> Friðr's Guardian
>  by -Watcher-
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1 - Old Legends
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Long ago, before time and magic, there was a garth. It rested peacefully within a valley of prodigious beauty and life, tucked away from the prying eyes of all who inhabited the world. 

This place housed creatures of legend, flora that could blind mortals with its beauty, and the beginnings of all magic. It was here that the story of time began, and it would be the place where time would end. 

In the center of its courtyard, there was tree. Its roots extended to the farthest reaches of what was the world. Its leaves brought life and joy to all those who were privy to its presence. Its trunk was stronger than any material or alloy and held steadfast in the event of any and all conflict. This tree was called Friðr.

It was this tree that would lead to the world as it is known.

Centuries passed, and the garth and its surroundings remained undisturbed by the likes of mortals. Friðr continued supporting the rich, prosperous lands beyond the humble valley she resided in.

As the world grew alongside Friðr, she could feel the appearance of new life scattered across the globe. This overjoyed Friðr, and she welcomed the newcomers into her valley, spreading her joy and magic to all those who would let it into their hearts. 

Sick were made well. Blind were healed. Dumb would speak, and deaf would hear once more. 

Pegasi were gifted control of the heavens, a blessing brought by the wind that moved through Friðr’s branches. Earth Ponies were gifted strength and endurance akin to the trunk and roots that supported Friðr. Finally, Unicorns were given the blessing to utilize and manipulate the very magical energy that Friðr herself used.  

Once again, time passed, and the ponies that first came to the valley had spread to the farthest reaches of the world. Peace and harmony reigned supreme, and it was not accident. Friðr did her best to help those in need, even speaking in spirit with a few. She became akin to a goddess to these ancient ponies, and she was as benevolent as the word had allowed.

However, this generousness led to word being spread around the neighboring kingdoms and beyond. Though many were quick to return Friðr’s kindness with similar charities, there were also those who sought to harness rather than share, to harm rather than to help.

One such king, a unicorn of immense power, hearing of the tree’s magical properties, sought to use the estate for his own gain. Assembling an army of experts and explorers and warriors, the king led his people into the sacred valley, hellbent on capturing the power of the tree.

This would soon breed the first major conflicts in the world’s history. Battles raged across the lands as factions fought to protect or control the tree. Blood was spilled on the once holy lands of the valley, and it pained Friðr to see her ponies in such dark times. 

As the wars raged on, the connection between Friðr and the ponies waned more and more. This only served to worsen the battles as the ponies fought even fiercer than before, thinking the dying earth was due to the others. All the while, Friðr watched with a sadness that threatened to consume her, weakening her more and more.

One fateful day, the king responsible for this pain and misery led a final push against the garth’s defending forces. Overwhelmed, both by number and power, the defenders fell. The king burned and ravaged the surrounding area and took no prisoners. 

For the first time since time itself had started, the sacred grounds of the garth were tainted with the blood and fear of ponies. This had finally broken the spirit of the great tree.

As the king marched his way into the central courtyard, the tree spoke without being heard. Only he could hear. Only he could feel the tree’s wrath. Only he could feel what true fear was.

Friðr spoke of the injustices the king had thrust into the world, forcing him to the ground in an unrelenting telepathic assault. 

The king’s men were unable to aid as the tree had surrounded the courtyard in a barrier of pure energy. They were forced to watch as their leader was made powerless in the presence of what seemed to an invisible force.

The tree could feel its power had been all but drained by the chaos and pain in the world, and sought to give the world she looked after one final gift. 

Releasing the king from her embrace, she put a curse on him, a curse that would bound him to this place for all eternity. He and he alone would be its protector and guardian for all of time.

With her judgment passed, Friðr drew all the energy she had left into what would be her final spell. A powerful magical beam of energy erupted from the top of her branches, showering the land in a pale white light. 

This light was not a simple spell, but Friðr’s very life essence. It scattered across the globe, bringing with it life once more and wiping away all the pain and blood of all ponies and creatures. 

As a parting gift, Friðr whispered into the king’s mind one final time. Though the words she spoke are unknown, it is said that king simply nodded in a knowing gesture and ignited his own horn, from which poured a blinding blue light that engulfed the garth in its entirety. 

It is said the king, as an act of redemption, agreed to hide the garth away and seal what remained of Friðr’s magic from the world so that it may one day return when the time was right.

Over the millennia, many have claimed to see the garth in many different locations, though all accounts of such events have never been accurately documented or verified. 

However, it is also said that the king’s magic was weakened from the immense power required to initiate the spell. As such, many believe that every half-century, the king must rematerialize the garth in order to regain his strength. This location is said to be the original plot where the garth was all those years ago, though this location has been lost to the sands of time.

This does nothing to impede the many explorers and scholars who wish to discover the garth and learn the secrets of those ancient times.

Perhaps, someday, there will be one who finally succeeds and is given a wish that will only be true if it is made with a pure heart and contrite spirit. 

Until then, the garth and its new caretaker remain a mystery lost to the ages.













She stared intently at the pages before her, chewing the words in her mind, mulling them over mindlessly. An urge to throw them back into the book and be done with it crossed her thoughts, but she resisted it.

It was not the only book near her. Stacks of tomes, both old a new, formed a wall of long-dead trees around the lone soul in the center of the library. The only source of illumination that allowed any reading was that of a simple candle sitting at her side.

Usually, she reveled in the security that accompanied this book fort. The isolation was only made sharper and more real by the purposeful lack of light. And yet, she noticed none of these things.

Her mind was elsewhere, focused and attentive to the task at hoof. After all, if no pony else was willing to try, then she had a duty to do what they would not. 

This line of thinking slowly crept its way into her thoughts—again, which only frustrated her more. Grimacing, she focused her gaze once more on the pages in front of her.

An entire nation’s compiled works of academia, fiction, and literature at my hooves, and I still can’t find a single thing that is even remotely related to what I need, she thought, slamming her head down into the book that still lay open in front of her. 

Wait a second . . . she began in her head as a spark of knowledge lit from within. She scoured the pages of the book closest to her, remembering something that may help after all. No, not that … not that, either. Oh, got it! 

She came to the beginning of the legend she just had just finished, Friðr’s Guardian, and began skimming the contents. After a few seconds of skimming, she came across one of the paragraphs in the beginning.

Its leaves brought life and joy to all those who were privy to its presence, she read to herself, closing her eyes to mull the words over once more. That’s it! she beamed, this has to be what I’ve looking for. Now, just where is this garth ..

Much to her displeasure, her very important studying was interrupted by her ears flicking behind her. Somepony was coming this way, and they were coming very quickly. 

Fighting down the urge to be stubborn and confront who was making far too much noise, she quickly snuffed the candle at her side and did her best to hide within her book fort. 

Heh, knew these things weren’t useless. Looks like I’m right ag—

Her self-congratulatory remarks were cut short as the large doors to the library swung open. 

She held her breath, forcing her heart and muscles to relax. Not one bit of her moved, not even her ever-sensitive ears. 

She was completely still. Not a single being in this world would be able to detect her.

And yet … 

“Twilight, I can see you. You aren’t fooling anypony by just laying in the dark,” an all-too-familiar voice rang out against the grand room. 

Darn, Twilight cursed to herself. 

“Spike, I told you not to just barge in like that … its uh distracting … yeah, distracting,” she slurred, sleep making its way into her speech despite her attempts to conceal it. 

Spike simply looked at her with an almost pained expression that bore concern, but that soon faded into what could only be a simmering annoyance.

“Twilight it’s,” he began, looking towards the clock, “Three in the morning. You need to get some sleep. I can see you definitely need it.”

Twilight relaxed her neck and lowered her head, ears pressed against her head. She really was pushing herself too hard, and she knew it. This was the ninth night in a row that she had been up this late, searching. 

“I know, Spike, I know,” she finally said, risking a dreary glance at the still-maturing dragon. “I just … I need to find something at this point. You know that,” she ended, gesturing to the grand bookcases that were mostly empty at this point. 

Finally, Spike allowed his gaze to soften, if only a little. 

“I know, Twilight, but you also know that this can only end badly if you continue to push this hard. You can’t dedicate every moment of your life to this, especially now that you have more than enough responsibilities to take care of. You can only cancel day court so many times before ponies start worrying about you. Our friends are already worried, Twilight.”

Slowly, Twilight relented and settled on her haunches, letting out a long sigh in an unspoken agreement. She knew he was right. This may only be the ninth day, but this had been going on for months. Sooner or later, she would crash, and that wouldn’t be good for anypony, let alone herself. 

In the time she was wrapped in her own thoughts, Spike made his way over to his mother made sister, careful to not trip over the tangle of covers and pages strewn about the still dark room. This’ll be fun to clean later, he thought to himself. 

He embraced her lovingly, a gesture she happily returned. “You can try more tomorrow. If she knew you were doing this to yourself to help her, she would be devastated. Just let yourself breathe and focus on what you know you can do. Please, Twilight. Just take a break,” Spike said, a little weakness entering his voice as he did so.

“Okay, okay,” Twilight began, “I promise,” she said, rising to her hooves and wiping a little moisture from her eyes. “Time for bed, Spike."

The dragon visibly relaxed. "You could say that again," he mumbled, wiping at his own tired eyes.

The pair made their way out of the room and into the hallways of Canterlot Castle. As they walked, Spike’s youthful curiosity had proved too much for him yet again.

“So … did you find uh ... find anything this time?” he asked tentatively, not wishing to add to his friend’s anxiety.

Twilight grinned and glanced back to the library behind them. It would be unwise to get the dragon’s hopes too high, but … lying isn’t really something she enjoyed doing. The solution, she found, was to strike the middle ground.

“Not really,” she began, her grin slowly fading into its original placidity. “Just some old legends.”
> Chapter 2 - Passing Moments
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was being stupid. Again.

Twilight glared towards the horizon, brows furrowed in a blend of rage, annoyance, and drowsiness.

