vibration right to my ear.

“Yeah?”

“Truth or Dare?”

I wasn’t ready to confess my feelings just yet. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to go out with me.”


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Hours passed as Chris and I sat out on the back porch with the late summer storm roaring all around us. After I’d agreed to go out on a date with him - a decision I wondered if I would regret when I sobered up, but one that I was happy with for right now - we decided to just talk for a while about our dreams and important memories that inspired us. He told me about his dream to be a video game designer, and the rock band he’d formed in his high school years. I told him about my hopes to get a degree in business administration, how I wanted to start my own business some day, and my experiences as captain of high school tennis team.

Unsurprisingly, we didn’t find much common ground in hobbies. We were both competitive, but I was more physical; more action-oriented. He was more studious and subdued, preferring competitions where he could leverage his mind to his own advantage. But we both shared a love for dogs and a distaste for cats, so that was good. At least, it was good after the fact; in my drunken, emotional state, the subject had only come up because I remembered how my puppy died when I was younger, and how tragic it was that the dog died at the age of eighteen, which was even younger than I was now.

And with nothing else we felt like talking about, the subject ultimately came around to our newfound ‘relationship’, if you could even call it that yet. And as is wont to do, the subject of sex came floating around. If I were totally honest, I probably would have been okay with sex that very night, as drunk and horny as I was becoming, but Chris said he ‘wasn’t interested in bedding a girl without a serious emotional connection’. That didn’t help with my desires, but - being much more sober than I - he stuck to his principles even when I tried leading him on. It was infuriating and endearing all at the same time.

Chris ultimately decided to turn in for the night, pulling out the hideaway bed in the living room and making himself comfortable. I waved goodnight to him and stole a brief kiss on my way through, though it was far too chaste for my liking. Once in the hallway, I stepped quickly into the bathroom, stripped down to just my underwear, and then looked at myself in the mirror by the light of my cellphone. The alcohol hadn’t done me any favors, but I fixed myself up as much as I could and stepped back into the hallway.

I was hoping Chris would notice me and might change his mind since I was mostly naked, but when I stepped into the living room cautiously, hoping we could at least make out a little bit before bed, a loud snoring buzzed my ears. 

I will never understand how some people can fall asleep so easily, alcohol or not. With a sigh, I left the living room.

Sullenly, I pushed the door to my bedroom open, bathing me in colors. My eyes widened in shock and I stepped into the room with wonderment. The walls and ceiling danced in hypnotic patterns of color that took my breath away. The orb really did know how to cheer me up, just when I needed it most.

It never occurred to me that I hadn’t actually taken it out of the toolbox. If I hadn’t been drunk and awestruck, I might have considered it really strange that the orb was, in fact, floating entirely on its own accord in the middle of my bedroom instead of sitting, tucked safely away under my bed. Or I might have found it strange that a ghostly purple ribbon of light seemed to trail off of it toward the mirror, which crackled and shimmered with mysterious energy.

Instead, I slowly reached out and touched the floating trinket. The ethereal ribbon wrapped itself slowly around my finger, warm to the touch. Like a curious animal, the tendril explored my hand and began a slow crawl up my arm, and the bubbling energy of the mirror began to die away as the light began to coil around my entire body, filling me with warmth. And then, as it crawled up to my head, I blacked out.


●▬▬๑۩๑▬▬▬▬▬๑۩۩๑▬▬▬▬▬๑۩๑▬▬●


Zecora quickly cleared a path to her cot, ensuring Lydian could carry Xin without interference.

“I told you not to over-do it,” Lydian chided.

“... I know,” he groaned in reply.

Lydian lowered him gently into the cot, making sure not to put any weight on his injured side.

Zecora had brought emergency medical supplies and Lydian was trained as a field medic, so between the two of them things could have been far worse. His bandages were holding up quite well for a field-dressed wound, but even to Zecora’s untrained eye, it was obvious they weren’t going to be sufficient for long-term care.

Silence reigned in Zecora’s bedroom for several long minutes as Lydian worked tirelessly over Xin’s prone form, interrupted only by Xin’s groans of pain and Lydian’s requests for the next herb, fungus, or root she needed for whatever she was doing. Zecora watched with fascination as Lydian worked, trying to observe as much as she possibly could without getting in the way.

Finally, after a tense half hour of working, Lydian sat back with a sigh. “There. How does it feel?”

“It’s fine now,” Xin replied, wincing. “And I am sorry, Zecora.”

Zecora shook her head. “There is no need for apologies, child. It is not your fault that your friend had grown wild.” She would be able to replace her cot later.

“No, I mean for the children,” Xin continued. “They are suffering because of my mistakes. Apologize to them for me, please.”

Zecora looked over at the other two fillies, dozing fitfully in the corner, resting against each other. Their faces were streaked with dried mud, made only more noticeable by the distinct lack where the tears had washed it away.

“Will you not apologize to the children yourself? Or do you place yourself too high upon your shelf?”

“It isn’t that. I just fear I will not be able to continue with you any longer. I must not keep you behind. Lydian, take the children with you and go; there is no need to tarry here on my account.”

It was bad enough that Xin’s injuries had forced them to stop and rest, but since Xin was unable to continue channeling magic for the time being, they’d been forced to abandon Sweetie Belle. The statue was just too heavy to move without his magic.

And of course, when the statue stopped moving, the children wouldn’t budge. Lydian had mixed together an unfamiliar concoction of herbs from Zecora’s pack and...

“The children, Oh Goddess, I drugged children,” Lydian shrieked, suddenly realizing what she had done. “Oh, Master Tal would be furious if he knew.” She slumped against the wall and slid to the floor in a heap.

Xin scoffed. “Are you feeling guilty, now? Equestria’s top assassin would suddenly develop a moral compass?”

“That’s different,” Lydian replied. “That was my job. This was…” she trailed off with an uncertain expression.

“Necessary to do your job?” Xin suggested. “Lydian, our job is to stop Gwydion, at all costs. Those children are just a hinderance. We can’t afford to waste time and effort protecting them. We need to be rid of them as soon as possible.”

“Our job is also to serve the crown,” Lydian reminded him. “If Zecora’s claims are true, then these girls couldn’t have been left behind. I just wish that… That we hadn’t been forced to abandon the statue… no, that we hadn’t needed to abandon their friend.

“You cannot afford to doubt your heart,” Zecora told her. “If you can’t trust yourself, you can’t do your part.”

Lydian nodded. “I do trust my heart, but my heart tells me this is wrong. Besides, I couldn’t live with myself if I just abandoned children in this forest! You aren’t blind, Xin, I know you’ve seen the creatures lurking in the shadows.” Lydian buried her face into her forelegs.

“This isn’t actually about the children at all, is it? It’s Star Hunter, am I right?”

Lydian didn’t respond for a moment, but when she looked up her face was streaked with tears. “What?”

“You didn’t just drug the children. You killed Star Hunter, your long-time friend and comrade, and you’re feeling guilty about it. Don’t. We Guardians died the moment we sealed Gwydion away.” He coughed violently and stopped for a moment, wincing in pain. “I never expected we would live again, but even so, we don’t belong in this time anyway. And neither did he.”

“I know,” Lydian said dejectedly. “I just never expected Gwydion to use our friends against us as weapons, and now Star’s gone… But how are we going to seal Gwydion again without him?”

“We can’t seal him away, no matter what happens. Without Merlin to cast the binding spell, and without Andromeda to fix the Conduits, I’m not sure we could recreate the spell anyway. But you are missing something important.”

“Something important?” Lydian asked, confused.

Xin shook his head. “Gwydion may have been able to defeat Celestia in our time, but he is weakened now. I’m sure Celestia’s power has grown in the intervening years, and perhaps his hold over Luna is now broken. And if Zecora’s claims are true, even without Luna, there are three princesses that can bring their wrath to bear against him. What chance does Gwydion have to survive against them all?”