No, that isn’t being fair to it, she thought. It is being utterly ridiculously royally a pain in my flank. 

She shifted her stare of hate towards the dial held in her magic, fixating her eyes so intensely that surely it would be scared into working by the pressure alone. Unfortunately, it did not, and so Twilight broke her gaze and opted for peering towards her hooves, which were adorned in her usual royal regalia. 

Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, held it for four seconds, and let it go slowly. This was not the first morning she was unable to raise the sun, and it likely would not be her last. 

Lifting the moon? Easy, could do it without thinking (and sometimes without the dial). Lowering the moon? Even easier, she never used the dial for that anymore. 

But the sun? 

Putting it generously, one could say she struggled mightily with anything in relation to the sun. Bluntly, she was absolutely horrid. 

Looking towards the empty horizon once more, Twilight fought the quickly gathering moisture back into her eyes. 

She was a leader, and she couldn’t let silly things like these get to her so often. 

“Why can’t you just be here to help,” she asked, her voice wavering slightly. “You were always better than me at this,” she said in a voice she barely could hear. Casting her watching eyes to the empty sky, she sighed audibly and shook her head in a knowing recognition. “I miss you …”

“Struggling with it today, are we?” asked an abrupt voice from her balcony’s doors. 

Caught off guard, Twilight sluggishly turned about to be greeted with the sight of her number one assistant. Or rather, her number one Friendship Ambassador—a thought that sent waves of emotion through her; she still was so proud of him.

“Hello, Spike,” she began, smiling unconsciously at his sudden appearance. “And yes, it would seem our little friend in the sky wishes to be … difficult today,” she said finally, gesturing to the bare horizon with poorly hidden frustration.

Spike offered her a gentle expression, his claws neatly hidden behind is back. “You know what would help?” he said, a twinge of excitement arising in his voice. 

She didn’t need to wait to see what he had brought; she smelled it already, which only softened her expression and extended her smile even more.

It was tea. She sniffed slightly, and her smile grew just a bit more. Chamomile—perfect for moments such as this. 

He knew her very well, didn’t he?

Seeming to sense his friend’s realization, Spike raised his eyebrows in mock annoyance. 

“You could at least pretend to not cheat and spoil my perfect surprise,” he said, finally bringing the delicate cup of tea into view. “Do you know how hard it is to make tea with these things,” he gestured to his massive hands and claws, “Let me tell you, a legit nightmare.”

Twilight simply rolled her eyes, gesturing for her companion to join her on the balcony. Letting his mocking features reform to a genuine smile, Spike took his place by Twilight looking out over the city of Canterlot. 

“Technically, Spike, it would only be cheating if I used something beyond which I am naturally capable of,” she said, a tinge of smugness entering her voice. This was accompanied by the dragon standing next to her rolling his eyes in an equal fashion.

The city’s lights were still on, shining brightly and painting the empty sky in artificial specks of luminescence. Sooner or later, ponies would start worrying …

Taking her friend’s offering in her magic, Twilight took a sip from the tea, which was, as described, perfect. She savored the rich taste, not wanting to let the moment go.

“Thank you, Spike. This means a lot … you have no idea—”

Before she could continue, Spike raised his voice. “I know, Twilight, trust me. It is the least I could do for you. I get how hard this must be for you. Just relax and let it come to you.”

Twilight looked to him, smile returning just a little. She wrapped a large wing over his shoulders, pulling him into a warm hug. Closing her eyes again, she let out a content sigh, focused her magic, and began to channel it into the stubborn ball of plasma. 

As always, the seconds during her effort dragged on for an eternity, almost forcing her to give up out of anxiety. 

She bit her lip. Was it still not working?

Warmth answered her, along with a familiar light pouring from where she was facing. Another sigh, one of relief, escaped her lips as she opened her eyes. 

Finally, the sun was peeking over the horizon, its bright morning rays streaking across the empty sky to fill it with light and hope of a new day. 

Only a few minutes late this time, Twilight thought, relief flooding her mind. She nestled her head into Spike’s shoulder, once more trying to let this moment drag on forever.

“See?” he said. “I knew you’d get better at it.” 

Twilight yearned for this to last, to be allowed this briefest glimpse into what being truly content with things might feel like. It was a burst of hope in what felt to her an entire ocean of regret, words left unsaid, and pain. 

Unfortunately, this moment of hope and confidence and victory—however small a victory—was meant to die. Twilight knew it even when it had begun. 

Knocking could be heard from within the room behind the pair, and judging from the frantic nature of it, Twilight assumed it was not her wake up call.

Breaking free from the embrace, Spike dismissed himself to answer the door. 

Twilight remained on the balcony and looked at the gradually brightening city below. She could hear the conversation behind her but chose not to really listen to it. It would spoil the moment. 

So she remained, drawing in as much of the rich, warm air as possible, soaking in it. Everything was fine; most likely, some noble or something was complaining about something ridiculous and felt that it wasn’t a matter that could wait until her scheduled court. 

Everything else can wait, she thought. Just let me have this. Just this once.

An audible gasp tore her moment in peace asunder, forcing her to open her eyes and finally acknowledge the conversation occurring behind her. Still, she could only hear Spike’s voice but not the meaning behind his words.

Furrowing her brow, she turned to enter her room, hellbent on asking the pony who so rudely interrupted her morning what was so important, so pertinent that she needed to be bothered so early. 

Her sudden anger faded immediately at the sight in front of her door. Spike was talking to a unicorn, one that was a member of the staff at the castle. This did nothing to worry Twilight. What worried her was the uniform: ICU scrubs, which could only mean one thing.

She was in trouble. 

Twilight froze at the sight of doom at her doorstep. She didn’t even realize it when the two stopped talking to look at her, nor did she notice when Spike took a step towards her, concern plastered on his face. 

“Twilight, I know you what’s going through your head. Don’t panic, she’ll be fine, I promise.”

Even as he said this, the nurse behind him looked at Spike with an almost pained expression, unsure if what he claimed was in any way moral to say. 

It was an expression that said, “Don’t make promises that I’ll have to pay for later.”

Twilight suddenly felt very light-headed. Her knees felt as though she had been carrying both the moon and the sun on her back for a century. Before she could truly collapse, Spike reached out to catch her.

She felt numb to his touch. Thoughts sped through her head too fast to even fully acknowledge; it was coming far too quickly. She needed more time. That’s all she wanted: more time. 

With more time, she could follow what she had found last night. With more time, she could finally do something worth the title of Princess of Equestria.

With more time, she could actually save her.

“Twilight, listen to me!” Spike said, shaking her from her thoughts with a voice seeping with worry. “You can’t just shut down right now; we need to go. If you want to help her, you need to actually be there. Do you hear me? Luna needs you there now.”

She didn’t respond. Not verbally, anyway. Rather, Twilight nodded numbly and followed Spike, who had his large arm wrapped around her in a half-hug fashion. 

And so, the trio made their way towards the infirmary’s ICU, a fact that Twilight was increasingly aware of. The thought turned her stomach over and over until it was all Twilight could do not to throw up.

She wasn’t ready yet. She couldn’t face the situation yet. She couldn’t see what was wearing her face.

Today was not going to be a good day.





She was flying.

Yes, that was the right word, right? She couldn’t be sure. Words were funny things, and they often worked against her anyway. 

It took her decades to get used to the modern Equestrian way of speaking, mainly due to her own stubbornness to learn. 

But what was the fun in thinking about that? There were so many beautiful stars and colors and shapes around her! And she was flying.

Or falling. Once again, she couldn’t be sure and once again she thought words were funny and that they … worked … against her.

Did she say that already? Or would it be think that already? She hadn’t actually spoken in what seemed like ages. Either way, she thought, she would have remembered if she had said that before. It was preposterous to think otherwise, so she moved on from that headache.

But the headache followed. 

She worked to push it away, and with some effort, succeeded a little. Smiling at her little victory, she looked to the dark ceiling that she swore was the night sky just before. 

Her smile faded. No, it was always the ceiling, she concluded. Why did she think it was the sky? The pain in her head returned, accompanied by her chest becoming tighter, if only a little. 

She shifted uncomfortably in her … hospital bed? That wasn’t right: she was just in her bedroom … right?

Panic arose within, and her breathing became quick and shallow, which worsened the increasing panic in her head. 

Why was she in a hospital bed? Why was she in a hospital? Where was Celestia?

With each thought that pounded in her head, the headache grew worse and worse, eventually forcing her to squint from the pain. 

She focused on using her horn but was met with a low hum followed by the sound of a magical energy ward stripping her spell of all its strength. Why in the world did she have a magic blocker on her horn? More importantly, how was it powerful enough to stop her magic use? That shouldn’t be possible, surely. 

She found herself sitting up in her bed, frantically looking around the room for something, anything, or anypony who would be able to help her or explain things to her or something!

But no pony was there. Not a single soul in her room, and not a single soul to turn to.

She was completely, mind-numbingly alone.

Another wave of pain shot through her head, forcing her back down into the bed’s pillow to escape the onslaught of burning. 

Where was her sister? Her sister would keep her safe; she always had. Celestia always knew what to do, always knew how to help. She had to get out of there. She had to leave. She had to—

Her panic-induced thoughts were interrupted by something cool entering her right foreleg. Looking down, she saw what appeared to be a clear liquid flowing from a bag into her aforementioned foreleg. 

Her vision blurred, and the panic seemed to evaporate as quickly as it had appeared. What had she been worried about again?

Looking up, she saw a brilliant black canvas covered in stars. Her stars, in fact.

And she was flying! 

Or falling. She couldn’t be sure. Words were funny … 





Twilight looked through the one-way mirror into Luna’s room, her expression grave as if already preparing to grieve. 

Maybe she had already started grieving. Maybe she had already failed …

Shaking her head, she refocused on the pony that was once Luna behind the glass. She was lying down, seemingly sleeping peacefully. Twilight’s horn illuminated gently, casting a rich lavender hue around the darkened room. With some thought, she planted memories of good times into the mare’s dreams.

Ironically, Twilight had learned the spell from Luna a long, long time ago. 

“Luna …” she spoke softly under her breathe, her eyes filled with a longing sadness. 

“… I’m afraid, Princess, that we are doing all we can, but even we have limits to what we can do. If I may be honest, she’s slipping more and more, and I don’t think she can make it through another episode like the one this morning.” 

She had asked to see her without the wall of glass to separate them. She wanted to feel her embrace once more, to hear her speak without the medicine further clouding her already broken mind. 

She was told it would be potentially too harmful to Luna’s already fractured psyche. Even if they were right, she didn’t have to like it. 

The doctor—Doctor Reinhoof—had been talking to her. She hadn’t been listening, and he knew it. He understood.

But he didn’t, not really. How could he?

“I’m sorry, Twilight,” the doctor began once more, this time catching Twilight by surprise with the lack of her title, “But I don’t see her making it another week like this. I implore you to think about letting her go. It may be less painful, for both of you.” He was cautious when saying “For all of us” so quietly only he could hear it. 

Though retaining his professionalism, Doctor Reinhoof spoke with a sincerity that etched away at Twilight’s already meager resolve. 

He wasn’t being blunt or harsh. He wasn’t even speaking to her as a patient’s loved one. No, it was worse than that. 

He was speaking to her as a friend, through-and-through. 

Spike sensed his friend’s withering composure, opting to answer for Twilight.

“Thank you, Doctor. I think it’d be best if we had some time alone to go over your suggestions,” he said, gesturing to Twilight to emphasize his point. 

Doctor Reinhoof understood immediately, thankfully, and was quick to dismiss himself from the room. Spike sighed as the doctor left the room and looked back to Twilight. 

She was sitting, wings sagging to the cold floor with one hoof pawing the lifeless glass window. Shoulders sagging to mimic Twilight, he crossed the room to stand beside her. And so, they stood there and waited, neither daring to speak first.

“Twilight … I know how you feel about it, and I know you don’t like it. But Doctor Reinhoof is right—we can’t let her sit here like this and waste away,” Spike finally said, wincing visibly as he did so. He knew his words were true but … not even he believed it was fair. 

Without looking, Twilight spoke with an almost chilling calmness, one that threatened to break Spike’s already artificial confidence in his statement. 

“No. The answer is no, and that is final. I can fix this, just need a little more time. I know I’m on to something this time, Spike. I'm so close to—”

Spike had already heard enough. Once again, she was making this out to be something she had to fix. That is was something that she needed to handle alone, like no pony else (or dragon) had a role in helping or grieving or … anything when it came to this.

It broke his heart, but it also filled him with frustration and anger. 

She wasn’t the only one who felt at a loss in the world. She wasn’t the only one whom it hurt to look at the once powerful Princess of the Night be reduced to whatever resided just beyond the glass. She wasn’t the only one who missed her.

“Twilight, that is enough! You cannot keep putting all of this on your shoulders. You have so many ponies who are willing to help you through this, so many who are waiting for you to just let them.” 

Spike spoke with a confidence that still seemed to surprise himself. “We all have lost and grieved, Twilight. Heck, I’m here for you Twilight. I always have been and always will be, but you haven’t even tried to talk to me about anything. You just push me and everypony else away. I can’t keep making you tea and hoping you get better if you won’t even let us help you.”

Spike paused to look at Twilight, who was still looking into the window at the pony in the bed. Her face was contorted in an effort to keep from breaking, her brows furrowed in clear hurt and pain. This caused his expression to relax a little as he gained a little bit of hope.

Maybe she’ll actually listen this time. 

“Twilight …” Spike began, fumbling with his next words that seemed to leave him. “Twilight, this isn’t what Luna would want,” Twilight sunk deeper into herself at that, expression growing more and more pained. “This isn’t what Celestia—”

Spike stopped abruptly, casting his vision forward into the window. He knew it was a mistake even before the name left his mouth. 

The air in the room grew cold and deathly still. The silence threatened to suffocate him.

That was so stupid of me. What was I thinking? Real silver tongue there, Spike, he thought to himself. 

Twilight’s expression shifted quickly and drastically. What once was pain was now replaced with anger. What once was remorse was now resentment. What once was grief was now a blend of hurt. 

“Don’t you … don’t you dare use her name against me!” Twilight seethed through clenched teeth, still looking forward. “Don’t you dare stand there and tell me that everything I have been doing to help her, to fix what I couldn’t before, is only hurting her.”

Twilight was shaking in what Spike could only presume was emotional exhaustion and anger. He closed his eyes and clicked his tongue. Spike just stood there, taking in what was being said by his angered friend. 

“I can’t believe …” Twilight struggled with tears as she tried to continue. “I will fix this, Spike, even if … even if it kills me," she ended, fixing her gaze back to the window. 

Silence followed.

“I want you to cancel my appointments today—” Twilight paused as Spike turned to protest, but she cut him off with a wing.

“—I don’t care what you tell them. Tell them about the situation with Luna. Tell them I’m sick. Tell them I’m tired. Tell them I didn’t want to be there. I don’t care what you tell them. Just do it … please,” Twilight ended, her voice returning to its original pain-ridden calm as before. 

Spike, though against it, simply nodded. He had already said too much for the moment being.

“Thank you … now, if you need me, I’ll be in the library. Again.”

Another nod from her scaled friend. 

Twilight turned to leave, avoiding Spike’s eyes with her own turned to the still cold floor of the hospital room. 

Spike stared into the other room, thankful the argument failed to wake the sleeping pony in the bed before him. She looked so peaceful, given the circumstances. 

After hearing the door click shut, he sat in the chair to his left. The past months had been difficult for everypony, but it seemed it was finally catching up to the normally optimistic dragon. He couldn’t help but think about everything he and Twilight had lost.

Their friends. 

Their family.

Spike fought to contain the emotion rising from inside of him. He hated crying; he always had, but with everything that had been happening, it was getting to be far too much.

First Celestia, now it seemed Luna wasn’t too far behind.

For the first time in a long time, Spike put his face into his hands and cried.

It was in the midst of him sobbing that he heard a voice, a vaguely familiar voice, one that sounded as though it was filtered through fog. 

It whispered to him, most of it being either inaudible or unrecognizable. Looking up from his hands, he looked around the still dark room. He strained to hear, to understand.

What he heard left him confused and, for some reason, anxious. 

From somewhere in the air, he could hear somepony call to him in his time of loneliness. 

“Find me … tell her to find me … in the place with no green. In the place flanked by rods of ice.”

“Who’s there?” 

“Find me … where no life can grow.”

The voice stopped, leaving him alone once more.
> Chapter 3 - A Cold Visit
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Canterlot Castle was truly a work of passion and art: elegant towers of polished marble rose from the mountainside, topped with glistening spires of gold and gemstone. Gilded gates secured the estate from the city, ensuring protection but not losing any of the flare. Platforms of clay, rock, and brick supported the massive structure, raising it high into the sky and above the innermost parts of the city. It could be seen for miles, and that was by design. 

Gardens of enchanted beauty flanked all sides of the property, giving the imposing castle a much-needed whimsical aura. Pristine hedges and flowers of all kinds could be found here. It was no wonder the grounds were such a popular tourist hot spot.

Within its polished walls and immaculate halls, décor and beauty were a long-suffering partner to the grounds outside. Grandiose staircases, too-large paintings, and far too many potted plants inhabited the sparsely populated corridors. The hallways ebbed any and all harshness of the outside world, bathing all those who enter in a comforting embrace that most found hard to describe. 

This was a place of harmony, of peace. It stood as a beacon of hope for all of ponykind, to all those who were willing to let themselves truly see it.

Even still, some pains prove too much for it. 

Deep within the castle, in the Archives of the Ancient Magics, there is a soul who is overcome with pain, though she would never admit it. 

Twilight was surrounded by books once more. Atlases, almanacs, and encyclopedias were strewn carelessly about the floor of the room like leaves in Autumn, each of which were defiled by scribbled notes and dead ends. Some were ancient, some were contemporary. Most provided nothing new.

She had lost count of how long she’d been there hours ago, when she lowered the Sun for the night. This did nothing to bother her, of course—she was too preoccupied with other matters. 

Hours of research had given her very little as a reward. As with most legends, the location of the valley from Friðr’s Guardian was never documented, but it was made worse when promising leads only gave vague guesses in the end. 

She shouldn’t be surprised by this, she told herself. Legends were fickle things—they rarely remained consistent, especially when they were as old as this one. 

Even still, Friðr’s Guardian proved to be unique. As she dug deeper into the Archives, she uncovered more and more information about it, though much of it was repetitive and led to nothing new. However, much of the information seemed to remain consistent across most accounts.

Page after page, she searched. Book after book, she read. Hour after hour, she grew tired and frustrated. Still, she found nothing new or promising.

No green valleys. 

No bountiful beauty or ancient flora or fauna. Nothing that seemed to match the admittedly vague description found in the legend.

Grunting, Twilight looked away from the book in front of her. Peering around the circular room, she once again began to search for relevant books. The large bookcases, normally filled to the brim with texts older than she was, now lay empty. She must have gone through the whole thing multiple times already.

Maybe I missed something, she thought, disappointed at the sight before her. I must have. 

Resting on her haunches, she closed her eyes to think, bringing a gilded hoof to her temple. The cold metal stung against her fur at first, jolting her back to reality and momentarily breaking her from the task at hoof. 

Rarely do Twilight’s thoughts wander too far. They did wander from time to time, though. 

Now they wandered to the events of today, much to her dismay. Thoughts of Luna, of Celestia, reigniting the spark within her. Thoughts of Spike left that spark a mere dying light.

Spike …

 

Twilight kept her eyes closed, biting the tip of her tongue a little too hard. She winced as the pain was followed by the sharp, metallic taste of her blood. Not much, but enough to feel. 