Zecora nodded in agreement. “All four together would a fearsome foe create. Friendship alone is terrifying irate.”

“I suspected as much,” Xin replied.

“So, we’re not going to seal him away?” Lydian asked.

Xin shook his head. “Of course not. We cannot let history repeat itself. This time, Gwydion will join the rest of his kind in death.”


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I’d never had a hangover before. Sure, I had a rough idea of what it should be like, but nothing could have prepared me for how I felt when I finally came to.

I was face down on the floor, which didn’t really surprise me considering last night. A headache pounded in my forehead so strongly that I thought it might actually burst outward. My entire body ached, too, as if I'd done a full-body workout right before being hit by a bus. I tried to recall the events of the night before, but nothing surfaced. I'd been with Chris all evening, and we played games and talked, but … everything beyond that point was muddy. What happened?

Wait, a full body workout? Pretty sure that didn’t happen? Or did it? I could vaguely recall coming on to him pretty hard…

I opened my eyes slowly, but the room was completely black. That was strange enough already; my room was never that dark. Even at night with the curtains drawn, the street lamps outside provided a fair amount of illumination.

Was I blind? I remember vaguely hearing that you could be blinded by alcohol under the right circumstances, but the details in my mind were sketchy at best.

Suffering in agony as I was, I didn't feel like moving, so I simply lay there. Nothing but silence greeted me.

Maybe I was dead. Was this how eternity is spent? Blind, distressed, and in agony? I was only nineteen years old! There was so much life left to lead, how could I possibly be dead? 

... For that matter, if I was dead, what killed me? The alcohol?

No, wait, I thought to myself. Back up a bit.

I couldn't make that many assumptions. Suppose I wasn't dead. That was likely, but how could I prove it? Well ... I wasn't disabled, was I? If I could just stand up, wouldn't that be proof that I was, indeed, still alive? Or at least that there might be more to this afterlife than it seemed?

I mean, either I was alive, or my grandfather was here somewhere, right?

My arms felt rather stiff as I slowly propped myself up. My hands felt ... not entirely numb, but the tactile sensation was strange. It was as if the ground wasn't really there, even though something was clearly supporting my weight.

It unsettled me just a little bit. 

When I tried to put my legs beneath me to stand, something went wrong. My legs were straight, like they should be if I was standing. My feet were flat on the floor, like they should be if I was standing. But my hands were still touching the floor. It was an utterly, inexplicably alien sensation, like I was standing up straight and crawling all at once.

But as I tried to figure out what, exactly, was wrong, something brushed lightly against my butt. The sudden sensation - the first real external stimulus I'd noted since regaining consciousness - startled me. With a yelp, I threw my leg back, reflexively kicking at the sudden violation of personal space. My foot came into contact with something solid, and a loud cracking noise filled the air around me, accompanied by the tinkling sound of fragmented glass falling to the ground.

What did I just break?

I still may have been blind, but my confidence was growing that I wasn't dead. I listened intently again, wondering if I would hear anything else.

A light suddenly flickered to life above me, bathing the room in a soft glow. I could see! I wasn’t blind! But...

I wasn't in my familiar bedroom as I last remembered. Instead, I was in a small, square room that by all appearances seemed to be carved out of wood. Now, I was no carpenter, but the lack of apparent seams in any of the walls, floors, or corners was a testament to the skill of a masterful artisan.

The lamp that had just come to life above looked like a typical gas lantern, though that appeared to be cosmetic choice; the light within didn't waver like a gas lamp, and the way it had flickered to life was more like power being restored after a storm than the ignition of a gas lantern.

A few scattered boxes were piled around the room, with no apparent organization apart from a stack of boxes filling the only door that served as an exit. The boxes themselves sported a company logo and stylized lettering that spelled out Strings and Things.

As I turned to explore the room, my eyes came to rest on a broken mirror, shattered from a single point of impact, cracks splitting outward. Several pieces of the broken mirror lay on the floor nearby. A strange, lavender-furred face with large, sapphire-blue eyes stared back at me from somewhere beyond the surface.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, convinced I must have been seeing things. When I opened my eyes again, the strange creature was still there. Cautiously, I raised a hand to touch the glassy surface, and a fuzzy lavender appendage raised up into my vision.

I jumped backward with a start. The creature in the mirror did the same. Slowly, I turned my eyes downward.

My arms were covered in lavender fur!

I shook my head and tried to quell my rising panic. The shaking motion was reflected in the mirror, cementing my response. I fell back onto my butt, and a sharp, unfamiliar stinging erupted from my tailbone as I hit the ground.

I screamed, jumping around like a little girl who had just seen a mouse, but my unfamiliarity with the strange body I now occupied left me flat on my face in short order. Cracking an eye open again, I found I was staring at myself once again in the broken mirror, this time from another angle.

The body of the lavender creature (my body?) was roughly the shape of a horse, but with wildly inaccurate proportions. The neck was too short, the legs too thick, and the head too big. A spiraled horn sprouted from the forehead, the same color as the coat, while two similarly colored ears and a darker purple mane sat just above the horn. Two adjacent streaks accented the mane just off center, one a lighter shade of purple, and the second nearly pink. Moderately large feathered wings lay dormant on either side of the torso. At the rear, a tail, colored exactly like the mane, hung limply.

I blinked a few times, trying to clear my vision, but the strange creature was still there. I turned my head to the side, and the creature's head moved with me.

"What... the hell?" I asked aloud to no one in particular.

Sifting through my memories for anything that explained the creature in the mirror, several things came up. A horse with a horn would obviously be a unicorn, that much was clear. But unicorns didn't have wings. I frowned, noting fragmented images in the mirror frowning with me. A winged horse? I couldn't recall the name, but there was one of those in some mythological story. Was it Roman, or Greek? I always confused the two. I shook my head.

Again, the reflection in the broken mirror emulated my movements and my eyes widened in recognition. This was really happening. That creature in the mirror was actually me.

Was I perhaps lucid dreaming? Everything seemed too real to be a dream, especially the throbbing pain in my head.

Maybe I was actually dead and this was some sick and twisted afterlife? But if so, why was I some sort of bizarre horse-thing? What cruel god would do such a thing? And supposing I wasn’t dead, then what happened to my body?


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The boxes in the doorway wouldn’t budge.

I wasn’t sure how long it had been, but it felt like I had spent well over an hour trying to find a way to move them. It was clear that they were jammed against something, and they couldn't be pushed out of the way no matter how I tried. Without my human arms and opposable thumbs, there was just no way to do it. Pulling would have been the perfect solution, but I couldn't find any way to pull on the boxes with my new body.

Trapped.

That was my ultimate conclusion: I was trapped. Trapped in this twisted body. Trapped in this strange room that teased at escape but offered none. Trapped in this… this purgatory between earth, heaven and hell. Which I guess was just normal purgatory.

I laid down and sighed, awaiting whatever would come next, if anything.

Whatever arrived in short order: My stomach growled.

Hunger seemed like an odd sensation for an afterlife. Once again, I found myself questioning the nature of my predicament. I was hungry, but there wasn’t anything that looked like food. 

Should I scream for help? If I wasn't human anymore, who else - or what else - lived here? Here I was locked in a room with no exit. Was I imprisoned by those outside? If so, would they feed me? I scoffed as I realized I was being held in by an impossibly simple method: a stack of cardboard boxes. Could this really pass as a prison here?