Though she was ashamed of it, Twilight had pushed him out of her head, hellbent on finding answers. No pony had come to bother her, so it seemed Spike had done as she asked. That only made her feel worse. 

Sighing, Twilight made a mental note to apologize and make it up to him later. She was still too busy, too much had to be done. 

Twilight turned around to face the still lit pages of the book she had been reading, her moment of unproductiveness having passed. The light flickered unsteadily in the slight breeze that wafted around the room from the window above, which spanned the entirety of the top of the room.

Moonlight poured through the decorated panes of glass, cascading down into the circular room and painting it in a cool hue. 

Shadows danced around the room as the air forced the flame to shift and turn to an invisible tune, one the Twilight watched intently for a few seconds. She hummed along with it, mulling over the night’s research in her head.

Friðr was some sort of omniscient being, akin to a deity of some sort, Twilight thought, furrowing her brow in concentration. Much like the Tree of Harmony, it wanted to help those in need, but it seems as though it possessed more than a borrowed conscience and body; it was clearly very powerful but seemed hesitant using that power for conflict, even when it came to self-defense. All accounts and instances of the legend depict it as a simple tree, though species of tree varied greatly. 

The garth in which Friðr resided was said to be attacked by a king and his army, but the only accounts I’ve found only mention that the army wore dark armor and seemed to move as though they were possessed. The king himself was never described, only mentioned when needed. It was as though the scholars at that time were afraid to speak of him.

Twilight’s head had begun to pound steadily, though it was still a dull ache. No army she had read about recently was depicted in similar fashions as the legend. It was as though the entire army, not just the king, had disappeared without a trace following Friðr’s spell.

What troubled Twilight even more was the fact that all the texts contradicted on a simple detail: when the battle actually took place. 

She had spent three hours on piecing together a timeline from the suggestions and theories of the authors. The only time this could have occurred was well before the days of Celestia and Luna, or even Discord. Thousands of years, in fact. 

At first, Twilight seemed skeptical of this. Very little of the history predating the Sisters was known, but she had found so much information regarding this period to be when Friðr existed. Countless journals and essays preached that this event not only happened, but that it was of the earliest times of ponykind. 

Some, she had found, event suggested that Friðr’s spell led to the Sisters in some way. Twilight wanted to disagree with this especially, but she found that neither Celestia nor Luna had spoken about their beginnings often. When they had, the stories were extremely vague, so much so that Twilight remembered very little about them. 

Twilight’s face fell at the thought of the Sisters’ stories. It had been so very long since she heard either of them speak. Her ears fell, and she let out a long breath.

She longed for the nights with her mentor. On particularly cold ones, Celestia would make hot coco and invite Twilight and Luna for a night by the fireplace. Some of Twilight’s favorite memories were made during those nights, where stories of adventure, love, and sorrow would be shared between the three of them … 

Even more so, she longed for the nights with Luna. Twilight shivered at the thought of her embrace, only adding to her grieffully tuned moment. 

“I can still fix this,” she reassured herself, but the words were hollow and lifeless. It was an empty promise, one that was made to be polite but not necessarily meant to be fulfilled. It did nothing to help ease the lump in her throat.

Twilight shook her head slightly, blinking rapidly. It was time to get back on track.

Cold … Twilight thought, unable to let it go. Something was off here. 

Cold … Friðr’s spell was said to erupt into the sky in the form of a pillar of blinding light. A spell like that would take immense amounts of magical energy. Whether or not the intent of the spell would be to harm or help, that kind of energy being released would disrupt the entire climate of the surrounding area, leaching the magic of the area to power the spell … 

Twilight stopped in her thoughts, eyes going wide as she began to understand. Leaching that much magic, coupled with millennia, would leave the environment scarred beyond belief. It would be utterly unrecognizable.

“Oh my …” Twilight began, her voice steadily rising as she spoke. She ran for the doors, throwing them open and galloping into the dark hallways. “Spike!” she called, running to the dragon’s quarters. “I found something! I actually found something!” 

Twilight, despite her attempts not to, couldn’t help but feel something she hadn’t in a long time. 

In the shadows of the moonlit hallways of the castle, Twilight Sparkle had hope for the future. Though the chances were still slim, she would take it. 

She would take anything at this point.





In the tallest tower of the castle, Spike sat perched on the edge of the balcony, peering out over the city’s glorious lights. He loved this spot mostly for the fact that it gave him an undisturbed view of his home. It was truly a sight to behold, one that never failed to brighten Spike’s spirits. 

He still missed Ponyville, but he quickly pushed those thoughts aside

The cool nightly wind flowed across his scales, lulling him into a sense of security that he had missed over the past months. It pulled at him, beckoning him to cross the barrier of the railing. To be free.

As he had done many times before, Spike refused—at first. 

It was always like this: the luring gales would ask him to join them, if only for a while, and he would make them wait. It was a game that both parties enjoyed, though Spike imagined his partner felt a little hurt. 

The wait felt more agonizing tonight. The call of the air was harder to resist, harder to keep at bay. He managed somehow, though.

The day was filled with things he’d rather leave behind. Ponies were beyond worried about their ruler, but none more than himself. Something had to change soon, and Spike found himself more and more warry of the change. When it did happen, he was not certain it would be a positive experience. 

Thankfully, he had a good excuse for Twilight this time. Even still … things were not well. Nobles were becoming more and more suspicious of Twilight. Of what, Spike could not imagine, but he understood their concerns. He shared many of them. 

Sooner or later, something was going to happen, and Spike dreaded it with every fiber of his body.

Spike gripped the railing with both hands, squeezing firmly. 

To make matters worse, the voice hadn’t left yet. Somehow, it blended with the air, surrounding him in a cacophony of noise that he didn’t appreciate. At all.

He wanted to tell Twilight but opted against it. She would be in the mood for discussions of voices. Spike thought he was going crazy before, but now? With actual disembodied voices?

He needed a vacation. They both did. 

But he did have something that would help him.

In a practiced rhythm, Spike slid his hands across the railing, taking in the friction against his palms. Taking a breath, Spike gracefully pulled himself onto the cool bars of gilded metal. 

There he remained, on the precipice. He listened to the pleas of the air and the demands of the voice, hearing them become one. A grin plastered itself across his lips. 

Taking one last look at the city below, he closed his eye and let the wind pull him across the edge.

Spike could hear very little, but he could feel the rushing air fly around his body. He shifted slightly, sending himself into a slow spiraling motion and reveling in the flow of air, of freedom. 

He fell for what felt like centuries, not that Spike was complaining. He still had about three seconds, and that was not enough for him. He wanted more time.

Reflexively, he extended his large wings, allowing them to catch the rushing air and lift him steadily. In a slow, fluid motion, he brought his extended wings down hard, arching his back to orient himself back towards the sky.

He shot back up, as he had practiced, and began to bring his wings up and down repeatedly. He could hear the displaced air behind him, a sound the soothed him, work to overpower the wind in his ears. 

Steadily, he climbed higher and higher into the night’s abyss, his eyes still closed and face relaxed. His grin had long-since morphed into a smile, pure and content. 

Spike finally allowed his eyes to reopen, and an expanse of stars greeted him. A shower of color flowed across the sky, seeming to ebb and flow with the air itself. Stars pulsed with a quiet power, and the clouds were not enough to block the display. 

Slowing his pace to a crawl, he began to hover in place, taking in the environment around him. Somehow, he had overshot his target; he currently was well above Canterlot Castle’s highest spire. In fact, he was close to the summit of Mount Canter, which Canterlot was constructed upon. The mountain was peaked with a thin layer of glacial snow, which might explain why the air around him seemed cooler than it should have been.

Probably shouldn’t keep my eyes closed that long, Spike thought. Could end badly.

Even still, he wore a proud, smug grin. His flying had come far, that was certain. Breaking his gaze from the sky, he looked to the balcony. A shadow stood where he once was, sending a shiver down his spine for unknown reasons. 

“Go to her … tell her. Tell her,” the voice beckoned him. It was patient, if a little firm with its requests. Spike failed to guess the nature of his companion, but maybe Twilight would. 

Is that who you want me to tell? Twilight? Spike asked the voice, but he was answered with silence. Fine, be that way then.

The shadow on the balcony hadn’t moved. It seemed to be waiting for him, so Spike cautiously descended towards it. 

As he got close, Spike’s wings felt colder and colder. In fact, his entire body was being hit with waves and chill that perplexed him. Squinting, Spike tried to make out any of the features of the pony standing there, but he couldn’t.

Then he noticed something that chilled him more than the air around him: the figure was standing in the moonlight but remained in shadow. It was completely encased in the blackest shadow he had ever seen; it was like the figure actively took light into itself and swallowing it whole. 

Spike felt his fear ebb into suspicion. He wasn’t the small baby dragon he once was; he could handle himself. 

The air around him continued to grow cold as he approached the figure on the balcony, all the while it simply stood there facing him, unfazed by his approach.

“Twilight? Twilight, if that’s you, this isn’t funny,” Spike called, his voice steeped in his best attempts at bravery. “Listen … we need to talk, Twilight. I think something is … wrong … Twilight?”

Spike trailed off as he finally reached an arm’s length from the railing. Despite his proximity, the figure remained consumed by darkness. 

This was not Twilight. 

Spike found himself unable to move, but the shadow helped him. Against his own will, Spike was drawn towards the figure by an invisible force. He felt himself climb over the railing to join the creature on the balcony, but he hadn’t made the movements. His body simply moved on its own.

He felt his eyes grow wide as tears began pouring from them. Visions forced their way into his mind, suffocating all other thoughts in a thick tar. All other thoughts were muddled, forcibly pushed back into the deepest parts of himself as new memories took their place.

Spike saw … suffering. He was surrounded by the blood of hundreds—no, thousands. Screams of horror and pain roared within his ears. Bodies were littered around him, all of which lay lifeless. Smoke and embers and burning flesh invaded his nose, stinging his eyes even more.

Spike was forced to his knees, overcome with the memories of thousands all at once threatening to break him. Only then did the figure before him speak in the same voice as before. 

“Tell her. We will not ask again,” the meaty voice boomed. “Thy friend must come to us. She will not hear us, but she must find us.”

More memories flooded Spike’s vision. Flashes of green and ice. Sparks of a tree that seemed to peer back at him through time. He couldn’t take much more, and the figure seemed to know this. 

“I will … I promise. Just … please, make it stop!” Spike pleaded, his mouth agape as the assault to his mind continued. His chest heaved, straining to quell the emotion and pain he now harbored. 

In but a moment, the figured released his grasp on Spike, letting the dragon fall to the ground completely. The memories and pain left Spike as quickly as they had come. Even still, he didn’t dare contend with this thing. 

A noise drew the figure’s attention from Spike. It was the door opening behind them.

Spike felt the shadow leave, evaporating into the air and leaving him in warmth. 

“Spike, are you there? I’ve been looking, and I think I found something!” 

Spike ignored the voice for a moment and tried to piece together what had just happened. You think you found something?

Light flooded the room before Spike as he lifted his head to meet Twilight’s eyes. She seemed much, much happier and energetic than she had been in … months? Spike found it difficult to orient himself, grabbing the doorway for support has he clambered to his feet. 

Twilight noticed his struggling, and her hopeful aura waned slightly. 

“There you are!” she began, “Oh … Spike are you okay? Did something happen?”

I’m just peachy, Spike thought. Just got a little glimpse into Tartarus is all. You know, the usual.

Spike fought down these comments, not that he had the energy to actually say them. “Yeah … Yeah, I’m fine, Twilight. Just a little tired from the day—”

As quick as the concerned came, it had left Twilight’s face even faster. “Great! I have so much to tell you, Spike. We have to talk, if its not too late for you,” Twilight interrupted, her glee returning in full force. 

Usually that wouldn’t bother Spike, but he couldn’t help but shudder at his old friend’s giddiness. Something was just wrong, with everything. The figure didn’t seem to fond of Twilight, but she had to be the one that had to find … whatever that shadow is. 

“No, no its not too late, Twilight,” Spike reassured, trying his best to hide his discomfort. “I actually needed to talk to you, too.”

That seemed to grab her attention. Twilight’s face fell for a split second as she tilted her head in confusion. 

“Of course, Spike. Here,” she gestured to the door, “let’s talk in my study. All my notes are there.”

The two once again found themselves walking the empty corridors of the castle at night, an occurrence that Spike found to be happening more often. His opinion about the fact had yet to be made. 

They walked, alone except for each other.

In the shadows, though, a presence lurked. It watched the two with unblinking eyes. 

Time was drawing to a close, and the shadow knew it. 

Soon, she would need to decide, and the shadow hoped she chose wisely.
> Interlude 1 - Blue Patient
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air was stale, as lifeless as it could be. Each lungful brought with it a bitter taste that soured her already poor mood. 

She had half a mind to stop breathing altogether.

Her face scrunched at that. She had half a mind alright, if one was being generous. These days, she’d be lucky to feel like she had a mind at all. It all seemed to blur together, the days. It was like she was living faster than everypony else, as if all others around her couldn’t move with her. 

Above her, a fan whirred steadily, providing a much-needed draft that coated her faded fur in a cool blanket. Even this failed to fix the sterile air that seemed to propagate through the small room she lay in. 

A heart monitor beeped in a low, dulled hum next to her bed. 

She took in all the sounds and smells and sights of her room. Very rarely was she this coherent, and she knew her time was limited. 

The first few times she was able to break out of her muddled mind, she called for the doctors and nurses and Twilight … mostly she just wanted to see Twilight again, to say she was all better. Maybe then they could talk again and enjoy each other’s company once more. 

But no, that is not what fate had planned.

They all soon realized her moments of saneness were the exception, not the norm. Each time she had expressed coherence, it ended with her succumbing to the lure of her own mind once more. Every single time. She had eventually deemed it immoral to continue to put her ponies through such things. 

She eventually began hating herself for putting Twilight through it. 

And so, she kept to herself during these moments, opting to just enjoy it while it lasts. These episodes were becoming increasingly rare, and it terrified her to think of what would happen if she stopped coming back. 

Maybe it would be best for her to just fade away one night. She thought the idea of slipping into the night for eternity was rather … appropriate. 

Staring at the mirror she knew was really a window, she wondered if Twilight missed her, if she thought about her. These thoughts were childish, she knew, but what else did she have to think of?

Memories jumped to the forefront of her mind, all of which were with Twilight. 

Their first meeting. She cringed.

Their first date. She cringed more, harder.

Their first kiss. She smiled.

Their first night together. A tear escaped her eye. 

A dull ache began edging its way into the space behind her eyes, and she knew her time was running out. She fought to take in every detail around her. 

The sound of the fun whirring.

The beeping of the monitor.

The gentle movement of air caused from her steady, shallow breathing.

The touch of Twilight.

The sound of her gentle, warm voice. 

Her eyelids became increasingly heavy, but she fought harder and harder to keep it at bay. She wanted to think of Twilight, to dream of good memories. 

She wanted to see her, to hold her and to comfort her. She wanted to be comforted by her. She wanted so much, but she would get nothing. It wasn’t fair.

Her heart quickened; her eyes grew heavier.

Why was this happening? Why to her? It wasn’t fair.

The cool liquid chilled her to the bone.

Another tear escaped her eye, but she was already gone.

And again, she was flying.
> Chapter 4 - Discussion of Matters
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Considering the circumstances, Spike could honestly say this wasn’t the worst night he’d had. Though that was sad in its own right, it proved to be an uplifting factoid he could frequently call upon for amusement. 

He was disturbed, yes, but confusion was at the forefront of his mind. The visitor hadn’t hurt him, not really. His mind was burned by the things shown, but no physical pain had lingered when the visions were taken from his memories. 

Spike couldn’t remember them exactly. Rather, they were muddled as if they were still there but under a thick fog within his brain. 

Still, if he tried a little, he could bring the images inside to a sharper focus. He found that out on the way to Twilight’s study and opted to restrain from focusing on the images. From what he could tell, they weren’t happy to say the least.

Once he and Twilight reached the study, Spike took a moment to bask in the intricate workings of the large room. It resembled the one Twilight had when she was headmare of the School of Friendship, but much taller and with more windows, which spanned the entire upper portion of the circular chamber.

Said windows were stained with numerous colors, cascading down even in the soft moonlight. 

At least three-quarters of the walls were dominated by enormous bookcases made of dragonbirch with grooves painstakingly carved into them. The grooves bore a crystalline filling, giving-off a pale white glow that made the room much cooler in color, even with mage fire lanterns burning above. 

The wall not covered by the bookcases usually had a rather impressive painting of Twilight, Celestia, and Luna, all of whom smiled and regarded the viewer with kindly expressions. Unfortunately, said painting had been covered with a thin sheet of fabric, obscuring it from view.

Spike gave a subdued sigh and moved on from the painting, careful to not catch Twilight’s attention.

The carpet that covered the entire floor was of a thick, coiled fabric that Spike did not know the name of. However, he appreciated the intricate swirls and etchings pressed into it. At the center, the lines of color and coils wrapped together and formed a gilded shield with Twilight’s cutie mark square in the middle. 

The room was absolutely stunning, even now that Spike had seen it numerous times. Perhaps that was because Rarity had helped with the design.

Another somber sigh, another memory pushed away for later. 

Despite the emotion charged into the room, Spike still felt as though it was his favorite. He reveled in the familiarity and security it provided, and the drake often found himself in here with Twilight despite him having his own personal study in the tower. 

It helped that his closest and oldest friend frequently had moments of excitement that could, if generous, be called positive breakdowns. At worst, they could be called Informationally Induced Panic Pacing Attacks. The latter is a name given by the mare herself, and this was totally an Informationally Induced Panic Pacing Attack moment. Otherwise known as “Twilighting” by many of the castle’s staff, though no pony dared to mention this to Twilight herself. 

Even as he thought all of this, Twilight flew around her personal study, tossing book after book and page after page of notes and diagrams. In the ten or fifteen minutes he’d been standing there admiring, reminiscing, and enjoying the room, Spike didn’t hear Twilight complete a single thought, nor had she let him get a single word in.

One moment of “Spike, you need to see this!” quickly became “where in the world did I put my pen?” and then that spiraled into “hang on, what’s this doing here. This shouldn’t be here.”

In other words, she was being normal ole’ Twilight again. It almost succeeded in completely melting away Spike’s despondent-tuned aura, but it did plaster a smile on his face.

She hasn’t been this way in months. Whatever she found, it must be important, Spike thought. 

Despite the easing of his mood, Spike fought to keep his eyes open. 

The earlier visit proved to have taken a toll on him mentally as well as emotionally. It felt as though he had lived a thousand lifetimes in the span of seconds, and even the thought drained him of his remaining energy. Thankfully, snippets of the night’s events flashed behind his closed eyelids, keeping him awake easily enough.

Most of the pages flung by Twilight contained nothing Spike could decipher. Not all of this was due to his general lack of knowledge on theoretical physics and magics. Most of the confusion was due to Twilight’s horrid hornwriting—a fact that Twilight still denied to this day.

Tentatively, Spike approached the roaring whirlwind of movement at the center of the room. He cleared his throat as politely as he could. 

“Um, Twilight? Still just, uh, waiting here, you know. We were supposed to talk about something, remember?”

Suddenly, the blur of lavender feathers and magic came to a halt at the sound of someone else in the room. The alicorn turned around slowly, sporting a noticeable blush that gently graced both cheeks.

“Oh … right. How long have you been standing there … watching?” Twilight asked sheepishly, not yet making eye contact with the dragon on the other side of her desk. 