As I lay on the bare, wooden floor, I stared at the broken mirror. Many of the fragments had fallen out of the frame, scattered on the floor, but the vast majority of the mirror remained in place, held together by the pressure from the other pieces. Cracks radiated from a single impact point, a clear hoof print just right of the center. I idly wondered if the mirror could have been some sort of portal back home; a portal I had broken on accident. The idea seemed ridiculous, but it crushed what little hope I had left. Tears spilled from my eyes and I put my head to the ground.

I wasn't sure how long I had lay there, quietly crying to myself and longing for my mother's cooking, but after a while, a feminine voice called out, interrupting my misery.

"Twilight?" It sounded like a query.

Should I respond? I wondered. Perhaps I could get her to help, even if I was supposed to be locked in here. Maybe I could get food, at least.

“Twilight?” the voice repeated, slightly more desperately.

“Be careful, Sister. Something is wrong.” A second, more subdued voice joined the first.

“Yes, even I can tell that much,” the first replied, clearly much closer now. “Spike would never let Twilight stack boxes in the hallway like this.”

Twilight was a name? Wait, it sounded like the boxes shouldn’t be there! I seized the moment.

"Excuse me? Can you help me out?" I called."I'm stuck."

“Twilight?!” both voices called in unison. Before I could even respond, the boxes in the door were tossed aside by some unseen power and before me towered a massive creature of white - unquestionably feminine and unfathomably intimidating.

And strangely familiar. Her body was much like my own - a twisted incarnation of a winged unicorn, with odd proportions that were different even from my own.

My eyes were first drawn to the soft blue glow surrounding the massive white horn protruding from her head. The horn was probably a foot long and sharpened to a wicked point, far larger and sharper than the one I saw reflected in the mirror. At the base of her horn sat a golden crown, adorned with a large purple jewel that brought to mind thoughts of royalty and power.

Emphasizing that point was a massive golden neck piece adorned with an even larger jewel, and golden shoes on each of her hooves. Her wings were spread ever so slightly to fill the entire door frame. 

She was an angel of white, an agent of God himself, and she gazed directly at me with piercing magenta eyes that seemed to be reading my very soul.

I am dead, I realized with a growing horror.

And this was judgement day.
> 5 - A Princess and Her Predicament
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In one single lifetime, you would expect the body you’re born in to be the body you stay in - generally, from the day you’re born, until the day you die. For example, if you’re born as a pegasus, you’ll probably die as a pegasus, and your entire life will exist as a pegasus. In fact, this is pretty much the case for almost every creature that has ever lived, with a few key exceptions, like butterflies.
Ponies aren’t one of those exceptions. So you would think that it would follow that, because I was born a unicorn pony, I would die a unicorn pony. Yes, I was born a unicorn, which was, all told, not a terrible experience. You might even say it felt pretty natural for me, since I’ve been a unicorn for most of my life.
And yet I say most because, for some reason, the ‘staying in one body’ fact of life didn’t seem to apply to me. At all. I became an alicorn - me, an Alicorn Princess - much to the surprise of everypony I knew. Of course, becoming a princess among my peers had some serious effects on my daily routine, and I’ve always been a pony of routine and planning.
It threw me off for a little while, but in the long run, alicorn bodies aren’t much different from unicorn bodies. You can still magick like a unicorn, and getting used to flying with my new wings was a fairly straightforward process, if not slightly time consuming, frustrating, and/or humiliating, depending on who was there to observe.  And then, once I got used to all of that, my routine had mostly returned to normal, with allowance for my new royal duties as Princess of Friendship.
So when I came to in a body that wasn’t even remotely like the pony forms I’d had for my entire life, I realized my routine was going to suffer badly. Then again, it took me some time to even fully process just how big of a change I was going through, because I woke up to an unpleasant mix of yelling, vomiting, and general chaos.


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Aether Sickness. n.

A common side effect of exposure to raw aether during teleportation. A brief but potent ailment characterized by torturous headaches, extreme nausea, and a severely impaired sense of balance.

Adept unicorns who actively practice teleportation, such as myself, often build a tolerance for Aether exposure, so it wasn’t a feeling that I’d felt in many years. You might imagine my surprise when, instead of dying in agony as I thought had happened, I instead woke up with what would have been the worst case of Aether Sickness ever recorded - if only anypony had been around to record it.


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A distantly-familiar agony in my head pulsed in time with my heart as I slowly regained consciousness.

“-becca?"

The aching in my head intensified as an unfamiliar voice, speaking in what seemed like uncomfortable proximity, cut through the fading haze. It was a deep, mellow baritone, clearly a stallion.

“Rebecca?” the voice continued.

Rebecca. A word I wasn’t familiar with. Still, it was a strange word. Foreign, perhaps? I made a note to remind myself to look it up later.

“Rebecca!”

Sweet Celestia, please don’t yell…

“Oh man, what now?" he continued, sounding deeply concerned. If I wasn’t feeling miserable, I might consider helping. In my current state, the only thing I wanted to do was relax and try to keep my stomach settled.

"Okay,” the voice continued, talking either to himself, or some silent third party. “An unconscious woman on the floor. Call an ambulance? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do if ...”

What is a woman? I wondered. Whatever this ‘woman’ was, I was somewhat jealous it might get medical attention. Unfortunately for myself, Aether Sickness has no effective treatment - not that an ambulance would have time to arrive before the effects fade. Nothing to do but wait.

My stomach started to twist and turn, and I groaned softly.

“REBECCA?!”

I reflexively jerked away from the sudden outburst and my entire body erupted in a tingling pain, like a limb that was recovering from being asleep, but over my entire body.

“Please don’t yell,” I mumbled.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

*Hbrlkghick*

The contents of my stomach suddenly spewed forth with little warning. Though I was concerned for the unfortunate soul who had just been subjected to last night’s supper, I was also keenly aware that if I didn’t move as soon as possible, I’d be lying in the aftermath. Despite my body’s painful protest, I desperately tried to sit up onto my haunches. My balance was off and I fell backwards, head slamming roughly into the floor behind me. A white flash filled my vision.

“Oh god, that was disgusting,” the voice muttered. “Are you okay?”

Something grabbed me and gently raised me into a hunched position that left my barrel pointed upright. The numb-like burning sensation was starting to fade and I slowly opened my eyes. For a few moments, I stared forward in silent confusion, eyes still unfocused, and only vaguely aware that I drooling all over myself. Historically, I was never one to vomit just once, so I sat there waiting for the next nauseating wave to evacuate my stomach again. Still, even in my disoriented state, I could tell something was extremely wrong, but I couldn't put my hoof on what.

I shook my head to clear my clouded thoughts and blinked a few times, willing my eyes to focus. It helped a little, and I could now make out a tall, thin, bipedal creature towering over me. The creature’s gender was masked by loosely fitting clothing covering most of the body. Where the clothing ended, there was a dark-skinned and mostly hairless body. The basic body structure was not entirely unlike a minotaur, though the specific proportions were nowhere near the same; the face was completely different, and it was lacking in both hooved feet and horns.

“Rebecca, are you okay?”

The creature was staring at me as it spoke, putting a face to the voice I’d been hearing for the last few minutes. I still didn’t know who or what Rebecca was, but at least now it was clear it was addressing me and not some third-party. I groaned in response.

“Here, let me help you up.”

He - I was going to make an educated guess and continue operating on the assumption it was male for now - bent down to assist me, coming down to eye level and offering his arm. I immediately repaid his efforts with another volley of projectile vomit, doubling over again as heaving spasms struck one after another. He staggered away, muttering in disgust as I made the mistake of looking down to evaluate the mess my oral ejaculate was making.

All thoughts about the former contents of my stomach were immediately filed away as unimportant in light of a new discovery.

My torso was not the lavender-furred barrel I was used to seeing, nor were my legs the same hooved extremities I had walked on my entire life. Instead, in their place, I had legs just like the odd creature that was probably still wiping my vomit from his face. My tail, normally somewhere in my periphery while sitting up, was nowhere to be found. Sensing a pattern, I brought my forehooves in front of me, fully expecting to see those same minotaur paws that it had.