Grinning, Spike didn’t miss a beat. 

“Let me see here … about 15 minutes, so not bad this time,” Spike said smugly, gesturing to a vacant left wrist. “I think you’re actually improving, Twilight!”

The dragon’s almost genuine encouragement earned him a cold glare, but that only made his grin promote to a mischievous smile. 

Spike one, Sparkle zero. 

“Riiiihgt,” Twilight began, motioning Spike to sit in the seat in front have the desk. “Isn’t it a little late at night for sarcasm?”

“Isn’t it a little late a night for a Twilighting Session?”

A raised eyebrow, another battle one. 

Spike two, Sparkle zero. You’re losing your flare, Twilight, Spike thought. 

“Point taken, Spike,” Twilight said, rolling her eyes. “Since it is rather late, how about we move from the snark to the matter at hoof.” Twilight relaxed noticeably, her face returning to genuine excitement. She smiled warmly at her companion, who nodded in agreement.

“Would you like to start, Spike? You seem a bit, what’s the word … off tonight. Did something happen?”

Spike’s smugness melted away in an instance, replaced by constricted pupils and a sudden nervousness that he couldn’t explain. He stumbled with his words, which didn’t help ease Twilight’s clearly growing concern. 

“Oh, no no you go first, Twilight. I, uhm … I was just being silly is all. Nothing to worry about I don’t think. You should start,” he finally managed to get out, coughing nervously and flashing a too-toothy grin to boot. 

Aaaand she’s not convinced. Why am I surprised?

“Spike,” she began, an expression of guilt sticking to her muzzle, “I know that today didn’t start well, for either of us. You already had a bit much on your plate, and I knew that.” She paused for a moment before clearing her throat and continuing, clearly concealing a slight waver in her voice.

“Despite that, I took out my frustration, regret, guild, anger and …” Another pause broke the conversation, but Spike just sat there, patiently waiting for his friend to continue. It was best to let her get this out, even if Spike never blamed her. Ever.

Swallowing a little, Twilight continued.

“I just don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate all you do for me, Spike. I know I can be, well, me sometimes. No pony has ever stuck with me like you have, and I know that isn’t easy.” Twilight looked up towards Spike finally, a sad smile crossing her expression, but it was somewhat tainted by the pain in her violet eyes. 

She sniffed a little before once more continuing. 

“With everything that has happened, I shouldn’t have put so much pressure and just everything on you. You may be my number one assistant still, but you are a friend before anything else, Spike.” She fidgeted in her seat, letting it turn to the left and right slightly. “I’m sorry that I lose sight of that far too often. I promise to be better, and I hope that you can forgive me.”

Silence followed after Twilight stopped talking. It wasn’t an awkward, nervous silence anymore, not to Spike. 

Spike met Twilight’s tired, pained eyes with his own hope-filled ones. He smiled warmly, bringing his arms up to cross on his chest.

“Thank you, Twilight. That means … a lot. You don’t have a thing to worry about, I promise,” he said tenderly. He also realized that was not quite true—they both had some issues to worry about now.  

Truth be told, he had honestly been so preoccupied with the voice, his duties, and covering for Twilight that he hadn’t even thought about that morning since it happened. However, since the real reason was a bit more disturbing, he thought better of letting that slip for now. 

Sensing the awkwardness returning, Twilight rocked in her chair a little, earning a smirk from Spike. 

Using her magic to summon a tissue to dab her eyes, Twilight smiled a little wider than before. 

“Well, I’m glad that went better than I expected,” she said as she chuckled a little nervously, sniffling as she did so. After Spike rolled his eyes in an understanding gesture, she continued. “Now that we settled that quicker than I had planned, how about you tell me what is on your mind? I can tell something is troubling you, even factoring in this morning’s … events.” Twilight said that last word tentatively, as if she still feared she was walking on thin ice. 

“Right, uhm … after you left this morning,” Spike stepped over the word in his head, hoping to soften the blow it could be to Twilight, “Something strange happened—”

As he finished, Twilight’s eyes went a little wider, her smile slipping a little as well, concern working its way into a more prominent role in her expression. 

“Did something happen with Luna? Is she okay? No pony said anything to me about it. Spike, is she okay?” Twilight spat out rapidly, each question sending her a little closer to a panic attack.

Thankfully, Spike was used to these moments, and as such he didn’t let her get much farther up on her pedestal of apprehension.

“No, Twilight, she’s fine. Nothing bad happened with her. As far as I know, she was still sleeping when I left,” he said as he reassuringly gestured his friend down from the edge using his hands. 

Even though she was certainly getting better, Spike knew she had a while to go before her anxiety was within the realm of “normal.”

Seeming to trust his word, Twilight nodded slowly, color returning to her ashen features. She sat down and moved a hoof in rhythm with her steady breathes. Once he allowed his friend ample time to calm, Spike continued his side of the discussion.

“So, yes, something strange happened, but it happened with me. After you left, the room felt like it shifted.” This drew a perplexed look from Twilight, but he continued. “It was like it phased from being all in my head to being all real and back again. A voice reached out to me, Twilight. A voice that shouldn’t have been there.” 

Spike’s voice had grown serious by now, and the same could be said with his expression. Twilight understood this was not a joking matter, but she was still confused as to why it was so serious. 

The room felt cold, but only Twilight seemed to notice. She shivered slightly.

The dragon paused, seeming to mull over what he should say next and how he should say it. After a moment, he settled on something.

“Twilight … it asked me to tell her. To tell her to find them in a place with no green and flanked by pillars of ice. I think whatever was speaking was referring to you, Twilight,” he said finally. All tenderness had left his face, replaced with an intensity that made Twilight nervous. “Before you found me tonight, something visited me. I think it was the same being who spoke to me this morning, but tonight it was urgent. It did not plead, Twilight. It was much more aggressive …”

Spike stopped suddenly. He looked to the ground with a far-off look in his pointed eyes. He looked … sad?

Twilight was now beyond worried, her ears pressed against her head as she looked to Spike. “Spike, are you okay? What happened?” She sat up a little, her hooves pressing onto the desk as she leaned in to listen to Spike. 

The drake didn’t answer right away. As she spoke, his eyes lifted to refocus on her, as if he had forgotten her.

“It showed me things, Twilight. Horrible … horrible things,” Spike whispered as his voice trembled as a hoarseness worked its way in. 

His eyes bore years that weren’t his, suffering that he shouldn’t have. Twilight saw all of this, and her worry became panic and resentment towards whatever did this. 

“It repeated what it had said, but the voice was different,” he continued. “It sounded angry and desperate and … scared, Twilight. I know it wants you to find them, but it never said where explicitly.” Spike paused to look to Twilight, who nodded for him to continue. “I don’t know what it is or what it showed me, but I have a feeling it wasn’t just an invitation.” He was shaking now, if only slightly. It was still noticeable.

The sudden amount of talking left Spike’s throat dry and tired. Somehow, his entire body just felt exhausted, like the shadow was pressing more and more weight with each second that went by. 

Twilight sat in front of her friend, thinking. Spike sat as well, trying not to completely fall into whatever the shadow wanted him to fall into if there was something to fall into. They remained that way for some time, neither knowing what to say.

Finally, Twilight reached out to touch Spike’s hand as she put on a brave face. 

“Hey, hey,” she cooed as she tried to comfort the disturbed dragon, “Everything is fine, I promise. Whatever it was, I’m sure we can figure out what we need to do. It’s gone, and I’m here. Nothing bad is going to happen,” she said, smiling as bright as she could. 

The mask of terror cracked a little, and Spike let a faint grin cross his lips. “Of course,  of course, Twilight. Just a little rattled is all. I’m sure we’ll figure things out.” His thoughts betrayed his words. 

Truth was, Spike was more than worried for his friend. The shadow seemed to despise her for some reason. Either way, the weight on his chest lifted slightly as Twilight spoke, and that’s all that mattered right now. 

“Good,” Twilight began, smiling, “Then I believe I have some good news for once.”

Shocked, Spike looked at Twilight with poorly hidden suspicion. “What do you mean?”

Twilight grinned, and Spike regretted the question immediately. 

“Well, during my time in the library, I came across some mentions of a few legends that I then devised a few theories from. It seems that this being that spoke to you has confirmed those theories, though I’m not sure I like the way said being did so.”

Spike barely followed what she meant. What legends? What theories? But he was too tired to ask, so he just let Twilight continue.

“I believe I may have found something that can actually help Luna, Spike. I was apprehensive at first, but this only confirms that there may be some truth to a particular story I found.”

Spike was still confused. And tired. Mostly tired.

“Twilight … I don’t follow,” Spike said as he shook his head in an attempt to remain awake. 

“That’s fine. I’ll explain everything tomorrow, Spike. Go get some rest, please. It looks like you need it.”

“You need it too, Twilight. I don’t think you wanna here another lecture from me about sleeping habits. I can go get the slideshow if you want. I’m never too tired to prove you wrong.” 

Twilight bristled slightly at that but kept her composure … mostly. 

“I’ll just be a few more minutes, honest,” she said, wearing her most honest-looking smile. It didn’t really work, but Spike didn’t seem interested in pursuing it further. 

“If you say so, Twilight. Just please don’t overdo yourself tonight. You still need to be a princess, you know.” 

Twilight nodded, which pleased Spike enough. 

As the dragon rose to leave, Twilight thought of something else.

“Hey, Spike?” she called as he reached the doorway. 

“Yeah?”

“Goodnight and sweet dreams.”

Spike yawned widely in return. “You too, Twilight.”

And with that, Twilight watched as the door closed quietly, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She frowned as her brow furrowed in concentration. 

She knew that Spike hadn’t told her everything, but pushing it tonight was most likely not a healthy option for him. He looked horrible, even considering how late it was. She had to know what had seen, what he had heard. I may not be entirely related to what she was looking for, but it would give her an idea of what she would be up against since the thing that spoke to Spike didn’t seem the friendliest. 