I wasn't disappointed.

“I hope you realize how much you owe me now,” the other creature mumbled.

I looked over at him. He was staring at me with a look of disgust.

“What happened to me?” I wondered aloud.

He frowned. "You got really drunk, and I found you passed out on the floor when I woke up."

"I did?"

I was pretty sure (what I assume was) last night’s portal incident had nothing to do with alcohol; I rarely indulged in alcoholic beverages, and certainly not ones enchanted with transformative properties. I looked around the room, trying to find some clue as to where I was.

A large, black dresser with a mirror stood immediately in front of me. Two of the six drawers were ajar, with various articles of clothing draped off the sides. Left of the dresser was a tall lamp in a corner, next to a large window that was letting in the morning light. I was leaning up against the foot of a huge bed, and at the head of the bed on either side was a pair of nightstands, one of which held a strange device that was displaying numbers in red. Judging from the numbers, some sort of clock? Off to my right was modestly large closet, where I could see a few more garments hanging through the partially opened door.

“Uh-huh,” I uttered, mostly for my own benefit. Nothing in the room had a distinct enough style to tell me where I might have ended up.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked. A fair question, and one that I couldn’t answer without more information.

“I’m a little confused,” I confessed. “Where am I?”

The creature looked at me strangely. “Your room?”

My room?

I wasn’t about to disagree with him openly - minotaurs were notorious for their attitude, often violent and confrontational. Given that this was likely a related species, I wasn’t going to take any chances. But this was most definitely not my room. The only way that could even remotely be true was if this was a guest room, or perhaps a hotel room.

“Oh,” I replied, laughing nervously. “How did I miss that?”

He looked at me with concern. “Look, Rebecca…” That word again, seeming now very much a name or title of some sort. “We need to talk about last night.”

“I don’t know what happened to the portal.” I blurted.

“...portal?” he asked, his concern morphing into confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The strange creature held his paw out to me with a sad expression, bordering on pity.

“... Sorry, I was really drunk,” I agreed, reluctantly. His story made more sense than reality anyway - for all that I could tell him right now, being drunk gave me a convenient excuse for not remembering anything clearly. “By the way, I’m not sure where we met,” I continued, “but my name is Twilight Sparkle, from Equestria. I admit I don’t really know who or what you are, though.”

I paused. The creature seemed agitated.

“What’s your name?” I continued, undeterred.

He closed his eyes. "Okay, Twilight,” he grumbled. “My name is Chris, and I definitely need to get you to a doctor as soon as possible." He paused briefly, gesturing at my foreign body. "But you're gonna need to do something about your clothes, first."

A doctor? Oh, right, I was throwing up.

"Thank you, Chris, but there’s no need for a doctor,” I replied. “It's just Aether Sickness. It goes away quickly, and I'm already feeling a lot better.”

I glanced down. While I wasn't too familiar with this body - only having minotaurs to compare it to - I wasn’t sure what even needed to be done about my clothes. I mean, I couldn't recall getting dressed, but I was wearing something Rarity would probably have described as a blue 'polo' shirt, and some lacy, black lingerie. 

Maybe I was giving the wrong impression here. I blushed slightly at the suggestive cloth, but I could just take it off. Then again, different cultures treated clothing differently, and I certainly wasn’t among ponies - it was probably safer to ask outright instead of making assumptions.

“I confess, Chris, I’m not familiar with your society at all. What is wrong with my clothes?"

His mouth hung open loosely and I noticed his eyes darting between my face and my legs. "You aren't wearing..." he gestured feverishly at my lower half, "...pants." Clearly flustered, he exploded loudly. "Look, you can't go outside without pants, alright?"

What a strange culture.

My recently evacuated stomach groaned loudly, causing us both to pause.

“Well, at least you’re awake now,” Chris conceded. He stood up and walked to the door. “I’m going to make breakfast; do you want any? Or are you just going to throw that up, too?”

My stomach already felt quite a bit better… but now also quite empty. “Oatmeal, please,” I replied with a nod. He left the room, and I could hear him trudge slowly down the hallway, mumbling to himself.

Pulling myself unsteadily to my feet, I gazed into the mirror on the dresser. The face staring back at me was clearly much more feminine, but was otherwise similar in features to Chris. I touched the mirror with a paw, hoping that it would respond, whisking me back to somewhere familiar.

It was just an ordinary mirror.


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The stark white surrounding Sweetie Belle suddenly faded to black, and though she had no idea how much time had passed, she was finally able to sense her surroundings again. Birds were twittering back and forth excitedly in the distance, and she could hear the rustling of leaves in the wind.

She opened her eyes slowly, only to find herself staring straight into the eyes of a strange, hairless face with piercing green eyes. They were glowing with a soft intensity that was almost hypnotic. After the briefest of moments, the creature smiled and silently backed away out of sight. She tried to follow it with her eyes, but couldn’t crane her neck far enough from her current position.

Sweetie Belle was laying on her back. Above her was the top of a ramshackle tent, fashioned primarily from broad leaves she recognized as belonging to a tall species of tree in the Everfree. The tent was roughly square, with each corner secured by a tree trunk which supported the walls. The leaves that comprised the walls were stitched together with some sort of sinewy strands. Despite the primitive material, whoever had made this tent was well-versed in its construction. As for herself, Sweetie Belle seemed to be slung up in a hammock supported on struts fashioned from several branches, and a net made from the same leaves as the sides of the tent.

Her entire body was stiff and it was hard to move, but she still tried to roll out of the makeshift cot and onto the floor. Unfortunately, the sling-like nature of the hammock itself made such movement difficult. With her range of motion limited, she only succeeded in rolling onto her side. From this angle, she could see that the strange creature from before had apparently stepped out of the tent - but now a low murmur from outside gave Sweetie Belle pause.

“He ambushed Xin?” asked a male voice.

“Yes.” There was no mistaking the voice that replied. It was the same as the one Sweetie Belle had heard in her vision - the one that called herself Guidance. “Xin was badly wounded, but Lydian interfered. As we had surmised, the Soul Gems bind us; when Lydian destroyed his gem, he disappeared without a trace.”

The strange vision Sweetie Belle had while she was asleep replayed in her mind as Guidance spoke. The fight between the strange zebra-unicorn and the pegasus - and the earth pony that drugged her friends and walked off with them.

Her friends were in danger!

“Hello?” Sweetie Belle called out.

She was determined to get back on her feet. Unable to roll herself any further, she began slowly rocking the hammock, hoping to flip herself over and onto the ground.

“It seems she is awake,” Guidance said.

“Yes, she woke up just a few moments ago,” replied the male voice. “I have already broken the seal on her Conduit. She has a remarkable amount of latent power. If we can get her to use it...”

Sweetie Belle gasped as she made one final push to roll the hammock, and was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. Moaning in pain, she looked up just in time to see Guidance open the tent flap and step inside, accompanied by a tall, brown earth pony stallion. Though Guidance wasn’t shimmering with golden light as she had in Sweetie Belle’s vision, her coat still stood out in a vibrant gold, and her orange mane was so long and glossy it would probably glow in sunlight.

“Good morning,” the stallion offered.

Guidance nodded as Sweetie Belle shook her head in confusion.

“Where am I?” Sweetie asked.

“Do not worry, child,” Guidance replied. “You are still in the forest, but you’re safe with us.”

“Us?”

“Of course, where are my manners. You’ve already met me in your vision, but that’s hardly proper. As you are aware, my name is Guidance.” She gestured to the stallion beside her. “This is Tiller. We are members of the Guardians of Equestria, and we work directly under Princess Celestia. I will introduce you to the others.”


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Discovery #1:

Using magic without my horn - something I’d never had to do before - was both strange and difficult, and it made my eyes tingle, for reasons I couldn’t even begin to explain. Magic wasn’t impossible by any stretch, but it was as if my magical output had been significantly reduced. I also couldn’t seem to perform any magic more complex than a double-weave.

Oddly, this experience led to the epiphany that perhaps my struggles with flying were related to how I used my horn instead of my wings to channel air magic around myself. After all, Pegasi only had wings to rely on, and their wings were evolved to handle air magic.

Discovery #2:

My magic, no matter the spell I tried, created strange ribbons of colorful light. A quick analysis of the energy revealed that it was everyday aether, but somehow in the visible spectrum. Normally aether was only visible at dense focal points such as unicorn horns, or with certain expressions of magic, as is the case with kinesis fields. The aether seemed to be flowing from a ball on the floor and into my body, and then from me into whatever spell I was casting.

After a cursory examination, the ball was very similar to - but not quite exactly like - the Spatial Key that had gotten me into this mess. It was definitely going to be important for getting home.

Discovery #3:

The orb wouldn’t react with the mirror on the dresser, and no matter what I tried, the mirror didn’t seem to react either, seeming just as ordinary as its appearance. That suggested the portal I was sent through might not have a fixed end-point, which was going to make getting home on my own rather difficult, if not impossible.

The Key - or perhaps more accurately, the Non-Key - was still my best chance at getting home.

Discovery #4:

I couldn’t actually create magic at all without the help of the Non-Key. I couldn’t cast a spell from more than about five feet away from the orb, and then only within about five feet of myself. I needed to do further testing, but it was almost as if this part of the world didn’t have stagnant Aether at all - and the Non-Key was the only source of Aether to be found. In light of this, and because calling it a ‘Non-Key’ was just awkward, I decided to name it an ‘Aether Battery’.

Discovery #5:

I really have no idea how this species puts on a pair of pants.


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Chris and I locked eyes. He stood in the doorway with a bowl of what smelled like the oatmeal I requested. My unfamiliarity with my new extremities was showing; while Chris stood with his mouth open, I was laying flat on the ground with my legs straight up in the air, levitating a pair of pants I’d found and trying to get my legs to properly line up with the sleeves.

“W-w-what?” he stuttered. The bowl dropped from his paw and oatmeal splattered across the floor as the bowl bounced away. I felt myself flushing with embarrassment, realizing my hindquarters were sticking straight into the air, exposing myself in a way that would be considered indecent among most races of Equestria. With no idea what to do under the circumstances, I froze, waiting for Chris to act first.

After some hesitation, he reached out cautiously and touched the pants. “How are you doing that?” he wondered aloud.

I’m not sure it’s possible to convey in words just how strange this question was. Kinesis was something every unicorn could do, and many other species as well; it was something anypony in even marginal proximity to Equestrian civilization would see on a routine basis, going back literally as far as they could remember.

Just how far from Equestria was I? 

I mean, the thought of somepony asking such a question would be akin to being asked how you managed to walk. It’s instinctive! How do you even explain it, beyond putting one hoof in front of the other?

… Actually, that might be a question worth asking him. In my limited attempts at moving around the room, standing upright had proven difficult, and walking nearly impossible.

“Elementary-level kinesis magic,” I explained, trying not to be patronizing. I lifted the Aether Battery in one of my paws, gesturing to him with it. He didn’t seem to notice, still enraptured by the floating pants.

“Magic,” he mumbled, awestruck. He tugged on the pants with his paw, marvelling at the simple levitation. “Real magic!” He looked at me momentarily, and then at the Battery, mouth agape.

A creature that has no familiarity with magic? How in Tartarus was that even possible?

“You’ve never seen magic before?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“Magic isn’t real,” he answered. “I mean, I thought it wasn’t. No one actually believes in magic.”

“Nopony you know,” I corrected. It was obvious he was a reclusive creature. Or perhaps an entire reclusive society of creatures; after all, I’d never even heard of his species before, and I’d spent many hours studying up on all kinds of cultures.

Wait, what? I paused, struck by a realization. Nopony believes in magic?

“Hold on a moment,” I said. “How can you know what magic is, and in the same breath claim it doesn’t exist? Wouldn’t it have to exist in order to know what it is you are claiming doesn’t exist?”

Chris furrowed his brow, finally taking his paws off the levitating pants. “It’s all just fantasy. And I mean that literally; fantastical literature. Or it was, I guess.” He frowned. “You look exactly like Rebecca, but you really aren’t Rebecca, are you?” I could tell just from his intonation that it wasn’t a question so much as an affirmation to himself. "You’re just some other person from some other universe who happens to be in her body.”

Up until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that this body might not be mine; no transformative magics involved. Was that even possible? Only three schools of magic could interact with one’s consciousness - Enchantment, Dream, and Inspiration. Could any of them cause this?

Enchantment was temporary, and tended to alter perceptions and emotions, and while it could certainly influence ponies to do ridiculous things unwittingly, it still had no concrete impact on the physical. It seemed unlikely.

Dream magic was something I only dabbled in the most basic applications; as a filly, one experience watching the dreams of my older brother permanently altered my relationship with my foalsitter and had been enough to put me off of advancing in Dream magic forever. Still, I’d studied up on the theoretical applications of Dream magic, and while it didn’t seem completely implausible, to even get between two Dreamspheres in the Dreamscape took a fair amount of time, and required the two minds to have some kind of mutual relationship - and I certainly had none with Rebecca. That didn’t even guarantee that such a manipulation of consciousnesses was possible. Furthermore, the only master of Dream magic I knew was Luna, and if she’d had such a power, she likely wouldn’t have lost to Celestia in the Lunar War.

I knew very little about Inspiration, so I couldn’t rule it out entirely, but now that I had pondered the concept of distances in two places that seemed utterly alien from one another, I had my doubts. An icy grip settled over my heart as I realized I didn’t have the capability to do anything on my own.

“I’m sorry, Chris.” I replied. “I don’t know who Rebecca is.”


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I was sitting on a remarkably comfortable couch - in what Chris had repeatedly assured me was Rebecca’s home - and finally dressed to what he deemed to be ‘acceptable’ standards.

Chris was watching with rapt attention as I ate a newly made bowl of oatmeal, marvelling at the dexterity with which I could levitate the bowl and spoon. I finished eating and set them aside, his eyes following along until I released my spell.

“So, what’s your world like? Is there a lot of magic?” he asked, suddenly.

My world? The world was the world; how could there be a ‘my’ world?

“What do you mean?” I asked, curious.

“You know; your world. I mean, you said you came through a portal, right? And you use magic, so obviously you’re from another world.”

I paused. The very idea was preposterous. According to Dimensional Theory, the only thing outside the word were the other four dimensions - the Aetherial Plane, where all the aether in Equestria comes from; the Dreamscape, where dreamers dream; the Luminal Dimension, the world beyond mirrors; and the whirling morass that is The Timeline. But you couldn’t just live in another dimension; they were entirely meta-physical places, interwoven, overlapping, and connected with one another.

“Okay. Let’s set aside if I believe you or not,” I replied. “How are you so certain I’m not from a distant part of the world?”

“Because there’s no magic anywhere in this world.”

Anywhere? He was certainly a rather arrogant creature on top of his ignorance. Obviously, magic existed in Equestria, which was part of the world. Therefore he was wrong. Still, I wanted to know understand what this creature thought, if for no other reason than that I didn’t want to anger it later.

“There’s always something out beyond where you’ve explored already.” I shook my head. “Somewhere out there is Equestria - and magic - and I need to get back there.”