An idea sprang into her head, followed by guilt. She would not feel good about doing what she was going to do, but it had to be done. Hopefully, she remembered the spell correctly.

It seems her night was far from over. 





In a place that was and was not, a presence stirred from its hibernation. The message was sent, and the clock was now ticking. Though, it had always been ticking.

As it was said to be, pieces were falling into place, and hands were being dealt. She would find what she searched for, but not in the way she searched for it. 

Magical seals weakened, bonds broken, and tethers severed. 

The Decision was nigh, and she was on her way to making it, though she did not know. She would hear and seen soon enough.

The Guardian watched from the space between spaces, and his drones had done what needed to be done. 

He was ready.

She was not.
> Chapter 5 - When Plans Go Wrong
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike was quick to make his way back to his chambers in the high tower. The day’s duties, along with the night’s events and subsequent discussion with Twilight, had left him with hardly enough energy to focus on anything other than sleep. That, and he had suddenly become extremely wary of the shadows that seemed to swallow the halls.

He was so swift, in fact, that he didn’t even ransack the kitchens as per usual. Nor did he acknowledge stairs that he so often cursed. 

Scaled eyelids fell farther and farther, barely cracked enough to allow him to see. Normally limber and strong limbs hung limply at his sides, and the sizable pair of wings that clung to his upper back felt as though they dug into him. 

With heavy feet, he rose to the top of the stairs and peered down the lone hallway that met him. Being that he was the only one who ventured here often, there were no lit candles or magelight lanterns, leaving the entire hall coated in the appropriate darkness. A cold shiver ran down Spike’s spine, temporarily shaking the fog of sleep from his mind.

A long, heavy breath left his lips, only to be brought back in forcibly. A comfortable burning arose within his chest, swelling to the farthest reaches of his limbs and warming them considerably. 

Once satisfied, Spike brought a single hand to his mouth and exhaled a ball of green fire into it. It twitched and danced and flickered in his palm, with a few stray sparks flying. He held it there for a moment, letting the fire dance in front of him and bring light into the hallway. 

Using the fire as a torch, he moved closer to the end of the hall and to what would be his salvation from the night. 

The heavy wooden door creaked open under his offhand and he stepped in, hurriedly shutting the door behind and scanning the room. Once his eyes met the bed in the center, the ball of flame was smothered, and he rushed towards the comfort of fabric.

Leaping into the messy blankets and pillows, he situated himself under the covers. The aching his body treated him to only made the sleep that much more welcome. Soon enough, his eyes grew heavy once more, and he felt his body beginning to sink into a much-deserved rest.

Before being completely overtaken by sleep, Spike could feel something worm its way into his mind. It was like a streak of fog in his head that wasn’t there before. As he became aware of it, it seemed to move and the urge to sleep grew even greater.

Spike tried to open his eyes but was met with nothing as a response. The streak moved even more around his head, and the call of sleep became greater yet. 

Eventually, he gave in and let sleep take him as the streak continued to prod around. 





If somepony were in the room, they would most likely be able to hear a pin drop. 

The study of one Twilight Sparkle was devoid of anything that could be called sound, save for the gentle hum of a charging horn. The air was frighteningly still, so much so that it almost layered the room in a thick, stuffy aura. The only air that moved was that around Twilight’s mouth, which moved rhythmically with her breaths. 

She needed to be very careful now. The spell had been charging for a while, and it would take a lot to dispel it without using it. This much magical energy needed to be either used or released gradually to prevent any unfortunate accidents from occurring.

Twilight had watched Spike leave, her mind already made up. She had seen something in his eyes that she needed to see for herself. She had thought and planned about what to do and how to do it, and now it was time.

Twilight had learned many things in her life. It was something that she took pride in, and it had helped her in more ways than she could remember. Among those many lessons was recognizing when something needed to be done, even in the face of risks.This time was no different.

Her study was deafeningly quiet, but that was required for what was about to happen. Twilight had learned how to Dreamwalk from Luna, but this wasn’t just Dreamwalking, which had its own dangers. No, this was much more dangerous than that. Twilight was trying to delve into what Spike’s visitor had left with him. She could see it in his eyes, but Spike wouldn’t be able to explain what was seen, what hid away in his mind. It didn’t belong with him.

Twilight needed to tap into his memories and thoughts directly. Not through some medium like a dream since dreams were limited by the brain of the dreamer. Too much stress would cause the dreamer to wake up. No, she needed to tackle the source directly. 

Such a process took time, effort, and care. One mistake could spell psychological repercussions for both herself and Spike. Absolute concentration was a must for this kind of spell.

And so, Twilight sat in the middle of her study, on the carpet bearing her cutie mark, eyes shut in focus. Her horn had been alight for about five minutes now, charging with energy and showering the room in light. Twilight’s breathing was slow, calculated in a concerted effort.

Spike should be at least mostly asleep by now, she thought. It’s now or never.

Taking a few more deep breaths, Twilight sent yet another surge through her horn. Now there was no going back without taking a good portion of the castle out, but she had no intention of stopping now. That really wasn’t an option now anyway.

Closing her eyes, Twilight summoned images of her target. Memories poured in of her time with her closest friend, but these were muddled quickly as her magic closed in on his mind. Finding the target was always the easiest part, of course. Twilight relaxed considerably, content with the ease of progress that was befalling the spell. 

Next was the hard part.

Twilight’s complacent demeanor quickly faded as she increased the power of the spell, calling for it to burrow into Spike’s sleeping mind. Again, this was easy enough, but finding and seizing the memories was a different story. 

Spike’s mind was remarkably empty for a dreamer’s. Using her magic, Twilight peered around his subconscious but found nothing. Not just nothing of interest like embarrassing daydreams; rather, there was legitimately nothing to greet the spell. It was a void of . . . nothing.

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, she looked and looked and looked. Still nothing. 

That is most definitely not normal, Twilight thought. There has to be something around here.

As if to answer her, Twilight felt something move, sending ripples through her own mind and sending a shiver down her spine. Locking on to the signal, she moved toward it. She could tell she was getting closer and closer, if the increasing frequency of the ripples was anything to go on. With each passing ripplet, Twilight could feel the room she was getting colder. 

She shook her head, refocusing on the spell. She couldn’t afford to lose the connection before finding out what was wrong. 

After searching for a little longer, the void that surrounded Twilight gradually filled with what she assumed to be Spike’s memories. They were seemingly normal enough. No trace of dark magic, curses, or anything that posed a threat to anypony or anything, really. 

To add to her confusion, the signal that guided Twilight had stopped completely, leaving her drifting aimlessly through the now filled void of Spike’s mind. 

Even still, Twilight pressed forward, wanting to be sure she didn’t miss anything. She even scanned a few memories, checking for any lingering presences that shouldn’t be there. Once again, she didn’t find a single discrepancy anywhere. The only force that wasn’t supposed to be here, as far as Twilight could tell, was herself. 

Sighing, Twilight began drawing the spell back to her study, draining the power from it and letting it fade a little. 

Before she finished extinguishing the spell, a ripple of energy much more potent than those before it tore through the medium of Spike’s mind, shaking Twilight’s spell as it did so. 

Now that is more I like it, she thought, smirking.

Re-engaging the spell to full strength, Twilight locked herself to the signal, letting the ripples guide her spell to the source once more. This time, as she got closer and closer to the center of the ripples, Twilight found it increasingly difficult to hold the spell in a stable state. 

Of course, she expected this. Foreign entities in the minds of others often had defenses against exactly what she was trying to do, but this was different. Whatever this was, it was strong. Really strong. 

As she edged closer and closer still, Twilight began pouring more energy into the spell, sweat beginning to wet her brow. She continued ramping the magical output higher and higher than she had anticipated having to. Her smirk faded and a grimace of pain replaced it. 

A minute passed; her knees buckled. 

Another minute passed; her knees gave in completely, sending her to the ground in a heap. Yet, she continued running energy through her horn to the spell. 

Her once calm breaths had long turned to ragged gasps for air as she strained to keep up with the invisible force in Spike’s head. 

“What the hell is this thing?” Twilight seethed through clenched teeth, fighting to stand once again. After getting back to her haunches, Twilight sent one more burst of energy through her horn.

As quickly as the ripples had come to buffet her, they had left even quicker, almost giving in to the onslaught Twilight had returned. Sighing, but not relaxing, Twilight gathered herself on her hooves and focused again on finding whatever had lodged itself so securely in here. 

Looking around once more, Twilight spotted what she presumed to be the source of this ordeal: in place of where the ripples had retreated, there hovered a small, solid black sphere of undulating energy. Twilight tilted her head, confused as to how such a small . . . thing could cause so much trouble. 

Reluctantly, she extended her magical grasp to touch the orb. As her aura enclosed itself around the orb, she could feel the heat radiating from it reaching out to meet her. For a small moment, she thought about pulling back as a sickening feeling filled the bottom of her stomach. It was like a premonition of danger that she was unfamiliar with. She had never felt anything like this while conducting this type of spell. 

What the . . . what are you? Twilight thought, edging closer despite the feeling of dread as her own curiosity drove her.

Usually, sensations were dampened as security precaution, but she felt everything here as if it were there with her. The moment passed too quickly for her to change her mind. The orb shifted suddenly, sending its own aura crashing into Twilight’s. 

Startled, she tried to pull away, but the orb held her in place. Panicking, Twilight began powering down the spell to escape and regroup, but she found her own spell was unresponsive to her commands. 

“No no no no no, this can’t be happening!” she fumbled, physically recoiling from her own spell, her eyes still forced shut.

All the while, the orb advanced on Twilight’s aura, expanding to encompass it entirely. This sent a sharp bolt of pain through the space behind her eyes, once more bringing her to her knees as she grasped her head in both hooves. 