He laughed - an explosive, loud laugh that would have made Pinkie Pie blush. For a few seconds, I didn’t know what to do or say. After a moment, he stopped laughing and a serious expression crossed his face.

“There’s a lot of legends of magic all over our world, but there’s no evidence that it was ever real. Maybe there was plausible doubt in the past, but we’ve already explored everything; there’s nothing like magic here.”

“Explored everything? Are you telling me the world isn’t infinite?”

It was impossible for anypony to prove the world was infinite, but nopony had ever found any evidence to the contrary. I couldn’t conclusively say he was wrong, but if he didn’t know about magic, he couldn’t fly. And even if he was right, and it was somehow not infinite, how could any one species explore the entire world, without the aid of magic or flight? Obviously, he had to be lying... right?

…I had to confess, it made a strange amount of sense, academically speaking. All working theories of the Aetherial Plane made it impossible for any place entirely devoid of Aether to exist. High concentrations of Aether from the Aetherial Plane seeped through the cracks between dimensions, spreading out to fill low Aether concentrations until the world reached an equilibrium. And that means that a place with no Aether at all would be incapable of being in contact with Aether. Yet my magic only worked here where the Battery provided Aether; which meant there was no appreciable Aether here naturally. No Aether, no magic. The only other possibility would be some massive spell consuming the Aether here as it sifted from the Aetherial Plane, and so quickly that no other magic could take hold.

But a spell so massive would be impossible to cast. That much Aether consumption would violate the laws of magic as we knew them. Which meant that if more than five dimensions actually did exist, I could, theoretically, have ended up in one that had no contact with the Aetherial Plane.

My view of the multiverse was rapidly changing and I didn’t like what it was implying.

“I guess you could be right,” I conceded. “To your original question, my world is full of magic, and every creature is affected by it. Every kind of creature has an affinity that enables it to manipulate Aether in specific ways to their benefit.”

“Can you elaborate on what you mean by ‘affinity’?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, pleased to have a chance to lecture on one of my favorite subjects. ”There are sixteen schools of magic, and every known species has one or two schools of magic that they excel at utilizing. Those schools are the species’ affinity. Of course, that doesn’t completely preclude using other schools; in fact, many are born with a personal knack for other schools, completely independent of their species’ usual talents.”

“I think I understand,” Chris replied. ”It’s like how dragons breathe magical fire.”

“Exactly! Dragons have an affinity for fire. Serpents have water. Earth ponies have… well… earth.”

“Earth ponies,” Chris repeatedly flatly. “Why Earth ponies? What, do you also have sky ponies or something?”

“Um, pegasus ponies, with an affinity for air magic, yes.”

He seemed to process that for a much longer moment than I’d expected. “You named a species after a Greek myth?” he finally replied.

“Greek myth?” I suddenly really wanted to know what kinds of legends a species with no exposure to magic considered to be mythological.

“The Greeks have a myth with…” he started to explain, but then halted. “You know what? Nevermind.” I actually wanted to hear whatever he was about to say, but he continued before I could ask. “So, what kind of magic do humans have?”

“Humans?”

“You know...” He gestured between the two of us. “Us.  What kind of magic do we have?”

“Oh! Sorry, you misunderstand me. Humans don’t exist in my world.” I paused, realizing I had fully come around to agreeing with his assertion that this was a totally different place. “At least, I’ve never heard of them,” I added sheepishly.

Chris went completely silent for a full minute. For somepony who’d been such an unending fountain of curiosity for the last thirty minutes, I was somewhat concerned. Had my response really stunned him that much?

“No humans,” he repeated quietly.

“None.”

“Then, what are you?”


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“Where are my friends?” Sweetie Belle demanded impatiently

“Oh, she is cute!” The bubbly blue unicorn scooped Sweetie Belle up into a hug, squeezing her tightly.

Sweetie Belle sighed. She was really getting tired of all the ponies that Guidance was introducing to her. They all seemed overly friendly, yet utterly unhelpful. And all of her requests had largely been ignored anyway.

“Tell me your name!” the new unicorn demanded. Despite the command, her voice was light and flute-like; Sweetie couldn’t even tell if she was being menacing or just bossy.

Why couldn’t she have met these ponies all at once instead of having each one come inside individually?

“I’m Sweetie Belle,” she grumbled, wishing she had the energy to break out of this pony’s kinesis, but too exhausted to try. “And I want to know where my friends are.”

“Well, hello, Little Belle! I’m Sapphire River! You are so cute, I could just hug you to death!"

Sweetie Belle blanched as Sapphire attempted to do just that, squishing the air out of her lungs.

Guidance smiled. “Sapphire, be nice to our guest.”

“Ohmigoddess, I’m so sorry!” Sapphire put Sweetie Belle down gently and then went straight to work trying to fix Sweetie’s tousled mane. “Little Belle, your mane is atrocious. Have you been running through the forest? Can I call you Little Belle?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sweetie conceded. Sweetie really didn’t care what the pony would call her as long as she would actually give some answers.

Sapphire pulled a brush out from somewhere, and began masterfully working away at Sweetie’s tangled mess of hair. Sweetie Belle shivered slightly at her touch. She’d never liked Rarity messing with her mane, but right now, the light touch of her sister was all she really wanted, and the gentle strokes of her brushing was mildly comforting.

So far, Sapphire was easily the most approachable of the ponies Sweetie Belle had been introduced to - if not a little over-enthusiastic. Sweetie decided that it definitely would be a bad idea for Sapphire River and Pinkie Pie to be in the same room.

“Guidance!” a voice shouted from outside. “Report!”

“Coming!” Guidance shouted back. “Don’t overwork the poor girl,” she instructed Sapphire.

Sapphire nodded. “Tell Aqua that I need to talk to him when you’re done.”

“Sure,” Guidance nodded, leaving Sweetie Belle alone with her newest acquaintance.

Sweetie Belle sat silently as Sapphire toiled away at her mane, relaxing a little bit as Sapphire began to talk.

“I’m sorry about your friends, Little Belle. I promise, nopony here really means to ignore you, but there are a lot of things going on right now,” she said.

Sweetie Belle looked up at Sapphire, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “You know where they are?”

“Cherry Sunrise has been keeping track of their movements as much as possible. The last time he saw them, the foalnappers were heading toward a nearby village.”

“But the only place near the Everfree Forest is Ponyville,” Sweetie Belle objected. “That’s my home.”

Sapphire paused her work and smiled. “Yes, I think that’s what Cherry called it. Those poor villagers are going to be no match for Xin. Oh, Little Belle, I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“Your family is there, are they not?”

“Sure.”

“Well, you see, Xin has a reputation for destroying everything in his path. He’s after the princesses, and he won’t stop until he gets to Canterlot.”

Visions of when Guidance first spoke to Sweetie Belle flashed through her mind. The immense fireball Xin conjured, despite grievous injury -- followed immediately by visions of the Elements of Harmony at work, dwarfing any possible threat posed by the rogue Zebra.

“But the Elements won’t allow that,” Sweetie Belle replied. “Nothing’s a threat to Ponyville except Twilight herself.”

Sapphire River finished with Sweetie Belle’s mane and moved on to her tail, uncertain what to make of the child’s apparent total and utter lack of concern for the health and safety of her friends and family.

“Well, you see, Little Belle, Xin is very powerful. I admit, I don’t know what the Elements are, or who Twilight is, but I can assure you, Xin is very powerful, and he will destroy everypony in his way.”

“But, how can you not know Twilight Sparkle?” Sweetie Belle replied with genuine confusion. “Have you been living under a rock?”

“Well, yes,” Sapphire River smiled wryly, “in a manner of speaking.”

“Oh come on! She’s a princess!”

“Ah, I do suppose I recall Guidance saying something about another princess.”

Sweetie Belle paused. Something wasn’t adding up. If the Guardians worked directly under Princess Celestia, there was no possible way they couldn’t know about Princess Twilight.

“Little Belle?” Sapphire asked, noticing Sweetie’s sudden tension. “Are you alright? You seem stressed.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sweetie replied, scrambling to think of a way out of this conversation. Something definitely wasn’t right, and the more she thought about it, the more everything seemed off.

“Are you sure?”

“I just need to go to the bathroom.”


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“So, let me make sure I have this straight: You’re actually a pony. And not just any pony, but a flying, talking, spell-slinging, unicorn pony.”

“Technically, I’m an Alicorn, but otherwise… yes.”

“And a princess, on top of all of that?

I nodded. Chris put his head in his paws. “So, we’re fucked,” he mumbled.

His crude language caught me off guard, but I found myself unable to grasp what he was suggesting. Had I missed some bizarre courtship ritual?

“I hope I’m misunderstanding something,” I replied tersely, “because I’m not sure how this relates to copulation at all.”

Chris looked up at me in confusion, but then he cracked a small smile. “No, no, it’s just an expression. It means we’re in really deep trouble. We don’t have anything prepared to fight against a real, magic-wielding army - even if they are ponies. I mean, you’re their Princess, and when they come for you - and I’m sure they will - what are we going to do?”

I still couldn’t figure out what he was getting at. “Nothing,” I replied. “There wouldn’t be a fight.”

“Exactly. We’d be slaughtered.”

Slaughtered? How did he even get to that conclusion? Even against the Changelings, Celestia had never been so barbaric.

The look on my face must have said everything I was thinking, because Chris quickly tried to explain himself.

“I mean, I think we would be. Magic can… I dunno, really. I mean, I assume at the very least you could set stuff on fire, shield yourself, bring the dead back to life. It would be like some four-legged, unstoppable army.”

“Well, we definitely can’t bring the dead back to life, but magic is pretty flexible. Setting things on fire and shielding is certainly possible. It’s just a matter of how you weave the schools. And how the magic is channeled.”

“Weave the schools?” Chris asked.

“Um, the easiest way to explain them is that they are the building blocks from which all spells are made. Every species has their own conduit.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, questioningly.

“Conduits are cellular structures which can manipulate Aether; like how unicorns use their horns,” I explained. “The act of combining schools in the conduit is called weaving. A specific ordering of schools is willed into the weave to create a magical effect. The conduit itself is an important part of the spell’s final form as well, so only creatures with similar conduits can perform the exact same spells.

“So, it’s like cooking,” he mused. “You add ingredients, but the way the ingredients are mixed and how you use the tools you choose to cook with affect the outcome.”

“That… is not a terrible analogy, I guess. I’m not really sure how else I would explain it to somepony with literally no magical background.”

Chris smiled. “I think I get it. I’m curious about the ‘schools’ of magic, though. You’ve mentioned Earth, Fire, Air, and Water. In many of our own fantasy concepts, those are the four classical elements, but you mentioned sixteen schools.”

“Yes! In fact, we call those four schools The Elemental Arts.” I clapped my paws together excitedly. ”Out of all the schools, they are capable of the most change with the least amount of magical focus, making it easy to learn to harness these schools. They’re also wild and unpredictable, making them potentially dangerous and difficult to master.” 

“You’re enjoying this. Do you always get excited about lecturing people?”

I nodded sheepishly. “I’ve been accused of being an egghead before.”

Chris burst out laughing. “I can tell just listening to you.”

My shoulders slumped. I wasn’t trying to bore him.

“No, no,” he suddenly said with a hint of concern. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I’m actually quite interested. Please, continue.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“...Okay. After the Elemental Arts come the Physical Arts. Without any control, the Elemental Arts can only be used in a very passive fashion before getting quickly out of hoof. In order to harness larger expressions of Elemental Arts safely, they need to be woven with a Physical Art. Physical Arts have a concrete effect on the world around the wielder, thus have the most obvious expression, but they are significantly more difficult to use than Elemental Arts. Very few species have an affinity for a school in the Physical Arts, and those that do tend to use magic in the most obvious ways because they can naturally express Elemental Arts without risk of life and limb.”

“So, I have a bucket of red paint,” he mused. “I could dump the paint bucket on the ground and get an unpredictable mess of red splattered everywhere, or I could put the paint on a brush and wield it with precision."

I clapped my paws together again. “Exactly!” Chris seemed to have a knack for explaining things in metaphor. “The paintbrush is a good analogy for Kinesis.”

“I’m guessing that is one of the Physical Arts?” Chris asked.

“Ah, yes. I suppose I didn’t list them, did I? The other three are Transmutation, Conjuration, and Restoration. I can go in-depth on each, if you’d like.”

Chris raised his paws up. “No, I’m cool with just an overview for now, but maybe later?”

I nodded. “The next is Spiritual Arts. Spiritual Arts are capable of making fundamental changes to how the world works. Enchantment, Divination, Chaos, and Inspiration. I’ve only recently learned about that last one, so I honestly don’t know much about it.

“So, Divination,” Chris mused. “Like fortune telling?”

“A lot more complicated than that, but sure, that’s a common application.” I waited for a moment to see if he had any other questions, but he just waited patiently.

“Then there are the Dimensional Arts, which can interact directly with other planes. Light, Time, Space, and Dream.”

“Time? You can time travel?”

“Strictly speaking, yes,” I replied. “But it gets messy, and usually causes more problems than it solves.”

“Usually does,” Chris agreed with a nod.

How was I supposed to respond to that? If his species had no magic, how would he know? I decided not to confuse myself even further with this creature’s strange and inconsistent behavior.

“So, what schools do you weave to take over bodies?”

“I’m not even sure what schools of magic could be woven into such a spell."

“So, you didn’t cast a spell to steal Rebecca’s body?”

“No! I just got caught up the portal, and then woke up in this body...” I trailed off.

Chris sat back and went silent. I couldn’t blame him. What had happened to the actual Rebecca? Was she still somewhere in my head, unable to control her own self and panicking? Was she aware of what was going on around her? Was she conscious at all?

“Was she… your friend?” I asked softly.

He scratched his head. “A bit more than just a friend, I guess.”

My heart sunk. Magic far beyond my own understanding had taken his friend from him and dumped me in her place. I was one of the most well-studied mages in pony history, and even I was at a complete loss. I couldn’t imagine how confusing it must be for a creature that didn’t even understand magic in the first place.

“Chris, I am so, so sorry,” I whispered.

“Look, I don’t understand magic,” he said slowly. “But if you didn’t do it on purpose, then I can’t blame you for what happened.”

“Thanks, I think.” I smiled softly. “I just hope Princess Celestia can fix this.”

“...Who is Princess Celestia?”

“She’s the Princess.”

“But you said you were the Princess.

That was not something I was prepared to answer, and I had to scramble to find a simple explanation.

“It’s like… I’m a Princess. And she’s a Princess. We’re both Princesses, but…”

Before I could complete the thought, the realization that I might not see Celestia, or Shining Armor, or any of my friends again wormed its way to the forefront of my mind. Tears began blurring my vision as I broke down and sobbed there on Rebecca’s floor.

Chris put his arms around me, pulling me close into an embrace. It was a comforting gesture, though the close proximity made me feel slightly awkward. Unsure of the proper human etiquette, I didn’t pull away. Instead I sat there and cried softly for a few minutes.

“... she’s my Princess,” I finally choked out between breaths.

“Twilight,” he whispered. “I think I understand what you mean.” Chris pushed me back to hold me at arm’s distance. “But you can’t give up. If magic can do this, magic can undo this, right? You can get Rebecca back into her own body, right?” His eyes were pleading. This was just as important to him as it was me.