Twilight’s horn was still expending massive amounts of energy into a spell that was no longer hers, and she could the consequences start to make themselves known. Pressure at the base of her horn began building as the orb shifted once more, carrying with it Twilight’s magical energy.

Panting, suddenly exhausted, and incredibly freightened, Twilight fought to regain control of her own horn as it continued to charge. As the energy continued to mount, Twilight realized it was not building from her own input; rather, the orb seemed to be pumping as much energy as it could into her horn, overcharging it. 

Through the pain and mounting pressure that threatened to blind her, Twilight noticed the orb was now carrying her spell out of Spike’s mind and towards her study.

Twilight then realized something even more terrifying as a sound began reverberating against the walls of study. It was a sickening sound, one that filled Twilight with a new sense of fear and pain. It was a sort of cracking sound, not unlike that of breaking bones. The catch?

It was coming from her horn.

This realization was followed by another wave energy wracking her horn, finally sending her sprawling to the floor in pain. It was as if the energy being channeled through her horn was driving it through her head like a railroad spike. 

Twilight opened her mouth to scream, to plead, to do anything to stop this barrage from the orb, but nothing came out. Only the choked gasps of agony wormed their way out of her. Tears filled her eyes as the assault continued to mount and the pain continued to rise as more and more power stormed its way through her horn.

Finally, she threw her eyes open, letting out an ear-shattering cry as the pain reached an apex, accompanied with a sickening crack akin to shattering glass. 

And the world went quiet and turned to blackness. 





“Wake up . . .”

Twilight stirred slightly, a voice and hoof tugging at her slightly. The pain, thankfully, was gone for the most part, though a dull throbbing still tinged her horn. She didn’t respond to the voice or the hoof nor did she open her eyes.

“Come, sister. This is no place to die. We must fight on! ‘Tis our duty!” 

This time the voice wasn’t as urgent; it was actually joyful. Determined, even. 

Slowly, Twilight shifted her weight to sit up. Holding a hoof to her head, she allowed whoever this was to help her to her haunches. As she did so, she could feel the movement of dirt and the clattering of metal reached her ears. Confused, she cracked her eyes open and the sight stole the air from her lungs.

The sky was a nasty, blood-red twinge of mockery of its normal blue hue. Smoke and dust filled the air, catching in her eyes, nose, and throat. Screams of pain, victory, and heartbreak echoed throughout the divet of dirt she sat in. The screeching and clattering of metal accompanied this in a sick symphony of pain and misery that brought a lump to Twilight’s throat. 

“There we are, sister! We thought we had lost you like the others there,” the voice rang again. Twilight at last focused on its source. It was a pegasus mare, clad in heavy armor that concealed everything except the mare’s eyes, which shone with a bright sky blue. She was gesturing to something behind Twilight.

Following her hoof, Twilight peered behind her. There lay five others, presumably dead, scattered around the divet. Gasping, Twilight’s eyes went wide, and she turned away to face the still alive mare. The lump in Twilight’s throat rose slightly.

Oh my Celestia, what happened here? Where am I? she thought, fighting the urge to empty her stomach onto the blood-soaked dirt. 

Seeming to catch on to Twilight’s thoughts, the unknown mare’s gaze softened a little.

“Rookie, eh? I get it, you don’t have to say anything.” She paused to put a hoof on Twilight's shoulder, her voice straining to remain reassuring over the sounds of war around them. “We can’t help them now, sister, it’s too late. But we can help keep others from sharing the same fate,” she said as softly as possible. She turned her head to look around before continuing, “Their deaths won’t be in vain if we can get the bastard king’s head! Now let’s get back out there!”

Finishing her speech, the mysterious mare took to the air with enough force to push Twilight back from the displaced air. Though the mare’s peptalk did comfort Twilight a little, she was still in shock from the battle that continued to erupt around her. 

She knew she couldn’t sit there for too long. Even if this was some sort of dream the orb induced, she didn’t want to risk finding out the hard way that it was real. So, forcing herself to her hooves despite the soreness that accompanied every move she made, she readied herself for flight.

Twilight jumped straight up as she had done many times through the years to take off. However, the expected result of climbing into the air was instead met with her flank becoming reacquainted with the lifeless earth. 

Grunting from the impact, Twilight looked behind her to find that she did, in fact, not have wings anymore. Her eyes went wide with fear, rage, confusion, and self-pity.

“No no no no, that’s not good. This is not a good time for this,” she half-screamed. Turning to look in front of her, she opted to crest the incline of her little divet to assess just how bad the situation was.

Scrambling to her hooves, she quickly trotted over to the incline and began making her way up, the roar of the battle growing as she did. As she rose to the top, Twilight peaked only her eyes over the crest. Before her lay a battlefield that was more akin to a wasteland. Bodies of the fallen were scattered every-which-way, their weapons littering the scorched earth. Just beyond this, about 100 meters away, two massive armies clashed  in a battle that would make any of Twilight’s fights seem like child’s play. 

In the air, pegasi from both sides tore at each other with fairly advanced wingblade technology. A few of the larger pegasi bombarded the ground with arrows and flaming balls that exploded on impact, sending massive shockwaves across the field that almost knocked Twilight down into the divet. 

Earth ponies, clad in thick, heavy armor and helms, were armed with hoofblades, pikes, and various other forms of weaponry that they wielded with equal ferocity as the pegasi. The worst of it all were the unicorns that took up the back of both sides. With power that Twilight had rarely seen in even the most well-trained unicorn guard, these unicorns launched massive balls of pure magical energy that impacted the ground with sickening thuds accompanied by concussion waves that brought both sides to a pause for a few seconds. Each blast kicked dust and other debris into the air that shrouded the entire scene in a thick, red foggy mist. 

Twilight thought she had prepared herself enough mentally to witness this before she climbed this incline. She had not. Not even close. 

Taken aback with the sight of ponies tearing each other limb from limb, almost literally, Twilight shifted herself just below the crest and out of sight, for now. Confused and dazed, she racked her mind with plans on how to get out, how to figure out where she was, and what in the world had happened to . . . well, the world. 

“Come on, Twilight, think!” she whispered to herself, gently tapping her hoof to her temple. “You’re a smart pony; just need to be calm and think things through.” She held a hoof to her chest and breathed deeply, counting as she did so. Finally calmed enough to think clearer, Twilight peaked over the crest once more, spotting a secluded area behind an old stone structure about 150 meters away from the battle.

“There we go! If I can get over there, I should have enough time to come up with a way out of here without risking getting killed in this stupid divet,” she said hopefully and began to charge a teleportation spell. 

Much to her dismay, her attempts to draw in any energy to her horn were met with nothing in response. In fact, it only amplified the dull throb into a sharp prick of pain. Looking to her horn, Twilight immediately noticed what the problem was.

Though she still had her horn—something to celebrate, given the wings situation—but there was another problem: starting at the apex of her horn, a large fracture spiralled down, following the natural curve. In a moment, Twilight’s calm demeanor broke into fractured pieces of panic-fueled anger.

Sliding back into the divet she took sanctuary in, Twilight screamed and bucked the dirt wall repeatedly. 

“Are you kidding me! First my wings, now my horn. Are you trying to get me killed!” she yelled at nothing in particular as she continued bucking the wall of steadily loosening dirt as hard as she could. 

“Uh, Rookie? Are you okay? You seem . . . tense.”

Twilight did not know how long she was there bucking the wall of dirt, but by the time this interruption came along, her throat was raw from screaming and her legs ached. Still heaving from the effort of her episode, she turned to face the voice behind her.

It was the same pegasus from before, only now her helm was missing, leaving her face completely exposed. Twilight was taken aback from the sight. 

The mare had numerous scars scattered across her teal cheeks and muzzle, but there was a rather large one stretching from her right eye to the tip of her muzzle. Despite the injuries, the mare’s face shone with a vibrant aura of hope, which her golden eyes mimicked.

After studying the mare for a little too long, Twilight realized she had not spoken yet. Blushing slightly, she tried to formulate something resembling a coherent response. 

“No, no, I’m not tense . . . just warming up?” she finally croaked out, uncertain of her own words. 

An awkward moment passed between the two mares as the pegasus looked at Twilight with confusion, tilting her head slightly. A massive energy blast no more than 25 meters away ripped the two away from their silence. 

“Right, okay, whatever,” the pegasus began, shaking her head, “What the hell are you still doing here, Rookie? Do you have a death wish? The enemy is not about taking prisoners, and playing dead won’t help either. They’re burning everything they can get their hooves on,” the mare said sternly, a small glare working its way onto her features. 

Twilight couldn’t think of anything to say, flustered in the face of mare’s sudden authoritative tone. When she could offer nothing but nonsense bumbles as attempts at an explanation, the pegasus cut Twilight off with a wing.

“Never mind. Fact is that we’re retreating farther into the valley; their forces are too strong without the extra reinforcements, so I suggest you get a move on and get that horn of yours ‘warmed up’,” the pegasus stated plainly, turning to take off once more.

“Wait!” Twilight said, desperation entering her voice. “I can’t use my horn, see?” Twilight pointed to the fracture, flinching as she accidentally tapped it with her hoof. 

This seemed to stop the pegasus just in time as she looked to Twilight’s horn, squinting before rolling her eyes in annoyance. 

“Of course, that explains quite a bit,” she said, pausing for a moment as she looked to her own hooves in thought. “Okay, well, my name is Thunder Wing. Figured you should know, just in case,” she said finally, offering Twilight a hoof and a smile.

Confused at first, Twilight slowly took Thunder Wing’s offer, stepping closer to the mare. 

“What do you mean, ‘just in case’?” Twilight asked. 

Thunder Wing looked at Twilight, perplexed, before she playfully punched Twilight’s shoulder. 

“Well, duh, Rookie, in case we die!,” the mare said with almost too much enthusiasm. 

Twilight stared at her with a blend of surprise, confusion, and dread. This went unnoticed by Thunder Wing. 

“Anyway, Rookie. Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”