“Right,” I nodded weakly, wiping away my tears with a paw. I wasn’t sure I could do it at all, but I wasn’t about to admit defeat just yet. “I’m going to need to do some research. Where can I find books about magic?”

Chris paused. “Books about magic? I would guess at the library, if anywhere, but you’re going to have a difficult time with that. No one believes magic is real, and all of our books about magic are just fiction designed for entertainment.”

“Nonsense.” I replied, matter-of-factly. “There has to be at least some truth to some of it, somewhere. It’s just a matter of finding the right book.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because otherwise how would anyone have thought to write fiction about magic in the first place?  Somepony had to have known, even if nopony knows now.”

After several moments of processing, Chris shrugged. “Okay, I guess. The library is about two miles from here; we could take my car, but I think it might be a good idea to walk. You could use the practice.”

I nodded my agreement.

“And one last thing,” he continued.

“What?”

“You absolutely cannot use any magic outside this house.”


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“Careful now. Left foot. Right foot.”

At first, walking was rough. Chris supported me for a short distance until I felt more confident putting one foot in front of the other, and after a few minutes it even felt a little bit normal, if not natural. Chris suggested that maybe my quick uptake was Rebecca’s muscle memory at play, and I couldn’t find any reason to disagree. Once I felt comfortable with the motion involved, I was walking without having to dedicate my concentration to it. Then, finally free to let my mind wander a little bit, I took stock of the city around me. 

Like many Equestrian cities, the houses here were lined in rows right along the streets, and came in all sorts of shapes, colors and sizes. Dozens of human carriages - ‘cars’, Chris had called them - were stopped alongside the road, though none of them seemed to be in use.

It could easily be described as a suburban area, not entirely unlike the the fringes of Manehattan. The roads themselves crossed at perfect perpendicular intersections and at regular intervals, with a half-dozen houses or so between each. Most yards were entirely devoid of humans, but a few had children playing, and at one home some adult humans were gathered together in what Chris called a “barbeque”, which I guess was like a picnic party?  He refused to really explain it.

With so many humans to observe, one thing I quickly noticed was a lack of coloration. Humans, it seemed, had a very limited range of color - something that they made up for with eye-catching and colorfully diverse clothing. I stopped on a few occasions just to look at their outfits, and found myself with a little bit more appreciation for Rarity’s impact on my life.

Chris suddenly thrust his arm out, preventing me from continuing forward. One of the human carriages whizzed past us, right in front of my eyes.

Carriages in Equestria were harmless and benign, offering rides for ponies who lacked the mobility or stamina to traverse long distances by hoof, or even for those who just needed to multi-task and couldn’t spare the trouble of navigation. Even so, the ponies who made a living pulling carriages were great for conversation, and dedicated to their craft.

Up until that moment, all of the human carriages I had seen were stationary and unoccupied. Seeing a human carriage in motion, only inches away and travelling at such speeds? My knees were shaking uncontrollably and I collapsed to the ground, unable to focus on standing. The carriage that had just passed us seemed to have a life of its own, with nopony pulling it!

It took Chris a few minutes to assure me it wasn’t magic and that they were perfectly safe as long as you looked both ways before crossing the road. I hadn’t sensed any magic from it so I knew at least that much was true, but it still unsettled me.

Several minutes later, I finally stood up and crossed the street, once again using Chris for support. My confidence in walking came back shortly afterward, but I was much more attentive to cross-streets from then on.


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BOOKS!  BOOKS EVERYWHERE!

The library Chris led me to was enormous, easily dwarfing even the largest libraries Equestria had to offer. I strongly suspected that Equestria didn’t even have half as many different published books across all of written history! And according to Chris, this library was small.

Apparently, like in Equestria, on Sundays many venues closed early - though obviously not out of respect for Celestia. With only three hours before the library closed, I wasn’t going to have much time to read while we were there, so my time was fairly evenly divided between wandering around in awe of the number of books, sitting in awe of the search capabilities of the ‘computer’ (a device I desperately wanted to understand better once I had the time), and trying to decide what books I wanted to actually check out.

The library policy limited me to seven books, so I had to choose carefully. I settled on a human biology book (so I could understand my body a bit more), a political history book (to help with understanding human cultures before opening potential negotiations), a book on the history of magic (what I had initially come to the library for in the first place), a book on mythology (because I was curious about the Greek myth Chris had mentioned), a book on astronomy (they had a sun, moon and stars, but there was no Celestia or Luna here - a curiousity indeed), a book of popular legends (Chris had assured me that many legends involved magic), and a book about ponies (which I hadn’t really planned on finding so much as I had stumbled upon laying out on a table and curiosity struck).

“You’re sure those are the seven books you want?” Chris asked as we approached the checkout counter.

“No,” I mumbled. How could anypony limit themselves to just seven? There were dozens of others I had interest in.

“Here,” Chris said to the librarian, handing her a small card. The librarian shone a thin red light on a white and black pattern on the card, and then handed it back before shining the light across a similar pattern on each of the books. It was a strange ritual, and my own experiences as a librarian only made it even more confusing.

We left the library without further delay to find the sun dipping lower on the horizon. So many questions filled my mind. How could they possibly deny magic when the sun itself was clearly being moved in the sky? I shook my head. 

A light musical tone drew my attention away from the sun’s slow descent. A small, flat device in Chris’ hand was lit up and producing the gentle sound. He glanced at it for a moment, before poking it with a finger and then put it to his ear and leaning up against the side of the building.

“Hey, it’s Chris. Is this important? ... … … Shit. Yeah, alright, one sec.”

He took the device away from his head and gestured to the books. “Sorry Twilight, I really have to take this call, but it should only take a couple of minutes. Go ahead and read while I wrap this up.”

Chris put the device back to his head. “Alright, go ahead,” Chris continued.

I picked up the book titled “An Observer’s Guide to the Universe”. It was the astronomy book I’d decided on. Since the sun and moon were on my mind, I figured it was as good a place to start as any. I opened to the first page and started reading.

…

...

...

...

...This book was full of lies. 

There’s no way the world could possibly go around the Sun as this book described. I had watched Celestia raise the sun myself countless times - including the times where she wasn’t adhering to her schedule properly, and on those days, the sun rose late. All of this bunk about orbital mechanics… I briefly considered returning the book and grabbing another while I had the opportunity.

I realized I was pacing while reading; a habit I often had while studying as a pony. I suppose in many ways, that meant I was largely used to walking now, as walking while reading was something I’d always done without thinking, especially if I was agitated. That was probably a good sign.

… I was also levitating the book with my magic. I quickly grabbed the book with my paws, remembering that Chris had forbidden my use of magic outside the house. Before we left, I had to convince him that I couldn’t allow the Aether Battery out of my sight, and he’d finally relented and allowed me to take it. I stole a quick glance over at him to make sure he hadn’t noticed.

Chris was now shouting into the flat object in his hand. I would have to ask him about the thing; as I’d seen several humans in the library with them. A quick glance around confirmed no one else seemed to have noticed my magic, and then continued my reading with the next chapter of the blasphemous book. This chapter was delving into the moon.

… And there it was; Mare Crisium, Mare Nectaris, Mare Imbrium. There was no doubt in my mind now; there was definitely traces of the “Mare in the Moon” here in human literature. In fact, they believed in dozens of mares on the moon!

And then one last piece of evidence: The ‘human moon’ was actually named Luna! I needed no further proof. There was a clear connection between these humans and Equestria.

“Reb-- Twilight! Watch out!”

I looked up; I was inches from walking right into the street, and one of the human carriages was barrelling toward me at high speed. I stopped. Or tried to stop, but in my panic, I couldn’t keep my unfamiliar body from stumbling forward. I toppled to the ground.

Right in front of the speeding carriage.